"I hope you'll protect me, kind sir," said the maid, As to ride this heath over I am sadly afraid;

For robbers, they say, here in numbers abound,
And I wouldn't for anything I should be found:
For between you and me I have five hundred pound.”
"If that is thine own, dear," the Quaker said,
"I ne'er saw a maiden I sooner would wed;
And I have another five hundred just now,
In the padding that's under my_saddle-bow:
And I'll settle it all upon thee, I vow!"

The maiden she smiled, and the rein she drew,
"Your offer I'll take, though I'll not take you!"
A pistol she held to the Quaker's head-

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Now give me your gold, or I'll give you my lead: 'Tis under the saddle, I think you said."

And the damsel ripp'd up the saddle-bow,
And the Quaker was ne'er a quaker till now;
And he saw by the fair one he wish'd for a bride,
His
purse drawn away with a swaggering stride,
And the eye that looked tender now only defied.

"The spirit doth move me, friend Broadbrim," quoth she,
"To take all this filthy temptation from thee;
For mammon deceives, and beauty is fleeting.
Accept from thy maiden a right loving greeting,
For much doth she profit by this happy meeting.

"And hark, jolly Quaker, so rosy and sly,
Have righteousness more than a lass in your eye;
Don't go again peeping girls' bonnets beneath,
Remember the one you met on the heath:
Her name's Jimmy Barlow-I tell to your teeth."
"Friend James," quoth the Quaker, "pray listen to me,
For thou canst confer a great favour, d'ye see!
The gold thou hast taken is not mine, my friend,
But my master's-and truly on thee I depend
To make it appear I my trust did defend.

"So fire a few shots through my coat here and there,
To make it appear 'twas a desperate affair."

So Jim he popp'd first through the skirts of his coat, And then through his collar, quite close to his throat; "Now once through my broadbrim," quoth Ephraim, “I vote.” "I have but a brace," said bold Jim, "and they're spent, And I won't load again for a make-believe rent." "Then," said Ephraim, producing his pistols, "just give My five hundred pounds back, or, as sure as you live, I'll make of your body a riddle or sieve."

Jim Barlow was diddled-and though he was game,

He saw Ephraim's pistol so deadly in aim,

That he gave up the gold, and he took to his scrapers;
And when the whole story got into the papers,

They said that the thieves were no match for the Quakers.

6.-VAT YOU PLEASE.

J. R. PLANCHE, F.S.A.

[James Robinson Planché is the oldest and one of the most successful dramatists of the day; his first burlesque was performed at Drury Lane Theatre in 1818, and since then he has placed upon the stage nearly two hundred pieces. All Mr. Planché's pieces exhibit a facile command of versification, a flow of genuine, not forced, wit, with occasional dashes of true poetry. As an antiquarian he takes a high position, his works on ancient costume being the recognised authorities. Mr. Planché holds the appointment of Rouge Croix Pursuivant.]

SOME years ago, when civil faction

Raged like a fury through the fields of Gaul,
And children, in the general distraction,

Were taught to curse as soon as they could squall;
When common-sense in common folks was dead,
And murder show'd a love of nationality,
And France, determined not to have a head,
Decapitated all the higher class,

To put folks more on an equality;

When coronets were not worth half-a-crown,
And liberty, in bonnet rouge, might pass
For Mother Red-cap up at Camden Town;
Full many a Frenchman then took wing,
Bidding soup-maigre an abrupt farewell,
And hither came, pell-mell,

Sans cash, sans clothes, and almost sans everything!

Two Messieurs who about this time came over,

Half-starved, but toujours gai

(No weasels e'er were thinner),

Trudged up to town from Dover;

Their slender store exhausted on the way,

Extremely puzzled how to get a dinner.

From morn till noon, from noon to dewy eve,
Our Frenchmen wander'd on their expedition;
Great was their need, and sorely did they grieve.
Stomach and pocket in the same condition!
At length by mutual consent they parted,
And different ways on the same errand started.

This happen'd on a day most dear
To epicures, when general use

Sanctions the roasting of the sav'ry goose.
Towards night, one Frenchman at a tavern near,
Stopp'd, and beheld the glorious cheer;

While greedily he snuff'd the luscious gale in,
That from the kitchen window was exhaling,
He instant set to work his busy brain,

And snuff'd and long'd, and long'd and snuff'd again.
Necessity's the mother of invention,

(A proverb I've heard many mention);

So now one moment saw his plan completed,

And our sly Frenchman at a table seated.

The ready waiter at his elbow stands

"Sir, will you favour me with your commands?

"We've roast and boil'd, sir; choose you those or these ?" "Sare! you are very good, sare! Vat you please."

Quick at the word,

Upon the table smokes the wish'd-for bird.

No time in talking did he waste,

But pounced pell-mell upon it;

Drum-stick and merry-thought he pick'd in haste,
Exulting in the merry thought that won it.
Pie follows goose, and after pie comes cheese-
"Stilton or Cheshire, sir ?"" Ah! vat you please."

And now our Frenchman, having ta'en his fill,
Prepares to go, when-" Sir, your little bill."
"Ah, vat you're Bill! Vell, Mr. Bill, good day!
"Bon jour, good Villiam." No, sir, stay;
My name is Tom, sir-you've this bill to pay."
Pay, pay, ma foi!

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I call for noting, sare-pardonnez moi!

You bring me vat you call your goose, your cheese,
You ask-a-me to eat; I tell you, Vat you please!"
Down came the master, each explain'd the case,
The one with cursing, t'other with grimace;
But Boniface, who dearly loved a jest
(Although sometimes he dearly paid for it),
And finding nothing could be done (you know,
That when a man has got no money,

To make him pay some would be rather funny),
Of a bad bargain made the best,

Acknowledged much was to be said for it;
Took pity on the Frenchman's meagre face,
And, Briton-like, forgave a fallen foe,
Laugh'd heartily, and let him go.

Our Frenchman's hunger, thus subdued,
Away he trotted in a merry mood;

When, turning round the corner of a street,

Who but his countryman he chanced to meet!

To him, with many a shrug and many a grin,
He told how he'd taken Jean Bull in!

Fired with the tale, the other licks his chops,
Makes his congee, and seeks the shop of shops.
Entering, he seats himself, just at his ease,
"What will you take, sir ?”—“ Vat you please.”

The waiter turned as pale as Paris plaster,
And, upstairs running, thus address'd his master:
"These vile mounseers come over sure in pairs;
Sir, there's another 'vat you please!' downstairs."
This made the landlord rather crusty,

Too much of one thing-the proverb's somewhat musty,—
Once to be done, his anger didn't touch,

But when a second time they tried the treason,
It made him crusty, sir, and with good reason:
You would be crusty were you done so much.

There is a kind of instrument

Which greatly helps a serious argument,
And which, when properly applied, occasions
Some most unpleasant tickling sensations!

"Twould make more clumsy folks than Frenchmen skip,
"Twould strike you, presently—a stout horsewhip.
This instrument our Maitre d'Hôte

Most carefully concealed beneath his coat;
And seeking instantly the Frenchman's station,
Addressed him with the usual salutation.

Our Frenchman bowing to his threadbare knees,
Determined whilst the iron's hot to strike it,
Pat with his lesson answers-"Vat you please!"
But scarcely had he let the sentence slip,

Than round his shoulders twines the pliant whip!

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Sare, sare! misericorde, parbleu!

Oh dear, monsieur, vat make you use me so?

Vat you

call dis ?" "Oh, don't you know? That's what I please," says Bonny, "how d'ye like it? Your friend, although I paid dear for his funning, Deserved the goose he gained, sir, for his cunning; But you, monsieur, or else my time I'm wasting, Are goose enough, and only wanted basting."

7.-MODERN LOGIC.

ANONYMOUS.

AN Eton stripling, training for the Law,
A dunce at Syntax, but a dab at Taw,
One happy Christmas laid upon the shelf
His cap, his gown, and store of learned pelf,

With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome,
To spend a fortnight at his uncle's home.

Arrived, and passed the usual "How d'ye do's,"
Inquiries of old friends, and college news-

"Well, Tom, the road, what saw you worth discerning,
And how goes study, boy-what is't you're learning?
"Oh, Logic, sir-but not the worn-out rules
Of Locke and Bacon-antiquated fools!
'Tis wit and wranglers' Logic-thus, d'ye see,
I'll prove to you as clear as A, B, C,

That an eel-pie's a pigeon :-to deny it,

Were to swear black's white."—" Indeed !"—" Let's try it. An eel-pie is a pie of fish.”

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Agreed."

"A fish-pie may be a Jack-pie.""Well,

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proceed."

"A Jack-pie must be a John-pie-thus, 'tis done,
For every John-pie must be a pi-ge-on!"
"Bravo!" Sir Peter cries, "Logic for ever!
It beats my grandmother and she was clever!
But, zounds, my boy-it surely would be hard,
That wit and learning should have no reward!
To-morrow, for a stroll, the park we'll cross,
And then I'll give you"
"A horse!" cries Tom, "blood, pedigree, and paces!
"Oh, what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races!"

What ?"

My chesnut horse."

He went to bed and wept for downright sorrow

To think the night must pass before the morrow;

Dream'd of his boots, his cap, his spurs, and leather breeches,

Of leaping five-barr'd gates, and crossing ditches;

Left his warm bed an hour before the lark,

And dragged his Uncle, fasting, through the park:-
Each craggy hill and dale in vain they cross,
To find out something like a chesnut horse:
But no such animal the meadows cropp'd:
At length, beneath a tree, Sir Peter stopp'd;
Took a bough-then shook it-and down fell

A fine horse-chesnut in its prickly shell—

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There, Tom, take that.”—“ 'Well, sir, and what beside ?" Why, since you're booted, saddle it and ride!

"Ride what?-a chesnut!-" "Ay; come, get across.
I tell you, Tom, the chesnut is a horse,

And all the horse you'll get: for I can show
As clear as sunshine, that 'tis really so—
Not by the musty, fusty, worn-out rules
Of Locke and Bacon-addle-headed fools!
All Logic but the wranglers' I disown,
And stick to one sound argument-your own.
Since you have prov'd to me, I don't deny,
That a pie-John's the same as a John-pie;
What follows then, but as a thing of course,
That a horse-chesnut is a chesnut-horse ?”