O how my gentle heart did bound,

To think that I his name should bear! "Dear Jeames," says I, "I've twenty pound," And gev them him in Buckley Square.

Our master vas a City gent,

His name's in railroads everywhere, And lord, vot lots of letters vent

Betwigst his brokers and Buckley Square:
My Jeames it was the letters took,

And read them all (I think it's fair),
And took a leaf from Master's book,
As hothers do in Buckley Square.

Encouraged with my twenty pound,
Of which poor I was unavare,
He wrote the Companies all round,

And signed hisself from Buckley Square.
And how John Porter used to grin,

As day by day, share after share,

Came railvay letters pouring in,

"J. Plush, Esquire, in Buckley Square."

Our servants' All was in a rage—

Scrip, stock, curves, gradients, bull and bear, Vith butler, coachman, groom and page,

Vas all the talk in Buckley Square.

But O! imagine vot I felt

Last Vensday veek as ever were;

I gits a letter, which I spelt

"Miss M. A. Hoggins, Buckley Square."

He sent me back my money true-
He sent me back my lock of air,
And said, "My dear, I bid ajew
To Mary Hann and Buckley Square.
Think not to marry, foolish Hann,

With people who your betters are:
James Plush is now a gentleman,

And you-a cook in Buckley Square.

"I've thirty thousand guineas won,
In six short months, by genus rare;
You little thought what Jeames was on,
Poor Mary Hann, in Buckley Square.
I've thirty thousand guineas net,

Powder and plush I scorn to vear;
And so, Miss Mary Hann, forget

For hever Jeames of Buckley Square."

Τ'

LINES UPON MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT

BY THE LORD SOUTHDOWN

HE castle towers of Bareacres are fair upon the lea,

Where the cliffs of bonny Diddlesex rise up from out the sea:

I stood upon the donjon keep and view'd the country o'er,

I saw the lands of Bareacres for fifty miles or more.

I stood upon the donjon keep-it is a sacred place,-
Where floated for eight hundred years the banner of my race;
Argent, a dexter sinople, and gules an azure field;

There ne'er was nobler cognisance on knightly warrior's shield.

The first time England saw the shield 'twas round a Norman neck,
On board a ship from Valery, King William was on deck.
A Norman lance the colours wore, in Hastings' fatal fray-
St. Willibald for Bareacres! 'twas double gules that day!
O Heaven and sweet Saint Willibald! in many a battle since
A loyal-hearted Bareacres has ridden by his Prince!
At Acre with Plantagenet, with Edward at Poictiers,
The pennon of the Bareacres was foremost on the spears!

"Twas pleasant in the battle-shock to hear our war-cry ringing:
Oh grant me, sweet Saint Willibald, to listen to such singing!
Three hundred steel-clad gentlemen, we drove the foe before us,
And thirty score of British bows kept twanging to the chorus!
O knights, my noble ancestors! and shall I never hear
Saint Willibald for Bareacres through battle ringing clear?
I'd cut me off this strong right hand a single hour to ride,
And strike a blow for Bareacres, my fathers, at your side!
Dash down, dash down yon mandolin, beloved sister mine!
Those blushing lips may never sing the glories of our line:
Our ancient castles echo to the clumsy feet of churls,
The spinning-jenny houses in the mansion of our Earls.
Sing not, sing not, my Angeline! in days so base and vile,
"Twere sinful to be happy, 'twere sacrilege to smile.
I'll hie me to my lonely hall, and by its cheerless hob

I'll muse on other days, and wish-and wish I were-A SNOB.

With a sweet perplexity,

And a mystery pretty,

Threading through Threadneedle Street, Trots the little KITTY.

What was my astonishment—

What was my compunction,

When she reached the Offices
Of the Didland Junction!

Up the Didland stairs she went,
To the Didland door, Sir;

Porters, lost in wonderment,

Let her pass before, Sir.

"Madam," says the old chief Clerk,

"Sure we can't admit ye."

"Where's the Didland Junction deed?"

Dauntlessly says KITTY.

"If you doubt my honesty,

Look at my receipt, Sir."

Up then jumps the old chief Clerk,

Smiling as he meets her,