Late of contraband schnaps an unlicensed distiller,
And her name was Des Moulins (in English, Miss Miller).

Now, though Hippolyte Hector Could hardly
expect her

To feel much regard for her sister's "protector,"
When she'd seen him so shamefully leave and neglect her;

Still, he very well knew In this world there are few
But are ready much Christian forgiveness to show,
For other folk's wrongs-if well paid so to do-
And he'd seen to what acts "Res angusta" compel beaux
And belles whose affairs have once got out at elbows,
With the magic effect of a handful of crowns
Upon people whose pockets boast nothing but "browns:"

A few francs well applied He'd no doubt would

decide

Miss Agnes Des Moulins to jump up and ride
As far as headquarters, next day, by his side;

For the distance was nothing, to speak by comparison,
To the town where the Mousquetaires now lay in

garrison;

Then he thought by the aid Of a veil, and gown made

Like those worn by the lady his friend had betray'd, They might dress up Miss Agnes so like to the Shade Which he fancied he saw, of that poor injured maid, Come each night, with her pale face, his guilt to upbraid; That if once introduced to his room, thus array'd,

And then unmask'd as soon as she'd long enough stay'd, 'Twould be no very difficult task to persuade

Him the whole was a scurvy trick, cleverly play'd,

Out of spite and revenge, by a mischievous jade!

With respect to the scheme-though I do not call that a

gem

Still I've known soldiers adopt a worse stratagem,
And that, too, among the decided approvers
Of General Sir David Dundas's "Manœuvres."

There's a proverb, however, I've always thought

clever,

Which my Grandmother never was tired of repeating,
"The proof of the pudding is found in the eating!"
We shall see, in the sequel, how Hector Achille
Had mix'd up the suet and plums for his meal.

The night had set in;-'twas a dark and a gloomy one :-
Off went St. Foix to his chamber; a roomy one,

Five storeys high, The first floor from the sky,
And lofty enough to afford great facility
For playing a game, with the youthful nobility,

Of "crack corps," a deal in Request, when they're

feeling,

In dull country quarters, ennui on them stealing;

A wet wafer's applied To a sixpence's side, Then it's spun with the thumb up to stick on the ceiling; Intellectual amusement, which custom allows old

troops,

I've seen it here practised at home by our Household

troops.

He'd a table, and bed, And three chairs; and all's
said-

A bachelor's barrack, where'er you discern it, you're
Sure not to find overburthen'd with furniture.

François Xavier Auguste lock'd and bolted his door
With just the same caution he'd practised before;

Little he knew That the Count Cordon Bleu,
With Hector Achille, and the Sieur de la Roue,
Had been up there before him, and drawn ev'ry screw!.

And now comes the moment the watches and clocks
All point to eleven!-the bolts and the locks
Give way-and the party turn out their bag-fox!-

With step noiseless and light, Though half in a
fright,

A cup in her left hand, a draught in her right,
In her robe long and black, and her veil long and.

white,

Ma'amselle Agnes des Moulins walks in as a Sprite!She approaches the bed With the same silent tread

Just as though she had been at least half a year dead! Then seating herself on the "rush-bottom'd chair," Throws a cold stony glance on the Black Mousquetaire. If you're one of the "play-going public," kind reader, And not a Moravian or rigid Seceder,

You've seen Mr. Kean, I mean in that scene Of Macbeth, -by some thought the crack one of the

piece,

Which has been so well painted by Mr. M'Clise, -
When he wants, after having stood up to say grace,*
To sit down to his haggis, and can't find a place;

You remember his stare At the high-back'd arm-
chair,

Where the Ghost sits that nobody else knows is there, And how, after saying "What man dares I dare!"

He proceeds to declare He should not so much

care

If it came in the shape of a "tiger" or "bear,"
But he don't like it shaking its long gory hair!
While the obstinate Ghost, as determined to brave him,

With a horrible grin, Sits, and cocks up his chin, Just as though he was asking the tyrant to shave him. And Lennox and Rosse Seem quite at a loss

If they ought to go on with their sheep's head and

sauce;

And Lady Macbeth looks uncommonly cross,

And says in a huff It's all "Proper stuff!"-
All this you'll have seen, Reader, often enough;
So perhaps 'twill assist you in forming some notion
Of what must have been François Xavier's emotion

* "May good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on bo h."-Macbeth.