THE next in order of these "lays of many lands refers to a period far earlier in point of date, and has for its scene the banks of what our Teutonic friends are wont to call their "own imperial River!" The incidents which it records afford sufficient proof (and these are days of demonstration), that a propensity to flirtation is not confined to age or country, and that its consequences were not less disastrous to the mail-clad Ritter of the dark ages than to the silken courtier of the seventeenth century. The whole narrative bears about it the stamp of truth, and from the papers among which it was discovered I am inclined to think it must have been picked up by Sir Peregrine in the course of one of his valetudinary visits to "The German Spa."

SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS.

A LEGEND OF GERMANY,

IR RUPERT THE FEARLESS, a gallant young knight,

Was equally ready to tipple or fight,

Crack a crown, or a bottle,

Cut sirloin, or throttle;

In brief, or as Hume says, "to sum up the tottle,"
Unstain'd by dishonour, unsullied by fear,

All his neighbours pronounced him a preux chevalier.

Despite these perfections, corporeal and mental,
He had one slight defect, viz. a rather lean rental
Besides, as 'tis own'd there are spots in the sun,
So it must be confess'd that Sir Rupert had one;
Being rather unthinking,

He'd scarce sleep a wink in

A night, but addict himself sadly to drinking,
And what moralists say,

Is as naughty-to play,

To Rouge et Noir, Hazard, Short Whist, Ecarté ;

Till these, and a few less defensible fancies

Brought the Knight to the end of his slender finances.

When at length through his boozing,

And tenants refusing

Their rents, swearing "times were so bad they were losing,"

His steward said, "O, sir,

It's some time ago, sir,

Since aught through my hands reach'd the baker or grocer, And the tradesmen in general are grown great complainers.' Sir Rupert the brave thus address'd his retainers:

Is out, with the Kürchwasser, Barsac, Moselle,

And we 're fairly reduced to the pump and the well, presume to suggest,

I

We shall all find it best

For each to shake hands with his friends ere he goes,
Mount his horse, if he has one, and-follow his nose;
As to me, I opine,

Left sans money or wine,

My best way is to throw myself into the Rhine,
Where pitying trav'lers may sigh, as they cross over,
Though he lived a roué, yet he died a philosopher.'

The Knight, having bow'd out his friends thus politely
Got into his skiff, the full moon shining brightly,

By the light of whose beam,

He soon spied on the stream

A dame, whose complexion was fair as new cream;
Pretty pink silken hose

Cover'd ankles and toes,

In other respects she was scanty of clothes;

For, so says tradition, both written and oral,

Her one garment was loop'd up with bunches of coral.

Full sweetly she sang to a sparkling guitar,
With silver chords stretch'd over Derbyshire spar,

And she smiled on the Knight,
Who, amazed at the sight,

Soon found his astonishment merged in delight;

But the stream by degrees

Now rose up to her knees,

Till at length it invaded her very chemise,

While the heavenly strain, as the wave seem'd to swallow her,

And slowly she sank, sounded fainter and hollower;

-Jumping up in his boat

And discarding his coat,

"Here goes," cried Sir Rupert, "by jingo I 'll follow her! Then into the water he plunged with a souse

That was heard quite distinctly by those in the house.

Down, down, forty fathom and more from the brink,

Sir Rupert the Fearless continues to sink,

And, as downward he

goes,

Still the cold water flows

Through his ears, and his eyes, and his mouth, and his nose,
Till the rum and the brandy he'd swallow'd since lunch
Wanted nothing but lemon to fill him with punch;

Some minutes elapsed since he enter'd the flood,
Ere his heels touch'd the bottom, and stuck in the mud.

But oh! what a sight

Met the eyes of the Knight,

When he stood in the depth of the stream bolt upright!
A grand stalactite hall,

Like the cave of Fingal,

Rose above and about him ;-great fishes and small
Came thronging around him, regardless of danger,
And seem'd all agog for a peep at the stranger.

Their figures and forms to describe, language fails-
They'd such very odd heads, and such very odd tails;
Of their genus or species a sample to gain,

You would ransack all Hungerford market in vain ;
E'en the famed Mr. Myers,

Would scarcely find buyers,

Though hundreds of passengers doubtless would stop
To stare, were such monsters exposed in his shop.

But little reck'd Rupert these queer-looking brutes,
Or the efts and the newts

That crawled up his boots,

For a sight, beyond any of which I've made mention,
In a moment completely absorb'd his attention.

A huge crystal bath, which, with water far clearer

Than George Robins' filters, or Thorpe's (which are dearer), Have ever distill'd,

To the summit was fill'd,

Lay stretch'd out before him,—and every nerve thrill'd
As scores of young women

Were diving and swimming,

Till the vision a perfect quandary put him in
All slightly acoutred in gauzes and lawns,

They came floating about him like so many prawns.

Sir Rupert, who (barring the few peccadilloes
Alluded to,) ere he lept into the billows
Possess'd irreproachable morals, began

To feel rather queer, as a modest young man ;
When forth stepp'd a dame, whom he recognised soon
As the one he had seen by the light of the moon,
And lisp'd, while a soft smile attended each sentence,
"Sir Rupert, I'm happy to make your acquaintance;