And I—was I brusque and surly? Or oppressively bland and fond? Was I partial to rising early? Or why did we twain abscond, All breakfastless too, from the public view To prowl by a misty pond? What pass’d, what was felt or spoken— Whether anything pass’d at all— And whether the heart was broken That beat under that shelt’ring shawl— (If shawl she had on, which I doubt)—has gone, Yes, gone from me past recall. Was I haply the lady’s suitor? Or her uncle? I can’t make out— Ask your governess, dears, or tutor. For myself, I’m in hopeless doubt As to why we were there, who on earth we were, And what this is all about. BALLAD. THE auld wife sat at her ivied door, (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) A thing she had frequently done before; And her spectacles lay on her apron’d knees. The piper he piped on the hill-top high, (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) Till the cow said “I die,” and the goose ask’d “Why?” And the dog said nothing, but search’d for fleas. The farmer he strode through the square farmyard; (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) His last brew of ale was a trifle hard— The connexion of which with the plot one sees. The farmer’s daughter hath frank blue eyes; (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies, As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas. The farmer’s daughter hath ripe red lips; (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) If you try to approach her, away she skips Over tables and chairs with apparent ease. The farmer’s daughter hath soft brown hair; (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) And I met with a ballad, I can’t say where, Which wholly consisted of lines like these. PART II. She sat with her hands ’neath her dimpled cheeks, (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) And spake not a word. While a lady speaks There is hope, but she didn’t even sneeze. She sat, with her hands ’neath her crimson cheeks; (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) She gave up mending her father’s breeks, And let the cat roll in her new chemise. She sat, with her hands ’neath her burning cheeks, (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) And gazed at the piper for thirteen weeks; Then she follow’d him out o’er the misty leas. Her sheep follow’d her, as their tails did them. (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) And this song is consider’d a perfect gem, And as to the meaning, it’s what you please. PRECIOUS STONES. AN INCIDENT IN MODERN HISTORY.