“Do buy my crewel-work,” she urged, “it goes across a chair, You’ll find it come in useful, as I see you ’ile your ’air!” So I ’anded over thirty bob, though not a coiny bloke. I couldn’t tell a Marchioness how nearly I was broke! _Spoken_--Though I _did_ take the liberty of saying: “Make it fifteen bob, my lady!” But she said, with such a fascinating look--I can see it yet!--“Oh, I’m sure _you_’re not a ’aggling kind of a man,” she says, “you haven’t the face for it. And think of all them pore fatherless kittings,” she says; “think what thirty bob means to _them_!” says she, glancing up so pitiful and tender under her long eyelashes at me. Ah, the Radicals may talk as they _like_, but---- _Chorus_--Don’t tell me Belgravia, &c. A raffle was the next concern I put my rhino in: The prize a talking parrot, which I didn’t want to win. Then her sister, Lady Tabby, shewed a painted milking stool, And I bought it--though it’s not a thing I sit on as a rule. _Spoken_--Not but what it was a handsome article in its way, too,--had a snow-scene with a sunset done in oil on it. “It will look lovely in your chambers,” says the Marchioness; “it was ever so much admired at Catterwall Castle!” It didn’t look so bad in my three-pair back, I must say, though unfortunately the sunset came off on me the very first time I happened to set down on it. Still think of the condescension of painting such a thing at all! _Chorus_--Don’t tell me Belgravia, &c. The Marquis kept a-fidgeting and frowning at his wife, For she talked to me as free as if she’d known me all my life! I felt that I was in the swim, so wasn’t over-awed, But ’ung about and spent my cash as lavish as a lord! _Spoken_--It was worth all the money, I can tell you, to be chatting there across the counter with a real live Marchioness for as long as ever my funds would ’old out. They’d have held out much longer, only the Marchioness made it a rule never to give change--she couldn’t break it, she said, not even for _me_. I wish I could give you an idea of how she smiled as she made that remark; for the fact is, when an aristocrat _does_ unbend--well,---- _Chorus_--Don’t tell me Belgravia, &c. Next time I meet the Marchioness a-riding in the Row, I’ll ketch her eye and raise my ’at, and up to her I’ll go, (_With sentiment_)--And tell her next my ’art I keep the stump of that cigar She sold me on the ’appy day we ’ad at her Bazaar! _Spoken_--And she’ll be pleased to see me again, _I_ know! She’s not one of your stuck-up sort; don’t you make no mistake about it, the aristocracy ain’t ’alf as bloated as people imagine who don’t _know_ ’em. Whenever I hear parties running ’em down, I always say: _Chorus_--Don’t tell me Belgravia is stiff in behaviour, &c. [Illustration: THE CHIVALROUS.] VI.--THE CHIVALROUS.