Baron Alfred T. de T., There stand twin-spectres in your hall, And as they found you were a Lord Two wholesome hearts were changed to gall; The two, an humble couple they, I think I see them, on my life, The while they read of "Baron" T., The grand old Adam, and his wife! Trust me, Baron T. de T., From yon blue heaven above us bent, This simple granger and his spouse Smile as you read your long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, Nor must you think my language cruel, It seems--excuse my girlish glee-- Consistency's a lovely jewel. Baron Alfred T. de T., I know you're proud your name to own; Your pride is yet no mate for mine, My blood is bluer than your own. Don't bid me break your heart again For pastime, ere to town I go; I'll not do that, my noble Lord, But give you something that I owe. Baron Alfred T. de T., When you were in that angry fit You turned to me and thundered out, "Go, teach the orphan girl to knit." I am an orphan girl myself, And that my knitting you may see, Here is a _mitten_ that I've knit-- Excuse my gushing, girlish glee. * * * * * Now, there was another young lady who was treated with scant courtesy by the author of _Locksley Hall_, and she, too, has written a reply to the love-sick ravings of the young poet:-- COUSIN AMY'S VIEW. SCENE--_The neighbourhood of Locksley Hall._ _Enter_ Lady AMY HARDCASH (_ætat. forty_)_, with a book of poems and several children_. LADY AMY _loquitur_. CHILDREN, leave me here a little; don't disturb me, I request; For Mamma is very tired, and fain would take a little rest. 'Tis the place, the same old place, though looking somewhat pinched and small. Ah, 'tis many and many a day since last I looked on Locksley Hall! Then 'twas in the spring of life and love--ah, Love, the great Has-been! Love which, like the year's own Spring, is very nice--and very _green!_ In the Spring the new French fashions come the female heart to bless, In the Spring the very housemaid gets herself another dress; In the Spring we're apt to feel like children just let loose from school; In the Spring a young girl's fancy's very apt to play the fool. On the moorland, by the waters he was really _very_ nice; There was no one else at hand, and I--forgot Mamma's advice. He indulged in rosy raptures, heaved the most suggestive sighs, Said the very prettiest things about my lips and hazel eyes. All his talk was most poetic, all his sentiments were grand, Though his meaning, I confess, I did not always understand. So that, when he popped the question, I _did_ blush and hang my head, And,--well, I dare say the rest was pretty much as he has said. * * * * *