Nab takes him to a lumber store, They toss him in and lock the door, Which only makes him bawl the more―― Excelsior! _Edinburgh Sketches and Miscellanies_. By ERIC. (John Menzies and Company, Edinburgh, 1876). ―――――――― THE DOWAGER-DUCHESS AT THE DRAWING ROOM. (“A bleak, nipping south-easterly wind was blowing throughout yesterday, the glass having again fallen, but the usual rules as to the Court dress to be worn by all ladies who attended the Drawing Room were strictly enforced. Low-cut bodies, both at back and front, were _de rigueur_.”――_Weekly Paper_, February, 1880). The Dowager-Duchess has been to the Palace, And duly presented the Honourable Alice; And now we will show in what sort of condition Her grace, who is eighty, returned from this mission. The shades of night were falling fast, As up a Mayfair street there passed A carriage with this strange device As crest:――A _rampant_ cockatrice And _enfant or_. Within was seen an agèd dame, Whose breath in gasps most frequent came; Her face was white as Death’s own hue, Her Roman nose was red; with blue Her lips spread o’er. The fair young maiden by her side, By briskly rubbing, bravely tried Her grandma’s blood to make reflow―― It seem’d a hopeless object, though, She labour’d for! “Oh joy!” this maiden cried, when she Observed they’d stopped at forty-three; “_We are at_ home, dear Grandma, come! Do speak to me!” The Dame was dumb―― E’en as before. And when she would have left her seat, She all but tumbled in the street; Her state, in fact, the house alarms, When, leaning on the flunkey’s arms, She gains her door. “Be quick and heat my grandma’s bed!” The Honourable Miss Alice said: “Let well warmed bricks in flannel wrapp’d Without delay be in it clapp’d, And bottles hot! “Beware no window open be, And blankets bring at once to me!” Thus was the maiden’s forethought shown―― Her Grandma scarce had strength to groan: “Hot ginger, dear!” And ere of minutes ten had fled, The chilled old Duchess was in bed; Where, thanks to measures prompt and sound, She promised shortly to come round To health once more. Then in the firelight, thin and gray, And cold, but not so cold, she lay, Whilst from her lips, no longer blue, A voice came, somewhat hoarse ’twas true, And somewhat sore. * * * * * _Truth_, February 26, 1880. ―――――――― AFTER LONGFELLOW. (_A Long Way_). The western sun was sinking fast, As through the quiet street there passed A tinker with a blackened eye, Who ever and anon did cry―― “’Brellas to mend.”