―――― Ye Grand Adventures of some MODERN MEN OF MIGHT. Showing how Don Salisbury Quixote de la Hatfield set out to keep watch over his arms and armour, ere he could be admitted a Knight of the Primrose. _The Don’s Midnight Vigil._ The sky was dark, the air was cold, But firm Don Salisbury was and bold, As, undeterred by nights alarms, He vigil kept to watch his arms. Above him, as he humbly kneel’d, Rose the bronze form of Beaconsfield―― The man whom once he had reviled, But whom long since, with fervour wild, He’d seemed to love; but who looked down As ’twere with a sardonic frown, As, very far from being at ease, Don Salisbury groaned upon his knees. Each side him, on the Statue’s base, He for his armour’d found a place, And there he watch’d it, till, so sore, That he could bear to kneel no more, He staggered to his feet again, And sighing from excessive pain, His lance he grasped, and with a moan Limped lamely on his vigil lone. The gas-jets round but flickered dim, And in their light it seemed to him That with a look of scorn intent The Statue’s eyes were on him bent. Nay, more, as he returned the gaze, He thought he saw the Statue raise Its dexter arm and point south-west, As though his notice to arrest. Nor was the intimation vain, For as the Don his eye did strain, He saw folks in Victoria Street, Caught, too, the tramp of many feet; And, listening still, soon overheard Such sounds that he at once inferred, It was the promised delegation Sent by the Primrose Habitation To take him to the Hall of Light Where he was to be dubbed a Knight. * * * * * _Truth, Christmas Number_, 1885. ―――― ALBERT GRAEME. It was an English ladye bright, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) And she would marry a Scottish Knight, For love will still be lord of all. Blithely they saw the rising sun, When he shone fair on Carlisle wall; But they were sad ere day was done, Though Love was still the lord of all. * * * * * Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle Wall,) Pray for their souls who died for love, For Love shall still be lord of all! WALTER SCOTT. _The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto VI._ ―――― THE LAY OF THE POOR FIDDLER. WILLIE.