We met, ’twas in a mob, and we looked at each other; He came――I said to him, “That you have got another. You know I saw you come out of yonder dark alley, Along with that ere gal they call one-eyed Sally.” And she wore her bridal dress,――’twas a sailor’s blue jacket; Her face, it smiled at me, how I longed for to smack it, I said that you was false when you gave me a milling! Oh! thou hast been the cause of these black eyes, you villain! I saw him once again, with that ’ere same _gal_ walking; She grinn’d, and so did he; how I envied their talking. My heart it burst with rage, when her smart cap I tore off, And a piece of her black hair in triumph I bore off; He made a rush at me to give me a feller, But he missed his savage aim, and fell into a cellar: I laughed――I said to him, “You remember the milling You last did give to me, and those black eyes, you villain!” ―――― “Mr. Henry Colburn here led Lady Morgan to the harp, and requested her to sing ‘WE MET.’ The wild Irish girl condescended thus to comply”:―― We met! ’twas in your shop, And I thought you would shun me; But you came――your words were sweet, And your yellow-boys won me. You bade me write a book, And they damn’d it in Holborn:―― Oh! thou hast been the cause Of this anguish, Hal Colburn! You cut off half my price When I went to another; And I hate you for it well, Though my feelings I smother. God send you may be _burked_, Some dark night in High Holborn―― And the puffs may bear your corpse To the doctors, Hal Colburn! From _The National Omnibus_. November 25, 1831. ―――― WE MET――’TWAS IN ST. GILES. We met, ’twas in St. Giles, Ah my poor bosom flutter’d―― He spoke, so full of smiles――though a little he stutter’d. He said, “Ah, how d’ye do,” but I could not say “Thank’ee!” I looked so very blue, and he look’d so lankey. I wore my new pelisse all satin and whiteness, A new five shilling piece had never such brightness I should have ta’en his arm, but there was another―― O, thou hast been the cause of this anguish――my mother. And once again we met that dashing young fellow, It rain’d heavy wet, he’d a green _umbrella_; He said, a worthy Jew, for nine-pence did mend it, He said, ’twas good as new, and offer’d to lend it. I thought there was no harm――I was going to take it; My mother pull’d my arm, ’till I thought she would break it! Don’t you think that cut direct, all his loving must smother. Ah! thou hast been the cause of this anguish my _mamma_. From _The London Singer’s Magazine_. ―――― THE DUEL.――No. 1.