'Mong the pals of the prince I have heard it's the go, Before they have tippled enough, To smarten their punch with the best curagoa, More conish to render the stuff. I boast not such lush; but whoever his glass Does not like, I'll be hanged if I press him! Upstanding, my kiddies,--round, round let it pass! Here's to Gentleman George,--God bless him! God bless him, God bless him! Here's to Gentleman George,-God bless him! See, see, the fine fellow grows weak on his stumps; Assist him, ye rascals, to stand! Why, ye stir not a peg! Are you all in the dumps? Fighting Attie, go, lend him a hand! (The robbers crowd around Gentleman George, each, under pretence of supporting him, pulling him first one way and then another.) Come, lean upon me,--at your service I am! Get away from his elbow, you whelp! him You'll only upset,--them 'ere fellows but sham! Here's to Gentleman George,--God help him! God help him, God help him! Here's to Gentleman George, God help him! CHAPTER XI. I boast no song in magic wonders rife; But yet, O Nature! is there nought to prize, Familiar in thy bosom scenes of life? And dwells in daylight truth's salubrious skies No form with which the soul may sympathize? Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild The parted ringlet shone in simplest guise, An inmate in the home of Albert smiled, Or blessed his noonday walk,--she was his only child. Gertrude of Wyoming.