All day long across the ledger Still my patient pen I drive, Thinking what a feast awaits me In my happy home at five; In my small one-storeyed Eden, Where my wife awaits my coming, And our solitary handmaid Mutton-chops with care is crumbing. When the clock proclaims my freedom, Then my hat I seize and vanish; Every trouble from my bosom, Every anxious care I banish. Swiftly brushing o'er the pavement, At a furious pace I go, Till I reach my darling dwelling In the wilds of Pimlico. "Mary, wife, where art thou, dearest?" Thus I cry, while yet afar; Ah! what scent invades my nostrils?-- 'Tis the smoke of a cigar! Instantly into the parlour Like a maniac, I haste, And I find a young Life-Guardsman, With his arm round Mary's waist. And his other hand is playing Most familiarly with hers; And I think my Brussels carpet Somewhat damaged by his spurs. "Fire and furies! what the blazes?" Thus in frenzied wrath I call; When my spouse her arms upraises, With a most astounding squall. "Was there ever such a monster, Ever such a wretched wife? Ah! how long must I endure it, How protract this hateful life? All day long, quite unprotected, Does he leave his wife at home; And she cannot see her cousins, Even when they kindly come!" Then the young Life-Guardsman, rising, Scarce vouchsafes a single word, But, with look of deadly menace, Claps his hand upon his sword; And in fear I faintly falter-- "This your cousin, then he's mine! Very glad, indeed, to see you,-- Won't you stop with us, and dine?" Won't a ferret suck a rabbit?-- As a thing of course he stops; And with most voracious swallow Walks into my mutton-chops. In the twinkling of a bed-post Is each savoury platter clear, And he shows uncommon science In his estimate of beer. Half-and-half goes down before him, Gurgling from the pewter pot; And he moves a counter motion For a glass of something hot. Neither chops nor beer I grudge him, Nor a moderate share of goes; But I know not why he's always Treading upon Mary's toes. Evermore, when, home returning, From the counting-house I come, Do I find the young Life-Guardsman Smoking pipes and drinking rum. Evermore he stays to dinner, Evermore devours my meal; For I have a wholesome horror Both of powder and of steel. Yet I know he's Mary's cousin, For my only son and heir Much resembles that young Guardsman, With the self-same curly hair; But I wish he would not always Spoil my carpet with his spurs; And I'd rather see his fingers In the fire, than touching hers. The Queen in France. AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH BALLAD. PART I. It fell upon the August month, When landsmen bide at hame, That our gude Queen went out to sail Upon the saut-sea faem. And she has ta'en the silk and gowd, The like was never seen; And she has ta'en the Prince Albert, And the bauld Lord Aberdeen.