I need scarcely relate The plans, little and great, Which came into the Chevalier Hippolyte's pate To rescue his friend from his terrible foes, Those mischievous Imps, whom the world, I suppose, From extravagant notions respecting their hue Has strangely agreed to denominate "Blue," Inasmuch as his schemes were of no more avail Than those he had, early in life, found to fail, When he strove to lay salt on some little bird's tail. In vain did he try With strong waters to ply His friend, on the ground that he never could spy Such a thing as a Ghost, with a drop in his eye; St. Foix never would drink now unless he was dry; Besides, what the vulgar call "sucking the monkey" Has much less effect on a man when he's funky. In vain did he strive to detain him at table Till his "dark hour" was over--he never was able, Save once, when at Mess, With that sort of address Which the British call "Humbug," and Frenchmen "_Finesse_," (It's "Blarney" in Irish--I don't know the Scotch,) He fell to admiring his friend's English watch.[21] He examined the face, And the back of the case, And the young Lady's portrait there, done on enamel, he "Saw by the likeness was one of the family;" Cried "_Superbe!_--_Magnifique!_" (With his tongue in his cheek)-- Then he open'd the case, just to take a peep in it, and Seized the occasion to pop back the minute-hand. With a demi-_congé_, and a shrug, and grin, he Returns the _bijou_ and--_c'est une affaire finie_-- "I've done him," thinks he, "now I'll wager a guinea!" It happen'd that day They were all very gay, 'Twas the _Grand Monarque's_ birthday--that is, 'twas St. Louis's, Which in Catholic countries, of course, they would view as his-- So when Hippolyte saw Him about to withdraw, He cried, "Come--that won't do, my fine fellow, St. Foix,-- Give us five minutes longer and drink _Vive le Roi_." François Xavier Auguste, Without any mistrust Of the trick that was play'd, drew his watch from his fob, Just glanced at the hour, then agreed to "hob-nob," Fill'd a bumper, and rose With "_Messieurs_, I propose"-- He paused--his blanch'd lips fail'd to utter the toast! 'Twas _eleven_!--he thought it half-past ten at most-- Ev'ry limb, nerve, and muscle grew stiff as a post,-- His jaw dropp'd--his eyes Swell'd to twice their own size-- And he stood as a pointer would stand--at a Ghost! --Then shriek'd, as he fell on the floor like a stone. "Ah! Sister Therèse! now--do let me alone!" * * * * *