Dol-drum the Manager, full of care, Walk'd on to the stage with an anxious air, And peep'd through the curtain to see who were there. There was MacFuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, And there was Sir Carnaby Jenks of the Blues, And the Tags, and the Rags, and the No-one-knows-whos; And the green-baize rose at the Prompter's call, And they all began to hoot, bellow, and bawl, And cry "Cock-a-doodle," and scream, and squall "Dol-drum!--Dol-drum! Bid the Manager come!" You'd have thought from the tones Of their hisses and groans, They were bent upon breaking his (Opera) bones. And Dol-drum comes, and he says--says he, "Pray what may you please to want with me?"-- "Fiddle-de-dee!-- Fiddle-de-dee!-- We'll have nobody give us _sol fa_ but He! For he's the _Artiste_ whom we all want to see." --Manager Dol-drum says--says he-- (And he looks like an Owl in "a hollow beech-tree,") "Well, since I see The thing must be, I'll sign an agreement with Fiddle-de-dee!" Then MacFuze, and Tregooze, And Jenks of the Blues, And the Tags, and the Rags, and the No-one-knows-whos, Extremely delighted to hear such good news, Desist from their shrill "Cock-a-doodle-doos." "_Vive_ Fiddle-de-dee! Dol-drum, and He! They are jolly good fellows as ever need be! And so's Burlybumbo, who sings double D! And whenever they sing, why, we'll all come and see!" So, after all This terrible squall, Fiddle-de-dee 's at the top of the tree, And Dol-drum and Fal-de-ral-tit sing small! Now Fiddle-de-dee sings loud and clear At I can't tell you how many thousands a year, And Fal-de-ral-tit is considered "Small Beer;" And Ma'am'selle Cherrytoes Sports her merry toes. Dancing away to the fiddles and flutes, In what the folks call a "Lithuanian" in boots. So here's an end to my one, two, and three; And bless the Queen--and long live She! And grant that there never again may be Such a halliballoo as we've happened to see About nothing on earth but "Fiddle-de-dee!" * * * * * We come now to the rummaging of Father John's stores. The extracts which I shall submit from them are of the same character as those formerly derived from the same source, and may be considered as theologico-historical, or Tracts for his times. With respect to the first legend on this list, I have to remark that, though the good Father is silent on the subject, there is every reason to believe that the "little curly-wigged" gentleman, who plays, though passively, so prominent a part in it, had Ingoldsby blood in his veins. This conjecture is supported by the fact of the arms of Scroope, impaling Ingoldsby, being found, as in the Bray case, in one of the windows, and by a very old marriage-settlement, nearly, or quite, illegible, a fac-simile of the seal affixed to which is appended to this true history. THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT; OR,