I could give many more instances of scrapes, besides the perpetual hobble which my wooden leg brought me into, but I will mention only one. At the persuasion of my friends, a few years ago, I stood for Rye, but the electors, perhaps, thought I only half stood for it, for they gave me nothing but split votes. It was perhaps as well that I did not go into the House, for with two such odd legs I could never properly have “paired off.” The election expenses, however, pressed, heavily on my pocket, and to defray them, and all for one Wooden Leg, I had to cut down some thousand loads of timber. [Illustration: “TIMBER TOO FOR HIS KNEES.”] THE GHOST. A VERY SERIOUS BALLAD. “I’ll be your second.”--LISTON. In Middle Row, some years ago, There lived one Mr. Brown; And many folks considered him The stoutest man in Town. But Brown and stout will both wear out, One Friday he died hard, And left a widow’d wife to mourn At twenty pence a yard. Now widow B. in two short months Thought mourning quite a tax; And wished, like Mr. Wilberforce, To _manumit_ her blacks. With Mr. Street she soon was sweet; The thing thus came about, She asked him in at home, and then At church he asked her out! Assurance such as this the man In ashes could not stand; So like a Phœnix he rose up Against the Hand in Hand. One dreary night the angry sprite Appeared before her view; It came a little after one, But she was after two! “Oh Mrs. B., oh Mrs. B.! Are these your sorrow’s deeds, Already getting up a flame, To burn your widow’s weeds? “It’s not so long since I have left For aye the mortal scene; My memory--like Roger’s, Should still be bound in green! “Yet if my face you still retrace I almost have a doubt-- I’m like an old For-get-me-Not, With all the leaves torn out! “To think that on that finger-joint, Another pledge should cling; O Bess! upon my very soul, It struck like ‘Knock and Ring.’ “A ton of marble on my breast Can’t hinder my return; Your conduct, Ma’am, has set my blood A-boiling in my urn! “Remember on! remember how The marriage rite did run-- If ever we one flesh should be, ’Tis now--when I have none! “And you, Sir--once a bosom friend-- Of perjured faith convict, As ghostly too can give no blow, Consider you are kick’d. “A hollow voice is all I have, But this I tell you plain, Marry come up!--you marry, Ma’am, And I’ll come up again.” More he had said, but chanticleer The spritely shade did shock With sudden crow, and off he went, Like fowling-piece at cock! [Illustration: COCK OF THE WALK.] [Illustration: “THE GREAT PLAGUE OF LONDON.”] A TALE OF THE GREAT PLAGUE. “This is one of the _pest_ discretions.”--SIR HUGH EVANS.