He had soon a scheme in his head for the book, which entirely hit Mr. Fairfax's fancy. It was to make a volume of verse celebrating each of the various departments of the great store, in metres parodying the styles of the old English ballads and various poets, ancient and modern, and was to be called, "Bon Marché Ballads." "Something like this, for example," said Henry, a few days later, pulling an envelope covered with pencil-scribble from his pocket. "This for the ladies' department,-- _"Oh, where do you buy your hats, lady? And where do you buy your hose? And where do you buy your shoes, lady? And where your underclothes?_ _"Hats, shoes, and stockings, everything A lady's heart requires, Quality good, and prices low, We are the largest buyers! "The stock we bought on Wednesday last Is fading fast away, To-morrow it may be too late-- Oh, come and buy to-day!"_ Mr. Fairfax fairly trumpeted approval. "If they're all as good as that," he said; "you must have more money. Yes, you must. Well, well,--we'll see, we'll see!" And when the "Bon Marché Ballads" actually appeared, the generous creature insisted on adding another fifty pounds to the cheque. As many were afterwards of opinion that Henry never again did such good work as these nonsense rhymes, written thus for a frolic,--and one hundred and fifty pounds,--and as copies of the "Bon Marché Ballads" are now exceedingly scarce, it may possibly be of interest to quote two or three more of its preposterous numbers. This is a lyric illustrative of cheese, for the provision department:-- "_Are you fond of cheese? Do you sometimes sigh For a really good Gorgonzola? Try, "Try our one-and-ten, Wonderfully rotten, Tasted once, it never can Be again forgotten_!" Here is "a Ballad of Baby's Toys:"-- "_Oh, give me a toy" the baby said-- The babe of three months old,-- Oh, what shall I buy my little babee, With silver and with gold?" "I would you buy a trumpet fine, And a rocking-horse for me, And a bucket and a spade, mother, To dig beside the sea." "But where shall I buy these pretty things?" The mother's heart inquires. "Oh, go to Owens!" cried the babe; "They are the largest buyers."_ The subject of our last selection is "Melton Mowbray," which bore beneath its title due apologies to Mr. Swinburne:-- _"Strange pie, that is almost a passion, O passion immoral, for pie! Unknown are the ways that they fashion, Unknown and unseen of the eye, The pie that is marbled and mottled, The pie that digests with a sigh: For all is not Bass that is bottled, And all is not pork that is pie."_