she started, and there was a pitched battle between her and her husband, which ended in the fall of both.

Unused to fatigue, Lord John at last threw himself on his straw. But what a night did he pass! the noise, the smell, the discomfort, the fleas-oh!

By many will the last week of 1836 be long remembered, but by none with greater horror than by the Right Honourable Lord John Lavender.

Without wholesome food,-without a change of linen,-exposed to cold, privation, and every possible annoyance, he became seriously unwell; and when, at the end of a week, the indefatigable Mr. Worthington opened a communication between Dover and Canterbury by means of a sledge, the poor prisoner was unable to avail himself of it. Some comforts and necessary restoratives were, however, conveyed to him; and at the end of another week, after the road had been traversed by many, four horses were again put to his carriage, and, entering it like the shadow of his former self, he once more started on his way to Dover. We have said that there is a great advantage in having begun to "make up" early in life. Not so, however, when the process has been suddenly and unavoidably interrupted. But Lord John was sure to find all he wanted as soon as he arrived at the Ship Hotel; a few hours' renovation would prepare him for his interview with the fair Sophy. He threw himself back in the carriage, and indulged in the most gratifying anticipations.

He was roused from his reverie by the rapid approach of a chariot and four greys; and, leaning forward, he caught a glimpse of Sophy, -the lovely, amiable Sophy,-who, having heard of his dilemma, had, doubtless, set out to seek him!

"Stop! stop!" cried Lord John. "Here, Faddle, get down; call to those drivers. Hollo there!-open the door-let down the stepgive me your arm-that will do: I'm delighted to see you, Sophy; I recognised you in a minute: I was on my way to Dover to pay my respects."

Sophy blushed, and smiled, and did not seem to know what to say: at last she articulated,

"Papa and mamma will be happy to see you, my lord: allow me to introduce to your lordship my husband, Captain Mills;" and a gentleman leaned forward and bowed, who had before been invisible.

"Your lordship will be in time for the wedding-dinner; you will have the kindness to say you have seen us."

Saying thus, Captain Mills and his lady again bowed and smiled; and, leaving his lordship in amazement, the wedding equipage dashed

on.

Lord John Lavender proceeded to Dover, and, looking into some Sunday chronicle of fashionable scandal, he saw that his friend of May-fair had just entered into another arrangement. His case was desperate; and, accompanied only by his valet, he proceeded on what lords and gentlemen so circumstanced, call, a Continental trip.

They who choose to read a document on a certain church-door, may ascertain, that though no Robin Hood, the Right Honourable Lord John Lavender is an outlaw.

T

FAMILY STORIES.-No. II.

LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE.

Tapton Everard, Feb. 14, 1837. FRIEND BENTLEY, I see you have got hold of some of our family secrets; but Seaforth was always a blab. No matter: as you have found your way into our circle, why, I suppose we must even make the best of it, and let you go on. The revival of " Old Sir Giles's" story has set us all rummaging among the family papers, of which there is a large chest full "apud castro de Tappington," as a literary friend of mine has it. In the course of her researches, Caroline the other day popped upon the history of a far-off cousin, some four or five generations back, a sad story,-a sort of Uriah business,—in which a principal part was played by a great-great aunt of ours. In order to secure her own child's succession to a fair estate, she was always believed to have wantonly exposed the life of her husband's only son by a former marriage; and through the assistance of her brother, a sea-captain, to have at least thrust him unnecessarily into danger, even if their machinations went no farther. The lad was killed; and report said that an old boatswain confessed on his deathbed- But Miss Simpkinson will tell you the story better than I can. She has dished it up for you in her choicest Pindarics; and though the maiden is meek, her muse is masculine.

Yours, as it may be,

THOMAS INGOLDSBY.

THE LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE.
THE captain is walking his quarter-deck,
With a troubled brow and a bended neck;
One eye is down through the hatchway cast,
The other turns up to the truck on the mast;
Yet none of the crew may venture to hint
"Our skipper hath gotten a sinister squint!"

The captain again the letter hath read

Which the bum-boat woman brought out to Spithead―
Still, since the good ship sailed away,

He reads that letter three times a-day;
Yet the writing is broad and fair to see

As a skipper may read in his degree,

And the seal is as black, and as broad, and as flat,

As his own cockade in his own cock'd hat:

He reads, and he says, as he walks to and fro,
"Curse the old woman-she bothers me so !"

He pauses now, for the topmen hail—
"On the larboard quarter a sail! a sail!"
That grim old captain he turns him quick,

And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced Dick.

"The breeze is blowing-huzza! huzza!
The breeze is blowing-away! away!

The breeze is blowing-a race! a race!
The breeze is blowing-we near the chase!
Blood will flow, and bullets will fly,-

Oh! where will be then young Hamilton Tighe ?"

"On the foeman's deck, where a man should be, With his sword in his hand, and his foe at his knee. Cockswain, or boatswain, or reefer may try,

But the first man on board will be Hamilton Tighe !"

Hairy-faced Dick hath a swarthy hue,

Between a gingerbread nut and a Jew,

And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thick,
Like a pump-handle stuck on the end of a stick.
Hairy-faced Dick understands his trade;
He stands by the breech of a long carronade,
The linstock glows in his bony hand,
Waiting that grim old skipper's command.

"The bullets are flying-huzza! huzza!
The bullets are flying-away! away!"
The brawny boarders mount by the chains,
And are over their buckles in blood and brains:
On the foeman's deck, where a man should be,
Young Hamilton Tighe

Waves his cutlass high,

And Capitaine Crapaud bends low at his knee.

Hairy-faced Dick, linstock in hand,

Is waiting that grim-looking skipper's command:-
A wink comes sly

From that sinister eye

Hairy-faced Dick at once lets fly,

And knocks off the head of young Hamilton Tighe!

There's a lady sits lonely in bower and hall,
Her pages and handmaidens come at her call:
"Now haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see

How he sits there and glow'rs with his head on his knee !"
The maidens smile, and, her thought to destroy,
They bring her a little pale mealy-faced boy;
And the mealy-faced boy says, "Mother dear,
Now Hamilton's dead, I've a thousand a-year!"

The lady has donn'd her mantle and hood,
She is bound for shrift at St. Mary's Rood:-
"Oh! the taper shall burn, and the bell shall toll,
And the mass shall be said for my step-son's soul,
And the tablet fair shall be hung up on high,
Orate pro animá Hamilton Tighe!"

Her coach and four

Draws up to the door,

With her groom, and her footman, and half a score more;

The lady steps into her coach alone,

And they hear her sigh and they hear her groan ;
They close the door, and they turn the pin,
But there's one rides with her who never stept in!
All the way there, and all the way back,
The harness strains, and the coach springs crack,
The horses snort, and plunge, and kick,

Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old Nick;
And the grooms and the footmen wonder and say,
"What makes the old coach so heavy to-day?"
But the mealy-faced boy peeps in, and sees
A man sitting there with his head on his knees.

'Tis ever the same, in hall or in bower,
Wherever the place, whatever the hour,
That lady mutters and talks to the air,
And her eye is fixed on an empty chair;
But the mealy-faced boy still whispers with dread,
"She talks to a man with never a head!"

There's an old yellow admiral living at Bath,
As grey as a badger, as thin as a lath;

And his very queer eyes have such very queer leers,
They seem to be trying to peep at his ears.

That old yellow admiral goes to the Rooms,

And he plays long whist, but he frets and fumes,

For all his knaves stand upside down,

And the Jack of clubs does nothing but frown;

And the kings, and the aces, and all the best trumps, Get into the hands of the other old frumps;

While close to his partner, a man he sees

Counting the tricks with his head on his knees.

In Ratcliffe Highway there's an old marine store,
And a great black doll hangs out at the door;
There are rusty locks, and dusty bags,

And musty phials, and fusty rags,

And a lusty old woman, called Thirsty Nan,
And her crusty old husband's a hairy-faced man!

That hairy-faced man is sallow and wan,
And his great thick pigtail is wither'd and gone;
And he cries, "Take away that lubberly chap
That sits there and grins with his head in his lap !"
And the neighbours say, as they see him look sick,
"What a rum old covey is Hairy-faced Dick!"

That admiral, lady, and hairy-faced man

May say what they please, and may do what they can;
But one thing seems remarkably clear,-
They may die to-morrow, or live till next year,—
But wherever they live, or whenever they die,
They'll never get quit of young Hamilton Tighe.

NIGHTS AT SEA;

Or, Sketches of Naval Life during the War.

BY THE OLD SAILOR.

THE CAPTAIN'S CABIN.

For the purple Nautilus is my boat,
In which I over the waters float;
The moon is shining upon the sea.

Who is there will come and sail with me?-L.E.L.

Of all the craft that ever swam upon salt-water give me the dashing forty-four gun-frigate, with a ship's company of dare-devils who would board his Satanic Majesty's kitchen in the midst of cookingtime, if they could only get a gallant spirit to lead them. And pray, what would a ship's company be without leaders? for, after all, it is the officers that make the men what they are; so that, when I see a well-rigg'd man-o'war, in which discipline is preserved without unnecessary punishment or toil, that's the hooker for me; and such was his Britannic Majesty's frigate, "the saacy, thrash-'em-all SPANKAWAY," for by that title was she known from Yarmouth Roads to the Land's End. Oh, she was a lovely creature! almost a thing of life! and it would be outraging the principles of beauty to give her any other than a female designation. Everybody has been in love some time or other in the course of his existence, and the object of affection was no doubt an angel in the eyes of the ardent lover: —just so was the frigate to me-an angel; for she had wings, and her movements were regulated by the breath of heaven. She was the very standard of loveliness, the most exquisite of graceful forms. At anchor she sat upon the water with all the elegance and ease of the cygnet, or like a queen reclining on her downy couch. Under weigh she resembled the pretty pintado bird skimming the billow tops, or the fleet dolphin darting from wave to wave. Then to see her climb the rolling swell, or cleave the rising foam, baptising her children with the spray, and naming them her seamen-Oh, it was a spectacle worth a life to witness!

And who was her captain? the intrepid Lord Eustace Dash; a man more ennobled by his acts than by the courtesy which conferred his title; one who loved the women, hated the French, and had a constitutional liking for the rattling reports of a long-eighteen. His first lieutenant, Mr. Seymour, knew his duty and performed it. The second lieutenant, Mr. Sinnitt, followed the example of his senior. The third lieutenant, Mr. Nugent, obeyed orders, touched the guitar, and was extremely anxious to become an author. Then there was Mr. Scalpel, the surgeon; Mr. Squeez'em, the purser; and Mr. Parallel, the master; with the two marine officers, Plumstone and Peabody. Such were the élite of the frigate; but it would be unpardonable a sort of sea-sacrilege- not to notice Mr. Savage, the boatswain; Mr. Blueblazes, the gunner; and Mr. Bracebit, the carpenter, all good men and true, who had come in at the hawseholes, and served through the various gradations till they mounted the anchor-button