99 A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. JOHN GEORGE WATTS. As [Mr. Watts is the author of two small volumes of poetry, "Člare, the Good Seeker," and "Fun, Feeling, and Fancy." an entirely self-taught man, his productions may be characterized as remarkable; and he adds another instance to those of Gerald Massey and Edward Capern, that the present race of really working-men are as capable of advancing into the ranks of the literati as, in a past generation, were the Bloomfields and Clares. Mr. Watts has studied Thackeray's comic vein, in his Punch poetry, to some purpose, as our extract, which is worthy of the great humourist himself, will prove.] ONCE at Hygate lived a fam❜ly, But for this unknown to fame, Mr. Wilyam Bunks, Ersquier, Tomas Brown 'ad bushee viskers, And a kipple o' karves hoose eakvals W'en he got behind the karridge, Slender ousemaids' eyes would glissen But this footman node his manners, Seem'd a gen'l'man born and bred, And from kooks, and 'ouse, and nus-maids Allvays turned avay his 'ed. Mister Bunks he 'ad a doorter, She wos werry short in stature, One day Tomas Brown the footman, How his buzzum flitter fluttered, him Yes, she luv'd him, and no gammon, Squedge and look 'ad taught him that. W'en he carried in the dinner She vos oppersite the door; And another look she guv him, Jest as she had dun afore. That there look it made him tremble Vith hexitement, and he kood Skarsely 'and for them the plates round, As they served the preshus food. W'en the seventh corse vas horder'd, Missus Bunks, she did upbrade him: The next arternoon, while guv'ner The next mornin' Miss vos missen, And a letter left by she, sed, That T. Brown's most genteel manner At the noose her mother fainted, But vilst Missus vos in histrikes, 'Ardly 'ad the moon commenced 66 "Brown,” ses she, you look so funny." "Grashus 'evins! vears your viskers ?" Fatal herror! He 'ad taken 'Twas too much-she koodent bare it, MORAL. Ladies, listen to my moral :- 'Kos he's got a nobby figger, W'en the day you've fixt for runnin', Pinch his karves and pull his viskers, (By permission of the Author.) THE IMAGE-BREAKERS OF THE NETHERLANDS. 1566. JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY. [John Lothrop Motley, the author of one of the most important historical works of modern times, "The Rise of the Dutch Republic," is an American by birth, though of English extraction on both sides, his parents being able to trace their descent from the "Pilgrim Fathers." He was born in Mas., U.S.A., April 15th, 1814. Having graduated at Harvard University, he was appointed Secretary to the United States Legation at St. Petersburg. Returning to the States, he occupied himself with literary pursuits, contributing largely to the North American Review. In 1851 he visited Europe, and established himself at Dresden, with a view to writing the history of that great struggle by which the Netherlands threw off the Spanish yoke. This task he has accomplished in a manner that places him among the first of modern historians. It appeared in its complete form, in 2 vols., 1860, and has already been translated into the French (by Guizot), Dutch, and German languages.] UPON the 18th of August, 1566, the great and timehonoured ceremony of the Ommegang occurred. Accordingly, the great procession, the principal object of which was to conduct around the city a colossal image of the Virgin, issued as usual from the door of the cathedral. The image, bedizened and effulgent, was borne aloft upon the shoulders of her adorers, followed by the guilds, the military associations, the rhetoricians, the religious sodalities, all in glittering costume, bearing blazoned banners, and marching triumphantly through the streets with sound of trumpet and beat of drum. The pageant, solemn but noisy, was exactly such a show as was most fitted at that moment to irritate Protestant minds, and to lead to mischief. No violent explosion of ill-feeling, however, took place. The procession was followed by a rabble rout of scoffers, but they confined themselves to words and insulting gestures. The image was incessantly saluted, as she was borne along the streets, with sneers, imprecations, and the rudest ribaldry. "Mayken! Mayken! (little Mary) your hour is come. "Tis your last promenade. The city is tired of you." Such were the greetings which the representative of the Holy Virgin received from men grown weary of antiquated mummery. A few missiles were thrown occasionally at the procession as it passed through the city, but no damage was inflicted. When the image was at last restored to its place, and the pageant brought to a somewhat hurried |