hich dissolv'd them in tears,
That my lord at the dead-house was then lying drown'd.
Straight left _tete-a-tete_ were the jailor and thief;
The horror-struck crowd to the dead-house quick hies;
Ev'n the lawyers, forgetful of fee and of brief,
Set off helter-skelter to view my Lord 'Size.

"And now the Sandhill with the sad tidings rings,
And the tubs of the taties are left to take care;
Fishwomen desert their crabs, lobsters, and lings,
And each to the dead-house now runs like a hare;
The glassmen, some naked, some clad, heard the news,
And off they ran, smoking like hot mutton pies;
Whilst Castle Garth tailors, like wild kangaroos,
Came tail-on-end jumping to see my Lord 'Size.

"The dead-house they reach'd, where his lordship they found,
Pale, stretch'd on a plank, like themselves out of breath,
The coroner and jury were seated around,
Most gravely enquiring the cause of his death.
No haste did they seem in, their task to complete,
Aware that from hurry mistakes often rise;
Or wishful, perhaps, of prolonging the treat
Of thus sitting in judgment upon my Lord 'Size.

"Now the Mansion House butler, thus gravely deposed:--
'My lord on the terrace seem'd studying his charge
And when (as I thought) he had got it compos'd,
He went down the stairs and examined the barge;
First the stem he surveyed, then inspected the stern,
Then handled the tiller, and looked mighty wise;
But he made a false step when about to return,
And souse in the river straight tumbled Lord 'Size.'

"'Now his narrative ended, the butler retir'd,
Whilst Betty Watt, muttering half drunk through her teeth,
Declar'd 'in her breast great consarn it inspir'd,
That my lord should sae cullishly come by his death;'
Next a keelman was called on, Bold Airchy by name,
Who the book as he kissed showed the whites of his eyes,
Then he cut an odd caper attention to claim,
And this evidence gave them respecting Lord 'Size;--

"Aw was settin' the keel, wi' Dick Slavers an' Matt,
An' the Mansion House stairs we were just alongside,
When we a' three see'd somethin', but didn't ken what,
That was splashin' and labberin', aboot i' the tide.
'It's a fluiker,' ki Dick; 'No,' ki Matt, 'its owre big,
It luik'd mair like a skyet when aw furst seed it rise;'
Kiv aw--for aw'd getten a gliff o' the