as she was trilling the last o-o-o of the last no in the above poem
of Tom D'Urfey, came up to her, and touching her lightly on the
waist, said,

"My dear, your very humble servant."

Mrs. Catherine (you know you have found her out long ago!) gave a
scream and a start, and would have turned pale if she could. As it
was, she only shook all over, and said,

"Oh, sir, how you DID frighten me!"

"Frighten you, my rosebud! why, run me through, I'd die rather than
frighten you. Gad, child, tell me now, am I so VERY frightful?"

"Oh no, your honour, I didn't mean that; only I wasn't thinking to
meet you here, or that you would ride so early at all: for, if you
please, sir, I was going to fetch a chicken for your Lordship's
breakfast, as my mistress said you would like one; and I thought,
instead of going to Farmer Brigg's, down Birmingham way, as she told
me, I'd go to Farmer Bird's, where the chickens is better, sir,--my
Lord, I mean."

"Said I'd like a chicken for breakfast, the old cat! why, I told her
I would not eat a morsel to save me--I was so dru--I mean I ate such
a good supper last night--and I bade her to send me a pot of small
beer, and to tell you to bring it; and the wretch said you were gone
out with your sweetheart--"

"What! John Hayes, the creature? Oh, what a naughty story-telling