"Take that feller away," says she; "he has insulted a French nobleman, and deserves transportation, at the least." Poor Orlando was carried off.

"I've no patience with the little minx," says Jemmy, giving Jemimarann a pinch.

"She might be a Baron's lady; and she screams out because his Excellency did but squeeze her hand." "Oh, mamma! mamma!" sobs poor Jemimarann, "but he was t-t-tipsy." "T-t-tipsy! and the more shame for you, you hussy, to be offended with a nobleman who does not know what he is doing." A TOURNAMENT.
"I say, Tug," said MacTurk, one day soon after our flareup at Beulah, "Kilblazes comes of age in October, and then we'll cut you out, as I told you: the old barberess will die of spite when she hears what we are going to do.

What do you think?
we're going to have a tournament!" "What's a tournament ?" says Tug, and so said his mamma when she heard the news; and when she knew what a tournament was, I think, really, she WAS as angry as MacTurk said she would be, and gave us no peace for days together.

"What!" says she, "dress up in armor, like play-actors, and run at each other with spears?
The Kilblazes must be mad!" And so I thought, but I didn't think the Tuggeridges would be mad too, as they were: for, when Jemmy heard that the Kilblazes' festival was to be, as yet, a profound secret, what does she do, but send down to the Morning Post a flaming account of "THE PASSAGE OF ARMS AT TUGGERIDGEVIILLE! "The days of chivalry are NOT past.