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A little stir among the clouds,

Before they rent asunder, —
A little rocking of the trees,
And then came on the thunder,

Blow, blow, &c. Lord ! how the ponds and rivers boiled,

And how the shingles rattled !
And oaks were scattered on the ground

As it the Titans battled ;
And all above was in a howl,

And all below a clatter,-
The earth was like a frying-pan,
Or some such hissing matter.

Blow, blow, &c. It chanced to be our washing day,

And all our things were drying ;
The storm came roaring through the lines,

And set them all a flying;
I saw the shirts and petticoats

Go riding off like witches ;
I lost—ab! bitterly I wept-
I lost my Sunday breeches.

Blow, blow, &c. I saw them straddling through the air,

Alas! too late to win them ;
I saw them chase the clouds as if

The devil had been in tliem;
They were my darlings and my pride,

My boyhood's only riches,
"Farewell, farewell," I faintly cried,
“My breeches ! O my breeches !"

Blow, blow, &c. That night I saw them in my dreams,

How changed from what I knew them! The dews had steeped their faded threads,

The winds had whistled through them;

I saw the widi and ghastly rents

Where demon-laws had torn them ;
A hole was in their amplest part,
As if an imp had worn then.

Blow, blow, &c.

I have had many happy years,

And tailors kind and clever,
But those young pantaloons have gone

For ever and for ever !
And not till fate has cut the last

Of all my earthly stitches,
This aching heart shall cease to mourn
My loved, my long-lost breeches.

Blow, Llow, &c.

OLD BEN, THE YANKEE; OR, MORE

JONATHANS.
UNCLE Ben did you never hear tell ?
In Boston town he was known full well ;
The only failing poor Ben had
Was that his memory was bad.
For sich a tarnation chap was Old Ben, the

Yankee,
Sich an absent man you never did see.

Once with him I walking did go,
When he felt an itching in his great toe;
He stoop'd with sich a serious phiz,
And scratch'd my toe instead of his.

For sich a tarnation, &c.

After washing once, it was the case,
He with the paper wiped bis face ;
He then sat down, the towel perused,
And vow'd he had been much aniused.

For sich a tarnation, &c.

Going to slumber, it was said,
He put the candle into bed ;
“All right,” says he, “the light I'll dout,"
He gave a puff, and blew himself out.

For sich a tarnation, &c.
In his optics being but queer,
He put his specs once on his ear ;
Then walk'd sideways, four niles did go
Before he did the difference know.

For sich a tarnation, &c. Intending once to ride his horse He put the saddle his own back across ; Nor saw he his mistake, alack ! Till he tried in vain to get on his own back.

For sich a tarnation, &c. Intending once to get into bed, He put his trousers there instead, He tuck'd 'em up, and then this elf Across the chair-back threw himself.

For sich a tarnation, &c.

Once bread-and-butter going to cut,
The butter o'er his own face he put;
Nor once his error did he trace,
Till he'd cut a slice off his own face.

For sich a tarnation, &c.

ENCORE VERSES.

Being once into the cellar sent,
Instead, down his own throat he went;
Nor did be see he wasn't right
Till the wind on his stomach blew out the light.

For sich a tarnation, &c.
Cooking a goose in an absent fit,
He put himself upon the spit;

Nor once the blunder did he see't,
Till roasted and served up to eat.

For sich a tarnation, &c.
A turkey carving once, the elf,
'Tis said, forgot, and carved himself ;
Nor saw he his mistake, i'feggs,
Till he'd eaten one of his own legs.

For sich a tarnation, &c.
Once his forgetfulness was such,
Instead of an egg he boil'd his watch ;
And kept in ignorance sublime
Till he look'd at the egg to see the time.

For sich a tarnation, &c.
Once pulling off a tight, thick boot,
He by mistake pull’d off bis foot;
Nor did he see he'd lost a peg
Till he'd walk'd four miles upon one leg.

For sich a tarnation, &c.
Instead of a key, to a string this dunce
Let himself out of window once ;
Nor saw he his mistake before
He was fix'd in the lock of his own door.

For sich a tarnation, &c.
Instead of a letter, once this elf
Into the letter box dropp'd himself ;
Nor did he once perceive his hobble,
Till ask'd if he were single or double.

For sich a tarnation, &c.

HE, SHE, AND THE POSTMAN. E. L. BLANCHARD.]

[Sung by J. L. TOOLE. THERE was a maiden lov'd a youth,

In the town that I was born in—'orn in ;
She wrote to him by the ev'ning post,

To meet her in the morning. (Chorus) 'orning. The morning came, no letter did,

Cos the postman he forgot it-'got it;
Though he delivered a note to her,
That there note was not it.

(Chorus) 'ot it.
O cruel postman to forget,

That letter to deliver —'liver ;
Cried she, my true love is false to me,
Theo sploshed into the river.

(Chorus) 'iver.
Then the lovier ne did pine away,

And left off playing at skittles—’kittles ;
He got so thin, left off drinkin',
And never eat no more wittles.

(Chorus) 'ittles.
At last he got a waterbutt,

He was not so partickler'tickler;
He pushed his head right down foremost,
Till his legs was perpendickler.

(Chorus) 'ickler.
Then the postman kill'd bis-self likewise,

For fear of what night happen-'appen ;
And if you now a table tries,
You may hear his spirit rappen.

(Chorus) 'appen.

THE WONDERFUL CORK LEG. JACOB COLE.]

Tune-" The King and

the Countryman." A variation of the story of “The Cork Leg." You all no doubt have heard or read Of the great Dutchman, Mynheer Who was so exceedingly rich, 'tis said, His wealth could hardly be credited.

Ri tural, &c.

Cled;

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