The clocks all stopp'd, the dogs all howl'd, the lambs

made lam-entation, Pans felt the pan-ic, china sets were set in agitation,

Old Mr. Grubb, while carving, was so shock'd by this

alarm, His fork slipp'd from a goose's leg into his neighbour's

arm; While Mrs. Grubb, just then, was taking wine with

Mr. Mace, Bobb’d her cap into the gravy and the wine into bis

face.

A nieeting of these sufferers resolv'd to make appeal, And get redress from Mr. Squibb, the owner of the

mill; So to complain of various shocks they one and all

began, and very clearly prov'd he was a very shocking man.

Squibb very coolly told 'em the case was plain enough, No business now was carried on without the aid of

“puit;" Men cared not whom they hurt by puff, so they grew

rich and provider, And so he tried what he could do by pusing off his

powder.

TIIE MODEST MISS. J. LABERN.]

[Tune-"Sich a gittin' up stairs."
Talk about molest girls, and I've seen a few,
There's uone beats the one that I'm sticking up to,
Her singular ways would make some chaps ill,
But with ail her faults, 'gad ! I loves her still.

Such a delicate duck was Clementina Crimmins,
Such a werry modest gal you never did see.

Once the Lowther Arcarle we took a stroll down,
To buy toys for our babies, 'gainst they came to town,
When she fainted away right under my nose,
'Cos she saw a Dutch doll without any clothes!

Such a delicate, &c.
Once taking a stroll with my modest dear,
At length a tater-field we came near-
She wouldn't walk through, to my great surprise,
'Cos she said the taters had all got eyes !

Such a delicate, &c. She went out shopping the other night, Bit rush'd fruin the draper's with great affright, 'Cos the innocent shopman, with looks quite winning, Happen'd to show her soine undressed linen.

Such a delicate, &c. With herself and mother I dined one day, But when she was asked to clear away, She wouldn't move the cloth--oh, genini pegs! 'Cos she said as how the table had legs!

Such a delicate, &c. She wanted to wear—'gad, you'd hardly suppose Spectacles to hide her naked nose ; Iū windy weather she wont stir a peg,. For the wind's so rude he wants to see her leg!

Such a delicate, &c. When she goes to the butcher's-you may think I jest, But she never will ask for a leg or a breast, As for buying rump s eaks, she has too much shame, And she calls a cockatoo out of his name.

Such a delicate, &c. We've been going to be married—so she affirmsThis eight or nive years, but we can't come to terms; She says she don't care how soon she weds, On condition that we sleep in separate beds.

Such a delicate, &c.

EVERY ONE TO THEIR LIKING-OLD

ENGLAND FOR ME. Thomas Hudson.]

[Tune-"The Legacy." SOME time back, I felt much inclined to turn rover,

Of pleasure to have an additional gleam ; So, without preparation, I started for Dover,

And cross'd the salt water to Calais by steam. No sooner on board, than the wind got alarmish,

So bigh and so big roll'd the waves of the sea ; I said to myself, all the while I felt qualmish,

Every one to their liking-old England for me! We got there without being shipwreck'd or stranded,

Excepting the sickness, quite sife and sound; I was carried on shore by a female, and landed,

And glad enough, sure, when I touchi'd dry ground. I strutted about lik; an Englishman, grandish,

But their parley-vous talk and I did not agree; For even the children, they talk'd quite outlandish :

Every one to their liking-old England for me! At Calais I found there is nobody tarries ;

So like other wi? more cash than sense, The very next morning I started for Paris

In a curious stage coach, the Negligence: I did not at all like this part of my tour;

The postboy's jack-boots were great wonders to see; We travell’d a matter of two miles an hour:

Every one to their liking-old England for me!
At Paris arrived, where they say every charm is,

I got from the coach, and the stieet I cross'd;
I was ax'd for my passport by two jehody armies;

I felt in my pocket, and found 'twas lost,
I felt myself quite in a queer situation,

They soon inade me know I was no longer free; I said, in the midst of my grand twitteration,

Every one to their likiny-old England for ine!

There's no niisfortune in life but has a door :

At last I found out what I was to do,
That was to write to the British ambassador

For a prseport of one I had lost in lieu.
I got it, but not till some days I d been waiting,

They told me polite, I might then Paris see; 'Twas so grand, oh, says I, hang your Frenchified

prating, Every one to their liking-old England for me! For fear I'd be lock'u 1p, and put to such rack again,

On what d'ye think then my mind was bent ? Why, I went to coach-office, and took my place back

again, And came home from France just as wise as I went. There's many young men their own judgments have

prideri, In making a tour the French fashions to see, Emptieil their pockets, saw just what I did:

Every one to their liking-od England for nie! When fok at home learn'd that France I had been

there, Wi questions they bore! m3, wi' might and main ; Says I, depend on't, enough I have seen there,

To hinder my travelling there a ain.
To spend cash at home is an Englishman's duty;

He may track foreign parts, foreign wonders to see; But for liberty, roast beef, plum-padling, and beauty,

Every one to their liking-old England for ine !

OH! LET NOT YOUR PASSION FOR

MARY THE MAID. T. H. Bayly.]

[Music by Sir R. H. BISHOP. OH! let not your passion for Mary the maid,

Cause you, my Lord Harry, to blush ; When beauty ennobles, immediately fade

Birth, pai entage, duster, and brusli,

E'en pride from her presence shall never recoil,

Her smiles all impediments soften,
And who is more likely to make the pot boil

Than she who has boil'd it so often ?

Then throw by your gun, it might worry her nerves,

As she settles her sweets on the shelf;
And why shou d you shoot on a neighbour's preserves,

When she's making preserves for yourself:
She will prove to you soon, if you raise her aloft,

She is worthy the warmest of lovers!
She will superintend all your courses, ard oft

Give new zest to the scent of your corers.

Regard not her frown, you may penetrate stone,

By the dripping of water, they say ;
Take courage, your pretty plain cook is not one

On whom diipping can be thrown away.
You shrink from nobility's daughter who loves

To freeze you with manners majestic,
And your choice of a partner for life ovly proves

That your habits are strictly domestic.

DARLING NEDDELY*

The Music arranged by W. GUERNSEY.
As Thady MacMurtogh O'Shaughnessy, oge,
T'other day was industriously mendiny a brogue,

On a neat little bill that they call Drumcusheen;
His sole, and his welt, and bis cord was so strong,
That, soon waxing warm, he lilted a song ;
He bellowed as loud as his lungs they could bawl-
Oh! bad cess to the tanners, I'll leather them all,

But I'll first sing the praises of darling Neddeen !