They sat with the curtains drawn down tight,
On purpose to keep out the light;

And the father, the mother, the sister, nor the brother,

Never spoke a word to one another.

At last this doleful, dismal lot,

All so melancholy got,

That an end to themselves they did agree

To put when they'd settled which end it was to be.
First, the father into the garden did walk,
And beheaded himself with a toasting-fork;
And the mother an end to herself did put
By strangling herself with the water-butt;
Then the sister went down on her bended knees,
And drowned herself in toasted cheese;

Whilst the brother, a most determined young feller, Went and poisoned himself with his gingham umberella.

Then the baby in the little cradle

Shot itself dead with its silver ladle;

And the servant-girl, seeing what it went and did,
Smothered herself with the saucepan lid;

The miserable cat by the kitchen fire
Swallowed the poker, and did expire;

And a fly on the ceiling-this case was the wust 'unWent and blew itself up with spontaneous combustion.

Then in there walked the auctioneer,

Who did with the furniture disappear;

And the broker's man-mind, this arn't no fableHe made hisself away with the three-legged table. When the house saw this its sides it splits,

The windows went cracked, and broke themselves to bits;

And the roof got a tile off, and so dreadful was this slaughter rate,

That nuffin was left at last but an unpaid water-rate.

Now, here's a moral, if you choose:
Don't go and give way to the blues,
Or you might come to those dreadful ends
Of these my melancholy friends.

You'll find to laugh whene'er you can

Is a very sensible sort of plan;

And if from my song a laugh you caught of it,
That is about the long and the short of it.

THE WILLA OUT OF TOWN.

JAMES BRUTON.]

[Air-"Wait for the Waggon."

A CLERK I was, and paid my way-no false score had to run it,

A credit I unto the firm of Took and Gorn and

Dunnet ;

Three hundred pounds a year had I, and I was free from strife,

And might have been so until now, but I must take a wife.

For she made me take a willa, a pretty little

willa;

It only made me iller, this willa out of town.

"Yes, take a house; 'tis nice and cheap," said she, at Notting-hill;

"In London 'tis so noisy, but there it is so still." We went, but now I marvel how such place could notice win it

It was that sort of hamlet that has got no spirit in it. She made me take a willa, &c.

I kept a lot of bull-dogs that howled in our front yard; A splendid show I had, but then it made my dog-tax

hard;

It would have done a pie-man good, that lot if he'd been marking,

In short, you might have aptly called the place we lived in Barking.

Our street-door had a patent lock, which none but self could use,

One winter's night I locked the door, went out, the key did lose;

When I came home, until 'twas morn, I shivering crawled about,

For deuce a bit could I get in or the family get out.

Our shutters, windows, gates, and doors, I barricaded all,

Ours was a sort of cutler's shop, or Woolwich arsenal; A chamber each of horrors ours, prepared for all attacks, We really meant to wonders show that we could do in-whacks.

One night we fired a cannon off-we maim'd our neighbour Rook,

Though he was turn'd of eighty, one ear from him we took.

Besides, we took off half his nose-a "roman "-round -sublime !

He knew the shot wasn't meant for him, but he felt wild at the time !

One night as I went out to roam, two ruffians me perplext:

The first he was a seizer, a gripper was the next; They held me in a fond embrace, I thought I should expire,

They nearly brought me to my "bier," which was Huggins's Entire."

To make a ""

Self-protecting Corps," the neighbours

made a lot,

To guard our wives and families with pistols, guns, and shot;

We got sworn in as officers, to easy make our slumbers: A "Constable's Miscellany," and coming out in numbers.

One night to see us came a friend; he made it rather late,

The family had gone to bed-he got o'er at the gate; In groping up the garden a man-trap he got drawn in. Poor devil! he was fixed all night-we found him in the morning.

At length, I left that "nice cheap place," of every stiver eas'd,

What goods wer'n't stole, for rent were seized, and I at flight was pleased.

These footpads, oh, if I'd my will-ah, I'd just pay them their score

What's transportation? but for life! Rot me,

them more.

BARLOW IN THE RIFLES.

EDWARD DRAPER.]

I'd give

[Tune-" Billy Barlow."

You may see by my dress, if you know what it

means,

As I've been and enlisted myself in the "Queen's." When we march through the streets the boys sing out "Hullo !

Here's the riflers a-coming! Look out for Barlow!" Heigho! they all of 'em know

How the uniform brings out the charms of Barlow! There was woting for gaiters a little while back; Some woted for yellow, some woted for black; But to bring out your pins, if you've got 'em to show, A hayband's the gaiter for Billy Barlow. Heigho! they'd soon be the go,

If brought into fashion by Dandy Barlow.

That day in the Park ('twas the grandest I've seen), When the rifle battalions was viewed by the Queen; Says she to the Duke, who stood at her elbow, "Most soldier-like person, that Mister Barlow." "Heigho! decidedly so!"

Said the Duke, as he slyly took sight at Barlow.

I hear there's a talk of allowing a pound
To every rifleman, all the year round;

A pound! Why the coin in their faces I'd throw !
Thruppence-ha'penny supplies every want of Barlow.
Heigho! my own mug, you know,

A pot of mild porter for Mister Barlow!

In front of the foe, when the firing is hot,
You may stand a very fair chance to be shot;
But take my advice, of deep study the fruit,
Don't stand in his front; get behind him and shoot!
Just out-duo-de-ci-mo:

The Whole Art of Warfare, by William Barlow!

I shot in the match, and I should ha' won too,
But somehow the bullets they all went askew ;

Some were right, some were left, some were high, some were low,

When I cried, "There's a bull's-eye!" the marker said, "No!"

Heigho! I thought it was slow,

And didn't I catch it from Mrs. Barlow!

Should the French come across, they'll behold with surprise

My warlike appearance and terrible size;

They'll cry, "Mais, messieurs, qu'il est grand !— qu'il

est beau !"

But "Mosshoos! heel fo hook it!" cries sternly Barlow.

Heigho! that'll stagger 'em so,

They'll go head over heels, right in front of Barlow.

Should I fall in the field (not a probable case)
My body, of course, in the Abbey they'd place,
With a sculpture in marble of me-standing so,
And Glory a-crowning the brows of Barlow!
Heigho! there'd be a show!

Why, thousands 'ud flock to the tomb of Barlow!