"Do you mix much in society?"
Asked a lady (what a treat!)
"Why, no," says I, "the little that
I drinks, I takes it neat."

"Do you like bacon ?" asked a friend,
Whose table had a ham on;
"Why, not exactly, p'raps," says I,
"Though you are fond of gammo«,'

"Are you subject to low spirits ?" Asked dismal Mr. Rouse;

Tol lol, &c

Tol lol, &c.

"Yes, blue devils seized me once, and
Bore me to the station-house."
"Do you know how to force French pease?"
Still I not brought to check am,
For I very blandly answer "No,
I know the way to Peck-ham.”
"When you travelled over France,
Did you ever have a tumble ?"
"No; I've often had a French roll
For my breakfast, though 'tis humble."
"Are you a Harrow boy, or

From Eton, tell me now, man?"

"Not exactly, but I've often been Mistaken for a plough-man !"

Tol lol, &c.

My landlady once, trembling, asked me"Tell me, sir, I pray,

Do you believe that spirits e'er

66

Appear by night or day?"

Why, no, ma'am ; but I'm sure

That they disappear," said I;

"For the gin will leave my cupboard,

Tho' to lock it safe I try."

"Stingy Brown's a distant relative Of yours, so I've heard?"

Asked a friend-" Why," I replied,

The idea is most absurd;

Tol lol, &c.

For he almost starves himself,
Tho' of money he's a lot;
So I think he's just the nearest
Relation I have got."

"On the subject of the corn laws,

Can you anything me tell?"

Tol lol, &c.

"I've read Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's Progress,'

If that will do as well.

"Did you ever take a fly in Green's

Balloon, sir?" "Not a jot,

Tho' in Cheapandnasty's' eating-house
I've had a dreadful lot."

"Have you ever been presented

At St. James's to the Queen?"

Why, no, sir, thro' the court, tho',
I many times have been."

"Were you ever in the rope trade?”
"With that I've no consarn,

But when I find it useful,

I can spin a toughish yarn.”

To stop these questions for a while,
Will be the better plan, sir,

Or else, perhaps, my song
Will be too long to answer.
The only question which remains
Is, If you're all amused?
Which I leave you to answer,
For my stock I've nearly used.

I CAN'T MAKE IT OUT.

JAMES BRUTON.]

Tol lol, &c.

Tol lol, &c.

Tol lol, &c.

[Air" Poor Mary Ann."

Now,
Strange things meet my observation!

Can't make it out!

This is the worst world in creation!
Can't make it out!

AND,

Where'er I looks I've cause for sorrer!

What's one man's pleasure's t'other's horrer !
What's joy to-day is pain to-morrer!
Can't make it out!

Now,

At the "Wic," in them dramas killin'—
Can't make it out.

Why the gun's cock-sure to hit the willain!
Can't make it out.

AND,

How in them combats, when Lord de Clifford Happens to get his broadsword shiver'd,

That a fresh one there and then's dis-kiver'd ! Can't make it out.

Now

The hairy rn goes all smiles and grinning-
Can't make it out.

In plays for years with unstain'd linen !
Can't make it out.

AND,

Why, when drawing-room scenes is run on, Them gents in hats walk about like fun on! Yet walk through rain in woods with none on! Can't make it out.

Now,

Why, folks suffer them street organs-
Can't make it out.

With apes as ugly quite as gorgons!
Can't make it out.

AND

How a Scotchman, cause a blower, he
Them bagpipes plays, and think it glory!
Why they sends me up to pur-ga-tory!
Can't make it out.

Now,

Why them as dramas criticises !

Can't make it out.

Pint blank condemns wot t'others prizes!
Can't make it out.

AND,

How one journal, quick in mappings
And drawings, gives us all the trappings
Of a house on fire before it happens!
Can't make it out.

Now,

When I passes penny pie-shops—
Can't make it out.

I wittles sees good enough for bi-shops!
Can't make it out.

AND

Why in the windows they shows beholders
Real first-rate mutton-legs and shoulders,
When that in the pies is tough as boulders!
Can't make it out.

Now,

Why so many fires come off in London !
Can't make it out.

And at Quarter-day there's many a one done!
Can't make it out.

AND

How some people have the assurance

As to call it chance is past endurance;

And why rich folks has more fires than poor 'uns!
Can't make it out.

Now,

Why, when women is killed and put to tortor-
Can't make it out.

That justice the deed does call manslaughter!
Can't make it out.

AND

This to me quite without rhyme is,

Though nonsense mixed up oft with crime is;
Why murder called a capital crime is!

Now,

Can't make it out.

Why tradesmen commit adulteration-
Can't make it out.

And yet Dr. Letheby holds his station!
Can't make it out.

AND

Why we're pison'd in our wittles,
Not all at once, but little by littles!

Till we all at length drop down like skittles!
Can't make it out.

Now,

How income-tax has reach'd completeness-
Can't make it out.

So "long drawn out like linked sweetness!"
Can't make it out.

AND

Why it lived, as people wonder'd—

Yet went on, although they thunder'd,
And 'stead of three years it'll live three hundred!
Can't make it out.

ANONYMOUS.]

THE GAME OF LIFE.

[Tune-" Bow, wow, wow."

THIS life is but a game of cards, which mortals have to learn,

Each shuffles, cuts, and deals the pack, and each a trump doth turn;

Some bring a high card to the top, and others bring a low, Some hold a hand quite flush of trumps, while others none can show.

Cut, cut, cut!

Through life, as in a game of cards, we cut, cut, cut!