Thus round the world sails faithful Jack, THE LITTLE WHITE COT; OR, ANNIE THE PRIDE OF THEM A'. (Upton.) THOUGH Scotia may boast of its maids fair and free, O, the lassie that lives in the cottage for me; O, yes, and no fairer the swains ever saw, Than Annie, the fairest, and pride of them a'. ALL IN THE MONTH OF AUGUST. OBADIAH SNAGS he was buried, and for why? He never would have suffered it, but that he chanced to die A week before the first of August; I lived with him, as usher, when he taught school night and day, And, when the pretty little boys their lessons couldn't say, ONCE REASON, THEY SAY, A LADY This cruel-hearted monster gave 'em leave to go LOVED. (Beazley.) ONCE Reason, they say, a lady loved, And tried every means to get her, But Reason-alas! he very soon proved For, whenever poor Reason would knock at the door, Intending with wisdom to court her; "Not at home," was the answer for ever in store, My mistress would turn me away, sir, said he, He's as young and as fresh as the morning; So Reason contrived, with a sober thought, To make the poor dame give him warning: But Cupid, not wishing his post to resign, Gently tapped in his turn at the door, sir; "Not at home, sir;" quoth Reason," the lady is mine;" So Cupid was heard of no more, sir; Quoth Reason, delighted, "the lady is won, "My empire, I see, is beginning." But, alas! he soon found that, when Cupid was and play, All in the month of August. Except a dozen duck-legged ladies, every body This happened on the first of August; Being pretty, it was very like both Jane and me, 'twas said, All in the month of August; And the dozen duck-legged ladies, mighty glad to find a flaw, Because poor Jenny disappeared, they laid it down as law That she and I, no matter how, had made a fox's paw, All in the month of August. The Squire would not listen to a word I had to Ye little birds, that sit and sing, Go, pretty birds, about her bower, Ye pretty wantons, warble. Go tell her, through your chirping bills, Which from the world is hidden. Go, tune your voices' harmony, And sing I am her lover; Strain loud and sweet, that every note With sweet content may move her; And she that has the sweetest voice, Tell her I will not change my choice; Yet still, methinks, I see her frown, Ye pretty wantons, warble. Oh fly, make haste, see, see, she falls Into a pretty slumber; Sing round about her rosy bed, That, waking, she may wonder. Say to her 'tis her lover true, That sendeth love by you and you, And when you hear her kind reply, Return with pleasant warblings. LOVELY WOMAN! CHARMING WOMAN. (H. B. Code.) WHEN to lovely woman's power Charming woman! E'er can hope its joys to know, Who, no other heaven desiring, Worships woman here below. Lovely woman! &c. Weep on! ah, when I'm absent mourn; But, on the wings of Rapture borne, Hoard all thy smiles for my return. Farewell, my love. But think not, sweet, though doomed to go, THE QUEER LITTLE MAN. A QUEER little man, very "how came you so," It was past twelve o'clock-he'd a long way to go, His teeth chattered and lips quivered; And with fear, as well as fuddling, he staggered to and fro, This little man, who'd a long way to go. queer This queer little man then he fell on his knees, With fright you'd suppose half dead; And as on it he looked it o'ertopped the trees, And had two saucer-eyes in its head: When a very death-like voice said, in a very drear tone, "With me you must go, for your grave's nearly done :" He shook and he shivered, His teeth chattered and lips quivered: When he cried, "O, good hobgoblin, I pray you mercy show A queer little man who's a long way to go." And jumped up in a crack-for a cracker at his tail AWAKE! ON YOUR HILLS,-ON YOUR ISLANDS, AWAKE! (Sir Walter Scott.) AWAKE! on your hills-on your islands, awake! Brave sons of the mountain, the firth, and the lake! "Tis the bugle,-but not for the chase is the call; 'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons,-but not to the hall. "Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners are blazing on mountain or heath; They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire! May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire! Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore, Or die like your sires, and endure it no more. A PLAYHOUSE OF LIQUOR. A PLAYHOUSE of liquor, 'tis found, Reminds us-I've instances twenty; Some plays much in spirits abound; And then we have melo drams plenty. A manager's draught we all know, When business runs dry, is no thumper; But let all his house overflow, He cries, "D-me, to-night I've a bumper." Rum ti iddity, &c. Many actors are certainly rum, And folks, in the critical line, Say comedians are given to mum, And tragedians are given to wine. Then Juliet, 'tis plain has her bier, To the family vault ere they've brought her, Of jealousy feels through his brain; And tips him a dose of sham pain. Thus a theatre, waving dry facts, LOVE TAUGHT MY SOUL TO BROOK CONTROL. LOVE taught my soul to brook control, Her charms extort confession. And teaches man his duty. Her sparkling eyes, where doubtless lies And claim of man protection. SANDY AND ALICE. YOUNG Sandy was pressed from his Alice's side, And they hurried him off to the main. This no sooner was said, than a turbulent wave He fled to his Alice, who mourned to despair, His presence soon vanquished her visiter, Care, To the mountains they fled, far away from the main, Where no rude assailants engage: No ruffian to part the fond lovers again, THE MAGPIE. THE maid to the magpie said, "pretty mag, mag' Which made it to answer, or rather to brag, it so, To kiss you I wouldn't long lag." "Then do," cried the bird," and the truth you shall know, As sure as I'm mag, pretty mag." The maid kiss'd the magpie, and mag kiss'd the maid, Which caused her in fondness to say, "Little prater, you talk like the men, I'm afraid, "O, no," said the magpie, and flutter'd his wing, The maid press'd the talker with joy to her heart, Yet hoped that the tongue which such bliss could Would never turn hope into jest. "O, no," said the magpie, "I speak, and speak truth, Though some may be given to brag; And see! to confirm it, here comes the dear youth, I'm prodigiously better;-you are a good soul, Wash it down with some negus.-Well, give me the bowl. And now the gay dance to the supper gives place, The guests take their seats, and the parson says grace. SPOKEN.] I move that every gentleman sits next his partner.-Come, Miss Clack, what shall I help you to ?-Shall I add a little to your abundance?-Now, you think I have a great deal of tongue. Oh, no, my love, I meant brains.-Miss Jazey, the Doctor drinks your health.-Lord! how could you do so, pulling me by the sleeve, I have thrown the mustard into the gooseberry tart. Thank you, Doctor.-Pray, sir, is there any pub SPOKEN.] Let me look at the pretty creature. Oh, bless his innocent heart: mammy's eyes and daddy's nose to a T.-I never saw such a little sensible creature in my life.-Why, yes, I think he'lllic news?-I tell you it's all a parcel of nonsense make a very good match for my Georgina Carolina Helena Virgina Gridelina Cosmopolita Maria Mopsey-Lad, madam, why what a vast quantity of children you must ha' got.-Goth Vandal and Hottentot.-What's that more of 'em?-No, no, neighbour, that's my wife's only daughter. What! with all that string? why, if I was a girl, and people were to go through such a catalogue with me, I wish I may die, if I shouldn't think they were calling me names. Liddle, liddle. liddle, liddle! Oh, the dear little creature! Oh, I wish I was married, and had such a sweet little child as you. So at it go the clacks, not a tittle heard that's spoke, And he's the greatest wit that can crack the loudest joke: All talking away, and nobody listening, Who's so merry and so cherry as people at a christening? Now the fiddles are tuning, and up stands the throng, Miss calls a cotillion her Ma alamong; In a jig, Madam Lump wants her limbs to reveal Till silence, there! silence, they twenty times And a country-dance quickly reconciles all. SPOKEN.] Stay, stay, stay; before the dance begins, I move that all the gentlemen salute the ladies.-Lad! now, what a parcel of nonsense! how can you be so stupid? I beg you wo'n't come near me.-Well, then, better give a fool a kiss than be troubled with him.-My dear Miss, shall I have the inexpressible and indescribable pleasure, honour, felicity, delight, and satisfaction?-No, sir; I desire you'll go about your business; I didn't know I came here to be affronted.-Lad! Miss, how can you be so frumpish? the Captain only asked for a civil salute: I assure you I shall not make such a fuss about it.-Places! places! Figure in hands across right and left, and now hey, So they skip, and they jump, and they foot it away! and stuff: eighteen thousand men killed! for my own part, I have too much charity to believe it.— Well, these are excellent puffs.-Oh, sir, the newspapers are full of them.-Upon my word, ma'am, you make capital punch.-I propose a toast. Here's the young Christian's health, and may he give us as good punch as this at the christening of his first boy, and as handsome a fee. That of course.- And now, Doctor Drencher's health and song.-I'll give you, gentlemen, Death and the Lady. And thus the song, and the glass, and the jest go round, Till in-Old Care, begone-Hearts of Oak-Derry down And if Love's a Sweet Passion, their cares they all drown; Singing, bellowing, and laughing, and nobody listening, Who so merry and so cherry as people at a christening? BUT SHOULD SHE FALL, FAREWELL AT A BRAVURA. (C. E. Walker.) THE bolt has burst! the cloud that hung Hath now, in fiery storm, descended! To shield Amanda through the doubtful strife; But, should she fall,-farewell at once to life! Nor to fiddles, nor themselves, nor anything lis- O, LET ME HUSH THY TENDER FEARS. tening, Who so merry and so cherry as people at a chris tening? Now the fans and the handkerchiefs soon go to pot: I'm all in a muck ;—I'm prodigiously hot ;— (Lady Morgan.) O, LET me hush thy tender fears That prophecy our love's decay, |