De Frenchman ish done, all de silber I had,
Vas two three shilling pieces, by Laban, all pad,
Vell, vell, vat a pargain you've cot, replied Mo,
Let me see de Napoleon before vat you go.

Spoken.] Vell, come along my hearts, come along mit you: so dere goes Mr. Ikey, Mr. Lipey, Mr. Aarons, Mr. Benjamins, Mr. Levi, and I don't know how many debels dere dey goes slap bang up a blind alley to look at de gold Napoleon; and dey all cries out, see, dere's a lucky debel, dere's a fellow, see what he's done: de Frenchman done him clean. Ah, ah, vat de matter-ah, vat you don't know vat de matter ish, Shadrack been and done de Frenchman, done him clean. I say Mo, vat vas you apout vat you didn't look sharp. Plow my vig, for vat you plow me up, vy didn't you look sharp yourself, you've always cot plenty of smitch apout you, vat you plow me up for? At last Mr. Moses arter he had put on his spectacles, at last he cries out-dere's a soft spoon-look at himstare him in de face-how dat fellow, vat calls himself a Jew, and swells about coming from Duke's Place, tinks dat he has done de Frenchman, tipt him de smitch, and dat-dem my vig if de Frenchman han t done him clean as a splatter for as I hope to be shaved, and as I'm an honest man, upon my heart if it's any ting in de world but a bit of copper gilt.-Vell, vell, poor Shadrack, he looked so plue as a pilbury, to tink vat de Frenchman had pit him, and all dat; so he picks himself up and his oranges and vants to bolt, but dey von't stand it, dey vill have de grin upon him; so dey sets up a dancing and prancing about him like so many debels, playing Old Nick mit him, singing

Tol de rol lol, spooney Shadrack the orangeman, Tol de rol lol, spooney Shadrack the Jew.

CAPTAIN CLACKIT.

Lectur'd by Pa and Ma o'er night;
Monday at ten, quite vex'd and jealous;
Resolv'd in future to be right,

And never listen to the fellows.
Stitch'd half a wristband, read the text;
Receiv'd a note from Mrs. Rackit-

I hate that woman; she sat next,

All church time, to sweet Captain Clackit. Tuesday, got scolded, did not care;

The toast was cold, 'twas past eleven; I dreamt the Captain, through the air, On Cupid's wings, bore me to heaven. Pout, and din'd; dress'd, look'd divine; Made an excuse, got Ma to back it; Went to the play. What joy was mine! Tald'd loud and laugh'd with Captain Clackit. Wednesday, came home, no lark so gayThe girl's quite alter'd; and my mother, Cri'd dad, I recollect the day

When, dearie, thou wert such another.
Danc'd, drew a landscape, skimm'd a play;
In the paper read that Widow Flackit
To Gretna Green had run away,

The forward minx! with Captain Clackit.
Thursday, fell sick. Poor soul, she'll die!

Five doctors came with lengthen'd faces;
Each felt my pulse: Ah, me, cried I,

Are these my promis'd love and graces?

Friday, grew worse. Cry'd Ma, in pain,
Our day was fair; heaven, do not black it,
Where's your complaint, love ?—In my brain,
What shall I give you ?-Captain Clackit.
Early next morn a nostrum came,

Worth all their cordials, balms, and spices; A letter; I had been to blame :

The Captain's truth brought on a crisis; Sunday, for fear of more delays,

Of a few clothes I made a packet; And Monday morn stepped in a chaise, And ran away with Captain Clackit.

JUDY MAGRATH,

O Judy Magrath, I am dying for you,
You're rich to the taste as a fine Irish stew:
Your locks are as bright as a priest's Sunday wig,
You are slender and fair as a young sucking pig;
By Cupid's big dart (to complain is no use),

I am struck thro' the heart like a spit thro' a goose.
O Judy, sweet Judy Magrath!

O Judy Magrath, won't you pity my grief?
I am roasted in love like a sirloin of beef;
When basting your mutton, or making a pie,
Your graces make me like a bellows to sigh,
But vinegar looks to my sighs you oppose,
Your words are like mustard, they bite off my nose,
O Judy, &c.

O Judy Magrath, you are cruel in troth,
Of love shall I never be tasting the broth ?
My courage when up, och, you soon can put down,
The coal-scuttle isn't more black than your frown.

In vain at your feet I am dying all day,
You are deaf as a saucepan to all that I say,
O Judy, &c.

YOUTH IS NIMBLE, AGE IS LAME.

Youth is nimble, age is lame,

Youth is brisk and bold,

Age is weak and cold,
Youth is wild, age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee.

Oh! my love, my love is young-
Age, I do defy thee:

For, methinks, thou stay'st too long.

Youth is pleasant, age is cross-
Youth is full of sport;

Age's breath is short-
Youth is gay, and age morose.
Age, I do abhor thee,

Youth I do ad ore thee.

Oh my love, my love is young-
Age, I do defy thee;

Oh! sweet Colin, hie thee-
For methinks thou stayest too long.

INDUCEMENTS TO KISSING.

The clouds that rest on the mountain's breast
Are kissed by the viewless air;

And the western breeze kisses the trees,

And woos the flowerets fair.

And the weeping willows are kissed by the billows,

the sea

And the day star kisses the

Then why not dearest, loveliest, fairest,
Give a kiss to me?

And the bright moon beam kisses the stream,
The hill, and the peaceful vale;

And the shady bower, at even's hour,

Is woo'd by the nightingale.

And the lily and rose, and each flower that blows,
Are kissed by the forest bee-

Then why not dearest, loveliest, fairest,
Give a kiss to me?

A BUDGET OF BLUNDERS.

As blunders in Ireland most rarely are found, Some few tales I'll chant which in blunders

abound.

As the stories are told, you'll o'erlook the odd

taste

Of blundering thus o'er my opening grace.
Derry down, down, derry down.

An Irish captain, at an hotel arrived,
Beheld banging up, of a hog the left side,
And rubbing his hands-Good living, I vow,
Why landlord a pig you've been killing, I trow.
Derry down, &c.

Why, sir, said the inn-keeper, twixt you and me,
The left side of one's hanging yonder you see;
Odso, said the captain, a great silly calf,

And pray, landlord, when do you kill the right half?

Derry down, &c.

A new-married couple, each other's fond joy,

At the end of six months there was born a fine

boy.