And do not touch the shrimps;

When I was in my briny grave,

They sucked my blood like imps!

"Don't eat what brutes would never eat,
The brutes I used to pat,

They'll know the smell they used to smell,
Just try the dog and cat!"

The Spirit fled-they wept his fate,
And cried, Alack, alack!
At last up started brother Jim,

"Let's try if Jack was Jack!"

They called the Dog, they called the Cat,
And little Kitten too,

And down they put the Cod and sauce,
To see what brutes would do.

Old Tray licked all the oysters up,
Puss never stood at crimps,
But munched the Cod-and little Kit
Quite feasted on the shrimps!

The thing was odd, and minus Cod
And sauce, they stood like posts!
O, prudent folks, for fear of hoax,
Put no belief in Ghosts!

A WATERLOO BALLAD.

To Waterloo, with sad ado,
And many a sigh and groan,
Amongst the dead, came Patty Head,
To look for Peter Stone.

"O prithee tell, good sentinel,

If I shall find him here?
I'm come to weep upon his corse,
My Ninety-Second dear!

"Into our town a serjeant came
With ribands all so fine,
A-flaunting in his cap-alas;
His bow enlisted mine!

"They taught him how to turn his toes, And stand as stiff as starch

I thought that it was love and May,
But it was love and March!

"A

sorry March indeed to leave

The friends he might have kep'—

No March of Intellect it was,
But quite a foolish step.

"O prithee tell, good sentinel,
If hereabout he lies?

I want a corse with reddish hair,
And very sweet blue eyes."

Her sorrow on the sentinel

Appeared to deeply strike;"Walk in," he said, "among the dead, And pick out which you like."

And soon she picked out Peter Stone,
Half turned into a corse;

A cannon was his bolster, and

His mattrass was a horse.

"O Peter Stone, O Peter Stone,

Lord here has been a scrimmage!

What have they done to your poor breast That used to hold my image?"

"O Patty Head, O Patty Head, You're come to my last kissing; Before I'm set in the Gazette

As wounded, dead, and missing!

"Alas! a splinter of a shell
Right in my stomach sticks;
French mortars don't agree so well
With stomachs as French bricks.

"This very night a merry dance
At Brussels was to be ;-
Instead of opening a ball,
A ball has opened me.

"Its billet every bullet has,
And well it does fulfil it;-

I wish mine had n't come so straight,.
But been a 'crooked billet.'

"Next thing a lancer, with his lance,

Began to thrust away;

I called for quarter, but, alas!

It was not Quarter-day.

"He ran his spear right through my arm,

Just here above the joint;O Patty dear, it was no joke, Although it had a point.

"With loss of blood I fainted off, As dead as women do

But soon by charging over me,

The Coldstream brought me to.

"With kicks and cuts, and balls and blows, I throb and ache all over;

I'm quite convinced the field of Mars

Is not a field of clover!

"Q why did I a soldier turn
For any royal Guelph ?

I might have been a butcher, and
In business for myself!

"O why did I the bounty take
(And here he gasped for breath)
My shilling's worth of 'list is nailed
Upon the door of death!

"Farewell, my regimental mates,
With whom I used to dress !

My corps is changed, and I am now,
In quite another mess.

"Farewell, my Patty dear, I have
No dying consolations,

Except, when I am dead, you'll go
And see th' Illuminations.'
""

THE DUEL.

A SERIOUS BALLAD.

"Like the two Kings of Brentford smelling at one nosegay."

IN Brentford town, of old renown,

There lived a Mr. Bray,

Who fell in love with Lucy Bell,

And so did Mr. Clay.

To see her ride from Hammersmith,

By all it was allowed,

Such fair outsides are seldom seen,

Such Angels on a Cloud.

Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay,

You choose to rival me,

And court Miss Bell, but there your court
No thoroughfare shall be.

Unless you now give up your suit,
You may repent your love;

I who have shot a pigeon match,
Can shoot a turtle dove.