"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 corpse 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 mattress was a horse.

"O Peter Stone, O Peter Stone,

Lord, here has been a skrimmage! 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 hadn't come so straight, But been a 'crooked billet.'

"And then there came a cuirassier

And cut me on the chest ;

He had no pity in his heart,

For he had steeled his breast.

"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!

"O 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 shillingsworth of list is nailed
Upon the door of death!

"Without a coffin I shall lie

And sleep my sleep eternal : Not ev❜n a shell - my only chance Of being made a Kernel!

"O Patty dear, our wedding bells
Will never ring at Chester!
Here I must lie in Honour's bed,
That isn't worth a tester!

"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."

SHOOTING PAINS.

"The charge is prepared." - MACHEATH.

IF I shoot any more I'll be shot,

For ill-luck seems determined to star me,

I have marched the whole day

With a gun, for no pay

Zounds, I'd better have been in the army!

What matters Sir Christopher's leave;
To his manor I'm sorry I came yet!
With confidence fraught,

My two pointers I brought,

But we are not a point towards game yet!

And that gamekeeper too, with advice!
Of my course he has been a nice chalker,
Not far, were his words,

I could go without birds:

If my legs could cry out, they 'd cry "Walker!"

Not Hawker could find out a flaw,

My appointments are modern and Mantony,
And I've brought my own man,

To mark down all he can,

But I can't find a mark for my Antony!

The partridges, where can they lie?
I have promised a leash to Miss Jervas,
As the least I could do ;

But without even two

To brace me,-I'm getting quite nervous!

To the pheasants — how well they 're preserved! My sport's not a jot more beholden,

As the birds are so shy,

For my friends I must buy,

And so send "silver pheasants and golden."