There's a moral contained in my song, And one comfort, it 's not very long, If for widows you die, Learn to kiss, not to sigh; For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone, Ohone! O, they 're all like sweet Mistress Malone. CHARLES LEVER Lament of the Erish Emigrant. I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side, On a bright May mornin' long ago, The corn was springin' fresh and green, . And the lark sang loud and high; And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary; And the corn is green again; "T is but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near, The church where we were wed, Mary; For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast. For the poor make no new friends; The few our Father sends! Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow, I bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now. I thank you for the patient smile I bless you for the pleasant word, I'm biddin' you a long farewell, They say there's bread and work for all, But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair! And often in those grand old woods And my heart will travel back again To the place where Mary lies; And I'll think I see the little stile Where we sat side by side, And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn. When first you were my bride. 6. แ Gluggity Glug. A JOLLY fat friar loved liquor good store, He mounted his horse in the night at the door, And sat with his face to the crupper. Some rogue," quoth the friar, "quite dead to remorse, Some thief, whom a halter will throttle, Some scoundrel has cut off the head of my horse, While I was engaged at the bottle, Which went gluggity, gluggity-glug—glug—glug.' The tail of the steed pointed south on the dale, 'T was the friar's road home, straight and level; But, when spurred, a horse follows his nose, not his tail, So he scampered due north like a devil. "This new mode of docking," the friar then said, "I perceive does n't make a horse trot ill; "And 't is cheap, for he never can eat off his head While I am engaged at the bottle, Which goes gluggity, gluggity-glug-glug-glug." The steed made a stop-in a pond-he had got, He was rather for drinking than grazing; Quoth the friar, "'T is strange headless horses should trot, Turning round to see whence this phenomenon rose, Quoth he, "The head 's found, for I 'm under his nose,— Which goes gluggity, gluggity-glug-glug--glug." GEORGE COLMAN. Here she Goes-and There she Goes. Two Yankee wags, one summer day, Stopped at a tavern on their way; Supped, frolicked, late retired to rest, The breakfast over, Tom and Will Sent for the landlord and the bill; But hold! what wonder meets my sight? "What wonder? where?" "The clock! the clock! Tom and the landlord in amaze Stared at the clock with stupid gaze, And for a moment neither spoke; At last the landlord silence broke: "You mean the clock that 's ticking there? Though may be, if the truth were told, "Tom, do n't you recollect," said Will, "The clock in Jersey near the mill, The very image of this present, With which I won the wager pleasant?" Will ended with a knowing wink— Tom scratched his head, and tried to think. "Sir, begging pardon for inquiring," The landlord said, with grin admiring, “What wager was it?” "You remember, It happened, Tom, in last December. In sport I bet a Jersey Blue That it was more than he could do, To make his finger go and come |