Little John will not take to his book,

He's come home black and blue from the cane; There's your uncle is courting his cook,

And your mother has married again! Jacob Jones will be tried with his wife,

And against them you'll have to appear; If they're hung you'll be wretched for life— But I wish you a happy New Year!

A BULL.

ONE day-no matter where or when,
Except 'twas after some Hibernian revel,
For why? an Irishman is ready then
"To play the Devil”—

A Pat, whose surname has escaped the Bards,
Agreed to play with Nick a game at cards.

The stake, the same that the old Source of Sin
From German Faustus, and his German cousins
Had won by dozens;

The only one, in fact, he cares a pin

To win.

By luck or roguery of course old Nick

Won every trick :

The score was full, the last turn-up had done it—

"Your soul-I've won it !"

"It's true for you, I've lost that same,"

Said Pat, a little hazy in his wits—

"My soul is yours-but come-another game

Double, or quits!"

A CHARITY SERMON.

"I would have walked many a mile to have communed with you; and, believe me, I will shortly pay thee another visit; but my friends, I fancy, wonder at my stay; s0 let me have the money immediately. Trulliber then put on a stern look, and cried out, Thou dost not intend to rob me?" "

"I would have thee know, friend," addressing himself to Adams, “I shall not lear¬ my duty from such as thee. I know what charity is, better than to give to vagabonds." JOSEPH ANDREWS.

I'm an extremely charitable man-no collar and long hair, though a little carrotty ;

Demure, half-inclined to the unknown tongues, but I never gained anything by charity.

I got a little boy into the Foundling, but his unfortunate mother was traced and baited,

And the overseers found her out-and she found me outand the child was affiliated.

Oh, Charity will home come to roost

Like curses and chickens is Charity.

I once, near Whitehall's very old wall, when ballads danced over the whole of it,

Put a bad five-shilling-piece into a beggar's hat, but the old hat had got a hole in it;

And a little boy caught it in his little hat, and an officer's eye seemed to care for it,

As my bad crown piece went through his bad crown piece, and they took me up to Queen's Square for it.

Oh, Charity, etc.

I let my very old (condemned) old house to a man at a rent that was shockingly low,

So I found a roof for his ten motherless babes—all defunct

and fatherless now;

For the plaguy one-sided party wall fell in, so did the roof, on son and daughter,

And twelve jurymen sat on eleven bodies, and brought in a very personal verdict of manslaughter.

Oh, Charity, etc.

I picked up a young well-dressed gentleman, who had fallen in a fit in St. Martin's Court,

And charitably offered to see him home-for charity always seemed to be my forte,

And I've had presents for seeing fallen gentlemen home, but this was a very unlucky job

Do you know, he got my watch, my purse, my handkerchief for it was one of the swell mob.

Oh, Charity, etc.

Being four miles from town, I stopped a horse that had run away with a man, when it seemed that they must be dashed to pieces,

Though several kind people were following him with all

their might—but such following a horse his speed increases;

I held the horse while he went to recruit his strength; and I meant to ride home, of course;

But the crowd came up and took me up-for it turned out the man had run away with the horse.

Oh, Charity, etc.

I watched last month all the drovers and drivers about the suburbs, for it's a positive fact,

That I think the utmost penalty ought always to be enforced against everybody under Mr. Martin's act;

But I couldn't catch one hit over the horns, or over the shins, or on the ears, or over the head;

And I caught a rheumatism from early wet hours, and got five weeks of ten swelled fingers in bed.

Oh, Charity, etc.

Well, I've utterly done with Charity, though I used so to preach about its finest fount;

Charity may do for some that are more lucky, but I can't turn it to any account

It goes so the very reverse way—even if one chirrups it up with a dust of piety;

That henceforth, let it be understood, I take my name entirely out of the list of subscribers to the Humane Society.

Oh, Charity, etc.

SONNET.

"Sweet to the sweet-farewell."—Hamlet.

TIME was I liked a cheesecake well enough;
All human children have a sweetish tooth;
I used to revel in a pie, or puff,

Or tart-we all are tarters in our youth;
To meet with jam or jelly was good luck,
All candies most complacently I crumped,
A stick of liquorice was good to suck,
And sugar was as often liked as lumped;
On treacle's "linked sweetness long drawn out,
Or honey, I could feast like any fly;

I thrilled when lollipops were hawked about,
How pleased to compass hardbake or bull's-eye,
How charmed if Fortune in my power cast
Elecampane-but that campaign is past!

THE CIGAR.

"Here comes Mr. Puff."-The Critic.

"I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled."—MOORE

SOME sigh for this and that,
My wishes don't go far,
The world may wag at will,
So I have my cigar.

Some fret themselves to death

With Whig and Tory jar;

I don't care which is in,
So I have my cigar.

Sir John requests my vote,
And so does Mr. Marr;
I don't care how it goes,
So I have my cigar.

Some want a German row,
Some wish a Russian war
I care not-I'm at peace,
So I have my cigar.

I never see the Post,

I seldom read the Star;

The Globe I scarcely heed,
So I have my cigar.

They tell me that Bank Stock
Is sunk much under par;

It's all the same to me,

So I have my cigar.