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They say that old customs are quite out of date,

That our young men all wiser get now;
But how foolish they look when we bring them to book

Under the mistletoe bough.
The Druids of old, we're in history told,

Prized nothing so highly as this,
So 'tis likely, perhaps, that those clever old chaps

Hung it up for the sake of a kiss ;
At least it's quite clear that at this time of year

'Tis a rite that we all should allow, And our mothers can't blame, for they all did the same

Under the mistletoe hough.
Will nobody come to the mistletoe bough

That hangs in the hall somewhat low,
With its berries so white and its leaves green and bright,

That the blindest must see it, I trow.
Ah! yes there is one who, when labour is done,

Will come to renew his fond vow,
So no longer I'll fear, but wait patiently near,

Under the mistletoe bough!


[Music by S. GLOVER. Music hath a magic,

For though its sounds depart,
Touch the chords of feeling,

Their home is in the heart.
Who cannot remember

Some soft and touching theme,
Which o'er life's December

Still casts a soothing beam ?
Young and old may listen,

As steal the notes along:
While ineir bright eyes glisten,

Spell-bound by a song.
Music hath a magic,

For though its sounds depart,

Touch the chords of feeling,

Their home is in the heart.
If we roam the greenwood,

And hear the lark's sweet lays,
How the heart springs upward,

And joins the song of praise !
If we in our sorrow

But hear a gentle tone,
Hope steals o'er our senses,

And half our griefs are gone.
Music hath a magic,

For though its tones depart,
Touch the chords of feeling,

Their home is in the heart.


[SCHROEDER.] When Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat, As full of champagne as an egg's full of meat; He walked in the boat, and to Charon he said, He would be rowed back, for he was not yet dead. “Trim the boat, and sit quiet,” stern Charon replied, “ You may have forgot-you were drunk when you

died !"


[Music by W. SHIELD. You all knew Tomi Moody, the whipper-in, well; The bell just done tolling was honest Tom's knell; A more able sportsman ne'er follow's a hound Through a country well known to him fifty miles round, No hound ever open'd with Tom near the wood, But lic'd challenge the tone, and could tell if 'twere


And all with attention would eagerly mark, When he cheered up the pack, “Hark! to Rookwood, hark! hark !

High! wind him! and cross him!

Now, Rattler, boy !--Hark! Six crafty earth-stoppers, in hunter's green drest, Supported poor Tom to an earth" made for rest; His horse, which he styled his Old Soul, next appear'd On whose forehead the brush of his last fox was rear'ı, Whip, cap, boots, and spurs, in a trophy were bound, And here and there follow'd an old straggling hound. Ah! no more at his voice yonder vales will they trace, Nor the welkin resound to his burst in the chase !

With “ High over !-now press him!

Tally ho !--tally ho!" Thus Tom spoke to his friends ere he gave up his breath: "Since I see you're resolved to be in at the death, One favour bestow-'tis the last I shall craveGive a rattling view-halloo thrice over my grave; And unless at that warning I lift up my head, My boys, you may fairly conclude i

am dead !” Honest Tom was obey'd, and the shout rent the sky, For every voice joined in the tally-ho cry,

" Tally-ho! hark forward !
Tally-ho! Tally-ho!"


[Music by S. GLOVER. Happy days and happy nights,

Come with ev'ry season;
While I sing of joy's delights

You shall know the reason :
Spring and summer bloom for me,

Autumn brings its pleasures.
Winter, stern and cold may be,

But it hath its treasures :

Loving eyes light up the home

Where kind words endear me,
And whene'er abroad I roam,
Loving hearts are near me.

Oh! happy days, &c.
If a cloud came o'er my heart,

Short-lived was its sadness;
Tears of sorrow soon gave way

To some newborn gladness.
Oft I think how much I owe

To those lips that taught me,
Where to seek true pleasure’s fount,

And the peace it brought me.
Happy days and happy nights,

More than I can number-
Days of well-remember'd joys,
Nights of peaceful slumber.

Oh ! happy days, &c.


[Music by STEVENSON. See you beneath yon cloud so dark, Fast gliding along, a gloomy bark ? Her sails are full, though the wind is still, And there blows not a breath her sail to fill. Oh, what does that vessel of darkness bear? The silent calm of the grave is there ; Save now and again a death knell rung, And the flap of the sails with night fog hung! There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore Of cold and pitiless Labrador, Where under the moon, upon mounts of frost, Full many a mariner's bones are tost. Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck, And the dim blue fire that lights her deck, Doth play on as pale and livid a crew As ever yet drank the churchyard dew.

To Deadman's Isle, in the eye of the blast,
To Deadman's Isle she speeds her fast,
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl’d,
And the hand that steers is not of this world.


[Music by J. DATI. Loud roar'd the dreadful thunder,

The rain a deluge showers,
The clouds were rent asunder

By lightning's vivid powers :
The night both drear and dark,
Our poor devoted bark,
Till next day there she lay,
In the Bay of Biscay, O!
Now dash'd upon the billow,

Her opening timbers creak;
Each fears a wat’ry pillow,-

None stop the dreadful leak;
To cling to slipp'ry shrouds
Each breathless seaman crowds,
As she lay till the day
In the Bay of Biscay, O!
At length the wish'd-for morrow

Broke through the hazy sky;
Absorb’d in silent sorrow,

Each heaved a bitter sigh;
The dismal wreck to view
Struck horror to the crew,
As she lay, on that day,
In the Bay of Biscay, 0.
Her yielding timbers sever,

Her pitchy seams are rent,
When Heaven, all bounteous ever,

Its boundless mercy sent;

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