BY ONE ELEVEN YEARS IN PRISON.
SONG BY ROGERO IN "THE ROVERS."

WHENE'ER with haggard eyes I view
This dungeon that I'm rotting in,
I think of those companions true
Who studied with me at the U-

niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen. 【Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds: ] Sweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue, Which once my love sat knotting in

Alas, Matilda then was true!

At least I thought so at the U

niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen.

Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew,

Her neat post-wagon trotting in! Ye bore Matilda from my view; Forlorn I languished at the U

niversity of Gottingen,
niversity of Gottingen.

This faded form! this pallid hue!
This blood my veins is clotting in!
My years are many, - they were few

When first I entered at the U

niversity of Gottingen,
niversity of Gottingen.

There first for thee my passion grew,
Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen!
Thou wast the daughter of my tu-
tor, law-professor at the U-

knife-grinder, how came you to grind
knives?

Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the squire ? or parson of the parish!
Or the attorney?

Was it the squire for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little

All in a lawsuit ?

(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine ?)

Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.

KNIFE-GRINDER.

Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir; Only, last night, a-drinking at the Chequers, This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were Torn in a scuffle.

Constables came up for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parishstocks for a vagrant.

I should be glad to drink your honor's health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But for my part, I never love to meddle
With politics, sir.

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

first,

whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance,

Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,

Spiritless outcast!

Kicks the knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.]

GEORGE CANNING.

Of all the notable things on earth,
The queerest one is pride of birth
Among our "fierce democracy"!
A bridge across a hundred years,
Without a prop to save it from sneers,
Not even a couple of rotten peers,
A thing for laughter, fleers, and jeers,
Is American aristocracy!

English and Irish, French and Spanish,
Germans, Italians, Dutch and Danish,
Crossing their veins until they vanish

In one conglomeration!

So subtle a tangle of blood, indeed,
No Heraldry Harvey will ever succeed
In finding the circulation.

Depend upon it, my snobbish friend,
Your family thread you can't ascend,
Without good reason to apprehend
You may find it waxed, at the farther end,
By some plebeian vocation!

Or, worse that that, your boasted line
May end in a loop of stronger twine,
That plagued some worthy relation!

JOHN G. SAXE.

And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar :

Which the same I would rise to explain.

Ah Sin was his name;

And I shall not deny

In regard to the same

What that name might imply;

But his smile it was pensive and childlike,

As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.

It was August the third,

And quite soft was the skies, Which it might be inferred

That Ah Sin was likewise :

Yet he played it that day upon William And me in a way I despise.

Which we had a small game,
And Ah Sin took a hand:
It was euchre. The same

He did not understand;

But he smiled, as he sat by the table,
With the smile that was childlike and bland.

Yet the cards they were stocked

In a way that I grieve,
And my feelings were shocked

At the state of Nye's sleeve,

Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers, And the same with intent to deceive.

But the hands that were played

By that heathen Chinee,

And the points that he made,

Were quite frightful to see

Till at last he put down a right bower, Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.

Then I looked up at Nye,

And he gazed upon me; And he rose with a sigh,

And said, "Can this be?

We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor," And he went for that heathen Chinee.

In the scene that ensued

I did not take a hand,

But the floor it was strewed

Like the leaves on the strand

With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding In the game "he did not understand."

In his sleeves, which were long,
He had twenty-four packs —

Which was coming it strong,

Yet I state but the facts.

And we found on his nails, which were taper — What is frequent in tapers- that's wax.

BACHELOR'S HALL, what a comical place it is! Keep me from such all the days of my life! Sure but he knows what a burning disgrace it is, Never at all to be getting a wife.

See the old bachelor, gloomy and sad enough, Fussing around while he 's making his fire; His kettle has tipt up, och, honey, he 's mad enough, If he were present, to fight with the squire !

Pots, dishes, and pans, and such other commodities,

Ashes and praty-skins, kiver the floor; His cupboard a storehouse of comical oddities, Things never thought of as neighbors before. When his meal it is over, the table's left sittin' so; Dishes, take care of yourselves if you can; Devil a drop of hot water will visit ye.

Och, let him alone for a baste of a man!

Now, like a pig in a mortar-bed wallowing,
See the old bachelor kneading his dough;
Troth, if his bread he can ate without swallowing,
How it would help his digestion, ye know!
Late in the night, when he goes to bed shivering,
Never the bit is his bed made at all;
So he creeps like a terrapin under the kivering ; —
Bad luck to the pictur of Bachelor's Hall!

ANONYMOUS.

MR. MOLONY'S ACCOUNT OF THE BALL

GIVEN TO THE NEPAULESE AMBASSADOR BY THE PENINSULAR AND ORIENTAL COMPANY.

O, WILL ye choose to hear the news?

Bedad, I cannot pass it o'er :

I'll tell you all about the ball

To the Naypaulase Ambassador. Begor! this fête all balls does bate,

At which I worn a pump, and I Must here relate the splendthor great Of th' Oriental Company.

These men of sinse dispoised expinse,

To fête these black Achilleses.
"We'll show the blacks," says they, "Almack's,
And take the rooms at Willis's."
With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls,
They hung the rooms of Willis up,

And decked the walls and stairs and halls
With roses and with lilies up.

And Jullien's band it tuck its stand

So sweetly in the middle there,
And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes,
And violins did fiddle there.

And when the Coort was tired of spoort,
I'd lave you, boys, to think there was

A nate buffet before them set,

Where lashins of good dhrink there was !

At ten before the ball-room door,
His moighty Excellency was;

He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd,
So gorgeous and immense he was.
His dusky shuit, sublime and mute,
Into the door-way followed him ;

And O the noise of the blackguard boys,
As they hurrood and hollowed him!

The noble Chair stud at the stair,

And bade the dthrums to thump; and he
Did thus evince to that Black Prince
The welcome of his Company.

O fair the girls, and rich the curls,

And bright the oys, you saw there, was;
And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi,
On Gineral Jung Bahawther was!

This Gineral great then tuck his sate, With all the other ginerals, (Bedad, his troat, his belt, his coat,

All bleezed with precious minerals ;) And as he there, with princely air,

Recloinin on his cushion was, All round about his royal chair,

The squeezin and the pushin was.

O Pat, such girls, such Jukes and Earls,
Such fashion and nobilitee!

Just think of Tim, and fancy him

Amidst the hoigh gentility!

There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Portygeese
Ministher and his lady there,

And I reckonized, with much surprise,
Our messmate, Bob O'Grady, there;

There was Baroness Brunow, that looked like Juno,
And Baroness Rehausen there,

And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar
Well, in her robes of gauze in there.
There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first
When only Mr. Pips he was),
And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool,
That after supper tipsy was.

There was Lord Fingall and his ladies all,
And Lords Killeen and Dufferin,
And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife, —
I wondther how he could stuff her in.
There was Lord Belfast, that by me past,

And seemed to ask how should I go there? And the Widow Macrae, and Lord A. Hay, And the Marchioness of Sligo there.

Yes, Jukes and Earls, and diamonds and pearls,
And pretty girls, was spoorting there ;
And some beside (the rogues !) I spied,
Behind the windies, coorting there.

O, there's one I know, bedad, would show
As beautiful as any there;

And I'd like to hear the pipers blow,
And shake a fut with Fanny there!

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

IRISH ASTRONOMY.

A VERITABLE MYTH, TOUCHING THE CONSTELLATION
OF O'RYAN, IGNORANTLY AND FALSELY SPELLED ORION.

O'RYAN was a man of might
Whin Ireland was a nation,
But poachin' was his heart's delight
And constant occupation.

He had an ould militia gun,

And sartin sure his aim was;
He gave the keepers many a run,
And would n't mind the game laws.