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THE HOD OF MORTAR.

Many persons, who complain they're undone,
Find relief, they say,

In the common way,

At their kind relations in London.
And these relations, let me add,
Are much kinder than many others,
Whether rich uncles, aunts, or brothers;
They give relief to our immediate cares,
And take great interest in our bad affairs.
Pat Gimlet wanted money,

To make Pat Gimlet funny;

So casting round the room his dirty phiz,
Which was studded o'er with red carbuncles,
To see if he could find
Enough to raise the wind,

By taking something to his Uncle's.

His eyes ne'er goggled so in all his life:
Frst he fixed them on his ugly wife,
Then on his daughter;

Then he goggled them on a hod of mortar. "Hurrah!" he cried, and began to sing, "This hod of mortar, honey, 's just the thing." Away he went

Where money's lent

On every queer article that you bring.

But, as he trudged along, this curious elf
Thus did soliloquise unto himself-
"To-morrow after next it will be Sunday,
"To-morrow I will be paid,

"Then, without doubt,

"I'll get it out

"By the powers, that I shall, on Monday."

Arriving at the wished-for spot,

He clapp'd the mortar on the counter pat,
Then giving his broad mouth a twist,
And striking the counter with his fist,

Exclaim'd, in accents mild,
This rude Hibernian child,
"Four-pence, my dear, for that."
The mortar made a horrid splash,
And a large window soon went crash;
It dirtied those that were standing by,
Hit the shopman in his squinting eye,
Cut a handsome lady's pretty face,

Whom chance brought there with Brussels lace;
Hit the master on his pimpled handle,
Spoil'd a gown, and put out a candle.

They all cast up their eyes,
Like statues in surprise,

Master, shopman, customers, and all,
As if the mortar had the power,
In its promiscuous shower,

To stick them every one against the wall.

At length the master coming up to Pat,

"Tell me, my friend, what 'tis you want for that, "For this vile trash that you have brought here," Pointing to the hod of mortar.

"Why four-pence, my dear sir, and by my troth,
I only ax you double that it's worth;"
Said Pat, with a mouth somewhat mealy.
The man replied, "We cannot take it in,
"Nor put it up the spout;

"But we will give you sixpence freely,
"If you'll take it every morsel out."

THRIVING TRADESMEN.

When a couple of broom-men had chatted one day
On a number of things in a sociable way,

A new subject they started: says Jack," My friend Joe,
"I have long been most plaguily puzzled to know
"How you manage to sell your brooms cheaper than mine,
"As I steal the materials." "I like your design,"
Replied Jack; "but improvement's the soul of trade:
"All the brooms I dispose of I steal ready-made."

JACK OAKHAM AT THE PLAY. Jack Oakham was a seaman good,

As ever stood to gun;

And when on shore, was always first
To join a bit of fun.

One night near Plymouth, Dock he stroll'd;
A play-bill caught his eye,

By which "The Tempest" was announced
In letters three feet high.

Jack, though he'd never seen a play,
To join the folks was willing;
So straight he mounted up aloft
For which he paid a shilling.

The curtain rose-the play commenced,
With thunder, lightning, rain;
The vessel, with a horrid crash.
Was instant rent in twain.

That moment all the gallery props
Gave way in sullen fit,

And shower'd down the motley crew
Right headlong in the pit.

Says Jack, "If this be play, my lads,
"By Jove, I'll instant strike it;
"It may be fun, for aught I know,
"But d-n me if I like it."

Next year in London Jack arrived,
To make a few weeks stay,
And stroll'd to Drury's lofty walls-
"The Tempest," was the play.
But slily in the pit he got,
Rememb'ring former folly,
And far remov❜d from danger's shore,
Determined to be jolly.

Soon as the well-known scene began,
And lightnings rent the skies,
He twisted round with cunning leer,
Ard upwards turn'd his eyes.

"Hold hard aloft, you jolly dogs,
"I like these jovial parties;

"Mind what you're at, you shilling swabs,
"For here you come, my hearties."

THE FARMER OUTWITTED.

To a farmer in Dorset a poor woman went,
To purchase a bushel of corn;

Herself and her children, with hunger quite spent,
Look'd destitute, poor, and forlorn.

Now seventeen shillings were all that she had,
And she offer'd the whole for the wheat;
Eighteen was the price, and the farmer he said,
That a penny he never would bate.

The woman wept sore, when a soldier came by,
Who, learning the cause of her grief,

Bade her be of good cheer, and leave piping her eye,
For he would afford her relief.

Pray give me the whole of your money, he said,
And I, if the farmer be willing,

Before your poor infants shall go without bread,
Will give him a bright George's shilling.

The farmer agreed, and accepted the same;
But now, quoth the soldier, observe-
The shilling I gave you was in the king's name,
So you must his majesty serve.

Thus the farmer he trick'd to the joy of his heart,
And render'd the poor woman blest,

For, causing the clod-pole to pay down the smart. He took up a shilling, and said, "This is my part; Here, mistress, do you take the rest."

THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER
(A favourite Recitation)

At Trin. Col. Cam.-which means, in proper spelling,
Trinity College, Cambridge-there resided
One Harry Dashington, a youth excelling
In all the learning commonly provided
For those who choose that classic station
For finishing their education ;-
That is he understood computing

The odds at any race or match;
Was a dead hand at pigeon-shooting;

Could kick up rows-knock down the watch--
Play truant, and the rake at random-
Drink-tie cravats, and drive a tandem.
Remonstrance, fine, and rustication,
So far from working reformation,
Seem'd but to make his lapses greater,
Till he was warn'd that next offence
Would have this certain consequence-
Expulsion from his Alma Mater.
One need not be a necromancer
To guess, that, with so wild a wight,
The next offence occurr'd next night;
When our incurable came rolling
Home as the midnight chimes were tolling,
And rang the college bell-No answer.
The second peal was vain-the third
Made the street echo its alarum ;
When to his great delight he heard
The sordid Janitor, old Ben,
Rousing and growling in his den.

"Who's there?-I s'pose young Harum-scarum.'

"'Tis I, my worthy Ben-'tis Harry."

66 Aye, so I thought and there you'll tarry.
"Tis past the hour, the gates are closed,
"You know my orders-I shall lose
"My place if I undo the door."
"And I." young Hopeful interposed
"Shall be expell'd if you refuse,

"So prithee"-Ben began to snore.

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