It has divided me from you, And even me from me! "Don't fear my ghost will walk o' nights My ghost can't walk, for, O, my legs "Lord! think when I am swimming round, And looking where the boat is, A shark just snaps away a half, Without a quarter's notice.' "One half is here, the other half O Sally, I have got the whole "But now, adieu-a long adieu ! I've solved death's awful riddle, And would say more, but I am doomed To break off in the middle!" THE GHOST. THOMAS HOOD. IS thirty years since Abel Law, A short, round-favored, merry Old soldier of the Revolutionary Was wedded to A most abominable shrew. The temper, sir, of Shakespeare's Catharine Could no more be compared with hers, Than mine With Lucifer's. Her eyes were like a weasel's; she had a harsh Face, like a cranberry marsh, All spread With spots of white and red; Hair of the color of a wisp of straw, And a disposition like a cross-cut sav Her brother David was a tall, He knew, Would be returning from a journey through A grove of forest wood That stood Below The house some distance—half a mile or so. With a long taper Cap of white paper, Just made to cover A wig, nearly as large over As a corn-basket, and a sheet (The way in which ghosts are always dressed,) He took His station near A huge oak-tree, Whence he could overlook The road and see Whatever might appear It happened that about an hour before, friend Abe Had left the table Of an inn, where he had made a halt, To taste a flagon Of malt Liquor, and so forth, which, being done, He went on, Caring no more for twenty ghosts, Than if they were so many posts. David was nearly tired of waiting; His patience was abating; At length, he heard the careless tones Of his kinsman's voice, And then the noise Of wagon-wheels among the stones. Abel was quite elated, and was roaring With all his might, and pouring Out, in great confusion, Scraps of old songs made in "The Revolution." Scaring the whip-poor-wills among the trees "See the Yankees leave the hill, With baggernetts declining, With lopped-down hats and rusty guns, See the Yankees-Whoa! Why, what is that?" As slowly on the fearful figure strode Into the middle of the road. "My conscience, what a suit of clothes! Some crazy fellow, I suppose. Hallo! friend, what's your name? by the powers of gin, That's a strange dress to travel in.” "Be silent, Abel; for I now have come To read your doom; Then hearken, while your fate I now declare. I am a spirit-" "I suppose you are; But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why: Here is a fact which you cannot deny ; All spirits must be either good Or bad-that's understood- And be you good or evil, I am sure That I'm secure. If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil— And I don't know but you may be the devilIf that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancy, That I am married to your sister Nancy!" FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. YOUNG BEN he was a nice young man, And he fell in love with Sally Brown, But as they fetched a walk one day, Whilst Ben he was brought to. The boatswain swore with wicked words, Enough to shock a saint, That though she did seem in a fit, 'Twas nothing but a feint. "Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head, He'll be as good as me; For when your swain is in our boat, So when they'd made their game of her, She roused, and found she only was "And is he gone, and is he gone?" She cried, and wept outright: Now, young woman," said he, "If you weep on so, you will make Eye-water in the sea." "Alas! they've taken my beau Ben Says he, "They've only taken him To the Tender ship, you see;" "The Tender ship," cried Sally Brown, "Oh! would I were a mermaid now, Now Ben had sailed to many a place, But when he called on Sally Brown. He found she'd got another Ben, Whose Christian name was John. "O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown, How could you serve me so i Then reading on his 'bacco box, And then he tried to sing "All's Well," His death, which happened in his berth, They went and told the sexton, and THOMAS HOOD. OF A CERTAIN MAN. HERE was (not certain when) a certain preacher, That never learned, and yet became a teacher, Who having read in Latin thus a text Of erat quidam homo, much perplexed, He seemed the same with study great to scan, In English thus, There was a certain man. "But now," quoth he, "good people, note you this He saith there was, he doth not say there is; For in these days of ours it is most plain. promise, oath, word, deed, no man's certain; Yet by my text you see it comes to pass That surely once a certain man there was; But, yet, I think, in all your Bible no man Can find this text, There was a certain woman.* SIR JOHN HARRINGTON. THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. A LEGEND OF GOTHAM. TERRIBLY proud was Miss MacBride, As she minced along in fashion's tide, 'That her stately bosom was fretting! O, terribly proud was Miss MacBride, That wouldn't have borne dissection; Proud abroad, and proud at home, Over the door of a tippling-shop!— And yet the pride of Miss MacBride, Had really no foundation; But, like the fabrics that gossips devire Was merely a fancy creation! Her birth, indeed, was uncommonly high- And in talking about her wealth and worth, Of all the notable things on earth, Among our "fierce democracie!" English and Irish, French and Spanish, No Heraldry Harvey will ever succeed Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, That plagued some worthy relation! According to public rumor: And he lived "up town," in a splendid square, And feathers enough to plume her. A thriving tailor begged her hand, In a way that was quite appalling; A young attorney, of winning grace, With true judicial celerity; For the lawyer was poor, and "seedy" to boot, Is merely a double verity! The last of those who came to court, Now dapper Jim his courtship plied With an eye to the purse of the old MacBride For he said to himself, in his greedy lust. in wich case it smells orful, worse than lamp ile; As zero, and like as not green wood for kindling wat I give aint nothin to nobody) but, O Sextant an our. Now how long will a church ful of are last at that rate, And then agin, and so on till each has took it down O Sextant, doant you no our lungs is bellusses, Or little pills unto an omepath, Or boys to gurls. Are is for us to brethe, (It luvs to come in where it can git warm) wind on the dry boans the Profit tells of. ARABELLA M. WILLSON. MY LORD TOMNODDY. Y Lord Tomnoddy got up one day; He had nothing to do, So his lordship rang for his cabriolet. Tiger Tim Was clean of limb. His boots were polished, his jacket was trim He stood in his stockings just four foot ten : And he asked as he held the door on the swing", 'Pray, did your Lordship please to ring?" My Lord Tomnoddy he raised his head, Taglioni has not yet arrived in her stead Tim looked up and Tim looked down, He paused, and he put on a thoughtful frown, And he held up his hat and he peepest in the crown, He bit his lip, and he scratched his head, He let go the handle, and thus he said As the door, released, behind him banged : "An't please you, my Lord, there's a man to be hanged." My Lord Tomnoddy jumped up at the news "Run to M'Fuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues I've seen before Madame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Black-more: But to see a man swing At the end of a string, With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing!" Through street. and through square, But did no great harm, Save frightening a nurse with a child on her arm, Spattering with clay Two urchins at play, Knocking down-very much to the sweeper's dismayAn old woman who wouldn't get out of the way, And upsetting a stall Near Exeter Hall, Which made all the pious Church-mission folks squall; |