Let woman in the ball-room shine,
The star, the sun, the centre,

But where we smoke, and drink, and joke,
Here she should never enter;
O'er strong Bohea, still graceful, she
Preside shall o'er the teapot;

But where we quaff our half and half
There ours, my boys, be the pot.

Let woman, &c.

The tender influence of HOME,
Pray heaven it may attend us,
But from strong-minded women, great
And small, ye gods defend us ;
The bow that is not always bent
Will prove, at need, the strongest,
The love that loves in absence still's
The love that lasts the longest !

MRS. WADDLE was a widow, and she got not little gain;

She kept a tripe and trotter shop in Chickabiddy-lane ; Her next door neighbour, Tommy Tick, a tallyman

was he,

And he ax'd Mrs.

Waddle just to take a cup of tea.
With a tick a tee, tick a tee, &c.

Mrs. Waddle put her chintz on, and sent for Sammy Sprig,

The titivating barber, to frizify her wig;

Tommy Tick he dress'd in Pompadour, with doublechannel pumps,

Andlook'd, when he'd his jazey on, just like the Jack With a tick a tee, &c.

Mrs. Waddle came in time for tea, and down they sat together,

They talk'd about the price of things, the fashion, and the weather;

She stayed to supper, too; for Tommy Tick, without a doubt,

Was none of them that axes you to "tea and turn 'em out." With a tick a tee, &c.

Thus Tommy Tick he won her heart, and they were married fast,

But all so loving were at first, 'twas thought it could not last;

They'd words, and with a large cow-heel she gave him such a wipe,

And he return'd the compliment with half a yard of
tripe.
With a tick a tee, &c.

She took him to the justice such cruelty to cease,
Who bound the parties over to keep the public peace;
But Mrs. Tick, one day inflam'd with "max" and
muggy weather,

She with a joint stool broke the peace, and Tommy's head together.

(Spoken.) There he lay, with about a dozen cowheels around himSinging tick a tee, &c.

HAD YOU EVER A COUSIN ?

W. M. PRAED.]

[Music by J. Wass.

PRAY had you ever a cousin, Tom?
Did your cousin happen to sing?
Sisters we've all by the dozen, Tom,
But a cousin's a different thing.

And you'd know it if ever you kiss'd her, Tom-
But let that be a secret between us-

For our lips would soon be in a blister, Tom,
An' they're not of the sister genus.

There's something, Tom, in a sister's lip,
When you give her a "good-night" kiss,
That savours so much of relationship
That nothing occurs amiss.

But a cousin's lip, if you once unite
With yours, in the quietest way,
Instead of your sleeping a wink that night
You'll be dreaming the following day.

And people think it no harm, Tom,
With a cousin to hear you talk ;
And no one feels any alarm, Tom,
At a quiet cousinly walk.

But ere long you'll find, as I happen to know,
That such walks often grow into straying;
And the voices of cousins are sometimes so low,
Heaven only knows what you'll be saying.

And then there happens so often, Tom,
Soft pressures of hands and fingers;
And looks that are moulded to soften, Tom,
And tones on which memory lingers.
That long ere your walk is half over, the strings
Of your heart are all put into play,

By the voice of these fair semi-sisterly things,
In not quite the most brotherly way.

And the voice of a sister may bring to you, Tom, Such thoughts as the angels woo;

But I fear if your cousin should sing to you, Tom,
You'd take her for an angel, too.

For so varied a note is that note of theirs,
You'd think the voice that gave it
Was all the while singing the national airs
Instead of the Psalms of David.

I once had a cousin who sang, Tom,

And her name shall be nameless now; But the sounds of those tones are still young, Tom,

Though we are no longer so.

"Tis folly to dream of a bower of green

When there is not a leaf on the tree;

But, 'twixt singing and walking, that cousin has been

God forgive her!-the ruin of me.

And now I care nought for society, Tom,
And lead a most anchorite life,
For I've lived myself into sobriety, Tom,
And out of the wish for a wife.
But, ah! if I only said half I might say,
So sad were the lesson 'twould give,
'Twould keep you from loving for many a day,
And from cousins as long as you live.

CHARLES DIBDIN.]

KICKARABOO..

[Music by DIBDIN.

POOR negro say one ting, you no take offence,
Black and white be one colour a hundred years hence;
For when Massa Death kick him into the grave,

He no spare negro, buckra, nor massa, nor slave. Then dance, and then sing, and the banger thrum, thrum,

He foolish to tink what to-morrow may come;
Lilly laugh and be fat, de best ting you can do,
Time enough to be sad when you Kickaraboo.

One massa, one slave, high and low, all degrees,
Can be happy, dance, sing, make all pleasure him
please;

One slave be one massa, he good, honest, brave;
One massa bad, wicked, be worse than one slave.
If your heart tell you good, you all happy, all well;
If bad, he plague, vex you worse than a hell;

Let your heart make you merry then, honest and true,

And you no care a farthing for Kickaraboo.

One game me see massa him play him call chess,
King, queen, bishop, knight, castle, all in a mess,
King kill knight, queen bishop, men castle throw
down,

Like card-soldier him scatter, all lie on a ground;
And when the game over, king, bishop, tag-rag,
Queen, knight, altogether him go in a bag;

So in life's game at chess, when no more we can do,
Massa Death bring one bag, and we Kickaraboo.

Then be good, what you am, never mind de degree,
Lilly flower good for somewhat as well as great tree,
You one slave, be no use to be sulky and sly,
Worky, worky, perhaps you one massa by'm by.
Savee good and be poor make you act better part,
Than be rich in a pocket and poor in a heart;
Though ever so low, do your duty for true,
All your friend drop one tear when you Kick araboo.

THE BLACKSMITH'S MAN.

From the German of GRUBEL.]

[Tune-"The Poacher."

A BLACKSMITH had a workman once,
As lazy as could be,

But when he heard the dinner bell,

Then hurried none like he.

The first that to the table got,

The last to get his fill;

There was not one of all his mates
Could work with such a will.

"Ho! how is this?" his master said;

66

Explain to me, I

For all the days that

pray;

have lived

I always heard men say:

'As eats a man, so works a man ;'

With you it is not so ;

You're the fastest eater I e'er saw,

And yet you work so slow!"