A CAPTAIN bold, in Halifax, who dwelt in country quarters, Seduced a maid, who hang’d herself, one morning, in her garters, His wicked conscience smited him, he lost his stomach daily, He took to drinking ratafee, and thought upon Miss Bailey. Oh, Miss Bailey! unfortunate Miss Bailey. One night betimes he went to rest, for he had caught a fever, Says he, “I am a handsome man, but I’m a gay deceiver;” His candle just at twelve o’clock began to burn quite palely, A ghost stepp’d up to his bed side, and said, “behold Miss Bailey.” Oh, Miss Bailey! unfortunate Miss Bailey. “Avaunt, Miss Bailey” then he cried, “your face looks white and mealy,” “Dear Captain Smith,” the ghost replied, “you’ve used me ungenteely; The Crowner’s Quest goes hard with me, because I’ve acted frailly, And parson Biggs won’t bury me, though I am dead Miss Bailey.” Oh, Miss Bailey! unfortunate Miss Bailey. “Dear Corpse,” said he, “since you and I accounts must once for all close, I’ve really got a one pound note in my regimental small clothes; “’Twill bribe the sexton for your grave,”--The ghost then vanish’d gaily, Crying, “Bless you, wicked Captain Smith, remember poor Miss Bailey.” Oh, Miss Bailey! unfortunate Miss Bailey. [Illustration] _HUMPHREY DUGGINS._ OLD Humphrey Duggins, he wanted a wife, Resolving to lead a sober life; A batchelor, he would have been a great rake, So courting he went, for conscience sake. The old Widow Warmpurse, she wanted a spouse, No children had she, but she had a large house, Six children had Duggins, though not very small, So, thinks he, the large house will just hold them all. So to court the widow, old Duggins began, Says she, I’ve been told you’re a sad naughty man, He replied, it ain’t true, and the widow knew not That he’d one piccaninny, much less a whole lot. When he’d married the widow, my dear, says he, No doubt we shall have a large family, I hope we shall, she then to him did say, So the six little Duggins came home the next day. The three Master Duggins, they made her a bow, The three little Misses, they curtsied, How! Says she, what means this? Why, said he, my old lass, It’s only my little ones come home from grass. You wicked deceiver, quoth she, I am dish’d; Says he, for a great many children you wish’d, And, as no one is certain their wishes to have, I thought you might fancy a few ready made.