She wanted Will for worse or better, Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh? She’d have married, but dad wouldn’t let her. Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh? And so she went and got a knife, Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh? She broke her heart and lost her life, Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh? Kemo, kimo, &c. Then Josh he felt his dander risin’, Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh? So he went and swallow’d pisin, Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh? The village folks laugh’d in their sleeve, Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh? For Jordan’s a hard road to travel, I believe, Sing song Polly won’t you try me, oh? Kemo, kimo, &c. But, compared with many of the places frequented by both sexes, Canterbury Hall is a respectable place. I may think that more rational amusement might be found than by sitting smoking and drinking in a large room on a hot summer’s night. I may have my doubts whether all go home sober—the presence of a policeman in the room indicated that at times there was need for his services—but I believe the association of song and drinking and amusements pernicious in the extreme; and, knowing that man needs relaxation—that he must have his hour of amusement as well as of work—I cannot too earnestly press upon the advocates of Temperance reform the desirableness of their out-bidding the public-house in the attempts to cater for the entertainment of the people. That they do not do so, is clear. Where once we had a National Hall in Holborn, for the action of moral influences, a publican has erected a hall—for singing and drinking—capable, I should think, of holding 1200 people, and crammed every night. Then the “Lord Raglan” holds as many. Nor are these alone the only competitors for public patronage; their name is Legion. RATCLIFFE-HIGHWAY.