And when the parson came to say, My goods were yours, if I had got any, And you should honour and obey, Who could have thought--“O Bay of Botany.” But, oh,--the worst of all your slips I did not till this day discover-- That down in Deptford’s prison ships, Oh, Mary! you’ve a hulking lover! [Illustration: “’T WERE WELL IF WE HAD NEVER MET.”] No. II. “Love, with a witness.” He has shav’d off his whiskers and blacken’d his brows, Wears a patch and a wig of false hair,-- But it’s him--Oh it’s him!--we exchanged lovers’ vows, When I lived up in Cavendish Square. He had beautiful eyes, and his lips were the same, And his voice was as soft as a flute-- Like a Lord or a Marquis he look’d when he came To make love in his master’s best suit. If I lived for a thousand long years from my birth, I shall never forget what he told; How he lov’d me beyond the rich women of earth, With their jewels and silver and gold! When he kissed me and bade me adieu with a sigh, By the light of the sweetest of moons, Oh how little I dreamt I was bidding good-bye To my Missis’s tea-pot and spoons! No. III. “I’d be a Parody.”--BAILEY. We met--’twas in a mob--and I thought he had done me-- I felt--I could not feel--for no watch was upon me; He ran--the night was cold--and his pace was unalter’d, I too longed much to pelt--but my small-boned legs falter’d. I wore my bran new boots--and unrivall’d their brightness, They fit me to a hair--how I hated their tightness! I call’d, but no one came, and my stride had a tether; Oh _thou_ hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather! And once again we met--and an old pal was near him, He swore a something low--but ’twas no use to fear him; I seized upon his arm, he was mine and mine only, And stept--as he deserv’d--to cells wretched and lonely: And there he will be tried--but I shall ne’er receive her, The watch that went too sure for an artful deceiver; The world may think me gay--heart and feet ache together, Oh _thou_ hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather. [Illustration: STOP HIM!] [Illustration: THE SOURCE OF THE NIGER.] LETTER FROM A PARISH CLERK IN BARBADOES TO ONE IN HAMPSHIRE, WITH AN ENCLOSURE. “Thou mayest conceive, O reader, with what concern I perceived the eyes of the congregation fixed upon me.”--MEMOIRS OF P. P. MY DEAR JEDIDIAH,