With a heart of stone, or hardest metal, The poor old man I quick did settle: He soon was silenc'd, that fatal night, And quite cut up—what a horrid sight! Indeed—indeed, it was shocking sad: How could I do it?—but I was mad; When I did think on what I'd done I felt inclin'd for to cut and run. Her mother was,—oh, horrid fact! A vile accessory to the act; For she did urge me on, you see, To do this here atrocity. Young men, by me pray a warning take— Shun woman's company ere 'tis too late; If you're a-courting, strive your lives to mend, Pity my sad untimely end. To-morrow, many the crowd will swell, To behold the awful spectacle: What a dismal sight, alas! to see A young man launch'd into misery. As the church bell tolls the hour of ten, The sad procession will begin; And then, 'midst many a tearful eye, My hands they will proceed to tie. While the fatal noose they do prepare, The Parson he will breathe a prayer, Then vainly ask for me a blessin', And pardon crave for my transgression. Sadly, I confess, I've done amiss. I know there is no hope for bliss. To-morrow I shall be a public gaze, And then in torments end my days. [Illustration: THE MELANCHOLY PROCESSION. ] [Illustration: WAITING FOR THE MAIL. ] _BON MOT_-TO WAFERS: OR, SEALS FOR "SHUTTING-UP" GOVERNORS, LOVERS, DEBTORS, AND CREDITORS.