"Don't fear my ghost will walk o' nights To haunt, as people say ; My ghost can't walk, for, O, my legs. "Lord! think when I am swimming round, And looking where the boat is, A shark just snaps away a half, Without a quarter's notice.' "One half is here, the other half FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. AN OLD BALLAD. YOUNG BEN he was a nice young man, A carpenter by trade; And he fell in love with Sally Brown, That was a lady's maid. But as they fetched a walk one day, They met a press-gang crew; And Sally she did faint away, Whilst Ben he was brought to. The boatswain swore with wicked words Enough to shock a saint, That, though she did seem in a fit, "T was nothing but a feint. "Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head, He'll be as good as me; For when your swain is in our boat A boatswain he will be." So when they'd made their game of her, She roused, and found she only was "And is he gone, and is he gone?" She cried and wept outright; "Then I will to the water-side, And see him out of sight." 66 A waterman came up to her; "Alas! they've taken my beau, Ben, Says he, "They 've only taken him "O, would I were a mermaid now, - How time slips away!— Who'd have thought that while Cupid was playing these tricks Ten years had elapsed, and I'd turned twentysix? "I care not a whit, He's not grown a bit," Says my Aunt; "it will still be a very good fit." So Janet and She, Now about thirty-three, (The maid had been jilted by Mr. Magee,) Each taking one end of "the Shirt" on her knee, Again began working with hearty good-will, "Felling the Seams," and "whipping the Frill,"-For, twenty years since, though the Ruffle had vanished, A Frill like a fan had by no means been banished; People wore them at playhouses, parties, and churches, Like overgrown fins of overgrown perches. Now, then, by these two thus laying their caps Together, my "Shirt" had been finished, perhaps, But for one of those queer little three-cornered straps, Which the ladies call "Side-bits," that sever the "Flaps"; Here unlucky Janet Took her needle, and ran it Right into her thumb, and cried loudly, “Ads cuss it! I've spoiled myself now by that 'ere nasty Gusset!" And the ostrich plume worked on the corps' Was in that sort of state vulgar people call "Rum." When Fan, accidentally casting her eye Within, a pea-soup-colored fragment she spied, All her powers to forget him, and finish my Of the hue of a November fog in Cheapside, Shirt. Or a bad piece of gingerbread spoilt in the baking. "I wish I may die The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks anything but joy"; If here is n't Tom's Shirt, that's been so long Again I said, "What make you here, you little amaking! My gracious me ! Well, only to see! I declare it's as yellow as yellow can be! Why, it looks just as though 't had been soaked in green tea! Dear me, did you ever? But come, 't will be clever To bring matters round; so I'll do my endeavor. 'Better Late,' says an excellent proverb, than Never!' It is stained, to be sure, but ' ' grass-bleaching' will bring it To rights 'in a jiffy.' We'll wash it, and wring it; And-" Here the new maid chimed in, “Ma'am, It was "bleached," it was washed, it was hung out to dry, It was marked on the tail with a T, and an I! On the back of a chair it Was placed, - just to air it, vulgar Boy?" Run home and get your supper, else your Ma will scold, O fie! It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!" The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring, His bosom throbbed with agony, - he cried like anything! - I stooped, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmur, "Ah ! I haven't got no supper! and I have n't got no Ma!" "My father, he is on the seas, dead and gone! my mother's And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world alone; I have not had, this livelong day, one drop to cheer my heart, Nor - brown' to buy a bit of bread with, let alone a tart. "If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ, By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar Boy ;) In front of the fire. "Tom to-morrow shall "And now I'm here, from this here pier it is I saw a little vulgar Boy, I said, "What make My landlady is Mrs. Jones, we must not keep you here? There's roast potatoes at the fire, enough for | I rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down me and you, below, Come home, you little vulgar Boy, I lodge at "O Mrs. Jones, what do you think? — ain't this Number 2." I bade him wipe his dirty shoes, that little vulgar Boy, - a pretty go? That horrid little vulgar Boy whom I brought here to-night He's stolen my things and run away!" Says she, "And sarve you right!" And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of Next morning I was up betimes, I sent the Crier round, her sex, "Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say, I'd double X!" give a pound To find that little vulgar Boy, who 'd gone and used me so; But when the Crier cried, "O Yes!" the people cried, "O No!" I could not see my sugar-tongs, my silver I did not understand him well, but think he meant watch, O, dear! to say I know 't was on the mantel-piece when I went He'd seen that little vulgar Boy, that morning, out for beer. My carpet-bag, - my cruet-stand, that holds my A landsman said, "I twig the chap, - he's been sauce and soy, upon the Mill, My roast potatoes !- all are gone! and so's And 'cause he gammons so the flats, ve calls him |