a very serious ballad.

“i’ll be your second.”— liston.

in middle row, some years ago,

there lived one mr. brown;

and many folks considered him

the stoutest man in town.

but brown and stout will both wear out —

one friday he died hard,

and left a widow’d wife to mourn,

at twenty pence a yard.

now widow b. in two short months

thought mourning quite a tax;

and wished, like mr. wilberforce,

to manumit her blacks.

with mr. street she soon was sweet;

the thing came thus about:

she asked him in at home, and then

at church, he asked her out!

assurance such as this the man

in ashes could not stand;

so like a phoenix he rose up

against the hand in hand!

one dreary night the angry sprite

appeared before her view;

it came a little after one,

but she was after two!

“o mrs. b., o mrs. b.!

are these your sorrow’s deeds,

already getting up a flame,

to burn your widows’ weeds?

“it’s not so long since i have left

for aye the mortal scene;

my memory — like rogers’s —

should still be bound in green!

“yet if my face you still retrace,

i almost have a doubt —

i’m like an old forget-me-not,

with all the leaves torn out!

“to think that on that finger joint

another pledge should cling;

o bess! upon my very soul

it struck like ‘knock and ring,’”

“a ton of marble on my breast

can’t hinder my return;

your conduct, ma’am, has set my blood

a-boiling in my urn!”

“remember, oh! remember, how

the marriage rite did run —

if ever we one flesh should be

’tis now — when i have none!

“and you, sir — once a bosom friend —

of perjured faith convict,

as ghostly toe can give no blow,

consider you are kick’d.

“a hollow voice is all i have,

but this i tell you plain,

marry come up! — you marry, ma’am,

and i’ll come up again.”

more he had said, but chanticleer

the spritely shade did shock

with sudden crow — and off he went,

like fowling-piece at cock!