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Surely mineral water nice is,

When it foams and pops--
Old Degruchy's, Sparks' and Price's-

Bless their soda shops!
Since we've met in joy together,

Let us talk and sing-
Not in praise of man-we'd rather

Scorn the ugly thing.
The procession made us cry-0!

Ways to bear the mail,
From our city to Ohio,

Riding on a rail.

I WON'T BE A NUN.
Now is it not a pity such a pretty girl as I
Should be sent to the nunery to pine away and die ?

But I won't be a nun-no, I won't be nun

I'm so fond of pleasure tliat I cannot be a nun. I'm sure I cannot tell what's the mischief I have done, But my mother oft tells me that I must be a nun.

But I won't be a nun, &c. I could not bear confinement, it would not do for me, For I like to go a shopping, and to see what I can see.

So I won't be a nun, &c. I love to hear men flattering-love fashionable clothes, I love music and dancing, and chatting with the beaux.

So I can't be a nun, &c.
So mother,don't be angry now, but let your daughter be,
For the nuns would not like to have a novice wild as me,

And I can't be a nun-no, I won't be a nun-
l'm so fond of pleasure that I cannot be a nun.

ALKNOMOOK.-By Mr. Hunter.
The sun sets at night and the stars shun the day,

But glory remains when the light fades away ;

Begin, ye tormenters, your threats are in vain,

For the son of Alknomook shall never complain. Remember the arrows he shot from his bow,

Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low; Why so slow? do you wait till I shrink from the pain ?

No-the son of Alknomook shall never complain. Remember the wood, where in ambush we lay, And the scalps which we bore from your nation

away : Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my pain;

But the son of Alknomook shall never complain. I go to the land where my father has gone;

His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son ; Death comes like a friend-he relieves me from pain;

And thy son,on! Alknomook,has scorn’d to complain.

PADDY CAREY'S FORTUNE, OR IRISH PRO

MOTION. 'Twas at the town of nate Clogheen

That Sergeant Snap met Paddy Carey,
A claner boy was never seen,

Brisk as a bee, light as a fairy ;
His brawny shoulders four feet square,

His cheeks like thumping red potatoes,
His legs would make a chairman stare,
And Pat was lov'd by all the ladies.

Old and young, grave or sad,

Deaf and dumb, dull or mad,
Waddling, twaddling, limping, squinting,

Light, brisk and airy.
All the sweet faces at Limerick races,
From Mullinavat to Magherafelt,
At Paddy's beautiful name would melt!

And sowls would cry,

And look so shy, Ogh! Cushlamachree, did you never see The jolly boy, the darling joy, the ladies' toy !

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Niinble-footed, black-ey'd, rosy-cheek's,

Curly-headed Paddy Carey !
Ogh, sweet Paddy, beautiful Paddy, nate lit-

tle, tight little Paddy Carey.
His heart was made of Irish oak,

Yet soft as streams from sweet Killarney, His tongue was tipt with a bit of the brogue,

But the deuce a bit at all of the blarney!
Now Sergeant Snap, so sly and keen,

While Pat was coaxing duck-legg'a Mary,
A shilling slipt so neat and clean,
By the powers he listed Paddy Carey !
Tight and sound, strong and light,

Cheeks so round, eyes so bright,
Whistling, humming, drinking, drumming,

Light, tight and airy.
All the sweet faces, &c.
The sowls wept loud, the crowd was great,

When waddling forth came widow Leary,
Though she was crippled in her gait,

Her brawny arms clasp'd Paddy Carey;
Ogh! Pat, she cried, go buy the ring,

Here's cash galore my darling honey,
Says Pat, you sowi, I'll do that thing,
And clapt his thumb upon her money!

Gimlet eye, sausage nose, nose,

Pat so sly, ogle throws,
Leering, titt'ring, jeering, fritt'ring,

Sweet widow Leary.
All the sweet faces, &c.
When Pat had thus his fortune made,

He press'd the lips of mistress Leary,
And mounting straight a large cockade,

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In captain's boots struts Paddy Carey ! He grateful prais'd her shape, her back,

To others like a dromedary; Her eyes, that seem'd their strings to crack, Were Cupid's darts to Captain Carey !

Neat and sweet~no alloy,

All complete love and joy, Ranting, roaring, soft, adoring,

Dear widow Leary! All the sweet faces at Limerick races, From Mullinavat to Magherafelt, At Paddy's promotion sigh and melt; The sowls all cry, as the groom struts by, Ogh, Cushlamachree, thou art lost to me! The jolly boy! the darling boy!

The ladies' toy! the widow's joy ! Long-sword girted—neat short skirted-head

cropt, whisker chopp'd Capt. Carey !

O! sweet Paddy!

Beautiful Paddy! White feather’d, boot leather'd Paddy Carey.

LITTLE SUE.

The shepherds call me little Sue,

That sports and frolicks round; 'Thought rustic pleasures I pursue,

Content with me is found;
They talk of love, and call me fair,
And woo, as lovers woo;
I tell the swains, he must be rare

Who marries little Sue-
O rare ! O rare! he must be rare

Who marries little Sue.

The youth who would iny bosum move,

Must be what I declare;
His actions, not his words, must prove

That I'm his only care :
My love must have good sense refin'd,

Have wit and humor too;
The youth be gentle, brave and kind,
Who marries little Sue-
O rare ! O rare ! he must be rare

Who marries little Sue-
O rare ! O rare ! he must be rare

Who marries little Sue.
The youth that's form'd for love and me,

Must ne'er ambitious prove;
Must ne'er find fault, tho' some should see,

But all be peace and love ;
To merit such a noble youth,

l'd every art pursue,
He'll hold my heart, niy mind, my truth,
Who marries little Sue-
O rare! O rare ! he must be rare

Who marries little Sue-
O rare ! O rare! he must be rare

Who marries little Sue.

THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY. As sung by Mr. Ludlow, in the New-Orleans and Western

Country Theatres. Ye gentlemen and ladies fair,

Who grace this famous city, Just listen, if you've time to spare,

While I rehearse a ditty ; And for an opportunity

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