HUMOROUS.

You're a broth of creature, In form and in feature,— It's myself that now tells you that same, And sure, by my troth, I'll not be very wroth. If you'll plaze me by changing your name What a swate little wife, As a partner for life, My darlint, 'tis you might be living; And I'm just the boy, To wish you much joy, When your heart it's to me you'll be giving. I'm half dead—botheration! With sad consternation— Of your flirting it is that I'm speaking; So plaze to be thinking, When you're winking and blinking. It's my own honest heart that you're braking. The divil a haper, Will I stand of a caper,— 'Twould kill me to find you deceiving; By my sowl and I'd die, And that same is no lie, Before I'd be kilt by me grieving. Then spake but the word. My nate little bird, That you're niver a man's but mine; And straight to the praist, It's myself that'll haste, To make you my swate waluntine! [Teddy Magowan.