On, on! by St. Paul's, and the Astor!
Religion seems very ill-plann'd!
For one day we list to the pastor,
For six days we list to the band!
The sermon may dwell on the future,
The organ your pulses may calm--
When--pest!--that remember'd cachucha
Upsets both the sermon and psalm!

Oh, pity the love that must utter
While goes a swift omnibus by!
(Though sweet is I SCREAM* when the flutter
Of fans shows thermometers high)--
But if what I bawl, or I mutter,
Falls into your ear but to die,
Oh, the dew that falls into the gutter
Is not more unhappy than I!
*[Footnote: Query--Should this be Ice cream, or I scream?--Printer's
Devil.]



THE WHITE CHIP HAT.
N. P. WILLIS.

I pass'd her one day in a hurry,
When late for the Post with a letter--
I think near the corner of Murray--
And up rose my heart as I met her!