has adapted her version of a venerable ditty, which we have all listened to with respect and affection under its old title of

THE BABES IN THE WOOD; OR, THE NORFOLK TRAGEDY.

AN OLD SONG TO A NEW TUNE.

WHEN we were all little and good

A long time ago I'm afraid, Miss-
We were told of the Babes in the Wood
By their false, cruel Uncle betray'd, Miss;
Their Pa was a Squire, or a Knight;
In Norfolk I think his estate lay-
That is, if I recollect right,

For I've not read the history lately.*

Their Pa and their Ma being seized

Rum ti, &c.

With a tiresome complaint, which, in some seasons, People are apt to be teased

With, who're not on their guard against plum

seasons,

* See Bloomfield's "History of the County of Norfolk," in which all the particulars of this lamentable history are (or ought to be) fully detailed, together with the names of the parties, and an elaborate pedigree of the family.

Their medical man shook his head

As he could not get well to the root of it; And the Babes stood on each side the bed, While their Uncle, he stood at the foot of it.

"Oh, Brother!" their Ma whisper'd faint

And low, for breath seeming to labour, "Who'd Think that this horrid complaint,

That's been going about in the neighbourhood, Thus should attack me, -nay, more,

My poor husband besides, and so fall on him! Bringing us so near Death's door

That we can't avoid making a call on him!

"Now think, 'tis your Sister invokes

Your aid, and the last word she says is, Be kind to those dear little folks

When our toes are turned up to the daisies!By the servants don't let them be snubb'd,-Let Jane have her fruit and her custard, And mind Johnny's chilblains are rubb'd

Well with Whitehead's best essence of mustard.

"You know they'll be pretty well off in
Respect to what's called 'worldly gear,'
For John, when his Pa's in his coffin,
Comes in to three hundred a year;

And Jane's to have five hundred pound

On her marriage paid down, ev'ry penny, So you'll own a worse match might be found, Any day in the week, than our Jenny!"

Here the Uncle pretended to cry,

And, like an old thorough-paced rogue, he
Put his handkerchief up to his eye,
And devoted himself to Old Bogey
If he did not make matters all right,
And said, should he covet their riches,
He "wished the old Gentleman might
Fly away with him, body and breeches!"

No sooner however were they

Put to bed with a spade by the sexton,
Than he carried the darlings away
Out of that parish into the next one,
Giving out he should take them to town
And select the best school in the nation,
That John might not grow up a clown,
But receive a genteel education.

"Greek and Latin old twaddle I call!"

Says he, "While his mind's ductile and plastic, I'll place him at Dotheboys Hall Where he'll learn all that's new and gymnastic. While Jane, as, when girls have the dumps, Fortune-hunters, by scores, to entrap 'em rise, Shall go to those worthy old frumps,

The two Misses Tickler of Clapham Rise!"

Having thought on the How and the When
To get rid of his nephew and niece,

He sent for two ill-looking men,
And he gave them five guineas apiece. -
Says he, "Each of you take up a child
On the crupper, and when you have trotted
Some miles through that wood lone and wild,
Take your knife out and cut its carotid!"

"Done" and "done" is pronounced on each side,
While the poor little dears are delighted
To think they a-cock-horse shall ride,
And are not in the least degree frighted;
They say their "Ta! Ta!" as they start,
And they prattle so nice on their journey,
That the rogues themselves wish to their heart
They could finish the job by attorney.

Nay, one was so taken aback

By seeing such spirit and life in them,
That he fairly exclaim'd, "I say, Jack,
I'm blow'd if I can put a knife in them!"-

"Pooh!" says his pal, "you great dunce! You've pouch'd the good gentleman's money, So out with your whinger at once,

And scrag Jane, while I spiflicate Johnny!"

He refused, and harsh language ensued,
Which ended at length in a duel,
When he that was mildest in mood
Gave the truculent rascal his gruel;
The Babes quake with hunger and fear,
While the ruffian his dead comrade, Jack, buries;
Then he cries, "Loves, amuse yourselves here

With the hips, and the haws, and the blackberries!

"I'll be back in a couple of shakes;

So don't, dears, be quivering and quaking,

I'm going to get you some cakes,

And a nice butter'd roll that's a-baking!"

He rode off with a tear in his eye,

Which ran down his rough cheek, and wet it,

As he said to himself with a sigh,

"Pretty souls!-don't they wish they may get it!!"

From that moment the Babes ne'er caught sight
Of the wretch who thus wrought their undoing,
But pass'd all that day and that night

In wandering about and "boo-hoo'-ing."