Making New Year's calls.

Pick yourself up slowly
Heart with anguish torn.
Sunday-go-to-meetings
In a state forlorn.
Kick a gibing boot-black,
Gibing boot-black bawls,
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Making New Year's calls.

Home, and woo the downy,
But your soul doth quake,
At most fearful night-mares--
Turkey, oysters, cake.
While each leaden horror
That your rest appalls,
Cries, "Dear heart! how pleasant;
Making New Year's calls."




JACK AND ME.


Shine!--All right; here y'are, boss!
Do it for jest five cents.
Get 'em fixed in a minute,--
That is, 'f nothing perwents.