The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1842-12-20 00:00:00

WILLIA

Y JAMES

Bill Brown did d
And was a fellow g

stood beside the road a house,
The Jolly Tar,"

fher
'Twas ca.

And like a felon, there a Maid
Was brought up to the bar.

Now Brown he would, in passing by,
This public-house look in
To taste a drop, when light and dry,

Of heavy wet or gin.
Each day the damsel he did spy,
Who smiled on him benign ;
were like her father's door,

Her smil

bore a tempting sign

And at the bar he'd 101 l or step
Or lean, for he was fat,
He'd lure the little wicked chit
To have a little chat.
Now Brown be was a joker,
For as his quips he'd crack,
You are so rum, she used to sa]
While pouring out his rack.

He'd say her eye was like his cart,
For sure it had a shaft ;
And she was like his Dobbin too,
She drew so oft a draft.
He'd say her ale did make him stout,
And though the pun was stale, •
-t he ma,' t- -' ,t

A pin. —ue, to show apo
Of porter made him hale.

One morn the cart when slowly by,
_ But lo ! no William came ;

-.the week flew on, what anxious fears
Did agitate her frame !
To conquer them,_ she strove in vain,

While doubts did sore attack,
Unlike the merchant, she had fears,
Her Bill would not come back.

She pensive grew, and if the boy
Sought change for some half-crowns,
She'd put her hand into the till,
__And change it all in browns.

Her spirits ;eem'd upon the go,
And she began to pine

Her spruceness dwindled with her voice
Once liquid to a whine.

not nave, her lather said,
e looks beneath my roof,
Your spirits were not once reduced,
They must be under proof.
Come tell me, girl, what is the cause,
That makes you mope and sigh;
And why do all these tears ap-pear
In the apple of your eye? ,
You'll die, and then a porter want,

Now, as he rpoke a wheel was heard,
_ And Brown the door did fill ;

up to show
" Smiles always come at Will."
He took the gentle maid aside,
Who turned both red and pale,
She blushed, and then did hang her head
While he'd unfold his tale.

er eyes then

brightenei

Then stepping to her stareing dad,
To him he boldly spoke,
And said, " As sure as eggs be eggs,
I wish with Sue to yoke."
Her father stared: " Make Sue your wife!
Your joke you surely put ?
I'll tell you what—l'll make you pipe,
If you make me your butt."

" Indeed I make no jest of you,
For now I have withal
To give your daughter such a
As many glad would call ;
And if that you will answer ' Yes,
I'll tell you what I'll do—
I'll promise unto no one else,
But Susan, will I sue.

" Dear Susan, only say the word,
More sweet than sweetest song,
And let your lips breathe forth the sound
For which my ears long.
Alas ! long years will not be mine,
And grief I shall disclose,
If you, instead of blessed ayes,
Should give your ugly noes.

"My aunt 's no more, poor soul ! Alas !
On her old Death did pounce ;
She 's left me heir to many pounds,
Which I to you announce.
That winning smile I gladly greet;
Then, Susan, be my bride:
'Tis better I should bride-led_be,
Than a sad-led suicide."

THE ARCHBISHOP OF YORK'S FAREWELL

SERMON

The following lines were suggested by the Archbishop of
York preaching his farewell sermon, in consequence of his
advanced age, being in his 85th year. The venerable prelate's
text was, " The night cometh when no man can work." The
congregation was very numerous :

These limbs are falling fast,
This voice is feeble now,

And age's hand has cast
Its snow upon my brow

Yet let me once again,
In my accustomed place,
Tell to the sons of men
The message of His grace

Will it not come with power

From my pale lips once more—
' Oh ! are ye ready now ?
Your Lord is at the door,—

The solemn night comes on
Wherein no work is done :
Oh! hear the voice of him
Whose sands are well nigh run."

So spake the prelate, and with reverend grace,
Gently he passed to his accustomed place ;
Ascended with slow step his pulpit stair,
And bent his feeble knees in silent prayer.
Then, as ambassador from God to man,
Set forth, once more, salvation's glorious plan

I marvel not that numbers crowded there
To see the old man in the house of prayer;
To catch his last, last tones along the aisle,
And gaze upon his aged form—the while
He stretched his hands, and, " let them all depart
Their prelate's latest blessing at their heart:

How beautiful is age ! when thus is shed
A crown of glory round the hoary head ;
When spring and summer time, and autumn past,
On the mild brow pale winter's snows are cast !
How beautiful is age ! Almost at home,
The chastened spirit dares no longer roam
Amid the trifles of onr waking night,
But plumes her soaring wings for realms of light.

Yet lingers still the pilgrim on his way,
Smiles on the infant in its happy play,
Lays his kind hand upon the young man's head,
And tells him all the way his God has led ;
Or greets some aged brother with a smile,
" Well, my old friend, press on a little while."

How beautiful is age ! Looks brighter never
The kindling eye than ere it shuts for ever;
And never speaks the voice in tone more thrilling,
Than when, at length, our being's end fulfilling,
The fluttering spirit pants to reach its home,
And feebly cries, " I come, 0 Lord! I come !"

OCCASIONED BY THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON'

LATE ACCIDENT,

Strange that the Duke, whose charmed life—
Defying death by ball and cartridge—
Uninjured stood 'midst battle's strife,
Should be endanger'd by a partridge !

'Twould surely melt the heart most stony
That ever history has known,
Had the great conqueror of Boney
Himself been conquered by a bone!

Morning Chronicle.