One night, returnin home to bed,
    I walk’d through Pim-li-co,
  And, twigging of the Palass, sed,
    “I’m Jones and In-i-go.” 
  But afore I could get out, my boys
    Pollise-man 20 A,
  He caught me by the corderoys,
    And lugged me right a-way.

  My cuss upon Lord Melbun, and
    On Jonny Russ-all-so,
  That forc’d me from my native land
    Across the vaves to go-o-oh. 
  But all their spiteful arts is wain,
    My spirit down to keep;
  I hopes I’ll soon git back again,
    To take another peep.

    [3] The nautical mode of writing—­“Oh! come to me.”—­PRINTER’S
        DEVIL.

2 o’clock.—­Bell rung for all hands to come down to dinner.  Thought I never saw dirtier hands in my life.  They call their dinner “a mess” on broad ship, and a preshious mess it did look—­no bread but hard biskit and plenty of ship’s rolls, besides biled pork and P-soop—­both these articles seemed rayther queer—­felt my stommick growing quear too—­got on deck, and asked where we were—­was told we were in the Straits of Dover.  I never was in such dreadful straits in my life—­ship leaning very much on one side, which made me feel like a man

[Illustration:  GOING OFF IN A RAPID DECLINE.]

3 o’clock.—­Weather getting rather worse than better.  Mind very uneasy.  Capting says we shall have plenty of squalls to-night; and I heard him just now tell the mate to look to the main shrouds, so I spose it’s all dickey with us, and that this log will be my sad epilog.  The idear of being made fish meat was so orrible to my sensitive mind, that I couldn’t refrain from weaping, which made the capting send me down stairs, to vent my sorros in the cable tiers.

5 o’clock.—­I’m sure we shan’t srwive this night, therefore I av determined to put my heavy log into an M T rum-bottle, and throw it overbord, in bops it may be pickd up by some pirson who will bare my sad tail to my dear Sally.  And now I conclewd with this short advice:—­Let awl yung men take warning by my crewel fate.  Let them avide bad kumpany and keep out of the Palass; and above all, let them mind their bissnesses on dri land, and never cast their fortunes on any main, like their unfortinet

Servant,
THE BOY JONES.

* * * * *

[Illustration]

THE TWO MACBETHS.

OR THE HAY MARKET GEMINI.

        O, Gemini-
        Crimini! 
        Nimini-
        Pimini
  Representatives of the Tartan hero,
  Who wildly tear a passion into rags
  More ragged than the hags
  That round about the cauldron go! 
  Murderers! who murder Shakspeare so,
  That ’stead of murdering sleep, ye do not do it;
  But, vice versa, send the audience to it. 
          And, oh!—­
          But no—­
        Illustrious