N EXCELLENT OLD SONG MADE NEW.
BY A DEFAULTER.
Is there for his dishonesty
Who hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
And dare to steal for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Our grabs and games, and a' that,
Our business is to make a pile
And swindle SAM, and a' that.
What though the people curse and swear
At losing gold, and a' that?
Their fiercest wrath we'll proudly bear,
And cash is cash for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Their lawyers, courts, and a' that.
The lucky rogue who wins his pile
Is king of men for a' that.
The President knows how to beat
In battle, siege, and a' that;
But we're the lads for swift retreat,
Although he growl, and a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Our bonds and oaths and a' that,
A bouncing swag's the better thing
For gentlemen, and a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it shall for a' that,
That plundering gents may keep the sway,
And help themselves, and a' that.
For a' that and a' that.
Leg bail's the thing, and a' that;
For travelling improves the mind,
The body saves, and a' that.
THE THIRTEENTH MAN IN THE OMNIBUS.
The New-York omnibus was constructed to seat and carry twelve persons; certainly not more. Indeed, when twelve men, of nominal size, sit squarely on the seats and do not clownishly cross their legs, one may ride in an omnibus with comfort. Nay, with these conditions, he may generally escape having his toes crushed, his shins kicked, his shoes soiled, or his trowsers daubed with mud by his neighbor. But alas! how often is this paradisiacal state disturbed by the intrusion of "the thirteenth man in the omnibus."
Shall I attempt to portray the creature? He is pretty well known, and perhaps the picture will be recognized. Sometimes he may be seen standing at the corner of the street lying in wait for the "bus." He is never known to walk toward its starting-place, lest he might be confounded with the "twelve" by getting inside before the seats are filled. No; he is "nothing if not" odd. His very hat never sits squarely upon his head like the hat of a gentleman. It is either elevated in front like a sophomore's, or depressed on one side, as if he had just come from a cheap spree in the Bowery, or was troubled with some obtrusive "bump" that kept his hat awry. If by chance he gets a seat inside the omnibus, (as "accidents will happen," etc.,) he must cross his legs and wipe the mud from his ill-shod feet upon your trowsers or your wife's dress.