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                  You never know what

             You may come to.

Words and Music at Hopwood and Crew's,
42, New Bond St., London, W.

The subject of my song is a good one and true,
And I hope, when you've heard it, 'twill prove good to you ;
If you'll study its maxims you'll never know care,
You'll live in good hopes, you'll ne'er die in despair.
If you're poor to despondency, never give way,
But wait for your turn—every dog has its day ;
If you've riches, be generous. give your mite to the poor ;
Don't refuse those who are needy a crust at your door

                        CHORUS.

For you never know what you may come to,
And though a hungry man begging succumb to,
Don't call him a boor because he is poor,
For you never know what you may come to.

The root of all evil is money and wine,
At least so says the proverb—the opinion's not mine,
That it's true in all cases, why must be all trash,
For what could we do in this world without cash ?
'Tis true to some men a large fortune's a curse,
And he's not always happy who has a full purse ;
So ye poor, be content, live in hopes, never fret,
A windfall, unexpected, some day you may get.

'Tis the way of the world, that much would have more,
And the rich mostly live on the toil of the poor ;
Many a poor man has worked hard night and day,
Yet good fortune has always been oat of his way.
Then some people by chance get rich in a crack,
While the working man can't get a coat to his back :
So you who have riches tnos thrown at your door,
Don't talk about pity, but with your cash help the poor.

Poverty saddens the heart, but nevertheless,
I advise you to sail with the tide of progress ;
Struggle on, never mind if enjoying good health,
For you'll often see misery midst splendour and wealth.
At times there's a chance on every man's route,
Of doing well in this world if he'll only look out ;
Don't despair though bad luck in your path has been cast ;
Be watchful, be careful, struggle on to the last.

            GREAT FIGHT !

      Between FEMALES in Lancashire, about the

      FREHCH & PRUSSIAN

                        War.

Sec. 29,
Good people give ear with attention,
And listen to what I do say,
This war on the Contin nt raging,
Is driving some people astray.
The other night in a Lancashire village,
As some factory girls left the mill,
They fell out, and had such a battle,
About Bony, and old Prussian Bill.

            CHORUS.

It was in a Lancashire village,
From Manchester not very far,
Some scores of young girls met together,
And fought o'er the French-Prussian War.

The lasses in favour of Prussia
Were led on by Maggie M'Can,
And swore thdy'd lick all their opponents,
Like the Prussians had done at Sedan.
The French side was not to be frightened,
For Mary O'Neil, and Peg Doyle,
They called their companions together,
And at it they went in grand style.

Those heroines got ready for action,
And formed themselves into a square,
They rolled up the sleeves of their bedgowns,
And tightly they roolled up their hair.
Then at it they went left and right,
But cach sibe courageously stood,
Such screaming, and scratching, and tearing,
And rolling about in the mud.

Black eyes on both sides were in dozens,
And the hair out in handfuls they drew,
Like palls from the Chassepot rifle,
The chignons like lightning they flew.
The blood it was flowing in torrents,
Skirts and bedgowns in ribbons did fly,
Some had cut lips and scratched faces,
And some had a thumping black eye.

There was such kicking and biting,
And pelting each other with stones,
And just in the mid'st of the fighting
A young girl named Dorothy Jones,
She put a large stone in her stocking,
And ran after Catherine Hogg,
But Kate swtre she would not be conquered,
And batterred he nose with her clog.

Torn petticoats, bedgowns, and aprons,
In tons on the battle field lay,
Three cart load of hair and chignons,
To the dunghill was carted away.
And now that the battle is o'er,
I hope they will have better sense,
And never fall out any more,
Or fight about Prussians and French.