From ate N. Y. Sunday Mercury. MACHINE POETRY,
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 TO SALLY ANN.

 IA Desperate Ehort.l Oh, Sally Ann Oh, Sally Ann! How can you be so croel, To break my heart, and make me mad, And cause me thus to do ill I've loved you long, and loved you well-- Aye, loved you like brother; I've waited on you all about, And ne'er have loved another. I've put you through to theatres, To concert, ball, and show, miss; I've put you through m various wayss And yet 1t aren't no go, miss Ipurchascd you a new silk gown, A pair of shoes and bonnet, In order to secure your love- And now haven't done it! Ibought you pianoforte,

 And joyed to hear you thrum it.; But oh, it makes me sadly grieve To think l couldn't come it! Oh, Sally Ann Oh, Sally Ann! How can you be so cruel, To build within my breast fire, And then refuse me fuel! My dearest girl. l,d have you know ~ care so much about ye, That had all the world beside, could not live withoutye. I'd be poor forsaken wretch My soul be sick and weary; Oh day to me would seem like night And Paradise look dreary. Remember, o, how once we kissed, While picking heads of clover: And how we both confessed that we Felt rather queer all over I've often pressed you since, dear girl, Unto my burning bosom; You've filled my heart with blisstul hopes And now I've got to lose 'em! Nay, say not nay-that awful word! Oh, let me hear it never! Say yss-or else I'm ruined, done, And bursted up for ever 'T'is all in vain-you'll not consent! Then, Sally Ann, have pity, Nyouve no love-for on this night I'm going to leave the city. I'm going to where the weary rest, Where springs of joy are bubbling; Where sorrow is unknown-and where The ponsn cease from troubling. This night when tolls the hour oftwelve, With dark clouds OCT me frowning, I'll throw myself from of the dock, And end my woes by drowning. There nasty crabs will OCT me crawl And founders round me riot; And cat-heads, eels and black fish, all Will nPay body diet. And then, Oh. Ann when my remains Are taken from the water, You'll wiring your hands, and crying, say I'm guilty of granddaughter |" Between you and me, Nimrod, the above is a s. got up to frighten the girl. hthat doesn't brin IT round, we'll give her another grist next week.

 SPooNs, O. G.