SONG.
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Oh sweet is the tear shed for misery's woes,

 When 1t gems the bright eye with it's moisun; But dearer to me is the tear drop that flows

 From-the shell of the half opened oyster! And the rose too is sweet in the lovely parterre.

 Ihe prldt of the summer er-deeked garden: IT thr smell of stewed 0vsters to it prefer,

 I'm sure of each epieure's pardon 1et them talk of the tint of the maids bushing cheek Ere it fade in the gloom of cloister; yn charms confess-wlle in rapture seek

 1he blush of the nicely-fred OySter,