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B. No doubt, you are a very serviceable fellow in your way. But pray, now, after you had fetched the midwife, where did you go? W. I went to call upon a friend— B. Hold, what time in the day was this 2 W. About seven o'clock in the evening. B. It was quite day-light, was it not * W. Yes, sir; it was a fine summer evening. B. What! is it always day-light in a summer evening W. I believe so—(smiling). B. No laughing, sir, if you please ; this is too serious a matter for levity. What did you do when you went to call upon a friend ? W. He asked me to take a walk ; and when we were walking, we heard a great noise— B. And where was this f W. In the street. B. Pray attend, sir, I don't ask you whether it was in the street—I ask you what street : W. I don't know the name of the street, but it turned down fromB. Now, sir, upon your oath—do you say you don’t know the name of the street 2 W. No, I don’t. B. Did you never hear it W. I may have heard it, but I can’t say I remember it 2 B. Do you always forget what you have heard? W. I don't know that I ever heard it; but I may have heard it, and forgot it. B. Well, sir, perhaps we may fall upon a way to make you remember it. W. I don’t know, sir; I would tell it if I knew it. B. Oh to be sure you would ; you are remarkably communicative. Well, you heard a

And was there no-l

IV. Yes; we went to the house where it came from. B. So it came from a house; and pray what kind of a house * W. The Cock and Bottle, a public-house 2 B. The Cock and Bottle ! why I never heard of such a house. Pray what has a cock to do with a bottle 2 W. I can’t tell, that is the sign. B. Well, and what passed then : W. We went in to see what was the matter, and the prisoner there—

B. Where 2 W. Him at the bar, there; I know him very well.

B. You know him 2 how came you to know him JV. We worked journey-work together once; and I remember him very well. B. So your memory returns: you can't tell the name of the street, but you know the name of the public-house, and you know the prisoner at the bar. You are a very pretty fellow ! and pray what was the prisoner doing }}". When I saw him. lie was— B. When you saw him did I ask you what he was doing when you did not see him * W. I understood he had been fighting. B. Give us none of your understanding, test what you saw. W. He was drinking some Hollands and water. B. Are you sure it was Hollands and water W. Yes; he asked me to drink with him, ...ca I just put it to my lips. B. No doubt you did, and I dare say did not take it soon from them. But now, sir, recol}<rt you are upon oath—look at the jury, sir—upon your oath, will you aver that it was Hollands ano. water 2 W. Yes, it was. B. What ; was it not plain gin W. No ; the landlord said it was Hollands. B: Oh!, now we shall come to the point.—The landlord said Do you believe every thing the

noise, and I suppose you went to see it too.

landlord of the Cock and Bottle says:

W. I don't know him enough. H. Pray what religion are you of: W. I am a Protestant. B. Do you believe in a future state W. Yes. B. Then, what passed after you drank the Hollands and water? W. I heard there had been a fight, and a man killed; and I said, “Oh Robert, I hope you have not done this:” and he shook his head.— B. Shook his head; and what did you understand by that W. Sir : B. I say, what did you understand by his shaking his head 2 W. I can't tell. B. Can't tell !—Can't you tell what a man means when he shakes his head W. He said nothing. B. Said nothing ! I don't ask you what he said -What did you say? o W. What did I say? B. Don't repeat my words, fellow ; but come to the point at once.—Did you see the dead man W. Yes; he lay in the next room. R. And how came he to be dead W. There had been a fight, as I said before— B. I don't want you to repeat what you said before. W. There had been a fight between him and *- B, Speak up—his lordship don’t hear you— an’t you raise your voice W. There had been a fight between him and * prisoner— B. Stop there—Pray, sir, whel did this fight *::p:

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B. Well—and it was over—and you saw nothing : - W. No, B. Gem'men of the jury, you'll please to attend to this ; he positively swears he saw nothing of the fight. Pray, sir, how was it that you saw nothing of the fight? W. Because it was over before I entered the house, as I said before. B. No repetitions, friend.—Was there any fighting after you entered W. No, all was quiet. B. Quiet! you just now said, you heard a noise —you and your precious friend. W. Yes, we heard a noise— B. Speak up, can't you ? and don't hesitate so. W. The noise was from the people crying and lamenting— B. Don’t look to me—look to the jury—well, crying and lamenting— W. Crying and lamenting that it happened;

and all blaming the dead man.

B. Blaming the dead man why, I should have thought him the most quiet of the whole—f another laugh)-But what did they blame him for W. Because he struck the prisoner several times without any cause. - * B. Did you see him strike the prisoner * W. No ; but I was told that— B. We don’t ask you what you was told—What did you see * W. I saw no more than I have fold you. B. Then why do you come here to tell us what you heard : W I only wanted to give the reason why the company blamed the deceased. B. Oh we have uothing to do with your reasons or theirs either. W. No, sir, I don't say you have. B. Now, sir, remember you are upon oathyou set out with fetching a mid wife : I presume you now went for an undertaker : W. No. 1 did not. B. No 1 that is surprising; such a friendly man as you ! I wonder the prisoner did not enoloy you.

W. No, I went away soon after. B. And what induced you to go away? W. It became late ; and I could do no good. B. I dare say you could not–And so you come here to do good, don't you ? W. I hope I have done no harm—I have spoken like an honest man—I don't know any thing more of the matter. B. Nay, I shan’t trouble you farther—(witness retires, but is called again). Pray, sir, what did the prisoner drink his Hollands and water out of W. A pint tumbler. B. A pint tumblers what a rummer ? W. I don’t know—it was a glass that holds a

pint. B. Are you sure it holds a pint? JV. I believe so. -

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ON the STATUE OF GEORGE li. on the TOP of the spilt F. Of Bluomsbury church. When Harry the Eighth left the Pope in the lurch, His subjects all styl'd him the head of the church; But George's good subjects, the Bloomsbury people, Instead of the church made him head of the steeple.

FRU+TS OF WEDLock. He that hath a handsome wife, by other men is thought happy ; ’tis a pleasure to look upon her, and be in her company; but the husband is cloycd with her. We are never contented with what we have. A man that will have a wife should be at the charge of her trinkets, and pay all the scores she sits upon them. He that will keep a monkey should pay for the glasses he breaks. Selden's Table Talk. AVARICE. Ten thousand pounds Avarus had before, His father died, and left him twenty more. Till then, a roll and egg he could allow, But eggs grow dear, a rollinust dine him now,

MUSICAL POLITICs. * Dr. Wise, the musician, being requested to mbscribe his name to a petition against an expected prorogation of Parliament in the reign of Charles II., answered, “No, gentlemen, it is not my ho siness to meddle with state-auairs; but I'll set a tune to it, if you please.”

PENNANT's tour THRough Chester

Pennant had a singular antipathy to a wis, which, however, he could suppress till reases yielded to wine, but when this was the case, ad went the wig next him into the fire. Dining eers at Chester with an officer who wore a wis, Mr. Pennant became half-seas over ; another friend or company, however, had placed himself betwee Pennant and the wig, to prevent mischief. Air much patience, and many a wistful look. Peera started up, seized the wig, and threw it on v. burning coals. It was in flames in a on one to well as the officer, who ran to his sword. In stairs ran Pennant, and the officer after w through all the streets of Chester ; but Penn from his superior knowledge of topography caped. ... This was whimsically enough to Pennant's tour through Chester.

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ANCEstry.

Sir Thomas Overbury says, “that the man who has not any thing to boast of but his illustrious antestors, is like a potatoe—the only good belonging to him is under ground.”

TRiP to Partis.

Our party consists, in a neat Calais job, of Papa and myself, Mr. Connor and Bob. You remembershow sheepish Bob look'd at Kilrandy, [a Dandy; But, Lords he's quite alter'd-they’ve made him A thing, you know, whisker'd, great-coated, and lac’d Likean nor-glas, exceedingly small in the waist: Quite a new sort of creatures, unknown yet to scholars, With heads, so immoveably stuck in shirt-collars, That seats like our music-stools soon must be found them, [round them 1 To twirl, when the creatures may wish to look Inshort, dear, “a Dandy” describes what I mean, And Bob's far the best of the genus I’ve seen . As improving young man, fond of learning, ambitious, And goes now to Paris to study French dishes, oose names—think, how quick l—he already knows pat, * , oraise, petits patés, and—what d'ye call that, The inflict on putatoes?—oh maitre d'hotel-, issure you, dear Dolly, he knows them as well As if nothing but these all his life he had eat, Though a bit of them Bobby has never touch'd yet; [cooks, on just knows the names of French dishes and As dear Paknows the titles of authors and books.

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After dreaming some hours of the land of Cockaigne,

That Elysium of all that is friand and nice, Where for hail they have bon mots, and claret for rain, [ice, And the skaiters in winter show off on creamWhere so ready all nature its cookery yields, Macaroni au parmesan grows in the fields ; Little birds fly about with the true pheasant taint, And the geese are all born with a liver complaints I rise—put on neckcloth—stiff, tight, as can be— For a lad who goes into the world, Dick, like me, Should have his neck tied up, you know, there's no doubt of it— Almost as tight as some lads who go out of it. With whiskers well oil'd, and with boots that “hold up. The mirror to nature”—so bright you could sup Off the leather like china; with coat, too, that draws On the tailor, who suffers, a martyr's applause!— With head bridled up, like a four-in-hand leader, And stays—devil's in them—too tight for a feeder, I strut to the old Café Hardy, which yet Beats the field at a dejeuner a la fourchette; There, Dick, what a breakfast !—oh, not like your ghost [toast; Of a breakfast in England, your curst tea and But a side-board, you dog, where one's eye roves about, [out Like a Turk's in the Haram, and thence singles One’s pate of larks, just to tune up the throat, One's small linbs of chickens, done en papillote, One's erudite cutlets, drest all ways but plain, Or one's kidnies—imagine, Dick—done with champagne ! [mayhap, Then, some glasses of Beaune, to disute—or, Chambertin, which you know’s the pet tipple of . Nap, And which Dad, by the by, that legitimate stickler, Much scruples to taste, but I'm not so partic'lar.— Your coffee comes next, by prescription; and then, Dick, 's The coffee's ne'er-failing and glorious appendix,

(If books had but such, my old Grecian, depend
on’t, - [on't);
I’d swallow even W-tk—ns', for sake of the end
A neat glass of parfait-amour, which one sips,
Just as if bottled-velvet tipp'd over one’s lips'
This repast being ended, and paid for—(how odd :
Till a man's us’d to paying, there's something
so queer in't,
The sun now well out, and the girls all abroad,
And the world enough air’d for us, Nobs, to
appear in't, -
We lounge up the Boulevards, where—oh, Dick,
the phyzzes,
The turn-outs, we meet—what a nation of quizzes!
Here toddles along some old figure of fun,
With a coat you might date anno domini i ;
A lac’d hat, worsted stockings, and—noble old
soul |
A fine ribbon and cross in his best button-hole;
Just such as our Pr e, who nor reason nor
fun dreads,
Inflicts without ev’n a court-martial on hundrcds.
Here trips a grisette, with a fond, roguish eye,
(Rather eatable things these grisettes by the by);
And there an old de:noiselle, almost as foud,
In a silk that has stood since the time of the
Fronde.
There goes a French dandy—ah, Dick, unlike
so one oil cos
We've seen about White's—the Mounseers are but
rum ones;
Such hats!—sit for monkies—I'd back Mrs. Draper
To cut neater weather-boards out of brown paper:
And coats—how I wish, if it wouldn’t distress
'em : - ['em!
They'd clab for old B-m—l, from Calais, to dress
The collar sticks out from the neck such a space,
That you'd swear ’twas the plan of this head-
lopping nation, -
To leave there behind them a snug little place
I'or the head to drop into, on decapitation;
In short, what with mountebanks, counts, and
friscurs,
Some mummers by trade, and the rest amateurs-

What with captains in new jockey-boots and silk breeches, Old dustinen with swinging great opert has, And shoe-blacks reclining by statucs in nichts, There never was seen such a race of Jo Sprats! WATER-GRUEL AND ROAst-peer. Phillips and Smith, the sheriffs of London, t 1807-8, were men of very different appearant and habits. Phillips lived on vegetables at drank water, and Smith eat turtle and drank the best vintages, while in persons they write to fect contrasts. Phillips was rosy, fat, and right. Smith was cadaverous, lean, and stoop As they passed through the street, they used hear the following ejaculations from the multuu as Smith went forward, “there goes water-gro —“what a poor looking dog.”—“He looks is potatoes and cabbage.”—“Ha! has has was gruel and he become one another?" As Po advanced, “Here comes roast-beef,” was the neral cry, “My God! what a contrast? " water-gruel fellow looked as though he had t eat and sp—d up again; but roast-bres ever.”—“Ha! has ha : God bless his re-3 —no water-gruel for me.” The PROGRESS OF MATRIMu,NY. In the blithe days of honey-moon, With Kate's allurements sumitten, I lov’d her late, I lov’d her soon, And called her dearest kitten. But now my kitten's grown a cat, ...And cross like other wives. Oh 1 by my soul, my honest Mat, I think she has nine lives | A MATCH FOR THE DEv II. “Two gossipping women,” says the old ps “are a match for the devil,” as the to story will, in some degree, explain and the saying— Old Nick, or, as he is vulgarly ters, Devil, sometimes, it is said, amuses him.

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