B. Now, sir, upon your oath-do you say you what you saw. don't know the name of the street?

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, ars II just put it to my lips.

W. I heard there had been a fight,

killed; and I said, "Oh! Robert, I hope you

bave not done this:" and he shook his head.- B. No repetitions, friend.-Was there any B. Shook his head; and what did you under-fighting after you entered?

B. Quiet! you just now said, you heard a noise B. I say, what did you understand by his shak--you and your precious friend. ing his head?

B. Said nothing! I don't ask you what he said crying and lamenting-
-What did you say?

W. There had been a fight, as I said before-times
I don't want you to repeat what you said
fuse.

There had been a fight between him and

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.

MUSICAL POLITICS.

Dr. Wise, the musician, being requested to sub scribe his name to a petition against an expected prorogation of Parliament in the reign of Charle II., answered, "No, gentlemen, it is not my be siness to meddle with state-affairs; but I'll set 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 reaso yielded to wine, but when this was the case, « went the wig next him into the fire. Dining osc

B. A pint tumbler! what! a rummer?
W. I don't know-it was a glass that holds a at Chester with an officer who wore a wig, M

pint. B.

Are you sure it holds a pint?

W. I believe so.

B. Ay, when it is full, I suppose.-You may go your ways, John Tomkins.-A pretty hopeful fellow that. (Aside).

Aftr

Dow

Pennant became half-seas over; another friend company, however, had placed himself betwee Pennant and the wig, to prevent mischief. much patience, and many a wistful look, Pensa started up, seized the wig, and threw it on burning coals. It was in flames in a moment, well as the officer, who ran to his sword. ON THE STATUE OF GEORGE II. ON THE TOP stairs ran Pennant, and the officer after his OF THE SPIKE OF BLOOMSBURY CHURCH. through all the streets of Chester; but Penna When Harry the Eighth left the Pope in the lurch, from his superior knowledge of topography. His subjects all styl'd him the head of the church; caped. This was whimsically enough calle But George's good subjects, the Bloomsbury people, Pennant's tour through Chester. Instead of the church made him head of the steeple.

FRUITS 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 cloyed 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 roll must dine him now.

PIETY AND PLEASURE. Charles the Second had on the warming pass his mistresses beds this inscription: "Serve Ga and live for ever."

ON FOOTE'S DEATH.

Foote from his earthly stage, alas! is hurl'd;
Death took him off, who took off all the world.

PATIENCE AND INTELLECT.

When Horne Tooke was called before the missioners to give an account of the particulars his income, having answered a question that asked, one of the wise men said peevishly, that did not understand his answer. “Theu," Tooke, as you have not half the understanding another man, you ought at least to have doubis patience,"

ANCESTRY.

THE LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER.

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

TRIP TO PARIS.

Our party consists, in a neat Calais job,
Of Papa and myself, Mr. Connor and Bob.
You remember how sheepish Bob look'd at Kil.
[a Dandy
Bat, Lord! he's quite alter'd-they've made him
A thing, you know, whisker'd, great-coated, and
lac'd,

randy,

Like an hour-glass, 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
[round them!
found them,
To twirl, when the creatures may wish to look
In short, 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,
Those names-think, how quick!-he already
knows pat,

le braise, petits patés, and-what d'ye call that,
They indict on potatoes?-oh! maitre d'hotel-
Tasure you, dear Dolly, he knows them as well
As if nothing but these all his life he had eat,
Ihongb a bit of them Bobby has never touch'd
[cooks,
yet;
But just knows the names of French dishes and
As dear Pa knows the titles of authors and books.
The next is a part of Bob's journal,
Thrk, Dick, what a place is this Paris! but stay-
As my raptures may bore you, I'll just sketch a
day.

As we pass it, myself, and some comrades I've got,
All thorough-bred Gnostics, who know what is

what.

After dreaming some hours of the land of Cockaigne,

That Elysium of all that is friand and nice,
Lice,
Where for hail they have bon mots, and claret for
rain,

And the skaiters in winter show off on cream-
Where so ready all nature its cookery yields,
Macaroni au parmesan grows in the fields;
Little birds fly about with the true pheasant taint,
I rise-put on neckcloth-stiff, tight, as can be-
And the geese are all born with a liver complaint!
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
[toast;
your ghost
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 limbs of chickens, done en papillote,
One's erudite cutlets, drest all ways but plain,
Or one's kidnies-imagine, Dick-done with
[mayhap,
champagne!
Then, some glasses of Beaune, to ditute-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,

breeches,

Old dustmen with swinging great opera-hats, And shoe-blacks reclining by statues in niches, There never was seen such a race of Jac Sprats!

(If books had but such, my old Grecian, depend | What with captains in new jockey-boots and sil 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 1;
A lac'd hat, worsted stockings, and-noble old
soul!

A fine ribbon and cross in his best button-hole;
Just such as our Pre, who nor reason nor
fun dreads,

Inflicts without ev'n a court-martial on hundreds.
Here trips a grisette, with a fond, roguish eye,
(Rather eatable things these grisettes by the by);
And there an old demoiselle, almost as foud,
In a silk that has stood since the time of the

Fronde.

They'd club for old B-m-1, 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
For the head to drop into, on decapitation;
In short, what with mountebanks, counts, and
friseurs,

WATER-GRUEL AND ROAST-BEEF.
Phillips and Smith, the sheriffs of London, i
1807-8, were men of very different appearase
and habits. Phillips lived on vegetables an
the best vintages, while in persons they were per
drank water, and Smith eat turtle and drank
right. Smith was cadaverous, lean, and stoopus
fect contrasts. Phillips was rosy, fat, and op
As they passed through the street, they used
hear the following ejaculations from the multitu
as Smith went forward, "there goes water-grock.
-“ what a poor looking dog."-" He looks lik
gruel and he become one another!" As Philly
"Ha! ba! ha! wat
potatoes and cabbage.'
advanced, "Here comes roast-beef," was the g
neral cry, 66 My God! what a contrast? T
eat and sp-
water-gruel fellow looked as though he had ter
-d up again; but roast-beef to
ever."-"Ha! ha! ha! God bless his rosy gi
-no water-gruel for me."

THE PROGRESS OF MATRIMONY,
In the blithe days of honey-moon,
With Kate's allurements smitten,
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! by my soul, my honest Mat,
I think she has nine lives!

A MATCH FOR THE DEVIL.

"Two gossipping women," says the old prøver 66 are a match for the devil," as the follow story will, in some degree, explain and cont the saying

Old Nick, or, as he is vulgarly termed, Some mummers by trade, and the rest amateurs-'Devil, sometimes, it is said, amuses himself &