Hey, hey-what, what-fine fellow, 'pon my word: I'll knight him, knight him, knight him-hey, my lord!" Then with his glass, as hard as eye could strain, Now to the lofty roof the king did raise Sir Wisky Whiffle is one of those mincing, tit tering, tip-toe tripping animalculæ of the times, tha flutter about fine women like flies in a flower garden) as harmless, and as constant, as their shadows, they dangle by the side of beauty, like part of their watch equipage, as glittering, as light, and as useless. And the ladies suffer such things about them, as they wear souffleé gauze, not as things of value, merely to makes show with; they never say any thing to the purpose, ladies, as if they were a jury of astronomers, executing but, with an eye-glass in their hands, they stare at a writ of inquiry upon some beautiful planet. They imagine themselves possessed of the power of a rattlesnake, who can, as it is said, fascinate by a look: and that every fine woman must, at first sight, fall into their arms." Ha! who's that, Jeck? She's a devilish fine woman; 'pon honour, an immensely lovely creature ! Who is she? she must be one of us; she must be king.come-atable, 'pon honour." "No, sir," replied a stranger that overheard him, "she is not comeatable; she's a lady of strict virtue."-" Is she so?--I'll le at her again; ay, ay, she may be a lady of strict virtue, for, now I look at her again, there is something devilish ungenteel about her." In Salisbury that will reach so high." "Not mop, no, no, not mop it ?" quoth the king "No sir, our Salisbury mops do no such thing; They might as well pretend to scrub the sky." “My lord, you've got fine statues," said the here?" Sesostris," bowing low, replied the peer. "Sir Sostris, hey?-Sir Sostris ?-'pon my word! One of my making ?-what, my lord, my making?"— Pray, pray, my lord, who's that big fellow there?" ""Tis Hercules," replied the shrinking peer. "Strong fellow, hey, my lord? strong fellow, hey? is clerk to Mr. Reeves, an attorney in Tottenham-Commisssioner--Never mind, we don't want your court-road, calling upon him to attend on a given list-go on. day, to show cause why he should not pay a debt of Mr. Williams-Well, then, at last I set up in 39s. 114d. Boswell-court, Queen-square. Lawk me what alterations I have seen in that square, surely in my time. I remember when I used to go to shave old Lord Commissioner-For God's sake, do come to the end of your story. Mr. Williams-Well, I will. Where was I? Oh! in Boswell-court-[Commissioner, aside: I wish you were there now.]-Well, then, you must know when Lord Mansfield (God rest his soul !) died, his wigthe very, very wig I. made-got back to my old master's shop, and he kept it as a pattern for other judge's wigs: and at last who should die but my master himself. Ay, its what we must all come to. The Commissioner-Go on, go on man, and come to the end of your story. Mr. Williams, who spoke with a sort of lisping squeak, garrulously addressed the Commissioner: "He had," he said, "been a hair-dresser, man and boy, for sixty-eight years. He had served his time in the Temple, where he had the honour of making wigs for some of the greatest men as ever lived-of all professions, and of all ranks-judges, barristers, and zommoners-churchmen as well as laymen-illiterate men as well as literate men; and among the latter, he had to rank the immortal Dr. Johnson: but of all the wigs he had ever set comb to, there was none on which he so much prided himself as a full state wig which he had made for Lord Mansfield; it was one of the earliest proofs of his genius: it had excited the warm commendation of his master, and the of his brother shopmates; but, above all, it had pleased, nay, even delighted, the noble and learned I judge himself. Oh! gemmen," exclaimed Mr. Williams, "if you had known what joy I felt when I first saw his noble Lordship on the bench with that wig on his head!" (in an under tone, but rubbing his bands with ecstacy.) "Upon my say so, I was fuddled for three days after! envy The Commissioner-Doubtless; but you must come to the marrow, if you can, as soon as possible. Mr. Williams-I will. Well, as I was sayingwhere did I leave off?-Oh! when I was fuddled. The Commissioner-I hope you have left off that habit, now, my good man. Mr. Williams-Upon my say so, I have, trust me; but as I was a saying, to make a long story short, in course of time I left my master in the Temple, set up for myself, and did a great stroke of business. Ay, I could tell you such a list of customers. There was Mr. Williams-I will, I will. Well, where was Oh! in my poor master's shop. Well, so when he died, my mistress gave me-for she knew, poor soul! how I loved it-this 'dentical wig; and I carried it home with as much delight as, if it had been one of my children. Ab, poor little things! they're gone before me all The Commissioner- Come, if you don't cut this matter short, I must, and send you after them. Mr. Williams-Dearee me! you put me out. Well, as I was a saying, I kept this here wig as the apple of my eye; when, as ill-luck would have it, that ere Mr. Lawrence came to my shop, and often asked me to lend it to him to act with in a play -I think he called it Shycock, or Shylock, for he said he was to play the judge. I long refused, but he over persuaded me, and on an unlucky day I let him have it, and have never (weeping and wiping his little eye with his white apron) seen it since. The Commissioner-And so you have summoned him for the price of this wig? Mr. Williams-You have just hit the nail on the head. The Commissioner-Well, Mr. Lawrence, what have you to say to this? Mr Lawrence (with great pomposity)—Why, sir, | Chitty, and most erroneously so call him; for you I have a great deal to say. ought to know that the Ch in Italian sounds like an The Commissioner-Well, then, sir, I desire you English K; and Mr. Kitty, by lineal descent, is an will say as little as you can, for there are a great Italian. It is a vulgar error to spell his name with a many persons waiting here whose time is very pre-y final, it ought to be i, and then it would properly sound Kittee. cious. Commissioner-What record? Mr. Lawrence-The record in Court. Mr. Lawrence- You have a summons, on which I attend to defend myself; and that is, to all intents and purposes, de facto, as well as de jure, a record similar to, and of the essence of a record in the Court above. Commissioner-Sir, we are not guided by the precedents of Courts above here. Our jurisdiction and our powers are defined by particular Acts of Parliament. Mr. Lawrence-Sir, I contend, according to the common law of these realms, that I am right. Commissioner-I say, according to the rules of common sense, you are wrong. Mr. Lawrence-Sir, I have cases. Commissioner-Sir, I desire you will confine yourself to this case. Mr. Lawrence-What says Kitty upon the nature of these pleadings? The Commissioner-And pray who is Kitty? Mr. Lawrence-The most eminent pleader of the present day. The Commissioner-I never heard of a woman being a special pleader. Mr. Lawrence-He is not a woman, sir; he is a man, sir, and a great man, sir-and a man, sir The Commissioner-Do you mean Mr. Chitty. The Commissioner I should rather take Mr. Chitty's authority for this than yours. Mr. Lawrence (in anger)—Šir, do you contradict me? The Commissioner-Sir, I will bring this case to a short issue. Did you borrow this man's wig? Mr. Lawrence-I did. The Commissioner-Do you choose to return it? The Commissioner-How destroyed? Mr. Lawrence-It was burnt by accident. The Commissioner-Who burnt it? Mr. Lawrence-I did, in performing the part of the Judge in Shakspeare's inimitable play of the Merchant of Venice. While too intent on the pleadings of Portia, the candle caught the curls, and I, with difficulty, escaped having my eyes burnt out. The plaintiff here uttered an ejaculation of mental suffering, something between a groan and a curse. The Commissioner-Well then, sir, I have only to tell you, you are responsible for the property thus intrusted to your care; and, without farther comment, I order and adjudge that you pay to the plaintiff the sum of 39s. 114d., which is the sum he is prepared to swear it is worth. Mr. Williams-Swear! Lord love you, I'd swear it was worth a Jew's eye. Indeed, no money can compensate me for its loss. Commissioner-I cannot order you a Jew's eye, Mr. Williams, unless Mr. Lawrence can persuade hus friend Shylock to part with one of his; but I will order you such a sum in monies numbered, as you wil swear this wig is fairly and honestly worth. A long dispute followed, as to the value of the when Mr. Williams ultimately agreed to take 20 and costs, and the parties were dismissed mutually grumbling at each other. A SET-DOWN. Swift was one day in company with a young coxcomb, who rose with some conceited gesticulation, and with a confident air, said, "I would have you to know, Mr. Dean, I set up for a wit." indeed," said the Dean, then take my advice, and Do you, sit down again." THE LIKENESS; OR, MY COUSIN. My lord was all kind, and my lady all fair, And in conjugal fetters were link'd; - So like, but the truth we'll record; When his forehead, his nose, and his sweet dimpled chin, All present could easily trace. The ladies sat smiling; the captain smil'd too; Declar'd it was just like-my lord! "Then, my lord, all our friends are inclin'd to be And, my dear, we'll dispense with my cousin." MISERIES OF AN AMERICAN STAGE-COACH. melancholy pleasure to travel." My dear Corinna, "After all," says Madame de Stael, "it is a might as well have said, D'abord ce n'est qu'un what an expression! " a pleasure to travel!" You triste plaisir que de se faire ARRACHER LE DENT!" However pleasant it might be to you to roll in your baronial travelling carriage from Geneva to Paris, to meet the incense of your adoring beaux esprits, I can assure your illustrious shade, that the American stage-coach is quite another affair. The very genius of inconvenience seems to have invented them, and to continue his ungracious assistance to arrange their evolutions. Misery 1st. PACKING. 2. After a sleepless night of anxiety, on the eve of the fatal day, mixed with the interesting reflectionsis every thing right in my valise ?- Will Mary remember to wake me at four?-where did I" pack" my shaving apparatus? &c.-you drop into a perturbed sleep, which in half an hour is broken by the appalling cry—“ The stage is come, sir." You wake with aching head and low spirits, and would give every thing in the world, except your already paid passagemoney to sleep till nine. 3. Getting into the coach in the dark, treading on the feet of the peevish, sleepy, occupants-you are stuck upon the midst of the narrow, tottering, middle seat, with no back to lean against, and two or three trunks already in possession of the place destined for your legs. A sick child is awaked by your entrée, and the mother opens an octave higher than concert pitch, to drown his cries and aid in waking him thoroughly. After keeping you in this state half an hour, the coachman drives on, and you are greeted with the muttered "d-n" of your opposite male fellow-passenger, as you pitch against him, and the whining "dear me ! luddy mercy" of the "LADIES," (to use the coachman's hyperbolical compliment to the gingham draped travellers,) on whom in turn you recoil. 4. A breakfast at a poor tavern. Domestic coffee, THE LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER. The day seems like a little eternity sweetened with maple sugar; heavy, coarse breadtough, cold bam. No napkins, no salt-spoons, no egg-cups, no toast, no nothing. You have now a view of your fellow-passengers, who are to bear you "Nothing there is to come, and nothing past." company throughout a long summer's day. And first 9. Arrive at your destination-hotel full-are of the ladies," the sick child's cross mother-a red, fat, snuff-faced widow, and two old maids with dark chamber, with two beds. The servant vanishes corkscrewed up five pair of stairs to a litte, low, faded silk gowns and gold necklaces. The men under the artful pretence of filling your dressing ignorant and presuming, wrangling about manufac- pitcher, but returns not :-no bell-grope down to the tures and politics, and treating their salivary glands bar-every one busy with the previous customers, in to a profusion of tobacco. You have a fine time to their new coats and smooth chins-barkeeper, from reflect on your folly, in leaving the charming, cheer- your muddy travelling frock and long beard, takes ful breakfast at C- -'s, the strong, hot amber of the you for your own servant, and minds nothing you say coffee, the light French rolls, the Vauxhall ham, dressing to go out-find that every thing you want and, above all, the rosy, laughing girls, blooming and is precisely at the nadir of your trunk, which is not giggling from their morning slumbers, and full of the quite so handy as an elephant's-clothes full of amusements and sports of the day," a longing, dandies in the reading and bar-rooms- nobody to wrinkles-cravats yellow-quizzed by the native lingering look behind!" 5. As you are about to mount the mud-fleckered whom you have cards at home-your banker in the coach, you look with tardy prudence for your valise. country to stay a fortnight-little money and no creRemember, at this convenient season, you forgot it. dit-see a fine girl in the street-laughs at your You thus endure, like the man in the play, not only yankee coat instead of falling in love with you, comme disgrace and inconvenience, but positive loss. Forced de raison-find the reverse of the proverb about a to open your heavy, large, close-packed trunk twenty prophet in his own country true-treated rudely at times a day, for want of the valise as a tender. Your the table d'hôte-quarrel-no friend to take your imagination dwelling on it with nervous tenacity. note-make your dying arrangements; no friend to So neat a valise-so convenient-all my dressing leave them with-bound over to keep the peace – vo articles-the very valise I had abroad-how could I friend to be bail-get into the coach to return-every lose my valise ? &c. &c. 6. A rough, stony road, wooden springs to the riosity to gratify, and have tired your body and mind thing worse than before, because you have no carriage, the horses, as well as the driver, in spirits, into a state of querulous despondence.-Arrive at or deep clinging mud, lazy driver and tired horses-home, and learn that in your absence your firm as long stages of twelve or fifteen miles, with a heavy failed, and your mistress married your rival. load. 7. Wishing to make a cross-cut, you are told that, at the next village, you will certainly find horses. Arrive, and while seeking the landlord, let the former stage drive off. Find out that there are no horses in. Perquisitions reluctantly and indolently made for you at the Doctor's, Squire L.'s, &c. unsuccessful, it being the landlord's interest to detain you, and hence 8. A day at a country tavern, no books, amusements, or company. (See Washington Irving's Stout Gentleman No good wine-no agreeable prospect WHAT'S AN EPIGRAM. The first known English Epigram. That wealth he might have wonne, Since juggling first beganne |