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THE LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER.

TREBLE BIRTH.

A man of some small fortune had a wife,

Sans doute, to be the comfort of his life,

And pretty well they bore the joke together; With little jarring lived the pair one year, Sometimes the matrimonial sky was clear,

A fine young lady to the world is come,
Squalling away just as I left the room!
Sir, this is better than a good estate!"

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Humph," quoth the man, and scratch'd his pate.

Now gravely looking up-now looking down;
Not with a smile, but somewhat like a frown,

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At times 'twas dark and dull and hazy weather." Good God," says he, why was I not a cock,

Now came the time when mistress, in the straw,
Did for the world's support her screams pre-

pare;

And Slop appear'd with fair obstetric paw,
To introduce his pupil to our air;
Whilst in a neighbouring room the husband sat,
Masing on this thing now, and now on that.

Now sighing at the sorrows of his wife,
Praying to Heaven that he could take the pain,
But recollecting that such prayers were vain,
He made no more an offer of his life.

Alone as thus he mused in solemn study,
Ideas sometimes clear and sometimes muddy,
In Betty rush'd with comfortable news:
Sir, Sir, I wish ye joy, I wish ye joy!
Madam is brought to bed of a fine boy,
As fine as ever stood in shoes!"

I'm glad on't, Betty," cried the master,
I pray there may be no disaster!

All's with your mistress well, I hope?”
Qanth she," All's well, as heart can well desire,
With Madam and the fine young squire,
So likewise says old Doctor Slop."

Of Betty hurried, fast as she could scour,
Fast and as hard as any hors
That trotteth fourteen miles an hour;
A pretty tolerable course.

Soon happy Betty came again,
Blowing with all her might and main;

Just like a grampus or a whale,

la sounds too that would Calais reach from Dover; "Sir, Sir! more happy tidings; 'tis not over— And Madam's brisker than a nightingale.

Who never feels of burd'ning brats the shock;
Who, Turk like, struts 'mid his madams, picking,
Whilst to the hen belongs the care
To carry them to eat, or take the air,
Or bed beneath her wing the chicken?'
Just as this sweet soliloquy was ended,
He found affairs not greatly mended
For in bounc'd Bet, her rump with rapture jig-
ging;

"Another daughter, Sir-a charming child.”— "Another!" cried the man, with wonder wild; "Zounds! Betty, ask your mistress, if she's pigging."

JUDGE JEFFERY'S SPEECH TO THE MAYOR AND
ALDERMEN OF BRISTOL.

I have brought a brush in my pocket to rub off
your dirt; I tell you, I have brought a stout
besom, with which I will sweep every man's
door, both within and without, for in good truth
you. want rubbing; the dirt of your ditch is in
Where am I? in Bristol, a city in
your nostrils.
which it seems you claim the privilege of haug-
ing, drawing, and quartering; a privilege you
ought to enjoy at least once a month.
calendar of your city in my hands, aud hope
before I have done to hang one half of you at
least.

SYMPATHETIC ANALOGIE.

I have a

Two cantabs were one day descending a staircase, when the foremost chanced to stumble against a pail that had accidentally been left at the bottom, upon which his companion quaintly observed, that he had kicked the bucket, "Oh, no!" said he, "I only turned pale."

LONDON IN SUMMER.

This large city is now a huge oven, and the few who still walk the streets look baked. The streets are like the highways of the desert for silence and sand, the stage-coaches (for no others are abroad) move in whirlwinds of dust,-and it is only when the sun goes down from the brazen sky, that you find London is still peopled.

of Moorfields grow romantic to the roar of moonlight kettle-drums on the pier at Margate; or embryo tailors, arm in arm with the rising hopes of haberdashery, discuss pantaloons and the battle of Waterloo on the Steyne? Who is the worse for all this? If the life of man is to be spent in eter nal stitching, let them be grasped by the hand of law, the unworthy minister of Heaven in this instance, and summarily consigned to their counters. The heat has grown intense, and it has certainly But if all statutes, from Deuteronomy to Blackdeadened the spirit of public amusements: all the stone, are silent on the subject. let them be happy gatherings of the wealthy into ball-rooms, and the in their own way, flatter the inn-keepers, pick up other refuges of industrious idleness, are melting pebbles on the sca-shore, spend their hebdomadal down-the theatres are stricken with loneliness-gains in raffling for razor-paste, powder-puffs, and all the superfluity of the London populace, and pill-boxes;-and when the municipal treasury great and little, is already flowing out upon the sounds hollow, when the races are over, and every sea-shore, from Thanet to Torbay. This our "lau-soul is saturated with sea-smells and Olympic dust, datores temporis acti" revile, as among the signs let them return, and through the winter" babble of a degenerate time. But what is the use of fry- of green fields." There is no jest in all this. ing and boiling the human materials in cities, when What would become of London, crammed with its it can live and be happy even on the withered downs million of heavy feeders, and those reinforced by and slimy shores of Margate. Our forefathers, irruptions from all the red, green, blue, brown, with all their wisdom, were fools. Those opulent and black population of the earth, with all their persons lingered through the year in their count- oleaginous, murky, yellow-feverish, cholera-moring-houses, saw the summer only through the Sun- bus bloods, inflamed by made wine, drugged porday's dust at Islington, fed on the steams of man- ter, and the absorption of three hundred thousand kind, concocted in a thousand wealthy and detest-annual bullocks, and three millions of sheep; able lanes, till those venerable stews and fricassees vaulted in under an impenetrable sky of smoke of men were gathered to the grave. "Vive la pos- and ashes, from a hundred thousand manufactories terilé." There is more enjoyment now scattered of all horrible and death-dealing steams, stenches,. over the life of a London shop-keeper, than, fifty and evaporations, without those escapes and vents years ago, fell to the lot of his prince. I look upon for the multitude? this out-pouring of the multitude, this rush of the metropolitan colluvies;-this unctuous deluge rolling through the flood-gates Aldermanbury, Bucklersbury, and all the other snug and airless depositories and hybernacles of life in the city of cities; this scrambling, galloping, walking, tilburying, and steaming down to the sea-side, as among the first proofs, if not the very first, of the prosperity, good-humour, and good government of the nation. What if ancient men inflate their gout with oysters fresh from the bed, and city clerks make themselves ridiculous in quadrilles; what if the fashionables

MODERN SAMPSON

Jack, eating rotten cheese, did say,

Like Sampson, I my thousands slay;
"I vow," quoth Roger," so you do,
And with the self-same weapon too."

ON AN EXCELLENT MUSICIAN PLAYING TO
AWKWARD DANCERS.

How ill the motion with the music suits,
Thus fiddled Orpheus, and thus danc'd the brutes!

BALAAM'S ASS.

Bishop Atterbury happened to say, upon a certain bill in discussion in the House of Lords, that "he had prophesied last winter, this bill would be attempted in the present session, and he was sorry to find that he had proved a true prophet." Lord Coningsby, who spoke after the bishop, desired the house to remark," that one of the Right Reverends had set himself forth as a prophet; but, for his part, he did not know what prophet to liken him to, unless to that furious prophet, Balaam, who was reproved by his own ass.' The bishop, in reply, exposed this rude attack, concluding thus, "Since the noble lord hath discovered in our manners such a similitude, I am well content to be compared to the prophet Balaam; but, my lords, I am at a loss to make out the other part of the parallel; I am sure that I have been reproved by nobody but his lordship.”

GOOD EFFECT.

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of them. I could bring many instances, and those very ancient; but, my lords, I shall go no further back than the latter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, at which time the Earl of Essex was run down by Sir Walter Raleigh; Lord Bacon rar down Sir Walter Raleigh, and your lordships know what became of Lord Bacon; the Duke of Buckingham ran down Lord Bacon, and your lordships know what became of the Duke of Buckingham; Sir Harry Vane ran down the Earl of Strafford, and your lordships know what became of Sir Harry Vane; Chancellor Hyde ran down Sir Harry Vane, and your lordships know what became of the Chancellor; Sir Thomas Osborne ran down Chancellor Hyde, and what will be come of the Earl of Danby, your lordships can best tell; but let me see the man that dares run down the Earl of Danby, and we shall soon see what will become of him."

A CANINE M. P.

Lord North, once speaking in the house, was suddenly interrupted in the midst of the most important part of it, by a dog, who, having taken shelter and concealed himself under the table of the house, made his escape and ran directly across the floor, setting up, at the same time, a violent howl. It occasioned a burst of laughter, and might have disconcerted an ordinary man. Lord North, however, having waited till the roar which it produced had subsided, and preserving all his gravity, addressed the chair, “Sir," said he to the speaker, I have been interrupted by a new member, but, as he has concluded his argument, I will now resume mine."

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LORD ELDON'S FORENSIC ELOQUENCE.

Earl Caernarvon, in the reign of Charles the Second, made a maiden speech in the House of Lords. The occasion was this:--The Duke of Buckingham had ridiculed his silence; when, Horne Tooke was once heard to declare, that, being flushed with wine, he spoke as follows upon were he to be tried again, he would plead guilty the prosecution of the Lord Treasurer Danby. rather than endure hearing the then solicitor-ge"My lords, I understand but little of Latin, but neral's (since the Lord Chancellor Eldon) long a good deal of English, and not a little of the Eng-speeches, one of which lasted eleven hours! Such lish history from which I have learned the mis chiefs of such prosecutions as these, and the ill fate

an effect had this oratorical prolixity upon the nice ears of the author of the Diversions of Puey.

IRISH SORROW.

A captain of grenadiers having some time ago died in the West-Indies, his remains were followed to the grave by an Irish servant, and buried with military honours. Upon the discharge of the last round, poor Pat, who had hitherto observed an awful and melancholy silence, loudly exclaimed, "Ah? Master, Jewel, that's the last shot your honour will ever hear!"

PITT'S MINISTRY.

On the assertion of Mr. Hawkins Browne, that Mr. Pitt found England of wood and left it of marble.

From wood to marble, Hawkins cried,
Great Pitt transform'd us, ere he died!
Indeed! exclaimed a country gaper;
Sure he must mean to marble paper.
IDIOTISM.

A country clergyman, by his dull monotonous discourse, set all the congregation asleep, except an idiot, who sat with open mouth listening. The parson, enraged, and thumping the pulpit, exclaimed, "What! all asleep but this poor idiot." -"Aye," quoth the natural," and if I had not been a poor idiot, I would have been asleep too." NAUTICAL REASONING.

A sailor, being about to sail for India, a citizen asked him where his father died? "In shipwreck," was the answer. "And where did your grandfather die ?"-" As he was fishing, a storm arose, and the bark foundering, all on board perished."" And your great grandfather?""He also perished on board a ship which struck on a rock."-" Then," said the citizen, "if I were you I would never go to sea."-" And pray, Mr. Philosopher," inquired the seaman, "where did your father die?"-" In his bed." "And your grandfather?" In his bed.". "And your great-grandfather?"-" He, and al! my ancestors died quietly in their beds."-" Then, if I were vou, I would never go to bed."

EQUIVOCATION. A TALE.
An abbot rich (whose taste was good
Atike in science and in food)
His bishop had resolv'd to treat;
The bishop came, the bishop eat;
'Twas silence, 'til their stomachs fail'd;
And now at heretics they rail'd
What heresy (the prelate said)

Is in that church where priests may wed!
Do not we take the church for life?
But those divorce her for a wife,
Like laymen keep her in their houses,
And own the children of their spouses.
Vile practices! the abbot cry'd,
For pious use we're set aside!

Shall we take wives? marriage at best
Is but carnality profest.

Now as the bishop took his glass,
He spy'd our Abbot's buxom lass

Who cross'd the room, he mark'd her eye
That glow'd with love; his pulse beat high.
Fye, father, fye, (the prelate cries)

A maid so young! for shame, be wise.
These indiscretions lend a handle
To lewd lay tongues, to give us scandal;
For your vows sake, this rule I give t'ye,
Let all your maids Le turn'd of fifty.

The priest replied, I have not swerv'd
But your chaste precept well observ'd;
That lass full twenty-five has told
I've yet another who's as old;
Into one sum their ages cast;
So both my maids have fifty past.

The prelate smil'd, but durst not blame; For why? his lordship did the same.

Let those who reprimand their brothers, First mend the faults they find in others.

RICH AND POOR.

Sir Walter Raleigh says, that the difference between a rich man and a poor man is this-the former eats when he pleases, and the latter when he can get it.

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So, taking all things into view, I deem
Thy best and wisest plan's to go by sleam.
Four guineas and a half the cabin fare;

And when thy parting friends sigh out farewell, The wish is granted. Seated on thy chair,

When sounds the breakfast or the dinner bell, With roasted, boiled, and baked, I know not where

Thou could'st fare better, save in a hotel; But men of moderate incomes it don't suit To pay maids, waiters, and somewhat to boot. Her mighty engine-wheels with splash and splutter, And power of hundred horses, churn the ocean; (Tis pity that such churning makes no butter,) On, on, she sweeps with vibratory motion, Much faster than a pleasure-boat or cutter;

And yet, for all her speed, I have a notion She would not walk the waters, in high gales, So well as vessels fitted with good sails. Hark to the summons, dinner's on the table! Hark to the clattering of the knives and forks, The rising uproar of the ocean Babel;

The only silent one is he that works,
Shotting his mouth as quick as he is able;

While ever and anon, the starting corks,
Fir'd in your face by furious ginger-beer,
Casse sudden starts of momentary fear!
Bat hapless he, the wight, whose lot is cast,
Before a mighty round of corned beef,
He, luckless wretch, must help himself the last
His time of eating too be very brief,
And half the dishes from the board be past

Ere general taste yet sated, gives relief; Warned by his fate, choose thou position where Potatoes only claim thy humble care.

Another scene succeeds: a suddén qualm
Comes o'er each bosom, with the rising squall;
Sea-sickness comes, for which there is no balm,
Not even Balm of Gilead, curing all
Our other ills-alike in storm and calm,

It baffles human aid, and you may call
For aught that medicine has art and part in,
You'll find 'tis all my eye and Betty Martin
Then beauty's head declines; her pensive eye
Looks sadly o'er the dark and heaving billow,
And through her tresses, as the rude wind sigh,
She leans above the wave-like drooping willow,
"And dull were he that heedless pass'd her by,"
Nor handed her a chair, and brought a
pillow!

'Tis strange, a meal prevented from digesting, Should make a woman look so interesting.

She seems so helpless, and so innocent,

Still as a lake beneath the summer even; A bright and beautiful embodyment, Of calm and peace, and all we dream of heaven; A sight to shake an anchorite or saint,

'Gainst beauty's smiles successful who has striv❜n? A pretty woman, like a sight of wonder, Makes men turn up their eyes like ducks in thunder.

The bark is at Blackwall, and so adieu!

My song and subject cease together there. Oh! wonder-working steam, what thou mayst do, Where is the prophct spirit to declare? By thee we make broad cloth-hatch chickens too, We roam the seas-we yet may traverse air Nay, do not laugh, if I should fondly dream, We yet may manufacture verse by steam.

THE IRISH FOOTMAN'S HINT.

An Irish footman having carried a basket of game from his master to a friend, waited a considerable time for the customary fee, but not finding it likely to appear, scratched his head, and said-Sir, if my master should say, "Paddy, what did the gentleman give you?" what would your honour have me to tell him?

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