ladyship to intercede for me." The Protector turning to the young woman cried, "What's the meaning of this, hussey? Why do you refuse the honour Mr. White would do you? He is my friend, and I expect you should treat him as such." My lady's woman, who desired nothing more, with a very low courtesy, replied, "If Mr. White intends me that honour, I shall not be against him." Say you so, my lass?" cried Cromwell, call Godwyn; this business shall be done presently, before I go out of the room." Mr. White had gone too far to retreat; the parson came, and Jerry and my lady's woman were married in the presence of the Protector.

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he was found guilty, and asked what he had to say why sentence should not be passed? "Me Lor, I vil trouble you attendez two tree vord vat I sal say. I French gentleman, I no understand vat you call de tief dis country. Mais I vil tell you tout d'affair, and you vil find dat I am innocent. Me Lor, I never tief a pig my life time." "Why, it was found upon you." "Oh, certainly, but I was take him vid his own consent." "How do you mean?" "Vy, ven I was see de mamma pig, and his childrens, I was very much in love vid dem; and dis little pig, look his face, I say, you pretty little fellow, will you come live vid me for one month? He says, a week! a week! So I have taken him for a week, dat's all."

WATER DRINKING.

A citizen's lady being once asked to drink a glass of wine, refused, because her physician had put her upon a regiment, which was to drink water. Then, madam, said a gentleman present, I presume you belong to the Cold-stream.

GEORGE III. AND LORD BATEMAN.

In March, 1781, lord Bateman waited upon the King, and with a very low bow, begged to know at what hour his majesty would please to have the stag hounds turned out. I cannot exactly answer that, replied the King, but I can inform you, that your lordship was turned out about two hours ago. The marquis Caermarthen succeeded him.

THE PROGRESS OF PUPPYISM.

Rough as his native clods, to town
Young Bruin came, a country clown;
His hair, that still defy'd the comb,
Stood like the bristles of a broom:
His coat, of cut, behind, before,
The same as that his father wore,
Was honest drab of Yorkshire growth
With brazen buttons, and so forth;
The cuffs, pull'd lower down, betray'd
How worldly beauty blooms to fade;
His buckskin short, and eke too strait,
His toes turn'd in, a slouching gait ;

With hobnails fortified his feet,
He struck a light along the street.

Now, station'd at a Ludgate door,
The natty prig succeeds the boor;
Like spigot in a cask of beer,
The dawnings of a tail appear;
His locks with many a fiery twirl,
Assume a kind of stubborn curl :
He cleans his teeth, collects a grin,
While frequent soap manures his chin;
To angle ninety strains his feet;
And geometric trips the street,
Lest stockings white receive a smear,
And none but worsted else to wear:
Now, soon as shut his evening shop,
He figures at a half-crown hop;
The ladies leering-well they may-
To see him wriggle it away;
For sure their little hearts must warm
At so much youth, with such a form.
"What sinewy legs and thighs!—O lack!
And what a lovely breadth of back!"

Now vegetates a nobler tail,
Of substance like his father's flail,
While flakes of powder down his waist,
Bespeak the man of growing taste.
His frock balloon or emperor's eye,
With narrow skirts, and collar high.
A button like a full-fac'd moon,
Succeeds the coat of Yorkshire brown;
And now he struts among the belles,
At Dog and Duck, or Bagnige Wells:
In boots, perhaps to hide the dirt,
And justify a coarser shirt;
Or, as more Cynic bards suppose,
With stockings torn, and want of shoes.
But no such reasons I adduce,
Th' equestrian is a dress of use;
Where folk may see, or think they see,
Me and my horse, my horse and me!
His hat, abridg'd from cock'd to round,
With velvet band, and velvet-bound,
Shall live, that fashion on the wane,
To be, perhaps, a square again,

With golden girdle and cockade,
Tho' hat decay, and binding fade.
And now the finish'd youth aspires
To breathe a critic's nobler fires:
The playhouse his nocturnal hobby,
A half-price lounger in the lobby;
He damns, by proxy, o'er his chop,
At Jupp's or Merryfield's old shop,
A piece at which he ne'er appear'd,
Or hawks the song he never heard:
And still to swindling knaves submits,
Presuming on the fate of wits;
Till all his pence reduc'd to pills,
His thread-bare dress to doctors' bills;
A dupe to those, and these unpaid,
The prodigal returns to trade,
Abjures the vanities of life,

And makes some ruin'd girl his wife.

JOHN KEMBLE'S ONLY PUN.

When it was understood that Sir James Lowther, afterwards Lord Lonsdale, was to be elevated to the peerage, as a reward for offering to furnish government with a seventy-four gun ship, completely equipped, at his own expense; a lady said to Mr. Kemble, "Dear me, sir, what a whimsical thing this seems altogether; I wonder what title they can give for supplying a ship; what can they call him, Mr. Kemble?" "Why, madam," replied Mr. Kemble, "I should think he will be called Lordship."

HEAR BOTH SIDES, OR CANDID SKETCHES OF

CELEBRATED CHARACTERS.

Writers.

Homer, a great poet and a blind beggar.

cowardice.

Sappho, an elegant poetess and harlot.

Esop, a philosopher and lump of deformity. Herodotus, a beautiful historian and great liar. Aristotle, the prodigy of philosophy, who wrote without understanding himself.

Virgil, a beautiful poet and abominable flatterer. Horace, an excellent lyric and satiric poet, who indulged in all the vices he satirized.

Cicero, a philosopher and turncoat.

Generals.

Alexander, a great conqueror and drunkard.
Julius Caesar, a hero and bald-pated whore-

monger.

Duke of Vendome, a hero and a sluggard.
Marlborough, a great general, fop, and miser.
English Writers.

Shakspeare, first of poets and a deer-stealer.
Otway, a man of genius and egregious fool.
Johnson, a philosopher and a brute.
Porson, a wonderful scholar and blackguard.

SWIFT'S DESCRIPTION OF A CRITIC.

A true critic is a sort of a mechanic set up with a stock and tools for his trade, at as little expense as a tailor; and inded there is much analogy between the utensils and abilities of both: thus the tailor's hell is the type of a critic's common place book, and his wit and learning held forth by the goose: and it requires at least as many of the one to the making up of one scholar, as of the other to the composition of a man: also the valour of both is equal, and their weapons near of a size. Some account says, that the writings of critics are the mirrors of learning; by which we are to understand literally, that a writer should inspect into the books of the critics, and correct his in

emblem of duration; and when it is skilfully burnished, will cast reflections from its own superficies, without any assistance of a mercury from behind. The true critics may be known by their talent of swarming about the noblest writers, to which they are carried merely by instinct, as a rat to the best cheese, or a wasp to the fairest flower. Lastly, I define a true critic to be, in the perusal of a book, like a dog at a feast, whose thoughts and stomach are wholly set upon what guests fling away, and consequently is apt to snarl most when there are the fewest bones.

STROUD, ROCHESTER, AND CHATHAM.
By a Tourist, in 1790.

The people of Stroud

Talk long, and talk loud,

And herd in a crowd,

Traducing their innocent neighbours;
While Envy by fits

'Midst the congress sits,
Gives a whet to their wits,

And smiles on their scandalous labours.
This place, like an cel,

Where the publicans steal,

Is dirty, base, long, foul, and slippery,
And the belles flirt about,
With their persons deck'd out,

In run muslin and second-hand frippery."
Rochester's a town

Of specious renown,

Full of tinkers and tailors, And slopmen and sailors, And magistrates who often blunder'd ; Coquettes without beauty,

Old maids past their duty, And Venus' gay nymphs by the hundred.

Vile inns without beds,
And men without beads,
By which poor Britannia is undone ;
Extortionate bills,
Anti-venery pills, -

And port manufactured in London.
Ilonest Dick Watts of yore,
Their good name to restore,
Decreed (such enorinities scoruing)
Each travelling wight,

A warm couch for the night,

And fourpence in cash in the morning.

Old Chatham's a place,

That's the nation's disgrace,

Where the club and the fist prove the law, sir; And presumption is seen

To direct the marine,

Who knows not a spike from a hawser.
Here the dolts show with pride,
How the men of war ride,

Who France's proud first-rates can shiver,
And a fortified hill

All the Frenchmen to kill,
That land on the banks of the river!

Such a town, and such men,
We shall ne'er see again,
Where smuggling's a laudable function;
In some high windy day,
May the de'il fly away

With the whole of the dirty conjunction.

THE COCKNEY TRAVELLERS.

As one of those cattle salesmen who attend Smithfeld market on a Monday, and jog on a sorry beast to their native village a hundred or a hundred

At Rochester is a house appropriated for the reception of ex poor travellers, over the door of which is the following

inscription:

Richard Watts, Esq.

by his will, dated 22d August, 1579, founded this charity,

for six poor travellers, who, not being rogues or proctors, may receive graus for one night, lodging, entertainment, and fourpence each.

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and ten miles from London in a single day, was one Tuesday morning, early, jolting through Holloway, on his weekly route, towards Rutland, he was overtaken by a couple of spruce cocknies, well mounted, and the following dialogue took place: "Well, farmer, and how far do you expect to get to night." Why, God willing," said the farmer, "I hope to sup with my wife at Great Dolby, near Melton Mowbray."-"And how far do you call that, farmer?"-"Some folks call it a hundred and twelve miles, but as I make short cuts, I shall find it little more than a hundred."-"And how often do you change horses?" bursting into a vehement laugh. "Oh, as to the matter of that," said the farmer, "I knew never ride but one horse, and I never him fail me."-" Well, but, farmer, if that animal enables you to sup a hundred and ten miles from London, ours will carry us with ease to Northampton." "Why," said the farmer, "it may be so, gentlemen, provided you can hold in, and go slow enough."-One of them now exclaimed to the other, "The farmer is quizzing us, let us get on Jack," and accordingly spurring their horses, they went full speed up Highgate Hill. Presently the farmer, on passing one of the inns at Highgate, saw the horses of his fellow-travellers fastened at the door, while the gentlemen were refreshing themselves inside. On his approaching Barnet, the cocknies, on a full trot, overtook him."" Holloa," said one to the other, "here is the d-d farmer got before us;" and then accosting him, asked him, "Whether he thought they should get to Northampton that night?"

Why, it may be so," said he, "provided you can hold in, and go slow enough," which provoking a fresh burst of laughter, they proceeded full speed up Barnet Hill, through Barnet. The farmer saw nothing further of them till he reached St. Alban's, where he was saluted from the window of an inn by a torrent of oaths for passing them again. About Dunstable they again overtook him, and the same interchange of sentiments took place, as at Barnet; and after laughing at the farmer's notion of supping at Great Dolby, they proceeded in their career. At Dunstable, the farmer stopped to bait his horse, and