"

Aye, but 'tis David Jones," quoth Hugh; Quoth porter, "We've six Davids too." "Cot's flesh," cries Morgan, cease your mockings, My David Jones wears worsted stockings!" Quoth porter, "Which it is, heav'n knows, For all the eight wear worsted hose."

My Cot," says Hugh, "I'm ask'd to dine,
With cousin Jones, and quaff his wine."
"That one word, 'wine," is worth a dozen,"
Quoth porter," now I know your cousin ;
The wine has stood you, Sir, in more stead
Than David, or the hose of worsted;
You'll find your friend at number nine,
We've but one Jones that quaffs his wine."

GENEROUS HIGHWAYMAN.

Boulter, the famous highwayman, one day met a young woman in great distress, who told him that a creditor had entered a house which she pointed out, and threatened to take her husband to prison for a debt of thirty guineas. Boulter gave her thirty guineas, telling her to go and pay the debt, and set her husband at liberty, and she ran off loading him with thanks. Boulter, in the mean time, waited on the road till he saw the creditor come out; he then attacked him, and took back the thirty guineas, besides every thing else he had about him.

THE JEW AND CHRISTIAN.

A Jew, about two centuries ago, at Tewkesbury, fell into a filthy hole on Saturday, which, being the sabbath, he would not that day be drawn out for fear of breaking it. The earl of Gloucester hearing this news, forbade him to be taken out the next day, our Sunday; for that neither (he said) should the Christian sabbath be broken by him; whereupon the poor man lying there till Monday, miserably died. There is a whimsical Leonine epigram, written in the thirteenth century, on this circumstance.

THE WIG, CANE, AND HAT.

By the side of a murmuring stream,
An elderly gentleman sat;
On the top of his head was his wig,
And a-top of his wig was his hat.

The wind it blew high and blew strong,
As the elderly gentleman sat;
And bore from his head in a trice,
And flung in the river his hat.
The gentleman then took his cane,

Which lay by his side as he sat :
And he dropt in the river his wig,

In attempting to get out his hat. His breast it grew cold with despair, And full in his eye madness sat; So he flung in the river his cane,

To swim with his wig and his hat. Cool reflection at length came across,

While this elderly gentleman sat; So he thought he would follow the stream, And look for his cane, wig, and hat, His head being thicker than common, Overbalanced the rest of his fat, And in plumpt this son of a woman, To follow his wig, cane, and hat.

CLERICAL LEARNING

[lection of books, in various languages, asked bnn whether he understood them all? The answer being in the affirmative, he rejoined, "Surely, surely, brother, you must have had your head broken with a brick from the tower of Babel."

ODE TO SAINT PATRICK.

WRITTEN WHILE HALF TIPSY, OVER A SOLITARY
DINNER.

Tho' solus here I pick my bone,
And drown my shamrock all alone,

Yet ne'er the worse for that,
I'll fill and drink (to make amends)
Both to and for all absent friends,
To honour thee, SAINT PAT!
And, faith, to thee I'd rather quaff
Than any Saint, on Heaven's staff,
That ever Pope gazetted;
Because to thee we Irish sinners,
Who love to sprinkle well our dinners,
Are very deep indebted.

There's good ST. SWITHIN-had he given
(Instead of water) wine from heaven,
For forty days together,
Then, truly, for a moist set-in,

Six weeks of wet would not have been
Uncomfortable weather.

But Oh! the liquor, gemm'd with beads,
That in my glass this moment reads
The Riot-act, so frisky!
Sweet PAT, if e'er in humorous vein,
Thou tak'st it in thy head to rain,

For Heaven's sake rain us whiskey!
I wonder what, in censure's way,
The Devil's lawyer had to say

Against thee, PAT-what had he?
The worst that ELDON's self could prose,
(The Devil's lawyer he, God knows!)

Would be to call thee "PADDY."

A person, called the Devil's advocate, employed at the canonization of Saints, to blacken the characters of those

But, let them call thee what they will,
Through life I'll love thy worship still,

And when my race is over,
Let shamrocks crown my bed of sleep,
Let whiskey-dew the shamrocks steep,
And friends say round me, while they weep,
"Here lies a PAT, in clover !”

SHUTER THE COMEDIAN.

This performer was once engaged for a few nights in a principal city in the north of England. It happened that the stage that he went down in (and in which there was only an old gentleman and himself) was stopped on the road by a single highwayman. The old gentleman, in order to save his own money, pretended to be asleep; but Shuter resolved to be even with him. Accordingly, when the highwayman presented his pistol, and commanded Shuter to deliver his money instantly, or he was a dead man-"Money!" returned he, with an idiotic shrug, and a Countenance inexpressibly vacant-" Oh! Lud, Sir, they never trust me with any; for nuncle here always pays for me, turnpikes and all, your honour!" Upon which the highwayman gave him a few curses for his stupidity, complimented the old gentleman with a smart slap on the face to awaken him, and robbed hm of every shilling he had in his pocket; while Shuter, who did not lose a single farthing, pursued his journey with great satisfaction and merriment, laughing heartily at his fellow-traveller

CLERICAL CURIOSITY.

A minister catechising his parishioners, among the rest called upon a woman of more confidence than judgment, and asked her who died for her. "Pray, Sir," said she," let me alone with your taunts!" He told her that this was no matter of taunting; and asked her the same question again. "Sir," replied she, "I have been an honest housekeeper these twenty years, methinks it does not become a man of your coat to mock me at this rate."-" What do'st mean, woman?" replies the parson; "I do not mock you: I ask you who died for you?" Then," cried she, "if you will have the truth, in plain English, I

"

was once so handsome, that as many would have died for me as for any of your daughters, depend upon it."

QUIN'S SOLILOQUY ON SEEING THE EMBALMED BODY
OF DUKE HUMPHREY :

A plague on Egypt's arts, I say,
Embalm the dead-on senseless clay
Rich wine and spices waste;
Like sturgeon, or like brawn shall I,
Bound in a precious pickle lie.

Which I can never taste!

Let me embalm this flesh of mine,
With turtle fat and Bourdeaux wine,
And spoil the Egyptian trade.
Than Gloster's duke more happy I,
Embalm'd alive old Quin shall die,
A mummy ready made.

A SAVING CLAUSE.

It was customary with Marshal Bassompierre, when any of his soldiers were brought before him for "By God, brother, heinous offences, to say to them you or I will certainly be hanged!" which was a sufficient denunciation of their fate. A spy being discovered in his camp, was addressed in this language; and next day, as the provost was carrying the wretch to the gallows, he pressed earnestly to speak with the Marshal, alleging that he had somewhat of importance to communicate. The Marshal, being made acquainted with this request, exclaimed, It is the way of all these rascals; when ordered for execution, they pretend some frivolous story, merely to reprieve themselves for a few moments: however, bring the dog hither." Being introduced, the Marshal asked him what he had to say?" Why, my lord," said the culprit, "when first I had the honour of your conversation, you was obliging enough to say, that either you or I should be hanged: now I am come to know, whether it is your pleasure to be so; because if you won't, I must, that's all." The Marshal was so pleased with the fellow's humour, that he ordered him to be released.