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"No! I'm surprised at that; where I came from, it is the common chat. But you shall hear : an odd affair indeed! and that it happened, they are all agreed: Not to detain you from a thing so strange--a gentleman who lives not far from 'Change, this week, in short, as all the Alley knows, taking a vomit, threw up Three Black Crows." "Impossible!"--"Nay, but 'tis really true; I have it from good hands, and so may you." "From whose, I pray?" So, having named the man, straight to inquire his curious comrade ran. "Sir, did you tell"relating the affair. "Yes, Sir, I did; and if 'tis worth your care, 'twas Mr." such-a-one-"who told it me; but, by-the-bye, 'twas Two Black Crows, not three."

Resolved to trace so wondrous an event, quick to the third the virtuoso went. 66 Sir,"--and so forth-"Why, yes; the thing is fact, though, in regard to number, not exact; it was not two black crows, 'twas only One; the truth of that you may depend upon: the gentleman himself told me the case"- "Where may I find him?"--"Why, in"--such a place.

Away he ran; and, having found him out," Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt:"--then, to his last informant he referred, and begged to know, if true what he had heard: "Did you, Sir, throw up a black crow?""Not I!" "Bless me! how people propagate a lie! Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one; and here, I find, all comes at last to none! Did you say nothing of a crow at all?" "Crow?-crow?-perhaps I might, now I recal the matter o'er.""And pray, Sir, what was't?""Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last, I did throw up, and told my neighbour so, something that was as black, Sir, as a crow."

XI.-A BACHELOR'S COMPLAINT.-H. G. Bell.

THEY'RE stepping off, the friends I knew; they're going one by one: they're taking wives to tame their lives-their jovial days are done : I can't get one old crony now to join me in a spree; they've all grown grave domestic men, they look askance on me. I hate to see them sobered down-the merry boys and true; I hate to hear them sneering now at pictures fancy drew; I care not for their married cheer, their puddings and their soups, and middle-aged relations round in formi dable groups. And though their wife perchance may have a comely sort of face, and at the table's upper end conduct herself with graceI hate the prim reserve that reigns, the caution and the state: I hate to see my friend grown vain of furniture and plate.

How strange! they go to bed at ten, and rise at half-past nine; and seldom do they now exceed a pint or so of wine:-they play at whist for sixpences, they very rarely dance, they never read a word of rhyme, nor open a romance. They talk, indeed, of politics, of taxes, and of crops, and very quietly, with their wives. they trot about to shops; they get quite skilled in groceries, and learn'd in butcher meat, and know exactly what they pay for every thing they eat. And then they all have children too, to squall through thick and thin, and seem right proud to multiply small images of sin! If these be Hymen's vaunted joys, I'd have him shun my door, unless he'l quench his torch, and live henceforth a Bachelor.

XII.-FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY.-Hood.

BEN BATTLE was a soldier bold, and used to war's alarms; but a cannon-ball shot off his legs, so he laid down his arms! Now, as they bore him off the field, said he, " Let others shoot, for here I leave my second leg, and the Forty-second foot!"- -The army surgeons mad him limbs: said he, "They're only pegs: but there's as wooden mem bers quite, as represent my legs!"

Now Ben long loved a pretty maid, whose name was Nelly Gray; and he went to pay her his devours, when he'd devoured his pay. But when he called on Nelly Gray, she made him quite a scoff: and when she saw his wooden legs, began to take them off! " Oh, Nelly Gray! oh, Nelly Gray! is this your love so warm? the love that loves a scarlet coat, should be more uniform!" Said she, "I loved a soldier once, for he was blythe and brave: but I will never have a man, with both legs in the grave. Before you had those timber toes, your love I did allow but then, you know, you stand upon another footing now!" "Oh, Nelly Gray! oh, Nelly Gray! for all your jeering speeches, at duty's call I left my legs in Badajos's breaches !" "Why then," said she, you've lost the feat of legs in war's alarms: and now you cannot wear your shoes, upon your feats of arms." "Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray, I know why you refuse: though I've no feet, some other man is standing in my shoes! I wish I ne'er had seen your face, but now, a long farewell! for you will be my death :-alas! you will not be my Nell."

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Now when he went from Nelly Gray his heart so heavy got, and life was such a burthen grown, it made him take a knot. So round his melancholy neck a rope he did entwine; and, for the second time in life, enlisted in the Line! One end he tied around a beam, and then removed his pegs; and, as his legs were off, of course he soon was off his legs. And there he hung till he was dead as any nail in town: for, though distress had cut him up, it could not cut him down. A dozen men sat on his corpse to find out why he died; and they buried Ben in four cross-roads, with a stake in his inside!

XIII. THE TINKER AND MILLER'S DAUGHTER.-Dr. Wolcot. UPON a day, a poor and travelling tinker, on fortune's various tricks a constant thinker, passed in some village near a miller's door; when lo! his eye did most astonished catch the miller's daughter peeping o'er the hatch-deformed, and monstrous ugly, to be sure. Struck with the uncommon form, the tinker started, just like a frightened horse or murderer carted, up gazing at the gibbet and the rope; turning his brain about in a brown study, (for as I've said, his brain was not so muddy,) "'Sbud!" (quoth the tinker) "I have now some hope. Fortune, the jade, is not far off, perchance"-and then began to rub his hands and dance.

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Now all so full of love, o'erjoyed he ran, embraced and squeezed Miss Grist, and thus began: My dear! my soul! my angel! sweet Miss Grist! now may I never mend a kettle more, if ever I saw one like you before!" then, nothing loth, the nymph like Eve, he kissed. Now, very sensibly indeed, Miss Grist thought opportunity should not be missed; for really 'tis with girls a dangerous farce, to flout a swain when offers are but scarce. She did not scream, and cry, "I'll

So.

Cot be wooed; keep off, you saucy fellow-don't be rude; I'm made for your superiors, tinker." No, indeed, she treated not the tinker But lo, the damsel, with her usual squint, suffered her tinker lover to imprint sweet kisses on her lips, and squeeze her hand, hug her, and say the softest things unto her, and in love's plain and pretty language woo her, without a frown or even a reprimand.

Now to the father the brisk lover hied, who at his noisy mill so busy plied, grinding, and taking handsome toll of corn-sometimes indeed too handsome to be borne. 66 Ho! Master Miller !" did the tinker say-forth from his cloud of flour the miller came; "Nice weather, Master Miller--charming day-heaven's very kind”—the miller said the same. 66 "Now, miller, possibly you may not guess at this same business I am come about: 'tis this then,-know, I love your daughter Bess:-there, Master Miller!-now the riddle's out. I'm not for mincing matters, Sir! d'ye see-I likes your daughter Bess, and she likes me." "Poh!" quoth the miller, grinning at the tinker, "thou dost not mean with marriage, man, to blink her; no, no, though she's my daughter, I'm not blind; but, tinker, what hath now possessed thy mind? thou'rt the first offer she has met, my lad but tell me, tinker, art thou drunk, or mad?" "No-I'm not drunk nor mad," the tinker cried, "but Bet's the maid I wish to make my bride; no girl in these two eyes doth Bet excel." " Why, fool," the miller said, "Bet hath a hump! and then her nose !--the nose of my old pump. ." "I know it," quoth the tinker, "know it well.” “Her face," quoth Grist, "is freckled, wrinkled, flat; her mouth as wide as that of my tom-cat; and then she squints a thousand ways at onceher waist a corkscrew; and her hair, how red! a downright bunch of carrots on her head: why, what a maggot's got into thy sconce ?" 'No maggot's in my sconce," rejoined the tinker; "but, Sir, what's that to you, if fine I think her?" "Why, man," quoth Grist, "she's fit to make a show, and therefore sure I am that thou must banter." "Miller,” replied the tinker, "right; for know, 'tis for that very thing, a show, I want her."

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XIV.-MODERN LOGIC.-Anon.

AN Eton stripling training for the Law,-a dunce at Syntax, but a dab at Taw,-one happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf his cap, his gown, and store of learned pelf, with all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome, to spend a fortnight at his Uncle's home.

Arrived, and past the usual "How d'ye do's?" inquiries of old friends, and College news:-" Well, Tom-the road, what saw you worth discerning? and how goes study, boy-what is't your learning?" "Oh, Logic, Sir, but not the worn-out rules of Locke and Baconantiquated fools! "Tis wit and wranglers' logic;-thus, d'ye see, I'll prove to you as clear as A, B, C, that an eel-pie's a pigeon:-to deny it, were to swear black's white.". "Indeed! let's try it." "An eelpie, is a pie of fish?"-"Well-agreed."-"A fish-pie may be a Jack-pie?""Proceed." "A Jack-pie must be a John-pie-thus, 'tis done, for every John-pie is a Pi-geon!" "Bravo!" Sir Peter cries "Logic for ever! it beats my grandmother-and she was clever! But hold, my boy-it surely would be hard, that wit and learning should have no reward. To-morrow, for a stroll, the park we'll cross, and then I'll give you "_"What?"-"A chestnut-horse."

"A horse!" cries Tom; "blood, pedigree, and paces! Oh, what s dash I'll cut at Epsom races!"

He went to bed, and wept for downright sorrow, to think the night must pass before the morrow; dreamed of his boots, his cap his spurs, and leather breeches, of leaping five-barred gates, and crossing ditches: left his warm bed an hour before the lark, dragged his old Uncle fasting through the park :-Each craggy hill and dale in vain they cross, to find out something like a chestnut-horse, but no such animal the meadows cropped: at length, beneath a tree Sir Peter stopped-took a bough-shook it and down fell a fine horsechestnut in its prickly shell.-"There, Tom-take that."—“Well, Sir, and what beside?"Why, since you're booted, saddle it, and ride "Ride! what?-A chestnut!" "Ay, come get across; I tell you, Tom, that chestnut is a horse, and all the horse you'll get-for I can show as clear as sunshine, that 'tis really so-not by the musty, fusty worn-out rules of Locke and Bacon-addle-headed fools! all maxims but the wranglers I disown, and stick to one sound argumentyour own. Since you have proved to me, I don't deny, that a pie-John is the same as a John-pie-what follows then, but as a thing of course, that a horse-chestnut is a chestnut-horse?"

XV.-ORATOR PUFF.-Anon.

MR. ORATOR PUFF had two tones in his voice, the one squeaking thus, and the other down so; in each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, for one half was B alt, and the rest G below. But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns; so distracting all ears with his ups and his downs, that a wag once, on hearing the orator say, "My voice-is for war," asked him, "Which of them, pray?"

Reeling homewards one evening, top-heavy with gin, and rehearsing his speech on the weight of the Crown, he tripped near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, "Sinking-fund," the last words as his noddle came down. "Oh, law!" he exclaimed, in his he-and-she tones, "Help me out!-help me out!--I have broken my bones!" "Help you out!" said a fellow who passed, "what a bother! why, there's two of you there; can't you help one another ?"

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XVI.-THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.-Mary Howitt. "WILL you walk into my parlour?" said a spider to a fly; "'tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy. The way into my parlour is up a winding stair, and I have many pretty things to show you when you're there." "Oh no, no!" said the little fly, "to ask me is in vain, for who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again.""I'm sure you must be weary with soaring up so high; will you rest upon my little bed?" said the spider to the fly. There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin, and if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in." "Oh no, no!" said the little fly, "for I've often heard it said, they never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"-Said the cunning spider to the ay, "Dear friend! what shall I do to prove the warm affection I've always felt for you? I have within my pantry good store of all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome-will you please to take a slice?" 'Oh no, no!" said the little fly, "kind sir, that cannot be; I've heard

what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see."-"Sweet creature!" d the spider, "you're witty and you're wise. How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf; if you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold-yourself." "I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say, and, bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."- -The spider turned him round about, and went into his den, for well he knew the silly fly would soon come back again so he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly, and set his table ready, to dine upon the fly. Then he went out to his door again, and merrily did sing, "Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl-and-silver wing: your robes are green and purple-there's a crest upon your head; your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead."

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly, hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by; with buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, thinking only of her brilliant eyes, her green and purple hue, and dreaming of her crested headpoor foolish thing! At last up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den, within his little parlour-but she ne'er came out again! And now, all youthful people, who may this story hear, to idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er give ear: to all deceitful counsellors, close heart, and ear, and eye; and take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

XVII. THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER.-Planché.

AT Trin. Coll. Cam.-which means, in proper spelling, Trinity College, Cambridge-there resided one Harry Dashington-a youth excelling in all the learning commonly provided for those who choose that classic station for finishing their education: that is he understood computing the odds at any race or match; was a dead hand at pigeon-shooting; could kick up rows-knock down the watch-play truant, and the rake, at random-drink-tie cravats and drive a tandem. Remonstrance, fine, and rustication, so far from working reformation, seemed but to make his lapses greater; 'till he was warned that next offence would have this certain consequence_ expulsion from his Alma Mater.

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One need not be a necromancer to guess that, with so wild a wight, the next offence occurred next night; when our incurable came rolling home as the midnight chimes were tolling, and rang the College bell. No answer. The second peal was vain-the third made the street echo its alarum; when to his great delight he heard the sordid Janitor, old Ben, rousing and growling in his den. "Who's there? -I s'pose young Harum-scarum.' 'Tis I, my worthy Ben-'tis Harry." "Ay, so I thought and there you'll tarry: 'tis past the hour-the gates are closed--you know my orders;-I shall lose my place if I undo the door."- "And I" (young Hopeful interposed), "shall be expelled if you refuse; so pr'ythee"--Ben began to snore. "I'm wet," cried Harry, "to the skin: hip! hallo! Ben-don't be a ninny; beneath the gate I've thrust a guinea, so tumble out and let me in." 66 Humph!" growled the greedy old curmudgeon, half overjoyed and half in dudgeon. "Now you may pass, but make no

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