Who bore him to the judge-a little prig, With angry bottle-nose Like a red cabbage-rose, While lots of white ones flourish'd on his wig. Looking at once both stern and wise, "The flies, my Lord-the flies, the flies !" "Psha !" quoth the Judge, half peevish and haif pompous "Why you're non compos. You should have watched the bowl, as she desired, And so killed the flies you stupid clown." "What is it lawful then?" the dolt inquir'd, "Constable, catch that thief! may I go hang If yonder blue-bottle (I know his face) Isn't the very leader of the gang That stole the cream ;-let me come near it !"— This said he started from his place, And aiming one of his sledge-hammer blows At a large fly upon the Judge's nose The luckless blue-bottle, he smash'd RAPS ON THE LAPSTONE.-G. W. Bungay. OLD Crispin wore a paper cap, Soles (not spirits) hours together. He said his last days were his best, Though he felt the thread unwinding; When others spoke of this world's weal, He had the wondrous skill to heel, But gave his earthly awl for supper. He heeled more than the doctors did, And helped the soles more than the preacher ; For a quid pro quo he gave a quid, And used the strap more than the teacher. Aye, Crispin was a good old man, Yet sometimes he would bristle; But do the very best we can, "A pig's tail will not make a whistle." UNFORTUNATE ATTEMPT AT COURTING.-ANON. ABOUT the year 1794, a German recently imported into Bristol, happened to hear of Mrs. B., a wealthy widow, and thought it would be a good speculation to offer himself to the lady's notice, as well qualified to succeed the late Mr. B. He accordingly waited on the lady wi ing no great familiarity with the with a copy of a German and Eu ing announced to the lady, determineu "hat intention; but havh, he provided himself licy, and on beA his proposal, t with this introductory sentence-" Madam, having heard that Mr. B., late your husband, is dead ;"-but coming to the word, "gestorben," dead, he was at a loss for the English equivalent; so hastily pulling out his dictionary, (a huge octavo,) he turned to the word "sterben", to die, and there found-But what he found will be best collected from the dialogue which followed, as reported by the lady: German. Madam, haaffing heard dat Mein Herr B., late your man, is-(these words he kept chiming as if to himself, until he arrived at No. 1 of the interpretation of "sterben", when he roared out in high glee at his discovery) is— dat is, has kicked de bucket. Widow. (With astonishment.) Kicked the bucket, sir,what? German. Ah, ah! alvay Ich make mistake. I vou'd haaf said (beginning again with the same solemnity of tone) since dat Mein Herr B., late your man, haaf-hopped de twigwhich words he screamed out with delight, certain that he had now hit the nail upon the head. Widow. Upon my word, sir, I'm at a loss to understand you; "kicked the bucket," and "hopped the twig"! German. (Perspiring with panic.). Ah, madam, von, two, tree, ten tousand pardon! Vat sad, vicked dictionary, I haaf dat alvays bring me in trubble; but now you sall hear, (and then recomposing himself solemnly for the third effort, he began as before) madam, since I did hear, or vas hearing, dat Mein Herr B, late your man, haaf, (with a triumphant shout,) haaf, I say, gone to Davy's locker— Further he would have gone; but the widow could stand no more. TOBY TOSSPOT.-COLMAN. ALAS! what pity 'tis that regularity, But there are swilling wights in London town Making their throat a thoroughfare for wine. These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus run on, Lose half men's regular estate of sun, By borrowing too largely of the moon. One of this kidney, Toby Tosspot hight- Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a cork, At length, with near four bottles in his pate, And being civil beyond measure, He waited full two minutes-no one came; But the first peal 'woke Isaac in a fright, At length, he wisely to himself doth say,-calming his fears,"Tush! 'tis some fool has rung and run away;" When peal the second rattled in his ears! Shove jumped into the middle of the floor; And, trembling at each breath of air that stirred, He groped down stairs, and opened the street-door, While Toby was performing peal the third. Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant,— And saw he was a strapper stout and tall, "Want nothing!-Sir, you've pulled my bell, I vow, Quoth Toby,-gravely making him a bow,— "I pulled it, sir, at your desire.' "At mine !"—" Yes, yours; I hope I've done it well; But if you write up- Please ring the bell,' FRANK HAYMAN.-TAYLOR. FRANK Hayman dearly loved a pleasant joke, |