to

Dr. W. Please your honor, my lady sends her respectful compliments hopes your honor is well.

T. O'K. Pretty well, pretty well, I thank you.

Dr. W. And has desired me to deliver your honor this letter.

T. O'K. That letter, well, why don't you bring it to me? Pray, am I to rise from the table?

Dr. W. So, he's acting my character with a vengeance. But I'll humor him. (Aside.) There, your honor. (Gives the letter, bowing)

T. O'K (Opens the letter and reads.)

"Sir:-Since my dear Flora has given me so much uneasiness- -Och, by my shoul, that's no lie-I beg leave to inform you that a gentleman shall call either to-day or to-morrow for her. If it should rain, I request the poor thing may have a— what's this? Co a--coat!-coat, no-coach. Yours." Hem! well-no answer 's required, young man.

Dr. W. His impudence has struck me almost dumb. (Aside.) No answer, your honor?

T. O'K. No, my good fellow-but come here-let me look at you. Oh, you seem very wet. Why it's you, I understand, who brought this troublesome cur a few days ago: you have been often backwards and forwards, but I could never see you till now. Hollo, Robert! where 's my lazy good-fornothing servant? Robert! (Rings a bell.)

Dr. W. Eh! What the deuce does he mean? (Aside.)

(Enter Robert, who stares at them both.)

Rob. Eh-Did-did you call, sir? (To Dr. Wisepate.) T. O'K. Yes, sirrah! Take that poor fellow down to the kitchen; he's come upon a foolish errand this cold wet day; so, do you see, give him something to eat and drink-as much as he likes—and bid my steward give him a guinea for his trouble.

Rob. Eh!

T. O'K. Tunder and ouns, fellow! must I put my words into my mouth, and take them out again, for you? Thady

(to the Doctor), my jewel, just give that blockhead of mine a rap on his sconce with your little bit of a switch, and I'll do as much for you another time.

Dr. W. So, instead of my instructing the fellow, he has absolutely instructed me. (Aside.) Well, sir, you have convinced me what Dr. Wisepate should be, and now suppose we are ourselves again.

T. O'K. (rises.) With all my heart, sir. Here's your honor's wig and spectacles, and now give me my comfortable hat and switch.

Dr. W. And, Robert, obey the orders that my representa tive gave you.

Rob. What! carry him down to the kitchen!

T. O'K. No, young man, I shan't trouble you carry me down; I'll carry myself down, and you shall see what a beautiful hand master O'Keen is at a knife and fork. (Exit with Robert.)

Dr. W. (solus.) Well, this fellow has some humor; indeed, he has fairly turned the tables upon me. I wish I could get him to give a dose of my prescribing to her ladyship's cats and dogs, for the foolish woman has absolutely bequeathed in her will an annual sum for the care of each, after her death. Oh, dear! dear! how much more to her credit would it be to consider the present exigencies of her country, and add to the number of voluntary contributions!

RHYME OF THE RAIL-SAXE.

SINGING through the forests,

Rattling over ridges,

Shooting under arches,

Rumbling over bridges,

Whizzing through the mountains,

Buzzing o'er the vale,—

Bless me! this is pleasant,

Riding on the rail!

Gentlemen quite old,

Asking for the news;
Gentlemen in black,
In a fit of blues;
Gentlemen in claret,
Sober as a vicar;
Gentlemen in tweed,
Dreadfully in liquor!

Stranger on the right,

Looking very sunny, Obviously reading

Something rather funny.

Now the smiles are thicker

Wonder what they mean?

Faith, he 's got the KnickerBocker Magazine!

Stranger on the left,

Closing up his peepers;

Now he snores amain,

Like the seven sleepers:

At his feet a volume
Gives the explanation,
How the man grew stupid
From "association!"

Ancient maiden lady
Anxiously remarks,
That there must be peril

'Mong so many sparks:
Roguish-looking fellow,
Turning to the stranger,
Says it's his opinion,
She is out of danger!

Woman with her baby,
Sitting vis-à-vis ;
Baby keeps a-squalling,

Woman looks at me;
Asks about the distance;
Says it's tiresome talking,
Noises of the cars

Are so very shocking!

Market woman, careful
Of the precious casket,
Knowing eggs are eggs,
Tightly holds her basket;
Feeling that a smash,

If it came, would surely
Send her eggs to pot,
Rather prematurely.

Singing through the forests,

Rattling over ridges,

Shooting under arches,

Rumbling over bridges,

1

Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale,-
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Riding on the rail!

YOUNG WHIPSTITCH-ANON.

A LONDON tailor, as 'tis said, By buckram, canvas, tape and thread, Sleeve-linings, pockets, silk and twist, And all the long expensive list With which their uncouth bills abound, Tho' rarely in the garment found; By these and other arts in trade, Had soon a pretty fortune made; And did what few had ever done, Left thirty thousand to his son.

The son, a gay, young swagg'ring blade, Abhorr'd the very name of trade, And lest reflection should be thrown On him, resolv'd to quit the town, And travel where he was not known. In gilded coach and liv'ries gay,

To Oxford first he took his way;

There beaux and belles his taste admire,

His equipage and rich attire ;

But nothing was so much ador'd
As his fine silver-hilted sword;
Tho' short and small, 'twas vastly neat,
The sight was deem'd a perfect treat.
Beau Ganter begg'd to have a look,
But when the sword in hand he took,
He boldly swore it was an odd thing,
And look'd much like a tailor's bodkin.