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the nose-oh! he's writing. (The door is suddenly opened by Oldbutton, who discovers Paul.)

Paul. I hope I don't intrude-I was trying to find my apartment.

Mr. Old. Was it necessary to look through the key-hole for

it, sir ?

Paul. I'm rather short-sighted, sir ; sad affliction ! my poor mother was short-sighted, sir; in fact, it's a family failing; all the Prys are obliged to look close.

Mr. Old. Whilst I sympathize with your distresses, sir, I hope to be exempt from the impertinence which you may attach to them.

Paul. Would not intrude for the world, sir. What may be your opinion, sir, of the present state of the kingdom? How do you like peace? It must press hard upon you gentlemen of the army; a lieutenant's half pay now is but little, to make both ends meet.

Mr. Old. Sir!

Paul. Especially when a man's benevolent to his poor relations. Now, sir, perhaps you 'll allow something out of your five-and-six-pence a day, to your mother or maiden sister. Between you me, I must tell you what I have learnt here.

Mr. Old. Between you and me, sir, I must tell you what I have learnt in India.

Paul. What, have you been in India? Wouldn't intrude an observation for the world; but I thought you had a yellowish look; something of an orange peeling countenance. You've been in India ? Although I'm a single man, I wouldn't ask an improper question ; but is it true that the blacks em. ploy no tailors nor milliners? If not, what do they do to keep off the flies ?

Mr. Old. That is what I was about to inform you; they carry canes.

Now, sir, five minutes' conversation with you has fully convinced me that there are flies in England as well as in India, and that a man may be as impertinently in. quisitive at Dover, as at Bengal, All I have to add is---I carry a cane.

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Paul. In such a case, I'm the last to intrude. I've only one question to ask—Is your name Thomas? whether

you

have a wife ? how old she is ? and where were you married ?

Mr. Old. Well, sir, a man may sometimes play with a puppy, as well as kick him; and, if it will afford you any satisfaction, learn my name is Thomas.

Paul. Oh! poor Mr. Cinnamon! . This is going to India ! Mr. T., I'm afraid you 'll find that somebody here has intruded in your place—for between you me—(Oldbutton surveys him contemptuously, and whilst Paul is talking, Oldbutton stalks offPaul, on looking round,) Well, it isn't that I interfere much in people's concerns; if I did, how unhappy I could make that man. This Freemason's sign puzzles me; they wouldn't make me a member; but I have slept six nights in the next room to them; and, thanks to my gimblet, I know the business. There was Mr. Smith, who was only in the Gazette last week, taking his brandy and water; he can't afford that, I know. Then there was Mr. Hodgkins, who makes his poor wife and children live upon baked potatoes six days out of the week, (for I know the shop where they are cooked,) calling, like a lord, for a Welsh rarebit; I only wish his creditors could see him ; but I don't trouble my head with these matters ; if I did-eh! Why there is one of the young Jones, going again to Mr. Notick, the pawnbroker's; that's the third time this week; well, I've just time enough to run to Notick's, and see what he is brought, before I go to enquire at the post office, who in the town has letters. (Exrt.)

PARODY.*-INGOLDSBY LEGENDS.

Not a sous had he got,—not a guinea or note,

And he looked confoundedly flurried, * On Wolfe's celebrated lipes on the death of Sir John Moore, commencing :

“Not a drum was beard, nor a funeral note," &c.

As he bolted away without paying his shot,

And the landlady after him hurried.

We saw him again at dead of night,

When home from the club returning;
We twigg’d the doctor beneath the light

Of the gas-lamp brilliantly burning.
All bare, and exposed to the midnight dews,

Reclined in the gutter we found him;
And he look'd like a gentleman taking a snooze,

With his Marshall cloak around him.

“The doctor's as drunk as he can be,” we said,

And we managed a shutter to borrow; We raised him, and sigh'd at the thought that his head Would :

consumedly ache” on the morrow.

We bore him home, and we put him to bed,

And we told his wife and his daughter To give him, next morning, a couple of red

Herrings, with soda-water.

Loudly they talk'd of his money that's gone,

And his lady began to upbraid him;
But little he reck’d, so they let him spore on

’Neath the counterpane just as we laid him.

We tuck'd him in, and had hardly done

When, beneath the window calling,
We heard the rough voice of a son of a gun

Of a watchman “ One o'clock !" bawling.

Slowly and sadly we all walked down

From his room in the uppermost story;
A rushlight we placed on the cold hearth-stone,

And we left him alone in his glory!!

THE APPLE DUMPLINGS AND GEORGE THE THIRD.

-Wolcott. Once in the chase, this monarch drooping, From his high consequence and wisdom stooping:

Entered, through curiosity, a cot,

Where an old crone was hanging on the pot;
The wrinkled, blear-eyed, good old granny,
In this same cot, illumed by many a cranny,

Had apple-dumplings ready for the pot ;
In tempting row the naked dumplings lay,
When lo! the monarch, in his usual way,
Like lightning asked, "What's here? what's here? what?

what? what? what?" Then taking up a dumpling in his hand, His eyes with admiration did expand

And oft did majesty the dumpling grapple ; 56 'T is monstrous, monstrous, monstrous hard," he cried ; “ What makes the thing so hard ?" The dame replied,

Low courtesying, “ Please your majesty the apple.” “ Very astonishing indeed ! strange thing !" (Turning the dumpling round) rejoined the king, 6 ’T is most extraordinary now, all this is— It beats the conjurer's capers all to piecesStrange I should never of a dumpling dreamBut Goody, tell me, where, where, where is the seam ?" “ Sire, there's no seam," quoth she, “ I never knew That folks did apple-dumplings sew!""No !" cried the staring monarch with a grin, “ Then, where, where, where, pray, got the apple in ?"

AMERICAN ARISTOCRACY.-J. G. SAXE.

Of all the notable things on earth,
The queerest one is pride of birth

Among our “ fierce democracy !"

A bridge across a hundred years,
Without a prop to save it from sneers,
Not even a couple of rotten peers-
A thing for laughter, fleers and jeers,

Is American aristocracy!

English and Irish, French and Spanish,
Germans, Italians, Dutch and Danish,
Crossing their veins until they vanish

In one conglomeration !
So subtle a tinge of blood, indeed,
No Heraldry Harvey will ever succeed

In finding the circulation.
Depend upon it, my snobbish friend,
Your family thread you can't ascend,
Without good reason to apprehend
You may find it waxed at the other end

By some plebeian vocation!
Or, worse than that, your boasted line
May end in a loop of stronger twine,

That plagued some worthy relation !

JACK AT ALL TRADES.--ANON.

CALEB QUOTEM, MRS. QUOTEM AND DICK. Quotem. Wife! where are you? Mrs. Quotem, I say ! look to the shop! Silence in the school, there. Be good boys— mind your writing and cyphering, I'm coming in directly. Here, Dick! Dick Drudge, where are you?

Dick. Here, sir.

Quot. Come here, then, as the poet says. What have you been doing these four hours ? Dick. As you ordered me, sir.

sir. After helping you to chime the bells for prayers, I drove out the dogs and boys playing in the church-yard. -While you were singing psalms, I carried

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