JOHN HARCOURT'S JESTS. We have seldom, in our editorial capacity, met with so clever a little work; and never, since the days of Joe Miller,' has there been one so unique and entertaining. They form an original collection of Bon Mots, Epigrams, Impromptus, Bulls, &c. &c. among which there is neither lack of wit, satire, or humour. Neither can the talented author be charged with plagiarism and we unhesitatingly predict, that it will not only survive most of its contemporaries, but become a sterling and favourite work. To say more would be unnecessary, as it must be read to be properly appreciated; however, to prove our assertions, we will subjoin a few taken at random. THE GUNPOWDER PLOT. A person who had a most resplendent red face, was angry with his A FORWARD SUBJECT. 'I have such an aversion to her,' said an elderly lady, speaking of a young forward miss who was leaving the room, 'she has such assurance.' Do you think so ma'am,' said a blue stocking,' she appeared to be retiring.' CELEBRATED AUTHOR. A Frenchman said that the most prolific writer in the English language, was a person of the name of Anonymous. THE HUNGRY FRENCHMEN. SOME years ago, when civil faction Rag'd like a fury thro' the fields of Gaul; And children, in the general distraction, Were taught to curse as soon as they could squall; When common sense in common folk were dead, And murder shew'd a love of nationality; And France, determin'd not to have a head, Decapitated all the higher class, To put folks more on an equality; When coronets were not worth half-acrown, And liberty in bonnet-rouge might pass For Mother Red-cap, up at Camden-town, Full many a Frenchman then took wing, Bidding soup-maigre an abrupt farewell, And hither came pell-pell, in, That from the kitchen windows was exhaling, And instant set to work his busy brain, And sniff'd and long'd, and long'd and sniff'd again. Necessity's the mother of invention, (A proverb I've heard many mention) So now, one moment saw his plan completed, And our sly Frenchman at a table seated. The ready waiter at his elbow standsT Sir, will you favour me with your commands? We've roast and boil'd, sir-choose you those or these?" 'Sare! you are vera good, sare !—vat you please! Quick at the word, Sans cash, sans clothes, almost sans ev'ry Upon the table smokes the wish'd-for bird! thing. No time in talking did he waste, But pounc'd pell-mell upon it; Drumstick and merry-thought he pick'd in case, The one with cursing, t'other with grimace; But Bonniface, who dearly lov'd a jest, (Although sometimes he dearly paid for it) And finding nothing could be done, you know, (For when a man has got no money, To make him pay some would be rather funny!) Of a bad bargain made the best ; Acknowledg'd much was to be said for it; Took pity on the Frenchman's meagre face, And, Briton like, forgave a fallen foe, Our Frenchman's hunger thus subdued, To him, with many a shrug and many a grin, 6 He told how he had taken Jean Bull' in! Fir'd with the tale, the other licks his it, Pat with his lesson answers- Vat you please!' But scarcely had he let the sentence slip, Than round his shoulders twines the pliant whip! 'Sare, sare! ah, misericorde! parbleu ! Got d-n, monsieur! vat make you use me so? Vat call you dis?'-Lord, don't you know? "That's what I please (says Bonny), how d'ye like it? Your friend, although I paid dear for his funning, Deserv'd the goose he gain'd, sir, for his cunning; But chops, you, monsieur, or else my time I'm wasting, Ent'ring, he seats himself just at his ease; "What will you take, sir?'-' Vat you please! The waiter look'd as pale as Paris plaster, And up stairs running, thus address'd his master: 'These d-d Mounseers, come over sure in pairs! Sir! there's another vat you please! down stairs!' This made the landlord rather crusty; Too much of one thing-the proverb's somewhat musty; Once to be done, his anger didn't touch, But when a second time they tried the treason, It made him crusty, sir, and with good reason; You would be crusty, were you done so much! There is a kind of instrument Which greatly helps a serious argument, goose enough-and only wanted basting!' THE SACRIFICE. It was a dark and gloomy night, In cut-throat damp November, When Edward at her cottage door, Cried, Phillis, love, remember. Remember, aye! a solemn voice Within replied full quickly; I will remember thee, my Ned, Although I am wery sickly. No sooner said than open flew' The door-and there stood Phillis, And she was clothed in robes of white, Aye, white as any lilies. Then off they went, and Edward joked, With many a so and therefore, But answer none the maiden made, Which made him wonder wherefore. Save once, and then she whispered thus We'll take the river side, love, He startled at her lankness. She looked so thin, so pale, so cold, For she was fond of dice, and cards Were all her night's employment, Save when with her fond swain she took An hour of calm enjoyment. So thus the youth accosted her, When close beside the water- Now Edward knew not what to think, O listen to me-here I came To meet thy fond embraces, And clambered up that fatal rock, To listen to thy paces.. When lo! a most inhuman brute, Which wulgar folks calls donkey, Affrighted kicked me on the sconce, And smashed me like a monkey. I fell a dreadful sacrifice For love of thee, my Edward, And now instead of wedding thee, My soul must toddle bedward. My body's bed is there-but I Sleep in yon starry blue, love; The cock doth crow, so I must goInter me and adieu, love. She ceased, and in a moment flew Just like a rook affrighted; And Edward's senses since that night, AN ADDRESS, Written by W. H. Freeman, and Spoken by Mrs. Purvis at Astley's Theatre. Kind Friends, I hope you will not think me rude, If on your time I further should intrude, As we've so many schemes which daily rise Confound, I say, such strange outlandish plans : To see the nation grow so thin's no joke, But what can they expect who live on smoke? Almost as bad as they whom fate malign Compels with poor Duke Humphrey oft to dine; Then we've another scheme enough to craze one, A school which, I believe, they call Gymnasium: Where men again in boyish pastimes mix, Climb ropes-ride wooden horses-jump with sticks, And play a thousand other monkey tricks. LINES ON A REVEREND ORATOR. In what a shocking age we live-an age replete with evil, When e'en our very teachers strive to send us to the devil; To pass-off now a pars-on tries religion as a libel, And from his rostrum vainly tries, to trample on the Bible. friends went several nights in succession to a stage-box in the theatre, to support the Beggars' Opera; and that the worthy spinster Skaites, and others of the household, were present at its representation more than twenty nights during the season it came upon the stage. The incredible success of this opera was A Tailor has of late appear'd, who puzzles supposed to be entirely owing to e'en the oldest, Of all the tailors e'er I heard, he surely .is the boldest ; No doubt his faith comes from Old Nick, it really very odd is, To overhaul and cabbage all our precious souls and bodies. The trees, no doubt, first planted out, without the least assistance, And man, of course, is glad to die, nor make the least resistance; In short, such fellows, no doubt, would tell us, as they're so fond of puffing, No Master-Hand the world had plann'd, and all has sprung from nothing. We're painly told in Scripture old, to ease the tortur'd living, Some fiends were cast from human breast and into swine were driven; the squibs that it played off against These stood in Gay's manuscript- This parson bright has brought to light, a being taken, were— truth at which all cavill'd, And proves by laws this is the cause why pigs are all bedevil'd. In Giltspur-street, and faith 'twas meet, the Lord May'r justly sent him, That he from turning others mad, might speedily prevent him; And 'tis but fair he should keep there, so monstrous his offence is, 'Since laws were made for every degree These, it appears were not only Pope's, but most of the satirical parts pointed at the court and the courtiers, which make so considerable a part of the opera, were con Till he can find a sounder mind, and has tributed by his epigrammatic pen. PETER THE GREAT. There happened to be an itinerant natural philosopher at the time Peter the Great was working, en charpentier, in Deptford Dock-yard. He knew that the czar was a patron of genius, so he obtained an interview, and in his royal presence, with a piece of an old bottle, a few pigments, and a lighted broomstick, he |