that you neither take the trouble to dissect, nor time to masti. cate? It's no wonder you lose your teeth, for you never use them; nor your digestion, for you overload it; nor your saliva, for you expend it on the carpets, instead of your food. It's disgusting, it's beastly. You Yankees load your stomachs as a Devonshire man does his cart, as full as it can hold, and as fast as he can pitch it with a dung-fork, and drive off; and then you complain that such a load of compost is too heavy for you. Dyspepsy, eh! guzzling you mean. I'll tell you what, Mr. Secretary of Legation, take half the time to eat, that you do to drawl out your words, chew your food half as much as you do your filthy tobacco, and you'll be well in a month,

A LESSON IN ENGLISH.-ANON.

THE FRENCHMAN AND HIS TUTOR.

Frenchman. Ha, my friend,! I have met one very strange word in my lesson. Vat you call h-o-u-g-h, ch?

Tutor. Huff.

Fr. Tres bien, huff; and snuff you spell s-n-o-u-g-h, eh? Tu. Oh no, no! snuff is spelled s-n-u ff. In fact, words in ough are a little irregular.

Fr. Ah, very good! 't is beautiful language! H-o-u-g-h is buff. I will remember; and of course c-o-u-g-h is cuff; I have one very bad cuff, ha ?

Tu. No, that is wrong; we say kauff, not cuff.

Fr. Kauff, eh? Huff and kauff, and pardonnez moi, how you call d-o-u-g-h-duff, eh? is it duff?

Tu. No, not duff.

Fr. Not duff! Ah, oui; I understand, it is dauff, eh?

Tu. No, d-o-u-g-h spells doe.

Fr. Doe! It is very fine! wonderful language! it is doe; and t-o-u-g-h is toe, certainment. My beef-steak is very toe. Tu. Oh no, no! you should say tuff.

Fr. Tuff! What is dat-the thing the farmer uses, how you call him, p-l-o-u-g-h-pluff, is it? Ha, you smile, I see that I am wrong; it must be plauff. No? Then it is plɔe, like doe? It is one beautiful language! ver' fine-ploe !

7

Tu. You are still wrong, my friend; it is plow.

E Fr. Plow! Wonderful language! I shall understand ver soon. Plow, doe, kauff; and one more, r-o-u-g-h-what you call Gen. Taylor, Rauf and Ready? No? Then Row and Ready?

Tu. No. R-o-u-g-h spells ruff.

44 Fr. Ruff, ha? Let me not forget. R-o-u-g-h is ruff, and b-o-u-g-h is buff, ha ?

Tu. No; bow.

Fr. Ah, 't is ver' simple! wonderful language!--but I have had vat you call e-n-o-u-g-h-ha? vat you call him?-he! he! ha ha!

THE RAZOR SELLER.-WOLCOT.

A FELLOW, in a market town,
Most musical, cried razors up and down,
And offer'd twelve for eighteen pence;
Which certainly seem'd wond'rous cheap,
And, for the money, quite a heap,

As ev'ry man would buy, with cash and sense.

A country Bumpkin the great offer heard;
Poor Hodge, who suffer'd by a broad black beard,
That seem'd a shoe-brush, stuck beneath his nose:
With cheerfulness, the eighteen pence he paid;
And proudly to himself, in whispers, said:
"This rascal stole the razors, I suppose."

"No matter, if the fellow be a knave, Provided that the razors shave;

It certainly will be a monstrous prize."

So home the clown, with his good fortune, went―
Smiling-in heart and soul, content-

And quickly soap'd himself, to ears and eyes.

Being well lathered, from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began, with grinning pain, to grub;
Just like a hedger cutting furze.

"Twas a vile razor!—then the rest he try'd—
All were impostors !-"Ah!" Hodge sigh'd,

"I wish my eighteen pence were in my purse!"

In vain, to chase his beard, and bring the graces,

He cut, and dug, and wine'd, and stamp'd, and swore;
Brought blood, and danc'd, blasphem'd, and made wry faces;
And curs'd each razor's body, o'er and o'er :
His muzzle, form'd of opposition stuff,
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff;

So kept it-laughing at the steel and suds.
Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws,
Vowing the direst vengeance, with clench'd claws,
On the vile cheat, that sold the goods-
"Razors (a foul, confounded dog!)-
Not fit to scrape a hog!"

Hodge sought the fellow-found him, and begun—
"P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun,

That people flay themselves out of their lives!
You rascal-for an hour, have I been grubbing,
Giving my scoundrel whiskers here a scrubbing,
With razors, just like oyster-knives.
Sirrah! I tell you, you 're a knave,

- To cry up razors, that can't shave!"

Friend, (quoth the razor-man) I'm not a knave;
As for the razors you have bought,

Upon my soul, I never thought,
That they would shave."

*Not think, they'd shave!"-quoth Hodge, with wond'ring eyes And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;

What were they made for, then? you dog!" he cries. 'Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile-" to sell!”

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.-KENNEY.

JEREMY DIDDLER AND SAM.

Did. Tol lol de riddle lol:-Eh! (Looking through a glass at Sam.) The new waiter !-a very clod, by my hopes ! an untutored clod. My clamorous stomach, be of good cheer! Young man, how d'ye do? Step this way, will you. A novice, I perceive. And how d'ye like your new line of life? Sam. Why, very well, thank you. How do you like your old on?

Did. (Aside.)

Disastrous accents! a Yorkshireman !

What is your name my fine fellow?

Sam. Sam. You needn't tell me yours-I know you, my -fine fellow!

Did. (Aside.) Oh, Fame! Fame! you incorrigible gossip! But nil desperandum,-at him again! (To Sam.) A prepossessing physiognomy, open and ruddy, importing health. and liberality. Excuse my glass, I'm short-sighted. You have the advantage of me in that respect.

Sam. Yes, I can see as far as most folks.

Did. (Turning away.) Well, I'll thank ye to-oh, Sam, you haven't got such a thing as tenpence about you, have you? Sam. Yes-(They look at each other-Diddler expecting to receive it,)-and I mean to keep it about me, you see.

Did. Oh-ay-certainly. I only asked for information. Sam. Hark! there's the stage-coach comed in. I must go and wait upon the passengers. You'd better ax some of them-mayhap, they mun gi' you a little better information.

Did. Stop! Harkye, Sam! you can get me some breakfast first. I'm very sharp set, Sam; you see I came a long walk from over the hills, and—

Sam. Ay, and you see I come fra-Yorkshire.

'Did. You do; your unsophisticated tongue declares it. Superior to vulgar prejudices, I honor you for it, for I'm sure you'll bring me my breakfast as soon as any other countryman, Sam. Ay; well, what will you have?

Did. Anything!-tea, coffee, an egg, and so forth.

Sam. Well, now, one of us, you understand, in this transaction, mun have credit for a little while. That is, either I mun trust you for t' money, or you mun trust me for t' breakfast. Now, as you 're above vulgar preju-prejudizes, and seem to be vastly taken wi' me, and, as I am not so conceited as to be above 'em, and a'n't at all taken wi' you, you'd better give me the money, you see, and trust me for t' breakfast-he! he! he!

Did. What d'ye mean by that, Sam?

Sam. Or, mayhap, you'll say me a bon-mot.

Did. Sir, you're getting impertinent.

Sam. Oh! What-you don't like the terms ?-Why, then, as you sometimes sing for your dinner, now you may whistle for your breakfast, you see; he he! he!

BLIND MAN'S BUFF.-HORACE SMITHI.

THREE wags (whom some fastidious carpers might rather designate three sharpers) entered, at York, the Cat and Fiddle; and, finding that the host was out on business for two hours or more, while Sam, the rustic waiter, wore the visage of a simple lout, whom they might safely try to diddle, they ordered dinner in a canter-cold or hot, it mattered not, provided it was served instanter ;—and, as the heat had made them very dry and dusty in their throttles, they bade the waiter bring three bottles of prime old port, and one of sherry. Sam ran