to say for himself; therefore, I shall come to the point at once, at once and immediately I shall come to the point. My client was in liquor-the liquor in him having served an ejectment upon his understanding, common sense was non-suited, and he was a man beside himself, or, as Doctor Biblicus declares, in his dissertation upon bumpers in the one hundreth and thirtyninth folio volume of the abridgment of the statutes, page one thousand two hundred and eighty-six, that a drunken man is a homo duplicans, or a double man-not only because he sees things double, but, also, because he is not as he should be, "perfecto ipse "but is as he should not be," defecto tipse."

The counsel for the cook-maid rose up gracefully, playing with his ruffles prettily, and tossing the ties of his wig about emphatically. He began with "My lud, and gentlemen of the jury-I humbly do conceive, I have the authority to declare that I am counsel in this case for the defendant-therefore, my lud, I shall not flourish away in words;-words are no more than fill agree works; some people may think them an embellishment; but to me, it is a matter of astonishment, how any one can be so impertinent to use them to the detriment of all rudiments; but, my lud this is not to be looked at through the medium of right and wrong; for the law knows no medium, and right and wrong are but mere shadows. Now, in the first place, they have called a kitchen, my client's premises.Now, a kitchen is nobody's premises ;-a kitchen is not a warehouse a wash-house, a brewhouse, an outhouse-or an inhouse-nor a dwellinghouse-nor any house;-no my lud, 'tis absolutely and bona fide neither more nor less than a kitchen, or, as the law more classically expresses it-a kitchen is, camera necessaria pro usos cookare; cum sauce-panis, stew-panis, scullero,-dressero,- coalholo, sto vis-smoakjacko, pro roastandum-boilandum-fryandum, et plum-pudding mixandum; pro turtle supos, calves head hashibus, cum calippe et caliphashibus. Moreover, we shall not avail ourselves of an alibi, but admit the existence of a cook-maid. Now, my lud, we shall take a new ground, and beg a new trial-for as they have curtailed our name in their pleadings

from plain Mary into Moll, I hope the court will not allow of this-for if the court were to allow mistakes, what would become of the law-although where there are no mistakes it is clearly the business of the law. to make them.

Therefore, The court, after due consideration, granted the parties a new trial; for the law is our liberty, and happy it is for us, that we have the privilege of going to law.

TO DANCE, OR NOT TO DANCE-A PARODY.-ANON.

To dance, or not to dance-that is the question.
Whether 't is better in an awkward fellow,
With gait uncouth, and feet turned in, to stand
A mere spectator; or with hand presumptuous
To lead out a partner-to dance-chasseé,-
No more-and by one effort say we end
Vile mauvaise honte, and all the ungrateful fears
That bashfulness is heir to 't is a deed
Devoutly to be wish'd-to dance-to trip-
To trip-perchance to tumble-there's the rub,
For from such hapless fall, what laughs may rise
When we have shuffled scarce through half the room,
Must give us pause; there's the respect which makes
The rusty student in a corner slink

Pinching his fingers; for who else would bear
The coxcomb's sneer, the proud belle's contumely,
The taunt of foolish widows, and the spurn
Which patient rustics of pert misses take,
When he himself might his quietus make
By a mere caper-who would fiddles hear,
Yet sweat and groan under the fear of dancing,
But that the dread of some unhappy blunder,
Some unforseen mistake, (a foul disgrace
Which time will ne'er wipe off) puzzles the wil
And makes us rather sit, and hide our faults,
Than dance, and publish them.

THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY.-ANON.

A MAN in many a country town we know,
Professing openly with death to wrestle;
Entering the field against the foe,

Arm'd with a mortar and a pestle.
Yet some affirm no enemies they are,
But meet just like prize-fighters at a fair,
Who first shake hands before they box,
Then give each other plaguy knocks,

With all the love and kindness of a brother; So (many a suffering patient saith)

Though the apothecary fights with death,

Still they're sworn friends with one another. A member of this Esculapian race

Liv'd in Newcastle-upon-Tyne;

No man could better gild a pill,
Or make a bill,

Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister;
Or draw a tooth out of your head,
Or chatter scandal by your bed,
Or tell a twister.

Of occupations these were quantum suff.
Yet still he thought the list not long enough,
And therefore surgery he chose to pin to 't
This balanced things; for if he hurl'd
A few score mortals from the world,
He made amends by keeping others in it.
His fame full six miles round the country ran,
In short, in reputation he was solus;
All the old women call'd him "a fine man!"
His name was Bolus.

Benjamin Bolus, tho' in trade,

Which oftentimes will genius flatter

Read works of fancy, it is said,

And cultivated the belles lettres.

And why should this be thought so odd?
Can't men have taste to cure a phthisic?
Of poetry, though patron god,

Apollo patronizes physic.

Bolus lov'd verse, and took so much delight in 't,
That his prescriptions he resolv'd to write in 't;
No opportunity he e'er let pass

Of writing the directions on his labels,
In dapper couplets-like Gay's fables,

Or rather like the lines in Hudibras.
Apothecary's verse!-and where's the treason?
'Tis simply honest dealing-not a crime:
When patients swallow physic without reason.
It is but fair to give a little rhyme.

He had a patient lying at death's door,

Some three miles from the town-it might be fourTo whom, one evening, Bolus sent an article

In pharmacy, that's called cathartical;

And on the label of the stuff,

He wrote verse,

Which, one would think, was clear enougn

And terse:—

"When taken,

To be well shaken."

Next morning, early, Bolus rose,
And to the patient's house he goes
Upon his pad,

Who a vile trick of stumbling had.
It was, indeed, a very sorry hack,
But that's of course-

For what's expected of a horse

With an apothecary upon his back?
Bolus arriv'd, and gave a loudish tap,
Between a single and a double rap.
Knocks of this kind

Are given by gentlemen who teach to dance
By fiddlers, and by opera singers;

One loud, and then a little one behind,
As if the knocker fell by chance
Out of their fingers.

The servant lets him in with dismal face,
Long as a courtier's out of place,

Portending some disaster;

John's countenance as rueful look'd and grim,
As if the apothecary had physicked him,
And not his master.

Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said:
John shook his head.

"Indeed!-hum!-ha!-that's very odd!
He took the draught?" John gave a nod.
"Well, how?—what then? Speak out, you dunce!"
"Why, then," says John, "we shook him once."
"Shook him!-how?" Bolus stammer'd out.
"We jolted him about."

"What! shake a patient, man!—a shake won't do."
"No, sir-and so we gave him two.'

"Two shakes! Foul nurse,

"Twould make the patient worse!"

"It did so, sir—and so a third we tried."

“Well, and what then?"" Then, sir, my master died!”

TRUTH IN PARENTHESIS.-HOOD.

I REALLY take it very kind-
This visit, Mrs. Skinner;

I have not seen you such an age

(The wretch has come to dinner!)
Your daughters, too-what loves of girls!—
What heads for painters' easels!
Come here, and kiss the infant, dears-

(And give it, p'rhaps, the measles!)