tiff or be he defendant; be his name Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson.

I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick continued to reside constantly, and without any interruption or intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired and prepared it for wear when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that on many occasions he gave halfpence, and on some occasions even sixpences, to her little boy. I shall prove to you that on one occasion, when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms offered her marriage; previously, however, taking special care that there should be no witness to their solemn contract. And I am in a situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his own friends- most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen most unwilling witnesses-that on that morning he was discovered by them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his caresses and endearments.

And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have passed between these parties - letters that must be viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye-letters that were evidently intended, at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first:-"Garraway's, twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B.: Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick." Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and tomato sauce! Yours, Pickwick! Chops!-gracious heavens! and tomato sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these? The next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. Dear Mrs. B.: I shall not be

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at home till to-morrow. Slow coach." And then follows this very remarkable expression: -"Don't trouble yourself about the warming-pan." The warming-pan! Why, gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a warming-pan? Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire-a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion? And what does this allusion to the slow coach mean? For aught I know it may be a reference to Pickwick himself, who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased by you.

But enough of this, gentlemen. It is difficult to smile with an aching heart. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined; and it is no figure of speech to say that her “occupation is gone" indeed. The bill is down; but there is no tenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass; but there is no invitation for them to inquire within or without. All is gloom and silence in the house; even the voice of the child is hushed; his infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps. But Pickwick, gentlemen Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell street — Pickwick, who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the sward- - Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato sauce and warming-pans-Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made! Damages, gentlemen, heavy damages, is the only punishment with which you can visit him - the only recompense you can award to my client. And for those

damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a contemplative jury of her civilized countrymen.

104. SPEECH OF M. HECTOR DE LONGUEBEAU.-T. Mosely.

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Milors and gentlemans! You excellent chairman, M. le Baron de Mount-Stuart, he have say to me, "Make de toast." Den I say to him dat I have no toast to make; but he nudge my elbow ver soft, and say dat dere is von toast dat nobody but von Frenchman can make proper; and derefore, wid your kind permission, I vill make de toast. De brevete is de sole of de feet," as you great philosophere, Dr. Johnson, do say, in dat amusing little vork of his, de Pronouncing Dictionaire; and derefore I vill not say ver mooch to de point. Ven I vas a boy, about so mooch tall, and used for to promenade de streets of Marseilles et of Rouen, vid no feet. to put onto my shoe, I nevare to have expose dat dis day would to have arrive. I vas to begin de vorld as von garçon

or vat you call in dis countrie von vataire in a café vere I vork ver hard, vid no habilimens at all to put onto myself, and ver little food to eat, excep' von old bleu blouse vat vas give to me by de proprietaire, just for to keep myself fit to be showed at; but, tank goodness, tings dey have change ver mooch for me since dat time, and I have rose myself, seulement par mon industrie et perseverance. (Loud cheers.) Ah! mes amis! ven I hear to myself de flowing speech, de oration magnifique, of you Lor' Maire, Monsieur Gobbledown, I feel dat it is von great privilege for von étranger to sit at de same table, and to eat de same food, as dat grand, dat majestique man, who are de terreur of de voleurs and de brigands of de metropolis; and who is also, I for to supposé, a halterman and de chef of you common scoundrel. Milors and gentlemans, I feel dat I can perspire to no greataire honneur dan to be von common scoundrel

man myself; but, helas! dat plaisir are not for me, as I are not freeman of your great cité, not von liveryman servant of von of you compagnies joint-stock. But I must not forget de toast. Milors and gentlemans! De immortal Shakispeare he have write, "De ting of beauty are de joy for nevermore." It is de ladies who are de toast. Vat is more entrancing dan de charmante smile, de soft voice, de vinking eye, of de beautiful lady! It is de ladies who do sweeten de cares of life. It is de ladies who are de guiding stars of our existence. It is de ladies who do cheer but not inebriate, and derefore, vid all homage to dere sex, de toast dat I have to propose is, "De Ladies! God bless dem all!"

105. CAUDLE HAS BEEN MADE A MASON.-Douglas Jerrold.

Now, Mr. Caudle,-Mr. Caudle, I say: oh, you can't be asleep already, I know! Now, what I mean to say is this: there's no use, none at all, in our having any disturbance about the matter; but at last my mind's made up, Mr. Caudle: I shall leave you. Either I know all you've been doing to-night, or to-morrow morning I quit the house. No, no. There's an end of the married state, I think,— an end of all confidence between man and wife, if a husband's to have secrets and keep 'em all to himself. Pretty secrets they must be, when his own wife can't know 'em. Not fit for any decent person to know, I'm sure, if that's the case. Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel, there's a good soul: tell me, what's it all about? A pack of nonsense, I dare say; still, not that I care much about it,—still, I should like to know. There's a dear. Eh? Oh, don't tell me there's nothing in it; I know better. I'm not a fool, Mr. Caudle; I know there's a good deal in it. Now, Caudle, just tell me a little bit of it. I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You know I would. Well?

And you're not going to let me know the secret, eh? You

mean to say you're not? Now, Caudle, you know it's a hard matter to put me in a passion,- not that I care about the secret itself; no, I wouldn't give a button to know it, for it's all nonsense, I'm sure. It isn't the secret I care about; it's the slight, Mr. Caudle; it's the studied insult that a man pays to his wife when he thinks of going through the world keeping something to himself which he won't let her know. Man and wife one, indeed! I should like to know how that can be when a man's a mason,-when he keeps a secret that sets him and his wife apart? Ha! you men make the laws, and so you take good care to have all the best of them to yourselves; otherwise a woman ought to be allowed a divorce when a man becomes a mason,- when he's got a sort of corner-cupboard in his heart, a secret place in his mind, that his poor wife isn't allowed to rummage. Was there ever such a man? A man, indeed! A brute! -yes, Mr. Caudle, an unfeeling, brutal creature, when you might oblige me, and you won't. I'm sure I don't object to your being a mason; not at all, Caudle; I dare say it's a very good thing; I dare say it is: it's only your making a secret of it that vexes me. But you'll tell me,- you'll tell your own Margaret? You won't? You're a wretch, Mr. Caudle.

106. THE JESTER CONDEMNED.-Horace Smith.

One of the kings of Scanderoon,

A royal jester,

Had in his train a gross buffoon,
Who used to pester

The court with tricks inopportune,
Venting on the highest folks his
Scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes.

It needs some sense to play the fool,
Which wholesome rule

Occurred not to our jackanapes,