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you summit at singing line?" "What makes you ask?” said the gentleman. "I hope no defence," said he ;"why, sir, you mun know, I'm building a mill, and in about three weeks I mean to have a sort of housewarming; and, as we are very musical in our partsI plays on fiddle at church mysen, and my brother plays on a great long thing like a horse's leg painted with a piece of brass crook stuck in the end, and puffs away like a pig in a fit; and, as we have a vast of music meetings, and those sort of things-I should like to open my mill with a rory tory, and wanted to ax you to come and sing at it."

He then related a family anecdote :"You mun know, sir, that my father died all on a sudden like, and never gave any body notice he was going to die, and he left his family in complete profusion; and when I found he was dead, as I was the eldest son, I thought I had a right to have all the money. I told neighbour so but he said, that though I was eldest son, I had no right to all the brass; but I said, that I was not only the eldest, but handsomest into the bargain for you never see'd five such ugly, carroty-headed devils among any litter of pigs, as my five brothers and sisters; and as I found they wanted to diddle me out of my internal estate, I determined to take the law at the top of the regicides." "And you applied to counsel, no doubt," said the gentleman. Na, I didn't" said he, " for I don't know him, I went to one Lawyer Latitat, and paid him six and eight-pence, all in good half-pence, and he wrote me down my destructions." The gentleman read his destructions, as he called them, which were as follows:-" You must go to the Temple, and apply to a Civilian, and tell him that your father has died intestate, or without will; that he has left five children, all infantine, besides yourself; and that you are come to know if you can't be his executor." "Well," said the gentleman, "what 'did you do?" "Why sir," said he, "I went to the Temple, and knocked at the door, and the gentleman cnm'd out at door himsen; and I said, ' Pray, sir, ar❜nt

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you a silly villain? and he_ax'd me if I were cum'd to insult him; and I said, Yes, I partly cum'd on purpose. I cum to insult you, to know what I am to do, for my feyther has died detested and against his will; he has left five young infidels besides mysen, and I've cum'd to know, if I can't be his executioner.

THE CHOICE OF A WIFE BY CHEESE.
There lived in York, an age ago,
A man whose name was Pimlico:
He loved three sisters passing well,
But which the best he could not tell.
These sisters three, divinely fair,
Shew'd Pimlico their tend'rest care:
For each was elegantly bred,

And all were much inclined to wed;
And all made Pimlico their choice,
And praised him with their sweetest voice.
Young Pim, the gallant and the gay,
Like ass divided 'tween the hay,
At last resolved to gain his ease,
And choose his wife by eating cheese.
He wrote his card, he seal'd it up,
And said that night with them he'd sup;
Desired that there might only be

;

Good Cheshire cheese, and but them three;
He was resolved to crown his life,
And by that means to fix his wife.
The girls were pleased at his conceit
Each dress'd herself divinely neat ;
With faces full of peace and plenty,
Blooming with roses under twenty;
For surely Nancy, Betsy, Sally,
Were sweet as lilies of the valley:
But singly, surely buxom Bet
Was like new hay and mignonette.
But each surpass'd a poet's fancy,
Aud that, of truth, was said of Nancy;

Fame, the goddess of my soul-eagerly I caught her hand-but she flew with contempt, as she exclaimed, Napoleon! thou art lost to fame for ever!' Can i endure all this, think you, Bertrand? I, who have commanded millions! fortune! all! can tamely yield? no, never. My brain becomes a chaos of conflicting passions! methinks I am leading my forces on towards Waterloo. What ho! on there! charge! my faithful troops! Fight! fight for your rights! France! independence! and your leader Napoleon!

THE CONVENT BELLE.

There once was a novice, as I've heard tell

A novice of some renownWhose raven hair in ringlets fell,

O'er his yet unshaven crown.

But his vows as yet he had never said,
Except to a blue-eyed, blooming maid-
And she had never confessed, 'till now,
To this novice, who yet had'nt made his vow.
So pious she grew, that early and late,
She was tapping alone at the convent gate,
And so often she went her sins to tell,

That the villagers call'd her the CONVENT BELLE!
Ding dong, my song's of a convent belle !

The novice continued the maid to hear,
And swiftly the months went round-
He had nearly pass'd his trial year,
Before he was guilty found.

But then suspicion began to spread,

So the cowl he cast from his curly head;

The maiden he wedded next morning tide,

And his PENITENT PALE was his BLOOMING BRIDE.

The Prior he stormed at the bridegroom meek,

Who answered him fast, with a smile on his cheek"Good father, indeed I have acted well;

I was only RINGING the CONVENT BELLE!”

RECEIPT TO BREW A STORM.

Husband. Woman-aye!

Wife. You are always railing at our sex.
Husband. And without reason?

Wife. Without either rhyme or reason. miserable beings without us, for all that.

You'd be

Husband. Sometimes: there is no general rule without an exception; I could name some very good

women

Wife. Without a head, I suppose.

Husband. With a head, and with a heart too.
Wife. That's a wonder!

Husband. It would be a still greater if I could not. For instance, there is Mrs. Dawson, the best of wives; always at home, whenever you call, always in good humour, always neat and clean, sober and discreet.

Wife. I wish you were tied to her. Always at home! the greatest gossip in the parish; she may well smile, she has nothing to ruffle her temper; neat and clean-she has nothing else to do; sober-she can take her glass as well as her neighbours; discreet-that's another word, she can tip a wink-but I detest scandal. I am surprised you didn't say she was handsome!

Husband. So she is, in my eye.

Wife. You have a fine eye, to be sure; you're an excellent judge of beauty; what do you think of her

nose?

Husband. She's a fine woman in spite of her nose. Wife. Fine feathers make fine birds: she can paint her withered cheeks, and pencil her eyebrows. Husband. You can do the same, if you please. Wife. My cheeks don't want paint, nor my eyebrows pencilling.

Husband. True; the rose of youth and beauty is still on your cheeks, and your brow is the bow of Cupid.

Wife. You once thought so; but that moving mummy, Molly Dawson, is your favourite. She's-let see-no gossip, and yet she's found in every house but her own; and so silent too, when she has all the clack to herself; her tongue is as thin as a sixpence with

talking; with a pair of eyes burned into the sockets, and painted panels into the bargain; and then as to scandal--but her tongue is no scandal.

Husband. Take care, there's such a thing as standing in a white sheet!

Wife. Curse you! you would provoke a saint. Husband. You seem to be getting into a passion. Wife. Is it any wonder? A white sheet! You ought to be tossed in a blanket. Handsome! I can't forget that word: my charms are lost on such a tasteless fellow as you.

Husband. The charms of your tongue.

Wife. Don't provoke me, or I'll fling this dish at your head.

Husband. Well, I have done.

Wife. But I haven't done: I wish I had drowned myself the first day I saw you.

Husband. It's not too late.

Wife. I'd see you hung first.

Husband. You'd be the first to cut me down.
Wife. Then I ought to be tied up in your stead.
Husband. I'd cut you down.

Wife. You would?

Husband. Yes-but I'd be sure you were dead first. Wife. I cannot bear this any longer.

Husband. Then 'tis time for me to withdraw; I see by your eyes that the storm is collecting. Wife. And it shall burst on your head.

Husband. I'll save my poor head, if I can. A good retreat is better than a bad battle.

[Husband flies, the dish flies after hin

SLANDERED VIRTUE.

Some sacrifice is due to slander'd virtue.
-Why, what is virtue if it needs a victim?
Or if it must depend upon men's words?
The dying Roman said, ""Twas but a name !"
It were indeed no more, if human breath
Could make or mar it. BYRON.

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