READY-MADE SPEECH.

SIR,-Unused, unacquainted, unhabituated, unaccustomed to public speaking, I rise, sir, in consequence of having caught your eye, sir, to express, with the utmost diffidence, my humble ideas on the important subject now before the house.

I will therefore, sir, be bold to affirm, and I am also free to declare, that I by no means meet the ideas of the nubble Lud. I will not, however, go over the same grounds or commit myself, by taking up a principle without the most perfect consideration. But as I am now upon my legs, I certainly shall not blink the question; nor am at all inclined to meet him half way, because on the first blush of the business, I was determined to scout the idea in toto; for if, sir, the well-being of civilized society, and the establishment of order and tranquillity, is the grand object of our investigation, I cannot hesitate to pronounce-Sir! I cannot hesitate to pronounce, that I want words to express my indignation at the general tenour of the arguments so ably agitated by the honourable member on my left hand.

But, sir, the idea does not attach; and when my learned friend professed to lay down his principles with so much method, he only proved his weakness by undertaking to cleanse the Augean stable, and to perform the labours of Hercules himself. No, Sir, I am again free to assert, and, sir, 1 am by no means disinclined to prove, that if gentlemen, under existing circumstances, do not act with vigour and unanimity against the introduction of French principles, our glorious constitution, produced by the wisdom of our ancestors, may fall to the ground, sir! yes, fall to the ground, by the influence of a Jacobin innovation. But on this head, we are ripe to deliberate; and I trust the gentlemen with whom I have the honour to act, and who constitute the decided majority of this

honourable house--for whose worth, integrity, firmness, perspicuity, ingenuity, perseverance, and patriotism I have the most dignified respect, and in whom also I place the most perfect confidence-I say, sir, I trust they will preserve the privileges of this assembly from the lawless banditti of acquitted felons, who, not having been killed off, insult us daily by their negative successes, and circulate their seditious principles, to the danger of every respectable man in the community, who may, by possessing property, become an object of their diabolical depredations. Not, however, to trespass any longer upon the patience of the house, I shall conclude by observing, with the great Latin poet of antiquity

Quid sit futurum cras, fuge quærere:
Carpe diem.'

THE IDIOT BOY.

WHO'S is the grave with the osiers entwining,
Where clustering flowers in beauty arise,

Where the hallowed cross bright in the moonbeam is shining,

And seems to reflect the blest smile of the skies? There lie the white bones of poor Gertrude, once dear, Her virtues in memory are dwelt on with joy; Her spirit is fled to yon happier spheres,

And she dwells with the blest, and her Idiot Boy. How oft would she spin while the gold fly he'd chase, And mark his wild eye as with passion it shone ; Then weep as she kiss'd his pale beauteous face,

For tho' reason had fled, still the boy was her own. And oft when the tear had bedimm'd her wild eye, He wept for he thought there's no tear drops for joy; And he paid back her tears, return'd sigh for sigh, As he leaned on her bosom-the Idiot Boy.

When she press'd her rude pillow, the pillow of death,
And thought when the veil of the grave was unfurl'd,
How sad was her soul for the form she'd gave birth,
When he'd linger alone in the gloom of the world.
She held up her arm, it was fleshless and bare,-
And that moment she felt a soft transient joy,
For heaven had chased from her soul her despair,
And she died as she gazed on her Idiot Boy.
'Ah! wake, dearest mother, I'm hungry and cold,'
Cried the youth, as in glancing her fix'd features o'er,
'Ah! why don't you wake in my arms' tender fold,
For you never have slept such a long time before.
'I love only you, and I feel such delight

When, although weeping, you call me your joy ;From the boys of the village I oft urge my flight,

For they tell me with tears I'm an Idiot Boy. 'She's cold, very cold! and her breast heaves no more! She's just like a bird when it hung it's soft head, When it hopp'd not, nor chirp'd not, nor sang as before, And they told me the poor little robin was dead.' At that instant, conviction flashed over his brainHe knew she was dead, and that dead was each joy; The heart burst its bounds, and broke life's feeble chain,

And he died on his mother-the Idiot Boy.

THE LEARNED APOTHECARY.

THIS was an action that was brought against a man of the name of Warburton, for having practised without being duly qualified-it was tried before Sir W. Garrow at the Staffordshire Assizes; the defendant was son to a man who had been in early life a gardener, but afterwards set up a cow-leech. Cross-examined by Mr. Dauncey.

Mr. D. Have you always been a surgeon? Wit. Pray, my Lord, is this a proper answer? Judge. I have not heard any answer; Mr. Dauncey has put a question.

Wit. Must I answer?

Judge. Yes, do you object?

Wit. I don't think it a proper answer.

Judge. I presume you mean question; I beg leave

to differ with you in opinion.

Mr. D. Have you always been a surgeon?

Wit. I am a surgent.

Mr. D. Can you spell the word you mention?
Wit. My Lord, is that a fair answer?

Judge. I think it a fair question.

Wit. Spell the word! to be sure I can. S-y-u-rgunt. Mr. D. I am rather hard of hearing-repeat what you have said.

Wit. S-u-r-gend.

Mr. D. What did you say was next to S, sir?
Wit. S-y-u-gent.

Judge. As I take it down, please to favour me with it once more.

Wit. S-q-u-r-gent.
Judge. What?

Wit. S-e-r-gund.

Mr. D. Have you always been what you say? what were you originally?

Wit. S-y-u-r-g-e-n-d.

Mr. D. Were you ever a gardener, Dr. Warburton. Wit. Surgent.

Mr. D. I do not ask you to spell that word again. Wit. Sergund―aye, that's it.

Mr. D. My Lord, I fear I have thrown a spell over this poor man, which he can't get rid of. Where was you a gardener ?

Wit. I never was a gardener-I first was a farmer -I ceased to be a farmer, because I learnt the business I now is.

Mr. D. Who did you learn it of?

Wit. My Lord, is that a proper question?
Judge. I see no objection to it.

Wit. I learned it of Doctor Hum-he practised the same as the Whitworth doctors, and they were ruglar physicians.

Mr. D. Where did they take their degrees.

Wit. I don't think they ever took any.

Mr. D. Then do you suppose they could be regular physicians?

Wit. No-I believe they were only doctors.

Mr. D. Were they doctors of law, physic, or divinity?

Wit. They doctored cows and other human beings. Mr. D. Did you ever make up medicines from the prescription of a physician.

Wit. I never did.

Mr. D. Do you understand the characters they use for ounces, scruples, and drachms?

Wit. I do not. I can make up as good medicine in my way as they can in theirs.

Mr. D. What proportion does an ounce bear to a pound?

Wit. My Lord, is that a fair answer-I mean question?

Judge. Certainly.

Mr. D. There are sixteen ounces to the pound. Wit. We do not go by weight, we mix ours by the hand.

Mr. D. Do you ever bleed?

Wit. Yes.

Mr. D. With a fleam or lancet?

Wit. With a launcelot.

Mr. D. Do you bleed from the vein or the artery? Wit. From the wain.

Mr. D. There is an artery about the temple, can you tell the name of it?

Wit. I does not pretend to have so much knowledge as some.

Mr. D. Can you tell me the name of that artery?