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pipe, and be bappy!" Very well, (becomes affected) Then I zays—“Henry, you be poor and friendless, zo you must turn out of my houze directly.” Very well, then my
wife stares at I-reaches her hand towards the vire place, and throws the poker at my head. Very well, then Henry gives a kind of anguish shake, and getting up, sighs from the bottom of his heart—then holding up his head like a king, says—“Varmer, I have too long been a burthen to you-Heaven protect you as you have me.
Farewell! I go.” Then I says, « If thee does I'll be domn'd,” (with great energy.) Hollo; you Mister Sir Philip! you may come in.
(Enter Sir Philip Blandford. Zur I have argufied the topic, and it wou’dn't be pratty-zo can't.
Sir Philip.-Can't! absurd !
Ashfield.—Well, zur, there is but another word—I won't.
Ashfield.—No, zur, I won't ;-I'd zee myself hang'd first and you too, zur-I wouíd indeed (vowing.)
Sir Philip.—You refuse then to obey.
Ashfield.-I be zorry for that too-I be, indeed zur ; but if corn wou'dn't grow, I cou'dn't help it ; it wer'n't poison'd by the hand that zow'd it. Thíc hand, zir, be as free from guilt as your own.
Sir Philip.-Oh? (sighing deeply.)
Ashfield.-It were never held out to clinch a hard bargain, nor will it turn a good lad out into the wicked world, because he be poorish a bit. I be zorry you be offended, zur, quite—but come what wool, I'll never hit thic hand against here, but when I be zure that someit at inzide will jump against it with pleasure (bowing.), I do hope you'll repent of all your zinsI do, indeed, zur ; and if you shou’d, I'll come and see you again as friendly as ever-I wool, indeed, zur.
Sir Philip.-Your repentance will come too late!
(Exit Ashfield. Thank ye, zur-good morning to youI do hope I have made myzel agreeable-and so I'll whoam.
HOW TO SAVE ONE'S BACON.
EARLY one fine morning, as Terence O'Fleary was hard at work in his p tatoe-garden, he was accosted by his gossip, Mick C isey, who he perceived had his Sunday clothes on.
“ God's 'bud! Terry, man, what would you be afther doing there wid them praties, an' Phelim O'Loughlan's berrin' goin' to take place ?. Come along, ma bochel ! sure the praties will wait.”
“Och! no,” sis Terry, “I must dig this ridge for the childer's breakfast, an thin I'm goin' to confession to Father O'Higgins, who houlds a stashin beyont there at his own house."
“ Bother take the stashin!" sis Mick, “ sure that ’ud wait, too.” But Terence was not to be persuaded.
Away went Mick to the berrin'; and Terence, having finished" wid the praties," as he said, went over to Father O'Higgins, where he was shown into the kitchen, to wait his turn for confession. He had not been long standing there before the kitchen fire, when his attention was attracted by a nice piece of bacon, which hung in the chimney-corner. Terry looked at it again and again, and wished the childer“ had it at home wid the praties.”
“Murther alive!” says he, “will I take it? Sure the priest can spare it, an' it would be a rare thrate to Judy an' the gorsoons at home, to say nothin' iv meself, who hasn't tasted the likes this many's the day.” Terry look ed at it again, and then turned away, saying-“ I won't take it-why won'd I, an' it not mine, but the priestos ? an' I'd have the sin iv it, sure! I won't take it,” repeated he, “an' it's nothin' but the Ould Boy himself that's temptin' me! But sure it's no harm to feel it, any way,” said he, taking it into his hand, and looking earnestly at it. “Och! it's a beauty ; and why wouldn't I carry it home to Judy and the childer An’ sure it won't be a sin afther I confesses it !"
Well, into his great coat pocket he thrust it ; and he had scarcely done so, when the maid came in and told him that it was his turn for confession.
“Murther alive!. I'm kil't an' ruin'd, horse and foot, now, joy, Terry; what'll I do in this quandary at all, at all? By gannies! I must thry an' make the best of it, any how," sis he to himself, and in he went.
He knelt to the priest, told his sins, and was about to receive absolution, when all at once he seemed to recollect himself, and cried out
“Och! stop-stop, Father O'Higgins, dear! for goodness' sake, stop! I have one great big sin to tell yit ; only, sir, I'm frightened to tell id, in the regard of never having done the likes afore, sur, niver !! Come,”
,” said Father O'Higgins, “ you must tell it to me."
“Why, then, your Riverince, I will tell id; but, sir, I'm ashamed like !"
“Oh, never mind! tell it," said the priest. “Why, then, your Riverince, I went one day to a gintleman's house upon a little bit of business, an' he bein' ingaged, I was shewed into the kitchin to wait. Well, sur, there I saw a beautiful bit iv bacon hangin' in the chimbly-corner. I looked at id, your Riverince, an' my teeth begin to wather. I don't know how it was, sur, but I suppose the Divil timpted me, for I put it into my pocket ; but, if you plaize, sur, I'll give it to you,” and he put his hand into his pocket.
“Give it to me!” said Father O'Higgins ; “no certainly not ; give it back to the owner of it.”
“Why, then, your Riverince, sur, I offered id to him, and he wouldn't take id.”
“Oh, he wouldn't, wouldn't he?" said the priest ; " then take it home, and eat it yourself, with your family.”
“ Thank your Riverince kindly !" says Terence, “an' I'll do that same immediately, plaize God; but first and foremost, I'll have the absolution, if you plaize, sir.”
Terence received absolution, and went home, rejoicing that he had been able to save his soul and his bacon
at the same time.
TO AN OLD WIG.
Hall thou ! that liest so snug in this old box;
With awe I bend before thy wood-built shrine ! Oh, 'tis not closed with glue, nor nails, nor locks,
And hence the bliss of viewing thee is mine. Like my poor aunt, thou hast seen better days;
Well curled and powdered, once it was thy lot
And panoramas, and I know not w at.
at court, wert noticed by the King, Thy form was so commodious, and so neat. Alas! what art thou now? a mere old mop,
With which our housemaid Nan, who hates a broom, Dusts all the chambers in my little shop,
Then slily hides thee in this lumber-room. Such is the fate of wigs—and mortals too!
After a few more years than thine are past, The Turk, the Christian, Pagan, and the Jew,
Must all be shut up in a box at last.
Vain man! to talk so loud, and look so big,
A PARODY ON THE TRIAL SCENE IN BLACK
EYED SUSAN. CHARACTERS-Magistrate, Bill, and Witnesses. Mag. PRISONER, as your donkey is almost bent double vith the load o'mackerel on his back, and it am been thought proper that your pals, the drovers and slaughter-men, should be vitnesses of votsumdever penalty we may exflict upon you, in case ve finds you guilty on the crime that you are charged vith; it vill be necessary to receive the dispositions of the vitnesses vithout bringing the donkey into court, because, you see, the hampers vould perwent. Von of the vitnesses, I grieves to say, is your voman-howsomdever, out of marcy to your sittiwation, we isn't brought
Bill. Thankee, your vorship, thankee, my voman Sarah, standing here afore me pattering vords vhat'd send me to the mill, vould be laying on too thick for a covey to bear. I thanks your vorship—if I must mount the wan again, I vouldn't have it in sight of my voman.
Mag. Prisoner, you am charged under Muster Martin's hact, vi' almost killing your donkey to death. Answer-am you guilty, or not guilty ?
Bill. I vants your worship to mind vot your arter atvixt the questions. If it should go for to be axed if I vanted to kill the donkey, I could prove, if I vanted to be bounceable, that my donkey vàs sitch a rum'un, I could ha' sold him to a knacker for five hog—all's von for that ere. I ain't guilty of an attempt to kill the donkey to death ; but if it's guilty for