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Whether of ash, elm, oak, or vine,
Of rare bamboo, or humble pine,
Hail! hail! all hail! for thou art mine,

My Stick.
If life's meridian spared to see,
Depend upon it thou shalt be
Still part and particle of me,

My Stick.
When stuff'd with luxury and pride,
Too fat to walk, a steed I'll ride,
And proudly flourish at my side,

My Stick.
Tottering down life's declivity,
I'll confidently trust to thee,
Thou'lt prove the same kind friend to me,

My Stick.
Yet wo is me ;-true friendship never,
In this vile world did last for ever,
Fell death from me some day will sever

My Stick.
But till my door of life is shut,
Till in my kindred earth I’m put,
Till life's extinct, I'll never cut

My Stick


A PATLANDER, with a pole as red as the Red Lion, at Brentford, and rendered still more red by a copious discharge of blood which oozed through a dirty rag tied over a recent wound on his scalp, applied to a magistrate for a warrant, when the following dialogue took place :

Mag. Well, Pat, (for his countenance operated as a sort of finger-post, pointing to the road whence he came) what do you want ?

Pat. I'd be wanting a warrant, your worship's glory.

Mag. Against whom ?
Pat. Agin Barney O'Leary, plaize your Rivirince.
Mag. For what?
Pat. For murther, your grace.
Mag. Whom did he murther?

Pat. Murther! Och, the divil a crature but mysilf, your excellency:

Mag. Indeed! Has he really been guilty of that?

Pat. By my sowl he has ! Bad luck to him! He has made a hole in my napper big enough to bury a cat in.

Mag. He has not killed you outright, I see.

Pať. Och sure, it isn't his fault that he hasn't, for he intended it, and nothing surer.

May. I suppose an assault warrant will suit you? When did he assault you?

Pat. He 'saughted me last night, about two o'clock this morning, your serene highness?

Mag. Did he strike you with a stick ?
Pat. No, my lord, was a small taste of a poker.

Mag. A poker! What a dreadful murderous weapon.

Pat. Arrah! sure your holiness, it is indeed, indeed.

Mag. Where were you when this happened ?
Pat. Where was I? sure I was in bed.
Mag. Asleep or awake ?
Pat. As sound as a roach, your majesty.
Mag. And what provocation had you given him,

Pat. Divil a provocation at all, most noble. How could I when I was dead drunk asleep?

Mag. What! do you mean to say he came to your bedside and struck you in this dreadful manner without cause?

Pat. Yes, your mightiness—barring he came to his own bedside instead of mine.

Mag. His own bedside! wer you in his bed ?


Pat. Faith, you have guessed it, your Rivirince. Mag. And what brought you there?

Pat. That's more than I can tell, your honour, barring it was the liquor.

Mag. Was this all you did to provoke his anger?
Pat. Divil a thing else.
Mag. Was there any other person present ?

Pat. Not a crature-independent of his wife, dat was in bed with me, your grace.

Mag. His wife! were you in bed with his wife ?
Pať. In course I was, your worship !
Mag. And don't you think you deserved what you
Pat. Is it me? Not I, indeed, it was all a mistake.
Mag. Mistake!

Pat. Yes, I thought it was my own wife in the dark, I went into the room in a mistake!

Mag. Well, I hope you committed no other mistake. You must be careful in future. I cannot grant you a warrant.

Pat. Thank your majesty. If he hits me agin it shall go for something. By my sow! I will give him a crack that will knock him into the middle of next week. So an illigant good day to your mightiness.

Pulling up his unmentionables, he hopp'd off in a real Irish trot.

It turned out that Paddy went into the bed unconscious of where he was, till Barney gave him a gentle hint with the poker, and fortunately his skull was thick enough to resist the intended finisher. Barney's sleeping beauty was also awoke by the shock, who gave her tender assistance in larruping the intruder out of the chamber of her lord and master.



Where's the blind child, so admirably fair,
With guileless dimples, and with flaxen hair

costermonger to strike his moke vhen he ron't kemarp, vy then I says guilty, and think I've no cause to cry stinking fish.

Mag. You pleads guilty, then? Let me as a jolly good trump of a beak, vot I is, adwise you to eat your vords. At all events, chance your luck on a proper hexamination.

Bill. I leaves that ere chance to your vorship's own breasts ; if they have not a vord for poor Bill, vy I ain't got dimmock to employ a lawyer :

Mag. You von't go back then ?
Bil. I'm fixed to it, back and edge, and no gam-


Mag. Brother Beak, nothing more is left for us to do nor to consider on the amount o' the fine. Although the case o' the unfortunate costermonger admits of a little pity, still, for the proper diffusion of the milk of humane kindness—as the immortal Blackstone says-amongst the bullock boys and donkeymen of the metropolis, any wood winking or learning for’ard on our parts vould set a bad hexample, and

I fears can't be yielded to. Gennemen, am you made up your minds as to the verdic? Guilty ? It remains, then, for me to force the penalty. Prisoner, does not von of your cronies come for’ard to speak to your carrotter? Am you no von ?

Bill. Not von, your vorship ; I didn't go for to think to ax em ; but let them choioick, and, may I never die in child-bed, if from one end of Kent-street to t'other, you can find a kid to say nothink agin me. Mag. Sing out for vitnesses !

(Enter First Witness.) What am you?

Wit. A coal-heaver, your vorship.
Mag. Vot know you on the prisoner ?

Wit. Know, your vorship! that he's the humanest man as ever skinned a heel--the first at Billingsgate in a morning, the last to go to roost at dark ; von as

never vos thought nothing else nor a trump; he deals in the freshest mackerel and the largest sprats ; for buying and selling to the best advantage, give me Bill Finch before any kid in Kent-street.

Mag. But vot knows you on his moral carrotter ?

Wit. His maw—maw-ale carrotter, your vorship? vy he plays at shove-ha penny like a cock. Mag. Are there any more vitnesses ?

( Another Witness comes forward.) Vot knows you on the prisoner ?

Wit. Nothing but good, my lorthur.
Mag. Vas he never lock'd up in the vatchus ?

Wit. Not never but once, my lorthur ; and that ere vos for a shindy, vhen ve vos both lushy.

Mag. Vot else do you know?

Wiť. Vy, as this here, my lorthur-if he goes to the mill, they von't make him vork hard.

Mag. Am you nothing else to show ? Did he not never do no great nor mag-nanny-mous action ?

Wit. Do any who, my lorthur? Ye-Yes. He twice floored his grandmother, and twice put his old blind father into a vater butt!

Mag. Am there any more vitnesses ?

Bill. Your Vorship, I feels as if I had the barnacles on, or stood in the stocks, to stand here and listen to yarns about a carrotter, and all that ere. doesn't think I'm a trump, vy it's no more use than taking coals to Newcastle to patter here.

Mag. Gennemen, is your opinion still unshook'd ? Prisoner, what am you to say vy the full penalty of forty hog should not be levelled a-top on you ? If you is got nothing to offer, now is the time to launch out.

Bill. In a moment, your vorship—in a moment.-[Blowing his nose.] Damn it, my nose is rather tronblesome. Your vorship I had been three months to the mill for a 'sault, and my donkey-as good a von to go as ever was seen-had not done no work all that ere time. I had come home as frisky as a fly in a

If you

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