not be wooed; keep off, you saucy fellow--don't be rude; I'm made for your superiors, tinker."-No, indeed, she treated not the tinker so. But lo, the damsel, with her usual squint, suffered her tinker lover to imprint sweet kisses on her lips, and squeeze her hand, hug her, and say the softest things unto her, and in love's plain and pretty language woo her, without a frown or even a reprimand.

Now to the father the brisk lover hied, who at his noisy mill so busy plied, grinding, and taking handsome toll of corn-sometimes indeed too handsome to be borne. "Ho! Master Miller!" did the tinker say-forth from his cloud of flour the miller came; "Nice weather, Master Miller-charming day-Heaven's very kind”—the miller said the same. "Now, miller, possibly you may not guess at this same business I am come about: 'tis this then,-know, I love your daughter Bess:-there, Master Miller!-now the riddle's out. I'm not for mincing matters, Sir! d'ye see-I likes your daughter Bess, and she likes me." "Poh," quoth the miller, grinning at the tinker, "thou dost not mean with marriage, man, to blink her; no, no, though she's my daughter, I'm not blind; but, tinker, what hath now possessed thy mind? thou'rt the first offer she has met, my lad— but tell me, tinker, art thou drunk, or mad ?" "No-I'm not drunk nor mad," the tinker cried, "but Bet's the maid I wish to make my bride; no girl in these two eyes doth Bet excel." 'Why, fool," the miller said, "Bet hath a hump! and then her nose !--the nose of my old pump. "I know it," quoth the tinker, "know it well." "Her face," quoth Grist, "is freckled, wrinkled, flat; her mouth as wide as that of my tom-cat; and then she squints a thousand ways at onceher waist a corkscrew; and her hair how red! a downright bunch of carrots on her head :—why, what a maggot's got into thy sconce ?" "No maggot's in my sconce," rejoined the tinker; "but, Sir, what's that to you, if fine I think her?" Why, man," quoth Grist, "she's fit to make a show, and therefore sure I am that thou must banter." "Miller," replied the tinker, "right; for know, 'tis for that very thing, a show, I want her.

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XIV.-MODERN LOGIC.-Anon.

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AN Eton stripling training for the Law,- -a dunce at Syntax, but a dab at Taw,-one happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf his cap, his gown, and store of learned pelf, with all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome, to spend a fortnight at his Uncle's home.

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Arrived, and past the usual "How d'ye do's?" inquiries of old friends, and College news:-"Well, Tom-the road, what saw you worth discerning? and how goes study, boy-what is't your learning ?" 'Oh, Logic, Sir,-but not the worn-out rules of Locke and Baconantiquated fools! 'Tis wit and wranglers' logic;—thus, d'ye see, I'll prove to you as clear as A, B, C, that an eel-pie's a pigeon:-to deny it, were to swear black's white.". "Indeed! let's try it." "An eelpie, is a pie of fish ?"-"Well-agreed."-"A fish-pie may be a Jack-pie?"-"Proceed." "A Jack-pie must be a John-pie—thus, 'tis done, for every John-pie is a Pi-geon!" "Bravo!" Sir Peter cries "Logic for ever! it beats my grandmother-and she was clever! But hold, my boy-it surely would be hard, that wit and learning should have no reward. To-morrow, for a stroll, the park we'll cross, and then I'll give you"-"What?"-"A chestnut-horse."

"A horse!" cries Tom; "blood, pedigree, and paces! Oh, what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races!"

He went to bed, and wept for downright sorrow, to think the night must pass before the morrow; dreamed of his boots, his cap, his spurs, and leather breeches, of leaping five-barred gates, and crossing ditches: left his warm bed an hour before the lark, dragged his old Uncle fasting through the park:-Each craggy hill and dale in vain they cross, to find out something like a chestnut-horse, but no such animal the meadows cropped: at length, beneath a tree Sir Peter stopped-took a bough-shook it-and down fell a fine horse-chestnut in its prickly shell.-"There, Tom-take that."-"Well, Sir, and what beside ?" "Why, since you're booted, saddle it, and ride." "Ride! what?-A chestnut!" "Ay, come, get across; I tell you, Tom, that chestnut is a horse, and all the horse you'll get-for I can show as clear as sunshine, that 'tis really so-not by the musty, fusty, worn-out rules of Locke and Bacon-addle-headed fools! all maxims but the wranglers I disown, and stick to one sound argument-your own. Since you have proved to me, I don't deny, that a pie-John is the same as a John-pie-what follows then, but as a thing of course, that a horse-chestnut is a chestnut-horse?"

XV.-ORATOR PUFF.-Anon.

MR. ORATOR PUFF had two tones in his voice, the one squeaking thus, and the other down so; in each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, for one half was B alt, and the rest & below. But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns; so distracting all ears with his ups and his downs, that a wag once, on hearing the orator say, "My voice-is for war," asked him, "Which of them, pray ?"

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Reeling homewards one evening, top-heavy with gin, and rehearsing his speech on the weight of the Crown, he tripped near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, "Sinking-fund," the last words as his noddle came down. Oh, law!" he exclaimed, in his he-and-she tones," Help me out!-help me out!-I have broken my bones!" Help you out!" said a fellow who passed, "what a bother! why, there's two of you there; can't you help one another ?"

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XVI.—THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.-Mary Howitt. "WILL you walk into my parlour ?" said a Spider to a Fly; "'tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy. The way into my par four is up a winding stair, and I have many pretty things to show you when you're there." "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, to ask me is

in vain, for who goes up your winding-stair can ne'er come down again."—"I'm sure you must be weary with soaring up so high; will you rest upon my little bed ?" said the Spider to the Fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin, and if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in." "Oh no, no!" said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said, they never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"-Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend! what shall I do to prove the warm affection I've always felt for you? I have within my pantry good store of all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome-will you please to take a slice?" "Oh no, no!" said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be; I've heard

"for

what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see."-"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise. How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf; if you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold-yourself." "I thank you, gentle sir," she said, what you're pleased to say, and, bidding you good-morning now, I'll call another day.". -The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, for well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again so he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly, and set his table ready-to dine upon the Fly. Then he went out to his door again, and merrily did sing, "Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearland-silver wing: your robes are green and purple-there's a crest upon your head; your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull

as lead."

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly, hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by; with buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, thinking only of her brilliant eyes, her green and purple hue, and dreaming of her crested head-poor foolish thing! At last up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding-stair, into his dismal den, within his little parlour-but she ne'er came out again! And now, all youthful people, who may this story hear, to idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give ear to all deceitful counsellors, close heart, and ear, and eye;-and take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

XVII.-THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER.-Planché.

AT Trin. Coll. Cam.-which means, in proper spelling, Trinity College, Cambridge-there resided one Harry Dashington-a youth excelling in all the learning commonly provided for those who choose that classic station for finishing their education: that is he understood computing the odds at any race or match; was a dead hand at pigeonshooting; could kick up rows-knock down the watch-play truant, and the rake, at random--drink, tie cravats and drive a tandem. Remonstrance, fine, and rustication, so far from working reformation, seemed but to make his lapses greater; 'till he was warned that next offence would have this certain consequence-expulsion from his Alma Mater.

One need not be a necromancer to guess that, with so wild a wight, the next offence occurred next night; when our incurable came rolling home as the midnight chimes were tolling, and rang the College bell. No answer. The second peal was vain-the third made the street echo its alarum; when to his great delight he heard the sordid Janitor, old Ben, rousing and growling in his den. "Who's there? -I s'pose young Harum-scarum." ""Tis I, my worthy Ben-'tis Harry.". "Ay, so I thought-and there you'll tarry: 'tis past the hour-the gates are closed-you know my orders;-I shall lose my place if I undo the door.". And I" (young Hopeful interposed), "shall be expelled if you refuse; so pr'ythee"--Ben began to snore. "I'm wet, cried Harry, "to the skin: hip! hallo! Ben-don't be a ninny; beneath the gate I've thrust a guinea, so tumble out and let me in." 66 Humph!" growled the greedy old curmudgeon, half overjoyed and half in dudgeon. "Now you may pass, but make no

fuss; on tip-toe walk and hold your prate." "Look on the stones, old Cerberus," cried Harry, as he passed the gate; "I've dropped a shilling -take the light-you'll find it just outside-good-night.'

Behold the porter in his shirt, dripping with rain which never stopped, groping and raking in the dirt, and all without success; but that is hardly to be wondered at, because no shilling had been dropped; so he gave o'er the search at last, regained the door--and found it fast! With sundry oaths, and growls, and groans, he rang oncetwice-thrice; and then, mingled with giggling, heard the tones of Harry, mimicking old Ben." Who's there?-'tis really a disgrace to ring so loud-I've locked the gate-I know my duty-'tis too lateyou wouldn't have me lose my place." "Psha! Mr. Dashington, remember, this is the middle of November. I'm stripped-'tis raining cats and dogs." "Hush, hush!" quoth Hal, "I'm fast asleep ;" and then he snored as loud and deep as a whole company of hogs. hark ye, Ben, I'll grant admittance at the same rate I paid myself." Nay, master, leave me half the pittance," replied the avaricious elf. "No: all or none-a full acquittance; the terms I know are somewhat high; but you have fixed the price, not I-I won't take less-I can't afford it." So finding all his haggling vain, Ben, with a growl and groan of pain, drew out the guinea and restored it.

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"Surely you'll give me," growled the outwitted porter when again admitted, "something, now you've done your joking, for all this trouble, time, and soaking." "Oh, surely, -surely!" Harry said: "since, as you urge, I broke your rest, and you're half drowned and quite undressed, I'll give you-leave to go to bed."

XVIII.-THE FRENCHMAN AND THE RATS.-Anon.

A FRENCHMAN once, who was a merry wight, passing to town from Dover in the night, near the road-side an ale-house chanced to spy: and, being rather tired as well as dry, resolved to enter; but first he took a peep, in hopes a supper he might get, and cheap. He enters: "Hallo! garçon, if you please, bring me a littel bit of bread and cheese; hallo! garçon, a pot of porter too!" he said, "vich I shall take, and then myself to bed."

His supper done, some scraps of cheese were left, which our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft, into his pocket put; then slowly crept to wished-for bed; but not a wink he slept-for on the floor some sacks of flour were laid, to which the rats a nightly visit paid. Our hero now undressed, popped out the light, put on his cap, and bade the world good-night but first the garment, which contained the fare, under his pillow he had placed with care. Sans cérémonie, soon the rats all ran, and on the flour-sacks greedily began; at which they gorged themselves; then, smelling round, under the pillow soon the cheese they found; and while at this feast they regaling sat, their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap; who, half awake, cries out, "Hallo! hallo! vat is dat nibbel at my pillow so? Ah! 'tis one huge big monster Vat is it dat he nibbel, nibbel at?"

rat!

In vain our little hero sought repose; sometimes the vermin galloped o'er his nose; and such the pranks they kept up all the night, that he, on end antipodes upright, bawling aloud, called stoutly for a light: "Hallo! Maison! Garçon! Landlord! I say! bring me de bill for vat I have to pay !"

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The bill was brought, and to his great surprise, "Ten shillings" charged; he scarce believes his eyes! With eager haste he runs it o'er, and, every time he views it, thinks it more. "Vy, sare! O sare!" he cries: “I sall no pay; vat! charge ten shelang for vat I've mangé ? a leetel sup of porter,-dis vile bed, vare all de rats do run about my head?" "Plague on those rats!" the landlord muttered out: "I wish, Mounseer, that I could make 'em scout: I'll pay him well that can.' Vat's dat you say?" "Ill pay him well that can." Attendez, pray vill you dis charge forego, vat I am at, if from your house I drive away de rat?" "With all my heart," the jolly host replies; "Ecoutez donc, ami," the Frenchman cries. 'First, den-regardez, if you please; bring to dis spot a littel bread and cheese. Eh bien! a half-filled pot of porter too; and den invite de rats to sup vid you: and after dat-no matter dey be villing-for vat dey eat, you charge dem just ten shelang; and I am sure, ven dey behold de score, dey'll quit your house, and never come no more."

XIX. THE FARMER AND THE BARRISTER.- -Smith.

A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas, who was esteemed a mighty wit upon the strength of a chance hit, amid a thousand flippancies, and his occcasional bad jokes in bullying, bantering, browbeating, ridiculing, and maltreating women or other timid folks, in a late cause resolved to hoax a clownish Yorkshire farmer-one who by his uncouth look and gait, appeared expressly meant by Fate for being quizzed and played upon; so, having tipped the wink to those in the back rows, who kept their laughter bottled down until our wag should draw the cork, he smiled jocosely on the clown, and went to work.

"Well, Farmer Numscull, how go calves at York?" "Why-not, Sir, as they do wi' you, but on four legs instead of two." "Officer!" cried the legal elf, piqued at the laugh against himself, "do pray keep silence down below there. Now look at me, clown, and attend: have I not seen you somewhere, friend?" "Yees very like I often go there." "Our rustic's waggish-quite laconic," the counsel cried, with grin sardonic;-"I wish I'd known this prodigy-this genius of the clods, when I on circuit was at York residing. Now, Farmer, do for once speak true,-mind, you're on oath; so tell me, you, who doubtless think yourself so clever-are there as many fools as ever in the West Riding?" "Why, no, Sir, no; we've got our share, but not so many as when you were there."

XX. THE BEST OF WIVES. -Anon.

A MAN had once a vicious wife-(a most uncommon thing in life); his days and nights were spent in strife-unceasing. Her tongue went glibly all day long, sweet contradiction still her song, and all the poor man did was wrong, and ill-done. A truce without doors, or within, from speeches long as tradesmen spin, or rest from her eternal din, he found not. He every soothing art displayed, tried of what stuff her skin was made: failing in all, to Jove he prayed-to take her.

Once, walking by a river's side, in mournful terms, "My dear," he cried, "no more let feuds our peace divide,-I'll end them. Weary of life, and quite resigned, to drown I have made up my mind, so