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written as our soldiers have fought; but they have done all they could, and Hawke or Amherst could do

no more.

Miss Rich. I'm quite displeased when I see a fine subject spoiled by a dull writer.

Honeywood. We should not be so severe against dull writers, madam. It is ten to one but the dullest writer ex ds the most rigid French critic who presumes to despise him.

Follower. Hang the French, the parle-vous, and all that belongs to them!

Miss Rich. Sir !

Honeywood. Ha ! ha! ha! honest Mr. Flanigan. A true English officer, madam; he's not contented with beating the French, but he will scold them too.

Miss Rich. Yet, Mr. Honeywood, this does not convince me but that severity in criticism is necessary. It was our first adopting the severity of French taste that has brought them in turn to taste us.

Bailiff. Taste us, madam! they devour us. Give Monseers but a taste, and they come in for a bellyful.

Miss Rich. Very extraordinary, this.

Follower. But very true. What makes the bread rising ?--the parle-vous that devour us. What makes the mutton fivepence a pound ?—the parle-vous that

What makes the beer threepence-halfpenny a pot

Honeywood. Ah! the vulgar rogues! All will be out. [Aside.] Right, gentlemen, very right, upon my word, and quite to the purpose. They draw a parallel, madam, between the mental taste and that of our senses. We are injured as much by French severity in the one, as by French rapacity in the other. That's their meaning.

Miss Rich. Though I don't see the force of the parallel, yet I'll own that we should sometimes pardon books, as we do our friends, that have now and then agreeable absurdities to recommend them.

Bailiff. That's all my eye. The king only can pardon, as the law says; for set in case

eat it up.

my own

Honeywood. I'm quite of your opinion, sir. I see the whole drift of your argument. Yes, certainly, our presuming to pardon any work is arrogating the power that belongs to another. If all have power to condemn, what writer can be free? Bailiff

. By his habus corpus. His habus corpus can set him free at any time. For set in case

Honeywood. I'm obliged to you, sir, for the hint. If, madam, as my friend observes, our laws are so careful of a gentleman's person, sure we ought to be equally careful of his dearer part, his fame.

Follower. Ay, but if so be a man's nabbed, you know

Honeywood. Mr. Flanigan, if you spoke for ever, you could not improve the last observation. For part, I think it conclusive.

Bailiff. As for the matter of that, mayhap,

Honeywood. Nay, sir, give me leave in this instance to be positive. For where is the necessity of censuring works without genius, which must shortly sink of themselves ? what is it but aiming an unnecessary blow against a victim already under the hands of justice ?

Bailiff. Justice! Oh, by the elevens, if you talk about justice, I think I am at home there; for, in a course of law

Honeywood. My dear Mr. Twitch, I discern what you'd be at perfectly, and I believe the lady must be sensible of the art with which it is introduced. I suppose you. perceive the meaning, madam, of his course of law ?

Miss Rich. I protest, sir, I do not. I perceive only that you answer one gentleman before he has finished, and the other before he has well begun.

Bailiff. Madam, you are a gentlewoman, and I will make the matter out. This here question is about severity, and justice, and pardon, and the like of they. Now, to explain the thing

Honeywood. Hang your explanations. [A side. Enter Servant. Servant. Mr. Leontine, sir, below, desires to speak with you upon earnest business.

Honeywood. That's lucky, [Aside]. Dear madam, you'll excuse me and my good friends here for a few minutes. There are books, madam, to amuse you. Come, gentlemen, you know I make no ceremony with such friends. After you, sir.

Excuse me.

Well, if I must; but I know your natural politeness.

Bailiff. Before and behind, you know.

Follower. Ay, ay, before and behind—before and behind!

(Exeunt Honeywood, Bailiff, and Follower.) Miss Rich. What can all this mean, Garnet ?

Garnet. Mean, Madam ? why, what should it mean but what Mr. Lofty sent you here to see ? These people he calls officers are officers sure enough: sheriff's officers-bailiffs, madam.

Miss Rich. Ay, it is certainly so. Well, though his perplexities are far from giving me pleasure, yet I own there's something very ridiculous in them, and a just punishment for his dissimulation.

Garnet. And so they are. But I wonder, madam, that the lawyer you just employed to pay his debts and set him free, has not done it by this time. He ought at least to have been here before now. But lawyers are always more ready to get a man into troubles than out of them.

COMIC MISERIES.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
My dear young friend, whose shining wit

Sets the whole room ablaze,
Don't think yourself a “happy dog,"

For all your merry ways;
But learn to wear a sober phiz,

Be stupid if you can:
It's such a very serious thing

To be a funny man !

You're at an evening party, with

A group of pleasant folks,
You venture quietly to crack

The least of little jokes.
A lady doesn't catch the point,

And begs you to explain :
Alas! for one that drops a jest

And takes it up again. You're talking deep philosophy

With very special force, To edify a clergyman

With suitable discourse;
You think you've got him, when he tells

A friend across the way,
And begs you'll say that funny thing

You said the other day.
You drop a pretty "jeu-de-mot"

Into a neighbour's ears,
Who likes to give you credit for

The clever things he hears;
And so he hawks your jest about,
The old authentic

one, Just breaking off the point of it,

And leaving out the pun. By sudden change in politics,

Or sudden change in Polly, You lose

your love or loves, and fall
A prey to melancholy;
While every body marvels why

Your mirth is under ban,
They think your very grief a joke;

You're such a funny man.
You follow up a stylish card,

That bids you come and dine, And bring along your freshest wit

(To pay for musty wine).

You're looking very dismal, when

My lady bounces in,
And wonders what you're thinking of,

And why you don't begin!
You're telling to a knot of friends

A fancy tale of woes
That cloud your matrimonial sky,

And banish all repose.
A solemn lady overhears

The story of your strife,
And tells the town the pleasant news,

You quarrel with your wife!
My dear young friend, whose shining wit

Sets all the room a-blaze,
Don't think yourself a "happy dog,"

For all your merry ways;
But learn to wear a sober phiz,

Be stupid if you can:
It's such a very serious thing

To be a funny man!

THE SAILOR'S CONSOLATION.

WILLIAM PITT.

ONE night came on a hurricane,

The sea was mountains rolling, When Barney Buntline slewed his quid,

And said to Billy Bowline: "A strong nor'-wester's blowing, Bill; Hark! don't

ye

hear it roar now? Lord help 'em, how I pities them

Unhappy folks on shore now! “ Fool-hardy chaps as live in towns,

What danger they are all in, And now lie quaking in their beds,

For fear the roof should fall in :

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