man myself; but, helas! dat plaisir are not for me, as I are not freeman of your great cité, not von liveryman servant of von of you compagnies joint-stock. But I must not forget de toast. Milors and gentlemans! De immortal Shakispeare he have write, "De ting of beauty are de joy for nevermore." It is de ladies who are de toast. Vat is more entrancing dan de charmante smile, de soft voice, de vinking eye, of de beautiful lady! It is de ladies who do sweeten de cares of life. It is de ladies who are de guiding stars of our existence. It is de ladies who do cheer but not inebriate, and derefore, vid all homage to dere sex, de toast dat I have to propose is, "De Ladies! God bless dem all!" 105. CAUDLE HAS BEEN MADE A MASON.-Douglas Jerrold. Now, Mr. Caudle,-Mr. Caudle, I say: oh, you can't be asleep already, I know! Now, what I mean to say is this: there's no use, none at all, in our having any disturbance about the matter; but at last my mind's made up, Mr. Caudle: I shall leave you. Either I know all you've been doing to-night, or to-morrow morning I quit the house. No, no. There's an end of the married state, I think,— an end of all confidence between man and wife,- if a husband's to have secrets and keep 'em all to himself. Pretty secrets they must be, when his own wife can't know 'em. Not fit for any decent person to know, I'm sure, if that's the case. Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel, there's a good soul: tell me, what's it all about? A pack of nonsense, I dare say; about it,-still, I should like to Oh, don't tell me there's nothing still, not that I care much know. There's a dear. Eh? in it; I know better. I'm not a fool, Mr. Caudle; I know there's a good deal in it. bit of it. I'm sure I'd would. Well? Now, Caudle, just tell me a little tell you anything. You know I And you're not going to let me know the secret, eh? You mean to say you're not? Now, Caudle, you know it's a hard matter to put me in a passion,- not that I care about the secret itself; no, I wouldn't give a button to know it, for it's all nonsense, I'm sure. It isn't the secret I care about; it's the slight, Mr. Caudle; it's the studied insult that a man pays to his wife when he thinks of going through the world keeping something to himself which he won't let her know. Man and wife one, indeed! I should like to know how that can be when a man's a mason,-when he keeps a secret that sets him and his wife apart? Ha! you men make the laws, and so you take good care to have all the best of them to yourselves; otherwise a woman ought to be allowed a divorce when a man becomes a mason,-when he's got a sort of corner-cupboard in his heart, a secret place in his mind, that his poor wife isn't allowed to rummage. Was there ever such a man? A man, indeed! A brute! -yes, Mr. Caudle, an unfeeling, brutal creature, when you might oblige me, and you won't. I'm sure I don't object to your being a mason; not at all, Caudle; I dare say it's a very good thing; I dare say it is: it's only your making a secret of it that vexes me. But you'll tell me, you'll tell your own Margaret? You won't? You're a wretch, Mr. Caudle. 106. THE JESTER CONDEMNED.-Horace Smith. One of the kings of Scanderoon, A royal jester, Had in his train a gross buffoon, The court with tricks inopportune, It needs some sense to play the fool, Occurred not to our jackanapes, Who consequently found his freaks And quite as many kicks and tweaks Some sin, at last, beyond all measure, Of his serene and raging Highness; Or had intruded on the shyness An epigram at royalty, None knows: his sin was an occult one; Exclaimed," "Tis time to stop that breath; But such is my indulgence still, That, of my own free grace and will, I leave to thee the mode of dying." A supercilious nabob of the east — Haughty, being great-purse-proud, being rich, A governor, or general, at the least, I have forgotten which, Had in his family an humble youth, Who went from England in his patron's suite, An unassuming boy, and in truth A lad of decent parts, and good repute. This youth had sense and spirit; But yet, with all his sense, Excessive diffidence Obscured his merit. One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine, To crack a joke upon his secretary. "Young man," he said, "by what art, craft or trade Did your good father gain a livelihood? "He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, "And in his time was reckoned good." "A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek, Each parasite, then, as in duty bound, The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length Modestus, bowing low, 66 Said (craving pardon, if too free he made), Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your father's trade!" "My father's trade! By heaven, that's too bad! My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad? My father, sir, did never stoop so low He was a gentleman, I'd have you know." Modestus said, with archness on his brow, "Pray, why did not your father make A gentleman of you?" 108. THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND. Mr. Plum was retiring to rest one night, As he peeped from behind ('Tis a custom with many to do so, you'll find), When, glancing his eye, He happened to spy On the blinds on the opposite side-oh, fie! 66 66 Well, I never!" said Plum, as he witnessed the strife, 'I declare 'tis the minister beating his wife!" The minister held a thick stick in his hand, And his wife ran away as he shook the brand, Whilst her shrieks and cries were quite shocking to hear, And the sounds came across most remarkably clear. "Well, things are deceiving, Said Plum to himself, as he turned into bed; That man would have fought, And beaten his wife on her shoulders and head At least three inches thick? I am sure her shrieks quite filled me with dread. The whole of the thing Before the church members; but no, I have read But, alas! Mr. Fium's eldest daughter, Miss Jane, |