But Boniface, who dearly loved a jest,
(Although sometimes he dearly paid for it,)
And finding nothing could be done, (you know,
That when a man has got no money,

To make him pay some would be rather funny)
Of a bad bargain made the best,

Acknowledged much was to be said for it,
Took pity on the Frenchman's meagre face,
And, Briton-like, forgave a fallen foe,
Laugh'd heartily, and let him go.

Our Frenchman's hunger thus subdued,
Away he trotted in a merry mood;

When turning round the corner of a street,
Who but his countryman he chanced to meet!
To him, with many a shrug and many a grin,
He told how he had taken Jean Bull in!
Fired with the tale, the other licks his chops,
Makes his congée, and seeks this shop of shops.
Ent'ring, he seats himself, just at his ease,
"What will you take, sir?". "Vat you please!"
The waiter look'd as pale as Paris plaster,

And, up stairs running, thus address'd his master:
"These vile Mounseers come over sure in pairs;
Sir, there's another 'vat you please!' down stairs."
This made the landlord rather crusty,

Too much of one thing-the proverb's somewhat musty;
Once to be done, his anger didn't touch,

But when a second time they tried the treason,

It made him crusty, sir, and with good reason

You would be crusty were you done so much.

There is a kind of instrument,

Which greatly helps a serious argument;
And which, when properly applied, occasions
Some most unpleasant tickling sensations!

'Twould make more clumsy folks than Frenchmen skip,

"Twould strike you presently

a stout horsewhip.

This instrument, our Maitre d' hoté

Most carefully conceal'd beneath his coat;
And seeking instantly the Frenchman's station,
Address'd him with the usual salutation.

Our Frenchman, bowing to his threadbare knees,
Determined while the iron's hot to strike,

But scarcely had he let the sentence slip,

Than round his shoulders twines the pliant whip;
"Sare, sare! ah, misericorde, parbleu !

Oh dear Monsieur, vat make you use me so?
Vat call you dis?". "Ah! don't you know?
That's what I please," says Bonny, "how d'ye like it?
Your friend, although I paid dear for his funning,
Deserved the goose he gain'd, sir, for his cunning;
But
you, Monsieur, or else my time I'm wasting,
Are goose enough—and only wanted basting."

ANON.

THE RETORT.

A SUPERCILIOUS nabob of the east,

Haughty and grave, and purse-proud, being rich,

A governor or general at least,

I have forgotten which,

Had in his family a humble youth,

Who went to India in his patron's suite;

An unassuming body, and in truth

A lad of decent parts and good repute;

This youth had sense and spirit,

Yet with all his sense,

Excessive diffidence

Obscured his merit.

One day at table, flush'd with pride and wine,
His Honor proudly free, severely merry;
Conceived it would be vastly fine

To crack a joke upon his Secretary.

"Young man," said he, "by what art, craft, or trade,
Did your good father earn his livelihood?"
"He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said,
"And in his line was reckon'd good."
“A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew;

And pray, sir, why didn't your father make
A saddler, sir, of you?"

Each Parasite, as in duty bound,

The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.

At length, Modestus, bowing low,

Said, craving pardon if too free he made,

"Sir, by your leave, I fain would know

Your father's trade."

"My father's trade? Why, sir that's too bad,

My father's trade! why blockhead, art thou mad ! My father, sir, did never stoop so low,

He was a gentleman, I'd have you know." "Excuse the liberty" Modestus said, "I take," With archness in his brow;

"Pray, sir, why did not then your father make, A gentleman of you?"

ANON

THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELLOR.

A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas,
Who was esteem'd a mighty wit,
Upon the strength of a chance hit,
Amid a thousand flippancies,
And his occasional bad jokes

In bullying, bantering, brow-beating,
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,
Appear'd expressly meant by Fate,
For being quizz'd and play'd upon.

So having tipp'd 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 Numskull, how go calves at York?" "Whynot, sir, as they do with you,

But on four legs instead of two." "Officer !” cried the legal elf,

Piqued at the laugh against himself,

66

'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

66

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."

HORACE SMITH.

THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPRENTICE.

A PUPIL of the Esculapian school

Was just prepared to quit his master's rule.
Not that he knew his trade, as it appears,
But that he then had learnt it seven years.

Yet think not that in knowledge he was cheated-
All that he had to study still,

Was, when a man was well or ill,
And how, if sick, he should be treated.

One morn, he thus address'd his master:
"Dear sir, my honor'd father bids me say,
If I could now and then a visit pay

He thinks, with you,

To notice how you do,

My business I might learn a little faster.”

"The thought is happy," the preceptor cries;

66 A better method he could scarce devise ; So Bob (his pupil's name) it shall be so, And when I next pay visits, you shall go."