Vauxhall Gardens at two o'clock this morning. Tea-party at two o'clock in the morning? Yes, sir, and after valtzing a little with my partner, he offered to scorch me home, but he was arrested at the assemblage door. Hollo! who's that making that noise? Please, sir, it's my wooden leg against the floor, I'm agitated. Well, your worship, I was going peaceably home, when the prisoner came up to me and put his wooden leg on my toe, and there he held me tight, and said he wouldn't let me go, till I gave him a chaste salute. I think he must have been intoxicated. I'll take my solomon affidavy I wasn't; I had nothing to drink but a pint of rum and an apple.

What a noise, what a row, all the folks are crushing here.

Stand back, good folks, his worship now is sitting in his chair; I'll turn you out if you don't cease this riot and this rushing here,Really, the office is much worse than a fair.

Plaintiffs go there defendants just to criminate,

Witnesses bring up like onions in a string;

Married men appear, who 'twould seem must all women hate,
And punish their wives for some sad naughty thing.

But though prisoners are many, and offences are numerous,
And sometimes all wears a melancholy gloom,

A trial comes on, which excites the muscles humorous,
And loud peals of laughter resound through the room.

Spoken.]-Hollo! who is that knocking at the door in this way? Please your worship, it's Tim Casey, he wants to come in; but he comes here every week-you can't come in. I say I will come in, I'm taken prisoner, and I have a right to come in. Oh! certainly that's an unanswerable argument. Please your worship, that wife there of mine is always making little better than a baste of herself; I am always catching her running to the pump, and she does nothing but drink all day, good luck to your worship.-Please your worship, the children are all beat so black and blue, that I can't tell one from the other. Now Dennis, you know it's nothing of the sort, at all, at all ; but perhaps your worship would like to hear the children speak. Ay, put the children on the table. [Children speak hurriedly in Irish.] What's all this gibberish? Och! your worship, the children can't speak nothing but Irish. Well, I think you had better go home and make it up in Irish.-How now, watchman, who have you got there ? Why, your worship, we found this gentleman sitting in Southampton Street, without a wig. What was he doing? Nothing, your worship. What was he saying? He said, your worship, he wasn't beautiful,

but good, and so we took him to the watch-house. Well, sir what is your name? Ebenezer Aminadab Dumps. Well, Mr. Ebenezer Aminadab Dumps, what have you to say to this charge? I can't charge at all, your worship. What have you to say in defence? I can't fence at all, your worship. I shall commit you, sir, for contempt, if you don't answer to the case. Why, sir, then the truth is, I'm a member of the Temperance Society, and a few of us had been drawing up some articles for its benefit, and I trust that will excuse my inebriety. Sir, I shall fine you five shillings for it. Very well, sir. And a shilling for the warrant. Very well sir; anything else while I have got my hand in my pocket! What do those two women want? They are bail for Mr. Dumps, sir. Bail! Yes, sir, they are both house-keepers-one's housekeeper to Mr. Dumps, and the other to the Temperance Society,—so

What a noise, &c.

Witnesses gabble on with such a goose-like volubility,
"Tis very hard at times to hear what they say;
His worship can't dispose of his charges with facility,
And officers have much to do to have their way.
Irishmen, Englishmen, natives of every country,
All for justice to the Mansion Office go;
Gentle, simple, some meek, some with effrontery,
Mingle all promiscuously, in such a motley crew.

Spoken.]-What's the next charge? Please your worship, here's a hackney-coachman brings this gentleman up for refusing to pay him his fare. State your case. Your vorship, I vos on the stand, vhen this gentleman called me off; he says, drive me to Kensington; vell, your vorship, I druve him to Kensington, vhen he pulls the check-string, and says, I forgot, I meant to Wauxhall; vell, I drives him to Wauxhall, vhen he says, it isn't here; drive me to Burlington Arcade; I takes him there, and he says, here's another mistake, I live at Hoxton; to Hoxton I took'd him, and that vasn't the place; so, says I, my hosses can't go any furder; then, your vorship, first found out that he hadn't got any money. So, says I, vhere am I to drive you to? So, he says, drive me to the devil; so I brought him afore your lordship. Now, what is this man brought up for? Felony. Ay, I think you've been here before. No, I arn't. I think you have; answer me directly, sir-— havn't you been here before? Vell then, I are, and vot then? it vasn't felony to beat my own mother, vas it? that vas all I vas brought up before for. How do you live? I can't tell. Where do you get your bread? I can't tell. Who are

Q

your parents? I don't know-you don't think I'm such a soft tommy to go for to criminate myself, when 'torney told me, vhen I vas up before, not to answer any questions, and he got me off. No, no, it von't do. Hollo! why the office is crowded with omnibus drivers. What's the matter. The driver of the Magnanimous' omnibus brings a cab man up for taking von of the vheels off his wehicle. What have you to say, sir? Please your lordship, I ought to be the complainant, and should have been only he got here first. How did this happen? Vy, he laid me a vager that he'd drive fifteen times round me, afore I got to the Bank; and so he did. What are those ducks in that basket for? They're waiting for a case to come on, your worship, where they are wery material witnesses. What's that sweep waiting for? For a warrant against his master, for making him go up a gas-pipe !—so

What a noise, &c.

THE IDIOT BOY.

WHO'S is the grave with the osiers entwining,

Where clustering flowers in beauty arise,

Where the hallow'd cross bright in the moon-beam is shining,
And seems to reflect the blest smile of the skies?

There lie the white bones of poor Gertrude, once dear,

Her virtues in memory are dwelt on with joy;

Her spirit is fled to yon happier spheres,

And she dwells with the blest, and her Idiot Boy.

How oft would she spin while the gold fly he'd chase,
And mark his wild eye as with passion it shone;
Then weep as she kiss'd his pale beauteous face,
For tho' reason had fled, still the boy was her own.

And oft when the tear had bedimm'd her wild eye,
He wept for he thought there's no tear drop for joy;
And he paid back her tears, return'd sigh for sigh,
As he leaned on her bosom-the Idiot Boy.

When she press'd her rude pillow, the pillow of death,
And thought when the veil of the grave was unfurl'd,
How sad was her soul for the form she'd gave birth,
When he'd linger alone in the gloom of the world.

She held up her arm, it was fleshless and bare,-
And that moment she felt a soft transient joy,
For heaven had chased from her soul her despair,
And she died as she gazed on her Idiot Boy.

Ah! wake, dearest mother, I'm hungry and cold,'
Cried the youth, as in glancing her fix'd features o'er,
'Ah, why don't you wake in my arms' tender fold,
For you never have slept such a long time before.

'I love only you, and I feel such delight

When, although weeping, you call me your joy ;-
From the boys of the village I oft urge my flight,
For they tell me with tears I'm an Idiot Boy.

'She's cold, very cold! and her breast heaves no more!
She's just like my bird when it hung it's soft head,
When it hopp'd not, nor chirp'd not, nor sang as before,
And they told me the poor little robin was dead.'

At that instant, conviction flash'd over his brain

He knew she was dead, and that dead was each joy;
The heart burst its bounds, and broke life's feeble chain,
And he died on his mother-the Idiot Boy.

CALEB QUOTEM'S SHOP.

Quotem. Wife! where are you? Mrs. Quotem, I say! look to the shop! Silence in the school, there. Be good boysmind your writing and cyphering I'm coming in directly. Here, Dick! Dick Drudge, where are you?

Dick. Here, Sir.

Quot. Come here, then, as the poet says. What have you been doing these four hours?

Dick. As you ordered me, sir. After helping you to chime the bells for prayers, I drove out the dogs and boys playing in the church porch. While you were singing psalms, I carried the drugs and drenching-horn to old Leach, the farrier. Coming back, I met the vicar, who bade me run to Ben the Barber, for his best wig, as he was going to the wedding-dinner. Quot. A good lad; try to please every body.

Dick. I do sir. I thrashed young Master Jackey just now, handsomely.

Quot. For what?

Dick. He was making fun, sir, of blind Bob, the fiddler, who came to our shop for a hap'worth of rosin.

Quot. Oh, he musn't offend a customer.

the poet says.

Well, what else? as

Dick. Why, sir, I filled the drawer with yellow ochre, ground the green paint, bottled the red ink, blacked the shoes, aud white-washed the chimney corner.

Quot. Talking of white-washing, puts me in mind of Swilltub, the great brewer, now a bankrupt-has he sent for the handbills we printed?

Dick. Yes, sir; and desired you to put a new light into his dark lanthorn! A job for you, too, in the glazing line, over the way, at the public-house-Sam Solid, dead drunk, turning round, broke three squares of the bow window.

Quot. That must wait till to-morrow. Have you mix'd up the medicine for the mad Methodist parson ?

Dick. Yes, sir; but there's no more bark.

Quot. Talking of bark puts me in mind of my little terrier dog-have you fed him?

Dick. Oh, yes; a terrible good one for vermin-he'll kill all the rats in the parish.

Quot. Oh, damme, then kill him, or he'll hurt the sale of arsenic.

Diek. Ecod, right, master-we sell as much poison as all the doctors in the parish.

Quot. Talking of poison, have you taken the last new novel out of the girls' school-room? as the poet says.

Dick. Yes, sir, Dang it, I wonder how you spare time for poets and books-so much business? but there you be often painting and writing poetry at the same time.

Quot. Poetry and painting are nearly the same thing, Dick. Dick. That be what thought myself; so, as I mixed up colours for one, I'd a mind to try my hand at the other. Yesterday I set to, with a bit of chalk, and got on famously. I finished the first line in a crack, but when I got to the end of the second, I could not think of a rhyme, and so I-stuck fast. Quot. (aside) Curse the fellow, if he takes to poetry, I shall get no work done. Don't try again, Dick-one poet's enough in a family.

Dick. That be what mistress do say, sir. She complains that poetry has spoilt you! and that you don't do half what you used to do.

Quot. She's mistaken-I only change about-don't stick so much to the same job. Now, Dick, for business. You've done all the jobs I set you about?

Dick. Yes, sir, you may be certain of that.

Quot. Why, I believe you're pretty punctual, tho' not always so expeditiously as I could wish. Sure, though somewhat slow, as Swift says.

Dick. Oh, you may depend upon me.

Quot. Did you run with the articles I wrapt up this morning? Dick. Odd rabbit it, no-I quite forgot. Here they be;