a great way from home, I am benighted in this wood, and have lost my

way.

Miller. This does not sound well. If you have been a-hunting, pray where is your horse?

King. I have tired my horse so much that he lay down under me, and I was obliged to leave him.

Miller. If I thought I might believe this now

King. I am not used to lie, honest man.

Miller. What! do you live at court, and not lie? that's a likely story indeed.

King. Be that as it will, I speak truth now, I assure you; and, to convince you of it, if you will attend me to Nottingham, if I am near it, or give me a night's lodging in your own house, here is something to pay you for your trouble (giving a purse); and if that's not sufficient, I will satisfy you in the morning to your utmost desire.

Miller. Ay, now I am convinced you are a courtier; here is a little bribe for to-day, and a large promise for to-morrow, both in a breath! here, take it again, and take this along with it,-John Cockle is no courtier; he can do what he ought-without a bribe.

King. Thou art a very extraordinary man, I must own, and I should be glad, methinks, to be farther acquainted with thee.

Miller. Thee! and thou! pr'ythee don't thee and thou me; I believe I am as good a man as yourself, at least.

King. Sir, I beg your pardon.

Miller. Nay, I am not angry, friend: only I don't love to be too familiar with anybody, before I know whether or not he deserves it. King. You are in the right. But what am I to do?

Miller. You may do what you please. You are twelve miles from Nottingham, and all the way through thick wood; but, if you are resolved upon going thither to-night, I will put you in the road, and direct you the best I can; or, if you will accept of such poor entertainment as a miller can give, you will be welcome to stay all night, and in the morning I shall go with you myself.

King. And cannot you go with me to-night?

Miller. Hoo! I would not go with you to-night, if you were the king. King. Then I must go with you, I think.

COMIC EXTRACTS

FOR

RECITATION.

I.—AN ORATOR'S FIRST SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT.-Alexander Bell. THE virgin Member takes his honoured place, while beams of modest wisdom light his face: multum in parvo in the man you see; he represents-the people's majesty! Behold their choice! the pledged, 'midst many a cheer, to give free trade! free votes! free bread and beer! Blest times!- -He sits at last within the walls of famed St. Stephen's venerated halls! Oh, shades of Pitt and Fox! is he within the House of Commons? How his senses spin! Proud man! has he then caught the Speaker's eye? no, not just yet-but he will, by-and-by. I wonder if there are reporters here? In truth there are, and hard at work, don't fear. O happy man! By the next post shall reach your loved constituents, the maiden speech! THE PRESS (great tell-tale!) will to all reveal, how you have-spoken for your country's weal! In gaping wonder will the words be read, "The new M.P., Lord Noodle, rose and said."

This pillar of "ten-pounders" rises now, and towards the Speaker makes profoundest bow. Unused to so much honour, his weak knees bend with the weight of senate-dignities. He staggers-almost fallsstares-strokes his chin-clears out his throat, and ventures to begin. "Sir, I am sensible "-(some titter near him)-" I am, Sir, sensible "Hear! hear! hear! Hear him!" Now bolder grown, for praise mistaking pother, tea-pots one arm, and spouts out with the other. "I am, Sir, sensible-I am, indeed-that, though-I should-want-words-I must proceed; and, for the first time in my life I think-I think-that -no great orator-should-shrink:—and, therefore,-Mr. Speaker-I for one-will speak out freely. Sir-I've not yet done. Sir, in the name of those enlightened men who sent me here to speak for them-why then, to do my duty-as I said before-to my constituency—I'LL SAY— NO MORE."

II.—YORKSHIRE ANGLING..—Anonymous.

Ir happened once that a young Yorkshire clown, but newly come to far-famed London town, was gaping round at many a wondrous sight, grinning at all he saw with vast delight; attended by his terrier Tyke, which was as sharp as sharp may be: and thus the master and the dog, d'ye see, were very much alike. After wandering far and wide, and seeing every street and square, the parks, the

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plays, the Queen, and the Lord Mayor, with all in which your Cockney's" place their pride; and being quizzed by many a city spark for coat of country cut and red-haired pate, he came at length to noisy Billingsgate:-He saw the busy scene with mute surprise, opening his ears and wondering eyes at the loud clamour, and the monstrous fish hereafter doomed to grace full many a dish. Close by him was a turbot on a stall, which with stretched mouth, as if to pant for breath, seemed in the agonies of death: Said Lubin, "What name, zur, d'ye that fish call?" "A turbot," answered the sarcastic elf-"a flat, you see-so something like yourself." "D'ye think," said Lubin, "that he'll bite ?" "Why," said the fishman, with a roguish grin, "his mouth is open, put your finger in, and then you'll know."Why, zur," replied the wight, "I shouldn't like to try; but here's my Tyke shall put his tail there, an' you like." "Agreed," rejoined the man, and laughed delight.- -Within the turbot's teeth was placed the tail, and the fish bit with all its might: the dog no sooner felt the bite, than off he ran, the dangling turbot holding tight: The astonished man began most furiously to bawl and rail; but, after numerous escapes and dodgings, Tyke safely got to Master Lubin's lodgings: thither the fishmonger in anger flew. Says Lubin :-"Lunnun tricks on me won't do: I'ze come from York to queer such flats as you, and Tyke, my dog, is Yorkshire too!" Then laughing at the man, who sneaked away, he had the fish for dinner that same day.

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III.-TOBY TOSSPOT. Colman:

ALAS! what pity 'tis, that regularity, like Isaac Shove's, is such a rarity. But there are swilling wights in London town, termed Jolly dogs-Choice spirits-alias, swine; who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down, making their throats a thoroughfare for wine. These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus run on, dozing with headaches till the afternoon, lose half men's regular estate of sun, by borrowing too largely of the moon. One of this kidney-Toby Tosspot hightwas coming from "The Bedford," late at night: and being Bacchi plenus-full of wine-although he had a tolerable notion of aiming at progressive motion, 'twasn't direct; 'twas-serpentine. He worked with sinuosities along, like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a cork;-not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong, a fork. At length, with near four bottles in his pate, he saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate; when reading, "Please to ring the bell," and being civil beyond measure, "Ring it!" says Toby-"very well; I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure." Toby, the kindest soul in all the town, gave it a jerk, that almost jerked it down. He waited full two minutes-no one came; he waited full two minutes more-and then, says Toby, "If he's deaf, I'm not to blame, I'll pull it for the gentleman again."

But the first peal woke Isaac, in a fright; who, quick as lightning, popping up his head, sat on his head's antipodes, in bed; pale as a parsnip-bolt upright. At length, he wisely to himself doth say— calming his fears-"Tush! 'tis some fool has rung and run away-" when peal the second rattled in his ears! Shove jumped into the middle of the floor; and, trembling at each breath of air that stirred, he groped down stairs, and opened the street door; while Toby was— performing peal the third!--Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant, and

saw he was a strapper-stout and tall; then put this question— "P-p-pray, sir, what d'ye want ?" Says Toby-"I want_nothing, sir, at all." "Want nothing, sir!-you've pulled my bell, I vow, as if you'd jerk it off the wire." Quoth Toby-gravely making him a bow-"I pulled it, sir, at your desire." "At mine!"-"Yes, yours; I hope I've done it well: high time for bed, sir; I was hastening to it; but, if you write up-'Please to ring the bell,' common politeness makes me-stop, and do it !"

IV. THE RAZOR-SELLER.-Dr. Wolcot.

A FELLOW, in a market-town, most musical cried "Razors!" up and down, and offered twelve for eighteen-pence; which certainly seemed wondrous cheap, and, for the money, quite a heap, as every man should buy-with cash and sense. A country bumpkin the great offer heard poor Hodge! who suffered by a thick, black beard, that seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose; with cheerfulness the eighteenpence he paid, and proudly to himself, in whispers, said, "This rascal stole the razors, I suppose! No matter, if the fellow be a knave, provided that the razors shave, it sartinly will be a monstrous prize.' So, home the clown with his good fortune went, smiling in heart and soul content, and quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.

Being well lathered from a dish or tub, Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub, just like a hedger cutting furze: 'twas a vile razorthen the rest he tried-all were impostors-"Ah!" Hodge sighed, "I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse!" In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces, he cut, and dug, and winced, and stamped, and swore; brought blood and danced, gaped, grinned, and made wry faces, and hacked the razors' edges o'er and o'er! His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff, firm as a statesman, would not lose its ruff; so kept it-laughing at the steel and suds: Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws, vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws, on the vile cheat that sold the goods. "Razors! a vile confounded dog! not fit to scrape a hog!"

Hodge sought the fellow-found him, and began :-" Perhaps Master Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun, that people flay themselves out of their lives: you rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing, giving my scoundrel whiskers here a scrubbing, with razors just like oyster-knives. Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave, to cry up razors that can't shave." "Friend," quoth the razor-merchant, "I'm no knave, as for the razors you have bought, upon my word I never thought that they would shave." "Not think they'd shave!" cried Hodge, with wondering eyes, and voice not much unlike an Indian yell; "what were they made for, then, you dog?" he cries. "Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile," to sell."

V.-THE CONFESSION.-Anon.

THERE'S Somewhat on my breast, ladies, there's somewhat on my breast! The livelong day I sigh, ladies, at night I cannot rest. I cannot take my rest, ladies, though I would fain do so: a weary weight oppresseth me, the weary weight of woe! 'Tis not the lack of gold, ladies, the lack of worldly gear; my lands are broad and fair

to see, my friends are kind and dear; my kin are leal and true, ladies, they mourn to see my grief-but, oh! 'tis not a kinsman's hand can give my heart relief. 'Tis not my love is false, ladies, 'tis not that she's unkind; though busy flatterers swarm around, I know her constant mind:-'tis not her coldness, ladies, that pains my labouring breast:'tis that confounded cucumber I ate, and can't digest!

VI. THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY.-Colman.

A MAN in many a country town we know, professing openly with Death to wrestle; entering the field against the grimly foe, armed with a mortar and a pestle. Yet some affirm, no enemies they are; but meet just like prize-fighters in a fair, who first shake hands before they box, then give each other plaguy knocks, with all the love and kindness of a brother. So,-many a suffering patient saith, though the Apothecary fights with Death, still they're sworn friends to one another.--A member of this Esculapian line, lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne: no man could better gild a pill, or make a bill, or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister, or draw a tooth out of your head, or chatter scandal by your bed, or spread a plaster. His fame full six miles round the country ran; in short, in reputation he was solus: all the old women called him "A fine man!"-his name was Bolus.

Benjamin Bolus, though in trade,-which oftentimes will genius fetter,-read works of fancy, it is said, and cultivated the Belles Lettres. And why should this be thought so odd? can't men have taste who cure a phthisic? Of poetry, though patron god, Apollo patronises physic. Bolus loved verse; and took so much delight in't, that his prescriptions he resolved to write in't. No opportunity he e'er let pass of writing the directions on his labels, in dapper couplets-like Gay's Fables, or rather like the lions in Hudibras. Apothecary's verse!and where's the treason? 'Tis simple honest dealing-not a crime: when patients swallow physic without reason, it is but fair to give a little rhyme.

He had a patient lying at death's door, some three miles from the town-it might be four; to whom one evening Bolus sent an article, in pharmacy that's called cathartical; and on the label of the stuff, he wrote this verse (which one would think was clear enough, and terse)" When taken; to be well shaken."- -Next morning, early, Bolus rose; and to the patient's house he goes upon his pad, which a vile trick of stumbling had: it was indeed a very sorry hack; but that's of course for what's expected from a horse, with an apothecary on his back?

Bolus arrived, and gave a doubtful tap, between a single and a double rap. Knocks of this kind are given by gentlemen who teach to dance, by fiddlers, and by opera-singers: one loud, and then a little one behind, as if the knocker fell, by chance, out of their fingers.—The servant let him in with dismal face, long as a courtier's out of placeportending some disaster; John's countenance as rueful looked and grim, as if the apothecary had physicked him, and not his master. "Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said. John shook his head. "Indeed ?-hum :-ha!-that's very odd! he took the draught?"— John gave a nod. "Well-how ?-What then?-Speak out, you dunce !" 66 Why, then," says John, "we shook him once." "Shook him!-how ?" Bolus stammered out. "We jolted him about.'