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THE FORCE OF SATIRE.

Jacob Johnson, the most eminent of his profession as a publisher, having refused to advance Dryden a sum of money for a work upon which he engaged, the incensed bard sent a message to him, and the following lines, adding, "Tell the dog that he who wrote these can write more:"

"With leering looks, bull-faced, and freckled face,
With two left legs, and Judas-coloured hair,
And frowzy pores, that taint the ambient air!"

Johnson felt the force of the description; and, to avoid a completion of the portrait, immediately sent the money.

EXTEMPORE LINES BY LORD

CHESTERFIELD.

Lord Chesterfield, on viewing Lady M.

a reputed

Jacobite, adorned with orange ribands at the anniversary ball at Dublin, in the memory of King William, thus addressed her,

EXTEMPORE :

"Thou little Tory, where's the jest
To wear those ribands in thy breast;
When that breast, betraying, shows
The whiteness of the rebel rose?"

TILLOTSON,

Who was then Archbishop of Canterbury, on King William's complaining of the shortness of his sermon, answered, "Sire, could I have bestowed more time upon it, it would not have been so long!"

THE POST-BOY

Dr. Roger Long, the famous astronomer, walking one dark evening with Mr. Bonfoy in Cambridge, and the latter coming to a short post fixed in the pavement, which in the earnestness of conversation he took to be a boy standing in his way, said hastily, "Get out of my way, boy!" "That boy, Sir," said the doctor very drily, "is a post-boy, who never turns out of his way for anybody."

PUNNING

Was, at least, no crime in the days of the first Stuarts : neither kings nor nobles were above it. The great Lord Bacon was reduced to such extreme poverty towards the latter end of his life, that he wrote to James the First, for assistance, in these words :-" Help me, dear sovereign lord and master, and pity me so far, that I, who have been born to a bag, be not now in my age forced in effect to bear a wallet; nor that I, who desire to live to study, may be driven to study to live." The following, in a letter to Prince Charles, may not be so pardonable, particularly from so great a man:wherein he hopes, "that, as the father was his creator, the son will be his redeemer."

THE POKER AND TONGS.

Porson's company, as may well be supposed, was courted by all ranks, from the combination-room to the cider-cellar, for he mixed with all, and was to be found in both; and it was who should assist at his evening lectures, and who should carry away most from the oracle. But sometimes it would happen, as it does to most men, that he was bedevilled, and, pulling a book out of his pocket, read only to himself; at other times he was violent, and, catching the poker out of the fire, brandished it over his head, to the terror of the company. Of this trick, however, he was cured, once for all, by a spark of fighting notoriety, who, on seeing Porsor seize the poker, and not being used to a furious Greek, but in the play, snatched up the tongs, observing, two could play at that game. Upon this, the professor, with a sneer of his own, said, "I believe, if I should crack your skull, I should find it very empty." And if I should break your head," replied the Irishman, "I should find it full of maggots." This retort pleased Porson so much, that he returned the poker to the fire, and repeated a whole chapter of Roderick Random, analogous to the affair.

"EVER SINCE HE WAS A PUPPY."

There was a coffee-room at the principal inn where Sterne resided about the time he wrote his "Tristram Shandy," where gentlemen who frequented the house might read the newspapers: one of the greatest enjoy

ments of Sterne's life was spending an inoffensive hour in a snug corner of his room. There was a troop of horse at that time quartered in the town; one of the officers was a gay young man, spoiled by the free intercourse of the world, but not destitute of good qualities. This young gentleman was remarkable for his freedom of speech, and pointed reflections on the clergy. The modest Yorick was often obliged to hear toasts he could not approve, and conversations shocking to the ear of delicacy, and was frequently under the necessity of removing his seat or pretending deafness. The captain, resolving this conduct should no longer avail him, seated himself by Yorick, so as to prevent his retreat, and immediately began a profane indecent tale at the expense of the clerical profession, with his eyes steadfastly fixed on Yorick, who pretended not to notice his ill manners; when that became impossible, he turned to the military intruder, and gravely said, "Sir, I'll tell you my story. My father is an officer, and is so brave himself, that he is fond of everything else that is brave, even his dog. You must know we have at this time one of the finest creatures of his kind in the world, the most spirited, yet the best-natured that can be imagined; so lively that he charms everybody; but he has a cursed trick that throws a shade over all his good qualities." "Pray, what may that be?" interrogated the officer: "He never sees a clergyman, but he instantly flies at him," answered Yorick. "How long has he had that trick?" Why, Sir," replied the divine, "ever since he was a puppy!" The man of war for once blushed, and, after a pause, said, "Doctor, I thank you for your hint: give me your hand; I will never rail at a parson again."

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HEBREW.

A Cantab, when on a tour in the country, chanced to enter a strange church, and, after he had been seated some little time, another person was ushered into the same pew with him. The service had proceeded till the psalms were about to be read, when the stranger pulled out of his pocket a prayer-book, and offered to share it with the Cantab, though he perceived he had one in his hand. This generosity, the Cantab perceived, proceeded from a mere ostentatious display of his learning, as it proved to be in Latin; and he immediately declined the offer by saying, "Sir, I read nothing but Hebrew!"

THE WHITE LION.

The Rev. George Harvest accompanied his patron into France, and, during the necessary delay at some post-town, rambled after a bookseller's shop, and found one. There he amused himself awhile with his favourite companions, but at last reflected that his friends were in haste to depart, and might be much incommoded by his stay. He had forgot the name of the inn, and to expect him to find the road merely because he had travelled it before was to expect that Theseus should unravel the Dadalean labyrinth with the thread of Ariadne. Not a word of French could Harvest speak to be understood; but he recollected the sign of the inn was a lion; still how to make the bookseller comprehend this was the difficulty. Harvest, however, tall and sturdy, raised him

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