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WHEN the French Jury withdrew to deliberate on their verdict in the affair of M. de Lavalette, he retired from the Court into the prison of the Conciergerie. His friend and relation M. Tascher, nephew to the Ex-empress Josephine, never quitted him. During this momentous interval, the prisoner preserved the attitude of calmness he had maintained during the whole of the trial. He

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THE late Bishop Watson, shortly after his retirement, took lodgings in Cambridge, at an house adjoining an alehouse, the sign of which was Bishop Blaisse; he was induced to compromise with the landlord to take it down, as thinking it derogatory to the episcopal dignity, which occasioned the following epigram from Dr. Mansel, now Bishop of Bristol:

"Two of a trade can ne'er agree,"
No proverb e'er was juster;
They've pulled down Bishop Blaise d'ye

see,

And put up Bishop Bluster.

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.---This nobleman, whose brilliant wit and talents rendered him so distinguished in the Court of Charles II. and who, during a temporary disgrace with his sovereign, made himself a mighty favourite with the lower orders, by his exhibitions under the mask of an Italian mountebank on Tower-hill, felt so much diffidence in the House of Lords, that he never was able to address them. It is

played two games at chess with M. Tuscher, said, that having frequently attended, and gained them both.

ANECDOTE of King James I.---When this monarch was on his route from Scotland to ascend the Throne of England, he passed a day and a night at Lumley Castle, the seat of the Earl of Scarborough; in the course of the evening his Lordship mentioned his very ancient genealogy, and dwelt so long on his ancestry, that the King finding the subject un peu ennyant, with his wonted dry sarcastic manner, stopped his Lordship short by saying, "My Lord, dinna go any further, for I dinna ken before that Adam's surname was Lumley."

he once essayed to make a speech, but was so embarrassed that he was unable to proceed. "My Lords," said he, "I rise this time---my Lords, I divide my discourse into four branches." Here he faultered for some time; at length he was able to add, "My Lords, if ever I rise again in this House, I give you leave to cut me off root and branch for ever." He then sat down.

A CELEBRATED PREACHER.--is what is commonly The Rev. Dr. denominated " a celebrated preacher." His reputation, however, has not been

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acquired by his drawing largely upon his own stores of knowledge and eloquence, but with the skill with which he appropriates the thoughts and language of the great divines who have gone before him. Fortunately for him, those who compose a fashionable audience are not deeply read in the pulpit lore, and accordingly, with such hearers, he passes for a wonder of erudition and pathos. It did, nevertheless, happen that the Doctor was once detected in his plagiarisms. One Sunday, as he was beginning to delight the sprightly beaux and belles belonging to his congregation, a grave old gentleman seated himself close to the pulpit, and listened with profound attention. The Doctor had scarcely finished his third sentence, before the grave old gentleman muttered, loudly enough to be heard by those near him, "That's Sherlock!" The Doctor frowned, but went on. He had not proceeded much farther, when his tormenting interruptor broke out with "That's Tillotson!" The Doctor bit his lips, and paused, but again thought it better to pursue the thread of his discourse. A third exclamation of "That's Blair!" was, however, too much, and completely exhausted all his patience. Leaning over the pulpit," Fellow," he cried, "if you do not hold your tongue, you shall be turned out." Without altering a muscle of his countenance, the grave old gentleman lifted up his head, and looking the Doctor in the face, retorted, "That's his own!"

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"Bless me, coachee, (replied the thing with apparent surprise) I thought I was directing John, my own coachman : it is so seldom I ride in a hack." A desire to display a consequence before a low-bred man, who can neither know nor care any thing about you, indicates a mind of very narrow dimensions, but a vanity of insufferable extent.

A Suffolk Farmer, whose accent was singularly broad, took his first-born child, a boy, to the Clergyman of the Parish for baptism. He told the Divine his name was to be John, but spoke it so like Joan, that the other concluded it at once to be a girl, and actually performed the service appointed by the Church, as if for a female child, without the observation of either the father, mother, or two young women present. The parishclerk finding out the mistake a few days afterwards, went in haste to the Vicar, imploring him to alter the register, or to name the child again; but the Divine refused, alleging the impropriety of transgressing the rubrical injunction. "I will nevertheless, make a memorandum of the circumstance," said he, and wrote the following at the foot of the register: "Mem. The girl baptized on the 10th instant by the name of Joan, proved a fortnight afterwards (admirabile dictu) to be a boy!"

Ballad.

CONNAL AND MARY.
By Miss T-.

By Yarrow stream, that glides along,
Whose banks the wild thyme sweetly

covers,

Thus Connal rais'd his mournful song ; By Yarrow, fam'd for faithful lovers. 'Farewel!' he cried, a long farewel!

Farewel to hope and joy for ever; For hope and joy can never dwell, Beside the waves that lovers sever.

'With Mary I have pass'd the day,

Beside this stream in murmurs flowing; With Mary I have lov'd to stray, Amid the wild thyme sweetly blowing. 'For her my little flock I left;

For Mary at the midnight hour, My eyelids were of sleep bereft ;My footsteps wander'd round her bower.

'For her it was at dawning day, The sweetest flow'rs of spring I blended; For her at noon-tide's scorching ray,

The Lambs and frolic Kids I tended.

'I form'd a wreath for Mary's hair,

Of all my little garden's treasure; And when that wreath she deign'd to wear, Is it in words to tell my pleasure?

'Methinks that gentle look I see,

Which once she cast to ease my sorrow; I see it yet, tho' lovely she

Forgot it e'er the dawning morrow.

"Those happy days she has forgot, Forgotten are my restless hours; Forgotten is the rural spot,

Where Mary wore that wreath of flow'rs.

'She has forgot the silver tide,

The tide of Yarrow gently flowing, And Mary is another's bride,

Whose sweeter flow'rs than mine are blowing.

'Blow sweet, ye flow'rs, where'er she be, Ye streams in gentler murmurs languish, But whisper not the charming she,

That my fond heart now breaks with anguish.

Could Mary see that breaking heart, Each tender wish for her discover, The tear of pity, void of art,

Would deeper wound her faithful lover.

"When this fond breast shall cease to feel, When this fond heart shall cease to Alutter,

When down these cheeks no tear shall steal,

And these cold lips no sounds shall utter.

'Let not reflection tell my love,

How oft she vow'd to be my marrow; Let not her footsteps ever rove, Along the silent banks of Yarrow.

'Perhaps if near the favor'd spot, Where once to me her vows she plighted, My ceaseless truth, my early lot,

In artless strains should be recited;

'She might forget that ev'ry sigh,

That ev'ry tear of love and sorrow, That glisten'd in that charming eye, From others' rights she now must borrow.

'Oh! may she never hear my woe,

Nor fame's loud tongue the tale discover,

May no rude stone to Mary shew,

The sod which wraps her clay-cold lover.

'Beneath the turf where once we lov'd, This faithfulheart shall cease to languish; Beside the bank where once she lov❜d, Soon shall this breast forget it's anguish.' His dying lips their task deny,

He ceas'd his tale, his tale of sorrow; Cold was his breast, and clos'd his eye, Beside the flowing wave of Yarrow.

Bon Mots.

A gentleman observing a representation of the Queen in the window of the King's Arms Inn, in Preston, on Thursday night, observed to a person near him, "The Queen is now where she ought to be, in the King's arms."

CURRAN had not a very high opinion of his biographer Phillips :--He came into Phillips's room one day while he was writing, and enquired what he was about. "I am writing a speech, Sir," was the reply;" and I can tell you that I intend to give your friend, Mr. Grattan, a rating in it." "Never mind it, Charley," said Curran, "never mind it; it would only be a child throwing a stone at the leg of a Colossus.

SIR Samuel Garth, the poet and physician, being one evening writing a letter in a coffee-house, was much embarrassed by an Irish gentleman, who was rude enough to look over his shoulder all the time. Garth, however, seemed to take no notice of this, till towards the conclusion, when he humorously added, by way of postcript, "I should write more; but there's a d-d tall, impudent Irishman looking over my shoulder all the time." "What do you mean, sir?" says the Irishman," do you think I looked over your letter?"--Sir," says Garth, coolly, "I never once opened my lips to you."" Aye," said the other, with an oath, "but you have put it down for all that."--"How can that be," says Garth, "when, according to your own account, you have never looked over my letter?"

DURING Lord Townshend's residence in Dublin as viceroy, he often went in disguise through the city. He had heard much of the wit of a shoe-black, known

by the name of Blind Peter, whose stand was always at the Globe Coffee-house door. Having found him, his lordship stopt to get his boots cleaned; which being done, he asked Peter to give him change for half-a-guinea. "Half-a-guinea, your honour!" said the ragged wit, "change for half-a-guinea from me! by

sir, you may as well ask an Highlander for a knee buckle!" His lordship was so well pleased, that he left him the bit of gold, and walked away.

AT the end of the American war, while general Burgoyne commanded at Cork, he saw a corpulent soldier among the spectators on the parade, whom he thus addressed: " Who are you, sir? You must be drilled twice a day to bring down your corporation. Who are you?" "Please your honour," replied Pat, "I am the skeleton of the fifth regiment of foot, just marched over from America." The fact was so; for such was the carnage of that disastrous war, that only this fat soldier and captain Webb returned to Europe, out of a full regiment landed in America.

Correspondence.

THE LORD'S DAY AND SUNDAY. To the Editor of the TICKLER MAGAZINE.

SIR,---Having been lately in company with a young gentleman "just in orders," I was so disgusted (not being evangelical) by his incessantly using the term Lord's day, instead of Sunday, in common conversation, that I told him, if he did not know the meaning of the Lord's day in fashionable acceptation, I would venture to inform him.

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"The reason why Sunday is called the Lord's day is,because then lords travel,give dinners, and play. Of this last word commentators give various interpretations. One says that it means play at cards, dice, or back-gammon;' another refers to playing on the flute or violoncello at their own Sunday concerts;' a third (with very little courtesy to be sure) observed

that it is the only day that they can, without adjournment, absent themselves from severe parliamentary duties, and that they may then be allowed to play the fool by way of relaxation.' On the

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"Och! brother," says Pat, "don't you know that the fishes

Will creep under here-to keep out of the wet."

JEALOUSY.

Well may suspicion shake its head,
Well may Clarinda's spouse be jealous,
When the dear wanton takes to bed
Her very shoes because they're fellows.

Epitaphs.

To the Editor of the Tickler Magazine. I am one of those who love to contemplate the "frail memorials" of the dead, and do not, therefore, count the solitary hours, occasionally spent in a Church-yard, among the most melancholy ones of my life. But in London, this is a gratification rarely to be found; for, either through caution, or some less worthy motive, the cemeteries are closed against the stranger. I have been in the practice of passing by the Chapel in South Audley-street, Grosvenor-square, almost every day for several weeks, yet never saw the door of the burying-ground open till yesterday. I did not neglect the opportunity thus offered, but walked in. I found it far more spacious and airy than I expected; but I met with nothing very novel or interesting till I came to a low tomb, plain but neat, where I was both pleased and surprised by the following inscription, which, I believe, has never yet appeared in print, and which seems not unworthy of your miscellany.

Here lies the Body

of ANN DAVIES,

M. D.

(for more than twenty years)
Servant to WILLIAM GIFFORD.
She died February 6, 1815,
in the forty-third year of her age,
of a tedious and painful malady,
which she bore

with exemplary patience and resignation.
Her deeply afflicted Master
erected this stone to her memory,
as a faithful testimony
of her uncommon worth,
and of his perpetual gratitude,
respect and affection,

for her long and meritorious services. Though here unknown, dear ANN, thy

ashes rest,

Still lives thy memory in one grateful

breast,

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THE NEW MONUMENT,
BY CHANTREY.

LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL.-This beautiful

and affecting piece of Statuary is placed at the extremity of the south-west aisle, running parallel with the new Choir of our Cathedral. The figures repose on the representation of a mattrass, with a pillow at the head, supported on a plain

monument; the whole cut from a block of fine white marble. On the entablature of the Monument is the following inscription:

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF

ELLEN JANE, AND MARIANNE,
Only Children

Of the late Rev. WM. ROBINSON,
And ELLEN JANE his Wife,
Their affectionate Mother.
In fond remembrance of their
"Heav'n-lov'd Innocence,"
Consigns their Resemblances
to this Sanctuary,

In humble gratitude

For the glorious assurance, that
"Of such is the Kingdom of God."

At the back of the statuary, placed in the wall, is a plain monument, in black marble, to the Memory of the late Rev. WM. ROBINSON, the departed Parent of the reposing Innocents, bearing the following Inscription :

The Reverend

WILLIAM ROBINSON, B. C. L.
Prebendary of this Cathedral,

Rector of Swinnerton, and Stoke on Trent,
A pious and excellent man;
An able and successful Minister
In the Church of Christ;

Departed this life, March 21, 1812,

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