AN ENTHUSIAstic phrenologist. 59 ment that the terrors of the calaboose stared him in the face. He kept running his hands over the heads of his fellow prisoners, now giving a shake of despair to his head, and again giving evidence of inward exultation. He had to be called to order several times by the peace officers. "George Briskman!" said the Recorder again. "Why don't you answer when you hear your name called?” said a police officer, going over and giving the arm of the little man in the snuff-coloured coat a shake; it was extended out feeling the head of his next door neighbour. The little man rose, and with what he intended for dignity replied When the court affixes to my name those initials of professional distinction, with which the unanimous voice of the faculty has honoured me, then, and not till then, do I feel bound to answer any questions." "What is your name," said the Recorder. "Dr. George Briskman, M. D." said the little man with the hairless head, “a name which I trust will need no sculptured urn to perpetuate my scientific fame, when I sleep among the clods of the valley." "Mr. Briskman," said the Recorder, "you are charged with being found intoxicated last night and offering resistance to the watchman who arrested you." 66 66 What, sir," said the little man, "I intoxicated! I offer resistance to the watchman!" and he seemed to appeal to the ceiling of the court instead of the judge, to witness the falsity of the charge, and then dropping down on the seat after the most melo-dramatic fashion, he said in a subdued voice, "yes, yes, I was, I was (He jumps suddenly up, and in a loud voice continues)"I was intoxicated, drunk, delirious, sir, but it was not with alcohol-I am intoxicated now, sir, but it is the effect of those copious libations which I have quaffed at the fountain of science. I have not resisted the watchman, may it please the court, but I have resisted the ignorance of the age I have battled against the prejudices of narrow minds, and I have opposed those who would arrest the march of intellect. This, sir, I have done, and this I shall continue to do till my new theoretical system of phrenology becomes universally known-till the lines on men's heads, sir, like the labels on bottles in apothecaries stores, tell their contents; in a word, LAP DOGS AND LOBELIA. WHEN we entered the police office yesterday there seemed to be nothing going on worthy of a paragraph. A few unwashed, miserable looking fellows sat in the dock waiting to be disposed of. They seemed regardless whether their sentence should be thirty days or for life. They felt as if the world was a blank to them, and as if existence itself was but a protracted punishment. One Yankee looking policeman was whitling his stick; another was making a rough draft, with his pencil, of a "Charley on duty," and two more were discussing the pirate question. A surreptitious edition of a lawyer, for the want of a more lucrative practice, was ransacking the Code of Practice for something which he seemed not to find, and the Recorder endeavoured to look like a man in the midst of business, but he "couldn't come it." But a few moments had elapsed ere this stillness was interrupted by the appearance of as odd looking a pair of litigants as ever appeared before a judicial tribunal. Their approach was the signal of an immediate change of scene from grave to gay. The crowd outside the bar joined in a half suppressed laugh; the constables cried "silence!" and looked knowingly at one another; the lawyer looked learned, and began to tell the man next him, who had been fined for leaving his horse on the sidewalk, of several important suits in which he was professionally engaged in the "courts above," though we doubt if he ever gets up to them; and his honour adjusted himself in his chair and made other demonstrations indicative of the approach of important business. "Maria Matilda Milden !" said the Recorder. "Here, sir!" said a lady. "Doctor Lirandus Lobelia !" said the Recorder. "Here, sir!" said a gentleman. And the observed of all observers-the lady and the gentleman-stood before him. The lady was—but no matter about her age. Her dress was faded, and so was her face; her forehead was wrinkled, and so was her fan; and we verily believe that she had no bustle. She held affectionately in her arms a French poodle dog, that looked as sulkily as if it had swal LAP DOGS AND LOBELIA. 51 lowed a poisoned sausage, and she seemed to regard him with a species of parental attachment. Doctor Lirandus Lobelia, too, was a queer looking customer. He was thin and attenuated, and looked as if he had been the victim of his professional enthusiasm as if, in fact, he had been steamed to death, attesting the merits of his own system. He wore specs--no! he did not wear them, but he used them -they were attached to a horn case, which he held in his hand when he placed the glasses to his eyes which was, on an average, about sixty times in every hour. "Will Miss Milden come forward?" said the Recorder. "What charge have you to make against Doctor Lobelia ?” 66 "O, the monster "" exclaimed Maria Matilda; "See the condition in which he has left my poor dear doggy!" And here she cast a protective kind of glance at the dying quadruped. Little Pompey made an effort to bark his acknowledgments for his mistress' kindness, but failed in the attempt. "Save your sympathy for some other time," said the Recorder, "and state the particulars of your complaint." "Why, sir," said Miss Maria Matilda Milden, "I noticed that my little pet, Pompey, had been loosing his appetite for several days; on Sunday morning he refused his tea and toast, and on Monday he would not eat a broiled kidney, which I brought him from the market. I gave him some of Dr. Stillman's highly concentrated compound of sarsaparilla and pills, but they did not relief him. I then consulted Doctor Lobelia here. I suggested phlebotomy, but he applied the herbaceous process; in fact, he steamed my poor dear doggy to death;" and here Miss Milden applied her pocket handkerchief to her orbits, and gave utterance to the following pathetic stanza: "'Twas ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my pets all fade away My poodle dogs, my tabby cats- "Doctor Lobelia !" said the Recorder, "what have you to say to this charge ?" "I pledge my honour to your honour," said the disciple of Thompson, holding his horn-case glasses to his eyes and looking attentively at the Recorder, Miss Milden and her poodle dog; "I pledge you my honour, I acted purely in a professional way. Lady sent for me-asked my advice-gave it cautioned her against resorting to phlebotomy or sarsaparilla -the former practice having become obselete with the faculty; the latter, being a mere nostrum, repudiated by the regular practitioner-advised the immediate application of my own 'system,' as the only relief for the interesting animal-she consented (your honour will bear in mind she consented) — I then steamed him strong, administered bayberry tea, cayenne capsicum, lobelia, pepsinay, and No. 2 and No. 6. If his system was not previously too debilitated, my system will most certainly work a radical cure. Your honour sees I have prescribed nothing that did not come within the legitimate sphere of my system." "May it please the court," said the lawyer to whom we referred as looking over the Code of Practice, and who it appears had been retained by Miss Milden-"May it please the court, we bring three separate and distinct charges against the defendant. First, we charge him with practising in contravention of the rules of the Medico-Physico Society; secondly, we charge him with the loss of the dear canine creature; and thirdly, we charge him with cruelty to animals.--Your honour," he added, "is imbued with so much of the finer feelings of our nature, your mind is so surcharged with the milk of human kindness, that it would be a work of supererogation on my part were I to dwell on the loss which my client sustains in being forever deprived of the society of her favourite dog. He was her ever-faithful companion; and when friends forsook herwhen kindred grew unkind-when lovers became deceitfulwhen the world, the whole world, proved cold and ungenerous, her little Pompey alone, of all the things that live, move, breathe, and have a being therein, was her constant and unremitting attendant. If she seemed sad, he howled his sympathy in piteous wailings; and if joy, peradventure, sat on her countenance, his frisking and gambols showed that that little dog had a heart, more sympathetic than that of many human beings. And may it please the court "Stop!" said the Recorder, "I have heard enough of this case to know that this court has no jurisdiction over it. I therefore dismiss it." The lawyer expressed his determination to bring the case before a higher tribunal. Miss Milden left the court patting her poodle dog, and shedding tears over his anticipated approaching dissolution. Doctor Lobelia pledged his professional reputation, that he would still restore the animal to health and vigour, if allowed the unrestricted application of his own "system." A BREACH OF PROMISE. A BREACH OF PROMISE. "WHAT is the next case?" said the Recorder to the clerk, when he had disposed of some four or five remnants of wretchedness, against whom the stereotyped charge of "drunk and listurbing the peace" had been entered. "The next," said the clerk, "is Moran vs. Gordon." "Call them,” said the Recorder. Clerk. (loud)" Gregory Gordon ?"-(louder)" Gregory Gordon?"-(still louder)—" Gregory Gordon ?" "Here, your warship," said a man with a broad Scotch accent, in a very seedy coat, a very snuffy vest, and very dilapidated pants. "Why did you not answer when your name was first called?" said the clerk. Mr. Gordon.-Why, for the vera beest o' reasons. You see my hearin' is nane o' the beest, and it's sae lang sin' I became partially deaf, that I dinna ken the time; but my mither a'ways tald me that دو Clerk."No matter what your mother told you; we have heard enough on the subject of your deafness now.-Mary Moran ?" "I'm here, your honour, and I'll be there in a jiffy," said a voice at the opposite end of the court; "I want to transphort that decay vin' thief. I'll swear me life and the lives of me four innocent chilthren agin him. O! the Lord be good to your sowl, Martin Moran!" The voice that uttered this told that its owner was from the west of the Shannon. She was in her widowhood; and this prayer was sent forth for her deceased husband. In the shortest space of time she made her way up to the bench; and as she looked on Mr. Gordon, who was just helping himself with great composure to rather a plentiful pinch of Maccaba, she evidently, with greatest difficulty, suppressed her pent-up indignation. "Now state your charge, Mrs. Moran," said the Recorder; "of what do you accuse this man ?” "Of what do I accuse him?" said Mrs. M., seeming surprised that the Recorder was not already aware of the nature and extent of Mr. Gordon's trangressions: "I accuse him of murther-takin' me oun life and the life of me chilther, be |