in for duty, and for every one doing his duty; therefore, i thinks it's my duty to take you to the calaboose."

"Hold on, Charley; hold on!" said Bob.

"Let us settle this matter in a genteel way; let us arrange by treat-y, as they does in Washin'ton. Lend me a dime and I'll stand the liquors. Come, now, watchey, don't back out.

"No," said the watchman, "but you shall back in ;" and, as by this time they had got to the Baronne street prison, in he backed Mr. Battle to the watchhouse for the night.

CABMEN'S CONTENTIONS.

JOHN ELLIS and Bill Thorp were two of the most conspicuous characters who appeared before Recorder Baldwin yesterday. They were of the hobble-de-hoy age-neither men nor boys. Both of them chewed tobacco freely, wore old pilot cloth great coats, had shocking bad hats, and carried a long whip across the left arm, as a soldier does his musket at the "port arms." They were both knights of the whip, and instead of being lashed together in the harness of friendship, they seemed actuated altogether by a spirit of envious rivalry, and were a living illustration of the old adage-two of a trade," &c. "You'll see," said Ellis.

"Yes, and you'll see," replied Thorp. "I isn't to be driven from my persition by you, no how you can fix it."

"Well, I guess there's law for the purtection of the reg'lar cabmen, as well as gemmen what follors other business," said Ellis.

"We'll see," said Thorp.

"Yes, we'll see," replied Ellis.

This episode was carried on in the hall of the court, after which both parties went in that the Recorder might pronounce his dictum on the question at issue between them.

"Are Bill Thorp and John Ellis ready to go into their case?" asked the Recorder.

"I is ready," said Thorp.

"I is always ready," said Ellis; "there's no back out in me." "Then let us hear what you have got to say," said the Recorder.

"Well, I wants to bind this here feller over to keep the peace," replied Ellis.

CABMEN'S CONTENTIONS.

"What has he done?" asked the Recorder.

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"Well I'll tell you God's truth about it," said Ellis; "you see I's gone lately into the cab line. I drives one of those newly imported conwenient wehicles with two wheels, what aint like nothing else; but they're reg'lar flare-up concerns, I tell you."

“I dare say,” said the Recorder; but what has all this to do with the assault?"

"Why, just this here,” replied Ellis," that when I drives up to the stand he gets all the old cabmen to jaw me, and call me the milk-and-water cabman."

"What does he mean by that?" asked the Recorder.

"Why, your honour sees, I was in the milk business afore I got in the cab line, and he has a spite against me 'cause I am advancing in my purfession."

"But he has not assaulted you, has he?" asked the Recorder. "Well, he has assaulted my 'oss," replied Ellis," and that's personal, aint it?”

"Not exactly," said the Recorder; " but we'll hear what Thorp has to say "

"If y your honour listens," said Thorp, "I'll tell it while I'd be cracking my whip, without any gammon whatsumdever. You see I knows all the branches of our bisness, and a wery critical bisness it is if your horses aint got a proper mouth. I've driv' a one horse wagon, a coach and pair, and at one time driv' an omnibus and four for a whole day, and had but one break down; now I asks your honour if it's fair for a feller like this here, vot's never had a more scientific job than driving a milk cart, to intrude himself on the bisness and take employment from the reg'lar hands. Is it honour bright, your honour? Haint cabmen and coachmen got wested rights as vell as other folks? Ve has-ve knows our rights, and knowin', dares maintain 'em,' as the feller said at the political meetin' t'other night-and I'm blowed if ve don't."

"O, I see," said the Recorder, "all this has originated from a spirit of rivalry in business."

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No," said Ellis, "but this 'ere feller goes in for monopolies and chartered privileges; he's against fair competition in business.

"I have heard enough now," replied the Recorder, "to know what you and he would be driving at. Let both of you go and drive your cabs, and if one of you assault the other I shall give the injured party redress."

They both cracked their whips as they left the office, and like politicians in cases of doubtful elections, each seemed to claim the decision as a victory.

AN OBSOLETE IDEA.

"WHAT are you?" said the Recorder yesterday to a nondescript looking character, who stood up in the dock before him. "I aint nothing,” said Bill Button-for such was his name. "You are nothing," said the Recorder.

"No, I aint," said Bill; "I'm an hobselete idear. I guess as how the vatchman took me to be the vonderful lion or the Bengal tiger, 'cause he stirred me up vith a long pole; but I aint nobody, and haint got no friends."

"What do you follow for a living?" asked the Recorder. "I follers nothing, and I don't live at all!" replied Bill: "I exists on the mysterious principles of witality, and am a teetotaller from compulsion."

"Why, you are quite a character," said the Recorder.

"No, I aint a character, neither," said Bill: "I haint got a character, no how. I'd have no objection to go in cahoot vith a decent feller for a character, but I haint got funds to purchase on my own account."

"Well, I shall send you to the workhouse for thirty days," said the Recorder. "Perhaps, when you comes out you will find times easier."

Bill was forthwith walked off by a watchman.

JACK GALLAGHER;

OR, THE MYSTERIES OF A MESMERIC SLUMBER.

ANY one who visited the police office yesterday could not have failed to notice the little man who occupied the seat at the extreme end of the dock, to the left. It was easy to perceive, as the charge proved, that he was a striking character. Like Diogenes in the tub, he seemed wrapt in thought. His feet were perched on the sill of the railing before him, his elbows rested on his knees, his hands supported his chin and his fingers spread out over his face. There was a round, bald

spot on the crown of his head which made him look like a Capuchin friar, but his nose, which seemed to be ornamented by several ripe strawberries, destroyed all illusion relative to a monkish life or abstemious habits.

"Jerry Gallagher!" said the Recorder" Jerry Gallagher," echoed the policeman; but there was none to answer ، here, sir!" The clerk of the court took the night watch report and commenced reading it over, to see if the name was not on it, or if there was any mistake in the matter. There was none→→ for there stood Jerry's sponsorial name and sirname, in as good chirography as the sergeant who took the charge could indite. "Jerry Gallagher!" was called out again, and again there was no answer. The officer then commenced putting the question to the prisoners severally, "Are you Jerry Gallagher?" "Are you Jerry Gallagher?" till he came to the real Simon Pure, and finding him somewhat under the influence of Morpheus, he gave him a shake and cried out in a higher pitch of voice than he had before spoken in," Are you Jerry Gallagher?"

"O, divil's in it, how inquisitive you are," said Jerry, “ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies. Can't you lit me injoy me mesmeric slumber; begor I was in me glory. I thought I was at home at the fair of Ballykillduff, in ould Ireland, and that every thing looked as nat❜ral as it did before Father Mathew converted the people into mimbers of the timperance society, and before Dan O'Connell began to praych up passive resistance.' I mane the good old times whin, instead of passive resistance, we offered active resistance to our friends and foes indiscriminately, and arranged all our little difficulties by punishing the police and the poteen, and taychin' phrenology on first principles by raising bumps quite nat'ral entirely with the shillelah. Oh, the Lord save us! how the world is degeneratin'-it'll be soon next to nothin'."

"Stand up there," said the Recorder.

"O, bad scran to me," said Jerry, "If I'll stand it any longer; begor I b'leeve your mesmerism, animal magnetism, or whatever you call it, is like the remains of Bill Buckley's flitch of bacon-all gammon.”

"You have not been brought here to discuss the merits of mesmerism," said the Recorder," you are charged with committing an assault and battery on this man here," pointing to a person who stood inside the bar, and whose face was all blue and green, like the sea scene of a theatre. "See," said

the Recorder, again addressing Jerry, and again pointing to the third party, "See the condition in which you have left that man's eyes.”

"Av coorse I see it," said Jerry, "but didn't I do it for the advancement of science-it was altogither an intillictual operation, 'pon me conscience—it was, I assure you don't you see how well I magnet-eye'sd him?

The facts turned out to be that Jerry was prevailed on by a fellow who affected to be a professor of animal magnetism, to undergo the operation necessary to bring about a mesmeric slumber; it was a failure, and Jerry, having divers and sundry times in his life been magnetized by the crathur, thought he would have recourse to it in this instance. He, therefore, again tried the experiment and found it highly successful. It was while in a state of "glorious uncertainty" thus brought about, and not under the influence of animal magnetism, that he met the man with the battered face and black eyes. Mistaking him for one of a rival faction, and believing while he was in Girod street that he was actually at the fair of Ballykillduff, he operated on him to some purpose, as the marks on his face showed.

The Recorder took the affidavit against Jerry, who gave bail for his appearance to answer to the charge of assault and battery before the criminal court.

BILL BLUMMELL.

HAVE you ever seen a pig in a parlour, a cat in a pond, a cockney on horseback, or a goose on ice? If you have you can form a faint conception of the manner in which a truebred, down-right jack tar progresses on terra firma, if he chance to be three sheets in the wind. It is all reeling, and keeling, and rolling with him. Now he lurches and now he careens; now he keeps to leeward and now to windward; now he goes right "afore" the wind, and the next moment he backs his tack. If a log-book were only kept of his voyage, what a droll affair it would be!

Bill Blummell is a case in point. Bill appeared every inch a sailor, and there was therefore nothing peculiar about him. His hat was glazed, with a small leaf, as every sailor's hat has; his jacket was blue and pitchy, just like every sailor's jacket;