Puslapio vaizdai
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appeared to have made him quite familiar." What's the matter now?"

"The old story, your honour," said Jemmy. "The old woman here"-and he trembled with fear as he finished the sentence-" was kicking up her shines last night again."

The "old woman here" to whom Jemmy referred was a smirking, masculine looking young woman, with the word virago written in legible letters upon her features. When Jemmy made this "complimentary" allusion to her, she gave him a look that seemed to operate on his nervous system like a shock from a galvanic battery; and then, assuming a mild look of forbearance, she turned to the Recorder, and in a subdued tone of voice assured his honour that "there was no living with Jemmy Galvin, he carried on so!"

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Why, Galvin," said the Recorder, "it is not more than a week ago since I bound you over to keep the peace to your wife!" "I know it's not," said Jemmy, "but when you bound me over your honour missed a figure-you took the wrong pig by the ear, as they say in Ohio-it's the old woman here you should have kept from doing mischief; she's the head and front, soul and body, shoes and stockings of offending."

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"O," says Mrs. G., putting a white pocket handkerchief up to her eyes, and first looking vinegar at Jemmy and then looking tears and treacle at the Recorder, "O, I'm a miserable woman! an ill used woman! I calls for the protection of the court from the wiolence of that man!" and here Mrs. G. seemed affected even to false tears.

"Are not you a pretty fellow," said the Recorder to Jemmy, "to treat your wife in this manner to act with violence and unkindness to one whom you should protect and cherish?"

"O, bless your hinnocent heyes," said Jemmy," you does'nt know that ere woman; them aint tears; nor she aint crying now; it's all hactin', your honour. You should see her last night when we were taken up by the watch; the way she did pitch into me was a caution to the feller they called the Liverpool pet, wot taught the art of boxing here on scientific principles." The watchman was here called upon, and corroborated to a considerable extent the allegations of Mr. G. relative to the pugilistic prowess of Mrs. Galvin.

"Is there no possibility of both of you living together," said the Recorder, "in more harmony?"

"I don't see none," said Jemmy, "I've tried every thing to please her, but it aint no use; she scolds me and abuses me

A SCOTCH FEE-LOSOPHER.

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for every thing I says, and every thing I does. They may talk of John Tyler's vetoes, but he aint no circumstance in obstinacy to my wife. If I asks her to go to the lake with me she won't come; if I asks her to go to Carrollton or to the Tivoli theatre, she won't come; if I asks her to make coffee for breakfast, she is sure to have tea; and if I takes a liking to fish and tells her to prepare some for dinner, she inwariably dresses meet and wegetables. In fact, your honour, it's veto and ditto veto, all the year round."

Mrs. G. said not a word, but seemed "nursing her wrath to keep it warm."

Jemmy continued: "It's very well for politicians to speak of the danger of the one man power;' but if they lived as long as I have with Mrs. Galvin, they'd know something I guess about the danger of the one woman power. I tell you, when I thinks of it, I trembles for my constitution."

The Recorder having, it appears, previously bound Mr. Galvin to keep the peace, now made Mrs. G. enter into her recognisances, and then permitted them to return home to enjoy again the delights of domestic felicity!

A SCOTCH FEE-LOSOPHER.

JAMES BURNS, who comes from the "land o' cakes," and may be, for aught we know to the contrary, a lineal descendant of the Ayrshire bard, who was himself so honest that

"He wad na cheat the vera de'il !''

was arrested in the neighbourhood of the Public Square on Wednesday evening. He was engaged in haranguing à la Prophet Munday, a promiscuous crowd. But in almost everything he was the antipodes of the prophet. The prophet wears no hat he wore a shocking bad one; the prophet does not shave his chin-Jim shaves his whole face, when he can get a barber to credit him; the prophet is sharp and acute-looking-Jim looks like a "daft" man; the prophet is short-Jim is tall; the prophet, speaks sense-Jim Burns talks nonsense;―Jim's theme was "education-its ill effects ;" and in this it may be perceived that he not only takes ground against the great thinkers of his own country, but also against those of this." A' the evils," we could hear Jim say as we

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"Now I have not a doubt but it could be proved, by one who well understands it, that that opaque, speckled stone there is the petrified egg of some large antediluvian bird-a species of the American eagle, perhaps; and there is that one, of a partially flat form that may be of submarine origin—a petrified turtle, for aught we know!"

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"O, it may be an ossified Indian papoose, for all I care, Mr. Lapidary," said the captain, somewhat pettishly, who felt annoyed at being kept so long from seeing the rare cabinet; and pulling out his watch he added, "it is now half past six o'clock, and if you permit me to see your collection of precious stones, as you promised to do, it is time we should see them; for I must be back to the ship in half an hour."

"Why, captain, my friend," said the lapidary, "I don't understand you. You requested that I would show you my collection of stones. I told you I would, remarking at the same time that I could boast of their quantity, but would not say a word in praise of their quality,-You are now looking at them, and if your curiosity is not fully gratified, if you take a walk round with me to St. Peter street, I will show you a still larger heap!"

"Then, these are your collection of precious stones-your cabinet of jems!" said the captain, in a tone that acknowledged he had been sawed.

"They are," said the lapidary.

"Enough," said the captain, "I'm hoaxed, gloriously hoaxed. I acknowledge the corn. I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Lapidary, if I ever find that you tell the story to man or mortal, I'll macadamize-I'll pulverise every bone in your body-l will!"

The captain forgot to extort a pledge of secrecy from the "mutual friend" who witnessed the whole transaction. He told it to us as we have told it to our readers.

THE POET SPOUSE.

CLEMANTHE CRIBS and Christopher Cribs appeared yesterday in the police court on the charge of disturbing the peace. Clemanthe had an air of negligent intellectuality about her. Her face was angular-her features even sharp; her eyes bore a poetic brightness; she had long fingers and a handsome,

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