taken the place of the butcher's dog,-you would have won.

Cutlas. Perhaps I might, Dickey, if I had followed your plan, when you drank swill against a hog, and won the match by dashing your portion with a couple of bottles of brandy.

Merryman. Aye, they could not fool me.

Squire. But what is to be done? A certain lady expects me to-night, and she will not be in a good humour if I come empty-handed.

Cutlas. Poh! if you can put nothing into her hand, you can pay her by word of mouth, as Dickey pays his landlord at the Staffordshire Arms.

Merryman. It will never do, he has been put to that shift too often.

Cutlas. Then do you go and promise, Dickey, and tell her that, by the powers of manhood! I'll perform if the Squire fails.

Squire. Well, let us dine together, and then consult about the ways and means over a bottle.

Merryman. We can mortgage the succession a little deeper yet. --I will send for Mr. Moses

Aaron, of Crutched Friars, an honest Jew, who has some faith in Christianity, since he has trusted me. We will melt him by a sad account of your father's declining health into a post-obit for a few thousands.

Enter Brush.

Squire. Ah! Charley, I am glad you are come, we were just going to dine, and then to consult on the ways and means. We shall want your assistance.

Brush. You're always in want, and, no wonder, since you want that most essential article-. brains.

Squire. Why, Charley, you've got upon stilts; you're unusually lofty to-day, and, for a wonder, the razor has divorced the bristles from your chin before they were a week's acquaintance. Did you meet with a windfall last night?

Brush. Aye, my boys, that I did, and what is more extraordinary, it was a foul wind too; but it is an ill wind, you know, that blows nobody good. Such ingenuity and contrivance!

By Jove! the Sporting Calendar never did, and never will produce an instance of such a dead heat. Vespasian's mode of raising money by a tax on double-distilled waters, was nothing to mine.

Merryman. But was it equally productive? Brush. Aye, Dickey; brought in a cool thousand in about ten minutes.

Squire. Let's have the story.—I'm impatient to hear it.

Brush. Well then, I was at 's last night, and met with one continued run of ill-luck; in short, I was brought to my last guinea. In such a situation, all of you would have had no other resource, but to console yourselves with your Perdita's and your bottles; but I had brains-brains, my boys! I left the room, and went into the adjoining public-house where the Irish chairmen stand in waiting. I gave one of them a crown to disincumber himself of a certain incumbrance in my inexpressibles.

Squire.-(Stopping his nose.) Faugh! Stand farther off!-I shall fancy you don't smell sweet for a twelvemonth to come.

Brush. Poh! my dainty Sir, get an ounce of civet from the apothecary's, to sweeten your imagination. To proceed with my story: I engaged Pat to be in waiting, by the promise of another crown, and then returned to the playtable, where so soon as I sat down

Squire. What a nosegay!

Brush. A nosegay, indeed! All the perfumes of Arabia would have been trifling, compared with the odour which filled the room. Some held their noses, others took snuff, and I shuffled about in my seat, to complete the disorder of their olfactory nerves. Like hounds, they were soon led by their noses to where the hare sat in form. All the eyes were directed towards me, and, to decoy them, I endeavoured to appear disconcerted, and pretended to look for a dog under the table. My behaviour fixed their sus picions to a certainty, and one of them charged me with having done a foul deed. Another cried,- "Aye, it is you, indeed, Charley." I replied, that it was as likely to be one of themselves. Having again consulted their noses, one offered to bet a hundred. "I will bet

you a thousand !" exclaimed I, pretending some

indignation at the accusation. - Another hundred, Charles, Done! Another Done !

--

The thousand was no sooner made up, than I acknowledged the cause of the fragrancy, and called in Pat, who claimed what had been his

own.

All. Ha! ha ha! you had them at a dead wind!

Brush. Yes; and although they were d-d mad, yet they could not help laughing, and acknowledging that they had never been played so clean a trick before.

Merryman. Well, it must be allowed, that friend Charles has more brains than any of us, and that he deserves to have money, as he has a tear for pity, and a hand open as day for melting charity."

66

Brush. Fine words, Dickey, and they may be coined into money on the stage, or at the Staffordshire Arms; but I must pay you in your own coin. You, too, can shed tears-but they are those of the bottle-and your hand is always open-but it is ever to receive.

Merryman. The more my friends ought to think themselves obliged to me, for giving them