"One of the curious scenes I witnessed on a nocturnal visit to the watch house of St. Anne, Soho, afforded me no small amusement. Sir Harry Dinsdale, usually called Dimsdale, a short, feeble little man, was brought in, charged by two colossal guardians of the night with conduct most unruly. 'What have you, Sir Harry, to say to all this?' asked the Dogberry of St. Anne. The knight, who had been roughly handled, commenced like a true orator, in a low tone of voice. 'May it please ye, my magistrate, I am not drunk; it is _languor_. A parcel of the Bloods of the Garden have treated me cruelly, because I would not treat them. This day, sir, I was sent for by Mr. Sheridan, to make a speech upon the table at the Shakespeare Tavern, in _Common_ Garden; he wrote the speech for me, and always gives half a guinea; he sends for me to the tavern. You see I didn't go in my Royal robes, I only put 'um on when I stand to be a member.' The constable--'Well, but Sir Harry, why are you brought here?' One of the watchmen then observed, 'That though Sir Harry was but a little _shambling_ fellow, he was so _upstroppolus_, and kicked him about at such a rate, that it was as much as he and his comrade could do to bring him along.' As there was no one to support the charge, Sir Harry was advised to go home, which, however, he swore he would not do at midnight without an escort. 'Do you know,' said he, 'there's a parcel of _raps_ now on the outside waiting for me.' "The constable of the night gave orders for him to be protected to the public-house opposite the west end of St. Giles's Church, where he then lodged. Sir Harry, hearing a noise in the street, muttered, 'I shall catch it; I know I shall.' (_Cries without_,) 'See the conquering hero comes.' 'Ay, they always use that tune when I gain my election at Garratt.' "There are several portraits of this singular little object, by some called 'Honey-juice.' Flaxman, the sculptor, and Mrs. Mathews, of blue-stocking memory, equipped him as a hardware man, and as such I made two etchings of him." THE MUFFIN MAN. (_T. Dibden._) While you opera-squallers fine verses are singing, Of heroes, and poets, and such like humguffins; While the world's running round, like a mill in a sail, I'll ne'er bother my head with what other folks ail, But careless and frisky, my bell I keep ringing, And walk about merrily crying my muffins. CHORUS. Lily-white muffins, O, rare crumpets smoking, Hot Yorkshire cakes, hot loaves and charming cakes, _One-a-penny, two-a-penny, Yorkshire cakes_. What matters to me if great folks run a gadding, For politics, fashions, or such botheration; Let them drink as they brew, while I merrily bake; For though I sell muffins, I'm not such a cake-- To let other fools' fancies e'er set me a gadding, Or burthen my thoughts with the cares of the nation.