The poem was sent to Bettesworth at a time when he was surrounded with his friends in a convivial party. He read it aloud till he had finished the lines relative to himself. He then flung it down with great violence--trembled and turned pale--and, after some pause, his rage for a while depriving him of utterance, he took out his penknife, and opening it, vehemently swore, “With this very penknife will I cut off his ears.” He then went to the dean’s house, and not finding him at home, followed him to the house of a friend, where being shewn into a back room, he desired the doctor might be sent for; and on Swift entering the room and asking what were his commands, “Sir,” said he, “I am Serjeant Bettesworth.”--“Of what regiment, pray, sir?” said Swift. “O, Mr. Dean, we know your powers of raillery--you know me well enough; I am one of his majesty’s serjeants at-law, and I am come to demand if you are author of this poem (producing it), and these villanous lines on me?”--“Sir,” said Swift, “when I was a young man, I had the honour of being intimate with some great legal characters, particularly Lord Somers, who, knowing my propensity to satire, advised me when I lampooned a _knave_ or a _fool_ never to own it. Conformably to that advice, I tell you that I am not the author.” A GOLD FINCH. The following paragraph appeared in the newspapers lately:--“A young lady, who has £60,000, has lately paired off from Bath with a Mr. Finch, a young Hibernian, for Gretna Green, where she will make him a _Gold Finch_.” A SMART ANSWER. A late professor taking a country walk, met one of those beings usually called fools. “Pray,” says the professor, accosting him, “how long can a person live without brains?” “I dunno,” replied the fellow, scratching his head; “pray, how long have you lived yourself, sir?” POT-LUCK. An old and rich gentleman married a young lady of good connections and of fashionable manners. His wife’s levee was always attended by a number of young sparks. The old gentleman, however, steered so clear of all jealousy, and kept himself so easy about family affairs, that he used to go to bed and there wait for his wife, who often protracted her amusements until morning, and came home always escorted by young men. One evening, inspired by Bacchus no doubt, they became very unruly in the old gentleman’s house, so that in order to silence them, he was obliged to empty _it_ upon their heads. This expedient had the most desirable effect, for they almost immediately retreated. Fearing, however, that he had proceeded too far, he told a barrister the whole case the next day, and regretted he was not gifted with greater command of temper. “Why are you sorry?” said the other: “you used the company very genteelly; for they came uninvited, and you gave them _pot-luck_.” A POLITE CHAIRMAN.