"About my bitch, vaut I lost four months ago, your vurship. I lost her in pup, and I knows the man vaut's fun her, and now she's pupp'd six pups, and says he to me, says he, 'You shall either have the bitch vithout the pups, or the pups vithout the bitch; an if so be as you don't like that, you shan't have neither of 'em'--and so vaut am I to do, your vurship?" "Why go along and mind your business," replied his worship--and the master costermonger retired from court without having taken anything by his motion. A TEA PARTY. Joseph Arnold, Esq., of Duck-lane, Westminster, a retired hackney-coachman, better known by the title of "the Rough Diamond," and as the intimate friend of Bill Gibbons, Esq. P.C. Com. Gen. was brought before the sitting magistrate under the following awkward circumstances:-- Mr. Peter Guy, who is a tailor[2] (by _trade_), and Mrs. Peter Guy, were invited to tea by the accomplished hostess of the Russian Hotel in Bow-street. Mr. Joseph Arnold, Mr. Joseph Arnold's housekeeper, and several other ladies and gentlemen, were of the party. There was toast and prime Dorset, and muffins and crumpets, with Gunpowder and Bohea for the ladies; and pig's-face, red-herrings, and hot coffee for the gentlemen; in short, there was everything quite genteel and comfortable. Now it so happened that Mr. Peter Guy wore a white-poodle[3] upper benjamin, of his own make, on the occasion, and this unfortunate dress upset the comfort of the whole party. Mr. Joseph Arnold first observed, that Mr. Peter Guy's poodle-benjamin was as pretty a bit of toggery[4] as ever he _seed_. All the company agreed to this, except one lady (Mrs. Jonathan Guy), who remarked that it looked rather too warm-like and smothery for fireside wear. Mr. Joseph Arnold observed it warn't a morsel too warm for those as had any gumption[5] in 'em; and he offered to bet a shilling that he could get it on, if so be as Mr. Peter Guy would be kind enough to peel.[6] There was not a lady in company who did not laugh out-right at this proposition, because Mr. Joseph Arnold is a large round man, upwards of six feet high, and Mr. Peter Guy, as one of the ladies very justly observed, is a little hop-o'-my-thumb chap, not much above half as big. Mr. J. Arnold, however, swore by _goles_ (a favourite oath of his) that he would not flinch from his bet; and at length Mr. Peter Guy took him at his word, the stakes were deposited, and Mr. Peter Guy having slipped out of his benjamin, Mr. Joseph Arnold squeezed himself into it, without a vast deal of trouble; though, when it was on, the sleeves did not reach much below his elbows. Mr. Peter Guy readily admitted that he was done,[7] and requested his benjamin again; but Mr. Joseph Arnold refused to restore it, observing, that it was a prime fit, and he would give it a turn among the swells in Duck-lane. The ladies remonstrated, the gentlemen laughed, the noise ran high; the tea tables were hurried away, and the crumpets were