Burn turn’d and cried, with scornful eye, “Perchance thou’rt one of Martin’s fry, And seek’st occasion base to take, The vile informer’s gain to make.” Word of denial though I spoke, Full on my brow his fury broke, And thus, while I return’d the stroke, I exclaim’d, “Had I an” &c. To us, infringing thus the peace, Approach’d its guardians――the police; And, like inevitable Fate, Bore us to where stern Justice sate: Her minister the tale I told, And to support my word, made bold To crave he would the ass behold: “For,” I declared, “Had I an” &c. They call’d the creature into court, Where, sooth to say, he made some sport, With ears erect, and parted jaws, As though he strove to plead his cause: I gain’d the palm of feelings kind; The ass was righted; William fined. For Justice, one with me in mind, Exclaim’d, by her Minister, “Had I an” &c. Cried William to his Judge, “’Tis hard (Think not the fine that I regard), But things have reach’d a goodly pass―― One may not beat a stubborn ass!” Nought spoke the Judge, but closed his book; So William thence the creature took, Eyeing me――ah! with what a look, As gently whispering in his ear, I said, “William, had I an,” &c. _Punch._ February 17, 1844. ―――― THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN. (_A propos of Jumbo._) If _I_ owned Jumbó, (Who declines to go) Would I sell him to a show? No, no, not I! When the Titan I saw Firmly plant his paw, I would shout “Hooraw!” For his bra-ve-ry. _Chorus._ If an army of Yankees should proffer their pay, I’d button my pockets, and send them away. * * * * * _Punch._ March 4, 1884. ―――― ON LORD GUMBOIL. What are you doing, my pretty maid? I’m mashing a lord, kind sir, she said. Then pray be careful, my pretty maid; I’m more than seven, sir, she said. What is his father, my pretty maid? His father’s a lawyer, sir, she said. Say, has he married you, my pretty maid? No, an it please you, kind sir, she said. What will you do then, my pretty maid? I’ll sue on his promise, sir, she said. Then has he a fortune, my pretty maid! He’s got one――at present――sir, she said. PENZANCE. _The Weekly Dispatch._ April 13, 1884. ―――― There was an old statesman, And what do you think? He used mountains of paper, And oceans of ink, And even on postcards would issue his fiat, And yet this great statesman Could never rest quiet. AUGUST FIFTEENTH. _Truth._ June 14, 1888. ――――:o:―――― THE LEGISLATIVE ORGAN.