Who can describe the wrath of MRS. JONES? The chill of fear that crept through TAYLOR'S bones? The van--the hand-cuffs--and the prison cell Where pined JAMES TAYLOR--wherefore pause to tell? Soon came the Assizes--and the legal train; In form the clerk JAMES TAYLOR did arraign; And though his council mustered tears at will, And made black white with true Old Bailey skill, TAYLOR, though MRS. JONES for mercy sued, Was doomed to five years' penal servitude; And in a yellow suit turned up with gray, To Portland prison was conveyed away! Time passed: forgot JAMES TAYLOR and his shame-- When lo--one day unto the bank there came A new JAMES TAYLOR--a new MRS. JONES-- And a new book, which TOMKINS genuine owns! "Two TAYLORS and two JONESES and two books"-- Thought wary TOMKINS, "this suspicious looks-- "The former TAYLOR, former JONES I knew-- These are imposters-yet the book is true!" When like a flash upon his mind it burst-- Who brought the second book had forged the first! Again was summon'd X, the stern, the strong-- Again that pair were bid to "Come along!" The truth before the justices appear'd, And wrong'd JAMES TAYLOR'S character was clear'd. In evil hour--by what chance ne'er was known, Whether the bustle's seam had come unsewn, Or MRS. JONES by chance had laid aside The artificial charms that decked her side-- But so it was, how or whene'er assailed-- The treacherous hiding-place was tried--and failed! The book was ta'en--a forged one fill'd its place;- And MRS. JONES was robb'd--not to her face-- And poor JAMES TAYLOE doom'd to trial and disgrace! Who shall describe her anguish--her remorse? James Taylor was at once released, of course; And Mrs. Jones, repentant, inly swore Henceforth to carry, what she'd keep, before. My tale is told--and, what is more, 'tis true: I read it in the papers--so may you. And this its moral: Mrs. Joneses all-- Though reticules may drop, and purses fall, Though thieves may unprotected females hustle, Never invest your money in a bustle. STANZAS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL. PUNCH. I. ON A TEAR WHICH ANGELINA OBSERVED TRICKLING DOWN MY NOSE AT DINNER TIME. Nay, fond one I will ne'er reveal Whence flowed that sudden tear: The truth 't were kindness to conceal From thy too anxious ear. How often when some hidden spring Of recollected grief Is rudely touched, a tear will bring The bursting breast relief! Yet 't was no anguish of the soul, No memory of woes, Bade that one lonely tearlet roll Adown my chiseled nose: But, ah! interrogation's note Still twinkles in thine eye; Know then that I have burnt my throat With this confounded pie! II. OM MY REFUSING ANGELINA A KISS UNDER THE MISTLETOE Nay, fond one, shun that misletoe, Nor lure me 'neath its fatal bough: Some other night 't were joy to go, But ah! I must not, dare not now! 'Tis sad, I own, to see thy face Thus tempt me with its giggling glee, And feel I can not now embrace The opportunity--and thee.