"Goes he muzzled, or _aperto ore_? Are his intellects sound, or does he wander a little in _his_ conversation? You cannot be too careful to watch the first symptoms of incoherence. The first illogical snarl he makes, to St. Luke's with him. All the dogs here are going mad, if you believe the overseers; but I protest they seem to me very rational and collected. But nothing is so deceitful as mad people, to those who are not used to them. Try him with hot water: if he won't lick it up, it is a sign--he does not like it. Does his tail wag horizontally, or perpendicularly? That has decided the fate of many dogs in Enfield. Is his general deportment cheerful? I mean when he is pleased--for otherwise there is no judging. You can't be too careful. Has he bit any of the children yet? If he has, have them shot, and keep _him_ for curiosity, to see if it was the hydrophobia. They say all our army in India had it at one time; but that was in _Hyder_-Ally's time. Do you get paunch for him? Take care the sheep was sane. You might pull out his teeth, (if he would let you,) and then you need not mind if he were as mad as a bedlamite." There is an adroit satire upon epitaphs--certificates of good character given to persons on going to a new place, who oftentimes had none in the places they left--in the annexed fragment from a letter enclosing an acrostic: "I am afraid I shall sicken you of acrostics, but this last was written _to order_. I beg you to have inserted in your country paper, something like this advertisement: 'To the nobility, gentry, and others about Bury:--C. Lamb respectfully informs his friends and the public in general, that he is leaving off business in the acrostic line, as he is going into an entirely new line. Rebuses and charades done as usual, and upon the old terms. Also, epitaphs to suit the memory of any person deceased.'" A few original anecdotes of Lamb must close our notice for the present. The first dry specimen was doubtless suggested by the closing couplet of a London street-ballad, wherein is set forth the ultra fickleness of a female 'lovyer:' 'And there I spied that faithless she, A fryin' sassengers for he!' "One day, at the exhibition of the Royal Academy, I was sitting on a form, looking at the catalogue, and answering some young people about me who had none, or spared themselves the trouble of consulting it. There was a large picture of Prospero and Miranda; and I had just said, 'It is by _Shee_;' when a voice near me said, 'Would it not be more grammatical to say by _her_?' I looked, it was Mr. Lamb.