Whereupon the stranger pointed out to the judge that since the drover had sworn with equal certainty to two different parties as the culprit, it was clear that he might be mistaken in both. A word to the wise is sufficient. So, reader, if your skull be not as thick as a bombshell, it is hardly necessary for us to tell you that Goffoni was acquitted—that it was Virtuoso, the brigand, who procured his acquittal; and that the Moral of all this is (for we must be "moral to the last"), never take the good or bad action of another to yourself, nor be shabby or silly enough to—"SAY YOU DID IT." [Illustration: ELEGANT EXTRACTS FROM THE LAST NEW BURLESQUE. ] [Illustration: Billingsgate in the ascendant. ] [Illustration: Burlesque standing on its merits. ] A BATTLE WITH BILLINGSGATE. SUGGESTED BY THAT OF BLENHEIM. It was the Christmas Holidays, And seated in the Pit, A Father saw the new Burlesque, That was so full of wit. And by him sat—in Slang unskill'd— His pretty little girl, Clotilde. She heard some "ladies" on the Stage Say they would "cut their sticks!" And one in male attire declare That she'd "go it like bricks." She ask'd her Father what were "bricks?" And what they meant by "cut their sticks?" The Father heard the audience laugh, As at some witty stroke; And the old man he scratch'd his head, For he couldn't see the joke. "I don't know what they mean," said he, "But sure 'tis some facetiæ." And then she heard one, nearly nude, Say something else about "Has your fond mother sold her mangle? And does she know you're out?" And when the people laughed, cried she, "Oh, Pa! there's more facetiæ!" And then the little maiden said, "Now, tell me why, Papa, That lady ask'd him if the mangle Was sold by his Mamma?" "I can't tell why, my dear," said he, "Though, of course, 'tis some facetiæ." But when she saw the lady's fingers Unto her nose applied, "Why, 'tis a very vulgar thing!" The little maiden cried. "The papers all, my child, agree, 'Tis brimful of facetiæ! "And everybody says the Piece With brilliant wit is fill'd;" "And what is wit, my dear Papa?" Quoth innocent Clotilde. "Why, that I cannot say," quoth he, "But wit is _not_—vulgarity." [Illustration: THE STAG, THE BULL, AND THE BEAR. (A Railway Fable.) ]