(_that's myself_) volunteered his suit--Jones dressed and off in a
brace of shakes--caught Peter laughing--found it was a hoax of Jones's
to give us the slip--would have stripped Peter, only his clothes were
worth nothing--calculated the produce of the remaining suit at--

Buttons . . . . . a breakfast.
Two sleeves . . . . one pint of porter.
Body . . . . . . . four plates of à-la-mode.
Trousers (at per leg) . half a quartern loaf.

Caught an idea.--wrote an anonymous letter to the landlord, and told
him that an association had been formed to burke Colonel Sibthorp--his
lodgers the conspirators--that the scheme was called the "Lie-a-bed
plot"--poverty with his lodgers all fudge--men of immense wealth--get
rid of them for his own sake--old boy very nervous, having been in quod
for smuggling--gave us warning--couldn't go if we would. Landlord
redeemed our clothes. Ha! ha!--did him brown.

The above is a statement of what I suffered during my minority. I have
now the honour to be a magistrate and a member of Parliament.

* * * * *


THE RICH OLD BUFFER.

A MAIDEN LYRIC.

Urge it no more! I must not wed
One who is poor, so hold your prattle;