A CORNISH MAN.
12th. Two pieces of “my usual.” First knocked down by a mad bull. Secondly, picked up by a pick-pocket. Anybody but me would have found one honest humane man out of a whole crowd; but I am born to suffer, whether done by accident or done by design. Luckily for me and the pick-pocket, I was able to identify him, bound over to prosecute, and had the satisfaction of exporting him to Botany Bay. I suppose I performed well in a court of justice, for the next day—“Encore un coup!”—I had a summons to serve with a Middlesex jury, at the Old Bailey, for a fortnight.
14th. My number in the lottery has come up a capital prize. Luck at last—if I had not lost the ticket.
A TRUE STORY.
WHOE’ER has seen upon the human face
The yellow jaundice and the jaundice black,
May form a notion of old Colonel Case
With nigger Pompey waiting at his back.