“WHEN THE DEVIL WAS SICK THE DEVIL A MONK WOULD BE,” &c.

Whip (who has come a severe cropper).—Well, I’ll be——(hesitates; wonders whether he’s mortally damaged; finds he’s all sound and right)—
D——d!

THE RIGHT SORT.

Young Curate.—Sinful to Hunt? Oh dear no! I do not hunt now, because certain Members of my Flock might take exception to it, and think I neglected my Parish.

Miss Gallopade.—But, suppose the Hounds were to cross this Lane “Full Cry,” could you withstand the Temptation?

Young C.—Well, I’m afraid then my conscience would not be the most Formidable Obstacle I should have to negotiate.

“A CHOPPY SEA.”

Seafaring Gent (who has been imbibing too freely of mixed “jumping powders”).—Awful shoppy shee. Musht cling to main-masht, or washt overboardsht.

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Having been obliged, owing to the violence of the storm, to relinquish his hold of the main-mast our sea-faring friend was washed overboard, but rescued by Landlubbers, who conveyed him home in an Agricultural Cart, which he imagined was the life-boat, and tried to impress upon the driver that “Veshel musht be shaved—val-ble cargo aboardsh. Whyshnot dishplay Shignals of Dishtresh?”

STILL IN THE SHAFTS.

Mr. Longfoot (to disagreeable friend, who has tried to destroy the reputation of his new Horse).—You said he would never make a Hunter, and that he was only fit for Harness. Why, he carries me splendidly!

Disagreeable Friend.—Yes, no doubt he carries you well; he sees those feet of yours, and thinks he’s still in the shafts.

A VERY OLD AND CURIOUS VINTAGE.

First “Old Varmint.”—They tell me you are the oldest Foxhunter going? Now, I don’t think you are; I have hunted with the H—— sixty-five years.

Second Ditto.—What Vintage are