okes
played there, no less than three hats were expended during the short
month of his stay. To correct this, he adopted the plan of sitting upon
his hat at dinner; but as he wore no tails to his jacket, and left the
feather protruding behind, it had to a stranger the appearance of being
a natural appendage to his person."

BUYING DONKEYS AT SMITHFIELD.

One of the brothers Mayhew is publishing in London, (and the Harpers are
reprinting it in New-York) a serial work under the title of _London
Labor and London Poor_, similar in design to the sketches of trades and
occupations a year or two ago printed in the _Tribune_. It is in as
lively a vein as may be, but such an anatomy is unavoidably sometimes
repulsive. The authors perhaps endanger the designed effect of their
performance by attempting to invest it with the attractions of
quaintness and humor. We quote from the second part the following
description of coster-mongers in the Smithfield market:

"The donkeys standing for sale are ranged in a long line on both sides
of the race course, their white velvety noses resting on the wooden rail
they are tied to. Many of them wear their blinkers and head-harness, and
others are ornamented with ribands fastened in their halters. The
lookers-on lean against this railing, and chat with the boys at the
donkeys' heads, or with the men who stand behind them, and keep
continually hitting and shouting at the poor still beasts, to make them
prance. Sometimes a party of two or three will be seen closely examining
one of these 'Jerusalem ponies,' passing their hands down his legs or
quietly looking on, while the proprietor's ash stick descends on the
patient brute's back, making a dull hollow sound. As you walk in front
of a long line of donkeys, the lads seize the animals by their nostrils
and show their large teeth, asking if you 'want a hass, sir,' and all
warranting the creature to be 'five years old next buff-day.' Dealers
are quarrelling among themselves, down-crying each other's goods. 'A
hearty man,' shouted one proprietor, pointing to his rival's stock,
'could eat three sich donkeys as yourn at a meal!' One fellow, standing
behind his steed, shouts as he strikes, 'Here's the real Britannia
metal;' whilst another asks, 'Who's for the pride of the market?' and
then proceeds to flip 'the pride' with the whip till she clears away the
mob with her kickings. Here, standing by its mother, will be a shaggy
little colt, with