City Police.—Thursday, January 20—Bad Boys—A triad of blooming youths, Robert Kennady, Thomas Caldwell and George Weaver, composed the entire stock in trade this morning. They had each seen about sixteen summers, had seen the rose blossom and fade sixteen times and if they live "and do well," as the old woman says, they will be apt to see the flower of hemp blossom once too often. The elegant pursuits in which they happened to be engaged last night were ringing people's bells, jumping Jim Crow on cellar doors and thumping the watch boxes, disturbing the incumbents thereof with needless alarm and breaking their repose after they had faithfully discharged their duty by crying the time of night;—which is all that watchmen are bound to do, by moral or legal obligation. In this way, our young heroes got themselves into trouble, for watchmen are as savage as sausage-choppers when their slumbers are interrupted. All three were held to bail,

Speaking of bad boys reminds me of my friend Flib; a bright youth but full of deviltry. "Praise the bridge that carries you safely over!" that's my maxim;—Flib gave me a good puff t'other day, and if I don't puff him it's because I don't know how Prose and poetry shall both contribute to his honor and glory. Witness the following, composed at an interval of leisure, this morning:—

SONNET TO FLIB.

Youth of the radiant locks,—nose hook-ed

And legs and disposition crooked.

'Tis said, between us

There's some considerable amount of "genus;"

Why then this bargain let us make—

You puff me and I'll puff you,—

That's the way t'others do!—

(There's half the sonnet nice and neat,)

With pen and ink,

Shall Flib and Blink,

Each other toast

And rule the roast!—

All who presume to disagree—used up tremendously shall be!

So there's a sonnet all complete!Toney Blink.