HE exuberant drollery of the Irishman never found a better exponent than in that most humorous author the late Samuel Lover, from one of whose works the following is extracted:

"I'll tell you, sir, a mighty quare story. "Twas afther nightfall, and we wor sittin' round the fire, and the pratees was boilin', and the noggins of butthermilk was standin' ready for our suppers, whin a knock kem to the door. 'Whist,' says my father, here's the sojers come upon us now,' says he. 'Bad luck to thim, the villains; I'm afeard they seen a glimmer of the fire through the crack in the door,' says he. "No,' says my mother, ' for I'm afther hanging an ould sack and my new petticoat agin it, a while ago.'

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"Well, whist, anyhow,' says my father, 'for there's a knock agin;' and we all held our tongues till another thump kem to the door.

"Oh, it's folly to purtind any more,' says my father; they're too cute to be put off that-a-way,' says he. 'Go, Shamus,' says he to me, 'and see who's in it.'

"How can I see who's in it in the dark?' says I. "Well,' says he, 'light the candle, thin, and see who's in it. But don't open the door for your life, barrin' they break it in,' says he, exceptin' to the sojers; and spake them fair, if it's thim.'

"So with that, I wint to the door, and there was another knock.

says I.

"Who's there?'
"It's me,' says he.
"Who are you ?' says I.
"A friend,' says he.

"Baithershin!' says I; 'who are you, at all?'
"Arrah! don't you know me?' says he.
"Not a taste,' says I.

"Sure, I'm Paddy the Piper,' says he.

"Oh then, millia murther!' says Paddy, 'what'll become of me at all, at all?' says he.

"Go aff into the shed,' says I, 'behind the house, where the cow is, and there there's an illigant lock o' straw, that you may go asleep in.' says I; and a fine bed it id be for a lord, let alone a piper.'

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"Paddy hid himself in the cowhouse; and now I must tell how it was with Paddy. You see, afther sleeping for some time, Paddy wakened up, thinkin' it was mornin', but it wasn't mornin' at all, but only the light o' the moon that deceaved him; but, at all evints, he wanted to be stirrin' airly, bekase he was going off to the town hard by, it bein' fair-day, to pick up a few ha'pence with his pipes for niver a betther piper was in all the country round nor Paddy; and every one gave it up to Paddy, that he was illigant an the pipes, and played Jinny bang'd the Weaver,' beyant tellin', and the 'Hare in the Corn,' that you'd think the very dogs was in it, and the horsemen ridin' like mad. Well, as I was sayin', he set off to go to the fair, and he wint meandherin' along through the fields, but he didn't go far, until climbin' up through a hedge, when he was coming out at t'other side, he kem plump agin somethin' that made the fire flash out iv his eyes. So with that he looks upand what do you think it was, Lord be marciful unto uz! but a corpse hangin' out of a branch of a three? Oh, the top of the mornin' to you, sir,' says Paddy; and is that the way with you, my poor fellow? Throth you took a start out o' me,' says poor Paddy; and 'twas thrue for him, for it would make the heart of a stouter man nor Paddy jump to see the like, and to think of a Christian crathur being hanged up, all as one as a dog.

Says Paddy, eyein' the corpse, By my sowl, thin, but you have a beautiful pair of boots an you,' says he, and it's what I'm thinkin' you won't have any great use for thim no more; and sure it's a shame to see the likes o' me,' says he, the best

"Sorra one else, says he.

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I.

"And what brought you at this hour?' says 'Bedad,' says he, 'I didn't like goin' the roun' by the road,' says he, and so I kem the short cut, and that's what delayed me,' says he.

"Faix then,' says I, 'you had betther lose no time in hidin' yourself,' says I; 'for troth I tell you, it's a short thrial and a long rope the Husshians would be afther givin' you-for they've no justice, and less marcy, the villains!'

"Faith, thin, more's the raison you should let me in, Shamus,' says poor Paddy.

"It's a folly to talk,' says I, 'I darn't open the door.'

pair of ould brogues not worth three traneens, and a corpse wid such an illigant pair o' boots, that wants some one to wear thim.' So with that, Paddy laid hould of him by the boots, and began a pullin' at thim, but they wor mighty stiff; and whether it was by rayson of their bein' so tight, or the branch of the tree a-jiggin' up and down, all as one as a weighdee buckettee, and not lettin' Paddy cotch any right hoult o' thim, he could get no advantage o' thim at all; and at last he gev it up, and was goin' away, whin, lookin' behind him agin, the sight of the illigant fine boots was too much for him, and he turned back with his knife, and what does he do, but he cuts off the legs av the corpse; and,' says he, 'I can take aff the boots at my convaynience.' And throth it was, as I said before, a dirty turn.

"Well, sir, he tuck'd up the legs undher his arm, and at that minit the moon peeped out from behind a cloud. Oh! is it there you are ? says he to the moon, for he was an impident chap; and thin, seein' that he made a mistake, and that the moon-light deceaved him, and that it wasn't the airly dawn, as he conceaved, and bein' friken'd for fear himself might be cotched, and trated like the poor corpse he was afther malthreating, if he was found walking the countbry at that time, bedad! he turned about, and walked back agin to the cow-house, and, hidin' the corpse's legs in the sthraw, Paddy wint to sleep agin. But what do you think? Paddy was not very long there antil the sojers kem in airnest, and, by the powers, they carried off Paddy; and faith it was only sarvin' him right for what he done to the poor corpse.

"Well, whin the morning kem, my father says to me,' Go, Shamus,' says he, 'to the shed, and bid poor Paddy come in, and take share o' the pratees; for I go bail he's ready for his breakquest by this, anyhow.'

"Well, out I wint to the cow-house, and called out 'Paddy!' and afther callin' three or four times, and gettin' no answer, I wint in, and called agin, and niver an answer I got still. Blood-anagers!' says I, 'Paddy, where are you, at all, at all?' and so castin' my eyes about the shed, I seen two feet sticking out from undher the hape o' sthraw. Musha! thin,' says I, 'bad luck to you, Paddy, but you're fond of a warm corner; and maybe you havn't made yourself as snug as a flay in a blanket? But I'll disturb your dhrames, I'm thinkin', says I, and with that, I laid hould of his heels (as I thought), and givin' a good pull to waken him, as I intindid, away I wint, head over heels, and my brains was a'most knocked out agin the wall. "Well, whin I recovered myself, there I was, on the broad o' my back, and two things stickin' out o' my hands, like a pair of Husshian's horse-pistils; and I thought the sight 'd lave my eyes whin I seen they wor two mortial legs. My jew'l, I threw them down like a hot pratee, and jumpin' up, I roared out millia murther. 'Oh, you murtherin' villain,' says I, shaking my fist at the cow-Oh, you unnath'ral baste,' says I; 'you've ate poor Paddy, you thievin' cannable; you're worse than a neyger,' says I. 'And bad luck to you, how dainty you are, that nothin' 'd serve you for your supper but the best piper in Ireland!"

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Bad luck to the lie I tell you,' says I. "Is it ate Paddy?' says they.

"Not a doubt of it,' says I.

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Are you sure, Shamus?' says my mother. "I wish I was as sure of a new pair of brogues,' says I. 'Bad luck to the bit she has left iv him but his two legs.'

"And do you tell me she ate the pipes too ?' says my father.

"Bedad, I b'lieve so,' says I. "Oh, the divil fly away wid her,' says he; 'what

a cruel taste she has for music!'

"Arrah!' says my mother, 'don't be cursing the cow that gives milk to the childher.'

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"Yis, I will,' says my father; 'why shouldn't I curse sitch an unnath'ral baste ?' "You oughn't to curse any livin' that's undher your roof,' says my mother.

"By my sowl, thin,' says my father, 'she shan't be undher my roof any more; for I'll send her to the fair this minit,' says he, 'and sell her for whatever she'll bring. Go aff,' says he, 'Shamus, the minit you've ate your breakquest, and dhrive her to the fair.' "Troth I don't like to dhrive her,' says I. "Arrah, don't be makin' a gommagh of your. self,' says he.

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Faith, I don't,' says I.

"Well, like or no like,' says he, 'you must dhrive her.'

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"Well, away we wint along the road, and mighty throng'd it wuz wid the boys and the girls, and, in short, all sorts, rich and poor, high and low, crowdin' to the fair.

"God save you,' says one to me. "God save you, kindly,' says I.

"That's a fine beast you're dhrivin', says he. "Troth she is,' says I; though God knows it wint agin my heart to say a good word for the likes of her. I dhriv her into the thick av of the

fair, whin all of a suddint, as I kem to the door av a tint, up sthruck the pipes to the tune av "Tattherin' Jack Walsh,' and, my jew'l, in a minit, the cow cock'd her ears, and was makin' a dart at the tint.

"Oh, murther!' says I, to the boys standin' by; 'hould her,' says I, 'hould her she ate one piper already, the vagabone, and, bad luck to her, she wants another now.'

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"Is it a cow for to ate a piper ?' says one o' thim.

"Niver a word o' lie in it, for I seen its corpse myself, and nothin' left but the two legs,' says I; and it's a folly to be strivin' to hide it, for I see she'll never lave it off-as Poor Paddy Grogan knows to his cost, Lord be marciful to him.'

"Who's that takin' my name in vain?' says a voice in the crowd; and with that, shovin' the throng a one side, who should I see there but Paddy Grogan, to all appearance.

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Oh, hould him too,' says I; 'keep him aff me, for it's not himself at all, but his ghost,' says I; for he was kilt last night, to my sartin knowledge, every inch av him, all to his legs.'

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Well, sir, with that, Paddy-for it was Paddy himself, as it kem out afther-fell a laughin' so that you'd think his sides 'ud split. And whin he kem to himself, he ups and he tould uz how it was, as I tould you already. . . . . . And av coorse the poor slandered cow was dhruv home agin, and many a quiet day she had wid uz afther that; and whin she died, throth, my father had sich a regard for the poor thing that he had her skinned, and an illigant pair of breeches made out iv her hide, and it's in the family to this day. And isn't it mighty remarkable, what I'm goin' to tell you now, but it's as thrue as I'm here, that from that out, any one that has thim breeches an, the minit a pair o' pipes sthrikes up, they can't rest, but goes jiggin' and jiggin' in their sate, and never stops as long as the pipes is playin-and there, there is the very breeches that's an me now, and a fine pair they are this minit."

COM SHERIDAN used to tell a story for and against himself, which we shall take leave to relate.

He was staying at Lord Craven's, at Benham (or rather Hampstead), and one day proceeded on a shooting excursion, like Hawthorn, with only "his dog and his gun," on foot, and unattended by companion or keeper; the sport was bad-the birds few and shy-and he walked and walked in search of game, until unconsciously he entered the domain of some neighbouring squire. A very short time after, he perceived advancing toward him, at the top of his speed, a jolly, comfortablelooking gentleman, followed by a servant, armed, as it appeared, for conflict. Tom took up a position, and waited the approach of the enemy.

"Halloa! you sir," said the squire, when within half ear-shot, "what are you doing here, sir, eh?" "I'm shooting, sir," said Tom.

"Do you know where you are, sir?" said the squire. "I'm here, sir," said Tom.

'Here, sir!" said the squire, growing angry, "and do you know where here is, sir?-these, sir, are my manors; what d'ye think of that, sir, eh?" "Why, sir, as to your manners," said Tom, "I can't say they seem over-agreeable."

"I don't want any jokes, sir," said the squire; "I hate jokes. Who are you, sir-what are you?" "Why, sir," said Tom," my name is SheridanI am staying at Lord Craven's-I have come out for some sport-I have not had any, and am not aware that I am trespassing."

"Sheridan!" said the squire, cooling a little; "oh, from Lord Craven's, eh? Well, sir, I could not know that, sir-I

"No, sir," said Tom, "but you need not have been in a passion."

"Not in a passion, Mr. Sheridan!" said the squire; "you don't know what these preserves have cost me, and the pains and trouble I have been at with them; it's all very well for you to talk, but if you were in my place, I should like to know what you would say upon such an occasion." "Why, sir," said Tom, "if I were in your place, under all the circumstances, I should say-I am convinced, Mr. Sheridan, you did not mean to annoy me; and as you look a good deal tired, perhaps you will come up to my house and take some refreshment."

The squire was hit hard by this nonchalance, and (as the newspapers say)," it is needless to add," acted upon Sheridan's suggestion.

"So far," said poor Tom, "the story tells for me-now you shall hear the sequel."

After having regaled himself at the squire's house, and having said five hundred more good things than he swallowed; having delighted his

host, and more than half won the hearts of his wife and daughters, the sportsman proceeded on his return homewards.

In the course of his walk he passed through a farmyard: in the front of the farmhouse was a green, in the centre of which was a pond-in the pond were ducks innumerable, swimming and diving; on its verdant bank, a motley group of gallant cocks and pert partlets, picking and feeding the farmer was leaning over the hatch of the barn, which stood near two cottages on the side of the green.

Tom hated to go back with an empty bag; and having failed in his attempts at higher game, it struck him as a good joke to ridicule the exploits of the day himself, in order to prevent any one else from doing it for him; and he thought that to carry home a certain number of the domestic inhabitants of the pond and its vicinity, would serve the purpose admirably. Accordingly, up he goes to the farmer, and accosts him very civilly"My good friend," says Tom, "I'll make you an offer.'

"Of what, sir ?" says the farmer.

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Why," replies Tom, "I have been out all day fagging after birds, and haven't had a shot; now, both my barrels are loaded, I should like to take home something: what shall I give you to let me have a shot with each barrel at those ducks and fowls-I standing here, and to have whatever I kill?"

"What sort of a shot are you?" said the farmer. "Fairish!" said Tom; "fairish!"

"And to have all you kill?" said the farmereh ?"

"Exactly so," said Tom.

"Half a guinea," said the farmer. "That's too much," said Tom, "I'll tell you what I'll do-I'll give you a seven shilling piece, which happens to be all the money I have in my pocket."

"Well," said the man, "hand 't over."

The payment was made-Tom, true to his bargain, took his post by the barn door, and let fly with one barrel, and then with the other; and such quacking, and splashing, and screaming, and fluttering, had never been seen in that place before.

Away ran Tom, and, delighted at his success, picked up first a hen, then a chicken, then fished out a dying duck or two, and so on, until he numbered eight head of domestic game, with which his bag was nobly distended.

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Those were right good shots, sir," said the farmer.

"Yes," said Tom; "eight ducks and fowls are more than you bargained for, old fellow-worth rather more, I suspect, than seven shillings-eh?" Why, yes," said the man, scratching his head, "I think they be, but what do I care for thatthey are none of mine!"

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"Here," said Tom, "I was for once in my life beaten, and made off as fast as I could, for fear the right owner of my game might make his appearance-not but that I could have given the fellow that took me in seven times as much as I did, for his cunning and coolness."

SE FOR TRACTS.-Robert Kettle, a temperance missionary in Glasgow, left a few tracts with a young lady one morning. Calling at the same house a few days afterwards, he was rather disconcerted at observing the tracts doing duty as curl-papers on the head of the damsel to whom he had given them. "Weel, my lassie," he remarked, "I see you have used the tracts I left wi' ye; but," he added in time to turn confusion into merriment, "ye have putten them on the wrang side o' your head, my woman!"

A HIGHLAND VIEW OF HEAVEN.-"I know what sort o' heaven you'd pe wantin'!" shouted an earnest and excited Highland minister into the ears of an apathetic congregation, to whom he had delivered, without any apparent effect, a vivid and impressive address on the glory of heaven. "I know what sort o' heaven you'd pe wantin'! You'd pe wantin' that all the seas would pe hot water; that all the rivers would pe rivers of whiskeys; and that all the hills and the mountains would pe loaves o' shugar! That's the sort o' heaven you'd pe wantin'! Moreover," he added, warming to his work, you'd pe wantin' that all the corn-stooks would pe pipestaples, and tobaccos, and sneeshin', that's the sort o' heaven you'd pe wantin'!"

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A PARADOX.-On Henry Erskine being told that Knox, who had long derived his livelihood by keeping the door of the Parliament House, had been killed by a shot from a small cannon on the king's birth-day, he observed that "it was remarkable a man should live by the civil, and die by the canon law."

NOT FAR FROM THE TRUTH.-During the trial of a disputed settlement at Leith, one of the witnesses was asked, "Do sermons that are delivered and not read edify you the most ?" He excited the risibility of the court by replying, "I consider that if ministers cannot remember their own sermons, it is perfectly unreasonable to expect their hearers to do so."

AN UNDERTAKER'S REASON. Tam Neil was wright and precentor in Edinburgh, and a very droll character in his way. Being questioned one day by a lady, at whose house he was employed, as to the reason why people of his profession were so exorbitant in their charges for coffins, he looked very mysterious, and agreed to give her the necessary information in return for a glass of whiskey. The stipulation being carried out, Tam said, "Weel, m'am, it's juist because they are ne'er brought back to be mended."

NO MONOPOLY.-In a certain district in the Highlands, the bell-man one day made the following proclamation :-"O yes, O yes, and O yes: and that's three times! You'll all pe tak' notice, that there will pe no Lord's-day here next Sabbath.

PASTOR AND PEOPLE.-A learned bu' rather longwinded minister, being asked if he did not feel tired after preaching such long sermons, answered, "Na, na, I'm no tired;" to which he added, however, with much pawkie naïveté, "but, losh me! hoo tired the folks are whiles!"

A CADGER'S SUPPER.-A minister called in upon the gudewife at Corset Hill one night, for the purpose of catechising her. "What is the Lord's Supper, Peggy ?" he inquired. "Deed, sir," said the hostel wife, more intent on matters temporal than on things spiritual, "there's nae lord's come here away; but I'se tell ye what a cadger's supper is-it's just a groat; and what they leave at night, they tak' awa wi' them in their pouch in the morning."

AFTER-CHURCH CRITICISM.

"How did ye like the doctor the day, Thomas ?"-" Weel, John, the sermon was no that ill; but I didna like yon trash o' duties at the hinner end o't."

A FOOLISH JOB.-One of Dr. Macknight's parishioners, a humorous blacksmith, who thought that his pastor's writing of learned books was a sad waste of time, being asked if the doctor was at home, answered, "Na, na; he's awa to Edinbro' on a foolish job." The doctor had gone off to the printer's with his laborious and valuable work, "The Harmony of the Four Gospels." On being further asked what this useless work might be which engaged his minister's time and attention, the blacksmith replied, "He's gane to mak' four men agree wha never cast out."

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PROPHESYING MADE EASY.-A country clergyman who, on Sundays, was more indebted to his manuscript than to his memory, called at a cottage while its possessor, a pious parishioner, was engaged reading the prophecies of Isaiah. "Weel, John," familiarly inquired the clerical visitant, "what's this you are about ?" "I am prophesying," was the prompt reply. "Prophesying!" exclaimed the astounded divine; "I doubt you are only reading a prophecy." "Weel," urged the religious rustic, "gif reading a preachin' be preachin', isna reading a prophecy prophesying ?"

A GOOD REASON.-The minister of Biggar, in Lanarkshire, whose abilities, whatever they might be, were held in the utmost scorn on account of his reading, was one day concluding his discourse, as an old woman of the true leaven was leaving the church. He closed the leaves of his sermon, and those of the Bible at the same time, saying, with emphasis, intended as a sort of clencher to his argument, "I add no more." "Because you canna!" cried the old woman.