good engineer either. He examined all the parts carefully, just as the other watchmakers had done, and then delivered his verdict with the same confidence of manner. He said "She makes too much steam-you want to hang the monkey-wrench on the safety-valve!" I brained him on the spot, and had him buried at my own expense. My uncle William (now deceased alas !) used to say that a good horse was a good horse until it had run away once, and that a good watch was a good watch until the repairers got a chance at it. And he used to wonder what became of all the unsuccessful tinkers, and gun-smiths, and shoe-makers, and blacksmiths; but nobody could ever tell him. 2 MAXIMS FOR A YOUNG MODESTY is a handsome dish-cover, that makes us fancy there must be something very good underneath it. An old maid is an odd boot-of no use without a fellow. The true test of a man's temper is to keep him waiting five minutes for his dinner. There's a secret drawer in every heart, as there is in every desk, if we only knew how to touch the spring of it. The art of economy is drawing in as much as one can, but unfortunately young ladies will apply this "drawing in" to their own bodies, when they wish to avoid anything like a waist. A breach of promise of marriage may be called "a runaway ring from the church-door." Between life and death there is frequently but the thinness of a shoe. The heart of a flirt settles no more tenaciously on a gentleman's affections than a button does on one of his shirts; for, in fact, it is no sooner on than it's off again. Dreams are the novels we read when we're fast asleep. LADY'S CURL-PAPERS. The young gentleman who won't dance till after supper doesn't deserve to have any. The hand that can make a pie is a continual feast to the husband that marries it. Eyes are the electric telegraph of the heart, that will send a message any distance in a language only known to the two souls who correspond. There are ladies who look upon a ball-room as nothing better than an omnibus, that doesn't go off properly unless it's as full as it can hold. One drop of sense is worth a whole river of words. A narrowness of waist shows a narrowness of mind. Keep your countenance open, and your thoughts shut. A wall of brass is a fop's face. It is a fine silk that knows no turning. It's the last ostrich's feather which breaks the husband's back. It's the early riser gets the strong tea. Fish for no compliments, for they are caught generally in shallow water. The lady with a cold avoids the piano. A FRENCHMAN IN ENGLISH FRENCHMAN: Ah, my good friend, I have met with one difficulty-one very strange word. How do you call h-o-u-g-h? Tutor: Huff. Frenchman: Très bien, huff; and snuff you spell 8-n-o-u-g-h, ha? Tutor: Oh, no, snuff is s-n-u-ff. The fact is, words ending in o-u-g-h are a little irregular. Frenchman: Ah, very good! 'tis beautiful language. H-o-u-g-h is huff, I will remember; and c-o-u-g-h is cuff. I have one bad cuff, ha? Tutor: No, that is wrong. We say kauff, not cuff. Frenchman: Pardonnez-moi, how you call d-o-ug-h? duff, ha? Tutor: No, not duff. Frenchman: Not duff! ah, oui, I understandit is dauff, hey? DIFFICULTIES. Tutor: No; d-o-u-g-h spell doe. Frenchman: Doe! It is very fine; wonderful language, it is doe; and t-o-u-g-h is toe, certainement. My beef-steak is very toe. Tutor: Oh no, no: you should say tuff. Frenchman: Tuff! and the thing the farmer uses, how you call him-p-l-o-u-g-h, pluff. Ha, you smile! I see I am wrong; it is plauff. No! ah, then, it is ploe, like doe; it is a beautiful lan guage-ver' fine-ploe! Tutor: You are still wrong, my friend. "Tis plow. Frenchman: Plow. Wonderful language! I shall understand, ver' soon. One more, r-o-u-g-h is ruff, and bough is buff. Tutor: No; bow. Frenchman: Ah, very simple, wonderful language; but I have had what you call e-n-o-u-g-h! ha, what you call him? AT CROSS MORROW is a town of some importance, about forty miles from Cincinnati. A new brakeman on the road, who did not know the names of the stations, was approached by a stranger the other day, while standing by his train at the depôt, PURPOSES. who inquired-"Does this train go to Morrow to-day? "No," said the brakeman, who thought the stranger was making game of him; "it goes today yesterday week after next." ONE English playwright is said to have written to another as follows:-"Dear Bob,-You really must show more caution in constructing your plots, or the governor will be sure to discover the dead body of Geraldine in the cellar, and then your secret will be out. You consulted me about the strychnine. I certainly think you are giving it to him in rather large doses. Let Emily put her mother in a mad-house. It will answer your purpose well to have the old girl out of the way. I think your forgery is for too small a sum. Make it three thousand. Leave the rest of your particu larly nice family circle to me. I will finish them off, and send you back the 'fatal dagger' afterwards by book-post. Yours, &c." A RETIRED actor, with a fondness for poultry, was asked why he named a favourite hen "Macduff?" He replied that it was because he wanted her to "lay on." MR. HOWARD PAUL, the well-known public entertainer, relates the following original anecdote apropos of a piece adapted from the French :-One night during its reproduction, some years ago, at the Haymarket, the late William Brough encountered Mr. Barnett, the reputed author, in the lobby of the theatre. After the usual salutations, Brough remarked in his kindly way, "How well the 'Family' is going to-night!" Yes," added Barnett; "and what an infamous thing this play is having an extraordinary run in New York, and the managers don't pay me a penny in fees!" Brough gave a sly glance at the friend who stood beside them, and sympathetically replied, "It is too bad-it's just like the managers; but, by-the-by, it's having a great run in Paris, too, at this moment—I saw it at the Gymnase last week. Do they pay you for it there?" Barnett gave a grim dry chuckle, and disappeared into the dress boxes. DURING Charles Kean's visit to the United States he was entertained at dinner by one of the great New York merchants. Opposite to him at the table sat a gentleman who continued to observe him with marked attention, and at last called on the host to present him to Mr. Kean. The introwine together, when the stranger, with much duction was duly made, and ratified by drinking impressiveness of manner, said, "I saw you in Richard, last night." Kean feeling, not unnaturally, that a compliment was approaching, smiled blandly, and bowed. 66 "Yes, sir," continued the other, in a slow, almost judicial tone, "I have seen your father in Richard, and I have seen Mr. Cook." Another pause, in which Charles Kean's triumph was gradually mounting higher. "Yes, sir; Cook, sir, was better than your father, and your father, sir, a long way better than you.” WHEN Mr. Howard Paul was performing in one of the small towns in the west of Ireland, the hall in which the entertainment was given was approached through a large gate which, by accident or mishap, had fallen to the ground. Mr. Paul, on making the discovery, entrusted the hall-keeper, a wild-looking, thick-headed Paddy, "to hang the gate immediately." The fellow trudged away as if to execute the order, and after some time had elapsed returned to Mr. Paul, who asked him if he had done the job. Och, your honour," said Pat, "I tried a long while to hang the gate, but faith, sir, he wouldn't hang!" "Where have you put it, then?" "I have settled him, your honour." "Why, what have you done with it? "Sure, master, I tuk hould on him and threw him into the pond and dhrowned him!" DOMESTIC PERPLEXITIES. in A CORRESPONDENT of the Drawer is involved my step-mother; but because he is son of my wife's domestic perplexities. He writes:-"I got ac- step-daughter, so is my wife the grandmother of quainted with a young widow, who lived with her the little boy, and I am the grandfather of my stepstep-daughter in the same house. I married. My brother. My wife has also a boy; my step-mother father fell, shortly after, in love with the step- is consequently the step-sister of my boy, and is daughter of my wife, and married her. My wife also his grandmother, because he is the child of became the mother-in-law and also the daughter-in- her step-son; and my father is the brother-in-law law of my own father; my wife's step-daughter is of my son. I am the brother of my own son, who my step-mother, and I am the step-father of my is the son of my step-mother, I am the brothermother-in-law. My step-mother, who is the step-in-law of my mother, my wife is the aunt of her daughter of my wife, has a boy; he is naturally my own son, my son is the grandson of my father and step-brother, because he is son of my father and of I am my own grandfather.” THE STORY OF A GRIDIRON.* A CERTAIN old gentleman in the west of Ireland, uttered a the delinquent's "wife and childher," that always turned the scale. But I am digressing; on such merry meetings as I have alluded to, the master, after making certain "approaches," as a military man would say, as the preparatory steps in laying siege to some extravaganza of his servant, might perchance assail Pat thus: "By-the-by, Sir John" (addressing a distinguished guest), "Pat has a very curious story, which something you told me today reminds me of. You remember, Pat" (turning to the man, evidently pleased at the notice paid to himself)-"you remember that queer adventure you had in France ?" "Throth I do, sir," grins forth Pat. "What!" exclaims Sir John, in feigned surprise, "was Pat ever in France ?" "Indeed he was," cries mine host; and Pat adds, "Ay, and farther, plaze your honour." "I assure you, Sir John," continues my host, "Pat told me a story once that surprised me very much, respecting the ignorance of the French." "Indeed!" rejoins the baronet; "really, I always supposed the French to be a most accomplished people." "Throth then, they are not, sir," interrupts Pat. "Oh, by no means," adds mine host, shaking his head emphatically. "I believe, Pat, 'twas when you were crossing the Atlantic ?" says the master, turning to Pat with a seductive air, and leading into the "full and true account" (for Pat had thought fit to visit "North Amerikay," for a "raison he had" in the autumn of the year '98). "Yes, sir," says Pat, 66 'the broad Atlantic "-a favourite phrase of his. which he gave with a brogue as broad almost as the Atlantic itself. "It was the time I was lost in crassin' the broad Atlantic, comin' home," began Pat, decoyed into the recital; "whin the winds began to blow, and the sae to rowl, that you'd think the Colleen dhas (that was her name) would not have a mast left but what would rowl out of her. "Well, sure enough, the masts went by the board at last, and the pumps was choak'd (divil choak them for that same), and av coorse the weather gained an us, and throth, to be filled with wather is neither good for man or baste; and she was sinkin' fast, settlin' down, as the sailors calls it, and faith I never was good at settlin' down in my life, and I liked it then less nor ever; accordingly we prepared for the worst, and put out the boat, and got a sack o' bishkits, and a cashk o' pork, and a kag o' wather, and a thrifle o' rum aboord, and any other little matthers we could think iv in the mortial hurry we wor in-and, faith, there was no time to be lost, for my darlint, the Colleen dhas, went down like a lump o' lead, afore we wor many sthrokes o' the oar away from her. "Well, we dhrifted away all that night, and next mornin' we put up a blanket and the ind av a pole as well as we could, and thin we sailed • By kind permission of Messrs. Routledge and Sons. THE STORY OF A GRIDIRON. illigant, for we darn't show a stitch o' canvas the night before, bekase it was blowin' like murther, savin' your presence, and sure it's the wondher of the world we worn't swally'd alive by the ragin' sae. "Well, away we wint for more nor a week, and nothin' before our two good-looking eyes but the canophy iv heaven, and the wide ocean-the broad Atlantic-not a thing was to be seen but the sae and the sky; and though the sae and the sky is mighty purty things in themselves, throth they're no great things whin you've nothin' else to look at for a week together-and the barest rock in the world, so it was land, would be more welkim. And then, sure enough, throth, our provisions began to run low, the bishkits, and the wather, and the rum -throth that was gone first of all, God help uz -and oh! it was thin that starvation began to stare us in the face -'Oh, murther, mur ther, captain, darlint!' says I, 'I wish we could see land anywhere,' says I. "More power to your elbow, Paddy, my boy,' says he, for sich a good wish, and throth, it's myself wishes the same.' "Oh,' says I, 'that it may plaze you, sweet queen in heaven, supposing it was only a dissolute island,' says I, 'inhabited wid Turks, sure they wouldn't be such bad Christians as to refuse uz a bit and a sup.' "Whisht, whisht, Paddy!' says the captain, 'don't be talkin' bad of any one,' says he; you don't know how soon you may want a good word put in for yourself, if you should be called to quarthers in th' other world all of a suddent,' says he. "Thrue for you, captain, darlint,' says I-I called him Darlint, and made free wid him, you see, bekase disthress makes uz all equal-thrue for you, captain, jewel-God betune uz and harm, I owe no man any spite-and throth, that was only thruth. Well, the last bishkit was sarved out, and by gor the wather itself was all gone at last, and we passed the night mighty cowld. Well, at the brake o' day the sun riz most beautiful out o' the waves, that was as bright as silver and as clear as cryshthal. But it was only the more crule upon uz, for we wor beginnin' to feel terrible hungry; when all at wanst I thought I spied the land-by gor, I thought I felt my heart up in my throat in a minnit, and 'Thundher and turf, captain,' says I, 'look to leeward,' says I. "What for?' says he. 666 237 "I think I see the land,' says I. So he ups with his bring-'um-near (that's what the sailors call a spy-glass, sir) and looks out, and, sure enough, it was. "Hurra!' says he, we're all right now; pull away, my boys,' says he. "Take care you're not mistaken,' says I; maybe it's only a fog-bank, captain, darlint,' says I. 666 666 'Oh, no,' says he; 'it's the land in airnest.' 'Oh, then, wherebouts in the wide world are we, captain?' says I; 'maybe it id be in Roosia or Proosia, or the German Oceant,' says I. "Tut, you fool,' says he-for he had that consaited way wid him, thinkin' himself cleverer nor any one else that's France,' says he. "Tare an ouns,' says I, 'do you tell me so? and how do you know it's France it is, captain, dear?' says I. "Why then,' says he, thundher and turf,' says he, 'what puts a gridiron into your head?' 66 'Bekase I'm starvin' with the hunger,' says I. "And sure, bad luck to you,' says he, 'you couldn't ate a gridiron,' says he, 'barrin' you wor a pelican o' the wildherness,' says he. "Ate a gridiron !' says I; 'och, in throth, I'm not such a gommoch all out as that, anyhow. But sure if we had a gridiron we could dress a beefsteak,' says I. "Arrah! but where's the beef-steak ?' says he. "Sure, couldn't we cut a slice aff the pork?' |