She cannot find a single one, then quick She calls Dorinda out; in agony. "Ah, madam, hear the solemn truth," says she: "There's not a stick of fish-wood in the house. A MAN WHO DIDN'T OVERESTIMATE HIMSELF. A HEBREW merchant from a Western Suppose I take that image down and split city went into one of our large wholesale it ? That houses the other day, and said he wished to buy about $1,500 worth of goods. He was willing to pay $1,200 cash, and give his note for ninety days for the rest of the bill. The firm looked up the house which the customer represented and came to the conclusion that his note wouldn't be of much value. They concluded, however, to sell him the goods he desired, making a sufficient advance in the usual price to cover the amount of the note. The sale was made, and the bill amounted to $1,450. The purchaser paid the $1,200 and drew his note for the remainder. "Now mine vriends," said he, "I vants you to gif me von present. I alvays has a present after so big a bill." "Well,” replied the merchant, "we can't give you much of a present, but you can pick out a necktie for yourself, if you wish." " No, no. I vants no neckties. I vants a silk dress for mine vife." "O, we can't do that!" said the merchant, "but I'll tell you what we will do. We will give you your note." "My note! No, py my gracious, I takes ze necktie !" THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER. [JAMES AND HORACE SMITH, authors of The Rejected Addresses, were sons of an eminent London Solicitor; James was born Feb. 10, 1775, died Dec. 24, 1839. Horace was born Dec. 31, 1779, died July 12, 1849. James followed his father's profession and succeeded him as folicitor to the board of ordnance. Horace adopted the profession of a stock broker, and realized a handsome fortune, on which he retired with his family to Brighton. Both were popular and accomplished men-James remarkable for his conversational powers and gayety, and Horace (the wealthier of the two) distinguished for true liberality and benevolence. The work by which they are best known is a small volume of poetical parodies or imitations, perhaps the best in the language. On the opening of the new Drury Lane theater, in October, 1812, the committee of management advertised for an address to be spoken on the occasion, and the brothers Smith adopted a suggestion made to them, that they should write a series of supposed "Rejected Addresses.” They accomplished their task in the course of a few weeksJames furnishing imitations of Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Crabbe, Cobbett, etc.; while Horace contributed imitations of Scott, Byron (all but the first stanza,) Moore, and others. In point of talent, the authors were about equally matched, for though James had the greater number of successful imitations, the one by Horace of Scott is the most felicitous of the whole. It is a curious fact in literary history that a work so exceedingly popular should have had great difficulty in finding a publisher; and that the copyright, which had been originally offered to Murray for £20 and refused, was purchased by him in 1819, after the book had run through sixteen editions, for £131. The authors received above £1000 from the sale of the work.] At Trin. Coll. Cam.-which means, in proper Trinity College, Cambridge-there resided The odds at any race or match; Play truant and the rake at random Drink-tie cravats and drive a tandem. Seemed but to make his lapses greater, One need not be a necromancer To guess, that with so wild a wight, 6 6 I'm wet,' cried Harry, to the skin, Humph,' growled the greedy old curmud geon, Half overjoy'd, and half in dudgeon, Cried Harry as he passed the gate, Behold the Porter, in his shirt, Dripping with rain that never stopp'd, Because no shilling had been dropp'd. With sundry oaths, and growls and groans, To ring so loud-I've locked the gate, I'm stripp'd; 'tis raining cats and dogs; As a whole company of hogs. But hark ye, Ben, I'll grant admittance Nay, master, leave me half the pittance,' I won't take less; 1 can't afford it.' Drew out the guinea, and restored it. 'Surely you'll give me,' growl'd the outwitted Porter, when again admitted! 'Something, now you've done your joking, 'Since, as you urge, I broke your rest, And you're half drowned, and quite undress'd, I'll give you,' said the generous fellowFree, as most people are, when mellow'Yes, I'll give you-leave to go to bed.' HORACE SMITH. LOVE IN A COTTAGE. True love is at home on a carpet, And mightily likes his easeAnd true love has an eye for a dinner, And starves beneath shady trees. His wing is the fan of a lady, His foot's an invisible thing, And his arrow is tipped with a jewel, And shot from a silver string. N. P. WILLIS. ON LENDING A PUNCH BOWL. This ancient silver bowl of mine, it tells of good old times, Of joyous days, and jolly nights, and merry Christmas chimes: They were a free and jovial race, but honest, brave and true, That dipp'd their ladle in the punch when this old bowl was new. A Spanish galleon brought the bar-so runs the ancient tale; 'Twas hammer'd by an Antwerp smith, whose arm was like a flail; And now and then between the strokes, for fear his strength should fail, [NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS, a distinguished Littérateur, was born at Portland, Maine, 1807. He adopted the profession of literature early in life, and for many years He wiped his brow and quaff'd a cup of good was an industrious editor and voluminous writer. Most of his works have been reprinted, and attained to some degree of popularity in this country. He was the brother of the strong-minded and erratic Fanny Fern.' He died in the year 1867.] They may talk of love in a cottage, And milkmaids half divine; They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping But give me a sly flirtation By the light of a chandelier- With a glass of pure old wine Your love in a cottage is hungry, You lie down to your shady slumber And your damsel that walks in the morning old Flemish ale. 'Twas purchased by an English squire to please his loving dame, Who saw the cherubs and conceived a longing for the same; And oft as on the ancient stock another twig was found, 'Twas filled with caudle spiced and hot, and handed smoking round. But, changing hands, it reached at length a Puritan divine, Who used to follow TIMOTHY, and take a little wine, But hated punch and prelacy; and so it was, perhaps, He went to Leyden, where he found conventicles and schnaps. And then, of course, you know what next, it left the Dutchman's shore With those that in the Mayflower came, a hundred souls and more Along with all their furniture, to fill their new abodes To judge by what is still on hand, at least a hundred loads. 'Twas on a dreary winter's eve, the night was closing dim, When old MILES STANDISH took the bowl, and | Then fill a fair and honest cup, and bear it fill'd it to the brim; The little Captain stood and stirr'd the posset with his sword, And all his sturdy men-at-arms were ranged about the board. He poured the fiery Hollands in-the man that never fear'd He took a long and solemn draught, and wiped And one by one the musketeers-the men not a man afraid. That night, affrighted from his nest, the screaming eagle flew He heard the Pequot's ringing whoop, the soldier's wild halloo; And there the sachem learned the rule he taught to kith and kin, Run from the white man when you find he smells of Hollands gin!' straight to me; The goblet hallows all it holds, whate'er the liquid be; And may the cherubs on its face protect me from the sin That dooms one to those dreadful words; 'My dear, where have you been?' OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. This thus "sold," a few years ago. During an The Emperor Nicholas of Russia was interview which Martineff, the comedian and mimic, had succeeded in obtaining with the Prince (Volkhonsky, high steward), the emperor walked into the room unexpectedly, yet with a design, as was soon made evident. Telling the actor that he had heard of his talents, and should like to see a specimen of them, he bade him mimic the old minister. feat was performed with so much gusto that the emperor laughed immoderately, and then, to the great horror of the poor actor, desired to have himself "taken off." ""Tis physically impossible," pleaded Martineff. "Nonsense!" said Nicholas: "I insist on its being done." Finding himself on the horns of a dilemma, the mimic took heart of grace, and, with a probably saved his credit, buttoned his promptitude and presence of mind that threw up his head, and, assuming the imcoat over his breast, expanded his chest, across the room and back; then, stopping perial port to the best of his power, strode opposite the minister, he cried, in the exe act tone and manner of the Czar, "Volkhonsky! pay Monsieur Martineff one for a moment was disconcerted; but, rethousand silver roubles." The emperor covering himself with a faint smile, he ordered his enemy to be paid. EQUALITY.-When Dr. Johnson courted Mrs. Porter, he told her he was of mean extraction; had no money; and had an uncle hanged! The lady, by way of reducing herself to an equality with him, replied that she had no more money than himself; and that, although she had not a relation hanged, she had fifty who deserved hanging. And thus was accomplished this singular union. A SHOOTING EXPLOIT OF TOM SHERIDAN. TOM SHERIDAN used to tell a story for and against himself, which we shall take leave to relate. his He was staying at Lord Craven's, at Benham (or rather Hempstead), and one day proceeded on a shooting excursion, like Hawthorn, with only "his dog and 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, comfortable-looking 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. 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 div "Do you know where you are, sir?" ing; on its verdant bank, a motley group said the squire. "I'm here, sir," said Tom. 66 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-agree able." "I don't want any jokes, sir," said the squire; "I hate jokes. Who are you, sir what are you? of gallant cocks and pert partlets, picking and feeding the farmer was leaning over two cottages on the side of the green. the hatch of the barn, which stood near bag; and having failed in his attempts at Tom hated to go back with an empty to ridicule the exploits of the day himhigher game, it struck him as a good joke self, 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. 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?" 66 What sort of a shot are you?" said the farmer. 66 Fairish!" said Tom; "fairish!" |