Sir Isaac Newton was once riding over Salisbury Plain, when a boy keeping sheep called to him, “Sir, you had better make haste on, or you will get a wet jacket.” Newton, looking round and observing neither clouds nor a speck on the horizon, jogged on, taking very little notice of the rustic’s information. He had made but a few miles, when a storm suddenly arising, drenched him to the skin. Surprised at the circumstance, and determined, if possible, to ascertain how an ignorant boy had attained a precision and knowledge in the weather of which the wisest philosophers would be proud, he rode back, wet as he was. “My lad,” said Newton, “I’ll give thee a guinea, if thou wilt tell me how thou canst foretell the weather so truly.” “Will ye, sir? I will then!” and the boy, scratching his head, and holding out his hand for the guinea; “Now, sir,” having received the money, and pointing to his sheep, “when you see that black ram turn his tail towards the wind, ’tis a sure sign of rain within an hour.” “What!” exclaimed the philosopher, “must I, in order to foretell the weather, stay here and watch which way that black ram turns his tail?” “Yes, sir.” Off rode Newton, quite satisfied with his discovery. SHERIDAN AND THE STRANGER. Sheridan was one day accosted by a gentlemanly looking elderly man, who had forgotten the name of the street to which he was going, when the following dialogue ensued: _Stranger._ “Sir, I wish to go to a street the name of which I have forgotten; it is a very uncommon name; pray, sir, can you tell me of any such street near?” _Sheridan._ “Perhaps, sir, you mean _John Street_?” _Stranger._ “No; it is a street with an unusual name.” _Sheridan._ “It can’t be Charles Street?” _Stranger_ (_a little impatiently_). “It is not a common name--the most unusual name for a street.” _Sheridan._ “Surely, sir, you are not looking for King Street?” _Stranger_ (_growing more impatient_). “I tell you, sir, it is a street with a very odd name.” _Sheridan._ “Bless me, sir, it is not Queen Street, is it?” _Stranger_ (_evincing some degree of irritation_). “Queen Street! no, no! it is a sort of a curious name, I tell you.” _Sheridan._ “I wish, sir, I could assist you: let me think. It may be Oxford Street?” _Stranger_ (_getting testy_). “Sir, for Heaven’s sake, think; I keep telling you, that it is a street with any thing but a common name; any body knows Oxford Street.” _Sheridan._ “Perhaps, the street has no name after all.” _Stranger._ “No name, sir! Why, I tell you it has,--confound the name!” _Sheridan._ “Really, sir, I am very sorry that I am unable to assist you; but let me suggest Piccadilly.” The stranger could no longer restrain his irritation, but bounced away, exclaiming, “Oh, damn it, what a thick-headed fellow!” Sheridan, calling to him and bowing, replied, “Sir, I envy your admirable memory;” then walked on, enjoying his joke.[A] SYMPATHY BETWEEN PRACTICAL JOKERS.