Our traveling companion for the time was a young Oxonian, a Lancashire man of family and fortune. T. C. was (good-naturedly, of course,) almost as severe upon us Americans as was Mrs. P. One rather chilly afternoon, he and ourselves were sitting over the fire in the little cabin of the steamer smoking most delectable "Latakea," when he requested us to pass him the _tongues_ (meaning the tongs). "The what!" we exclaimed. "The tongues," he repeated. "Do you mean the tongs?" we asked. "The _tongs_! and do you call them _tongs_? Come, now, that is too good," was his reply. "We _do_ call them the tongs, and we speak properly when we call them so," we rejoined, a little nettled at his contemptuous tone; "and, if you please, we will refer the matter for decision to Mrs. P., but upon this condition only, that she shall be simply asked the proper pronunciation of the word, without its being intimated to her which of us is for _tongues_, and which for _tongs_." We accordingly proceeded at once to submit the controversy to our fair arbitrator. Our adversary was the spokesman, and he had hardly concluded when Mrs. P. threw up her little fat hands, and exclaimed, as soon as the laughter, which almost suffocated her, permitted her to do so, "Now, you don't mean to say that you are barbarous enough to say _tongues_ in America?" It was _our_ turn, then, to laugh, and we took advantage of it. * * * * * A pilgrim from the back woods, who has just been awakened from a Rip-Van-Winkleish existence of a quarter of a century by the steam-whistle of the Erie Railroad, recently came to town to see the sights--Barnum's anacondas and the monkeys at the Astor Place Opera House included. Our friend, who is of a decidedly benevolent and economical turn of mind, while walking up Broadway, hanging on our arm, the day after his arrival, had his attention attracted to a watering-cart which was ascending the street and spasmodically sprinkling the pavement. Suddenly darting off from the wing of our protection, our companion rushed after the man of Croton, at the same time calling out to him at the top of his voice, "My friend! my friend! your spout behind is leaking; and if you are not careful you will lose all the water in your barrel!" He of the cart made no reply, but merely drawing down the lid of his eye with his fore-finger, "went on his way rejoicing." * * * * * The following epigram was written upon a certain individual who has rendered himself _notorious_, if not _famous_, in these parts. His name we suppress, leaving it to the ingenuity of the reader to place the cap upon whatever head he thinks that it will best fit: "'Tis said that Balaam had a beast, The wonder of his time; A stranger one, as strange at least, The subject of my rhyme; One twice as full of talk and gas, And at the same time twice--the ass!" * * * * *