Those of us who have grown weary and perplexed over the peculiarities of the French language, and who have wished that our parents and school-teachers did not consider that language necessary to our education, will rejoice at this item from an English newspaper, which shows that the Frenchman has as hard a time mastering our tongue as we have in mastering his. According to the story three French boys were studying a volume of Shakespeare in their own tongue, their task being to render portions of it into English. When they came to Hamlet's famous soliloquy, "To be or not to be," their respective translations were as follows: 1. "To was or not to am." 2. "To were or is to not." 3. "To should or not to will." An absent-minded young preacher in New England, wishing to address the young ladies of his congregation after the morning services, remarked from the pulpit that he would be very glad if the female brethren of the congregation would remain after they had gone home. He was almost as badly mixed, the narrator of this story says, as another speaker, who, after describing a pathetic scene he had witnessed, added, huskily, "I tell you, brothers there was hardly a dry tear in the house." SERENADING HIMSELF. We sometimes think that the funny situations in the pictures in the comic papers are too absurd to be real, and yet every day there happen things quite as absurd as any there depicted. One of the German newspapers gives an account of how a steady old burgomaster recently serenaded himself, which certainly brings before our minds a picture quite as laughable as any we have seen in print. The story is to this effect: Herr Nötel, merchant and burgomaster, who is passionately fond of singing, is the first tenor and president of the Schnitzelburg glee-club. The club consists of only a single quartet, but small as is their number, the greater is their enthusiasm for the songs of Germany. Nötel would shortly celebrate his silver wedding. They must give him a serenade; there was no help for it. But what was a quartet without the first tenor? There was no getting a substitute, but for all that they would give Nötel a surprise. On the eve of the festal day the three members of the club, armed with lanterns, met at the appointed time before the house of their respected president, and after some clearing of throats and twanging of tuning-forks the music began. A small crowd collected in the street, and the windows in the vicinity were lined with appreciative listeners. The Herr Burgomaster and his family also appeared at the windows of their brightly illuminated sitting-room. The first bars of the well-known song, "Silent Night," left much to be desired, but the three voices bravely held on their way amid the surrounding stillness, and in a few moments Herr Nötel went down into the street and joined in the quartet. No sooner was the song finished than he ran up stairs again, appeared at the open window, and in loud