816. When Dr. Parr’s preface to Bellendenus was the theme of general admiration, Horne Tooke said of it, rather contemptuously, It consists of mere scraps; alluding to the frequent use of the Ciceronean language. This sarcasm was mentioned to Parr, who afterwards meeting Tooke, said to him, So, Mr. Tooke, you think my Preface mere scraps? True, replied Tooke, with inimitable readiness, but you know, my dear Doctor, scraps are often tit-bits. 817. An old woman received a letter from the post-office, at New York. Not knowing how to read, and being anxious to know the contents, supposing it to be from one of her absent sons, she called on a person near to read the letter to her. He accordingly began and read: Charleston, June 23, 1826. Dear mother,―then making a stop to find out what followed (as the writing was rather bad), the old lady exclaimed―Oh, ’tis my poor Jerry, he always stuttered! 818. When Kleber was in Egypt, he sustained, during five hours, with only two thousand men, the united efforts of twenty thousand. He was nearly surrounded, was wounded, and had only a narrow defile by which to escape. In this extremity, he called to him a chef de bataillon, named Chevardin, for whom he had a particular regard. Take, said he to him, a company of grenadiers, and stop the enemy at the ravine. You will be killed, but you will save your comrades. Yes, general, replied Chevardin. He gave his watch and his pocket-book to his servant, executed the order, and his death, in fact, arrested the enemy, and saved the French. 819. An Irish gentleman was relating in company that he saw a terrible wind the other night. Saw a wind! said another, I never heard of a wind being seen! But, pray, what was it like? Like to have blown my house about my ears, replied the first. 820. Dr. O’Connor, in his History of Poland, says that the Irish are long-lived; that some of them attain to the age of a hundred: in short, adds the doctor, they live as long as they can. 821. An Irish labourer bought a pair of shoes, and at the same time asked the shoemaker, if he could tell him what would prevent them going down on the sides? The shoemaker said, The only way to prevent that was to change them every morning. Pat accordingly returned the following morning, called for a pair of shoes, fitted them on, left the pair he bought the day before, and was walking out of the shop without further notice, when the shoemaker called to him to know what he was doing, telling him at the same time, that he had forgotten to pay for the shoes he had just bought. And is it what am I doing, you ask? Am not I doing what you told me yesterday, changing my shoes every morning?