compliments to his respected visitor, begging him to excuse his non-appearance, which was only owing to extremity of illness, but entreating that he would enter, and in every respect use the house as his own. Pitcalnie grunted out an assent to the last part of the message, and, being shown into a room, began to call lustily about him. In the first place he ordered a specimen of Sir Lawrence’s port, next of his sherry, then of his claret, and lastly of his champagne. When he had drunk as much as he could, and given a most unconscionable degree of trouble to the whole household, he staggered off, leaving it to Sir Lawrence to come, next day, to the best explanation he could with the deacon. ‘If Britannia rules the waves,’ said a qualmish writing-master, going to Margate in a storm, ‘I wish she’d rule them straighter.’ An Irishman having a looking glass in his hand, shut his eyes, and placed it before his face; another asking him why he did so, ‘Upon my soul,’ says Teague, ‘it is to see how I look when I am asleep.’ A lady that had married a gentleman who was a tolerable poet, one day sitting alone with him, said, ‘come my dear, you write upon other people--prithee, write something for me: let me see what epitaph you’ll bestow on me when dead.’ ‘Oh! my dear,’ replied he, ‘that’s a melancholy subject! don’t think of it.’ ‘Nay, upon my life, you shall,’ says she; ‘come, I’ll begin: _Here lies_ Bid.’ To which he answered, ‘Ah! I wish she did.’ Mr. O’Connel, who is remarkable for the successful verdicts he obtains, having been lately robbed of his wardrobe, replied to a friend that was lamenting his loss, ‘Never mind, my dear Sir; for surely as I have gained so many _suits_, I can afford to lose a few.’ The late Mr. Murray, who was of a very credulous disposition, was telling a very strange and improbable story, when he observed Fawcett cast a very doubtful eye. ‘Zounds, Sir,’ says he, ‘I saw the thing happen.’ ‘If you did,’ says Fawcett, ‘I _must_ believe it; but by ---- I would not have believed it if I had seen it myself.’ A countryman busy sowing his ground, two smart fellows riding that way, one of them called to him with an insolent air, ‘Well, honest fellow,’ said he, ‘’tis your business to sow, but we reap the fruits of your labour.’ To which the countryman replied, ‘’Tis very like you may, for I am sowing hemp.’ Lady Carteret, wife of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, in Swift’s time, said to him, ‘the air of this country is good.’ ‘For God’s sake, Madam,’ said Swift, ‘don’t say so in England; if you do, they will certainly tax it.’