his eternal displeasure! The following, not very dissimilar anecdote, is told of a Cantab, who was once out hunting till his appetite became as keen as the Doctor's, and, like his, drove him to the nearest cottage. The good dame spread before him and his friend the contents of her larder, which she described as "a _meat_ pie, made of odds and ends, the remnant of their own frugal meal." "Any thing is better than nothing," cried the half famished Cantab, "so let us have it--ha, Bob." Bob, who was another Cantab, his companion, nodded assent. No sooner was the savoury morsel placed before him, than he commenced operations, and greedily swallowed mouthful after mouthful, exclaiming, "Charming! I never tasted a more delicious morsel in my life! But what have we here?" said he, as he sucked something he held in both hands; "_Fish_, as well as flesh, my good woman?" "Fish!" cried the old dame, as she turned from her washing to eye our sportsman, "why, Lord bless ye, i' that bean't our Billy's _comb_!" The effect was not a little ludicrous on our hungry Cantab, whilst Bob's "Haw! haw! haw!" might have been heard from the Thames Tunnel to Nootka Sound. * * * * * ANSWERED IN KIND. Why should we smother a good thing with _mystifying dashes_, instead of plain English high-sounding names, when the subject is of "honourable men?" "_Recte facta refert._"--Horace forbid it! The learned Chancery Barrister, John Bell, K.C., "_the Great Bell of Lincoln_," as he has been aptly called, was _Senior Wrangler_, on graduating B.A., at Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1786, with many able competitors for that honour. He is likewise celebrated, as every body knows, for writing three several hands; one only he himself can read, another nobody but his clerk can read, and a third neither himself, clerk, nor any body else can read! It was in the latter hand he one day wrote to his legal contemporary and friend, the present Sir Launcelot Shadwell, Vice-Chancellor of England (who is likewise a Cantab, and graduated in 1800 at St. John's College, of which he became a Fellow, with the double distinction of Seventh Wrangler and Second Chancellor's Medallist) inviting him to dinner. Sir Launcelot, finding all his attempts to decipher the note about as vain as the wise men found theirs to unravel the Cabalistic characters of yore, took a sheet of paper, and having _smeared_ it over with ink, he folded and sealed it, and sent it as his answer. The receipt of it staggered even the Great Bell of Lincoln, and after breaking the seal, and eyeing and turning it round and round, he hurried to Mr. Shadwell's chambers with it, declaring he could make nothing of it. "Nor I of your note," retorted Mr. S. "My dear fellow," exclaimed Mr. B., taking his own letter in his hand, is not this, as plain as can be, "Dear Shadwell, I shall be glad to see you at dinner to-day." "And is not this equally as plain," said Mr. S., pointing to his own paper,