Bob gave tongue: “The Devil’s skewer to Mikey Brian! and bad luck to the Currah thoro’bred cut! Not the eighth part of an inch of ‘air there is amongst the set of us. What will the master say? Never mind; we’ve got the fi’pennies! Come to dinner!—by the Puck we are beauties!” We reached the dining-room unperceived; but who can describe the agony of my aunt Kate, when she clapped her eyes upon five such close-clipped scarecrows. She vowed vengence of all sorts and descriptions against the impudent, unnatural, shameful monster! Terms which Mikey Brian, in the back-ground, appropriated to himself, and with the utmost difficulty restrained his rising wrath from breaking out. “What,” continued aunt Kate, “what does he call this?” “It’s the thoro’bred Currah-cut, ma’am,” said Bob, with one of his peculiar glances at Mikey and the rest. “And mighty cool wearing, I’ll be bail,” muttered Mikey. “Does he call that hair-cutting?” screamed my aunt. “That, and nothing but it,” quietly retorted Bob, passing his hand over his head; “you can’t deny the cutting, ma’am.” “The young gentlemen look elegant,” said Mikey. “I’m told it’s all the go, ma’am,” said Bob. “Wait!” said my aunt, with suppressed rage; “wait till I go to Kells.” This did not happen for six weeks; our aunt’s anger was mollified as our locks were once more human. Upon upbraiding “Tony Knowlan” the murder came out. A hearty laugh ensured our pardon, and Mikey Brian’s; and the story of the “thoro’bred Currah-cut” was often told, as the means by which “we all got a fi’penny bit a-piece.”—FUSBOS. There is a portrait of a person so like him, that, the other day, a friend who called took no notice whatever of the man, further than saying he was a good likeness, but asked the portrait to dinner, and only found out his mistake when he went up to shake hands with it at parting. An American hearing that there was a fire in his neighbourhood, and that it might possibly consume his house, took the precaution to bolt his own door; that he might be, so far at least, beforehand with the devouring element. BAD EITHER WAY. The peace, happiness, and prosperity of England, are threatened by Peel; in Ireland, the picture is reversed: the safety of that country is endangered by Re-peal. It would be hard to say which is worst. A CONSTANT PAIR. Jane is a constant wench (so Sibthorp says); For in how many shops you see Jean stays! A COUNT AND HIS SCHNEIDER. The Count’s fashioner sent in, the other day, his bill, which was a pretty considerable time overdue, accompanied by the following polite note:— “Sir,—Your bill having been for a very long time standing, I beg that it may be settled forthwith. “Yours, “B——.” To which Snip received the following reply:— “Sir,—I am very sorry that your bill should have been kept standing so long. Pray request it to sit down. “Yours, “**”