“Well, this comes of eating frogs,” said the John Bull. “What can you expect of a man who eats frogs? You say a sheep hasn’t got a tail. I tell you, mounseer, a sheep _has_ got a tail.” “Pardon, monsieur,” said the other, with a polite bow, yet with a very sneering expression; “you say de sheap has von tail: I say de sheap has no tail, not von bit.” By this time the parties were greatly excited, and I cannot say what might have happened, had not one of the passengers asked the Frenchman what he meant by a “_sheap_?” “Vat I mean by _sheap_? vy I means von big larsh ting, with sails and ruddair, that go upon de sea.” “Oh ho!” said the Englishman, “you mean a _ship_.” “Oui, monsieur,” was the reply; “I mean von _sheap_, that has de captain and de sailors, and goes on de vater.” “Very well,” said the Englishman: “I meant a _sheep_, a creature with four legs, and covered with wool.” “Ah, you mean von _sheap_ vit de vool!” said the other. “Oh, oui, monsieur; de sheap vit de vool has de tail. Oui, oui.” This incident taught me a lesson, and I give it gratis to my readers;--_if they ever get into a controversy, let them consider whether one of the parties does not mean a ship, and the other a sheep_. The Painter and his Master. A young painter had just finished an excellent picture, the best that he had made. His master himself found no fault with it. But the young artist was so charmed, that he looked at this specimen of his art incessantly, and neglected his studies; for he now thought himself perfect. One morning, as he went to rejoice anew over his picture, he discovered that his master had completely defaced it. Angry and weeping, he ran to him and inquired the reason of this cruel act. The master answered, “It is the work of serious deliberation. The picture was good, as a proof of your advancement, but it was at the same time your ruin.” “How so?” inquired the young artist. “Beloved,” answered the master, “you loved no longer the art in your painting, but merely yourself. Believe me, it was not a finished production, even if it appeared so to us; it was only a first effort. Take the pencil then, and see what you can do again. Let not the sacrifice grieve you. The great must be in you, before you can bring it on canvass.” Courageously, and full of confidence in himself and his master, he seized the pencil and finished his magnificent work, the _offering of Iphigenia_!--for the name of the artist was _Timanthes_. “WHERE are you driving the pig, Paddy?” “To Limerick, your honor.” “Limerick! this is the Cork road.” “Hush, speak low, I’m only pretending; if it knew I was wanting it to go to Cork, it would take the Limerick road.” The Turkey and Rattlesnake: A FABLE.