The same ‘cuteness which appears in youth continues and improves in old age. When General V---- was quartered in a small town in Ireland, he and his lady were regularly besieged, whenever they got into their carriage, by an old beggar-woman, who kept her post at the door, assailing them daily with fresh importunities and fresh tales of distress. At last the lady’s charity, and the general’s patience, were nearly exhausted, but their petitioner’s wit was still in its pristine vigour. One morning, at the accustomed hour, when the lady was getting into her carriage, the old woman began--“Agh! my lady; success to your ladyship, and success to your honour’s honour, this morning, of all days in the year; for sure didn’t I dream last night that her ladyship gave me a pound of tea, and that your honour gave me a pound of tobacco?” “But, my good woman,” said the general, “do not you know that dreams always go by the rule of contrary?” “Do they so, plase your honour?” rejoined the old woman. “Then it must be your honour that will give me the tea, and her ladyship that will give me the tobacco?” The general being of Sterne’s opinion, that a bon-mot is always worth more than a pinch of snuff, gave the ingenious dreamer the value of her dream. Innumerable instances might be quoted of the Hibernian genius, not merely for repartee, but for what the Italians call pasquinade. We shall cite only one, which is already so well known in Ireland, that we cannot be found guilty of _publishing_ a libel. Over the ostentatious front of a nobleman’s house in Dublin, the owner had this motto cut in stone:-- “Otium cum dignitate.--Leisure with dignity.” In process of time his lordship changed his residence; or, since we must descend to plebeian language, was committed to Newgate, and immediately there appeared over the front of his apartment his chosen motto, as large as the life, in white chalk, “Otium cum dignitate.” Mixed with keen satire, the Irish often show a sort of cool good sense and dry humour, which gives not only effect, but value to their impromptus. Of this class is the observation made by the Irish hackney coachman, upon seeing a man of the ton driving four-in-hand down Bond-street. “That fellow,” said our observer, “looks like a coachman, but drives like a gentleman.” As an instance of humour mixed with sophistry, we beg the reader to recollect the popular story of the Irishman who was run over by a troop of horse, and miraculously escaped unhurt. “Down upon your knees and thank God, you reprobate,” said one of the spectators. “Thank God! for what? Is it for letting a troop of horse run over me?” In this speech there is the same sort of humour and sophistry that appears in the Irishman’s celebrated question: “What has posterity done for me, that I should do so much for posterity?”