A wild Republican said profanely, that Louis Blanc was "next to Jesus Christ"--"On which side?" asked the wit. Pretty Miss ----, the actress, being mentioned, he praised her early beauty. "She was a lovely little thing," he said, "when she was a _bud_, and"--(a pause)--"before she was a _blowen'_."--This was in a very merry vein, and the serious reader must forgive me. He called a small, thin London _littérateur_ of his acquaintance, "a pin without the head or the point." When a plain, not to say ugly, gentleman intimated his intention of being godfather to somebody's child, Jerrold begged him not to give the youngster his "mug." A dedication to him being spoken of,--"Ah!" said he, with mock gravity, "that's an awful power that ---- has in his hands!" Carlyle and a much inferior man being coupled by some sapient review as "biographers,"--"Those two joined!" he exclaimed. "You can't plough with an ox and an ass." "Is the legacy to be paid immediately?" inquired somebody,--_apropos_ of a will which made some noise.--"Yes, on the coffin-nail," answered he. Being told that a recent play had been "done to order,"--he observed, that "it would be done to a good many 'orders,' he feared." It may be honestly said that these are average specimens of the pleasantries which flowed from him in congenial society. His talk was full of such, among friends and acquaintance, and he certainly enjoyed the applause which they excited. But in his graver and tenderer moods, in the country walks and lounges of which he was fond, his range was higher and deeper. For a vein of natural poetry and piety ran through the man,--wit and satirist as he was,--and appeared in his speech, occasionally, as in his writings. A long habit of indulgence in epigram had made him rather apt to quiz his friends. But we are to remember that he was encouraged in this, and that a self-indulgent man is only too liable to have the nicety of his sensitiveness spoiled. Certainly, he had a kind heart and good principles. He would lend any man money, or give any man help,--even to the extent of weakness and imprudence. This was one reason why he died no better off,--and one reason why his friends have so much exerted themselves to pay a tribute to his memory in the shape of an addition to the provision he had made for his family. The quickness of feeling which belonged to him made him somewhat ready to take offence. But if he was easily ruffled, he was easily smoothed. Of few men could you say, that their natural impulses were better, or that, given such a nature and such a fortune, they would have arrived at fifty-four years of age with so young a heart.