An Irish peasant complained to the Catholic priest of his parish that some person had stolen his best pig, and supplicated his reverence to help him to the discovery of the thief. The priest promised his best endeavours; and, his inquiries soon leading him to a correct enough guess as to the offender, he took the following amusing method of bringing the matter home to him. Next Sunday, after the service of the day, he called out with a loud voice, fixing his eyes on the suspected individual, "Who stole Pat Doolan's pig?" There was a long pause, and no answer; he did not expect that there would be any; and descended from the pulpit without saying a word more. A second Sunday arriving without the pig being restored in the interval, his reverence, again looking steadfastly at the stubborn purloiner and throwing a deep note of anger into the tone of his voice, repeated the question. "Who stole Pat Doolan's pig? I say, who stole _poor_ Pat Doolan's pig?" Still there was no answer, and the question was left as before, to work its effect in secret on the conscience of the guilty individual. The hardihood of the offender, however, exceeded all the honest priest's calculations. A third Sunday arrived, and Pat Doolan was still without his pig. Some stronger measure now became necessary. After service was performed his reverence, dropping the question of "Who stole Pat Doolan's pig?" but still without directly accusing any one of the theft, reproachfully exclaimed, "Jimmie Doran! Jimmie Doran! you trate me with contimpt." Jimmie Doran hung down his head, and next morning the pig was found at the door of Pat Doolan's cabin. A DIGRESSION [Sidenote: _Percy Anecdotes_] The celebrated Henderson, the actor, was seldom known to be in a passion. When at Oxford, he was one day debating with a fellow student, who, not keeping his temper, threw a glass of wine in his face. Mr. Henderson took out his handkerchief, wiped his face, and coolly said, "That, sir, was a digression; now for the argument." FORTUNE-TELLER [Sidenote: _Percy Anecdotes_] A fortune-teller was arrested at his theatre of divination, _al fresco_, at the corner of the rue de Bussy in Paris, and carried before the tribunal of correctional police. "You know to read the future?" said the president, a man of great wit, but too fond of a joke for a magistrate. "In this case," said the judge, "you know the judgment we intend to pronounce." "Certainly." "Well, what will happen to you?" "Nothing." "You are sure of it?" "You will acquit me." "Acquit you!" "There is no doubt of it." "Why?" "Because, sir, if it had been your intention to condemn me, you would not have added irony to misfortune." The president, disconcerted, turned to his brother judges, and the sorcerer was acquitted. GASCONADES [Sidenote: _Percy Anecdotes_]