At North Berwick there was a maniacal stampede toward the little house by the railside, where they sell such immense quantities of sponge-cake, which is very sweet and very yellow, but which lies rather more heavily on the stomach than raw turnips, as I ascertained one day from actual experience.  This is not stated because I have any spite against this little house by the railside.  Their mince-pies are nobly made, and their apple-pies are unsurpassed.  Some years ago there used to be a very pretty girl at this house, and one day, while I was struggling rapidly with a piece of mince-pie, I was so unfortunate as to wink slightly at her.  The rash act was discovered by a yellow-haired party, who stated that she was to be his wife ere long, and that he "expected" he could lick any party who winked at her.  A cursory examination of his frame convinced me that he could lick me with disgustin ease, so I told him it was a complaint of the eyes.  "They are both so," I added, "and they have been so from infancy's hour.  See here!"  And I commenced winking in a frightful manner.  I escaped, but it was inconvenient for me for some time afterwards, because whenever I passed over the road I naturally visited the refreshment house, and was compelled to wink in a manner which took away the appetites of other travellers, and one day caused a very old lady to state, with her mouth full of sponge-cake, that she had cripples and drunkards in her family, but thanks to the heavens above, no idiots without any control over their eyes, looking sternly at me as she spoke. That was years ago.  Besides, the wink was a pure accident.  I trust that my unblemished character--but I will not detain you further with this sad affair.       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      * ARTEMUS WARD