And the rain drizzles down very fast, While my dinner-time sounds from a far bell,-- So, wet to the skin, I’ll e’en back to my Inn, Where at least I am sure of a _Bar-bell_! POPPING THE QUESTION. My friend Walker is a great story-teller. He reminds me of the professional tale-bearers in the East, who, without being particularly requested by the company, begin reciting the adventures of Sinbad, or the life, death, and resurrection of Little Hunchback. No sooner does conversation flag for a few minutes, than W. strikes up, with some such prelude as, “I told you about the Flying Fish affair before,--but as you wish me to refresh your memory, you shall have it again.” He then deliberately fills his glass, and furnishes himself with a cork, a bit of orange-peel, or an apple-paring, to be shredded and sub-shredded during the course of narration. Many Scotchmen, by-the-way, and most Canadians, are given to the same manual propensity. A lady located towards the Back Settlements informed me, that at a party she gave, the mantelshelf, chairs, tables, and every wooden article of furniture, was nicked and notched by the knives of her guests, like the tallies of our Exchequer. It is most probably an Indian peculiarity, and derived by intercourse or intermixture with the Chipaways--but to return to W. The other day, after dinner, with a select few of my friends, there occurred one of those sudden silences, those verbal armistices, or suspensions of words, which frequently provoke at irresistible allusion to a Quaker’s meeting. Of this pause W. of course availed himself. [Illustration: FISHING--A RISE.] “You were going, Sir,” addressing the gentleman opposite, “to ask me about the Pop business,--but I ought first to tell you how I came to be carrying ginger-beer in my pocket.” The gentleman thus appealed to, a straightforward old drysalter, who had never seen W. in his life before, naturally stared at such a bold anticipation of his thoughts; but before he could find words to reply, W. had helped himself to a dozen almonds, which he began mincing, while he set off at a steady pace in his story.