579. An English labourer in Cheshire attempting to drown himself, an Irish reaper, who saw him go into the water, leaped after him, and brought him safe to shore. The fellow attempting it a second time, the reaper a second time got him out; but the labourer being determined to destroy himself, watched an opportunity and hanged himself behind the barn door. The Irishman observed him, but never offered to cut him down; when, several hours afterwards, the master of the farm-yard asked him upon what ground he had suffered the poor fellow to hang there? Faith, replied Patrick, I don’t know what you mean by ground: I know I was so good to him that I fetched him out of the water two times―and I know, too, he was wet through every rag, and I thought he hung himself up to dry, and you know, I could have no right to prevent him. 580. A devout lady offered up a prayer to St. Ignatius, for the conversion of her husband; a few days after the good man died. What a good saint is our Ignatius, exclaimed the consolable widow, he bestows on us more benefits than we ask for! 581. An author, who had given a comedy into the hands of a manager for his perusal, called on him for his opinion of the piece. Whilst the poor author in trembling anxiety expected the fate of his performance, the manager returned the play with a grave face, saying, Sir, depend upon it this is a thing not to be laughed at. 582. An Irish officer in battle happening to bow, a cannon-ball passed over his head, and took off the head of a soldier who stood behind him: You see, said he, that a man never loses by politeness. 583. A quartermaster in a regiment of light horse, who was about six feet high, and very corpulent, was joking with an Irishman concerning the natural proneness of his countrymen to make bulls in conversation. By my soul, said the Irishman, Ireland never made such a bull in all her lifetime as England did when she made a light horseman of you. 584. An Hibernian officer, being once in company with several who belonged to the same corps, one of them, in a laugh, said he would lay a dozen of claret, that the Irishman made a bull before any other of the party. Done, said Terence. The wager was laid, and by way of puzzling him, he was asked how many bulls there were in that town. Five, said he. How do you make them out? said the other. Faith, said he, there is the Black Bull in the market-place, and the Red Bull over the way; then there is the Pied Bull just by the bridge, and the White Bull at the corner. They are but four, said the other. Why arrah, said he, there is the Dim Cow in the butcher-row. That’s a bull, said the other. By Jasus, then I have won my wager, said he, and you have made the bull and not me.