“Liar!” shouted the King, as he seized a boot-jack from the hands of BISMARCK and hurled it at me with all his strength.  I burst the back of my coat dodging the missile, which did not, however, interrupt the rapid utterance of my dreadful communication.

“Spare one moment more to hear what I have just received by telegraph from Berlin, which is to say that your grandmother—­”

“I never had a grandmother!” roared the King, upon the verge of madness, as the Crown Prince, at the head of six Army Corps surrounded the building and captured me without firing a shot.

P.S.—­It is scarcely necessary in my present exhausted state to say that my liberation is once more entirely due to the intercession of that man of all men, the defender of injured innocence, and the champion of all unfortunates, the most honorable Mr. WASHBURNE, American Minister, &c.  He told them that he had known me from boyhood; that my father died in the lunatic asylum, and dying, bequeathed his intellectual characteristics to his son, which was all he had to bequeath.  The King said it was more than likely, and so I got off.

DICK TINTO.

* * * * *

Wonderful Sagacity.

Newspapers mention that an Irish crow has lately arrived as a passenger on board the steamship Colorado. It is stated that the bird has positively declined to quit the ship, and the inference is that its unwillingness to do so arises from fear lest it might be mistaken for a Thanksgiving Turkey.

* * * * *

A Wintry Reflection.

The only Weather Profits that never fail are the gains of the coal dealers.

* * * * *

Nautical.

When does a ship display a propensity for climbing?

When she runs up her flag.

       * * * * *
 THE PLAYS AND SHOWS

Latest of Mr. BOUCICAULT’S mixtures is another Irish dramatic stew.  He calls it the Rapparee, and it contains the usual proportion of fire, patriots, whiskey, traitors, pretty girls, and red-coat officers.  It has a Tragic Heroine and a Cheerful Heroine, a French Officer who speaks with an Irish brogue, and a Dutch General who speaks the Fechterian dialect.  It has FRANK MAYO in picturesque attitudes on the stage, and HARRY PALMER in gorgeous vestments in the lobby.  But here it is—­as long as the original and nearly as tedious.  Read it and decide for yourselves whether this sort of thing is worthy of the clever mechanic who constructed Arrah-na-Pogue?

THE RAPPAREE.  ACT I.

SCENE I.—­A retired spot in the public highway. [Enter an army of fifteen Irish patriots, armed with pikes of great scythes.]

1st PATRIOT.—­“Hurroo for KING JAMES, we’ll dhrive the Orange-men into the say.  Here comes O’MALLEY, and the FRINCH OFFICIR.  May they niver want a bottle, or a frind to stale it from.” [Enter O’Malley and Duquesne,]