North.—­A more interesting consideration would be, the effect produced upon the national character, by the mere circumstance of the modes of preparing the different beverages of different countries.  Much of the acknowledged inferiority of the inhabitants of wine countries, arises from the circumstance of having their liquor prepared to their hand.  There is no stretch of imagination in pouring wine ready made from carafe, or barochio, or flask, into a glass—­the operation is merely mechanical; whereas, among us punch drinkers, the necessity of a nightly manufacture of a most intricate kind, calls forth habits of industry and forethought—­induces a taste for chemical experiment—­improves us in hygrometry, and many other sciences—­to say nothing of the geographical reflections drawn forth by the pressure of the lemon, or the colonial questions, which press upon every meditative mind on the appearance of white sugar.

LION-EATING AND HANGING.

North.—­When I was at Timbuctoo—­

Shepherd (aside.)—­A lang yarn is beginning the noo—­

Moses Edrehi.—­Sind sie geweson, sare, dans I’Afrique?

North.—­Many years—­I was Sultan of Bello for a long period, until dethroned by an act of the grossest injustice; but I intend to expose the traitorous conspirators to the indignation of an outraged world.

Tickler (aside to Shepherd.)—­He’s raving.

Shepherd (to Tickler.)—­Dementit.

Odoherty (to both.)—­Mad as a hatter.  Hand me a segar.

Moses Edrehi.—­Yo suis of Madoc.

North (aside.)—­Zounds! (to Edrehi) I never chanced to pass that way—­the emperor and I were not on good terms.

Moses Edrehi.—­Then, sare, you was good luck to no pass, for the emperor was a man ver disagreeable ven no gut humours.  Gott keep ush!  He hat lions in cage—­and him gab peoples zu de lions—­dey roarsh—­oh, mucho, mucho!—­and eats de poor peoples—­Gott keep ush! a ver disagreeable man dat emperor.

Shepherd.—­Nae doot—­it canna be a pleasant thing to be gobbled by a lion.  Oh, sirs, imagine yoursell daundering out to Canaan, to take your kail wi’ our frien’ James, and as ye’re passing the Links, out jumps a lion, and at you!

Odoherty.—­The Links—­oh!  James, you are no Polyglott.

Tickler.—­I don’t wish to insinuate that I should like to be eaten, either by lion or shepherd, but I confess that I consider that the new drop would be a worse fate than either.

North.—­Quite mistaken—­the drop’s a trifle.

Moses Edrehi.—­Ja whoel, Milord.