An English gentleman, on a tour in Ireland, was beset at a fine waterfall by numerous beggars; one woman was particularly clamorous for relief, but Mr. R. instructed by his guide, said to her, “My good friend, you cannot possibly want relief, as you keep several cows, and have a very profitable farm; indeed I cannot bestow my charity upon you.”  The woman, looking sulky, and detected, immediately pointed to another, exclaiming, “Then give to her, for she’s got nothing!” The stranger in Dublin is particularly requested to send all beggars to an institution in Copper Alley, for their relief.  Being once much importuned by an old man for money, we desired him to go to this place.  “I can’t,” said he.

“Why not?”

“Becase ’tis a bad place for the poor.”

“How so? don’t they give you anything to eat?”

“Ah, yes, yes, but the thing is, my jewel, they wont by no manes give a poor body anything to drink.”  The intelligent reader will not be at a loss to translate the complaint of thirsty Pat.

* * * * *

FRENCH CRUELTY.

During the late French Revolution, one of the royalist soldiers having his horse shot under him by a pupil of the Polytechnic School, and finding when thus brought down, that he could not regain his feet and resume a posture of defence, but was entirely at the mercy of his ferocious young adversary, he immediately surrendered his sword, exclaiming, “I am your prisoner, and entreat of you mercy and life.”  To which the generous and heroic youth replied, “No prisoners, no mercy!” and taking from his pocket a pike-head or some similar rough weapon, deliberately drove it into the unfortunate soldier’s heart!

* * * * *

EFFRONTERY.

A nobleman being, it is said, some years since, in the shop of a celebrated London shoemaker, saw, pass through it, a very handsome young woman, “Who is that fine girl?” said he.

“My daughter,” replied the cord-wainer, “with sixty thousand pounds at your lordship’s service.”

* * * * *

A BLUNDER.

Literary topics came under discussion one evening in a small social circle, of which the writer made one, and particularly the autobiographical works, and personal memoirs, now so much in vogue.  A gentleman then stated, that having seen much of the world, he thought he must follow the fashion, and one day favour it with his own life and adventures.  Numerous ladies were to figure in his book, which was, in fact, as he modestly gave the present company to understand, to be a complete chronicle of the flirtations and conquests of himself, and male allies, with letters, portraits, &c. and names in full.  “But,” remarked a lady, humouring the jest, “if you do render your book so very personal, are you not afraid of the consequences?”