“Rejected Addresses.”—­The fame of the brothers James and Horatio Smith was confined to a limited circle, until the publication of “The Rejected Addresses.”  James used to dwell with much pleasure on the criticism of a Leicestershire clergyman:  “I do not see why they (’The Addresses’) should have been rejected:  I think some of them very good.”  This, he would add, is almost as good as the avowal of the Irish Bishop, that there were some things in “Gulliver’s Travels” which he could not believe.

The Two Smith’s.—­A gentleman took lodgings in the same house with James Smith, one of the celebrated authors of the “Rejected Addresses.”  His name was also James Smith.  The consequence was an eternal confusion of calls and letters, and the postman had no alternative but to share the letters equally between the two.  “This is intolerable, sir,” said our author, “you must quit.”  “Why am I to quit more than you?” “Because you came last, and being James the Second you must abdicate.”

Coleridge, the Poet, once dined in company with a person who listened to the conversation and said nothing for a long time; but occasionally nodded his head, and Coleridge concluded him a thoughtful and intelligent man.  At length, towards the end of the dinner, some apple dumplings were placed on the table, and the listener had no sooner seen them than he burst forth, “Them’s the fellows for me!” Coleridge adds:  “I wish Spurzheim could have examined the fellow’s head.”

An Appropriate Successor.—­Clerambault, who was deformed, was elected to succeed La Fontaine in the French Academy.  On that occasion it was said that “La Fontaine was very properly succeeded by Esop.”

Erskine.—­Lord Kellie was amusing the company with an account of a sermon he had heard in Italy, in which the preacher related the miracle of St. Anthony preaching to the fishes, who, in order to listen to his pious discourse, held their heads out of the water.  “I can credit the miracle,” said Erskine, “if your lordship was at church.”  “I certainly was there,” said the peer.  “Then, rejoined Erskine, there was at least one fish out of water.”

Memory.—­A humorous comment on this system of artificial memory was made by a waiter at an hotel where Feinaigle dined, after having given his lecture on that subject.  A few minutes after the Professor left the table, the waiter entered, with uplifted hands and eyes, exclaiming, “Well, I declare, the memory man has forgotten his umbrella!”

Parisian rag-picker.—­An old chiffonnier (or rag picker) died in Paris in a state apparently of the most abject poverty.  His only relation was a niece, who lived as servant with a greengrocer.  This girl always assisted her uncle as far as her slender means would permit.  When she heard of his death, which took place suddenly, she was upon the point of marriage with a journeyman baker, to whom she had been long attached.  The nuptial day