Something to Live For.
(From the Literary Club Smoking-room.)
Cynicus. I'm waiting till my friends are dead, in order to write My Reminiscences?
Amicus. Ah, but remember, "De mortuis nil nisi bonum."
Cynicus. Quite so. I shall tell nothing but exceedingly good stories about them.
So Like Her!—"I can never trust him," said Mrs. R., alluding to a friend of hers, who considered himself well up in Shakspeare, "because I've found out before now that he gargles his quotations."
Note.—"The Man who Would," will appear next week. No. IV.
