MAYEN-AISY-NOW!
Misther Punch, Sorr,—Frinchmen are that consaited they think no one can invint anything but thimselves. It's as well known as the story of Mulligan's leather breeches that the first Earl of Mayo inwinted Mayernase sauce (ah! bother the spellin' now), and called it after himself and his eldest son, Lord Naas; faix, there ye have it, Mayonaas; and isn't it called Paddy Bourke's butther to this day all over County Kildare; and many a bite of could salmon have I ate wid that same; and don't believe, Sorr, thim that tell you it's onwholesome, for, if you'll get the laste sup of the crathur wid it, it's just as harmless as new milk from the cow; and shure it's meself that ought to know, bein' cook to a lady that has the best blood of ould Ireland in her body; and her husband—God help him, poor man!—is an Englishman; but we can't be all perfect, and whin I make thim sauces to his taste he just sends me out a glass of wine, wid his compliments, and wid mine to your honour,
I remane your honour's obadient Servant,
Betsey Durney.
***This Correspondence must now cease. This is the second time we've said this.—Ed.
L'ART D'ÊTRE GRAND-PÈRE.
Daughter and Mamma. "Papa, dear, Baby wants to play with your new Microscope. May he have it?"
Grandpapa (deep in differential and integral calculus). "My new Microscope? Oh, yes, of course, dear! But he must mind and be very careful with it!"