“‘All I can say,’ says his riv’rence, ‘is that I’m sinsible it was a raal accident, anyhow.’
“‘Ay,’ says the Pope, ‘the kiss you gev Eliza, you mane.’
“‘No,’ says his riv’rence, ‘but the report I made.’”
THE STUDENT OF UPSALA.
Mary Howitt, in her “Frederika Bremer and her Swedish Sisters,” repeats the pleasant story of a university student at Upsala in the early part of the present century. He was the son of a poor widow, and was standing with some of his college companions in one of the public walks on a fine Sunday morning. As they were thus standing, the young daughter of the governor, a good and beautiful girl, was seen approaching them on her way to church, accompanied by her governess.
Suddenly the widow’s son exclaimed, “I am sure that young girl would give me a kiss!”
His companions laughed, and one of them, a rich young fellow, said, “It is impossible! Thou an utter stranger, and in a public thoroughfare! It is too absurd to think of.”
“Nevertheless, I am confident of what I say,” returned the other.