The following exquisite lines, the result of a true appreciation of the sublime and beautiful in nature, are copied from the Album kept at a small inn on the Banks of the Windermere, in Cumberland—
I never eats no meat,
Nor drinks no beer,
But sighs and ruminates
On Windermere.
Mr. Ogilvie, minister of the parish of Lunan, in the county of Forfar, had a great deal of eccentricity in his composition. One Sunday an old woman, who kept a public-house in the parish, with whom Mr. Ogilvie was well acquainted, fell asleep in the church during sermon—not an uncommon occurrence. Her neighbour kept jogging in order to awake her. Mr. Ogilvie observing this, cried out, ‘Let her alane, I’ll waken her mysel’, I’ll warrant ye.’—‘Phew! phew! (whistling) a bottle o’ ale an’ a dram, Janet.’—‘Comin’ Sir.’ was instantly replied.—‘There now,’ says the minister, ‘I tald ye it wadna be lang afore that I waken’d her!’
An Obedient Wife.—A Mr. P——n, of Dublin, was one morning boasting among his friends that he had the best wife in the world, and the reason he gave was, that she did every thing that he bid her. ‘By Jasus,’ said one of the party, ‘I’ll bet a dinner for the present party, that she will not boil a roasting pig.’ ‘Done,’ said the husband. To market a messenger was despatched to buy the pig, the company taking care that the husband should have no means of communication with home. The pig being brought, was sent to his house with this message, ‘that Mrs. P——n was to have the roasting pig boiled, and sent to a certain tavern in time for dinner!’ The messenger, on delivering the pig to cookee, was accosted with, ‘sure now, the master is mad!—boil a roasting pig!—By Jasus, I’ll not boil the pig! Sure and now you have made a big blunder! Boil a roasting pig, indeed! But, however, a pig is a pig, and I’ll take it to the mistress; and sure and now it is a big blunder! Boil a roasting pig! Was ever such a matter as that?’ At the hour appointed came the dish under a cover; and as cookee passed up the room to place it on the table, ‘is the pig boiled or roasted?’ whispered every body in his ear. Not a word spake cookee; but, on uncovering the dish, the roasting pig was boiled sure enough; and Mrs P——n pronounced universally ‘to be the most obedient wife in Dublin.’—(A true story, as Pat would say.)
March of Intellect.—A gentleman the other day visiting Mr. Wood’s school in Edinburgh, had a book put into his hand for the purpose of examining a class. The word inheritance occurring in the verse, the querist interrogated the youngster as follows:—‘What is inheritance?’ A. ‘Patrimony.’ ‘What is patrimony?’ A. ‘Something left by a father.’ ‘What would you call it if left by a mother?’ A. ‘Matrimony.’
What colours were the winds and waves the last tempest at sea? Answer—The winds blew and the waves rose.