A SPIRITUAL SISTER, HER ENCOUNTER WITH A DOUBTFUL SMITH.
There goes Smith, the Attorney,” said a man to his friend; as a tall figure, slightly stooped, hurried by them.
“I beg your pardon,” answered the friend, “that is the Rev. Mr. Smith, a preacher, I have heard him in Tennessee.”
“Well that's curious,” replied the first, “for I'd swear I have heard him plead at the bar.”
“Good morning Sol., how are you?” salutes another, as he hurries by a group of citizens.
“What did you call him?” inquired one of the party.
“Why, Sol. Smith, was the answer—old Sol., the manager of the theatre, to-be-sure; who did you suppose it was?—I thought you knew him—every body knows old Sol!”
“Well that is funny,” answered the second, “for I'll swear he officiated as a physician on board our boat.”
“Well who the d————l is he?”
This question was asked so frequently on board of a boat, recently, that those who didn't know became quite feverish, and those who did, kept dark to watch for a joke. Sol. had purchased a new hat—venerably broad in brim, of saintly and unostentatious height in crown, and it was easy to see that this new beaver was brewing him trouble. We feel almost inclined here to go into a disquisition upon hats, and the evils they have entailed, for who has not suffered, and been thrust out of the pale of good living, or cut in the street—or taken for a loafer, and asked by some dandy to hold his horse, or by some matron to carry home her market basket, and all because of a “shocking bad hat.” An “old hat” is, in fact, dangerous—so is a new one of a peculiar shape—so was Sol.'s broad brimmer.