A lady was asked by her friends if she really intended to marry Mr. ——, who was a good kind of a man, but so very singular. "Well," replied the lady, "if he is very much unlike other men, he is more likely to make a good husband."
DCCVI.—BETTING.
The folly of betting is well satirized in one of Walpole's Letters: "Sept. 1st, 1750,—They have put in the papers a good story made at White's. A man dropped down dead at the door, and was carried in; the club immediately made bets whether he was dead or not, and when they were going to bleed him the wagerers for his death interposed, and said it would affect the fairness of the bet."
DCCVII.—FIRE AND WATER.
Paddy being asked if he thought of doing something, which, for his own part, he deemed very unlikely, he said he should "as soon think of attempting to light a cigar at a pump."
DCCVIII.—THE RAILROAD ENGINEER.
Though a railroad, learned Rector,
Passes near your parish spire;
Think not, sir, your Sunday lecture
E'er will overwhelmed expire.
Put not then your hopes in weepers,
Solid work my road secures;
Preach whate'er you will—my sleepers
Never will awaken yours.
These lines will be read with a deep interest, as being literally the last ever written by their highly-gifted and deeply-lamented author,—James Smith.
DCCIX.—THE SPECIFIC GRAVITY OF FOLLY.
Coleridge once dined in company with a grave-looking person, an admirable listener, who said nothing, but smiled and nodded, and thus impressed the poet with an idea of his intelligence. "That man is a philosopher," thought Coleridge. At length, towards the end of the dinner, some apple-dumplings were placed on the table, and the listener no sooner saw them than, almost jumping from his chair, he exclaimed, "Them's the jockeys for me!"