The Rev. Mr. Johnston was one of those rough but quaint preachers of the former generation who were fond of visiting and good living. While seated at the table of a good lady in a neighboring parish, she asked him if he took milk in his tea. "Yes, ma'am when I can't get cream," was the ready reply.
MCCCLXXII.—OUT OF SPIRITS.
"Is my wife out of spirits?" said John with a sigh,
As her voice of a tempest gave warning.
"Quite out, sir, indeed," said her maid in reply,
"For she finished the bottle this morning."
MCCCLXXIII.—GOOD AT THE HALT.
Peter Macnally, an Irish attorney, was very lame, and, when walking, had an unfortunate limp, which he could not bear to be told of. At the time of the Rebellion he was seized with a military ardor, and when the different volunteer corps were forming in Dublin, that of the lawyers was organized. Meeting with Curran, Macnally said, "My dear friend, these are not times for a man to be idle; I am determined to enter the lawyers' corps, and follow the camp."—"You follow the camp, my little limb of the law!" said the wit; "tut, tut, renounce the idea; you never can be a disciplinarian."—"And why not, Mr. Curran?" said Macnally. "For this reason," said Curran; "the moment you were ordered to march, you would halt!"
MCCCLXXIV.—AN EASY WAY.
A person deeply in debt, was walking through the streets in a melancholy way, when a friend asked him the cause of his sadness. "I owe money and cannot pay it," said the man, in a tone of extreme dejection. "Can't you leave all the uneasiness to your creditors?" replied the other. "Is it not enough that one should be sorry for what neither of you can help?"
MCCCLXXV.—ERUDITE.
A lady had a favorite lapdog, which she called Perchance. "A singular name," said somebody, "for a beautiful pet, madam. Where did you find it?"—"O," drawled she, "it was named from Byron's dog. You remember where he says, 'Perchance my dog will howl.'"