MIXING THE BABIES.—85.
Patrick Lyon, an Irishman, and Hans Heidelbrooke, a German, and their families, both occupy one house in Cincinnati. Some nights since the families of both were increased, Pat's wife presenting him with twins, and Hans' wife presenting him with one, all girls. The nurse being desirous of contemplating the relative beauties of the little cherubs, with the hopes of finding out if there is any difference between a youthful Teuton and a cherub of Erin, got them so hopelessly mixed that it was impossible to distinguish "tother from which." Here was a terrible state of affairs. But the mother wit of the Irishwoman solved the difficulty. She was entitled to two of the children any how, and two she would take, and if either of them when grown up should talk Dutch she would repudiate its paternity and lay claim to the third. The Dutch woman coincided with the idea, and clasped to her bosom the remaining child, resolved to watch for the first indication of the brogue that might change her parental love to unmitigated disgust.
DANIEL WEBSTER AND WILLIAM WIRT.—86.
Daniel Webster was once engaged in a case in one of the Virginia courts, and the opposing counsel was William Wirt, author of the "Life of Patrick Henry," which has been criticised as a brilliant romance. In the progress of the case Mr. Webster produced a highly respectable witness, whose testimony (unless disproved or impeached) settled the case, and annihilated Mr. Wirt's client. After getting through the testimony he informed Mr. Wirt, with a significant expression, that he was through with the witness, and he was at his service. Mr. Wirt rose to commence the cross-examination, but seemed for a moment quite perplexed how to proceed, but quickly assumed a manner expressive of his incredulity as to the facts elicited, and coolly eyeing the witness a moment he said: "Mr. K——, allow me to ask you whether you have ever read a work called Baron Munchausen?" Before the witness had time to reply, Mr. Webster quickly rose and said: "I beg your pardon, Mr. Wirt, for the interruption, but there was one question I forgot to ask the witness, and if you will allow me that favour I promise not to interrupt you again." Mr. Wirt, in the blandest manner, replied, "Yes, most certainly;" when Mr. Webster, in the most deliberate and solemn manner, said: "Sir, have you ever read Wirt's 'Life of Patrick Henry?'" The effect was so irresistible, that even the judge could not control his rigid features. Mr. Wirt himself joined in the momentary laugh, and turning to Mr. Webster said, "Suppose we submit this case to the jury without summing up;" which was assented to, and Mr. Webster's client won the case.
NOT TO BE DONE.—87.
You have heard, perhaps, reader, of the encounter between an Englishman and the market-woman at a fruit-stand in New York. The Englishman had learned of the Yankee habit of bragging, and he thought he would cut the comb of that propensity. He saw some huge watermelons on the market-woman's stand, and walking up to her, and pointing at them with a look of disappointment, said: "What! don't you raise bigger apples than these in America?" The woman looked at him for a moment, and then retorted: "Apples! any body might know you was an Englishman. Them's huckleberries."
CAUGHT UNAWARES.—88.
A wager was laid on the Yankee peculiarity of answering one question by asking another. To decide the bet a Down-Easter was interrogated. "I want you," said the better, "to give me a straightforward answer to a plain question." "I kin du it, mister," said the Yankee. "Then why is it New Englanders always answer a question by asking one in return?" "Du they?" was Jonathan's reply.
THE YOUNG PATRIOT.—89.
"No, William Baker, you cannot have my daughter's hand in marriage until you are equal in wealth and social position." The speaker was a haughty old man of some sixty years, and the person whom he addressed was a fine-looking young fellow of twenty-five. With a sad aspect, the young man withdrew from the stately mansion. Six months later he stood again in the presence of the haughty father, who thus angrily addressed him: "What! you here again?" "Ah, old man," proudly exclaimed William Baker, "I am here—your daughter's equal and yours!" The old man's lip curled with scorn, a derisive smile lit up his cold features; when casting violently upon the marble centre table an enormous roll of greenbacks, William Baker cried—"See! Look on this wealth; and I've tenfold more! Listen, old man! You spurned me from your door, but I did not despair. I secured a contract for furnishing the army of the —— with beef——" "Yes, yes!" eagerly exclaimed the old man. "And I bought up all the disabled cavalry horses I could find——" "I see, I see!" cried the old man; "and good beef they make, too." "They do, they do! and the profits are immense." "I should say so." "And now, sir, I claim your daughter's fair hand." "Boy, she is yours. But hold! Look me in the eye. Throughout all this have you been loyal?" "To the core!" cried William Baker. "And," continued the old man, in a voice husky with emotion, "are you in favour of a vigorous prosecution of the war?" "I am, I am!" "Then, boy, take her! Maria, child, come hither. Your William claims thee. Be happy, my children! And, whatever our lot in life may be, let us all support the Government."