A GREAT TRAVELLER.—410.
A good story is told of a Washington countryman, who, on his way to Cincinnati, became somewhat elevated by sundry "drinks," but, as good luck would have it, found a boat at the wharf, and was quickly on his way. Soon after leaving the wharf, a man came round for his fare. Horrall handed him out a five-dollar bill, and received four dollars and ninety-five cents in change. He rammed it into his pocket-book with great eagerness, supposing the clerk had made a mistake. That done, he leaned back into his chair and fell asleep. A little while and he was plucked awake by the same man, who again demanded fare. "Discovered the mistake," holding out a handful of change. The man, as before, took only five cents, and Horrall again went into a doze. Ere he had got fairly into dreaming of home and friends far away, around came the collector again, and thus it went on for a long time. At last Horrall thought it very inconvenient, and concluded to vote the collector a nuisance, and give him a bit of advice besides; so he said: "Is (hic) this a da-n-ger (hic) ous (hic) bo-boat?" "By no means," said the man. "Bran new." "Then, by gummy, (hic) why do (hic) don't you collect all the fa (hic) hair at once—not bo-bother a fel (hic) heller for it every mile as it comes due?" "Really," said the man, "where do you think you are going?" "Cincin (hic) hinnati," said Horrall. "Cincinnati," said the polite conductor, "why you must be sadly out of your reckoning. This is the ferry-boat, and all this afternoon you have been riding to and fro between New Albany and Portland."
WHOSE FAULT WAS IT?—411.
A preacher stopped short in a pulpit; it was in vain that he scratched his head—nothing would come out. "My friends," said he, as he walked quietly down the pulpit stairs, "my friends, I pity you, for you have lost a fine discourse."
A MODEST LINENDRAPER.—412.
A dealer in ready-made linen advertises his shirts and chemisettes under the mellifluous appellation of "Male and Female Envelopes."
GONE HOME.—413.
One of the Richmond papers thus pleasantly announces the death of a newspaper man in the Libby prison:—"A Yankee reporter gone home to write up his reports by the fire."