Mr. Smith had a son who, as is frequently the case with the offshoots of clergymen (we suppose from a certain unexplained antagonism in human nature)—
"——ne in virtue's ways did take delight,
But spent his days in riot most uncouth,
And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of night,
Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee!"
So fast indeed was this young gentleman, that for several years he was excluded from the parental domicile. At length, however, the prodigal repented, and his father took him home upon his entering into a solemn engagement to mend his ways and his manners. Shortly after the reconciliation had taken place, Mr. Smith gave a dinner-party, and one of his guests was Sumner, the present Bishop of Winchester. Before dinner, the facetious clergyman took his son aside, and endeavored to impress upon him the necessity of his conducting himself with the utmost propriety in the distinguished company to which he was about to be introduced. "Charles, my boy," he said, "I intend placing you at table next to the bishop; and I hope that you will make an effort to get up some conversation which may prove interesting to his lordship." Charles promised faithfully to do as his father requested.
At the dinner the soup was swallowed with the usual gravity. In the interval before the fish, hardly a word was spoken, and the silence was becoming positively embarrassing, when all of a sudden, Charles attracted the attention of all at table to himself, by asking the dignitary upon his right if he would do him the favor to answer a Scriptural question which had long puzzled him. Upon Doctor Sumner's promising to give the best explanation in his power, the questioner, with a quizzical expression of countenance, begged to be informed, "how long it took Nebuchadnezzar to get into condition after he returned from grass?"
It is needless to say that a hearty laugh echoed this professional inquiry on every side, and how unanimously young Smith was voted a genuine chip off the old block.
Miss C——, of the Fifth Avenue, was complaining the other day to Mrs. F——, of Bond-street, that she could never go shopping without taking cold, because the shops are kept open, and not closed like the rooms of a house. Mrs. F—— thereupon dryly advised her friend to confine her visits to Stewart's and Beck's to Sundays.
Some one says that the reason why so few borrowed books are ever returned, is because it is so much easier to keep them than what is in them.