First Man. Waiter, bring me a whiskey and soda.
Second Man. And bring me a glass of bitter.
First Man. As for Wilfrid Lawson, he's an utter——
Second Man. Oh, Wilfrid Lawson! He's a downright——
[They drink—not Sir Wilfrid's health.
THE LOSS OF THE GALLERY.
(A Fragment from the Chronicles of St. Stephen's.)
"But must I give up this comfortable furniture?" asked the poor person, looking at the venerable chairs, some of which were distinctly rickety.
"You must, indeed," replied firmly, but still with a certain tenderness, the stern official.