Mr. Pitt, once speaking in the House of Commons, in the early part of his career, of the glorious war which preceded the disastrous one in which the colonies were lost, called it "the last war." Several members cried out, "The last war but one." He took no notice; and soon after, repeating the mistake, he was interrupted by a general cry of "The last war but one—the last war but one." "I mean, sir," said Mr. Pitt, turning to the Speaker, and raising his sonorous voice, "I mean, sir, the last war that Britons would wish to remember." Whereupon the cry was instantly changed into an universal cheering, long and loud.
KISSES.
When an impudent fellow attempts to kiss a Tennessee girl, she "cuts your acquaintance;" all their "divine luxuries are preserved for the lad of their own choice." When you kiss an Arkansas girl, she hops as high as a cork out of a champagne bottle, and cries, "Whew, how good!" Catch an Illinois girl and kiss her, and she'll say, "Quit it now, you know I'll tell mamma!" A kiss from the girls of old Williamson is a tribute paid to their beauty, taste, and amiability. It is not accepted, however, until the gallant youth who offers it is accepted as the lord of their hearts' affections, and firmly united with one, his "chosen love," beneath the same bright star that rules their destiny for ever. The common confectionery make-believe kisses, wrapped in paper, with a verse to sweeten them, won't answer with them. We are certain they won't, for we once saw such a one handed to a beautiful young lady with the following:—
I'd freely give whole years of bliss,
To gather from thy lips one kiss.
To which the following prompt and neat response was immediately returned:—
Young men present these to their favourite Miss,
And think by such means to entrap her;
But la! they ne'er catch us with this kind of kiss,
The right kind hain't got any wrapper.
If you kiss a Mississippian gal she'll flare-up like a scorched feather, and return the compliment by bruising your sky-lights, or may-be giving the quid pro quo in the shape of a blunder-buss. Baltimore girls, more beautiful than any in the world, all meet you with a half-smiling, half-saucy, come-kiss-me-if-you-dare kind of a look, but you must be careful of the first essay. After that no difficulty will arise, unless you be caught attempting to kiss another—then look out for thundergust. When a Broome girl gets a smack, she exclaims, "If it was anybody else but you, I'd make a fuss about it."
AMERICAN WONDERS.
"She be a pretty craft, that little thing of yours," observed old Tom. "How long may she take to make the run?" "How long? I expect in just no time; and she'd go as fast again, only she won't wait for the breeze to come up with her." "Why don't you heave to for it?" said young Tom. "Lose too much time, I guess. I have been chased by an easterly wind all the way from your Land's-end to our Narrows, and it never could overhaul me." "And I presume the porpusses give it up in despair, don't they?" replied old Tom with a leer; "and yet I've seen the creatures playing before the bows of an English frigate at her speed, and laughing at her." "They never play their tricks with me, old snapper; if they do, I cut them in halves, and a-starn they go, head part floating one side, and tail part on the other." "But don't they join together again when they meet in your wake?" inquired Tom. "Shouldn't wonder," replied the American Captain. "My little craft upset with me one night, in a pretty considerable heavy gale; but she's smart, and came up again on the other side in a moment, all right as before. Never should have known anything about it, if the man at the wheel had not found his jacket wet, and the men below had a round turn in all the clues of their hammocks." "After that round turn, you may belay," cried Tom laughing. "Yes, but don't let's have a stopper over all, Tom," replied his father. "I consider all this excessively diverting. Pray, Captain, does everything else go fast in the new country?" "Everything with us clear, slick, I guess." "What sort of horses have you in America?" inquired I. "Our Kentuck horses, I've a notion, would surprise you. They're almighty goers at a trot, beat a N. W. gale of wind. I once took an Englishman with me in a gig up Alabama country, and he says, 'What's this great church yard we are passing through?' 'Stranger,' says I, 'I calculate it's nothing but the mile-stones we are passing so slick.' But I once had a horse, who, I expect, was a deal quicker than that; I once seed a flash of lightning chase him for half an hour round the clearance, and I guess it couldn't catch him."