“ Well, papa, are those who wear mustachios, what are called hair-brained people ?"


“I CANNOT imagine,” said an alderman, “ why my whiskers should turn grey so much sooner than the hair of my head.' “ Because," observed a wag, “ you have worked much harder with your jaws than your brains."

COMPLIMENTARY. “ Ain't you a very moral people in New Hampshire ?” asked a western gentleman of an emigrant from the Granite Hills. The latter felt highly gratified at the compliment upon his native State conveyed by the question, and was prompt to reply—“ Certainly, we are very moral people.” “ Well, I should think so ; for you turn out rogues enough every year to purify any people in Christendom."


Doctor Paris has just been with me. Pulse languid ; he has prescribed a tonic. He talked of the folly of prescribing for themselves, and quoted a fable of Camerarius. An ass laden with salt was crossing a brook. The water diluted the salt, and lightened the burden. He communicated his discovery to a brother donkey, laden with wool. The latter tried the same experiment, and found his load double in weight.

I am to be pitied,” as the man said when they told him he had the small-pox.

JOE MILLER. As if to redeem the habitual dulness of Joe Miller, one solitary joke of his stands on respect

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able authority. Joe, sitting at the window of the Sun Tavern, in Clare-street, while a fish-woman was crying, Buy my soles ! buy my maids !exclaimed, “ Ah ! you wicked old creature; you are not content to sell your own soul, but you must sell your maid's too !"

WIT OUTWITTED. A wag went into a shop the other day, and asked for a yard of pork. The shopman cut off three (pig's) feet.

AMERICAN DELICACY. The American ladies, as Mrs. Trollope has so graphically explained, are exceedingly delicate as regards the utterance of such words as “shirt," &c. The following is no bad specimen of this really mauvaise honte :-Pray, Miss Sophia, what are you making ?'' said Dr. R. to a young American lady, who was at work upon a garnient of a certain description. “ A Sophy-cover, doctor," was the reply.

Rum, while in hogs-heads, is capable of doing but little mischief; but when it gets into men's heads, look out!

THE GREATEST FOOL IN CHRISTENDOM, Foote, travelling in the West of England, dined one day at an inn ; when the cloth was removed, the landlord asked him how he liked his fare? “ I have dined as well as any man in England," said Foote. “ Except Mr. Mayor.” cried the landlord. I do not except anybody whatever," said he. “But you must," bawled the host. “I

“ You must.” At length the strife was ended by the landlord (who was a petty magistrate)


taking Foote before the mayor; who observed it had been customary in that town for a great number of years always to except the mayor, and accordingly fined him a shilling for not conforming to this ancient custom. Upon his decision Foote paid the shilling, at the same time observing, that he thought the landlord the greatest fool in Christendom-except-Mr. Mayor.



A PERSON said to his friend, who was learning to take snuff, that it was wrong to teach one's nose a bad habit, as a man generally followed his nose.


The editor of a newspaper at Columbus, Ohio, apologizes for the non-appearance of his paper at the regular time of publication, by saying that “he was engaged in cowhiding a fellow who had slandered him, and didn't get through early enough to go on with his paper.”


The author of the “ Parson's Daughter,” when surprised one evening in his arm-chair, two or three hours after dinner, is reported to have apologised by saying, “ When one is alone, the bottle does come round so often." It was Sir Hercules Langrishe, we believe, who being asked on a simi. lar occasion " Have you finished all that port (three bottles) without assistance ?” answered, “No, not quite that ; I had the assistance of a bottle of Madeira."

THE WILL FOR THE DEED. On opening the will on Monday of a gentleman who had expended an extremely handsome fortune,

amongst other articles it contained the following: “If I had died possessed of a thousand pounds, I would have left it to my dear friend Mr. Thomas B— ; but as I have not sixpence, he must accept the will for the deed."

'Tis a brave old plant, the rosemary,
As ever blossom’d on the lea;
It lifts its head and cheers the sight
When nature feels the winter blight.
When the forest boughs are clad with snow,
And other plants refuse to grow,
O where will you find a herb or tree
So blithe as the ancient rosemary !
When the love-lorn maiden, sick at heart,
Is struck by death's relentless dart,
She's laid in a coffin and clad in white,
With each accustom’d funeral rite;
Flowers are cast into her grave,
And flowers upon the soul shall wave ;
Yet none on her marble breast shall be
But the sadly favour'd rosemary.
A herb of a thousand it is, I ween,
For it lives and blooms on the winter scene,
When the stout tree shrinks with withering dread
From the gale that whistles around its head;
But the rosemary raises its hardy form,
Nor cares for the wind or the threatening storm;
It laughs at the weather and shakes with glee-
Oh! a rare old plant is the rosemary.


The aristocracy are prone to ridicule the elevation of the middle class to high official situations ;

not reflecting that it is easier to transmute men of talent into gentlemen, than it is to convert mere gentlemen into men of talent.

OPS AND HIRON. A WORTHY alderman of Bradford, in Yorkshire, is so great a purist that he will never pay a bili that has got a fault of orthography in it. One day he received a bill for a pocket of ops (hops); the learned Priscian sent for the witless wight, and giving him a good lecturing, asked if he was not ashamed to spell hops in that manner. “Why, sir, if you must know the truth, we have been obliged to do it ever since your brother-in-law took all the h's to spell iron."

TALENTS IN A NAPKIN. A GENTLEMAN once introduced his son to Rowland Hill, by letter, as a youth of great promise, and as likely to do honour to the university of which he was a member; " but he is shy,” added the father, 6 and idle, and I fear buries his talents in a napkin.” A short time afterwards the parent, anxious for the reverend gentleman's opinion, inquired what was thought of his son ? “ I have shaken the napkin,” said Rowland Hill,“ at all corners, and there is nothing in it."

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