if you don't stop blowing yourself out, you'll soon go smoke your pipe, with your son Jerry."-Nelson then told his adviser that he would exactly follow his prescription." Indeed! I don't expect that you will," observed the surgeon; "but if you wish to live, don't swill nor devour so much as you have done. Go and buy my book, and you'll know how to get rid of your big belly, Mr. Water-bailiff.”- "What, won't you let me have my pipe and pint of beer, or my glass?" said Nelson, disconsolately.-" You may do as you please: I can't stay with you any longer," said Mr. Abernethy; "if you do as I desire you, you'll have health."

ROBERT PALMER.-The late Robert Palmer was in the early part of his life a bill-sticker, which circumstance was pretty generally known to the performers. One evening being dressed for Sir Brilliant Fashion, he strutted into the green-room with sparkling buckles on his shoes and at his knees, and a brilliant ring on his finger. One of the company enquired if they were real. "I wear nothing but diamonds," replied Palmer. "I congratulate you," said John Bannister, “ for I remember when you wore nothing but paste." This occasioned a war, which was heightened by Mrs. Jordan crying out, "stick him against the wall, Bob-stick him against the wall."

ENGLISH, IRISH, AND SCOTCH MANNERS.-The Englishman goes straight forward to his purpose; the Scotchman takes occasional deflections, when he calculates that they will either shorten the road or facilitate the ascent; and the Irishman flies sometimes to the one side, sometimes to the other, tumbles down in his violence, and often ends where he began. In his mental powers the Englishman is persevering but slow; the Scotsman is more intense and varied, but he sticks not so pertinaciously to a single subject; and the Irishman has

the rush of the wind, and also its lightness. An Englishman in power is haughty and distant-he relies on his own schemes, and counts not on the favour or the assistance of other men: a Scotsman in power is apt to be more intriguing, and, for the vanity of serving his connexions, will allow himself to do things which an Englishman would call mean. An Irishman in power is apt to lose his interest in the gratification of his vanity, and become the dupe of those who minister to his passions. The poor Englishman takes his toil as lightly as he can, and counts the hours till he shall enjoy the Sunday's idleness and the Sunday's dinner. When young, he boasts of the dexterity of his fists and the strength of his muscles; takes his wages with a growl, and thanks you not though you overpay him; and when he is old, he boasts that England is his country, and marches away to the workhouse with a feeling of independence. He appears to have no wish either to arrive at a more elevated station himself, or to put his family in a way of doing so. The poor Scotsman chaffers about the amount of his wages, hoards it with the greatest parsimony, and consoles himself that, in consequence of the care he has taken of his savings, one at least of his sons will be a gentleman. When he is young he prides himself on the fashion of his coat and the beauty of his sweetheart; and when old he continues to labour rather than be burdensome to any body. The poor Irishman drudges hard for little, and seeks his pleasure in warm protestations of friendship-demonstrated, perhaps, by the cudgel. When young his glory is his brawl and his amour; when old, the grave is his shelter. Enter an English court of justice, it seems a cold formality; and a man is sentenced to be hanged with the same sang froid as if he were only to pay a fine. In Scotland the same scene is solemn and impressive. In Ireland it appears a perfect battle-field. The English public speaker proceeds by forms and facts; the Scottish, by argument from first principles;

and the Irish, by an appeal to the passions. The first are clear; the second subtle; and the third vehement. A man is banished from Scotland for a great crime; from England for a small one; and from Ireland, morally speaking, for no crime at all. Hence, in New South Wales, an Irish convict may be a good man; an English passable; but a Scottish is invariably a villain.

ECCENTRICITY.-Sir John Price was extremely eccentric; he married three wives, and kept the two first after their demise, embalmed; placing them in his chamber, one on each side of his bed. The third lady refused him the honour of her hand till he had removed the dead rivals and interred them.

LORD BYRON.-A young man from a distant part of the country, who had quarrelled with his father, in consequence of having squandered a small sum of money, was friendless, and almost pennyless, in the metropolis; and at last wrote a little poem, or rather a succession of bad rhymes, which he offered to the booksellers. Most of them rejected the profferred poem with scorn; but at last the writer met with one who said that if ten pounds were given him, he would publish it, and give the writer half the profits. Elated with this, he sallied into the streets, and had wandered as far as Piccadilly ere he knew what he was about, or whither he was going. Exhausted at last, he stood still at the front entrance of the Albany, with his manuscript in his hand. Byron happened to pass; and his notice being drawn by something peculiar in the young man's appearance, he accosted him. The whole story came out; and the rustic rhymester was taken into the apartment of the bard. "And so you say you have quarrelled with father?" said Byron. man, hanging down his head.

your

"Yes," said the young

"And you could get a chance of half

"Yes," said the young

the profits of your poem for ten pounds?" man again, raising himself up. "And for how much could you be reconciled to your father?" said Byron, again. "For ten pounds, also," said the young man. "Then," said Byron," there is ten pounds, give it to him, and let him publish the poem if he pleases; and there are five more for yourself, to hasten you on your way." The young man was astonished; and before he could turn round to thank his benefactor, that benefactor had disappeared.

WINGS WEEL CLIPPET. About half a century ago Sir John Stewart, of Grandcully, was shewing his grounds to a neighbour laird, Mr. Robertson, of Tullibelton. After surveying the greater part of the property, they came to a large farm in a remarkably high state of cultivation. Says Sir John, "This is one of the best farms on my estate, and it is in the possession of one Duncan Stevenson, an Aberdeen's-man, and none of the least acute of that skeely county, if all tales be true. You see his handywork. Now, Tullibelton, as I have heard Duncan is a great original, if we meet him, and he asks us to dinner, we will go." Forthwith appears the honest Aberdonian, and receiving his landlord with all due respect, shews him and his companion over the whole farm,-pointing out the various improvements he had made. At last, says Duncan, "Sir John, wull ye dee me the honour of coming and taking yer denner wi' me? (No notice taken of Tullibelton). "With all my heart, Mr. Stevenson," quoth Sir John. “ Dinna maister me, Sir," said the straightforward Duncan ; "there are owre mony maisters." "Well, gude man." There are few gude men, an' please you, Sir John. Ca' me plain Duncan,-I want nae ither name." "Plain enough, an' be d-d t'ye, you surly tyke," muttered Tullibelton. "Well, honest Duncan, my friend, we'll come over at three o'clock: I suppose that is about your hour?" "Just

......

precisely, sir," quoth the strange mortal, and anon departed. "Now, Tullibelton, you see what an uncouth fish of a tenant I have got; but he is an oddity, and we will have some rich sport with him. I'll warrant you he'll give us a capital dinner, and I should not be surprised if we should have a bottle of port with it, and plenty of excellent Ferintosh after." At the hour appointed the Baronet and Tullibelton repaired to Duncan's domicile. There he was ready to receive themSir John with the most marked respect, but the other with obvious coolness, nay, even ill-dissembled reluctance. They were regaled with a most substantial dinner; and, as Sir John had foreseen, a bottle of black strap was produced. In due time Duncan retired through a door at the end of the room, for the jovial purpose of procuring the implements and ingredients requisite for concocting a glorious bowl of whisky punch. His guests thought he had gone to another part of the house, ignorant that the door opened into a small closet where Duncan stowed his drinkables; and where of course he could hear every word that passed. Hinc ille lacrymæ! 'Well, Tully," said Sir John, "what d'ye think of Duncan,-is he not a fine fellow?" "Faith, Sir John," said Tullibelton, who was a complete scrub, " you let your tenants sit far too snug under you: if I were you, I would olip their wings a little." This ungrateful speech did not escape the wakeful ears of the wily Aberdeen's-man. In a few minutes be made his appearance with the Bacchanalian materials, and having made a bowl of the precious liquid, he filled up the glasses, and drank with much reverence his landlord's health in the following style:-Sir John Stewart o' Grandcully, ye've deen me great honour by coming and taking your denner wi' me, and I am meikle obliged to you for't. But fa's this ye've brocht w' ye? I didna ask him, I trow!" "Good God! Duncan," said the astonished Sir John, "do you not know Mr. Robertson of Tullibelton, one of