IRISH SHREWDNESS. 235 CURIOUS and odd things not unfrequently occur ‘before the Mayor.' The other day, in attending to applications for situations in the police-force, the Mayor, it was supposed, was about to invest PATRICK MURPHY with a 'star,' when some of his Irish competitors outside the railing cried out: 'Are ye goin' to 'pint PAT, yer Honor? He can't write his name, yer Honor.' 'I am only receiving applications to-day; in a fortnight we make appointments,' said the Mayor: and PAT was told to call on that day two weeks. The friend through whose influence PAT had been induced to apply for office said to him, as they came away from the Hall, 'Now, PAT, go home, and every night do you get a big piece of paper and a good stout pen, and keep writing your name. I'll set the copy' for you.' PAT did as directed; and every night for a fortnight was seen running out his tongue and swaying his head over 'PATRICK MURPHY,' 'PATRICK MURPHY,' in the style of chirography generally known as 'coarse hand.' When the day for the appointment came, Pat found himself 'before the Mayor,' urging his claim. 'Can you write?' said that excellent functionary. "Troth, an' it's meself that jist kin!' answered PAT. 'Take that pen,' said the Mayor, and let us see you write. Write your name.' He took the pen as directed, when a sort of exclama 236 AN IRISH BLUNDER. tory laugh burst from his surprised competitors who were in attendance: 'How-ly PAUL!-d' ye mind that, MIKE? PAT's a-writin'!—he's got a quill in his fist!' 'So he has, be Jabers!' said MIKE; but small good 't will do him; he can't write wid it, man?' But PAT did write; he had recorded his name in a bold round hand. 'That'll do,' said the Mayor. His foiled rivals looked in each other's faces with undisguised astonishment. A lucky thought struck them: Ask him to write somebody else's name, yer Honor,' said two of them, in a breath. That's well thought of,' replied the Mayor: 'PAT, write my name!' Here was a dilemma; but PAT was equal to it. 'Me write yer Honor's name!' exclaimed he, with a welldissembled 'holy horror;' 'ME commit a forgery, and I agoin' on the Pelisse! I can't do it, yer Honor!' could n't—but his wit saved him, and he is now of the first magnitude.' And he a 'star' By-the-by, 'speaking of Irishmen,' CRANSTON, the popular host of the 'Rockaway Pavilion,' illustrates by a characteristic anecdote their inherent propensity to blunder. An Irish servant of his had been directed to awaken two gentlemen at six o'clock in the morning, who were to take the public conveyance to town. At three o'clock in the morning he awakened two other gentlemen from a sound sleep, who after anathematizing his stupidity, ‘between sleep and awake,' for some hour and a half, at length 'MORALITY' OF DECENT DRESS. 237 fell into the refreshing slumber which had been so rudely dispelled; when there came another rap at their doors, which awoke them instanter. The blundering Irishman, having discovered his mistake, had come to apologize to the gintlemen for wakin' 'em up at the wrong hour!' 'Faix,' said he, in the most self-accusing spirit, it was n't yez that was to be waked, anny way!' With curses not loud, but of considerable depth, the restless guests resigned themselves to their fate-victims of an Irish servant. AN eminent legal judge, and a preeminent judge of human nature, observes: 'It is an observation I have always made, that dress has a moral effect on mankind. Let any gentleman find himself with dirty boots, old, surtout, soiled neck-cloth, and a general negligence of dress, he will in all probability find a corresponding disposition to negligence of ad-dress. He may, en deshabille, curse and swear, speak roughly and think coarsely; but put the same man into full dress, and he will feel himself quite another person. To use the language of the blackguard would then be out of character: he will talk smoothly, affect politeness, if he has it not; pique himself upon good manners, and respect the women: nor will the spell subside, until returning home, the old surtout, the heedless 238 ARTISTIC SMUGGLING. slippers, with other slovenly appendages, make him lose again his brief consciousness of being a gentleman.' 'Running a Land Blockade' reminds us of a trick played by a wag who, before the working of the saline springs of our own glorious State, made it a business to smuggle salt from Canada into 'the States. One day, having got wind that he was suspected, he loaded his bags full of sawdust, and drove past the tavern where the excisemen were waiting for him. He was ordered to stop, but he only increased his speed. At length he was overtaken, and his load inspected with many imprecations, after which he was permitted to pass on. A day or two after, he drove up again with a full load of salt, and asked banteringly, if they did n't want to search him again. 'Go on! go on!' said the excisemen; we 've had enough of you!' NUMBER ELEVEN. CLINGING TO LIFE: INSOLUBLE PROBLEMS: PREMONITIONS OF A CONSUMPTIVE: SUNSHINE OF THE GRAVE: DEATH OF HON. SILAS. HIGGINS: CALIFORNIA PILGRIMS: A 'LAID-UP' EAR: SUGGESTIVE EPITAPH: THE 'INNER LIFE' OF MAN: A ''NEW'- MILCH' Cow: A VOICE FROM THE NURSERY: A CONDENSING CONVERSATIONIST: DOW AMONG THE TOMBS: A CITY SNOWSCENE: LARGE 'UNDERSTANDING': WINTER IN THE COUNTRY: SOME THOUGHTS ON KITES. RS. NORTON, in The Child of Earth,' has beauti MRS. fully illustrated the tenacity with which poor Humanity clings to this shadowy existence: FAINTER her slow step falls from day to day: Yet doth she fondly cling to earth, and say: Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing, Not while bright flowers around my footsteps wreathe. Spare me, great GOD! lift up my drooping brow: I am content to die - but oh, not now!' The spring hath ripened into summer-time — |