The Birkenhead News and Wirral General Advertiser. — 1882-04-15 (Birkenhead, Merseyside, England)

DAINTIES.  Young lady: "And who comes after Esther ? " (panic). "Is it Job ? " Pupil: No, Miss; Billy Piper's big brother: I see him a Sunday."  "Dnn't you think that Hiss Brown is a very sweet girl ?" asked Harry. "Oh, yes, very sweet," replied Jane; "that is to say she is well preserved."  A few extracts from English papers—One says: "The Princess Louise went to Wimbledom to witness the shooting of her husband." Another describes the Prince of Wales's second son as "An amiable boy like his mother." A third announces that "the Duke of Hamilton will shortly take to wife the late Mary Louisa Montague."  Coleridge was a remarkably awkward horseman, so much so as generally to attract notice. He was once riding along a turn-pike road, when a wag approaching noticed his peculiarity, and thought the rider a subject for a little sport. As he drew near, he thus accosted the poet, "I say, young man, did you meet a tailor on the road?" 'Yes," replied Coleridge," and he told me if I went a little further I should meet his goose."  An honest John Ball travelling through Germany, on arriving at the gate of a city, was requested to describe himself. Not knowing exactly what designation to apply to himself, he answered that he was "an elector of Middlesex." As an elector in Germany is rather a more important personage than those who bear that honourable title in England, the Germans immediately threw open their gates, and the guard tuned out and did military honours to the English elector.  An old medical friend of mine, having occasion to leave his country practice for a few days, engaged as his locum towns a young fellow just fresh from college. Upon his return he enquired of young Sawbones what fresh cases had Come in.  .. •• Oh, nothing of importance,' was the reply, "except a birth." . "And how did you succeed with that ? " "Well, the woman died, and the child died, but I think 11l save the old man yet!"  At a public dinner in the country a farmer, while relating something to the company &boot 'two Chinese women, said " I declare they were the ugliest women I have seen anywhere." There happened to be two maiden ladies present of no remarkable beauty. The farmer, who was a little misty, began to think he had made a mess of it, and that they would imagine he was alluding to them; so to put matters straight (as he thought) added, "the present coinpany excepted." Roars of laughter ensued, and in few minutes both farmer and ladies had vanished.  The other morning, as the express train to San Jose was slamming along past San Meteo with both valves wide open, the figure of a man was seen waving a red shirt about halfa-mile up the track. The engine was reversed, breaks whistled down, and with a tremendous effort the train was stopped just as it reached the man. "What's the matter ?" shouted the conductor, running forward. "Is this the lightning express to San Jose ? " asked the stranger, earnestly. "Yes, yes, of course it is," said the ticket-puncher, while the passengers crowded up with white faces. "That's right," said the man, pocketing his flannel and bracing up for a grand break, "always tell the truth and people will respect you." And before the engineer could seize a bunk of coal he had a hundre I yards start to windward, with a fresh breeze on the weather beam.  Hogarth was once applied to by a miserly old nobleman to paint for his staircase a representation of the destruction of Pharoah's host in the Red Sea. In attempting to fix upon the price, Hogarth became quite dissatisfied. The miser was unwilling to give more than one-half the real value of the picture. At last Hogarth, out of all patience, agreed to his patron's terms. Within a day or two the picture was ready. The nobleman was surprised at such expedition, and immediately called to examine it. The canvas was painted all over red. " Zounds " said the purchaser, "what have you here? I ordered a scene of the Red Sea." "The Red Sea you have," said Hogarth, still smarting at having his talents undervalued. "But where are the Israelites ? " "They are all gone over." "And where are the Egyptians ? " "They are all drowned." The miser's confusion could only be equalled by the haste with which he paid his bill. The biter was bit.  I gave a musical party. I summoned to my aid my brother, who plays the melodeon. I called to my assistance my friend, who lets the tempest of his heart loose into the cornet. I obtained the powerful alliance of my cousin, who exercises his muscles on the double bass. I invoked the tremendous services of an Aberdeenshire acquaintance, who has been practising for ten years on the Scotch bagpipes and still survives. I appealed successfully to patriotic passions and pecuniary prejudices, and secured the presence of a fife and drum—principally dram—band, from the Coombe. The first part of the concert lasted two hours. By the end of that time all the lodgers in the street had given their landladies notice to quit, and I received three deputations from the outraged inhabitants of the disturbed district. But my scheme of vengeance was only budding. I had generously plied the perspiring performers with copious draughts of single X and double L till they felt fit for anything in the way of musical monstrosity or instrumental indignity I could ask them to perpetrate on the suffering locality. Then I marshalled them out in the back yard, and implored them as a last personal favour to make themselves at home, and let each artist give vent to his feelings in his favourite tune. They vented. The bagpipes squeeled out the " Reel of Tullochgoram," till it seemed as if all the pigs in the distressful island had joined in the shrill lament over Moonlight's interference with their tails. The cornet pealed forth "Killarney," with energy enough to drown the roar of Niagara. The double bass  growled like a thunderstorm in its last agoniee, _ an operatic overture I never heard before, and, I hope, never, never, to listen to again. The melodeon struggledtmanfully with " Nancy Lee," and the fife and drum band wrestled desperately with " Patrick's Day," except half-a-dozen or so of its mpmbers, who got up a fight in one corner, and added a choice assortment of yells, shouts, and profane expressions to the glories of the occasion. It was gorgeous! In ten minutes we had three fire engines and a division of police ha the street; in half-an-hour there were several attempts at suicide of leading residents of the locality; and, before our grand finale warn finally done with, there wasn't a juvenile or adult within half-a-mile that had not had music enough to last for a lifetime.