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Frenchman. Oui, monsieur, oui.

Patrick. Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron, sir, and you'll obleege me?

Frenchman. Monsieur, pardon, monsieur

Patrick. Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, I say. Frenchman. Oui, oui, monsieur.

Patrick. Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, and howld your prate. Well, I'll give you one chance more, you owld thafe! Are you a Christian, at all, at all? Are you a furriner that all the world calls so p'lite? Bad luck to you! do you understand your mother tongue? Parley voo frongsay? (Very loud.) Parley voo frongsay?

Frenchman. Oui, monsieur, oui, oui.

Patrick. (Screaming.) Thin lind me the loan of a gridiron !

5. AFTER-DINNER SPEECH BY A FRENCHMAN.

"Milors and Gentlemans-You excellent chairman, M. le Baron de Mount-Stuart, he have say to me, 'Make de toast.' Den I say to him dat I have no toast to make; but he nudge my elbow ver soft, and say dat dere is von toast dat nobody but von Frenchman can make proper; and, derefore, wid your kind permission, I vill make de toast. 'De brevete is de sole of de feet,' as you great philosophere, Dr. Johnson, do say, in dat amusing little vork of his, de Pronouncing Dictionnaire ; and, derefore, I vill not say ver moch to de point.

"Ah! mes amis ven I hear to myself de flowing speech, de oration magnifique of you Lor' Maire, Monsieur Gobbledown, I feel dat it is von great privilege for von étranger to sit at de same table, and to eat de same food, as dat grand, dat majestique man, who are de terreur of de voleurs and de brigands of de metropolis; and who is also, I for to suppose, a halterman and de chief of you common scoundrel. Milors and

gentlemans, I feel dat I can perspire to no greatare honneur dan to be von common scoundrelman myself; but, hélas! dat plaisir are not for me, as I are not freeman of your great cité, not von liveryman servant of von of you compagnies joint-stock. But I must not forget de toast.

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Milors and Gentlemans! De immortal Shakispeare he have write, 'De ting of beauty are de joy for nevermore.' It is de ladies who are de toast. Vat is more entrancing dan de charmante smile, de soft voice, de vinking eye of de beautiful lady! It is de ladies who do sweeten de cares of life. It is de ladies who are de guiding stars of our existence. It is de ladies who do cheer but not inebriate, and, derefore, vid all homage to dere sex, de toast dat I have to propose is, 'De Ladies! God bless dem all!'"

6. DUNDREARY IN THE COUNTRY.

1. Diwectly after the season is over in town, I always go into the countwy. To tell you the twuth, I hate the countwy-it's so awful dull-there's such a howid noise of nothing all day; and there is nothing to see but gween twees, and cows, and buttercups, and wabbits, and all that sort of cattle-I don't mean exactly cattle either, but animals, you know.

2. And then the earwigs get into your hair-bwushes if you leave the bed-woom window open; and if you lie down on the gwass, those howid gwasshoppers, all legs, play at leap-frog over your nose, which is howible torture, and makes you weady to faint, you know, if it is not too far to call for assistance.

3. And the howid sky is always blue, and everything bores you; and they talk about the sunshine, as if there was more sunshine in the countwy than in the citywhich is abthurd, you know-only the countwy sun is hotter, and bwings you all out in those howid fweckles,

and turns you to a fwiteful bwicky color, which the wetches call healthy.

4. As if a healthy man must lose his complexion, and become of a bwicky wed color-ha, ha!-bwicky— howid-bwicky wed color-cawoty wed color!

7. THE HEATHEN CHINEE.

Which I wish to remark-
And my language is plain-
That for ways that are dark,

And for tricks that are vain,

The heathen Chinee is peculiar,
Which the same I would rise to explain.

Ah Sin was his name;

And I shall not deny,

In regard to the same,

What that name might imply;
But his smile it was pensive and child-like,
As I frequently remarked to Bill Nye.

It was August the third,

And quite soft was the skies-
Which it might be inferred

That Ah Sin was likewise;

Yet he played it that day upon William
And me in a way I despise.

Which we had a small game,
And Ah Sin took a hand;
It was Euchre. The same
He did not understand;

But he smiled as he sat by the table,
With a smile that was child-like and bland.

Yet the cards they were stocked
In a way that I grieve,
And my feelings were shocked

At the state of Nye's sleeve.

Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,
And the same with intent to deceive.

But the hands that were played
By that heathen Chinee,
And the points that he made,
Were quite frightful to see;

Till at last he put down a right bower,
Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.

Then I looked up at Nye,
And he gazed upon me;
And he rose with a sigh,

And said, "Can this be?

We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor"-
And he went for that heathen Chinee.

In the scene that ensued

I did not take a hand;

But the floor it was strewed,

Like the leaves on the strand,

With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding, In the game he "did not understand."

In his sleeves, which were long,

He had twenty-four packs-
Which was coming it strong,

Yet I state but the facts;

And we found on his nails, which were taper, What is frequent in tapers-that's wax.

Which is why I remark

And my language is plain-
That for ways that are dark,

And for tricks that are vain,

The heathen Chinee is peculiar,

Which the same I am free to maintain.

BRET HARTE

8. MARK TWAIN AND THE REPORTER.

"Hoping it's no harm, I've come to interview you. I am connected with The Daily Thunderstorm.”

"Come to what?"

"Interview you."

"Ah! I see. Yes-yes. Um! Yes-yes."

"Are you ready to begin?"

"Ready."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen in June."

"Indeed! I would have taken you to be thirty-five or six. Where were you born?"

"In Missouri?"

"When did you begin to write?"

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In 1836."

Why, how could that be, if you are only nineteen now?"

"I don't know. It does seem curious, somehow." "It does indeed. Whom do you consider the most remarkable man you ever met?"

"Aaron Burr."

"But you never could have met Aaron Burr, if you are only nineteen years-"

“Now, if you know more about me than I do, what do you ask me for?"

"Well, it was only a suggestion; nothing more. How did you happen to meet Burr?"

"Well, I happened to be at his funeral one day; and he asked me to make less noise, and-"

"But, good heavens! If you were at his funeral, he must have been dead; and, if he was dead, how could he care whether you made a noise or not?"

"I don't know. He was always a particular kind of a man that way."

"Still, I don't understand it at all. You say he spoke to you, and that he was dead?"

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