Quips and Cranks.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 422, 13 March 1880, Page 4

Quips and Cranks.

A good-natuked coachman could not forgo the opportunity which presented itself of makin"- an extra shilling from a wealthy lady, whose penuriousness frequently did him out of a fare. This is how he " had" her : Unable to send a small parcel by other means, and well knowing that she deserved no obligation from the driver, she stopped the coach, handed him a shilling, and asked if he would deliver a parcel to X. " Certainly," said he, pocketing the coin, "X. is in the coach; please hand the parcel

inside." We never could understand the outcry against Irish juries, and, after reading the following from an Irish contemporary, we feel confident that our readers will agree with us that Irish juries are at any rate "thorough" in the discharge of their duties : —"Yesterday, near Belfast, in the case of a woman who, while trespassing on a railway, was killed by a train, the jury recommended that in future the railway company should prosecute such persons." '" Ah, you don't know what musical enthusiasm is !" said a music-mad miss to Tom Hood '' Excuse me, madam, but I think I do." " Well, what is it, Mr. Hood?" "Musical enthusiasm is like turtle soup," answered the wit, thoughtfully. "What do you mean, Mr. Hood?" asked the lady ; "what possible resemblance is there?" " Why, for every quart of real there are ninetynine gallons of mock, and calves' head in proportion !" A Sage who has devoted his attention to horticulture makes public the following infallible recips : planted the cat will proceed to race round and dig into them, and act as if it had relations in China, whom it is anxious to get at ; while if they are not, it will sit calmly down on the path, and seem to be meditating on the progress of missionary work in Africa. A cat's instinct seldom deceives in the matter." The other day a gentleman was showing a few cornstalks over his picture gallery, and after running the round of Australian scenes and classical incidents came to a scriptural subject, which he described as "The Eleven bidding farewell to Paul and Barnabas." Now, whether it was that in naming the picture he spoke rather indistinctly, or that young Mr. Woolpress was too stupid to observe the dress, &c, of -the Apostles, does not appear, but certainly the young man broke out with, " Oh, I see the Eleven ; but Bannerman ! Bannerman ! which is Bannerman ? " A Lady who had quarrrelled with her baldheaded lover said in dismissing him, " What is delightful about you, [my friend, is that I have not the trouble of sending you back any locks of hair." . The tomato is masquerading about the markets just now under more aliases than anyone can shake a stick at. They are "tomatoes," "tomaters," " tomaytoes," tommatuses," tomattoes," "tormatoes," and the other day a woman was heard inquiring, " How d'ye sell yer tornadoes ? " A MAN who has a proper appreciation of a newspaper has been discovered in Waterbury, Connecticut. He bought a ticket at the railroad station, but became so absorbed in the news of the day that the train trundled in and passed out without his noticing it. At last jumping up in dismay, he learned that the train had come and gone and was then miles away. After inquiring when the next train would arrive he resumed his seat and his newspaper. At 9 o'clock the train backed up to the platform, the few passengers got on board, and it steamed away down the road. Half an hour latter the absorbed traveller again came to his senses and realised that the second train was speeding after the first. With a muttered ejaculation relative to his stupidity he observed that he'd bet the next train wouldn't get away from him. For a time he paced the floor of the waiting-room, glancing occasionally at the clock to note the lagging hours, but his paper had attractions too strong to be resisted. When the ticket agent opened the window at 11.30 he saw that the belated traveller was again oblivious to all surroundings, and he determined to arouse him if he seemed likely to let the train go unnoticed. But the agent was called away ; the Hartford train backed down and went out, and finally the 11.50 train for Bridgeport steamed into the station. " All aboard !" and the train moved off. Hastily remembering the man who couldn't forget his newspaper the agent glanced into the waiting-room, and there he sat, motionless and intent upon the page before him, as if his eternal welfare was at stake. The man was aroused and acquainted with the situation; and saying, '' I guess I'll go home and take a fresh start in the morning," he left the station taking his newspaper with him.

THE "VILLAGE BLACKSMITH" IK HUMBLE PROSE.

Under the spreading chesnut tree the village smithy stands ; the smith, a mighty man is he, having been twice elected to represent his ward in the,city council. His hair is crisp and black and long, and, to all appearance, hasn't been combed since his mother used to comb it for him when he was a boy. His face is like the tan ; but it wouldn't be so much like it if he would wash it once in a while. His brow is wet with honest sweat, and, as intimated above, it is about the only thing it ever is wet with. Week in, week out, from morn till night, you can hear bis bellows blow, and you can also hear the blacksmith blow louder than his bellows about the unheard of number of horseshoes he turned in an hour on a wager of 10,000 dollars. You can hear him swing his heavy hand-hammer—Longfellow calls it a "sledge"— but in this our distinguished friend is a little »ff. It is the helper that swings the sledge. We are not a little surprised that Mr. Longfellow should make such a mistake as this regarding a business to which he was apprenticed, and which he honored for so many years. But we digress. Children coming home from school look in at the open door. They love to hear the bellows roar and see the flaming forge ; but what they most love to see is the village blacksmith wrestle with a three-year-old oolt he is trying to shoe. They love to catch the burning sparks that fly like chaff from the threshing floor ; but, great Lucifer ! you ought to hear the little cusses swear when they happen to catch one ! He goes on Sunday to the church and sits among his boys in order to keep them from throwing spit-balls at the parson. He hears his daughter's voice singing in the village choir, and it makes his heart rejoice, but it makes other people's blood run cold, for she can't sing any better than the average village chorister. — Cincinnatti Engineer.