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Thames Star, Volume VII, Issue 2011, 15 June 1875, Page 2

Ok "Wednesday night" says the New Zealand. Mail, a young gentleman who helps the publisher of the New Zealand Times attended, service at St.. Peter's Church; There is really nothing very remarkable about this fact, although some might think there was. The remarkable part has to come. The young gentleman fell asleep, which he accounts for by saying that he had passed the' day in a whirl of delirious excitement, caused by having perpetually to answer people who asked him whether Vogel was ever coming back, and who thought that because he was on a newspaper he ought to know. Following on this, ho said the service was so soothing that it lulled him to sleep. No one woke him, but every one went out and left him locked up in the dark after service was, over. He slept -" until eleven, o'clock, and then, waking with a start, reajly imagined for a time that he had got to that awful place were editors and printers^ go to. His frenzied cries whilst laboring under this delusion and anticipating the horrors that were to come,- caused people in the street to fancy that the Town Council had got into the Church by mistake and were holding a meeting. Consequently, for some time no one cared to interfere, but at last some one bolder than the rest took the trouble to ascertain what was really the case, and the young gentleman was. liberated. Foukb Them Out.—The following tale is told by an American officer :—" I was riding across Canal-street, in New Orleans, not far from the bronze statue .of Henry Clay. My Irish orderly rode up, and. said as he pulled his forelock, ' Does them N'Orlcans fellers like a nager so's t. pit a statter of him in tho fashionablest sthreet they've got?* 'That isn't a nigger, Tom,' said I, that's the great Clay statue.' 'Might I go and look at it? Tom galloped off, on my permission, rodo round the statue, dismounted, and climbed up on tho granite pedestal; ond then, mounting hi* horse again, ha soon overtook me. 'Did they tell yez that was clay■?' said he, with every appearance of disgust. 'Yes," I said. 'Well, sir, it ain't—it's iron!'"