went, but made no mention of the delay which occasioned our coming to Mikey; on the contrary, he attributed the preference solely to our conviction of his superior abilities, and the wish to give him a chance, as he felt convinced, if he had fair play, he’d be engaged miles round, instead of the hopping old shaver at Kells.

“I’m your man, Masther Robert.”

“Who’s first?”

“I am—there’s the fi’penny—that’s for the lot!”

“Good luck to you, sit down—will you have the Currah thoro’bred-cut?”

“That’s the thing,” said Bob.

“Then, young gentlement, as there ain’t much room—and if you do be all looking on, I’ll be bothered—just come in one by one.”

Out we went, and, in an inconceivably short space, Bob emerged.

Mikey advising: “Master Robert, dear, keep your hat on for the life of you, for fear of cowld.” A few minutes finished us all.

“This is elegant,” said Bob. “Mikey, it will be the making of you; but don’t say a word till you hear how they’ll praise you at dinner.”

“Mum!” said Mikey, and off we rushed.

I felt rather astonished at the ease with which my hat sat; while those of the rest appeared ready to fall over their noses. Being in a hurry, this was passed over. The second dinner-bell rang—we bolted up for a brief ablution—our hats were thrown into a corner, and, as if by one consent, all eyes were fixed upon each other’s heads!

Bob gave tongue: “The Devil’s skewer to Mikey Brian! and bad luck to the Currah thoro’bred cut! Not the eighth part of an inch of ‘air there is amongst the set of us. What will the master say? Never mind; we’ve got the fi’pennies! Come to dinner!—by the Puck we are beauties!”

We reached the dining-room unperceived; but who can describe the agony of my aunt Kate, when she clapped her eyes upon five such close-clipped scarecrows. She vowed vengence of all sorts and descriptions against the impudent, unnatural, shameful monster! Terms which Mikey Brian, in the back-ground, appropriated to himself, and with the utmost difficulty restrained his rising wrath from breaking out.

“What,” continued aunt Kate, “what does he call this?”

“It’s the thoro’bred Currah-cut, ma’am,” said Bob, with one of his peculiar glances at Mikey and the rest.

“And mighty cool wearing, I’ll be bail,” muttered Mikey.

“Does he call that hair-cutting?” screamed my aunt.

“That, and nothing but it,” quietly retorted Bob, passing his hand over his head; “you can’t deny the cutting, ma’am.”

“The young gentlemen look elegant,” said Mikey.

“I’m told it’s all the go, ma’am,” said Bob.

“Wait!” said my aunt, with suppressed rage; “wait till I go to Kells.”

This did not happen for six weeks; our aunt’s anger was mollified as our locks were once more human. Upon upbraiding “Tony Knowlan” the murder came out. A hearty laugh ensured our pardon, and Mikey Brian’s; and the story of the “thoro’bred Currah-cut” was often told, as the means by which “we all got a fi’penny bit a-piece.”—FUSBOS.

There is a portrait of a person so like him, that, the other day, a friend who called took no notice whatever of the man, further than saying he was a good likeness, but asked the portrait to dinner, and only found out his mistake when he went up to shake hands with it at parting.

An American hearing that there was a fire in his neighbourhood, and that it might possibly consume his house, took the precaution to bolt his own door; that he might be, so far at least, beforehand with the devouring element.

BAD EITHER WAY.

The peace, happiness, and prosperity of England, are threatened by Peel; in Ireland, the picture is reversed: the safety of that country is endangered by Re-peal. It would be hard to say which is worst.

A CONSTANT PAIR.

A COUNT AND HIS SCHNEIDER.

The Count’s fashioner sent in, the other day, his bill, which was a pretty considerable time overdue, accompanied by the following polite note:—

“Sir,—Your bill having been for a very long time standing, I beg that it may be settled forthwith.

“Yours,
“B——.”

To which Snip received the following reply:—

“Sir,—I am very sorry that your bill should have been kept standing so long. Pray request it to sit down.

“Yours,
“**”

NARRATIVE OF AN AWFUL CASE OF EXTREME DISTRESS.

It was in the year 1808, that myself and seven others resolved upon taking chambers in Staples’ Inn. Our avowed object was to study, but we had in reality assembled together for the purposes of convivial enjoyment, and what were then designated “sprees.” Our stock consisted of four hundred and twelve pounds, which we had drawn from our parents and guardians under the various pretences of paying fees and procuring books for the advancement of our knowledge in the sublime mysteries of that black art called Law. In addition to our pecuniary resources, we had also a fair assortment of wearing-apparel, and it was well for us that parental anxiety had provided most of us with a change of garments suitable to the various seasons. For a long time everything went on riotously and prosperously. We visited the Theatres, the Coal-hole, the Cider-cellars, and the Saloon, and became such ardent admirers of the “Waterford system of passing a night and morning,” that scarcely a day came without a draft upon the treasury for that legal imposition upon the liberty of the subject—the five-shilling fine; besides the discharge of promissory notes as compensation for trifling damages done to the heads and property of various individuals.

About a month after the formation of our association we were all suffering severely from thirsty head-aches, produced, I am convinced, by the rapid consumption of thirteen bowls of whiskey-punch on the preceding night. The rain was falling in perpendicular torrents, and the whole aspect of out-of-door nature was gloomy and sloppy, when we were alarmed by the exclamation of Joseph Jones (a relation of the Welsh Joneses), who officiated as our treasurer, and upon inquiring the cause, were horror-stricken to find that we had arrived at our last ten-pound note, and that the landlord had sent an imperative message, requiring the immediate settlement of our back-rent. It is impossible to paint the consternation depicted on every countenance, already sufficiently disordered by previous suffering and biliary disarrangement.

I was the first to speak; for being the son of a shabby-genteel father, I had witnessed in my infancy many of those schemes to raise the needful, to which ambitious men with limited incomes are so frequently driven. I therefore bid them be of good heart, for that any pawnbroker in the neighbourhood would readily advance money upon the superfluous wardrobe which we possessed. This remark was received with loud cheers, which, I have no doubt, would have been much more vehement but from the fatal effects of the whiskey-punch.

The landlord’s claim was instantly discharged, and after several pots of strong green tea, rendered innocuous by brandy, we sallied forth in pursuit of what we then ignorantly conceived to be pleasure.

I will not pause to particularise the gradual diminution of our property, but come at once to that period when, having consumed all our superfluities, it become a serious subject of consideration, what should next be sacrificed.

I will now proceed to make extracts from our