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Hawke's Bay Times, Volume IV, Issue 196, 14 October 1864, Page 3

TF.KiilliLE tCATASXUOriIE IK A ClIUECn. —The Boston Herald publishes the following incident, which it locates in a city “ within 40 miles of the hum of the'universe.” A railroad man, of that quietly jolly style which takes with everybody that likes a good joke, but wouldn’t knowingly do a wrong or criminal thing for the world, is frequently called to this town and its vicinity by business. On Sunday, recently, he rode to an adjoining town, and called on an acquaintance who had some nice bottled cider, which, the natural presumption is, he tried. When our railway friend came away ho was entrusted with a bottle of this cider, to be delivered to another railroad man in Boston. The bottle was not very bulky ; our friend had capacious pockets in his coat, and so ho slipped the “original package” into one of them. On arriving at the town he saw the door of a snug little church wide open, and, being a regular churchgoer, he went in. He had a seat in a prominent pew, with three young ladies in front, a deacon near by, and the elite of the congregation near him. The services were commenced, and our friend was soon under that influence which is always produced by the inspiring music, the solemn invocation and the sympathetic devoutness of an orthodox congregation in a country village. The pastor had commenced his sermon, the audience was unusually still and attentive, and our friend was just wondering what illustration the pastor would use for a knotty theological point relating to the punishment of sinners, which he wasjust developing, whem whack —pop —spud—whist—fizz-z-z out came the cork from the bottled cider, which our friend had forgotten all about, just grazing a lady’s full crowned hat, and by an evil chance, striking the clergyman full in the face. Forth from the mouth of the bottle issued a yellowish white stream, like that from an inch nozzle at a fire-engine trial, only boiling, foaming, seething and spluttering in an incomparable manner. Our friend’s clothes were saturated, and the apparel of the young ladies in front and of various members of the elite were covered with the foam. At the parson’s exclamation, “I am shot!” the whole congregation started to their feet, and a scene of confusion ensued which baffles description. The unhappy ciderbearer was arrested, and it required some eloquence on his part to explain matters. The parson’s sermon was cut short in the middle, like Hudibras’s adventure of the bear and fiddle, and our railroad official went home musing on ginger-pop and ciderless.

Exacting. —“ Well, Ann, have you consented to be the wife of Mr. White ?” “ No, Sally, I didn’t quiet consent.” “ Why not ? I think he loves you.” “ Yes, but he didn’t pile up the agony high enough. When I give my hand to a wooer I want him to call upon the gods to witness his deep devotion to me. I want him to kneel at my feet, take one of mv hands between both of his, and with a look that would melt an adamantine rock to pity, beg me to take pity on his sufferings ; and then I want him to end by swearing to blow out his brains on the spot if I do not compassionate his sufferings.”