Odds and Ends.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 311, 6 April 1878, Page 3

Odds and Ends.

Moke lawsuits than lovesuits are brought on by attachments. ’1 he representative body of the Irish Church • have set aside the sum of £50,000 for the maintenance'of those ruins throughout the country which have been confided to their care. The World asks—Does Marshal MacMahon understand Italian ? If so, does he think it a curious coincidence that M. Gambetta’s name signifies in Italian “kick out?’’ “ Papa,” asked alittle six-year-old daughter of an uptown physician, “ wasn’t Job a doctor ?” “I never heard that he was. Why ?’’ “Because mama said the other day she didn’t think you had any of the patients of Job.” One of the old blue laws of Connecticut said : “ No one shall run on the Sabbath day, except reverently.” Imagine a man just out of church pursuing a flying hat reverently before a high wind and in the presence of an interested congregation. Genuine Grief.—A Philadelphia poetess sings : “I would not weep becauses the roses die.” No, indeed. That’s nothing to cry for. But when black oak wood is worth 7dol. 50c. a cord and the winter promises to last five months, then you want to lift up your voice and howl till they can hear you in Nevada. A country fellow went one night to see his sweetheart, and for a long time he could think of nothing to say. At last, snow beginning to fall heavily, he told her that his father’s sheep would be lost. “ Well,” said she kindly taking him by the hand, “ I’ll take one of them.” A fashionable undertaker in one of the northern towns of Kentucky indulged his taste by purchasing a yery elegant hearse, with plate glass, silver mountings, and mournfully waving plumes. A gentleman seeing the hearse passing down the street in gloomy pomp inquired anxiously of the nearest friend, Who is dead?” the reply was, “Nobody— lie’s only drumming.” A sailor travelling on the Western Railway last week was reproved by a clergyman for swearing, and asked-if-he Knew where he was going to. “I am going to Bathurst,” he replied. “ You are going to perdition, my friend,” said his interrogator. “ Well it does’nt matter”’ he replied ; I have got a return ticket 1' “ Pack me up one or two nice books to read,” said Mrs. Jones to her husband just before departing on a journey to the country. Jones did so, and the disgust which Mis. Jones felt cannot be described when she took out from the satchel to read on the cars; “Barnes’ Notes on Matthew,” “ Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations," a copy of “ Livy,” with notes, and a cook book. A grave magistrate was sitting at the table between two coxcombs, who took it into their heads to attempt making him the butt of their ridicule. “ Gentlemen,” said he, “ I plainly perceive your design : but, to save unnecessary trouble, I must beg leave to show you a just idea of my character. Be it known to you that I am not precisely a fool, nor altogether a knave, but (as you see) something between both.” Good advice —“Don’t.” —Don’t insult a poor man. His muscles may be well developed.—Don’t fret. The world will move on as usual after you are gone— Don’t throw dirt in your teacher’s eyes. It would injure the pupil. —Don’t buy a coach to please your wife. Better make her a litle sulky. -Don’t write long obituaries. Save some of your kind words for those living.—Don’t ask your pastor to pray without notes. How else can he pay his provision bill ? —Don,t stand and point the way to heaven. Spiritual guide boards save but few sinners.—Don’t worry about another man’s business. A little selfishness is sometimes comriiendable. Telephone v Typhoon.— A gentleman on Sheldonstreet thought of having a telephone put into his house, so as to enable him to hold sweet converse with his business partner, but his aged mother protested against it earnestly. “Robert,” she said, “if you bring one of those dreadful things in here I’ll never close my eyes for fear it may break out and sweep us all into eternity, and us not a bit the wiser.” He tried to persuade her that it was an innocuous instrument, but she said, “No, no ; look at the thousands and millions of poor Hindoos it killed last fall.” “ "Why,” said he, “that wasn’t a telephone—that was a typhoon but the old lady lowered her glasses, and, looking at him over the rims thereof, said he couldn’t fool her—that she mightn’t know much, perhaps, but she did know that the typhoon was the President of Japan. The gentleman lias given it up as a hopeless case. About one of the best illustrations of the zeal for the service sometimes displayed by the Custom House officers was shown a day or two back at the Port, says an Adelade journal, when a wicked waterman led on two officers to follow in hot pursuit of a supposed smuggler. The waterman vaguely hinted that there was a dodge on hand, as a man had just pulled away with a boat-load of kegs, and the officers at once made a rush for a boat. The wily w aterman acted as coxswain. and, bointing to the far off chase, gave the word to “ give way.” After a stiff pull the object of the pursuit was seen made fast to a ketch, and in a moment the officers swept alongside. That the kegs were full was evident from the depth of the boat in the water, and the leading officer made a bold dash to secure the prize. AVr limit a moment’s delay he seized one of the kegs ; but, to his utter disgust, when he had drawn the bung he found that it contained nothing but water. The waterman is not likely to soon have another chance of leading her Majesty’ll servants on a wild goose chase.'

A French Canadian aspirant for Parlamentary honors recentij' addressed his as follows:—Gentlemen, —“I’m a man like you; its a habitual’s tongue you want in the house theie aie too many educated men there. I will vote for Canadian tobacco and molasses. “I’m a habitant; I raise all kinds of animals —I’ve even raised hogs like you, gentlemen.' Hurrah Two very fat men made room between them for one very lean man recently in a crowded strect-car. •* Gentlemen,” said the lean man pleasantly, as lie sat down, “ it is agreeble indeed to meat two such wellbread persons. You have mustard up considerable room between you, of which I shall use butter little. Thanks.” Then everybody in the car bowed their heads and wept. , At one of the performances of the Foley Troupe recently given at Coolali, N. S. W., in which Miss Kate Foley walked a la Blondin, on a half-inch wire rope, 300 feet long and 30 feet high, an awkward hx occurred, which, while dangerous to the life of tins talented and intrepid young lady, had also a ludicrous side to it. She had just commenced walking the wire (reports the Mudgee Indepe?ident) when a storm of wind and rain came on, of unusual strength, the lightning playing up along the wire. Return she could not, and her only safety lay in her going ahead, which she did with wonderful nerve and coolness. \V lien she reached about the middle of the wire, two pet mug' pies flew around her, chattering wildly, oneperched on her shoulder, and the other on the end of her balancepole, which she could not get rid of without running a serious risk of losing her balance. The rain now fell in torrents, and the lightning became more vividly intense ; and, to add to her terror, the magpie crouched on her shoulder groaned out, d la raven, “Ford have mercy on us,” while its mate on the end of the pole devoutly responded, “ Amen. Ha-lia-lia ! Foley crossed safely, and received the enthusiastic plaudits of the crowd. The magpies belong to a wel known Coolahite., Mr Arcliy Henderson, and they certinly do credit to the moral training he has put them through.’ How neatly a Frenchman turns a compliment, or gives a recipe for cooking ! Here is a new method of preparing wild duck, told with exceeding grace ; and we have no doubt the duck is as good to eat as the way to cook it is pleasantly narrated : —“ Once upon a time there was a terrible wild man who lived on nothing but what he shot or fished. I came across him in his forest ; I was hungry. With the hospitality of a savage, the wild man invited me to dine with him on a magnificent wild duck, which he proposed rcasl ing. Tt was a lovely sight to see how the noble bird, turning slowly before tlie fire, was just assuming a delicate golden tint. ‘ Kooks nicely, does it notsaid the savage. “ But I shall not roast it.” In va n did I plead for roast duck. Remorselessly the savage tore the bird from the spit, cut off legs, wings, divided up the breast, and pitched all pell-mell into the stew-pot. Sad, even despairing, all' hungry to my very toes, I had a remonstrance on my lips as I saw the wild creature throw into the pot a pinch of salt, then a few whole pepper corns, two table-spoonfuls of olive oil, then a half-tumbler of Bordeaux wine, and, last, the juice of a lemon. Then the untamed man stirred it, and let it simmer for half an hour. Somwliat doubtfully, I tasted the dish. Oh ecstasy! it was delicious! lull of enthusiasm, I, the hungry man, give the world this recipe ; go shoot the duck, and cook him thus.