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South Canterbury Times, Issue 2466, 12 February 1881, Page 4

Pushed for an Illustration. The fearful effects of drink were well expressed to his flock by an Irish parish priest the other day. “ What is it, me bhoys, that degrades ye to the level of the bastes of the field ? Oi tell ye it’s dhfink! What is that deproives ye of your nerve ? The dhrink ! What is it that makes you shoot at your landlord and miss him? It’s the drink an’ nothin but the dhrink!” ‘Do you belive in second love, Mr McQuade?’ ‘Do I believe in second love ? Humph ! If a man buys a pound of sugar isn’t it sweet 'i and when it is gone doesn’t he want another pound ? and isn’t that pound sweet, too ? Troth, Murphy, I believe in second love.’ “Have you blasted hopes?’’ asked a lady of a green librarian, whose face was much swollen by the toothache. “ No, ma’am, but I have a blasted toothache.” . • . “Ah, heavens?” cries Nana, sentimentally, to her visitor, “ when one is adored by a magnificent captain like you, nothing can ever make her love again—unlessit is a major.” Too sweet. —Tis sweet as the gentle murmurings of an AEolian harp to hear a bride of a fortnight old talk of the cares and trials incident to the managing of a family.