A Rigid Sense of Duty
At one of our sea-port towns there stood (and, we believe, doth stand there still) a fort, on the outside of which is a spacious field, overlooking a delightful prospect of land and water. At the time we are speaking of, a Major Brown was the commandant; and his family being fond of a milk diet, the veteran had several cows that pastured in the land aforesaid; a sentry was placed near the entrance, part of whose duty it was to prevent strangers and stray cattle from trespassing therein. Upon one occasion, an Irish marine, a stranger to the place, was on guard at this post, and having received the regular orders not to allow any one to go upon the grass but the major’s cows, determined to adhere to them strictly. He had not been long at his post, when three elegant young ladies presented themselves at the entrance for the purpose of taking their usual evening walk, and were quickly accosted by the marine with “You can’t go there!”
“Oh! but we may,” uttered the ladies with one voice, “we have the privilege to do so.”
“Privilege,” repeated the sentry; “fait an’ I don’t care what ye have, but you mustn’t go there, I tell ye; it’s Major Brown’s positive orders to the conthrary.”
“Oh—ay—yes—we know that,” said the eldest of the ladies with dignity, “but we are Major Brown’s daughters.”
“Ah, well, you don’t go in there then anyhow,” exclaimed Pat, bringing his firelock to the post, “you may be Major Brown’s daughters, but you’re not Major Brown’s cows.”
The answer to Mr. Sly’s Enigma (in last No.) is a liquid5, which forms the third part of Rum, the fourth of Port, the fifth of Shrub, the sixth of Brandy, the seventh of Madeira, the eighth of Burgundy, the ninth of Bordeaux, the tenth of Maraschino. It is a letter which is not seen in the alphabet, forms no part of a syllable, and yet is found in every word.—V. D. L.
“Are there two ‘S’s’ in St. Asaph?” asked Lord Dunce of a popular humourist, as he was directing a letter to a learned Bishop who bore that title. “Unless you wish to make an ‘ass’ of his Lordship, decidedly not,” was the answer; and Lord Dunce finished the address without further inquiry.
Driver (calling out). Tom, is that ’ere elderly lady come, as ve vaited for last trip?
Cad. Vel, I do think I sees her a coming.
Driver. But are you sure it’s the same?
Cad. Oh yes—Vy I was in the office ven the Governor booked her, by the name o’ Mrs. Toddles, and eh?—hang me if she arn’t a toddling off the wrong vay arter all. Vel, drive on, ve can’t wait for nobody. Some people alvers aire too late, and alvers vill be.
Driver. Vy, yes, Tom; but I reckon it must take her a couple o’ hours to put on that bonnet afore she comes out. She must git up a little earlier, or else I should reckimend her to put it on the night afore.