drop
of gall which should have given zest to the story, the milk of human
kindness broke its barrier despite himself, and washed it away. He was a
fine wreck, a little prematurely broken by dissipation, but not perhaps
the less interesting on that account; tall, and somewhat of the jovial
old English girth, with a face where good nature and good living mingled
their smiles and glow. He wore the garb of twenty years back, and was
curiously particular in the choice of his silk stockings. He was not a
little vain of his leg, and a compliment on that score was always sure
of a gracious reception.

* * * * *

The Gatherer.

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.

SHAKSPEARE.

* * * * *

Lord Sundon was one of the commissioners of the treasury in the reign of
George II. The celebrated Bob Doddington was a colleague of the noble
lord, and was always complaining of his slowness of comprehension.
One day that lord Sundon laughed at something which Doddington had said,
Winnington, another member of the board, said to him, in a whisper,
"You are very ungrateful: you see lord Sundon takes your joke." "No,
no," replied Doddington, "he is laughing now at what I said last board
day."--_Monthly Mag_.

* * * * *

STINGING MISTAKE.

A certain person, who shall be nameless, filled the situation of
Plumian Professor of Astronomy at Oxford. He was a great stickler
for decorum, and all due respect to his office. One day he received a
letter by the post, directed to himself, as the _Plumbian_ Professor.
He shook with indignation. What an insult! _Plumbian_ professor!
Leaden professor! Was it meant to insinuate that there was any thing
of a leaden quality in his lectures or writings! While thus irate, a
friend of the professor happened to drop in. He showed him the letter,
and expatiated upon the indignity of the superscription. His friend
endeavoured to convince him that it must be merely a slip of the pen.
In vain. The professor would not be pacified. "Well," said his friend,
"at any rate, it is evident the _b_ has stung you."--_Ibid_.

* * * * *

An Irish barrister had the failing of Goldsmith, in an eminent degree:
that of believing he could do every thing better than any other person.
This propensity exhibited itself ludicrously enough on one occasion,
when a violent influenza prevailed in