presented him with ten
louis d'or. This amount seemed hardly sufficient to the chief magistrate
of Mont de Marsan, and he therefore promptly held out his empty hand to
the King, and in admirable imitation of the King's voice, himself called
out, "Da capo!" The King laughed heartily and complied, and the Mayor
departed twice as well off as he would have been had he been less
quick-witted.

FRENCH AND ENGLISH.

Those of us who have grown weary and perplexed over the peculiarities of
the French language, and who have wished that our parents and
school-teachers did not consider that language necessary to our
education, will rejoice at this item from an English newspaper, which
shows that the Frenchman has as hard a time mastering our tongue as we
have in mastering his.

According to the story three French boys were studying a volume of
Shakespeare in their own tongue, their task being to render portions of
it into English. When they came to Hamlet's famous soliloquy, "To be or
not to be," their respective translations were as follows:

1. "To was or not to am."

2. "To were or is to not."

3. "To should or not to will."

An absent-minded young preacher in New England, wishing to address the
young ladies of his congregation after the morning services, remarked
from the pulpit that he would be very glad if the female brethren of the
congregation would remain after they had gone home. He was almost as
badly mixed, the narrator of this story says, as another speaker, who,
after describing a pathetic scene he had witnessed, added, huskily, "I
tell you, brothers there was hardly a dry tear in the house."

SERENADING HIMSELF.

We sometimes think that the funny situations in the pictures in the
comic papers are too absurd to be real, and yet every day there happen
things quite as absurd as any there depicted. One of the German
newspapers gives an account of how a steady old burgomaster recently
serenaded himself, which certainly brings before our minds a picture
quite as laughable as any we have seen in print. The story is to this
effect: Herr Noetel, merchant and burgomaster, who is passionately fond
of singing, is the first tenor and president of the Schnitzelburg
glee-club. The club consists of only a single quartet, but small as is
their number, the greater is their enthusiasm for the songs of Germany.
Noetel would shortly celebrate his silver wedding. They must give him a
serenade; there was