time you go
to market."

NOT YOU BUT I.

A TRADESMAN pressing one of his customers for payment of a bill, the
latter said, "You need not be in such a hurry; I am not going to run
away." "But," says the creditor, "_I am._"

MY BROTHER'S HUNTING-LODGE.

FROM SIR JONAH BARRINGTON'S SKETCHES.

I MET with a ludicrous instance of the dissipation of even latter days,
a few months after my marriage. Lady B---- and myself took a tour
through some of the southern parts of Ireland, and among other places
visited Castle Durrow, near which place my brother, Henry French
Barrington, had built a hunting-cottage, wherein he happened to have
given a house-warming the previous day.

The company, as might be expected at such a place and on such an
occasion, was not the most select; in fact, they were "_hard-going_"
sportsmen.

Among the rest, Mr. Joseph Kelly, of unfortunate fate, brother to Mr.
Michael Kelly (who by-the-by does not say a word about him in his
Reminiscences), had been invited, to add to the merriment by his
pleasantry and voice, and had come down from Dublin for the purpose.

Of this convivial assemblage at my brother's, he was, I suppose, the
very life and soul. The dining-room had not been finished when the day
of the dinner-party arrived, and the lower parts of the walls having
only that morning received their last coat of plaster, were, of course,
totally wet.

We had intended to surprise my brother; but had not calculated on the
scene I was to witness. On driving to the cottage-door I found it open,
while a dozen dogs, of different descriptions, showed ready to receive
us not in the most polite manner. My servant's whip, however, soon sent
them about their business, and I ventured into the parlor to see what
cheer. It was about ten in the morning: the room was strewed with empty
bottles--some broken--some interspersed with glasses, plates, dishes,
knives, spoons, &c., all in glorious confusion. Here and there were
heaps of bones, relics of the former day's entertainment, which the
dogs, seizing their opportunity, had picked. Three or four of the
Bacchanalians lay fast asleep upon chairs--one or two others on the
floor, among whom a piper lay on his back, apparently dead, with a
table-cloth spread over him, and surrounded by four or five candles,
burnt to the sockets; his chanter and bags were laid scientifically
across his body, his mouth was wide open, and his nose made ample amends
for