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FACTS AND FANCIES. Why should artists not affect slouched hats ?— Because chimney-pots would make them draw better. A homely young girl has the consolation ot knowing that, if she lives to be forty, she will be pretty old girl. Spavin says that the assertion Time is money is false, for he often has lots of time on his hands, but no money. A little child was addressed by a gentleman the other day. "How old are you, my dear?" he asked. "Old!" said the child indignantly. I'm not old at all; I'm quite new That's what I call a finished sermon," said a lady to her husband, as they wended their way from church. "Yes," was the reply; "but, do you know, I thought it never would be ?" It is hard to tell which is the more ridiculous, the young fool or the old fool; but the old fool has this advantage—he will never be a young fool, whereas the young fool may some day be an old fool. There is an awful state of affairs in a little Michigan town, where a compositor substituted the word widows for windows." The editor wrote-" The windows of the church need wash- ing badly. They are too dirty for any use, and are a disgrace to our village." "A friend of mine," a correspondent writes to to Truth, recently entered a barber's shop in Spa, and in the course of conversation inquired of the proprietor whether it was a good season. 'No, sir,' replied the man; 'not that there is any fall- ing off in the number of visitors, but they are mostly ladies, and they do not require shaving. Jeems is very fond of his little joke, but he sometimes goes a step too far. On a recent Sun- day evening he was escorting home a young-lady acquaintance who is not ovenvhelmned with ad- mirers and. as ihey passed Columbia Market, a policeman and two or three young men wer.) peering in at the closed gates, one of them remark- ing, "I wonder who's in the market?" You are, I'm told," said Jeems. I won't trouble you to walk any farther," said the fair one, now they meet as strangers. Ay, John," said a Scotch preacher to one of his flock, whom he had missed for a good many Sundays from the Free Church, "so I'm told you've begun to think that we're not in the right road, and that you are going back to the Estab- lishment ?" "Weel, sir," was the reply, "I winna deny but that hae been ganging that gate, and I canna just say that I've ony serious thought o' turning back in the meantime but dinna think, minister, that I hae ony fault to find wi' your road. It's a braw road doubtless, and a safe road but, och, sir, the tolls are awful dear An old Irish song embodies the superstition that the answer given to the question in baptism what the child's name is to be, however absurd, is sacred, and must be held to be the true name. In the song a dosr, answering to the name" Dennis," was making himself too busy at the christening, and had to be checked by the mother, with the result described. "What's his name?" says the priest. "Down, Dennis!" says she. So Down Dennis Bulgruddery they christened me." A similar incident is mentioned in a recent report of the Registration Courts. A claimant at Ilford was found to ba registered Michael Sir Shep- herd," and the explanation given was that his mother, at his baptism, on being asked to" Name this child," responded respectfully, Michael, sir." Accordingly Michael Sir" was his name. A small boy with vague notions of know- ledge but a settled conviction that he was per- sonally to blame for most things that happened, there being not even a cat in the house to share responsibilities with him, was sent most un- willingly to school. In due course it came to his turn ttl answer questions. The master, a stern- looking man, with a voice rendered harsh and grating by perpetual fault-fiudine and scolding, looked straight at him and thundered forth, "Now, sir, new boy, who made the world ?" No answer coming from the startled lad, the question was repeated with .still more emphasis. Still no reply from the new-comer, who trembled visibly on his seat. The master, losing all prttience, brought his rule down with thundering violence and shouted once more, "ViII you tell me, sir, who made the world ?" It was too much with deadly conviction of his own enormities, the boy sobbed, Please, sir, I did but I'll never do it again The Berlin Musik Welt says that an eminent pianist was presented, during his late visit to Switzerland, with the customary Gewevbeschein— legitimation of craft—of the Canton le Valais, the tenour of which runs as follows Legitimation for strolling handicraftsmen and artists.—The Financial Department grants permission to Mr to pursue for one month his industry as pianist." Then follows the description of the individual, with the reminder that the bearer of this paper must be prepared at any time to show the same toa police-officer whenever asked for." At the foot of this formidable document the qualifications of the "strolling artist" are more particularly specified thus-" Strolling artists: comedians, singers, musicians, photo- graphers, circus-riders, tightrope-dancers, jug- glers, &c. also panoramas, menageries, and other exhibitions of art and of natural curiosities, thirty francs per month, and one franc extra for the stamp." The possessor of the Gezoerbesekein is moreover enjoined to have it viséd, before every performance, at the local police office-cost, 25 centimes-not to mention numerous other minor regulations of a similar nature. THE MAN WHO WATCHED,-One day recently, soon after the hour of noon, an individual who seemed to be labouring under considerable excite- ment entered a grocery-store on Michigan Avenue, Detroit, and asked for a pri vate word with the proprietor. When the request had been granted, he explained, I believe myself to be an injured husband, and I wtnt to verify my suspicions by watching a house in the next street. This I can best do from the rear of your store. Have you any objection to my taking a seat at the back there by the open window?" The grocer granted the favour, and the agitated stranger walked to the back and took a seat on a box of cod-fish and began his watch. His presence had been almost forgotten, when he returned to the front of the store with hasty steps and quivering voice and said, "By Heaven, I'll kill her Yes, I'll shoot her through the heart 11 Your wife?'' Yes, my idolised Mary I can no longer doubt her guilt, and I'll be a murderer in l.ess than ten minutes The grocer tried to detain him, but he broke away and rushed rouvd the corner. Not hearing anything further of iiiii, for half an hour, the grocer began to investigate 5 and he discovered g' that fourteen rolls of butter, f^ock of lard two hams, and other stuff had the back end[ of the store by way of the wind^at which the watchful husband had been stati**116"- A TYPE-GRUBBER.1S of,^B brother of Douglas Jerrold—j^enry—that, although he did not possess the incisIve wit of his brother, he could be elaborately sarcastic at times. Some twenty-five yea.s aS« ho ?bt^u caS"al employ- ment at a prh.cmg-ottice in Melbourne from the overseer, and* Harry had just finished one of his overlan^.tra™Ps' his appearance was neither sweet nor inviting. He was hirsute, grimy, raarged, a,.d sun-embrowned, and his eyes had the gleam of insipient insanity. The boss of th" shop, a dainty finical person, came in end stared at the new hand very fixedlyi after which he indulged in several abrupt uneasy sniffs, contorting his visage into an ex- pression of deep disgust. Finally he ordered his foreman to dismiss Jerrold; but, as they were short-handed and pushed for assistance, the fore- man declined the task; so the master-printer himself, with a deal of sniffing and lordly affecta- tion, interjected to Harry, I say—ah, you are discharged—go!" Jerrold, who had been no unobservant spectator of the other's antics, glared contemptuously at the speaker, and waving his hand, bawled, "Away you agglomeration of diseased cat's-meat! In the language of Colonial magpies, I demand-who are you ?" The printer replied irascibly, ia a transport of turkey-cock indignation, Ha, dash it, this is too much Fellow, I am the proprietor "The proprietor!" echoed Harry, slamming down his stick on the upper case,and striking a splendid theatrical atti- tude. "The proper rioter Gracious Heavens"— modulating his voice for a tragical display— wonderful and inscrutable are the ways of Providence Verily this is an annus inirabilis-- or, to bring down my intelligence to your paltry level, it is an age of marvels. The world is turned upside down since here, at the Antipodes, am I, the brother of the renowned Douglas Jerrold, grubbing up type ;or a. mountebank jigmarec, a semi-civilised chimpanzee, I believe. Go—go yourself to Jericho Then, bursting mto au operatic bravura, "All is lost !'he sang so exceedingly well that his employer, who had I musical crass, was stricken with astonishment, asked Jerrold c. pardon, and requested him to stop as long as he liked. Jerrold replied with a Shakesperiaa quotation, but when ho got an aa- vance of ready money in: disappeared, aad hi& hrair.e was to let'' ú"J,:1J,