This charming spot only requires to be known, to insure plenty of patronage from visitors. The new pump is being pushed forward rapidly, and the Vicar intends to hold jumble sales once a week throughout the summer. This, in itself, will, it is expected, prove a great attraction.
Police-Constable Slummers, whose urbanity and great consideration for the inhabitants (especially on Saturday nights) have always been so conspicuous, is about to leave, and some of the more prominent townsmen have taken the opportunity of marking their sense of his valuable services by presenting him with a handsome pewter pot, engraved with his name and the date.
A piano-organist now regularly attends the weekly market, and his music is greatly appreciated by those engaged in buying and selling.
At the Farmer's Eighteenpenny Ordinary, last week, Mr. Chumpjaw stated that his mangolds were "the whackin'est big 'uns" grown in the county.
AT BOULOGNE.--Mrs. Sweetly (on her honeymoon). Isn't it funny, Archibald, to see so many foreigners about? And all talking French!
PATRON SAINT OF MESSRS. COOK.--St. Martin of "Tours."
Englishman (to friend). "There goes that awful liar, who says he has climbed everything under the sun."
Friend. "Don't call him a liar. Rather say he has a great talent for exaggerating things that never happened."
A SLIGHT "MALONGTONGDEW"
Angelina. "There are to be illuminations and fireworks, and they're to finish up with an 'ombrasmong general.' What can that be?"
Edwin. "Well, 'ombasser' means to 'kiss'; so I suppose it means a kind of a sort of a general kissing all round."
Angelina. "Horrid idea! I won't go near the place, and I'm sure you shan't, Edwin!"
[Our readers, who know French better than E. and A., are aware that embrasement, with only one "s," has a totally different meaning.
]
HONEYMOONING IN PARIS.--Mrs. Jones. "Am I not an expensive little wifie?"
Jones (who has spent the morning and a small fortune at the Magasin du Louvre). "Well, you are a little dear!"
Tourist (at small Irish inn, miles from anywhere). "Look here, what does this mean? I left my boots out last night, and they haven't been touched."
Landlord (with honest pride). "Thrue for ye, sorr! An' begorr', if ye'd left your gowld watch an' chain out, div'l a sowl wud 'a touched them nayther!"
