MONSIEUR LE GRAND; OR, PUTTING A STOP TO IT. During the troubles occasioned by the French Revolution, in 1793, Monsieur Le Grand, one of the ancien regime, sought refuge from the popular fury of the polished Parisians in the town of Southampton; where, being rather gifted by nature in his personal appearance, and having, a-la-mode de Français, quite enough to say for himself-of his former grandeur in the vieille cour, and his future expectations when Louis le Desiré should come back again to the Tuilleries he contrived to get into the good graces of a young lady of that town, who, in addition to many other accomplishments, possessed a very competent fortune. In due time they were married; and, as duly, Mrs. -or, as the Frenchman styled her, Madame Le Grand, was pronounced to be in the way that "ladies wish to be who love their lords ;" a way that, as every one knows, is styled par excellence "the family way." This caused much exultation in Monsieur's mind; who, as the period of Madame's accouchement approached, indulged in as many fancies, and gave himself as many airs, as my lady herself could do: according to his account, the future fortunes of France all depended on the welfare of the expected infant, who he had long previously determined should be a boy. The nurse was had in attendance weeks before any symptoms had appeared to render her ministry necessary; and the doctor had been engaged even before it was at all certain his services would be required. At length, after a world of expectation, the interesting moment approached; Monsieur Le Grand was. pacing up and down his front parlour, deeply wrapped in meditation on the future unborn, when a gentle knock at the parlour door announced the attendance of Sally, Madame Le Grand's soubrette. allons, ma belle Sally, you go back a votre maitresse, I sal come chez nous, home very soon-directly I have drank de health of de grand marquis, my son. Sally departed; the punch was brought-the glasses charged-and the company about to drink prosperity to the new-born marquis, when Sally re-appeared. Mon. Eh, ma belle Sally-encore ! diable! what for you come again, eh? I tell you I give you de guinea to-morrow. Sally. Oh, sir, nurse sends her compliments, and it's all over. Mon. All over-vell, I know it all over; you tell me so before. Sally. Yes, sir; but now mistress has got a beautiful little girl. Mon. Little girl! G-d for dam, you tell me just now it was a little boy; by G-d, it sal be littel boy! sacre bleu, we have drink his health for littel boy; he cannot be littel girl now; it is too late: you tell your mistress, Sally, what you call your littel girl must be grand marquis, G-d dam. Sally. Yes, sir; but this is a little girl as well. Mon. Ehlittel boy and littel girl too, this is not as well at all. Sally. But this is two, sir. Mon. Eh, my littel boy two? Sally. Yes, sir; a little boy and a little girl. Mon. Diable! a littel boy and a littel girl-oh, oh, what you call de twin littel enfans; born to-gether, one after the other-ha, ha!-only de hero, de very great man indeed, get de twin; well, well, we will drink littel boy and littel girl too, since I am two fathers at once. Go back to your mistress, Sally; littel boy one! littel girl two! well, well, they sall both be very great people by and by. Monsieur had no sooner recovered his surprise at his twin happiness, when Sally again arrested the upraised glass of punch, by a third time making her appearance. Mon. G-d for dam; you here another time, ma belle Sally! what for you come again, parbleu ? Sally. Oh, sir; nurse sends her compliments, and wishes you joy, sir; you have got another little boy. Mon. What! another littel boy once more? Sally. Yes, sir. Mon. Sacre bleu ! littel boy one? Mon. Littel girl two? Sally. Yes, sir. Mon. Littel boy once more again, three? Mon. Diable! waiter, bring me my hat and stick : excusez moi, mes amis; G-d dam! littel boy one! littel girl two! littel boy again three! Give me my hat and stick; I must go home, and-put a stop to this! MISCONCEPTION. A TALE, Ere Night her sable curtain spread, Ere drowsy watchmen yet had ta'en A wight, by hungry fiend made bold, Where num'rous flocks were quiet laid No doubt the sheep he meant to steal; May ill-luck on ill-actions wait! Where prosecutors urge his guilt With fear o'erwhelm'd the victim stands, Where Justice sits in solemn state, "Rogue! what excuse hast thou for this? "Thou know'st full well "The sheep within that fold belong'd; "Confess thy crime-'twill nought avail ""Tis true, I did," the thief replies, DIALOGUE BETWEEN AN IRISH INNKEEPER AND AN ENGLISH Englishman. Holloa, house! Innkeeper. I don't know any of that name. Inn. Yes, Sir, please your honour, when my wife's from home. Eng. Have you a bill of fare? Inn. Yes, Sir, the fairs of Mullingar and Ballinasloe are next week. Eng. I see-How are your beds? Inn. Very well, I thank you, sir. Inn. Yes, sir, this country is full of mountains. 7nn. Yes, sir, all kinds, from Irish white wine (buttermilk) to burgundy. Eng. Have you any porter? Inn. Yes, sir, Pat is an excellent porter: he'll go any where. Eng. No, I mean porter to drink. Inn. O, sir, he'll drink the ocean, never fear him for that. Eng. Have you any fish? Inn. They call me an odd fish. Eng. I think so. I hope you are not a shark. Eng. Have you any soles? Inn. For your boots or shoes, sir? Eng. Psha! Have you any plaice? Inn. No, sir, but I was promised one if I would vote for Mr. B Eng. Have you any wild fowl? Inn. They are tame enough now, for they have been killed these three days. Eng. I must see myself. Inn. And welcome, sir; I'll fetch you the looking glass. THE IRISH FISHERMAN. An Irishman angling one day up the Liffy, "Why that's not the way to accomplish your wishes," Cries Dermot," the devil a bite will you get." "Och, bother!" says Pat, "don't you know that the fishes "Will flock under Here to keep out of the wet." |