“I do not think I ever saw Ellen’s wheel without flax before, Shane?” “Bad cess to the wheel;—­I got it this morning about that too—­I depinded on John Williams to bring the flax from O’Flaharty’s this day week, and he forgot it; and she says I ought to have brought it myself, and I close to the spot:  but where’s the good? says I, sure he’ll bring it next time.”  “I suppose, Shane, you will soon move into the new cottage, at Clurn Hill.  I passed it to-day, and it looked so cheerful; and when you get there, you must take Ellen’s advice, and depend solely on yourself.”  “Och Ma’am, dear, don’t mintion it—­sure it’s that makes me so down in the mouth, this very minit.  Sure I saw that born blackguard, Jack Waddy, and he comes in here, quite innocent like”—­“Shane, you’ve an eye to ’Squire’s new lodge,” says he.  “Maybe I have,” says I.  “I am y’er man,” says he.  “How so?” says I.  “Sure I’m as good as married to my lady’s maid,” said he; “and I’ll spake to the ’Squire for you, my own self.”  “The blessing be about you,” says I, quite grateful,—­and we took a strong cup on the strength of it; and depinding on him, I thought all safe,—­“and what d’ye think, my lady?  Why, himself stalks into the place—­talked the ’Squire over, to be sure—­and without so much as by y’er lave, sates himself and his new wife on the laase in the house; and I may go whistle.”  “It was a great pity, Shane, that you didn’t go yourself to Mr. Clurn.”  “That’s a true word for ye, Ma’am, dear; but it’s hard if a poor man can’t have a frind to DEPIND on.”—­Sketches of Irish Character, by Mrs. S.C.  Hall.

* * * * *

THE GATHERER.

  “A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.”

SHAKSPEARE

* * * * *

POTATOES.

One is almost induced to imagine that certain orders of London conceive that “takers,” as they commonly call them in their uncooked state, is a generical term; and that they only become entitled to the prefix of “pot,” after they have been boiled.

* * * * *

DINING LATE.

A wag, on being told it was the fashion to dine later and later every day, said, “he supposed it would end at last in not dining till to-morrow!”

* * * * *

MOORE’S LIFE OF BYRON.

Moore has printed between three and four hundred pages of his Life of Lord Byron, which is interspersed with original letters and poems, of singular merit—­after the manner of Mason’s Life of Gray, and Hayley’s Life of Cowper.  Nearly the whole of the manuscript is in town, and the work, consisting of a thick 4to. volume, will be published during the season.—­Court Journal, No. 1.