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the lie; and Cornailius O'Flanagan's own father's son won't take the lie from man or mortal; even, as I said before, if it was true. Do ye know the way we begin fighting in Tipperary? I'll tell ye, if ye don't:-Paddy chalks his hat, d' ye see, all round the rim of it; and down he throws it on the green turf.-'I should like any body to tell me now,' says he, that this isn't silvur laice.'-So, then, away they go to it with the shilelagh :-you understand me, Sur, that is our way. -An Irishman's honour is dearer to him than his life; and even when in the wrong, he'd sooner die than have a lie thrown in his teeth. So now, gentlemen, I'll bid ye all a good night: and as for you, Sur, there is my card, which I shall be happy to exchange for yours.'

"The Englishman, of course, gave his address; and the next day the parties met, attended by their seconds they fired, and O'Flanagan's shot took effect in the fleshy part of his opponent's thigh, which made the latter jump about a foot from the ground, and fall flat upon his back, where he lay for a few seconds in agony, kicking his heels. This being observed by the Irishman's second, he said, "You have hit your man, O'Flanagan, that is certain-I think not dangerously, however, for see what capers he cuts.'

"Capers! capers!' exclaimed the Irishman; 'Oh! the heavenly Father! what have I done?-what a dreadful mistake !'-and running up to his wounded antagonist he took his hand, and pressing it eagerly, thus addressed him: My dear frind, if ye're kilt I ax yer pardon in this world and the next, for I made a divil of a mistake; it was capers that I saw growing upon the trees at Malta, and not anchovies at all!'

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"The wounded man, smiling at this ludicrous explanation and apology, said, 'My good fellow, I wish you had thought of that a little sooner :-I don't think you have quite killed me ; but I hope you will remember the difference between Anchovies and Capers as long as you live.'"'*

Whilst on the subject of Bulls, the following, which were related the same evening, may not be unentertaining to the Reader.

BERESFORD'S NOTES.

In the war in Ireland, in the year 1798, a part of the system amongst the desultory bodies of insurgents, was the stopping of mail-coaches and plundering them of all the property they were conveying.

* On the island of Malta, the caper-tree grows wild, in great plenty, and is particularly abundant on the walls of Lavalette. Ever since the capture of the island, the fruit has been the undisputed perquisite of the officer in command of the engineers. Some time ago that officer complained to the governor that the trees were cut down, and the berries were carried away, by the inhabitants; upon which that facetious old gentleman issued the following eccentric order :-"Where as it has been reported to me, by the officer commanding the engineers, that the inhabitants of Lavalette have for some time past destroyed the fruit, and cut down the caper-trees hanging on the outside of the walls of the garrison, it is the command of the governor that no one, in future, cut capers, either on the top or sides of the said walls, except the lieutenant-colonel commanding the engineers: any one found cutting his capers on the walls, after this notification, will be confined in the black-hole for the first offence; and for a repetition of so flagitious an act, the next capers he cuts shall be his own, at the tail of a calash, to the tune of a cat-o'-nine-tails.

"GOD SAVE the King."

Of all the loyalists in Ireland, Mr. John Claudius Beresford, a banker of Dublin, was the most obnoxious to the rebels, from the circumstance of the torture being inflicted by him and his corps of yeomanry, in his riding-house, on many of their body. Whenever, therefore, they discovered any of his notes, they always burned them to vex him; by which means he would have been exceedingly enriched, had not his other numerous speculations overthrown him.

THE NEW SUIT.

An Irish gentleman had ordered a suit of clothes; but when the tailor brought them home, the coat hung like a sack on him, it was so very large. The gentleman was angry, and remarked that all his acquaintance would laugh at him, and say that "he was not by when his measure was taking;" adding, "As sure as a gun, you have mistaken big Fitzgerald's measure (the biggest man in Munster,) for mine."

Waxing warmer and warmer, and throwing in some severe reflections on poor snip, the latter at length replied: "Why put yourself in such a rage, Sir? blood and 'ounds! is not there enough of the same stuff in the shoot to make it less ?”

This repartee set all to rights, and a reconciliation instantly took place.

A MISTAKE ON BOTH SIDES.

A poor Irish labourer one day met one of his countrymen in Tooley Street, and accosted him with"Ah! Tead, how is every bit about ye?"

"Bravely, by the hoky !" replied Tead; "How goes yourself, Darby?"

"What the divil should ail me?" was the answer. "But how long have you been here, Tead ?" demanded Darby.

"How long?" says Tead; "why, since last night; -and when did you arrive yourself, my jewel?" he inquired.

"Oh, death and 'ounds !" replied Darby, "am not I here these eighteen months and a fortnight: but how did you leave the woman and childer-and are they minding their schooling?"

"In troth then they are," answered Tead, "and as well as you cu'd wish.”

"And when will you be after turning your face towards the ould sod ?" inquired Darby.

"Why, I'll be with the craters Christmas-eve, any how," returned the other.

Then, by Jasus !" said Darby, "if you 're for that, who knows but we'd be together."

After this manner they conversed for some timewhen Darby at length exclaimed, "Why, by the ho ly it is neither of us,"

VIII.

THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE'S

BLADE-BONE.

THE old Duke of Devonshire, for several years, was in the habit of supping at Brookes's; and his favourite dish was a broiled or devilled blade-bone of mutton; after picking which, he usually drank champagne, punch, or any other beverage that he might happen to prefer. His Grace's partiality for the above fare induced others to follow his example; and bladebones were frequently in such request, that the but chers of St. James's Market have sometimes been unable to afford a sufficient supply.

One night, Mr. Sheridan coming in late, and being pretty sharp set, called for a broiled blade-bone. The waiter told him that there was only one in the house, and that had just been ordered by the Duke of Devonshire.

"Oh, very well, no matter," said Sheridan; "I shall think of something else, by and by." Determined, however, to have a blade-bone, he resolved to play a trick upon the Duke, which he did as follows:Going up to the table where he sat, just as the waiter was about entering with the tray and cover, and put

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