A Scotch minister and his servant, who were coming home from a wedding,
began to consider the state into which their potations at the wedding
feast had left them.
"Sandy," said the minister, "just stop a minute here till I go ahead.
Maybe I don't walk very steady and the good wife might remark something
not just right."
He walked ahead of the servant for a short distance and then asked:
"How is it? Am I walking straight?"
"Oh, ay," answered Sandy thickly, "ye're a' recht--but who's that who's
with ye."
A man in a very deep state of intoxication was shouting and kicking most
vigorously at a lamp post, when the noise attracted a near-by policeman.
"What's the matter?" he asked the energetic one.
"Oh, never mind, mishter. Thash all right," was the reply; "I know
she'sh home all right--I shee a light upshtairs."
A pompous little man with gold-rimmed spectacles and a thoughtful brow
boarded a New York elevated train and took the only unoccupied seat. The
man next him had evidently been drinking. For a while the little man
contented himself with merely sniffing contemptuously at his neighbor,
but finally he summoned the guard.
"Conductor," he demanded indignantly, "do you permit drunken people to
ride upon this train?"
"No, sir," replied the guard in a confidential whisper. "But don't say a
word and stay where you are, sir. If ye hadn't told me I'd never have
noticed ye."
A noisy bunch tacked out of their club late one night, and up the
street. They stopped in front of an imposing residence. After
considerable discussion one of them advanced and pounded on the door. A
woman stuck her head out of a second-story window and demanded, none too
sweetly: "What do you want?"
"Ish thish the residence of Mr. Smith?" inquired the man on the steps,
with an elaborate bow.
"It is. What do you want?"
"Ish it possible I have the honor of speakin' to Misshus Smith?"
"Yes. What do you want?"
"Dear Misshus Smith! Good Misshus Smith! Will you--hic--come down an'
pick out Mr. Smith? The resh of us want to go home."
That clever and brilliant genius, McDougall, who represented California
in the United States Senate, was like many others of his class somewhat
addicted to fiery stimulants, and unable to battle long with them
without showing the effect of the struggle. Even in his most exhausted
condition he was, however, brilliant at repartee; but one night, at a
supper of journalists given to the late George D. Prentice, a genius of
the same mold and the same unfortunate habit, he found a foeman worthy
of his steel in General John Cochrane. McDougall had taken offense at
some anti-slavery sentiments which had been uttered--it was in war
times--and late in the evening got on his legs for the tenth time to
make a reply. The spirit did not move him to utterance, however; on the
contrary, it quite deprived him of the power of speech; and after an
ineffectual attempt at speech he suddenly concluded:
"Those are my sentiments, sir, and my name's McDougall."
"I beg the gentleman's pardon," said General Cochrane, springing to his
feet; "but what was that last remark?"