Drunken men occasionally take strange objeots into their confidence lamp-posts, apparently being special favorites. I once read of a party, whose name might be Smith, who, while returning home very late one lodge night had a friendly chat with a pump. “ Hello, Brown, ole boy,” said Smith, as he bobbed against the pump: “ you’re out dooced late t’night. Too bad, y’ know for a man only shix months married, an’ got jol’ fine little wife sittin’ up f r him. How long yov been sthandin’ here ? You'll get yer death o’ cold —shake up, ole f’ler, and I’ll shee you home.” Hero Smith made a long pause, wondering why his friend was so silent, and then, giving the pump a shake, he said : “ Wash up, Brown ! Can’t yer talk ? Are you ’shamed of yourshelf, or ish it only beastly pride ? I’m not a bit proud; so gimme your hand, and I'll shteer yon along.” And roll ing up to the pump, he gripped the handle and said: “ Zoo, lor! how cold you are! You’re worsh than Klondyke 1” At this juncture the pump handle, under the weight of Smith, slightly moved and squeak ed, and the deluded reveller ex claimed : “ Hello, you're wheezy too ; now lean on me, and we ll make a shtart. Blashted shame. Keep your wife waiting up till thish hour.” Leaning a little more on the handle, it suddenly sank, and Smith »tumbled forward just in time to receive a deluge of water from the spout. This riled poor Smith, and he shouted: “ Oh, you’re sick, are you, you drunken beasht ? Well, I’m not tailin’ any more of that, so you can bloomin’ well shee yourshelf home now, and nexht time you meet a good S’hmaritan you’ll know how to ’prechiate him.” Next morning Smith was told that it was 20s or seven days, and he has cut his friend Brown ever since.
