ed his countenance directly against
him with great severity, and bawled out, "No, sir, nor Harry the eighth
neither. They were both dead before my time."

* * * * *

An Irish dignitary of the church, not remarkably for veracity,
complaining that a tradesman of his parish had called him a liar,
Macklin asked him what reply he made him. "I told him," said he, "that a
lie was among the things I _dared_ not commit." "And why, doctor,"
replied Macklin, "did you give the rascal _so mean an opinion of your
courage_?"

* * * * *

ANECDOTE OF QUIN.

Quin's servant, at the accustomed hour,
Once came to call his master,
With visage long and aspect sour,
Expressive of disaster.

Quin soon began his usual story,
Well, John, what news of fish?
Have you of turbot or John Dory
Seen e'er a handsome dish?

Says John I've been the market round,
And searched from stall to stall,
But only some few Mackerel found,
And those not fresh at all.

Well! how's the day? says Quin again,
Will it be wet or dry?
There seems a drizzling kind of rain
Was honest John's reply.

Quin turns in bed with piteous moan,
And, not to brood o'er sorrow.
Says shut the door, and call me, John,
About this time tomorrow.

FOOTNOTES:

[I] Mossop, when he was manager of the Dublin theatre, always played
Lear as it was written by Shakspeare.

[J] A hint to managers.--As the tragedy of Macbeth is the great rival of
king Lear, I cannot but think, that it ought to be represented with all
the advantages which its rival possesses; as, particularly, with the
additional beauty of love. Nor would the change be difficult. Young
Malcolm might very conveniently and very naturally fall in love with a
daughter of Macbeth (to be sure it is most probable Macbeth had no
daughter; but what of that? It is not too late to make him one); then
the lovers might have many an affecting interview under the walls of
Dunsinane Castle; and finally, Malcolm instead of Macduff, might cut off
Macbeth's head, and immediately lead his daughter to the altar. How
successfully would this conclude in the style of Barbarossa, Gustavus
Vasa, &c. which are evidently the true models of tragedy.

SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.

BLODWELL ROCK.

A fox-chace rather remarkable in its nature, lately took place. As a
gentleman was