KITTY OF COLERAINE. As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping With a pitcher of milk, from the fair of Coleraine, When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled, And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain. "O, what shall I do now?-'twas looking at you now! I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her, She vowed for such pleasure she 'd break it again. 'Twas hay-making season-I can't tell the reason— Charles Dawson Shanly. OUR GUIDE IN GENOA AND ROME. European guides know about enough English to tangle everything up so that a man can make neither head nor tail of it. They know their story by heart,-the history of every statue, painting, cathedral, or other wonder they show you. They know it and tell it as a parrot would,—and if you interrupt, and throw them off the track, they have to go back and begin over again. All their lives long, they are employed in showing strange things to foreigners and listening to their bursts of admiration, It is human nature to take delight in exciting admiration. It is what prompts children to say "smart" things, and do absurd ones, and in other ways "show off" when company is present. It is what makes gossips turn out in rain and storm to go and be the first to tell a startling bit of news. Think, then, what a passion it becomes with a guide, whose privilege it is, every day, to show to strangers wonders that throw them into perfect ecstasies of admiration! (He gets so that he could not by any possibility live in a soberer atmosphere After we discovered this, we never went into ecstasies any more, we never admired anything,- - we never showed any but impassible faces and stupid indifference in the presence of the sublimest wonders a guide had to display. We had found their weak point. We have made good use of it ever since. We have made some of these people savage, at times, but we have never lost our serenity. The doctor asks the questions generally, because he can keep his countenance, and look more like an inspired idiot, and throw more imbecility into the tone of his voice than any man that lives. It comes natural to him. The guides in Genoa are delighted to secure an American party, because Americans so much wonder, and deal so muchch in sentiment and emotion before any relic of Columbus. Our guide there fidgeted about as if he had swallowed a spring mattress. He was full of animation, said: full of impatience. He Come wis me, genteelmen!- come! I show you ze letter writing by Christopher Colombo! - write it himself!write it wis his own hand!-come!" He took us to the municipal palace. After much impressive fumbling of keys and opening of locks, the stained and aged document was spread before us. The guide's eyes sparkled. He danced about us and tapped the parchment with his finger:— "What I tell you, genteelmen! Is it not so? See! handwriting Christopher Colombo!-write it himself!" We looked indifferent, unconcerned. The doctor examined the document very deliberately, during a painful pause. Then he said, without any show of interest, “Ah,—Ferguson,—what—what did you say was the name of the party who wrote this?" "Christopher Colombo! ze great Christopher Colombo!" Another deliberate examination. “Ah,—did he write it himself, or, or-how?" "He write it himself!- Christopher Colombo! he's own handwriting, write by himself!" Then the doctor laid the document down and said,— Why, I have seen boys in America only fourteen years old that could write better than that." "But zis is ze great Christo—"” "I don't care who it is! It's the worst writing I ever saw. Now you must n't think you can impose on us because we are strangers. We are not fools, by a good deal. If you have got any specimens of penmanship of real merit, trot them out!and if you have n't, drive on!" We drove on. The guide was considerably shaken up, but he made one more venture. He had something which he thought would overcome us. He said,+ "Ah, genteelmen, you come wis me! I show you beautiful, O, magnificent bust Christopher Colombo!—splendid, grand, magnificent!" He brought us before the beautiful bust,—for it was beautiful, and sprang back and struck an attitude: "Ah, look, genteelmen!-beautiful, grand,-bust Christopher Colombo!-beautiful bust, beautiful pedestal!" The doctor put up his eye-glass,-procured for such occasions: "Ah,—what did you say this gentleman's name was?” "Christopher Colombo! ze great Christopher Colombo!" Christopher Colombo,-the great Christopher Colombo. Well, what did he do?" "Discover America!-discover America, O, ze devil!" "Discover America. No, that statement will hardly wash. We are just from America ourselves. We heard nothing about it. Christopher Colombo,—pleasant name,— is-is he dead?" "O, corpo di Baccho!-three hundred year!" "What did he die of?" "I do not know. I cannot tell." "Small-pox, think?" "I do not know, genteelmen,-I do not know what he die of." "Measles, likely?" "Maybe,--maybe. I do not know, I think he die of somethings." "Parents living?" "Im-posseeble!" 66 Ah,--which is the bust and which is the pedestal?" "Santa Maria!--zis ze bust!--zis ze pedestal!" "Ah, I see, I see--happy combination,--very happy com bination indeed. Is-is this the first time this gentleman was ever on a bust?" That joke was lost on the foreigner,-guides cannot master the subtleties of the American joke. We have made it interesting for this Roman guide. Yesterday we spent three or four hours in the Vatican again, that wonderful world of curiosities. We came very near expressing interest sometimes, even admiration. It was hard to keep from it. We succeeded, though. Nobody else ever did, in the Vatican museums. The guide was bewildered, nonplussed. He walked his legs off, nearly, hunting up extraordinary things, and exhausted all his ingenuity on us, but it was a failure; we never showed any interest in anything. He had reserved what he considered to be his greatest wonder till the last,- -a royal Egyptian mummy, the best preserved in the world, perhaps. He took us there. felt so sure, this time, that some of his old enthusiasm came back to him: "See, genteelmen!-Mummy! Mummy!" He The eye-glass came up as calmly, as deliberately as ever. "Ah,-Ferguson, what did I understand you to say the gentleman's name was?" "Name? he got no name! Mummy!-'Gyptian mummy!" "Yes, yes. Born here?" "No. 'Gyptian mummy." 66 Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presume?" "No!-not Frenchman, not Roman!-born in Egypta! “Born in Egypta. Never heard of Egypta before. Foreign locality, likely. Mummy,-mummy. How calm he is, how self-possessed! Is-ah!-is he dead?" “O, sacre bleu! been dead three thousan' year!" The doctor turned on him savagely: Here, now, what do you mean by such conduct as this? Playing us for Chinamen because we are strangers and trying to learn! Trying to impose your vile second-hand carcasses on us! Thunder and lightning! I've a notion to-toIf you've got a nice fresh corpse, fetch him out!-or, by George, we 'll brain you!" We make it exceedingly interesting for this Frenchman. However, he has paid us back, partly, without knowing it. He came to the hotel this morning to ask if we were up, and he endeavored, as well as he could, to describe us, so that the landlord would know which persons he meant. He finished with the casual remark that we were lunatics. The observation was so innocent and so honest that it amounted to a very good thing for a guide to say. Our Roman Ferguson is the most patient, unsuspecting, long-suffering subject we have had yet. We shall be sorry to part with him. We have enjoyed his society very much. We trust he has enjoyed ours, but we are harassed with doubts. Samuel L. Clemens. THE SUBSCRIPTION LIST. On the Sunday in question, Father Phil intended delivering an address to his flock from the altar, urging them to the necessity of bestirring themselves in the repairs of the chapel, which was in a very dilapidated condition, and at one end let in the rain through its worn-out thatch. A subscription was necessary: and to raise this among a very impoverished people was no easy matter. The weather happened to be unfavorable, which was most favorable to Father Phil's purpose, for the rain dropped its arguments through the roof upon the kneeling people below, in the most convincing manner; and as they endeavored to get out of the wet, they pressed round the altar as much as they could, for which they were reproved very smartly by his Reverence in the very midst of the mass. These interruptions occurred sometimes in the most serious places, producing a ludicrous effect, of which the worthy Father was quite unconscious, in his great anxiety to make the people repair the chapel. A big woman was elbowing her way towards the rails of the altar, and Father Phil, casting a sidelong glance at her, sent her to the right-about, while he interrupted his appeal to Heaven to address her thus:- Agnus Dei You'd betther jump over the rails of the althar, I think. Go along out o' that; there's plenty o' room in the chapel below there" Then he would turn to the altar, and proceed with the service, till, turning again to the congregation, he perceived some fresh offender. "Orate fratres!- Will you mind what I say to you, and |