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Blunders.

SLIPS OF THE PRESS.

LORD BROUGHAM was fond of relating an instance which was no joke to the victim of it. A bishop, at one of his country visitations, found occasion to complain of the deplorable state of a certain church, the roof of which was evidently anything but water-tight; after rating those concerned for their neglect, his lordship finished by declaring emphatically that he would not visit the damp old church again until it was put in decent order. His horror may be imagined when he discovered himself reported in the local journal as having declared: “I shall not visit this damned old church again." The bishop lost no time in calling the editor's attention to the mistake; whereupon that worthy set himself right with his readers by stating that he willingly gave publicity to his lordship's explanation, but he had every confidence in the accuracy of his reporter.

The

confidence in his subordinate when the latter caused his journal to record that a prisoner had been sentenced to "four months im

prisonment in the House of Commons!" In this case, we fancy the reporter must have been in the same exhilarated condition as his American brother, who ended his account of a city banquet with the frank admission: "It is not distinctly remembered by anybody present who made the last speech!"

In a poem on the "Milton Gallery," by Amos Cottle, the poet, describing the pictures of Fuseli, says:--

"The lubber fiend outstretched the chimney near,
Or sad Ulysses on the larboard Steer."

Ulysses steered to the larboard to shun Charybdis, but the compositor makes him get upon the back of the bullock, the left one in the drove! After all, however, he only interprets the text literally. "Steer," as a substantive, has no other meaning

than bullock. The substantive of the verb "to steer" is steerage. "He that hath the steerage of my course," says Shakspeare. The compositor evidently understood that Ulysses rode an ox; he would hardly else have spelt Steer with a capital S.

The following paragraphs, intended to have been printed separately, in a Paris evening paper, were by some blunder so arranged that they read consecutively:—

Doctor X. has been appointed head physician to the Hospital de la Charite. Orders have been issued by the authorities for the immediate extension of the Cemetery of Mont Parnasse. The works are being executed with the utmost dispatch.

The old story of Dr. Mudge furnishes one of the most curious cases of typographical accident on record. The Doctor had been presented with a gold-headed cane, and the same week a patent pig-killing and sausage-making machine had been tried at a factory in the place of which he was pastor. The writer of a report of the presentation, and a description of the machine, for the local paper, is thus made to "mix things miscellaneously:"

"The inconsiderate Caxtonian who made up the forms of the paper, got the two locals mixed up in a frightful manner; and when we went to press, something like this was the appalling result: Several of the Rev. Dr. Mudge's friends called upon him yesterday, and after a brief conversation, the unsuspicious pig was seized by the hind legs, and slid along a beam until he reached the hot water tank. His friends explained the object of their visit, and presented him with a very handsome goldheaded butcher, who grabbed him by the tail, swung him round, slit his throat from ear to ear, and in less than a minute the carcass was in the water. Thereupon he came forward, and said that there were times when the feelings overpowered one; and for that reason he would not attempt to do more than thank those around him for the manner in which such a huge animal was cut into fragments was simply astonishing. The

Doctor concluded his remarks when the machine seized him, and in less time than it takes to write it, the pig was cut into fragments and worked up into delicious sausages. The occasion will long be remembered by the Doctor's friends as one of the most delightful of their lives. The best pieces can be procured for tenpence a pound; and we are sure that those who have sat so long under his ministry will rejoice that he has been treated so handsomely."

SLIPS OF THE TELEGRAPH.

The Prior of the Dominican Monastery of Voreppe, in France, recently received the following telegram:-"Father Ligier is dead (est mort); we shall arrive by train to-morrow, at three.— LABOREE." The ecclesiastic, being convinced that the deceased, who was highly esteemed in the locality, had selected it for his last resting-place, made every preparation. A grave was dug, a hearse provided, and with the monks, a sorrowing crowd waited at the station for the train. It arrived, and, to the astonishIment of every one, the supposed defunct alighted, well and returning from a visit to Rome, where he had been accompanied by the priest Laboree, stopped to visit some monks at Saintthe return to his monastery. The message sent was: "Father Jean-de-Maurienne, and requested his companion to telegraph Ligier and I (et moi) will arrive," &c. The clerks inadvertently changed the et moi into est mort, with what result has

already been told.

A firm in Cincinnati telegraphed to a correspondent in Cleveland, as follows:-"Cranberries rising. Send immediately one hundred barrels per Simmons." Mr. Simmons was the agent of the Cincinnati house. The telegraph ran the last two words together, and shortly after, the firm were astonished to find delivered at their store one hundred barrels of per

simmons.

SERIAL" INCONSISTENCY.

In Mrs. Oliphant's interesting story of "Ombra," there is a curious contradiction between the end of Chapter XLV. and the beginning of Chapter XLVI. A domestic picture is given, an interior, with the characters thus disposed:

"One evening, when Kate was at home, and, as usual, abstracted over a book in a corner; when the Berties were in full possession, one bending over Ombra at the piano, one talking earnestly to her mother, Francesca suddenly threw the door open, with a vehemence quite unusual to her, and without a word of warning-without even the announcement of his name to put them on their guard-Mr. Courtenay walked into the

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Thus ends Chapter XLV., and thus opens Chapter XLVI. :— "The scene which Mr. Courtenay saw when he walked in suddenly to Mrs. Anderson's drawing-room, was one so different in every way from what he had expected that he was for the first moment as much taken aback as any of the company. * * * The drawing-room, which looked out on the Lung' Arno, was not small, but it was rather low-not much more than an entresol. There was a bright wood-fire on the hearth, and near it, with a couple of candles on a small table by her side, sat Kate, distinctly isolated from the rest, and working diligently, scarcely raising her eyes from her needle-work. The centre-table was drawn a little aside, for Ombra had found it too warm in front of the fire; and about this the other four were grouped-Mrs. Anderson, working too, was talking to one of the young men; the other was holding silk, which Ombra was winding; a thorough English domestic party-such a family group as should have gladdened virtuous eyes to see. Mr. Courtenay looked at it with indescribable surprise."

MISTAKES OF MISAPPREHENSION.

Soon after Louis XIV. appointed Bossuet, Bishop of Meaux, he inquired how the citizens liked their new Bishop, to which

they answered, doubtfully: "Pretty well." "But," asked his Majesty, "what fault do you find with him?" "To say the truth," they replied, "we should have preferred a Bishop who had finished his education; for, whenever we wait upon him, we are told that he is at his studies."

There lived in the west of England, a few years since, an enthusiastic geologist, who was presiding judge of the Quarter Sessions. A farmer, who had seen him presiding on the bench, overtook him shortly afterwards, while seated by the roadside on a heap of stones, which he was busily breaking in search of fossils. The farmer reined up his horse, gazed at him for a minute, shook his head in commiseration of the mutability of human things, then exclaimed, in mingled tones of pity and surprise: “What, your Honor! be you come to this a' ready?” Cottle, in his Life of Coleridge, relates an essay at grooming on the part of that poet and Wordsworth. The servants being absent, the poets had attempted to stable their horse, and were almost successful. With the collar, however, a difficulty arose. to get it over the animal's head, Coleridge tried his hand, but After Wordsworth had relinquished as impracticable the effort

showed no more

twisting the poor horse's neck almost to strangulation, and to the great danger of his eyes, he gave up the useless task, pronouncing that the horse's head must have grown (gout or dropsy) since the collar was put on, for he said it was downright impossibility for such a huge os frontis to pass through so narrow a collar! Just at this moment a servant girl came up, and turning the collar upside down, slipped it off without trouble, to the great humility and wonderment of the poets, who

grooming skill than his predecessor; for, after

were each

satisfied afresh that there were heights of knowledge to which they had not attained.

BLUNDERS OF TRANSLATORS.

A most entertaining volume might be made from the amusing and often absurd blunders perpetrated by translators. For

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