had me whiskey sure enough, and never known it warn't all true, instead of a drame." I knew what he wanted, so I poured him out a glass. "Won't it do as well now, Pat?" said I. "Indeed it will, yer honor," says he, "and me drame will come true, after all. I thought it would; for it was mighty nateral at the time, all but the whiskey."
LESSONS IN COOKERY.
Miss Cicely Jones is just home from boarding-school, and engaged to be married; and, as she knows nothing about cooking or housework, is going to take a few lessons in culinary art to fit her for the new station in life which she is expected to adorn with housewifely grace. She certainly makes a charming picture as she stands in the kitchen-door, draped in a chintz apron prettily trimmed with bows of ribbon, her bangs hidden under a Dolly-Varden cap, old kid gloves, while she sways to and fro on her dainty French-kid heels, like some graceful wind-blown flower.
"Mamma," she lisped prettily, "please introduce me to your assistant."
Whereupon, mamma says, "Bridget, this is your young lady, Miss Cicely, who wants to learn the name and use of every thing in the kitchen, and how to make cocoanut rusks and angels' food, before she goes to housekeeping for herself."
Bridget gives a snort of disfavor; but, as she looks at the young lady, relents, and says, "I'll throy."
"And now, Bridget dear," says Miss Cicely, when they were alone, "tell me every thing. You see, I don't know any thing, except what they did at school; and isn't this old kitchen lovely? What makes this ceiling such a beautiful bronze color, Bridget?"
"Shmoke," answers Bridget shortly; "and me ould eyes are put out with that same."
"Shmoke—I must remember that; and, Bridget, what are those shiny things on the wall?"
"Kivers?—tin kivers for pots and kittles."
"Kivers?—oh, yes; I must look for the derivation of that word. Bridget, what are those round things in the basket?"
"Praties! (For the Lord's sake where hez ye lived niver
