"BULLS."
[To THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR,"] Sin,—Many years ago I dined at an English country inn with two otter " M.P.'s." For ostentation, I presume, we ordered a bottle of sherry. It was, as might reasonably be expected, none of the best. One of my companions—very clever and very Irish—bid the waiter fetch us something more drinkable; and accordingly he retreated with the con- demned liqutr, and shortly afterwards returned with a bottle of "superior wine." Having tasted the new arrival, ray compatriot exclaimed with some heat, "Waiter, you took away the ()the. sherry and have brought us back the same again!" I think this a good "ball," and worthy of the clever
Irishman who produced it, thus providing sauce piquante for our homely dinner of mutton-chops and potatoes. You may 'perhaps be disposed to print the following if you have space. In the county of Wicklow lies (as your readers are doubtless aware) the picturesque Vale of Avoca, famous in song. Here is the confluence of two rivers, the Avonmore and Avonbeg, which bears the name of "The Meeting of the Waters." Two British tourists chanced to meet at this spot a girl bearing a pitcher of water, of whom they inquired the name of the river. "The Meeting," was the prompt reply. " Oh ! we know that," quoth the tourists ; "but what river is it ?—what name do you call it by ? "—" Och ! " said the girl, "I never call it at all; it always comes of itself."—I am, Sir, Sze.,
A SOMETIME " M.P."
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