CHIT CHAT OF THE DAY.


There is a good share of pleasant patter in the following abridged from
the _Metropolitan_.

"Every one says that I am an odd person; I presume I am, and so is every
one else taken singly. I can prove that by Cocker. One and one make
two--two is even, one is odd, I am but one. There's logic for you. I am
also a rambler by temperament. I ramble my person at my own free will,
and my mind rambles quite indifferent as to its intimate connexion with
the former. I look at the stars, and my thoughts are of women--I look at
the earth, and my thoughts run upon heaven--I frequent the opera, and
moralize upon the world and its vanities--I sit in my pew at church, and
my thoughts ramble every where in spite of my endeavours and those of
the parson to boot--I live in town all the year, because it's the
fashion to be here in the season, and because I prefer London most when
I can walk about where there is nobody to interrupt me. In the season, I
am allowed to walk into every body's house, very often get an invite to
fill up an odd corner, and as there generally is an odd corner at every
party, and I do not stand at a short notice, I eat more good dinners
than most people. I am not a fool, and yet not too clever, so that
poised in that happy medium, I hear all, see all, know a great deal of
what is going on, and hold my tongue. When people inhabit their town
houses, I spend the whole day going from one to the other. I consider a
house the only safe part of the metropolis. Were I to frequent the
street during the season, I am so apt to fall into a brown study, that
I'm certain to be jostled until I am black and blue--I have found myself
calculating an arithmetical problem at a crossing, and have not been