Some of many instances of extraordinary coolness in the midst of danger and otherwise that have been recorded, are here offered to our readers, together with some amusing sayings and doings. When gallant Ponsonby lay grievously wounded on the field of Waterloo, he forgot his own desperate plight while watching an encounter between a couple of French lancers and one of his own men, cut off from his troop. As the Frenchmen came down upon Murphy, he, using his sword as if it were a shillelagh, knocked their lances alternately aside again and again. Then suddenly setting spurs to his horse, he galloped off full speed, his eager foes following in hot pursuit, but not quite neck and neck. Wheeling round at exactly the right moment, the Irishman, rushing at the foremost fellow, parried his lance, and struck him down. The second, pressing on to avenge his comrade, was cut through diagonally by Murphy's sword, falling to the earth without a cry or a groan; while the victor, scarcely glancing at his handiwork, trotted off whistling The Grinder.

Ponsonby's brave cavalry-man knew how to take things coolly, which, according to Colonel R. P. Anderson, is the special virtue of the British man-of-war, who, having the utmost reliance in himself and his commanders, is neither easily over-excited nor readily alarmed. In support of his assertion, the colonel relates how two tars, strolling up from the Dil-Kusha Park, where Lord Clyde's army was stationed, towards the Residency position at Lucknow, directed their steps by the pickets of horse and foot. Suddenly, a twenty-four-pound shot struck the road just in front of them. 'I'm blessed, Bill,' said one of the tars, 'if this here channel is properly buoyed!' and on the happy-go-lucky pair went towards the Residency, as calmly as if they had been on Portsmouth Hard. During the same siege, a very young private of the 102d was on sentry, when an eight-inch shell, fired from a gun a hundred yards off, burst close to him, making a deal of noise and throwing up an immense quantity of earth. Colonel Anderson rushed to the spot. The youthful soldier was standing quietly at his post, close to where the shell had just exploded. Being asked what had happened, he replied unconcernedly: 'I think a shell has busted, sir.'

Towards the close of the fight of Inkermann, Lord Raglan, returning from taking leave of General Strangways, met a sergeant carrying water for the wounded. The sergeant drew himself up to salute, when a round-shot came bounding over the hill, and knocked his forage-cap out of his hand. The man picked it up, dusted it on his knee, placed it carefully on his head, and made the salute, not a muscle of his countenance moving the while. 'A neat thing that, my man?' said Lord Raglan. 'Yes, my lord,' returned the sergeant, with another salute; 'but a miss is as good as a mile.' The commander was probably not surprised by such an exhibition of sang-froid, being himself good that way. He was badly hurt at Waterloo; and, says the Prince of Orange, who was in the hospital, 'I was not conscious of the presence of Lord Fitzroy Somerset until I heard him call out in his ordinary tone: "Hollo! Don't carry that arm away till I have taken off my ring!" Neither wound nor operation had extorted a groan from his lips.'

The Indian prides himself upon taking good or ill in the quietest of ways; and from a tale told in Mr Marshall's Canadian Dominion, his civilised half-brother would seem to be equally unemotional. Thanks mainly to a certain MÉtis or half-breed in the service of the Hudson Bay Company, a Sioux warrior was found guilty of stealing a horse, and condemned to pay the animal's value by instalments, at one of the Company's forts. On paying the last instalment, he received his quittance from the man who had brought him to justice, and left the office. A few moments later the Sioux returned, advanced on his noiseless moccasins within a pace of the writing-table, and levelled his musket full at the half-breed's head. Just as the trigger was pulled, the MÉtis raised the hand with which he was writing and touched lightly the muzzle of the gun; the shot passed over his head, but his hair was singed off in a broad mass. The smoke clearing away, the Indian was amazed to see his enemy still lived. The other looked him full in the eyes for an instant, and quietly resumed his writing. The Indian silently departed unpursued; those who would have given chase being stopped by the half-breed with: 'Go back to your dinner, and leave the affair to me.'

When evening came, a few whites, curious to see how the matter would end, accompanied the MÉtis to the Sioux encampment. At a certain distance he bade them wait, and advanced alone to the Indian tents. Before one of these sat crouched the baffled savage, singing his own death-hymn to the tom-tom. He complained that he must now say good-bye to wife and child, to the sunlight, to his gun and the chase. He told his friends in the spirit-land to expect him that night, when he would bring them all the news of their tribe. He swung his body backwards and forwards as he chanted his strange song, but never once looked up—not even when his foe spurned him with his foot. He only sang on, and awaited his fate. Then the half-breed bent his head and spat down on the crouching Sioux, and turned leisurely away—a crueller revenge than if he had shot him dead.

It is not given to every one to play the philosopher, and accept fortune's buffets and favours with equal placidity. Horatios are scarce. But there are plenty of people capable of behaving like Spartans where the trouble does not touch their individuality. 'How can I get out of this?' asked an Englishman, up to his armpits in a Scotch bog, of a passer-by. 'I dinna think ye can get oot of it,' was the response of the Highlander as he went on his way.

Mistress of herself was the spouse of the old gentleman, who contrived to tumble off the ferryboat into the Mississippi, and was encouraged to struggle for dear life by his better-half shouting: 'There, Samuel; didn't I tell you so? Now then, work your legs, flap your arms, hold your breath, and repeat the Lord's Prayer—for its mighty onsartin, Samuel, whether you land in Vicksburg or eternity!'

Thoroughly oblivious of court manners was the red-cloaked old Kentish dame who found her way into the tent occupied by Queen Charlotte, at a Volunteer review held shortly after her coming to England, and after staring at the royal lady with her arms akimbo, observed: 'Well, she's not so ugly as they told me she was!'—a compliment the astonished queen gratefully accepted, saying: 'Well, my good woman, I am very glad of dat.' Probably Her Majesty forgave her critic's rudeness as the outcome of rustic ignorance and simplicity.

There is no cooler man than your simple fellow. While General Thomas was inspecting the fortifications of Chattanooga with General Garfield, they heard some one shout: 'Hello, mister! You! I want to speak to you!' General Thomas, turning, found he was the 'mister' so politely hailed by an East Tennessean soldier.

'Well, my man,' said he, 'what do you want with me?'

'I want to get a furlough, mister, that's what I want,' was the reply.

'Why do you want a furlough, my man?' inquired the general.

'Wall, I want to go home and see my wife.'

'How long is it since you saw her?'

'Ever since I enlisted; nigh on to three months.'

'Three months!' exclaimed the commander. 'Why, my good fellow, I have not seen my wife for three years!'

The Tennessean looked incredulous, and drawled out: 'Wall, you see, me and my wife ain't that sort!'

The Postmaster-general of the United States once received an odd official communication; the Raeborn postmaster, new to his duties, writing to his superior officer: 'Seeing by the regulations that I am required to send you a letter of advice, I must plead in excuse that I have been postmaster but a short time; but I will say, if your office pays no better than mine, I advise you to give it up.' To this day, that Postmaster-general has not decided whether his subordinate was an ignoramus or was quietly poking fun at him.

Spite of the old axiom about self-praise, many are of opinion that the world is apt to take a man at his own valuation. If that be true, there is a church dignitary in embryo somewhere in the young deacon, whose examining bishop felt it requisite to send for the clergyman recommending him for ordination, in order to tell him to keep that young man in check; adding by way of explanation: 'I had the greatest difficulty, sir, to prevent him examining me!' This not to be abashed candidate for clerical honours promises to be as worthy of the cloth as the American minister who treated his village congregation to one of Mr Beecher's sermons, unaware that the popular Brooklyn preacher made one of his hearers. Accosting him after service, Mr Beecher said: 'That was a fair discourse; how long did it take you to write it?'

'Oh, I tossed it off one evening,' was the reply.

'Indeed!' said Mr Beecher. 'Well, it took me much longer than that to think out the framework of that sermon.'

'Are you Henry Ward Beecher?' asked the sermon-stealer.

'I am,' said that gentleman.

'Well, then,' said the other, not in the least disconcerted, 'all I have to say is, that I ain't ashamed to preach one of your sermons anywhere.'

We do not know if Colman invented the phrase, 'As cool as a cucumber;' but he makes the Irishman in The Heir-at-Law say: 'These two must be a rich man that won't lend, and a borrower; for one is trotting about in great distress, and t' other stands cool as a cucumber.' Of the two, the latter was more likely to have been intending a raid on another man's purse, for the men whose 'very trade is borrowing' are usually, we might say necessarily, the coolest of the cool; like Bubb Dodington's impecunious acquaintance, who, rushing across Bond Street, greeted Dodington with: 'I'm delighted to see you, for I am wonderfully in want of a guinea.'

Taking out his purse, Bubb shewed that it held but half a guinea.

'A thousand thanks!' cried his tormentor, deftly seizing the coin; 'that will do very well for the present;' and then changed the conversation. But as he turned to take leave, he inquired: 'By-the-by, when will you pay me that half-guinea?'

'Pay you? What do you mean?' exclaimed Dodington.

'Mean? Why, I intended to borrow a guinea of you. I have only got half; but I'm not in a hurry for t' other. Name your own time, only pray keep it!' saying which, he disappeared round the corner.

'John Phoenix' the American humorist being one night at a theatre, fancied he saw a friend some three seats in front of him. Turning to his next neighbour he said: 'Would you be kind enough to touch that gentleman with your stick?' 'Certainly,' was the reply, and the thing was done; but when the individual thus assaulted turned round, Phoenix saw he was not the man he took him for, and became at once absorbed in the play, leaving his friend with the stick to settle matters with the gentleman in front, which, as he had no excuse handy, was not done without considerable trouble. When the hubbub was over, the victim said: 'Didn't you tell me to tap that man with my stick?' 'Yes.' 'And what did you want?' 'Oh,' said Phoenix, with imperturbable gravity, 'I wanted to see whether you would tap him or not!'

'Jack Holmes,' a man-about-town, living no one knew how, was once under cross-examination by a certain sergeant-at-law, who knew his man too well. 'Now, sir,' said the learned gentleman, 'tell the jury how you live?'

'Well,' said Holmes, 'a chop or a steak, and on Sunday perhaps a little bit of fish; I am a very plain-living man.'

'You know what I mean, sir,' thundered the questioner. 'What do you do for a living?'

'The same as you, sergeant,' said the witness, tapping his forehead suggestively; 'and when that fails, I do'—going through the pantomime of writing across his hand—'a little bit of stuff—the same as you again.'

'My lud, I shall not ask this obtuse witness any more questions,' said the angry counsel.

'Brother,' said Baron Martin, 'I think you had better not.'

Here is a hint for our old friend the clown in the pantomime. At the burning of a provision store, the crowd helped themselves freely. One man grasped a huge cheese as his share of the salvage; rising up with it he found himself face to face with a policeman, and with admirable presence of mind put the plunder into the officer's arms, saying: 'You had better take care of that, policeman, or some one will be walking off with it.'

Equally ready to relinquish his loot when there was no help for it was a Chicago negro, caught by a poultry fancier in the act of carrying off some of his live stock, and challenged with: 'What are you doing with my chickens?' 'I wuz gwine fer ter fetch 'em back, boss,' explained he. 'Dere's a nigger roun' here what's bin disputin along er me 'bout dem chickens. I said dey wuz Coachin Chyniz; an he said dey wuz Alabarmar pullets; an I wuz jes takin 'em roun' fer ter stablish my nollidge. Dey don't lay no aigs, does dey, boss? Ef dey does, I'm mighty shamed of hustlin 'em roun'. Aigs is scase.'

Impudently cool as the darkey was, he must yield the palm for effrontery to the Erie Railway guard, whose interview with Manager Fisk is thus related in an American paper.

'You are a conductor on the Erie, I believe?'

'Yes, sir.'

'How long have you been on the road?'

'Fifteen years.'

'Worth some property, I learn?'

'Some.'

'Have a very fine house in Oswego? Cost you some thirty, forty, or fifty thousand dollars?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Some little money invested in bonds, I am told?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Own a farm near where you reside?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Had nothing when you commenced as conductor on our road?'

'Nothing to speak of.'

'Made the property since?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Been at work for no other parties?'

'No; but I have been saving money, and invested it from time to time to good advantage.'

'Well, sir, what will you give to settle? Of course you cannot pretend to say you have acquired this property from what you have saved from your salary? You will not deny that you have pocketed a great deal of money belonging to the railway—at least fifty or sixty thousand dollars? Now, sir, what will you give to settle, and not be disgraced, as you certainly will be if a trial is brought, and you are compelled to give up the property you profess to own, but which in reality belongs to the Company?'

'Well, Mr Manager, I had not thought of the matter. For several years I have been running my train to the best of my ability. Never looked at the matter in this light before. Never thought I was doing anything wrong. I have done nothing more than other conductors; tried to earn my salary and get it, and think I've succeeded. I don't know that I owe the Company anything. If you think I do, why, there's a little difference of opinion, and I don't want any trouble over it. I have a nice family, nice father and mother; relatives all of good standing; they would feel bad to have me arrested and charged with dishonesty. It would kill my wife. She has every confidence in me, and the idea that I would take a penny that did not belong to me would break her heart. I don't care anything for the matter myself; but on account of my family and relatives, if you won't say anything more about it, I'll give you say—a dollar!'