Many people will recollect the old Irishman who used to live in a little cabin in the in the midst of a small patch of ground on the Canton road, lie wuh a queer genius, and always walked into town leading a very sorrowful looking donkey, whose greatest trick wasbalking. In the evening the animal always stood next the fence, and withone ear up and one down would spendthe night. Not long ago Pat decided to sell out and go to Ireland, but he would not part with the donkey. ‘‘No, sir,” said he to the freight agent, “there is some things which a man has an aifection for which money won’t buy.” So he crated up his little donkey and started oil'forthe Kmerald Isle, the happiest man on shipboard.