ask me what I choose for supper? I came here to give advice and not to eat. I shall eat as the rest.”
A travelled man was descanting one day upon what he had seen in his peregrinations. He was particularly impressive on the largeness to which common reptiles and insects grew in tropical climates. “In the West Indies,” said he, “bees are about the size of our sheep.” “And how large may the bee-hives be?” inquired one of the company. “Oh, about the ordinary size,” said the traveller, without thinking of the exaggerated size he had just ascribed to the tenants of these receptacles. “Then,” said the inquirer, “how do the bees get into the hives?” “Oh,” replied the detected Manchausen, “let the bees look to that!”
Tom Burnet, son of Bishop Burnet, happening to be at dinner at the Lord Mayor’s, in the latter part of Queen Anne’s reign, when the Tories were for a space triumphant, after two or three healths, “The Ministry” was toasted. Tom, unwilling to compromise his principles by drinking to a cabinet he could not approve of, endeavoured to escape, by telling a story to a person who sat next him. This, however, would not do with the Lord Mayor, who, observing a full glass on the table, called out, “Gentlemen, where sticks the Ministry?” “At nothing,” replied the Whig, and immediately drank off his glass.
A Whig, of the same stamp with Tom Burnet, being asked what he thought of the fireworks which celebrated the peace of Utrecht (a peace concluded by the Tory ministry much against the wishes of the opposition), “I think,” said he, “they were a burning shame.”
George II., at a review of his horse guards, asked Monsieur de Bussy, the French Ambassador, if he thought the King of France had better troops. “Oh, yes, sir,” answered the ambassador, “the King of France has his gendarmes, which are reckoned the best troops in the world. Did your majesty never see them?” The king answered, “No;” upon which General Campbell, colonel of the Scots Greys (who afterwards lost his life at the battle of Fontenoy), stepped up and said, “Though your majesty has not seen those troops his excellency speaks of, I have seen them: I have cut my way through them twice, and make no doubt of doing the same again, whenever your majesty shall command me.”3
The tragedy of Macbeth was acted at a town in Suffolk, and amongst the audience was a man who had been nearly fifty miles, in the course of the day, to see Corder, the memorable murderer, hanged at Bury. Such was the belief entertained to the last, in some parts of the country, that the extreme penalty of the law would not be inflicted, that the man who had seen him die was pestered on all sides for an account of the melancholy spectacle. At last he actually betook himself to the theatre, to avoid further importunities. Just as he entered, the fourth scene of the tragedy was commencing, and he was quietly setting himself down in a box near the stage, when Duncan began, in the words of the author, —
“Is execution done on Cawdor?”
“Yes, sir,” said the man, “I saw him hanged this morning – and that’s the last time I’ll answer any more questions about it.” The audience was convulsed with laughter at the strange mistake, and it was some time before the performance could be proceeded with.
The late Dr. Franklin used to observe, that of all the amusements which the ingenuity of man had ever devised for the purpose of recreation, none required the exercise of most patient attention so much as angling; a remark which he frequently illustrated by the following story: – “About six o’clock, on a fine morning in the summer,” said the doctor, “I set out from Philadelphia, on a visit to a friend, at the distance of fifteen miles; and, passing a brook where a gentleman was angling, I enquired if he had caught anything? ‘No, sir,’ said he, ‘I have not been here long; only two hours.’ I wished him a good morning, and pursued my journey. On my return in the evening, I found him fixed to the identical spot where I had left him, and again inquired if he had any sport? ‘Very good, sir,’ says he. ‘Caught a great many fish?’ ‘None at all.’ ‘Had a great many bites though, I suppose?’ ‘Not one, but I had a most glorious nibble.’”
A few days previous to Foote’s opening the Haymarket Theatre, amongst a variety of applications for engagements, a lady came to him warmly recommended. Some time after she was introduced ensued the following scene: – “Pray, madam,” says Foote, “are you for tragedy or comedy?” No answer. “Are you married, madam? for if you are, by God, your husband is very happy in regard to your tongue.” By this time, the lady perceived she was spoken to; when, drawing her chair close up to the wit’s, and turning one of her ears to him at the same time, she replied, – “Speak a little louder, sir, for I am deaf.”
A person, speaking of the remarkably short lives of prime ministers, said, “that almost as soon as they’re primed they go off.”
The peace of Utrecht sticking in the House of Lords, Queen Anne, or rather her prime minister, the Earl of Oxford, found it politically necessary to create a majority, by calling up twelve commoners to the House of Peers. The celebrated Duke of Wharton, who was in the opposition, took care to be in the House the day of their introduction, and, as they passed by him, very deliberately counted out aloud, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve: well, gentlemen of the jury, who shall speak for you?”
The same nobleman, soon after, meeting the Earl of Oxford, addressed him with, – “So, Robin, I find what you lost by tricks, you have gained by honours.”
Foote once went to spend his Christmas with C – B – n, Esq., when, the weather being very cold, and there being but bad fires, occasioned by the scarcity of wood in the house, Foote was determined to make his visit as short as possible. Accordingly, on the third day after he went there, he ordered his chaise, and was preparing to set out for town. Mr. B – n, seeing him with his boots on in the morning, asked him what hurry he was in, and pressed him to stay. “No, no,” says Foote, “you would not let me have a leg to stand on.” “Why, sure,” says Mr. B – n, “we do not drink so much.” “No,” says the wit, “but there is so little wood in your house, that, by God, I am afraid one of your servants may light the fires some morning with my right leg.”
Quin one day complaining of his old age and infirmities, in the public rooms at Bath, a pert young coxcomb asked “What would he give to be as young as he was?” “I do not know,” says Quin, measuring him very contemptuously, “but I should be almost content to be as foolish.”
Counsellor C – being chosen a friendly arbitrator between two near relations, one of whom had a very deservedly bad character, it happened, in the warmth of stating their grievances, the one gave the other the lie. “Lie, sir!” says the man with the bad character; “know that is amongst the actions of my life I dare not do.” “My dear friend,” says the counsellor, “do not be in a passion: upon my soul, you have too mean an opinion of your own courage.”
Foote being at a nobleman’s house, his lordship, as soon as dinner was over, ordered a bottle of Cape to be set on the table, which, after magnifying its good qualities, and in particular, its age, he sent round the table in glasses that scarcely held a thimble-full. “Fine wine, upon my soul,” says the wit, tasting, and smacking his lips. “Is it not very curious?” says his lordship. “Perfectly so, indeed,” says the other; “I do not remember to have seen anything so little of its age in my life before.”
Foote, meeting at Bath, his old acquaintance, Major B – (a character well known in the annals of gaming), came up to him, and asked him, with great cordiality, how he was? “Ah, Foote,” says the other, “I have had a terrible accident since I saw you last; no less than the loss of an eye.” “My dear fellow,” says the wit, “I am heartily sorry for it: pray, at what game?”
A