A person being arrested for a large sum of money, sent to an acquaintance, who had often professed a great friendship for him, to beg he would bail him. The other sent back a note, to the effect that he had promised never to be bail for anybody. “I will tell you, however, what you may do,” added he; “you may get somebody else, if you can.”
A lady, who loved gaming very much, and who, at the same time was very covetous, falling sick in the country, in a village where her estate lay, sent for the curate and proposed play to him. The curate, being also fond of gaming, accepted the proposition with joy. They played, and the curate lost. After having won all his money, she proposed to play him for the parson’s fees at her burial, in case she died. They played; and he lost. She obliged him to give a note for the sum at which interments then stood; and dying eight or ten days after, the curate withdrew his note by the interment.
Two little girls of the city of Norwich, one the daughter of a wealthy brewer, the other the daughter of a gentleman of a small fortune, disputing for precedency, – “You are to consider, miss,” said the brewer’s daughter, “that my papa keeps a coach.” “Very true, miss,” said the other, “and you are to consider that he likewise keeps a dray.”
Three ladies meeting at a visit, a grocer’s wife, a cheesemonger’s, and a tobacconist’s, who perhaps stood more upon the punctilios of precedence than some of their betters would have done at the court-end of the town; when they had risen up and taken their leave, the cheesemonger’s wife was going out of the room first; upon which the grocer’s lady, pulling her back by the skirt of her gown, and stepping before her, “No, madam,” says she, “nothing comes after cheese.” “I beg your pardon, madam,” replies the cheesemonger’s wife, pulling the tobacconist’s lady back, who was also stepping before her, “after cheese comes tobacco.”
“I cannot conceive,” said one English nobleman to another, “how it is that you manage. I am convinced you are not of a temper to spend more than your income; and yet though your estate is less than mine, I could not afford to live at the rate you do.” “My Lord,” said the other, “I have a place.” “A place! you amaze me. I never heard of it till now. Pray what place?” “I am my own steward.”
When Mrs. Rogers, the actress, was young and handsome, the Lord North and Grey used to dangle after her; and one night being behind the scenes, standing with his arms folded, in the posture of a desponding lover, he asked her, with a sigh, “What was a cure for love?” “Your lordship,” said she, “the best in the world.”
Lord Richardson, riding abroad in his coach to take the air, and passing by a carman whose horses were of unequal fatness, called out, “Sirrah, sirrah, resolve me one question: why is your foremost horse so lusty and pampered, and the rest such lean jades?” The carman, not knowing the judge, but deeming him a lawyer, from his habit, answered, “Whoy, the reason is plain enough; my fore horse is the counsellor, and all the rest his clients.”
A fat apothecary having got drunk at a tavern in Fleet Street, was sent home by his companions in a porter’s basket. When the man came to Temple Bar, he was asked by the keeper within what was his business. “A thing of great weight,” was the answer. After being admitted, he was asked what was in his basket. “A pot I carry,” replied the porter.
When Grosvenor House, Millbank, was the extreme house on one of the ways leading out of London, somebody asked another, in passing, “Who lived in it?” “Lord Grosvenor,” was the reply. “I do not know what estate his lordship has,” said the querist; “but he ought to have a good one; for nobody lives beyond him in the whole town.”
Mrs. Sheridan was anxious to secure an income by her vocal powers; and she earnestly entreated her husband to relax from his opposition, so far as to allow of her occasional performance, until their circumstances should render it unnecessary. But he still continued inflexible, though it was with great difficulty he could raise the necessary supplies for the ordinary purposes of life, and that by very equivocal means. One of his sources was that of writing for the fugitive publications of the day, in which he was materially assisted by his wife; and many years after his entrance into the sphere of politics, he has been heard to say, if he had stuck to the law, he believed he should have done as much as his friend, Tom Erskine; “but,” continued he, “I had no time for such studies. Mrs. Sheridan and myself were often obliged to keep writing for our daily leg or shoulder of mutton, otherwise we should have had no dinner.” One of his friends, to whom he confessed this, wittily replied, “Then, I perceive, it was a joint concern.”
Soon after the accession of George III., an additional tax was laid on beer, to the great discontent of the populace. His majesty was one night attending the theatre, when a fellow in the upper gallery called to another to come and drink with him, as he had got a full pot. “What did you give for your full pot?” inquired the invited person. “Threepence-halfpenny.” “Threepence-halfpenny! Why, where did you send for it?” “To George the Third.” “You fool,” said the other, “why did you not send to George the Second? you would have had it there for threepence.”
A gentleman, passing a woman who was skinning eels, and observing the torture of the poor animals, asked her, how she could have the heart to put them to such pain. “Lord, sir,” she replied, “they be used to it.”
A fishmonger of famous London town was telling a neighbour that he intended to take a trip to Margate, where he should spend some time. “And will you bathe?” inquired the other. “O, Lord, no!” answered the worthy citizen; “the fishes would know me.”
A person, going into a meeting-house, happened to stumble over one of the forms which were set near the entrance. “Who the devil,” he cried, as he rubbed his irritated shins, “would have expected to find set forms in a meeting-house?”
Soon after M. Favor was appointed first ballet-master of the Opera (towards the close of the last century), Signor Sodorini, another performer there, came one day upon the stage, after the rehearsal, and said to him: “Allow me, my dear sir, to introduce myself to you. You are the dearest friend I have on earth. Let me thank you a thousand times for the happiness you have conferred upon me by coming amongst us. Command me in any way; for, whatever I do for you, I can never sufficiently repay you.” The ballet-master, who had never seen or heard of Sodorini before, was astounded. At last, he said, “Pray, sir, to what particular piece of good fortune may I attribute the compliments and professions with which you favour me.” “To your unparalleled ugliness, my dear sir,” replied Sodorini; “for, before your arrival, I was considered the ugliest man in Great Britain.” The ballet-master (strange to say) took this joke in good part; and the two were ever after warm friends.
Fischer, a first rate oboe player, at Dublin, was a man of great professional pride, and had also much of the ex-professional gentleman in his composition. A nobleman once asked him to sup after the conclusion of the opera; and, although very averse to going, he at last consented, on being assured by his patron that it was only for his society and conversation, and not for his musical proficiency, that he was invited. He had not, however, been many minutes in his host’s company, when the latter approached him, and said: “I hope, Mr. Fischer, you have brought your oboe in your pocket.” “No, my lord,” said Fischer, “my oboe never sups.” So saying, he turned on his heel, and instantly left the house; nor could any persuasion ever induce him to return to it.
A gentleman driving on the road between Little River and Brighton, was overtaken by a negro boy on a mule, who attempted for a long while, without success, to make the animal pass the carriage. At length the boy exclaimed to his beast, “I’ll bet you one fippeny