Part 87 (1/2)

MDLXIII.--AN HONOR TO TIPPERARY.

A GENTLEMAN from Ireland, on entering a London tavern, saw a countryman of his, a Tipperary squire, sitting over his pint of wine in the coffee-room. ”My dear fellow,” said he, ”what are you about? For the honor of Tipperary, don't be after sitting over a pint of wine in a house like this!”--”Make yourself aisy, countryman,” was the reply, ”It's the _seventh_ I have had, and every one in the room _knows it_.”

MDLXIV.--WITTY THANKSGIVING.

BARHAM having sent his friend, Sydney Smith, a brace of pheasants, the present was acknowledged in the following characteristic epistle: ”Many thanks, my dear sir, for your kind present of game. If there is a pure and elevated pleasure in this world, it is that of roast pheasant and bread sauce; barn-door fowls for dissenters, but for the real churchman, the thirty-nine times articled clerk, the pheasant, the pheasant.--Ever yours, _S.S._”

MDLXV.--A REASON FOR NOT MOVING.

THOMSON, the author of the ”Seasons,” was wonderfully indolent. A friend entered his room, and finding him in bed, although the day was far spent, asked him why he did not get up. ”Man, I hae _nae motive_,”

replied the poet.

MDLXVI.--KILLED BY HIS OWN REMEDY.

THE surgeon of an English s.h.i.+p of war used to prescribe salt water for his patients in all disorders. Having sailed one evening on a party of pleasure, he happened by some mischance to be drowned. The captain, who had not heard of the disaster, asked one of the tars next day if he had heard anything of the doctor. ”Yes,” answered Jack: ”he was drowned last night in his _own medicine chest_.”

MDLXVII.--NOTHING SURPRISING.

ADMIRAL LEE, when only a post captain, being on board his s.h.i.+p one very rainy and stormy night, the officer of the watch came down to his cabin and cried, ”Sir, the sheet-anchor is coming home.”--”Indeed,” says the captain, ”I think the sheet-anchor is perfectly in the _right_ of it. I don't know what would _stay out_ such a stormy night as this.”

MDLXVIII.--RUNNING NO RISK.

”I'M very much surprised,” quoth Harry, ”That Jane a gambler should marry.”

”I'm not at all,” her sister says, ”You know he has such _winning ways_!”

MDLXIX.--A HUMORIST PIQUED.

THEODORE HOOK was relating to his friend, Charles Mathews, how, on one occasion, when supping in the company of Peake, the latter surrept.i.tiously removed from his plate several slices of tongue; and, affecting to be very much annoyed by such practical joking, Hook concluded with the question, ”Now, Charles, what would _you_ do to anybody who treated you in such a manner?”--”Do?” exclaimed Mathews, ”if any man meddled with _my_ tongue, I'd _lick_ him!”

MDLXX.--NOT ROOM FOR A NEIGHBOR.

A LANDED proprietor in the small county of Rutland became very intimate with the Duke of Argyle, to whom, in the plenitude of his friends.h.i.+p, he said: ”How I wish your estate were in my county!” Upon which the duke replied: ”I'm thinking, if it were, there would be _no room for yours_.”

MDLXXI.--AN UNEXPECTED CANNONADE.

AT one of the annual dinners of the members of the Chapel Royal, a gentleman had been plaguing Edward Cannon with a somewhat dry disquisition on the n.o.ble art of fencing. Cannon for some time endured it with patience; but at length, on the man remarking that Sir George D---- was a great fencer, Cannon, who disliked him, replied, ”I don't know, sir, whether Sir George is a great fencer, but Sir George is a great fool!” A little startled, the other rejoined, ”Possibly he is; but then, you know, a man may be both.”--”_So I see, sir_,” said Cannon, turning away.

MDLXXII.--ON BUTLER'S MONUMENT.

WHILE Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, No generous patron would a dinner give.

See him, when starved to death and turned to dust, Presented with a monumental bust.