The Portland daily press., 1874-07-30
FeatS of EnOte.

CtatS VI EOOte.
1t has been said of wel-kuown Irish N.
Z. that ''he never opened his mouth but g
put his foot into it, and it may be truly de-
clare9 Of many brilliant conversationists that
they often have Foote in their mouths, but
Is not their own. Samuel Foote, one of til G
most versatile characters that ever sled the
town." not Only said half the good things
attributed to Sheridan, Sydney Smith, Jer-
rold, and Hood, but supplied the wit of the
majority Of small jokers, who, by the way in
which they appropriate his jeatr de mots, e.i-
IDENTIFY deem them common property.
In l776, when on visit TO Lord Mexbor-
ough's he broke his leg while hunting
Shortly afterward, Lord B., cond cling
with him on his misfortune, the inveterate
joker could not forbear his jest at the ex-
pense of the silly nobleman, and replied:
''Pray, my lord, do not allude 10 my weak
point; L have not alluded to yours !" at the
same time significantly pointing to the noble
mans head. ..
Every class in its turn felt the power o his
lash, and each one in his turn had chanc
of laughing at his neighbours earicatured
folbles. His favorite butt was David Gar
rick, whose thrifty habits, so opposed to his
own outrageous eXtrayagances, afforded him
aperpetual grind-stone on which to whet h
wit. One day, when they were together,
Garrick, after satirizing some individual, con-
perhaps before l condemn another L should
pull the beam out of my own eye;'' to which
Foote responded: "And so you would if you
could sell the timber"
Foote was a frequent visitor at the very ab-
surd Lectures on the Ancients," given by
Mackin, now only remembered for his
'Man of the World" One evening when
the lecturer was preparing himself to begin,
sudden roar Of laughter broke out round
Foote. To silence it and him, Mac kiln, in
his most magisterial tone, ing uired, swell,
sir, you seem to be very merry there, but DO
you know what am going to say now?'
mo, sir" was the cruel response; ''pray,
do you?'
On another occasion he was standing in
waiting for a friend. Lord Carmarthen,
seeing that he looked ill at ease, went up to
him for the sake of making a remark, but
could not find anything better to say than,
''Mr. Foote, your handkerchief is hanging
out Of your pocket" Whereupon the actor,
looking round suspiciously, thrust his hand
kerchief back into his pocket, and replied,
."Thank you, my lord, thank you: You
know the company better than do"
Being at his friends, Sir Francis Delavars
one night, and the glass having circulated
pretty freely, one of the party suddenly tried
to fix quarrel upon him for his indulgence
in personal satire. ''Why, what would you
have?' said Foote, good humoredy. ''Of
coarse 1 take all my friends off, take my-
self ofr' ''Gadsov' cried the squabbler, II
should like to see thstr' upon which Foote
toQ2EE-up his hat and left the room.
ing lbs wine IL Ps5i a Af vas a saaiaSs at Lord Stor
ses, all the while descanting upon its exqdis-
ite growth and great age-'sIt is very little of
its age" said Foote, holding up his diminu-
tive glass. Conversation one day reverting
to lacy who had led very happy married
life, Notwithstanding the fact that her pre-
nuptial career had been of very dubious
character, some one attributed the unexpeet-
ed result to The fact that previous to her mar
riage she had frankly told her husband all
that had happened. "What candorV said
one. "What honestyp' cried another.
eyes, "exclaimed Foote, ''and what an amaz-
ing memoryp'
A pompous man, who had made a large
fortune as builder, was discussing On the
mutability of the world. "Can you account
for it, sir ?'' he said, suddenly addressing him
self to Foote. ''Why, not clearly" was the
reply, ''unless we could suppose the world
was made by contract"
A well-known Bath physician confded to
him, as great secret, that he had an idea OF
publishing his own poems, but that really he
had so many irons in the fire that he did not
know what to do. "Take my advice, doc
tor" said Foote, Sand put your poems where
your irons are"
The Duke of Cumberland (the foolish duke,
| as he was called) came one night into the
| green-room of the Haymarket Theatre.
swell, Foote," said he, ''here L am, ready.
as usual, to swallow all your good things"
sReally," said Foote, with his customary
| freedom, 'your royal highness must have an
| excellent digestion, for you never bring any
| up again."
| Mrs. Macauley, whose history Of England
was thought as much of in those days as is
| her namesake's in our time, had just pub
| lished brochure, under the title Of 'Loose
| Thoughts" and somebody obiecting to this
designation in Foote'S presence, he remarked
"that he did not see any objection to it, for
l the sooner Mrs. Macauley got rid of such
| thoughts the better"
''There is witty satrical story of Foote," :"
says johnson. ''He had small bust of Gar
rick placed upon his bureau. You may be
surprised said he, that allow him to be so
near my gold; but you will observe he has no
| hands,"
In1775 Foote produced his last play, the
'sTrip to Calais" and having dared to intro
duce into it a character supposed to repre-
sent the infamous Duchess of Kingston, the
Kings mistress, she not only induced the
Lord Chamberlain to prohibit it, but cooked
up most abominable charge against its au-
thor. The charge was so odious that he was
compelled to demand an instant public trial,
The result of which was his triumphant ac
quttal. But the anguish the charge had pro-
duced, and the GOODNESS which it had caused
in old friends was too much tor him. After
| few more performances he retired from the
stage, and shortly afterward was seized with
a sudden paralytic attack. Attacked by an
other complaint threatening his life, he quit
ted London for the continent, but got no fur
ther than Dover, where he expired on the
10Th of October, 1777.