[ 4 ]

A well beneficed old parson being in
a large company at a public dinner, he
entertained them with nothing else but
the situation and profits of his parochial
livings, which left he said he kept en-
tirely to himself. The company in ge-
neral despised him too much to make
any remarks on his egotisms; but
Quin being of the party, and observ-
ing the parson, as he stretched acrofs
the table to shew a pair of very dirty,
yellow hands, he immediately called
out, "So far, Doctor, I think you do
keep your glebe in your own hands."

Dr. P—, an Irish parson, and
a remarkable ordinary man in his per-
son, having a neat parsonage-house,
very curiously furnished, was one day
shewing it to doctor Berkely, the cele-
brated bishop of Cloyne. "Well, my
lord,"

3

[ 5 ]

lord,” says the doctor, after they had
returned to the dining-parlour, “you
see what a nice *marriage-trap* I have
got here.” “Why, yes, doctor,” says
the bishop, looking him full in the
face, “I see you have; but I do not
half like the *bait*.”

When madame Barré became the
mistress of the late king of France,
such an elevation, from one of her mean
circumstances, necessarily became the
topic of conversation. Some young
fellows talking this matter over one
night at the English coffee-house in
Paris, a gentleman present said he re-
membered her when she was to be had
for a *fix livre piece*. "Very true, Sir,"
says another; "but she is now risen to
a *louis*."

B 3

The

[ 6 ]

The late Charles Townfend going
out of the House of Commons one
day (when serjeant Hewit, the preſent
lord chancellor of Ireland was floun-
dering on some dull law queſtion) he
was met by a friend in the lobby, who
haftily asked him, "Whether the houſe
was up?" "No, Sir," ſays Mr. Town-
fend, very gravely, "but the serjeant
is."

A gentleman juſt married telling
Foote he had that morning laid out
three thouſand pounds in jewels for his
dear wife. " By G—d, Sir," ſays the
wit, "I ſee you are no hypocrite, for
ſhe is truly your dear wife."

Some time before the late marquifs of
Granby's death, he happened to be at
a coffee-houſe in Scarborough, when he

5

was

[ 7 ]

was much ſolicited by a pedlar to buy some
tooth-picks. " Well," ſays the mar-
quifs, " what is the price of your tooth-
picks ?" " A guinea a-piece, Sir," ſays
the pedlar. " A guinea a-piece !"
echoed the marquifs. " Why, friend,
tooth-picks muſt be very ſcarce in Scar-
borough." " No, my lord," ſays the
fellow, (letting him ſee he knew his
rank) " but marquifes are."

When doctor Johnson was firſt pa-
tronized by lord Cheſterfield, (which
was at his lordſhip's particular requeſt)
the doctor called on him one morning,
and being ſhewn into an anti-chamber,
either from the miſtake of the footman,
or his lordſhip's paying a preference
to other company, the doctor was left
waiting there for two hours without his
lordſhip's appearance. Johnson grow-

B 4

ing

[ 8 ]

ing piqued at this neglect, abruptly
left the house, and from that hour re-
solved to break off all acquaintance
with him. Some time after this, lord
Chesterfield endeavoured all he could
to recover Johnson's friendship, by
writing two essays in favour of his Dic-
tionary in a periodical paper then pub-
lishing, called " The World," as well
as by other indirect solicitations; but
all in vain, Johnson was not only re-
solved, but wrote his lordship word so,
in a very remarkable letter, wherein,
with great dignity, and philosophic
pride, he begged leave to be dismissed
his patronage and acquaintance. Some
time after this, a noble lord met the
doctor in Dodfley's shop, who beginning
the conversation, asked him how he
could desert a man who had been so
serviceable to him in the public en-
courage-

[ 9 ]

couragement he gave his Dictionary as
lord Chesterfield was. " Serviceable
to me, my lord!" says Johnson; " in
no respect whatsoever : I had been for
years failing round the world of litera-
ture, and just as I was getting into the
chops of the Channel, his lordship
sends out two little cock-boats, more to
partake of my triumphs, than to pilot
me into harbour. No, no, my lord
Chesterfield may be a wit amongst lords,
but I fancy he is no more than a lord
amongst wits *."

Quin complaining of his old age
and infirmities one day in the public

* This retort his lordship could never forgive, and in all probability occasioned the caricatura he afterwards gave of doctor Johnson in one of his letters to his son.

rooms

[ 10 ]

rooms at Bath, a pert young coxcomb
asked him, “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.”

During the run of the comedy of
the West-Indian, Mrs. Clive went one
night to Drury-Lane theatre to see the
piece: after the play was over, she was
asked by Mifs Pope, who went with
her, how she liked King in the part
of Belcour ? “What my old friend
Tom,” says she, “Oh ! very well, ex-
cept that d -md inattention to his drefs,
which he never can get rid of.” In
what particular, says the other? “Why,”
says she, “did you never take notice
of the large pair of curling-tongs that’s
eternally

[ 11 ]

eternally peeping out of his coat.
pocket ?”

A nobleman meeting the late lord
Chesterfield at a levée one morning,
was asking him when lady Coventry
was at court? “How could you ask
such a question, my lord,” says Chef-
fterfield, “when no one has seen her
face here this ten years?”

Some time after lord Townhend had
given up his commission in the guards,
on account of the late duke of Cumber-
land's refusing him leave of absence for
three days, he went one morning to the
parade, where colonel F— (who was
remarkable for being a tale-bearer to his
royal highness) was looking over the
exercise, in order if any thing was
wrong to report it. Upon seeing lord
Townhend

[ 12 ]

Townsend come up, “ What Town-
send,” says he, “ though you have left
us, I see you still come here as a spec-
tator.” “ Aye,” says the other; “ and
between us both, I think we must im-
prove the men, as you come here as a
tatler.”

The above nobleman, when young,
being at the battle of Dettingen, as he
was marching down pretty close to the
enemy, was so very thoughtful (as is
usual with most officers on their first
battle,) that he took no notice of a
drummer's head that was shot off just
before him, though he received some
of the brains on his coat. A veteran
officer observing this, went up to him,
and endeavoured to rouse him, by tell-
ing him the best way in these cases was
not to think at all. “Oh! dear Sir,”
says

[ 13 ]

says the other, with great pref-ence of
mind, “ you entirely mistake my re-
verie, I have been only thinking what
the devil could bring this little drum-
mer here, who seemed to poffe's such a
quantity of brains.”

Baron B——, a celebrated gamb-
ler, well known by the name of the
left-handed Baron, being detected some
years ago at Bath secreting a card, the
company in the warmth of their refent-
ment, threw him out of the window of
a one-pair-of-stairs-room, where they
had been playing. The baron meeting
Foote some time after, was loudly com-
plaining of this usage, and asked what
he should do. “ Do,” says the wit,
“ why it is a plain case, never play so
high again as long as you live.”

Upon

[ 14 ]

Upon the death of the late general
Armiger, (who unfortunately died the
firſt night of his marriage, in the fame
ſituation as the celebrated lord Lincoln)
a great perſonage, who was ignorant
of this circumſtance, was aſking ſeveral
at the levée next day, what could be
his diſorder, it was ſo ſudden? Many
made their congees, and ſaid, “ They
had not heard,” till coming up to lady
B— L—, (ſince lady B—
T—) “ Why, Sire,” ſays ſhe, it
is rather an unphysiſal caſe ; but
poor general Armiger died in a paren-
thefis.”

The fame lady being lately aſked by
a nobleman at court, Whether there
had been any accounts from lord
H— ſſe, who had been cut a little
before that for a ſiſtula, at Geneva?
“ O,

[ 15 ]

“ O, yes, my lord,” ſays ſhe, “ I
have the pleasure to tell your lordship
he is ſfundamentally cured.”

A gentleman of fortune happening
to kill another in a quarrel, he was
acquitted, as was generally thought,
through the complaſance of a Yorkſhire
jury. Some time after, this gentle-
man being at the fame aſſizes town,
when a criminal was going to be hang-
ed, hearing a crowd under his window,
he threw up the ſaſh to inquire what was
the matter; “ A man going to be hang-
ed, Sir,” ſays a ſhoe-black. “ Pray,
my good fellow, what is he to be hang-
ed for ?” “ A hard caſe, indeed, your
honour,” ſays the other, “ only for
want of a Yorkſhire jury.”

The

[ 16 ]

The late lord Chesterfield's fur-
geons imagining, in his last illness, that
his lordship had a stone in his bladder,
probed him several times without any
effect. "Ah!" says, my lord, who
was always of a contrary opinion to the
faculty, "I judged it would, at last,
turn out the philosopher's-stone."

Foote meeting his old acquaintance,
major B——, at Bath, this last fea-
son, (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
less of an eye." "My dear fellow,"
says the wit, "I am heartily sorry for
it: pray at what game ?"

Counsellor

[ 17 ]

Counsellor C—— being very infirm
and goutified from his excesstes, meet-
ing one day with an old friend of his,
a permit-officer of the cuftom-houſe,
the latter aſked him how he did?
"Ah!" says the counsellor, "you
will not have me long amongst you."
"Come, come," says the other, "do
not be caſt down; you ſhall not have
a permit to die yet a-while." "Shall
not I, indeed," says the counsellor ?
"Why then I would have you make a
sharp look out for death; for if you
do not, by G-d, I am afraid he will
smuggle me."

When the preſent duke of Grafton
was a boy, he lived very much with his
aunt, the preſent counteſs of Harring-
ton, and at this time of life (though of
a very thin delicate constitution) gave
C evidence

[ 18 ]

evident signs of an amorous disposition. Among the rest of his amours, he very warmly solicited my lady's woman, and one evening behaved so indecently to her, that she was under a necessity of complaining to her lady. " How is this, Sir," says her ladyship, " that you can behave so rude in my house?" " Lord, ma'am," says the other, " to tell you the truth, Nancy did look so charming, flesh and blood could not refrain." " Come, come, Charles," returned her ladyship, " let me hear of no more such doings in this house : it may be an excuse for flesh and blood; but I am sure it can be none for skin and bone."

When Mr. Macpherson's Homer came out, (a book universally decried for a bombastic affected style)

2

[ 19 ]

a lady remarked one evening in a large company to doctor Johnson, that she had been endeavouring to read it, but the style appeared so old, she could not go through it with any satisfaction. " You are perfectly right, madam," says Johnson, " it is as old as the building of Babel."

Much about the time of the universal damnation of the above book, the lord advocate of Scotland being in company with a number of beaux esprits, after haranguing with great vehemence and nationality on the general talents of Mr. Macpherson, he asserted there was not a man in England had even the knack of writing down a character more than he had. " I believe it most fincerely," says a gentleman present " and I think he has given a very recent proof

C 2

of

[ 20 ]

of it, by writing down one of the first
characters of all antiquity.”

In one of the late exhibitions of the
Royal Academy, there was a very fine
whole length painting of Mr. Garrick
in Richard the IIId. which was uni-
versally allowed to be the best likenefs
of that incomparable actor yet done.
One morning as Mr. Garrick was go-
ing down flights from the exhibition-
room, he was met by a nobleman
of his acquaintance, who asked him,
how he did ? “ Why, faith, my lord,”
replied Garrick, “ but so-so this morn-
ing; but if your lordship will but walk
up flights, you will see me as well as
ever I was in my life.”

When Foote first heard of the late
Sir Francis Blake Delaval's death, the
shock

[ 21 ]

shock of losing so intimate a friend had
such an effect on his spirits, that he
burst into tears, retired to his room,
and saw no company for two days: the
third day Jewell, his treasurer, calling
in on him, he asked him with tweln
eyes, what time would the burial be?
“ Not till next week, Sir,” replied the
other, “ as I hear the surgeons are first
to dislect his head.” This last word re-
covered the wit’s fancy, and repeating it
with some surprize, asked, “ And what
the devil will they get there? I am
sure,” says he, “ I have known poor
Frank these five and twenty years, and
I never could find any thing in it.”

The death of the late Mr. Holland,
of Drury-Lane theatre (who was the
son of a baker at Chyflwick) had like-
wise a very great effect on Foote's
spirits;

C 3

[ 22 ]

spirits; being a legatee, as well as appointed, by the will of the deceased, one of his bearers, he attended the corpse to the family-vault, at Chyfwick, and there very sincerely paid a plentiful tribute of tears to his memory. On his return to town, by way of alleviating his grief, he called in at the Bedford-coffee-house, when an acquaintance coming up to him, asked him if he had not been paying the last compliment to his friend Holland? " Yes, poor fellow," says Foote, almost snivelling at the same time, "I have just seen him shoved into the family-oven."

When doctor Hill (now Sir John Hill) first launched into the literary world, he amongst other voluminous works in all sciences, wrote several farces, which he recommended very strongly to

[ 23 ]

to Mr. Garrick for representation; Garrick, however, not judging them to poffess merit enough for the stage, politely refused them, which so irritated the doctor, that he constantly squibbed at him in the news-papers, some of which he at that time commanded: Garrick bore all very patiently for some time, at last thinking it necessary to hint to the world the occasion of this antipathy, he told them so in the following very severe epigram:

> "For physical and farces
> His equal there scarce is;
> For his farces are physical, and his physical
> a farce is."

The late doctor Goldsmith being at supper one night with a lady, who was making an apology for the brownneſs of her pickles, very gravely defired her

C 4

to

[ 24 ]

to send them to Hammerlsmith. " To Hammerlsmith, doctor," says the lady, " why is there any thing particular in that place?" " O, yes, madam," says he, that is the way to Turn'em Green."

Foote being engaged to a rout of lady Harrington's, found the ladies all so thickly seated, that on his entering the drawing-room, he could not get a place to sit down in. " Come, Foote," says her ladyship, " you must not be kept standing, take a chair." " You are very obliging, my lady," says the wit; " but there appears to me to be more bottoms than chairs at present about the room."

Doctor Johnson sitting one night with a number of ladies and gentlemen of his acquaintance, the ladies, by

[ 25 ]

by way of heightening the good-humour of the company, agreed to toast ordinary women, and to match them with ordinary men. In this round, one of the ladies gave an old house-keeper of doctor Johnson's, blind of an eye, and another matched her with doctor Goldsmith: this whimsical union so pleased the former lady, that though she had some pique with the latter in the beginning of the night, she run round the table, kiffed her, and said she forgave her every thing that happened for the 'propos of her last toast. " Aye," says Johnson, " this puts me in mind of an observation of Swift's, that the quarrels of women are made up like those of antient kings; there is always an animal sacrificed on the occasion."

4

A

[ 26 ]

A little after the death of Sir William Stanhope, brother to the late earl of Chesterfield, his lady (whom Fame had taken some liberties with before) married captain C—, of a marching regiment; who had little beside his commission for his support. When lord Chesterfield was first told of this circumstance, two or three of the family present were arraigning the very great imprudence of the match. " Not at all," says his lordship, " as for my part, I think nothing could be more equal; she married for a cloak, and he for a coat."

The late Henry, lord Holland, fetling with his agent a little before his death, was surprisèd in looking over the heavy debts which stood against him on his two sons accounts. " Well," says his

[ 27 ]

his lordship, " I find I have no other way of fetling this matter than fuing the county of Middlesex." " Suing the county of Middlesex, my lord!" says the agent, with surprize. " To be sure," replies, my lord: " Have not I been robbed between son and son?"

At Mr. Fordyce's fale, at Roehampton, Foote, who attended almost every day, bought nothing but a pillow, on which a gentleman asked him, what particular use he could have of a single pillow? " Why," says Foote, " to tell you the truth, I do not sleep very well at night, and I am sure this must have me many a good nap, when the proprietor of it (though he owed so much) could sleep upon it."

Counsellor

[ 28 ]

Counsellor Harwood, a late celebrated Irish lawyer, as remarkable for his brogue, as his bon mot, being council against a young officer, who was indicted for a very indecent assault, opened the court in the following manner: "My lord, I am council in this cause for the crown, and I am first to acquaint your lordship that this soldier here—" "Stop, Sir," says the ignorant military hero, (who thought he used the word soldier as a term of reproach) "I would have you know, Sir, I am an officer." "O, Sir! I beg your pardon," says the counsellor, very drily. "Why then, my lord, to speak more correctly; this officer here, who is no soldier—."

The above lawyer, being concerned for a footman, who was tried for crim.

con.

[ 29 ]

con. with his mis refrs, concluded his addreſs to the jury in the following humorous manner: "In short, gentlemen of the jury, this must appear to you one of the most singularly malicious prosecutions perhaps ever conducted; it is, in fact, endeavouring to ruin a poor creature for an action that another would respect him for—performing his master's buſineſs, by the defires of his mis refrs."

A gentleman going the Cheſter road, observing the following inscription cut on one of the windows of the inn where he Stopt at: "My lord D— has the ſoftest kiffing lips in the world:" upon which he took out his pencil, and wrote underneath;

"Then, as like as to chips
Are his head and his lips."

Doctor

[ 30 ]

Doctor Johnson, being in company with a number of the literati, who were rather deciding with some severity on the abilities of a certain Scotch author, one of them called him a dunce. " No, Sir," says Johnson, " now, indeed, you abuse him, the fellow is no dunce; but he is a damned fool."

When the late Sir William Stanhope was married to Miff Delaval, there being before no prospect of issue in the family, he waited on his brother, the late lord Chesterfield, one morning in great spirits to tell him that now there was the greatest prospect of an heir for the family, title, and estate. "Why, I do not know, brother," says the other, very drily, " but what Stanhope and Co. may do much."

Foote

[ 31 ]

Foote and Garrick being at a tavern together at the time of the first regulation of the gold coin, the former pulling out his purse to pay his reckoning, asked the latter, " What he should do with a light guinea he had ?" " Pshaw, its worth nothing," says Garrick, "fling it to the devil." " Well David," says the other, " you are what I always took you for, ever contriving to make a guinea go further than any other man."

The peace of Utrecht sticking in the house of lords, queen Anne 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

[ 32 ]

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?”

General E—being at a country play last summer, the entertainment happened to be the *Stage Coach*, which was performed so wretchedly, that it was impossible to make head, or tail of it: as soon as the curtain closed, and one of the performers came to give out the next play, the General begged leave to ask the name of the entertainment just finished, “ *The Stage Coach*, Sir,” says Buskin, bowing very respectfully. “ Oh then, Sir,” says the General, “ will you be so good to let me

[ 33 ]

me know when you perform this again, that I may be an *outside passenger*.”

When the king of Denmark was in England, a long knight, well known by the name of *Sir Timothy Tallboy*, was very industrious in being his gentleman-of-honor at all public places, though the king spoke but bad English, and the knight worse French. After his majesty's departure, Sir T— was bragging to lord Chesterfield upon what an intimate footing he was with the king. “ Good God,” says my lord, very gravely, “ how report will lie! Why I heard there was a constant disagreement between you. “ Between us,” echoed the knight! “ Why I do not know,” says his lordship, “ whether it came to an absolute breach or not; but this I am very well informed

D

of,

[ 34 ]

of, that there was a great deal of *bad language* between you."

The above knight being at a private audience with lord Chesterfield some months before his death, the former, by way of complimenting his lordship on the regularity of his life, told him he would die by inches. " Do you really think so," says his lordship ? " Indeed, I do my lord," says Sir T______. " Why then," replies the other, measuring the full length of the knight with his eye, " my great comfort is that I am not as tall as you are."

Captain J______ being on a country excursion last summer, was one morning in company with some others of his acquaintance, amusing himself with running

[ 35 ]

running leaps: in the course of this exercise, the captain in jumping over a ditch, came through the roof of a thatched hovel which was just under it; fortunately for him, however, he came off unhurt, which when his acquaintance were congratulating him on, he replied, "Why, when did you see me undertake any thing that I did not go through it?"

Counsellor C______ being chosen a friendly arbitrator between two near relations, one of whom had a veryervedly 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 I am amongst the actions of my life I dare not do." "My dear friend," says the counsellor, "do not

D 2

be

[ 36 ]

be in a passion: upon my soul, you
have too mean an opinion of your own
courage."

Quin being at a Bristol feast, where
the company was all extolling the ham,
an alderman, who had cut pretty deep
in it, was observing, " that for his part,
he saw no reason why the Bristol hams
should not be as valuable as the West-
phalia; our hogs are every way as good,
and we feed them as well," says he.
" Aye, but, Sir," says Quin, " con-
fider, it would be murder to kill them."

When Foote heard that doctor Ken-
rick was going to give a public cri-
ticism on his comedy of the Cozeners
at Marybone, "Well," says he, "let
the doctor take care of the fate of our
first parents; a fall in the Garden."

When

[ 37 ]

When Sir Henry Marshall, uncle to
the late Sir Henry Bankes, was rifting
off his knees after being knighted by
his late majesty, he happened to ftumble;
upon which, with great preference
of mind, he apologized to the king,
by telling him, "He had loaded him
with so much honour, that he could
not well stand under it."

As Foote was one day amusing him-
self after dinner, with one of his na-
tural children, a French gentleman
who was present, asking him who the
child was, and recollecting at the fame
time the features of his mother; imme-
diately cried out, "Marbleu appare-
ment par la meme mere!" "I will not
dispute the mare," says the wit, per-
haps with more salt than breeding,

D 3

“ but

[ 38 ]

" but I think the odds are two to one,
not by the *fame* horse."

The late lord Chesterfield, a little
before his death, was so infirm, that
whenever he went out in his coach,
the horSES were generally led fStep by
fStep; in this Situation he was one morn-
ing met by an acquaintance, who con-
gratulated his lordship on being able
to take the air. " I thank you kindly,
Sir," fays his lordship; " but I do not
come out so much for the air, as for
the benefit of rehearsing my funeral."

Quin's kindnesS to Mr. Thompson,
author of the Seaflons, &c. is too uni-
versally known to need mentioning
here. As they were fitting together
one night, Thompson, after expreSsing
his gratitude for the many favours he
had

[ 39 ]

had received, cried out, " Well, Quin,"
fays he, " now, I can not see how you
can do any thing more for me, except
chewing the bread you have given me."
" Have a care, my friend, " fays Quin,
" do not truft me with that, for if I
once come to chewing, I will be damn-
ed if I do not *swallow* it."

The late queen having fome diffant
notion of encloſing St. James's-Park
entirely for the uſe of the royal family,
confulted the late lord Chesterfield
about the expences: his lordship ſtartled
at the propoſal at first, waved his opi-
nion; but at length being preſſed to it,
he replied, " Why then, madam, I
think it may come to about three
crowns."

D 4

The

[ 40 ]

The very first time doctor Goldsmith was introduced to lord Shelburne, the conversation, in a very mixed company after supper, began to turn upon politics; when the doctor (who was, at times, the most etourdiè of any man upon earth) very gravely calls acrofs the table, " Pray, my lord, what is the reason the public call you Malagrida ?" " Indeed, doctor," says fays the other, rather confused, "I do not know." " Why really," continues the doctor, "it is very surprizing, for Malagrida, your lordship knows, was a very honest man."

As his late majesty was returning from one of his excursions to Hanover, his carriage happened to break down between Helvoetsluys and the Brill, on a part of the road where he

5

and

[ 41 ]

and his attendants were obliged to take what accommodations they could get at an hedge gin-house, until another carriage was got ready. The articles of refreshment they had were coffee for his majesty, and two noblemen who were in the coach with him, and four bottles of gin for the domestics; yet the honest landlord, knowing what guests he had in the house, made his account out for such fare the enormous sum of ninety pouds: the bill being brought to the late lord Ligonier, who was with the king, he railed at the fellow's extravagance so loud, that his majesty over-heard him, and inflected upon knowing what was the matter; being told, he shook his head, and smiled, "Come, come, my good lord Ligonier, pay the money; kings, I believe, seldom call this way."

A

[ 42 ]

A witty counsellor, formerly of the
Middle-Temple, who had been often
reprimanded by a lady of his acquaint-
ance for dressing so slovenly when-
ever he went into company, one day in
particular underwent a severe examina-
tion of every part of his dresſs, before
a room full of company. When ſhe
came to his breeches, ſhe ſtopt ſhort:
" And pray," ſays ſhe, " What do
you call that? (pointing to an old pair
of black velvet-breeches he had on.)
" This, madam," ſays the counsellor,
who had hitherto borne all this raillery
very patiently, " is an old velvet-pall
I keep to cover a dead friend."

An empty, pragmatical attorney of
the above counsellor's acquaintance, call-
ing at his chambers one morning, the
latter asked him how he did ? " Faith, I
do

[ 43 ]

do not know; I am not at all *myself*
this morning." " Why then I con-
gratulate you much," ſays the other,
" for if you are any body befide
yourself, I will be damned if you are
not a gainer by the charge."

The honourable Charles Fox, com-
ing with Mr. Dyſon one morning from
lord N—th's levée, when the latter
had been juſt recovered from a fit of
illneſs, and in conſequence looked very
badly, Mr. Fox offered him part of
his carriage home. " No, no," ſays
the other, " I have buſineſs at the
Pay-Office." " At the Pay-Office !"
ſays Fox, " You certainly muſt miſ-
take; your buſineſs ſhould lie at the
Vitualling-Office."

4

A

[ 44 ]

A great personage riding out one
morning on Richmond-Hill, being
struck with the situation, neatness, and
elegance of the late Mr. Blanchard's
house, asked whose it was ? Being told
it belonged to a card-maker. " Why,"
says his m—y, with some surprize,
" one would think all this man's cards
were trumps."

The above personage meeting doctor
Johnson in the Queen's-Library, being
informed who he was, very condescend-
ingly went up to him, and enquired
after his health. In the course of
some conversation his m—y asked,
" Why he had not written more ?"
" Why, Sire," says Johnson, " I do
not know ; I think I have written
enough." " Why so should I too,
doctor,"

[ 45 ]

doctor,” replied his m—y, “if
you had not written so well.”

Foote happening to spend the even-
ing with two dignitaries of the church,
the conversation insensibly happened to
fettle on some part of polemical divi-
nity, which the two churchmen took
up on different grounds with great
force of argument and observation.
Foote, during this while took no other
share in the debate than in recruiting
their spirits by constantly keeping their
glasses filled: at last one of them turn-
ed about, and begged that as he could
be at times as argumentative, as witty,
he would step in as an arbitrator of their
differences. " I thank you kindly,
gentlemen," says Foote, "very gravely;
" but I have always made it a rule
never

[ 46 ]

never to trouble my head about family
affairs."

Charles the IId. being at hazard one
Twelfth night at court with the duke
of Buckingham, and others, a well-
dressed sharper, who lay behind the
duke's chair, took the liberty to pick
his pocket of a diamond snuff-box,
which was very valuable. Just in the
instant of his stealing it, the king hap-
pened to fix his eyes on him; on which
the sharper, with great presence of
mind, put his finger up to his nose,
thereby infinuating it was done out of
fun. The king, knew the world too
well to be gulled even by such an arti-
fice, but however held his tongue.
Some time after the duke missing his
box, his majesty told him the circum-
stance. "Good G-d, Sire," says his
grace,

[ 47 ]

grace, " why did not your majesty tell
me of it in time." "Oh!" says the
king, " I could not do that, I was
upon honour."

When doctor Johnson was left in
Scotland, amongst other curiosities
shewn him, he was taken to a very
antient and high castle, which was
reckoned to command the most ex-
tensive view of any in the country.
" Well, Sir," says his guide, " what
do you think of this prospect?" " It
is the finest in all Scotland," says the
doctor, " for I can here see the road to
England."

About three years ago, Foote went to
spend his Christmas with the late C——
B——n, Esq; when the weather be-
ing very cold, and but bad fires, occa-
sioned

[ 48 ]

fioned 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 chair, 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, " was
I to stay any longer, 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."

Foote rattling away one evening in
his green room with great wit and
brilliancy,

[ 49 ]

brilliancy as he usually does; the duke
of C—d, who was present, and
feemed highly entertained, cried out,
" Well, Foote, you see I swallow all
your good things." " Do you, my
lord duke," says the other, "why then
I congratulate you on your digestion,
for, by G-d, I believe you never
threw up one of them in your life."

When Mr. Sheridan gave his Attic
evening entertainments at the Hay-
Market theatre, about five years ago,
in which he recommended oratory as
the grand specific, not only for all
our mental, but political disorders, a
lady of doctor Johnson's acquaintance
asked him his opinion of Sheridan's
abilities. " What, my old friend
Tom," says the doctor, "why, madam,

E the

[ 50 ]

the fellow's no natural; but he is a
damned blockhead by art."

Foote being at fupper one night at
the Bedford-coffee-houſe, juſt after
Garrick had performed Mackbeth, the
converſation very naturally turned on
the merits of that great performer, when
after many elogiums on the univerſality
of his powers, it was given up to him
to be the firſt aſtor on any ſtage. " By
G—d, gentlemen," ſays Foote, " I
do not think you have above half ſaid
enough of him, for I think him not
only the greatest aſtor on, but off * the
ſtage."

* It was to this perhaps doctor Goldsmith
took the idea of Garrick's character in his
poem called Retaliation.

When

[ 51 ]

When Sir Richard Steele was fitting
up his great room in York-Buildings
for public orations, he happened to be
much indebted at the fame time to his
workmen, and going one day to see
how they went forward, he ordered
one of them to get into the roſtrum
to make a ſpeech, that he might ob-
ſerve how it could be heard. The
fellow mounting, and scratching his
head, told him he knew not what to
ſay, " for, in truth, he was no orator."
" Oh!" ſaid the knight, " no matter
for that, ſpeak any thing that comes
uppermoſt." " Why then," ſays the
fellow, " here, Sir Richard, have we
been working for you theſe fix months
paſt, and cannot get one penny of
money. Pray, Sir, when do you de-
ſign to pay us ?" " Enough, enough,"
ſays Sir Richard, " pray come down;

E 2

your

[ 52 ]

your *voice* will do very well, if you
would but change your *subject*.

An Irish clergyman at Bath being on
the return to his own country (but in-
sensibly detained by the pleasures of the
place) took leave of his friends several
times for that purpose, but in vain.
One morning, after taking what he
called a *positive* farewell of a family he
was very intimate in, the lady of the
house happening to go to the public
rooms that night, spied him very
busily engaged at a game of *Pharoah*.
" What not gone yet, doctor," says the
lady? " No, madam," replied the par-
son very much confused, "we have been
suddenly wind-bound again." " Ah!
doctor," says she, " I am afraid you
are rather in the situation of *Joseph*.
*Pharoah* will not let you go."

The

[ 53 ]

The late lord Holland, (who was
perhaps the fattest man of his height
in England) and his brother Charles
coming out of the Thatched-house one
night together, a chair was called for
the former, who altering his mind,
agreed to go home in his brother's car-
riage, which was in waiting; the chair-
men, however, being disappointed, he
gave them a shilling. " Long life
to your lordship," says Paddy, fix-
pence more to your poor chairmen."
" What," says he, have not I given
you your full fare. " O, yes, your
lordship; but, *consider the fright.*"

The late Charles Townsend, who,
though one of our greatest orators,
was more of a *mechanical* than a *real*
wit, took down the late Mr. Fitz-
herbert in his carriage to a gentle-
man's

[ 54 ]

man's house, where they were to spend the
Christmas together. When the company
were preparing to return to town, Mr.
Townsend complimented lord M—,
who was of the party, with the second
feat in his chaife, in preference to Mr.
Fitzherbert, to whom however he
thought necessary to make some apo-
logy. “Pfshaw, ‘pshaw,” says Fitz-
herbert, “make no apology to me man,
you are perfectly right in the change :
confider the fame flories will do over
again.”

Lord Chesterfield, and another gen-
tleman paying a morning visit to-
gether, just as the latter hadstept
out of the carriage, a great lamp,
which hung in the center of an iron
arch before the door, fell, and miffed
the gentleman only by about half an
inch.

[ 55 ]

inch. “Good G-d, my lord,” says
he, much surprized, “I was near be-
ing gone.” “Why, yes,” says my
lord, very coolly, “but there would
have been one comfort attending such
an accident, that you would have had
extreme unflion before you went.”

A young nobleman who had just
arrived from his travels, full of the
follies of youth, and the vanities of
his rank, was rattling away at a great
rate one morning at the Smyrna-coffee-
houfe; he in particular took great
pains to let the company know of what
consequence he was abroad by the num-
ber of valuable presents made him at
the several courts of Europe: “For
instance now,” says he, “I have got
a bridle given me by the king of
France, so exceeding rich and ele-

E 4

gant,

[ 56 ]

gant, that, upon my soul, I do not know
what use to make of it." " A bridle!
my lord," says an old gentleman,
who sat in the corner. " Yes, Sir,"
says his lordship. " Why then, I
think, the best use you can make of
that is to put it about your tongue."

In Louis the XIVth's time the French
players being at law with the Italians,
whom they wanted to hinder from acting
in French, the king was willing to take
cognizance of their difference himself,
and accordingly ordered a deputy from
each company; Baron from the French,
and Arlequin from the Italians. When
they came before the king, Baron spoke
first, who according to his usual man-
ner, made a very grave serious speech.
Arlequin followed him, who after some
apish tricks, asked the king, "How
he

[ 57 ]

he would have him speak ? His majesty
meaning only to apply to the present
time, replied, "Speak as you like best."
But Arlequin turning the words to his
own advantage, quickly replied, " I
most humbly thank your majesty, and
shall immediately report this decision to
my brother comedians."

Lady C—— visiting a celebrated
r——l library, asked many questions
of the librarian, from whom she re-
ceived very unsatisfactory answers :
when she came out she observed his
m——y treated his library like a
feraglio, by committing the custody of
it to an eunuch.

Henry the IVth of France, on a
famous protestant physician having
quitted his religion, and becoming Ro-
man

[ 58 ]

man catholic, turned about to the duke
of Sully, who was with him when he
heard it. " Well, Sully, what do
think of your religion, now it is given
ever by the physician?"

When doctor Johnson was left in
Scotland, he was waited upon at
Edinburgh by the celebrated doctor
Robertson, author of the History of
Scotland, Charles the Vth. &c.
In the course of his enquiries of
Johnson, what he had seen in the
town, the doctor asked him whether he
had been at the kirk; and if not,
that he would accompany him there
the next day. " With all my heart,
doctor," says Johnson, " I should like
to see the kirk, because it was once a
church."

Some

[ 59 ]

Some time after the conquest of Mi-
norca by marshal Richlieu, he and ma-
dame Pompadour then the two greatest
favourites of the late king of France,
were walking together in the gar-
dens of Verailles, as the king was
at one of the windows, upon which
his majesty called out to one of the
lords, in waiting, " Voila mon épée et
forêtou. "

Mr. L——Kennedy, the com-
dian, having the misfortune to be
nearly burned to death by a fire in
Chandois-Street, Foote having some
time afterwards engaged his son for
the summer season at the Hay Market,
was asking his treasurer what sort of
a first appearance he made. " Why,
faith, Sir," says Jewell, " I think
pretty well; to be sure the lad was

a

[ 60 ]

a little languid, or so in the beginning.” “Ah!” says Foote, “that is what was to be expected; consider the father run away with all the fire.”

An eminent carcase butcher, equally as meagre in his person as he was in his understanding, being one day in a bookseller's shop where doctor Johnson was, took up a volume of poems; and by way of shewing his tafte, repeated, with great affectation the following line:

“ Who rules o'er freemen should himself be free.”

“ There is poetry for you, doctor, what do you think of that?” “ Rank nonsense, Sir,” says the other; “ it is an assertion without a proof; and you

[ 61 ]

you might with as much propriety say,

“ Who says fat oxen, should himself be fat.”

Many years previous to doctor J— writing The False Alarm, Falkland's Island, The Patriot, &c. he was sitting with a lady at Chelseaa, who was shewing him from the bow-window of her drawing-room what a fine prospect it commanded, and in particular observed, what a clear view there was of the palace. “ What palace, madam ?” says J—n. “ 'Pshaw; there can be no palace where there is no k—.”

When Foote was left in Ireland, he happened to see at the Castle, one levée day, a person in the suite of the

[ 62 ]

the lord lieutenant, whom he thought
he had known for many years to
have lived rather a life of expediency
in London; to corroborate his suspi-
cion, he asked lord Townsend who
he was? “ That is one of my gen-
tleman at large,” says his excellency :
“ Do you know him?” “ O yes,”
says Foote, “ very well; and what
you tell me of him is very extraor-
dinary: first that he is a gentleman;
and next that he is at large.”

When the duke of C——d first
did Foote the honour of a visit at
North-End, previous to the day of
appointment, his r——l h——fs
meeting him in the Hay-Market green-
room, was asking him many questi-
ons about its situation, extent, &c.
“ Why,” says Foote, “ I am
prettily

[ 63 ]

prettily enough situated, and in point
of extent, I believe North-End might
be about as big as Mecklenburg Stre-
litz.”

It is usual for players of very in-
confiderable rank at both the London
theatres, when they get down to the
country in the summer, to exert all
their influence for getting into those
characters which they think their ge-
nius (however their ill stars may have
opposed) originally designed them.
A Mr. Perry, late of Covent-Garden
theatre, as manager of Canterbury, a few
summers ago was figuring away, amongst
this number, in the character of Ri-
chard the IIId. when a gentleman in
the pit asked who he was? “ His
name is Perry,” says the person he ap-
plied to. “ Ah!” says the other,
shaking

[ 64 ]

shaking his head, “ would it were
mum!”

The Mrs. Reddish, that was Miss
Hart (for the gentleman from whom
she takes her name, has had so many
female connexions, it is impossible to
distinguish them, but by their original
names) playing the queen in Richard,
one night at Drury-Lane theatre, and
being rather of a coarse masculine
make, a gentleman asked Foote, who
sat next him, who she was? Being
told her name was Reddish. “ Red-
dish! Reddish!” says the gentleman,
endeavouring to recollect her. “ Aye,
Sir, says the wit, Horse Reddish.”

At the time of the Jubilee in
honour of Shakespeare, planned and
conducted by Mr. Garrick, the wea-
ther

5

[ 65 ]

ther in general (though early in Sep-
tember) turned out very bad; par-
ticularly the day appointed for the
public procession, which obliged that
part of the ceremony to be dispenſed
with. Garrick meeting Foote on the
morning of this day in the public
breakſtning-room, juſt in the moment
of a very heavy shower of rain. “ Well,
Sam,” says he, rather diſappointedly,
“ What do you think of this?”
“ Think of it,” says Foote: “ Why,
I think, it is God’s revenge againſt Va-
nity.”

Counsellor C—— being with a
party to dine out of town, one of
the company, who was a physician,
strolled out before dinner into the
church-yard, which happened to be
F juſt

[ 66 ]

just joining the tavern. Dinner being served up, and the doctor not returned, some of the company were expressing their surprize, where he could be gone to. "Oh!" says the counsellor, "he is but just arrived out to pay a visit to some of his old patients."

A gentleman remarkable for having a great deal of lead in his forehead, called one morning on the above counsellor, who asked him what news? "Why," says the other, "I do not know, my head is confoundedly out of order this morning." "That is extraordinary news, indeed," says the counsellor. "What! an extraordinary thing for a man to have the headache!" "No, Sir," says he, "I do

I

[ 67 ]

do not say that; but for so simple a machine to be out of order is damned extraordinary indeed!"

A young " talking Sir," who had just got a commission in the Middlesex militia, was rattling away one morning at the Smyrna about his very great knowledge in every branch of the manual exercise, when a half-pay veteran officer, who sat by, laid him a wager, to be decided by the company, he did not know the first word of command. The wager was accepted, when the veteran marched out into the center of the room, and putting himself in a military posture, cried out, "Silence."

F 2

Some

[ 68 ]

Some gentlemen being disappointed of their supper, in point of time, one night at the Bedford-Arms, the master of the house made an apology, by saying it was owing to a ridiculous quarrel between the cook and the scullion, about who was the greatest traveller. So whimsical a dispute not only pacified the company; but they immediately determined to decide this difference themselves, by ordering up the combatants face to face. When they were introduced, the scullion, who seemed by his appearance to have the best of the fray, was first interrogated, who declared he had travelled both by land and sea, twice to Graves-End, and once to Canterbury. The cook, who by many evident marks had been well soured in the dripping-pan, was just entering on his

[ 69 ]

his peregrinations, when one of the company cried out, “Pray, gentlemen, what need you ask him any questions; do not you see he has been all over Greece?”

When C—— Fox first heard of his sister-in-law, lady M——y F——x being brought to bed of a son and heir, he was called out of what he calls The Jerusalem-Chamber, where he had a large levée, to be informed of the circumstance. On his return, seeing some little kind of disappointment perhaps in his face, the whole tribe of Levi almost unanimously called out, “Vat is de matter?” “Bad enough, by G-d,” says C——s, “here is a second Messiah come to plague you all.”

F 3

Lady

[ 70 ]

Lady H—n sitting rather in
a straddling posture one evening by the
fire, my lord, who was at the oppo-
site side, and had a mind to be witty,
cried out, “My lady, your cabinet’s
open.” “More shame for you, my
lord,” says she, “who has got the
key of it.”

The first night of the Beggar's-
Opera being brought on at Lincoln's-
Inn-Fields play-house, the audience,
being then not much acquainted with
the nature of operas, expected the
usual music before the drawing up
of the curtain. Finding themselves,
however, as they imagined, likely to
be bilked, they expressed great dif-
approbation, in such a way that the
ceremonial Jack Hall was deputed by
the managers to explain to the au-
dience

[ 71 ]

dience that in all operas it was a rule
to have no music prior to the over-
ture. Jack, seeming well instructed
in this deputation, came on with a
tolerable grace; but being abashed at
the general silence, which, in order
to hear him, had suddenly ensued an
universal uproar, blundered out, “La-
dies and gentlemen, we— we— beg
you will not insist on first and second
music; because you all know, ladies
and gentlemen, *that there is never any*
*music at all at an opera.*”

A gentleman once asked doctor
Johnson “What was his real opinion
of Macklin, for I hear,” says he, “he
is very clever.” “What, Macklin
clever!” says the doctor, “No, no,
Sir, the fellow is a constant renova-

F 4

tion

[ 72 ]

tion of hope, with an eternal disappointment.”

The first night that Savigny (who was a cutler by profession) appeared at Covent-Garden theatre in Barbarossa, lady Harrington, who sat in the same box with Sir Francis Delaval, being much affected, turned about to the knight, and observed, “He was really very cutting.” “Oh! dear madam,” says Sir Francis, “I am not much surprized at that, consider he is a razor-grinder.”

When the celebrated doctor Taylor first set up his coach, he consulted with Foote about the choice of a motto. “What are your arms?” says the wit. “Three mallards,” cried the doctor. “Very good,” says Foote, “why then

[ 73 ]

then the motto I would recommend to you is, Quack—Quack—Quack.”

Upon the grandfather of the present earl of Albemarle's getting the blue ribband, who was previously a knight of the thistle, he was spoke to by lord P—re to sollicit the late king for his former ribband. My lord Albemarle accordingly took the first opportunity to present lord P's duty at the levée, and ask the favour. “What! give him a ribband,” says his m—y, “a fellow that has always been voting against the court. How could you ask it, Albemarle?” “Sire, I can tell you, he means to be more grateful for your majesty's favour for the future,” says my lord. “Well, I do not care for that, he's a puppy, a mere puppy, and shall not have

[ 74 ]

have it.” The king having said this,
was turning on his heel, when Albe-
marle cries out, “ To be sure, Sire,
there is no contradicting what you
say; but then what is a *puppy* without
his *cellar*.”

A gentleman having sent a porter
on a message, which he executed
much to his satisfaction, had the curio-
sity to ask his name; being informed
it was Ruffel, “Pray,” says the gen-
tleman, “ is your coat of arms the
fame as the duke of Bedford’s?” “As
to our arms, your honour,” says the
porter, “I believe they are pretty
much alike; but there is a damned
deal of difference between our coats.”

When lord Chesterfield's letters to
his son first came out, a gentleman
was

[ 75 ]

was asking doctor Johnson, whether
they did not contain great knowledge
of the world? “O, yes, Sir,” says
Johnson, “very much so, they incul-
cate the morals of a wh-re, and the
manners of a dancing-mafter.”

A gentleman who had long danced
attendance at the late duke of New-
castle's levée, being one morning cool-
ing his heels in the anti-chambers,
along with a number of other unfor-
tunate solicitors, one of the company
was praisingly the elegant fluccoing of
the ceiling. “Yes, yes,” says the
gentleman, “it is really very elegant,
and what is more, it is of a piece
with the flooring.” “How can that
be, Sir?” says the other. “Why
do not you see, Sir, as well as I, that
both

[ 76 ]

both the top and bottom of the room is
full of fret work."

The late lord Chesterfield being at
the above nobleman's levée, when
Garnet upon Job, a book dedicated to
his grace, happened to lie in the
window, his lordship took up the
book, and was reading it, just as the
duke entered. " Well, my lord,"
says his grace, " I should be glad
of your opinion on that book?"
" The best book in the world,"
replied his lordship, " for one that
attends your grace's levée."

The late duke of Newcastle, who
was at times a great idler for a statef-
man, being one morning at the levée,
running up and down about the room,
with a face of much importance and
enquiry,

[ 77 ]

enquiry, a lady asked the dowager lady
T—d, who was present, what
she thought his grace was looking
for. " O Lord," says she, " for
nothing at all, madam, but the two
hours he has lost in the morning."

A Jew, who was dressed out in a
tawdry suit of laced cloaths, giving
in bail before lord Mansfield, ser-
jeant Davy, who was council for the
plaintiff, was putting the question hard
to the Israelite, to know whether he
was worth such a sum of money, clear
of all debts? The Jew several times
answered in the affirmative; but the
serjeant still perfishing in his interro-
gatories, my lord turns to the ser-
jeant, " Poh! Poh! brother Davy,
how can you tease the gentleman so,
do

[ 78 ]

do not you see he would burn for much
more ?”

Some time after madame Barré got
the honour of the guards, which was
for a long time violently opposed by
the duc de Choiseul, she happened
to be at a party of whist at court,
where the duke and she were part-
ners. In the course of the game they
happened to be eight, (a number well
known to entitle the party to call)
when the countefs held three honours
in her own hand, upon which she
asked her partner, the duke, (as is
usual) “Can you one?” “No, ma-
dame,” replied his grace. “Why
then,” says the countefs, giving him
a very significant look, and laying
down her cards at the same time,
“you

[ 79 ]

“you see, my lord duke, I can get the
honours without you.”

When the Coterie was first established,
one of the general rules was,
that two members, male or female,
married or unmarried, made a club.
One of the elderly ladies, not so very
frrupulous in private, was however for
making an alteration in this rule, by in-
fishing on the number being three; “for,”
says she, “suppose a lady and gentleman
might happen to meet first, would not it
be a very aukward situation ?” Not at
all, madam,” said lord H—t—gton,
who happened to be present, “for
you know, a gentleman and lady can
readily make a third.”

As the celebrated Ninon L'Enclos
(who was as remarkable for her gal-
lantry

[ 80 ]

lantry as beauty) was going to court
one day, her chairman happened to
flumble, by which accident she fell
forward, and dislocated her knee: a
young waterman coming up just at
the same time, being informed of the
cause of the crowd, bawled out, "Le
diable c'est une toute! Elle tomba a la
renverse tres tojours."

In a Christmas party at Eufton,
confliting of the duke of G—n,
lord B—b—e, George Selwyn,
and a country squire, whose wife had
lately eloped, the latter was one day
after dinner extolling for a long time
what a fine fair for horned cattle he
had upon his estate, when Selwyn,
heartily tired of such conversation,
proposed going to play. "Stop a
while," says the duke, "I expect Sir
Charles

[ 81 ]

Charles Bunbury here presently." "Do
you so," says Selwyn, flapping the
squire, who sat next to him, upon
the back, "why then, by G—d, we
shall have a horn-fair of our own."

When doctor Brown, who was vice-
chancellor of Cambridge, took leave
of the university, he did it, as usual, in
form from the rostrum. It is always al-
lowable on these occasions for the fel-
low-commoners and students to show
their marks of approbation, or disap-
probation. When the doctor accord-
ingly mounted the rostrum, the whole
audience began to hifs; upon which
he immediately replied, "Laudamur
ab his."

The fame gentleman being in com-
pany when he was called upon for
G a

[ 82 ]

a toast, gave a lady he was very fond of. "Aye, doctor," says one of the party, "I have known you toast this lady for a great many years." "Very true," says the doctor, "but you see I cannot make her Brown yet."

The late Mr. Rich's abilities, as a Harlequin, are universally known. Coming home one night from the play-house, he got into a hackney-coach, and ordered the man to drive him to the Sun-Tavern, Clare-Market: it happened as the coachman was driving by the window, Rich perceiving it to be opened, threw himself out of the coach into the room: the man, not taking notice of this circumstance, drew up, and getting from his box, opened the

5

coach-

[ 83 ]

coach-door, let down the step, and then taking off his hat, waited for some time expecting his fare to light: at last looking into the coach, and seeing it empty, he beftowed a few hearty curfes on the rafcal that bilked him, and remounting his box, was driving home. Rich, watching his opportunity, on the coachman's return, threw himself in at the window again, and calling out, as loud as he could bawl, bid him turn about, for he was going wrong. The fellow, almost petrified with the circumstance, did as he was ordered, and once more drew up to the tavern-door. When Rich got out, after seemingly reproaching the fellow for his stupidity, he offered him his fare. "No, God blefs your honour," says the man, "I cannot think of taking

G 2

any

[ 84 ]

any money from you." " 'P'shaw,
you are a fool," says Rich, " here is
eighteen-pence for you." "No," says
the coachman, who by this time had
mounted his box, " that will not do ;
I know you too well, though you do
wear shoes : and so Mr. Devil for once
in your life you are flung."

Shuter being one night very merry
at the Bedford-Coffee-House, the con-
versation happened to turn on the abi-
lities of Mr. Garrick, as an actor,
when amongst many compliments to
that celebrated performer, it was ob-
ferved as somewhat extraordinary that
though he was so excellent an actor
himself, he was far from being lucky
in his pupils. " Why, yes," replies
Shuter, " though the little one is
a great one, he is something like the
famous

[ 85 ]

famous running-horse Childers, the best
racer in England himself, but could
never get a colt."

It is a particular privilege belonging to the vice-chancellor to admit servitors, as Bachelors of Arts, before they go through their degrees: an application being made to doctor Brown for this purpose, the doctor replied, " Be a little patient, gentlemen, I assure you shall get them by degrees."

Rochefoucault (the French Rochester of Lewis the XIVth's court) having offended the king, hired a dung cart, and stripping himself quite naked, got up to the chin in it, just as his majesty was passing through the streets of Paris in state. The dung-cart man,

G 3

as

[ 86 ]

as instructed, immediately fell wran-
gling with one of the king's poſtil-
lions, which occasioned so much noise,
that the king put his head out of the
window to know what was the matter.
Rochefoucault watching the opportu-
nity, raised himself forward in the
cart, all bemired as he was, and bow-
ing very respectively to his majesty,
replied, “Nothing at all, Sire, but
that your coachman and mine have had
a fracas together.”

The Spanish ambaſſador, in the reign
of Lewis XIV. fitting in company
with a French nobleman, every now
and then hiccupped in a very pom-
pous manner, every time apologizing
by repeating the words “Gravitas
Hifpaniola.” The Frenchman, after
meditating how to be revenged for
fuch

[ 87 ]

such an indecency, at last turned the
tables on him by f—t—g, every time
the Spaniard hiccupped, crying out
in turn, “Liberté François.” This
gave great umbrage, and the ambaſ-
fador complained to the king, who,
upon hearing the story, told the
Frenchman, “he must make it up
in the most amicable manner poſſ-
ible.” “With all my heart, Sire,”
replied the Frenchman, “and to shew
signior I intended no affront, I am
willing the offending parts should kifſ
and be friends this instant.”

Some time after the late lord Wald-
grave abjured the catholic religion, he
was sent ambaſſador to France, where
he refided several years. Being one
day at an entertainment where his
cousin

[ 88 ]

cousin the duke of Berwick, and many
other noblemen were present, the duke
wanting to mortify him on the score
of religion, asked his lordship, whe-
ther the ministers of state, or the
ministers of the gospel, had the great-
eft share in his conversion? “Good
G-d, my lord duke,” says Wald-
grave, “how can you ask me such
a question? Do not you know that
when I quitted the Roman Catholic
religion, I left off confession?”

The celebrated earl of Dorset, hav-
ing a great desire to spend an even-
ing with Mr. Butler, spoke to Mr.
Fleetwood Shepherd to introduce him.
The three wits accordingly some time
after met at a tavern, when upon
the first bottle Mr. Butler was ra-
ther flat; on the second he broke

4

out

[ 89 ]

out the man of wit and reading;
but, on the third, relapsed into a
tameness of conversation, very inferior
to the author of Hudibras. Next
morning Mr. Shepherd asked his lord-
ship how he liked his friend Butler ?
“ I do not know any thing better
to compare him to,” says his lord-
ship, “than a nine-pin; little at both
ends, but great in the middle.”

Soon after the late lord Chefter-
field was made a private counsellor, a
place of great trust became vacant,
to which his late majesty and the duke
of Dorset recommended two very dif-
ferent persons. His m——y espoused
the interest of his friend with some
heat, and upon leaving the council-
chamber told them, “he expected
to be obeyed.” However, the place
being

[ 90 ]

being an object of consequence, on
a debate it was carried against the
k—g. It fell to lord Chefterfield's
lot to carry the instrument to be
signed, who knowing the passionate
disposition of his m——y, pru-
dently forbore asking him to sign
the instrument; but very submissively
demanded whose name he would be
pleased to have inserted in the blanks.
The king, being privately acquainted
with their deliberations, passionately
replied, "The devil, Sir, if you will."
"Very well," replied his lordship;
"but would your m——y have
the instrument run in the usual stile,
To our trusty well-beloved friend and
counsellor the devil?"

A little after lord Chatham (then
Mr. Pitt) had changed his political
sentiments

[ 91 ]

sentiments in regard to the protection
of Hanover, in the course of re-
plying one day in the House of Com-
mons to the late Sir Francis Blake
Delaval, he threw out some farcasi-
cal reflections on him for appearing
on the stage; upon which the other
got up and acknowledged it was true :
youth and whim led him once to amuse
himself that way: but he could safely
lay his hand on his heart and say,
"He never acted but one part."

When Swift was a young man,
and by no means known in the li-
terary world, he happened to be stand-
ing in a careless manner, with his
back to the fire at Old Slaughter's-
coffee-house; a gentleman just oppo-
site to him, who was superscribing a
letter, seeing a raw-boned awkward
fellow

[ 92 ]

fellow rather engrofs the fire, calls
out, “Pray, young man, have you got
any sand about you?” “No friend,”
says Swift, “but I have got some
gravel, and if you will give me your
letter, I will p—fs upon it directly.”

The father of the late lord Clive
dining in a mixed company with the
late duke of Newcastle, some time
after the famous battle of Plaffey,
the duke, as he usually did, imme-
diately after dinner, gave a certain
monosyllable-toaſt, under the name of
“The general.” Clive, who thought
this a particular compliment paid to
his ſon, immediately cried out, “My
lord duke, I humbly thank you for
this fresh mark of affection to my
family.”

Doctor

[ 93 ]

Doctor Mills, one of queen Anne's
chaplains, being promised by her ma-
jeſty the first vacant Irish bishopric,
some time after this waited on her to
let her know the bishop of Water-
ford was dead. The queen, who, in
the multiplicity of other buſineſs, had
quite forgot her promise, asked him,
“What then?” “Nothing, please
your majesty,” says the other; but
that I think your Water-ford wants
Mills.”

During the first city poll for lord-
mayor, where Mr. Wilkes was a can-
didate, a liveryman came to Guild-
hall in a sedan-chair to give his vote :
Wilkes seeing the chair come into
the hall, jocularly turned about to
alderman Hallifax, and said, “ This
is not for me I am sure; for I am

a

[ 94 ]

a beggar, and cannot afford it." "Nor me neither," says Hallifax, "for I am a bankrupt, and can leſs afford it." "Aye, but," replied Wilkes, "by G—d the miniftry can."

Some years ago doctor Arne produced an operetta at Covent-Garden theatre, called the *Rose*, which (though there were many *scriptural allusions* in it) was hifted off the ſtage the firſt night. Foote getting into the lobby of the house juſt after its fate, was aſked by an acquaintance what he really thought of it. "Why, baiting the *piety* of it, says the wit, I muſt confefs I never ſaw a piece ſo juſtly *damned* in my life."

Counſellor Clive, (who very early after his marriage with the celebrated Mrs. Clive, the *actrefs*, parted from her)

[ 95 ]

her) returning from the western circuit some years ago, found that his washerwoman had pawned some of his linen in his absence; upon which he dispatched his footman to engage another in that capacity whose honesty might be more depended on : a laundrefſ was ſoon found, and while the ſervant was counting out the dirty cloaths, ſhe was employed in giving an account of the many respectable families ſhe waſhed for. " I alſo waſh for a name-fake of your honour's too." " A name-fake of mine," says the counſellor. " Yes, and please you, ſays ſhe, and a mighty good ſort of woman, 'thof ſhe be one of the *player folks*.'" " Oh! what you waſh for Mrs. Clive, the *actrefs*, do you ?" " Yes, indeed, Sir, and ſhe is one of my beſt customers too." " Is

[ 96 ]

"Is she so," replied the counsellor?
"Stop, John! tofs the cloaths into
the closet again. Here, good wo-
man, here is half-a-crown for you:
I am sorry you have had this trou-
ble; you can never waſh for me,
for I will be d—nd if ever I ſuf-
fer my ſbirt to be rubbed againſt ker
ſbift again as long as I live."

The late earl of Cheſterfield being
*very deaf* some years before his death,
a gentleman was telling him, who
had juſt come from the levée, that
he had heard his lordſhip was talked
of to be lord-lieutenant of Ireland.
"Very probably, Sir," ſays his lord-
ſhip, "for I am ſure I am ſitter for
that employment *now* than formerly,
because I *can* hear none of the people's
complaints."

During

[ 97 ]

During the time Westminſter-Bridge
was in agitation to be built, a foolish
young nobleman aſked the late lord
Cheſterfield, “ Whether the piers
would be of ſtone or wood?” “ Oh,
ſays his lordſhip, “ of ſtone to
be ſure ; for you know we have too
many wooden peers already at West-
minſter.”

A gentleman aſking Foote, ſoon
after the affair of crim. con. between
the d-ke of C—d, and lady
G—v—r, what he thought of
the verdict? “ Why,” ſays the wit,
“ I think his r—l h—fs rather
wrong in the amour; but, damn me,
I think these twelve appraisers have con-
foundedly over-valued his paſtime.”

H

Lady

[ 98 ]

Lady H——n and the honourable Mrs. F——y playing a party at picquet one night at the coterie, lord H——g——ton asked them what they played for? “O!” said the lads, “we are only playing for honour.” “Why then, says his lordship, there will be nothing for the cards.”

An Irish country gentleman, who was rather an œconomist for the median of that country, when ever he found his guests disposed to push about the bottle briskly, used frequently to enter into a panegyric on the virtues of his daughter, which being a subject the company were in good manners obliged to listen to, answered the desired intent. One day boating how much she faved him as an œconomist, a gentleman present

I

[ 99 ]

sent, seeing the bottle stand before him for above half an hour, exclaimed, “And beside all this, gentlemen, there is not a year of his life she does not likewife fave him above a tun of wine.”

The late king being fond of old Whifton, (celebrated for his various strictures on religion) happened to be walking with him one day in Hampton-Court-Gardens, during the heat of his perſecution; as they were talking upon this ſubject, his majesty observed, “That however right he may be in his opinions, it would be better if he kept them to himself.” “Is your majesty really serious in your advice?” answered the old man. “I really am,” replied the king. “Why then,” says Whifton, “had Martin Luther been

[ 100 ]

been of your way of thinking, where
would your majesty have been at this
time?

A few days previous to Foote's
opening the Hay-Market last season,
amongst a variety of applications for
engagements, a lady came to him
warmly recommended. Some time
after she was introduced, enfused the
following scene. " Pray, madam,"
says Foote, " are you for tragedy
or comedy?" No answer. " Are
you a veteran, or is it your first at-
tempt?" Not a word. " Are you
married, madam, for if you are, by
G-d, 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

[ 101 ]

ears to him at the same time) she
replied, " Speak a little louder, Sir,
for I am deaf."

The first night that Mr. Diamond
made his appearance at Drury-Lane
theatre, a lady was observing to a
gentleman, who sat near her, what
a number of Jews were in the house.
" O Lord, madam, " says he, " I do
not wonder at that ; consider they
are come to try the value of a dia-
mond."

Some time after the publication of
Offian, doctor Blair, who wrote notes
on that celebrated equivocal perform-
ance, after highly applauding it be-
fore doctor Johnson, asked him, whe-
ther he thought there was any man
living could write such another Epic

H 3

poem?

[ 102 ]

poem? “O yes, Sir,” says Johnson,
many men, many women, and many chil-
dren.”

When Foote first heard of the above
doctor's writing notes to Offian, (a
performance the reality of which has
been much doubted) he observed the
bookellers ought to allow a great dif-
count to the purchasers. “Why so,”
says a gentleman present. “Because,”
says he, “they are notes of damned
long credit.”

When Wilkinson, the celebrated
comedian, first appeared on the stage,
he applied himself principally to mi-
mickry, which he succeeded so well in
as to meet with almost universal ap-
plause. Amongst the various charac-
ters he took off, was the late Luke
Sparks,

[ 103 ]

Sparks, who felt it so powerfully,
that he made a formal complaint to
Mr. Garrick. Garrick, who himself
smarted under the lash of the mimic,
laughed it off, and said, “Come,
come, Luke, you had better take no
notice of it; consider if you are mi-
micked, it is in good company.” “Very
true, Sir,” says the other, gravely :
“but I have known many a man
ruined by keeping good company.”

Doctor Hough, some time since
bisshop of Worcester, who was as re-
markable for the evenneſs of his tem-
per, as for many other good quali-
ties, having a good deal of com-
pany at his house, a gentleman pre-
sent desired his lordship to shew him
a curious weather-glafs which the
bishop had lately purchased, and which

H 4

coſt

[ 104 ]

coſt him above thirty guineas: the
servant was accordingly deſired to
bring it, who in delivering it to the
gentleman, accidentally let it fall, and
broke it all to pieces. The company
were all a little deranged from this
accident, but particularly the gentle-
man that aſked to ſee it, and who
was making many apologies for the
accident. “ Be under no concern,
my dear Sir,” ſays the bishop, ſmil-
ing, “ I think it is rather a lucky
omen; we have hitherto had a dry
ſeason, and now, I hope, we ſhall
have ſome rain; for I proteſt I do
not remember ever to have ſeen the
glaſs so low in my life.”

The preſent lord chief justice of
______, when counſellor M______,
being obliged to aſk pardon of the
House

5

[ 105 ]

House of Commons on his knees,
when he got up, he brushed them,
and observed to a friend, who was near
him, he was never in so dirty a house
in his life. “ O!” says the other,
“ that is always the case in houses,
where there is so much lumber.”

Foote being at a nobleman's house
over a bottle with him, the wit was
commending the claret as some of
the best he ever taſted: upon which
the nobleman told him, he had that
hogſhead of wine in return for a
couple of hounds which he ſome time
before preſented count L______ with.
“ Why then, my lord,” ſays Foote,
“ I think your wine not only excel-
lent, but dog cheap.”

The

[ 105 ]

The present dutchefs of Kingston,
when Mifs Chudleigh, having ob-
tained for her mother a suite of cham-
bers at Hampton-Court, his late ma-
jefty, some time after meeting her at
the levée, asked her, how her mo-
ther liked her new apartments ? “ Per-
fectly well, Sire,” says the other, “ in
point of room, and situation, if the
poor woman had but a bed, and a
few chairs to put in them?” “ O,
by all means,” says the king; and
immediately gave orders for furnis-
ing her bed-chamber. In a few months
after this order the bill was brought
in, which ran thus : “ To a bed,
&c. for Mrs. Chudleigh four thousand
pounds.” The sum was so great
the lord-chamberlain would not paſs
the account until he shewed it to the
king. His majesty immediately saw
how

[ 107 ]

how he was taken in; but it was too
late to retract: he accordingly gave
orders for the payment, and observed
at the same time, if Mrs. Chudleigh
found the bed as hard as he did,
she would never lie down on it as
long as she lived.”

Some years ago two comedians be-
longing to Covent-Garden theatre hav-
ing a wager about which of them
funged best, they agreed to refer it to
doctor Arne, who undertook to be
arbitrator on this occasion. A day
was accordingly agreed on, and both
the parties executed to the beſt of
their abilities before him. As soon
as they had finiſhed, the doctor pro-
ceeded to give judgment in the fol-
lowing manner: “ As for you, Sir,”
addressing himself to the first, “ you
are

[ 108 ]

are by much the worst finger I ever
heard in my life." "Ah," says the
other, exultingly, "I knew I should
win my wager." "Stop, Sir," says
the doctor, "I have a word to say to
you before you go; which is this,
that as for you, by G-d, you cannot
sing at all."

One of Charles the IXth of France's
courtiers, who was very fat, presented
him with a copy of verses, which
were but of the mediocre kind, on
which the prince replied in Latin,
(a language which the custom of that
time permitted even polite people
to sprinkle their conversation with)
"Equi et pœtæ alendi funt, non Sagi-
nandi. Poets and horses should not be
fattened, but fed."

A

[ 109 ]

A few years ago serjeant D—
being concerned in a cause which he
wanted to put off a few days, asked
the present chief of the K-g's-B-ch
when he would bring it on? " Fri-
day next," says his lordship. " Will
you consider, my lord, Friday next
will be Good-Friday." " I do not
care for that," says the chief, " I
shall fit for all that." " Well, my
lord, to be sure you may do as
you please; but if you do, I believe
you will be the first judge who did
business on a good Friday since Pon-
tius Pilate's time."

Foote being some time since at a no-
bleman'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

[ 110 ]

particular its age, he sent round the
table in glasses that scarcely held a thim-
ble-full. “Fine wine, upon my soul,”
says the wit, tafting 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 any thing so little of its age
in my life before.”

A gentleman asking doctor Johnson
why he hated the Scotch so much? the
other replied, “ You are mistaken,
Sir, I do not hate the Scotch; neither
do I hate frogs, provided they keep in
their native element; but I do not like
to have them hopping about my bed-
chamber.”

Dr. Johnson being asked his real o-
pinion of the writings of Mr. Hoole,
(author

[ 111 ]

(author of Cyrus, Cleonice, &c.) re-
plied, “They were such as a wife-man
should be ashamed to remember.”

As lady B— L—, now lady T—,
was prefiding one evening at the
tea-table, one of her ruffles caught the
flame of the tea-lamp, and burned be-
fore it could be extinguished. Lord
M—, who was of the party, and
thought to be witty on the accident, re-
marked, “He did not think her lady-
ship so apt to take fire—” “Nor am I,
my lord,” says she with great readineſs,
“from such sparks as you.”

A

[ 113 ]

A SHORT
ACCOUNT of the LIFE
OF
PUBLIUS SYRUS.

IT is one of the principal misfortunes of the moderns, that some of the finest monuments of the wit and judgment of the antients are loft to us through the ravages of time. The exalted characters given by many well-known authors of antiquity of their predecessors and cotemporaries, and the fragments of some of these themselves,

[ 114 ]

selves, afford many melancholy proofs
of the truth of this assertion.

In this mutilated lift, none appears
to have had a higher reputation than
PUBLIUS SYRUS, an author scarcely
known in the present day, so few of
his works have come down to us;
but so celebrated in his own time as
to lead the drama; a department of
writing in which he particularly ex-
celled. PUBLIUS was born about the
time of Cicero; he was a Syrian by
birth, and, from that circumstance,
called SYRUS. He received his edu-
cation at Rome, in the condition of a
slave; but had so singular a genius
for wit, and the writing of comic
pieces, as soon to obtain his free-
dom.

I

Being

[ 115 ]

Being solicited by Julius Cæsar to bear a part in his plays, he succeeded so highly in the opinion of the best judges, that he challenged all the dramatic writers and actors, and won the prize from every one of them, even from Laberius himself. Cæsar openly declared in favour of Publius against Laberius, on account of the intrinsic merit of his pieces, and the elegance of his style: Cæsius Severus calls him most excellent; and Avienus, " that he abounded with true humour."

The opinions of three such names
surely must be allowed to stamp the
highest reputation: Yet alas! all that
we have left of this celebrated antient
is the following Collection of Sentences,
which Joseph Scaliger thought so
highly of as not only to befall on
them

I 2

[ 118 ]

A lover knows what he would have,
but not what he ought to have.

Love is an ornament to a young man,
but a disgrace to an old one.

A lover's dreams rise out of his wak-
ing suspicions.

Tears will soon soften a lover's re-
sentment.

An angry lover tells many lies to
himself.

A passionate man in love is always
a liar.

Venus may be ruled by persuasions,
but not by threats.

What gives the wound of love cures
it.

A good face is a silent recommenda-
tion.

There is no medium between hating
a woman, or loving her.

When

[ 119 ]

When a woman is openly scandalous,
she has some goodneſs.

When a woman thinks by herself,
she thinks wickedly.

In evil council, women exceed men.

To rule the passions of women is a
desperate undertaking.

A virtuous wife rules her husband by
obeying him.

Most marriages are repented of.

A woman who marries many, pleases
few.

When an old woman is amorous,
she but courts death.

For women to pretend not to weep
at pleasure, is a downright lie.

I 4

CHAP.

[ 120 ]

## CHAP. II.

### Of Friendship and Agreement.

THE union of benevolent minds is the nearest kindred.

Prosperity procures friends, but adversity proves them.

Trust to your friend so far as that your enemy may not hurt you.

Deal with a friend as if he might one day turn your enemy.

A reconciled enemy should be cautiously dealt with.

Reconciliation is made dear by former disagreement.

Truth is lost in too much alteration.

3

By

[ 121 ]

By indulging the vices of your friend, you make them your own.

You must love a parent that does his duty, and bear with one who does not.

Agreement among themselves makes trifles considerable.

A pleasant companion on a journey is better than a coach and fix.

CHAP.

[ 122 ]

## CHAP. III.

### Of Fortune and Adversity.

THE complaints of men have made fortune a goddeſs.

It is easier to procure prosperity than to retain it.

Misfortune can moſt easily attack the great.

Fortune is variable, ſhe immediately demands again what ſhe has given.

Whatever is done through confidence in fortune, is ill done.

Fortune flatters only to deceive.

Fortune is of glaſs, or a bubble which breaks while it is ſhining.

Fortune

[ 123 ]

Fortune makes a fool of him whom ſhe long careſſes.

No fortune is so good as not to be complained of.

Let the guilty fear the law, the innocent fortune.

Fortune never is content by giving a single wound.

Fortune never excells wifdom.

Man knows not what to wifh, or what to fear, so tranſitory are all things.

Fortune makes him grateful whom nobody ever ſaw.

No hour that is good to one, but is bad to another.

Succeſſul knavery is the miſery of the virtuous.

Miserable is he who has no enemy.

You can call nothing your own which is liable to change.

The

[ 124 ]

The prosperity of wicked persons quickly turns to their destruction.

No contumely attends poverty.

An unexperienced evil is the heaviest.

How many sorrowful occurrences do those meet with who live long.

Reflexion is wanting to the miserable, and yet abounds.

He who has no house is dead without a sepulchre.

CHAP.

[ 125 ]

## CHAP. IV.

### Of the Vicissitude of Things.

EVERY day is worse than the former.

One's gain is another's loss.

Nothing is agreeable that wants variety.

CHAP.

[ 126 ]

CHAP. V.

Of Life and Death.

WHEN life is agreeable, the
doom of death is the best.

Man is accommodated to life, not
absolutely given to it.

To be born, and to die is an univer-
sal law.

He who feeks death avoids the crimes
of life.

We muſt once die, but not when
we will.

He dies twice who dies by his own
means.

They live ill, who think of living
always.

Happy

[ 127 ]

Happy is the man who dies before
he wishes for death.

Those who live pleafantly die the
eaſiest.

O life—long to the miserable, and
ſhort to the happy.

That death is happy which ends mis-
fortunes.

How much is he to be feared who
looks upon death as an advantage!

It is to die twice, to die by the com-
mand of another.

A man dies as often as he loſes thoſe
who are dear to him.

CHAP.

[ 128 ]

## CHAP. VI.

### Of Fortitude.

It is a pleasing disgrace to suffer in a good caufe.

It is a pleasing disgrace which keeps one out of danger.

Boldneſs is useful in doubtful things.

A noble mind is never doubtful.

Danger cannot be avoided without danger.

A brave and an honest mind cannot endure calumny.

Slander will not stick on honesty.

A brave man, or an happy one can bear envy.

Dependance

[ 129 ]

Dependance on another is hateful to an open-hearted man.

By bearing an old affront, you invite a new one.

Revenge upon an enemy gives new life.

Swiftneſs in revenge is criminal.

The swifteſt dispatch seems flow to desire.

K CHAP.

[ 130 ]

## CHAP. VII.

### Of Anger.

HE who rules his anger subdues
his greatest enemy.

The resentment of an honest man is
the heaviest.

Anger soon dies in a virtuous breast.

It is better to overcome by wisdom
than by anger.

A man who is angry is no longer
himself.

An angry man thinks it a crime to
take advice.

Avoid an angry man for a while, a
malicious one for ever.

2

Patience

[ 131 ]

Patience abused kindles into anger.

Anger and power are fatal as lightning.

It is good to disarm an angry man,
not to give him a sword.

Envy is filently but fatally enraged.

K 2

### CHAP.

[ 132 ]

## CHAP. VIII.

### Of Severity.

SEVERITY in a good man follows justice.

An unruly patient makes a cruel physician.

CHAP.

[ 133 ]

## CHAP. IX.

### Of Clemency and Patience.

OBLIVION is the cure of injuries.

Behave so as that no man may justly dislike you.

Where an offender is ashamed, forgive him.

Consider your own faults, and be merciful to those who resemble you.

He triumphs twice who can conquer a victory.

Bear great things, that you may not repine at small.

Bear what is inevitable without murmuring.

K 3

What

[ 134 ]

What is not missed, is not lost.

A good action, though it may be
suppressed, cannot be extinguished.

Good thoughts are not lost, though
they are not practised.

CHAP.

[ 135 ]

CHAP. X.

Of Fear.

HE is every day condemned who
is always in fear.

A master who fears his servants is
more a slave than they.

How wretched is it to grow old with
fear.

Fear and sleep seldom meet toget-
her.

He fears many, of whom many are
afraid.

It is foolish to fear what cannot be
avoided.

A man who fears ruin seldom meets
with it.

K 4

A

[ 136 ]

A wife man will guard against a weak enemy.

Even an hair casts a shade.

What pleases many is kept with danger.

He who flies from the law, cannot fly from conscience.

CHAP.

[ 137 ]

CHAP. XI.

Of Sorrow.

IT signifies little to believe sorrow. Patience is a remedy for every affliction.

Sorrow makes the most virtuous fal-fify.

He is the most wretched who cannot vent himself in complaints.

Sorrow may produce advantage.

The sorrow of an enemy is a cure for our own.

CHAP.

[ 140 ]

## CHAP. XIII.

### Of Leisure and Idlenefs.

EXTENSION spoils a bow, relaxation the mind.

To deny one's self to one's country is to be an exile.

To do nothing is the happiness of the miserable.

## CHAP.

[ 141 ]

## CHAP. XIV.

### Of Benevolence and Generosity.

IT is an injury to honesty to petition for what is not fit to be granted.

Compassion lays up great advantages for itself.

The man who pities another in affliction, remembers the instability of his own condition.

He who affords assistance in prosperity, will receive it in adversity.

A truly benevolent man will know why he gives.

To offer a kindreds willingly, doubles its value.

3

He

[ 144 ]

You call a man accursed, when you
call him ungrateful.

One ungrateful man injures all that
are in diftrefs.

Ungrateful men make malicious
ones.

C H A P.

[ 145 ]

C H A P. XV.

*Of Justice, Faith, and good Conscience.*

YOU must expect to be dealt with
as you deal with others.

No one can forfeit his honour if he
never had any.

He who has lost his honour can lose
nothing more.

What has he to rely upon who has
broke his faith ?

Honour, like life, when once lost,
never returns.

An honest man will be just even to
his enemy.

We should keep our word even with
the wicked.

L

A

[ 146 ]

A natural heir is better than a chosen one.

It is a bad cause which requires pity.

The judge is condemned when the guilty is acquitted.

None but the innocent hope for prosperity in affliction.

CHAP.

[ 147 ]

## CHAP. XVI.

### Of Injury and Pride.

THOSE who do an injury are the people who resent it.

He threatens many who injures one.

Even goodness changes its nature when causelessly provoked.

He will never want a reason, who desires to do an injury.

A malicious man is fed by his ill-nature.

A great crime, though but slightly mentioned, wounds the guilty.

A guilty person passes sentence on himself the moment he commits a crime.

L 2 The

[ 148 ]

The better a gamester is, the worse
he is.

Medicine is bad when nature fails.

The glory of the proud soon turns to
shame.

That prejudice is very destructive
which excludes judgment.

How miserable it is to be wronged
by those of whom you dare not com-
plain.

It is miserable to be obliged to keep
in silence what you are impatient to
utter.

A mean person looks with horror on
the crimes of the great.

The greatest power is lost by bad
administration.

C H A P.

[ 149 ]

C H A P. XVII.

*Of Diffusion, Fiction, and Lying.*

IT is the greatest wickedness to imitate the words of honesty.

A villain is the more dangerous, the
les he appears so.

The coward pretends to caution, the
miser to frugality.

Slander is false, a lie malevolent.

Feigned things are soon detected.

All disembled dangers are the most
fatal.

A seeming friend is the worst of enemies.

A man thinks one way of himself,
another of his neighbours.

L 3

The

[ 150 ]

The tears of an heir are laughter under a mask.

Successors hate the life of him whose death will prove their profit.

The eyes will never offend while reason guides them.

Age, however concealed, will show itself.

He who forgives one injury provokes another.

You doubly offend when you flatter an offender.

He injures the good who spares the wicked.

By explaining a scandal you do worse than in making one.

CHAP.

[ 151 ]

## CHAP. XVIII.

*Of Suspicion.*

SUSPICION always paints in the darkest colours.

A smile will be reckoned an affront by the afflicted.

L4

CHAP.

[ 152 ]

## CHAP. XIX.

### Of Custom and Experience.

TO day ought to be the disciple of yesterday.

Poverty is the best guide to experience.

It is miserable not to know how to live without danger.

It is a troublesome pleasure that depends upon others.

The empire of custom is tyrannical.

Too great flatiety of good things is a misfortune.

## CHAP.

[ 153 ]

## CHAP. XX.

### Of Prudence and Sagacity in the Affairs of Life.

IT is a great advantage to learn what is to be avoided by the misfortunes of other people.

A wife man corrects his own practice by the faults of others.

That ought to be long considered which can be done but once.

To deliberate on useful things is a prudent delay.

In order to conquer, war should be long considered of.

The courage of the soldier depends on the wisdom of the general.

Delay

[ 156 ]

He who is at expence about the dead,
does not enrich them, but impoverifhes
himself.

He abuseth the absent who quarrels
with a drunken man.

He is vain in old age who endeavours
to recall youth.

He is a foolish patient who makes his
physician his heir.

He who ventures a second shipwreck
has no reason to complain of Neptune.

You excite them to leave you whom
you keep against their inclination.

Evil dispositions need no tutors.

C H A P.

[ 157 ]

C H A P. XXII.

*Of Ambition and Desire.*

OTHER people's possessions please
us, and ours please other people.

What we get by wishing is foreign
to our felicity.

He who can do more than he ought,
defires more than he should.

Greediness in riches is but improved
poverty.

To curb our desires is to conquer a
kingdom.

Luxury and glory have no friendship
together.

C H A P.

[ 158 ]

CHAP. XXIII.

Of Avarice.

SOME things are wanting to po-
verty, but all things are wanting
to avarice.

Many things are wanting to luxury,
all to avarice.

A miser wants what he has as well
as what he has not.

A miser grieves more at misfortune
than a wife man.

What can you wish worse to a miser
than long life ?

A miser is good to no man, but most
cruel to himself.

A

[ 159 ]

A miser does nothing right but when
he dies.

A miser is the cause of his own
misery.

You may easily out-wit a miser, if
you are not one yourself.

APPENDIX.

The following BON MOTS were omitted
in their proper Places.

A Young clergyman having the
misfortune to bury five wives,
being in company with a number of
ladies, was severely rallied by them
upon the circumstance. At last one of
them rather impertinently put the quef-
tion to him, " How he managed to
M have

[ 160 ]

have such good luck?” “Why, madam,” says the other, “I knew they could not *live* without contradiction, therefore I let them go their own way.”

A gentleman having a remarkable *bad breath*, was met by a celebrated Irish wit at Lucas's coffee-house, who asked him where he had been? “I have been taking the air this morning,” says he, “which was rather disagreeable too, as I had a damned *North wind* full in my face all the time.” “Come, come,” says the wit, “don't you complain, by G-d the *North wind* had the worst of it.”

Mr. Moore, the author of many ingenious pieces, being a long time under an expensive prosecution in Doctor's-Commons for marrying two lifters, was

[ 161 ]

was called upon one morning by his proctor, as he was writing his tragedy of The Gamesters: the proctor having a leisure hour, Mr. Moore read him four acts of his piece, which were all at that time finished, which the former found himself so affected by, that he exclaimed, “Good God! how can you possibly add to this couple's distrefs in the other act?” “Oh! very easily,” says Moore, “there I intend to put them both in the *spiritual court*.”

The dowager lady T— some time since hearing the dutchefs of B—d was going to be married to lord C—, was asked by a lady prefent what she thought of it?” “Oh! dear madam, very well,” says the other; “I think it a *good thing* for both.”

M 2

A

[ 162 ]

A well known literary character being introduced to doctor Johnson, the doctor was some time after asked by a mutual friend how he liked him: "I proteft, Sir," says Johnson, "the man seems to be a mighty good fort of man; but as to his being a man of letters, I believe he has written more than he has read, and understands lefs than either."

The celebrated Paddy Blake being often told by lord B—r—n that he had wrote his name down for a majority, Paddy met him one morning at the Leveè, when his lordship being about to give him his hand with all the air of court friendship, "Stop, my lord," fays Blake, "t'other hand, if you pleafe, for I'm sure, if you had not a palfy in this you would have done my little buſineſs for me long before now."

The

[ 163 ]

The above natural wit, going into a woollen draper's ſhop, in Cornhill, to buy a ſuit of clothes, asked for some of his beſt red ſcarlet. The lad of the ſhop judging Blake from this question, as well as from his appearance, to be a proper perſon for jeſting with, firſt took down a piece of brown cloth, afterwards a piece of blue, and then ſeveral other colours, all of which he affured him were the very beſt red ſcarlet. From the innocency of Blake's mind, he was some time before he could ſee the joke; at laſt watching a proper opportunity, he hit the lad a punch in the face, which immediately brought the blood ſtreaming acroſs the counter. "Ah! by J—-—s," fays Paddy, "ſee now that we could not hit it off before; that's the very colour I wanted."

M 3

On

[ 164 ]

On the promotion of the present chief of the K—B—to the degree of ferjeant, he presented, as is usual, rings to the several judges and ferjeants. The motto which he chose on this occasion being *Audax et Vigilans*, a counsel, who is since called to the latter degree observed “it was a very proper motto for a HALL watch dog.”

Lord B—n having written an official letter to a general officer rather couched in severe terms, the officer shewed it to some company he had with him at supper, when one of the company observed that he did not think his lordship could read, let alone write. “You are very much mistaken, Sir,” says a nobleman present, “his lordship is well known to have dipped deep in Harrington’s Oceana.”

A

[ 165 ]

A lady of wit and gallantry being accompanied in her visit to the two universities by a stupid young nobleman, it was observed by one who knew the parties how ill her choice was in respect to a conductor.” “Not at all,” says a gentleman present, “I think it highly in character; *Minerva*, you know, was always accompanied by an *owl*.”

King Charles II. laid it down as a rule, that in his convivial parties *the king was always absent*. Being one night in a select party of this kind, one of his courtiers, who had contributed a good deal to his mirth, ventured to ask him for a place. Charles, though he liked the man as a companion, yet not willing to break through a fixed rule, quickly replied, “You may depend on it

7

[ 166 ]

it I will speak to the king to-morrow
about it."

The famous earl of Rochester pro-
fanely jesting one day before the same
monarch, the king called out to him,
“ Well, Rochester, I believe you are
one of the wickedest men in all Eng-
land.” “ I believe I am, please your
majesty,” says the other, “ of a sub-
jeet.”

The celebrated antiquarian Wood
being in company with doctor South,
the celebrated preacher and pun-
fter, was complaining to him of his
not being able to make water, and asked
him what sign it was? “ Why,” says
the doctor, “ shall I speak gravely to
you ?

[ 167 ]

you? it is a sign you will soon make
earth."

When queen Elizabeth was at Osterly,
near Brentford, the seat of Sir Thomas
Gresham, who built the Royal-Ex-
change, she observed to him a wall at
one side of the garden, which confined,
in some respect, the prospect. Sir Tho-
mas seemed to take no further notice of
her majesty's remark at that time than to
coincide in it; but as soon as ever she
retired to her chamber, he had pre-
pared a number of workmen, in readi-
nefs, who had the wall entirely pulled
down by morning. The queen upon
her walking the gardens was surprized
at the alteration; but turning about to
Sir Thomas, with great readinefs, ob-
ferved, “ She did not wonder that he
that

[ 168 ]

that could *build a Change*, could so readily *change a building*.”

A certain smatterer in letters, being one day at the Bedford coffee-house, took it into his head to abuse with great freedom all the modern literati, observing that there was very little wit, humour, or learning in the present age. Some time after D. Hayes, well known by the name of Count Hayes, came into the room, when a gentleman was telling him how his friend had been abusing the moderns. “ I have not the least doubt of his ill-nature,” says Hayes, “ so he would the antients too, by G-d, if he knew their names.”

When

[ 169 ]

When pope Benedict XIV. came to the papal chair, who was a man as much above the pedantry of forms, as he was above all taint of superstition, he was one day giving audience to a cardinal, who the moment he came into the preference-chamber, as usual, made his obeisance; the pope, in return was putting his hand to his tiara, when the master of the ceremonies stopt him short by whifpering to him, it was below the dignity of a pope to return any salute. “O! I cry your mercy,” says Benedict, out loud, “I am not long enough in office yet to forget my good manners.”

The late marshal Saxe, though he obtained many laurels for the crown of France, yet on account of his being

a

[ 170 ]

a Lutheran, at his death was denied
many of the religious ceremonies of
interment. Upon this occasion the
late queen of France, with whom, as
well as the whole court, he was a great
favourite, observed it was hard that a
man, who had so often caused them to
sing Te Deum, should not have one
*De profundis.*

A certain judge being some time
since on the home circuit, a man was
brought before him charged with stealing
a silver ladle. In the course of the
evidence, the council for the crown
dwelt rather farcistically upon the prizoner's
being an attorney. " O, Sir,"
fays my lord to the council, in a whist-
per, " do not make the case worse than
it is ; if the fellow had been an attorney,
you

[ 171 ]

you may depend upon it he would have
stolen the *bowl* too."

The late lord Chesterfield, notwithstanding he was so much a man of wit, and of the world, was, until not many years before his death, well known to be a constant dupe to gaming; infomuch so that he never went to a watering-place, that he had not a crowd of sharpers hovering about him. Being at Bath, some years since, he engaged at a billiard-match with the celebrated Charles Jones, which was no sooner known than the room was crowded with black-legged gentry, who all betted in favour of Jones. The match continued for some time, in which my lord never turned a game, and in consequence lost considerably. Jones, who only played for a guinea himself, seeing this,

[ 172 ]

this, and being often *patronized* by his
lordship, thought it a good opportunity
to show his gratitude, by declining the
game, and telling his lordship the rea-
fons of it. “Well, well,” says my lord,
with great coolness, “admitting that to
be true, if these gentlemen do me the
honour to attend me from place to place,
surely it is the least I can do to *support
my attendants*.”

F I N I S.