‘Indeed,’ cried Bayes; then wash it, pray, good cousin,
And, wash it, if you can, into a dozen!’
A farmer who regularly attends Devizes market, some short time since, (finding the article unsaleable) gave another farmer 100 bushels of potatoes, which he was to send for, and on meeting there, the following dialogue took place:—‘How did the ’taties turn out?’ ‘Oh, main, good; I never eated better uns for the time o’ year, and they are pretty nigh gone.’ ‘Well, thee may ha’ some more on um if thee likest.’ ‘Why if I do, thee and me must ha’ a fresh agreement.’ ‘Fresh agreement! why dint I gie thee the ’taties?’ ‘Ah, but I can’t afford to ha’ ony more if thee don’t pay one of the pikes!’ The waggon had to pass two turnpike gates, the toll at one was 4d. and the other 4½d.
The Bane and Antidote.—The town bellman of Kirriemuir having received a written advertisement to that effect, proclaimed in the midst of the assembled multitude, on a fair day, in that ancient burgh of regality or barony, as follows:—‘Notish—All persons driving their cattle through the lands of Logie, to or from the market, will be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of law.’ And, immediately after, by way of sedative to the natives, exclaimed—‘Ye needna mind a’ this, lads; it’s only a haver o’ the grieve’s!’
A simple Highland girl, on her way home for the north, called, as she passed by Crieff, upon an old master with whom she had formerly served. Being kindly invited by him to share in the family dinner, and the usual ceremony of asking a blessing having been gone through, the poor girl, anxious to compliment, as she conceived, her ancient host, exclaimed, ‘Ah, master, ye maun hae a grand memory, for that’s the grace ye had when I was wi’ you seven years ago.’
A Last Century Anecdote.—Mr. Ross, Pitcalnie, an ingenious humourist, who spent his latter years chiefly in Edinburgh, was one night (about the year 1780) reeling home in a state of intoxication through St. Andrew-Square, when his fancy suggested to him the following amusing hoax upon Sir Lawrence Dundas. It occurred to his remembrance, on seeing Sir Lawrence’s fine house (now the office of the Royal Bank of Scotland), that that gentleman was then known to be engaged in the laudable business of prevailing upon the members of the town council of Edinburgh to elect him their representative in parliament, and that he had already secured the approbation of so many of these worthy trustees of the public interest that, but for one recusant deacon, he was certain of his election. It was known that Sir Lawrence had tried every possible means to bring over this dissentient voice, but hitherto without success; and there was some reason to apprehend that, after all the pains he had expended upon the rest, the grand object would not eventually be accomplished. Pitcalnie bethought him to assume the name of the deacon, to enter the house of the candidate, call for what entertainment he pleased, and, finally, as Sir Lawrence was confined to bed with gout, to go away without being discovered. No sooner had he settled the plan in his own mind than he proceeded to put it in execution. Reeling up to the door he rung the bell with all the insolent violence which might have been expected from so consequential a person as the individual he wished to personate, and presently down came a half-dressed lacquey, breathing curses, not loud but deep, against the cause of this unseasonable annoyance. ‘Tell your master,’ said Pitcalnie, ‘that Deacon —— (mentioning the name of the important elector) wishes to see him.’ When the man went up, and told Sir Lawrence that Deacon —— had come drunk to the door, wishing to see him, the heart of the old gentleman leapt within him, and he instantly sent down his compliments to his respected visitor, begging him to excuse his non-appearance, which was only owing to extremity of illness, but entreating that he would enter, and in every respect use the house as his own. Pitcalnie grunted out an assent to the last part of the message, and, being shown into a room, began to call lustily about him. In the first place he ordered a specimen of Sir Lawrence’s port, next of his sherry, then of his claret, and lastly of his champagne. When he had drunk as much as he could, and given a most unconscionable degree of trouble to the whole household, he staggered off, leaving it to Sir Lawrence to come, next day, to the best explanation he could with the deacon.
‘If Britannia rules the waves,’ said a qualmish writing-master, going to Margate in a storm, ‘I wish she’d rule them straighter.’
An Irishman having a looking glass in his hand, shut his eyes, and placed it before his face; another asking him why he did so, ‘Upon my soul,’ says Teague, ‘it is to see how I look when I am asleep.’
A lady that had married a gentleman who was a tolerable poet, one day sitting alone with him, said, ‘come my dear, you write upon other people—prithee, write something for me: let me see what epitaph you’ll bestow on me when dead.’ ‘Oh! my dear,’ replied he, ‘that’s a melancholy subject! don’t think of it.’ ‘Nay, upon my life, you shall,’ says she; ‘come, I’ll begin: Here lies Bid.’ To which he answered, ‘Ah! I wish she did.’
Mr. O’Connel, who is remarkable for the successful verdicts he obtains, having been lately robbed of his wardrobe, replied to a friend that was lamenting his loss, ‘Never mind, my dear Sir; for surely as I have gained so many suits, I can afford to lose a few.’