Who filled the half of this church-yard.
A certain bruising Parson having been examined as a witness in the Court of King’s Bench, the adverse Counsel attempted to browbeat him: I think you are the bruising Parson, said he. I am, said the divine; and if you doubt it, I’ll give it you under my hand.
A gentleman happening to be in the stable belonging to an inn in London, met a most active fellow officiating as hostler. The gentleman enquired where he came from? Yorkshire, was the reply. How long have you been here as ostler? Thirteen years. What! you a Yorkshireman, and so long a servant: why, I should have supposed you would have been master ere this time. Ay, Sir, but master is Yorkshire too.
Hugo Arnot, author of the History of Edinburgh, &c. was a perfect walking skeleton. One day he was eating a split dried haddock, or, as it is called in Scotland, a spelding, when Harry Erskine came in. You see, said Hugo, I am not starving. I must own, replied the other, that you are very like your meat.
An Irish soldier once returning from battle in the night, marching a little way behind his companion, called out to him, Hollo, Pat, I have catch’d a Tartar! Bring him along then! bring him along! Aye, but he won’t come. Why, then, come away without him. By Saint Patrick, but he won’t let me.
Lord Somers, when Chancellor, hired a small box near Twickenham common, in which parish Mr Johnson, secretary of state for Scotland, built a beautiful villa. The chancellor of England invited the secretary of Scotland to a convivial dinner; and Johnson, as the glass was circulating, told a long tale of a countryman of his own, and wound up his story by saying that the person was a d—d knave. The chancellor stared at him, and exclaimed, It is strange for you, Mr Johnson, to call a Scotchman a knave.—Take no heed to that, said the secretary, for you may depend on it, that we have more knaves in Scotland that ye have honest men in England.
A gentleman being asked his opinion of the singing of a lady who had not the purest breath, said, that the words of the song were delightful, but he did not much admire the air.
What objection can you have to me (said a wife of Bath to her husband) it is absolutely impossible for two people to be more of one mind—you want to be master, and so do I?
Macklin the player, once going to one of the fire offices to insure some property, was asked by the clerk how he would please to have his name entered? Entered, replied the veteran, why, I am only plain Charles Macklin, a vagabond, by act of Parliament; but, in compliment to the times, you may set me down Charles Macklin, Esq. as they are now synonymous terms.
A celebrated physician being sent for by a lady who imagined herself very ill, she slept too sound, and had a very uncommon flow of spirits. Make yourself perfectly easy Madam, said the doctor, follow my prescription, and you shall soon have none of these things to complain of.