“My dear Harris,” began the incorrigible one, “these things occur more from my misfortune than my faults, I assure you. I thought it was but one o’clock. It happens I have no watch, and am too poor to buy one. When I have one, I shall be as punctual as any one else.”
“Well,” replied the manager, “you shall not want one long. Here are half-a-dozen of Tregent’s best—choose whichever you like.”
Sheridan did not hesitate to avail himself of the offer; nor did he, as it will be understood, select the least expensive one of the number.
A propos of watchmakers, there is the story of Theodore Hook dining with one with whom he was utterly unacquainted save by name, which ingenious plan was evolved through lack of funds. Driving out one afternoon with a friend in the neighbourhood of Uxbridge, Hook remembered that he had not the means wherewith to procure dinner, and turning to his companion said, “By the way, I suppose you have some money with you?” But he had reckoned without his host. “Not a sixpence—not a sou,” was the reply, the last turnpike having taken his friend’s last coin. Both were considerably crestfallen, for it was getting late, and the drive had made them remarkably hungry. What was to be done? Presently they passed an exceedingly pretty residence. “Stay,” said Hook, “do you see that house—pretty villa, isn’t it? Cool and comfortable—lawn like a billiard-table. Suppose we dine there?” “Do you know the owner?” asked the friend. “Not the least in the world,” laughed Hook. “I know his name. He is the celebrated chronometer-maker. The man who got £10,000 premium from Government, and then wound up his affairs and his watches.” Without another word they drove up to the door, asked for the proprietor, and were ushered into the worthy tradesman’s presence. “Oh, sir,” said Hook, “happening to pass through your neighbourhood, I could not deny myself the pleasure and honour of paying my respects to you. I am conscious it may seem impertinent, but your celebrity overcame my regard for the common forms of society, and I, and my friend here, were resolved, come what might, to have it in our power to say that we had seen you, and enjoyed for a few minutes, the company of an individual famous throughout the civilised world.” The old man blushed, shook hands, and after conversing for a few minutes, asked them if they would remain to dinner, and partake of his hospitality? Hook gravely consulted with his friend, and then replied that he feared it would be impossible for them to remain. This only increased the watchmaker’s desire for their society, and made him invite them more pressingly, till, at length the pretended scruples were overcome, the pair sitting down to a most excellent repast, to which they both did more than justice.
On another occasion, when Hook was very much worried for money, he went as a dernier ressort to a publisher who knew him, in the hope that he would help him; but unfortunately the man knew him “too well,” and refused, unless he had something to show that he would get his money’s worth, or at any rate a portion of it. Thereupon Hook went home, sat up all night, wrote an introduction to a novel “on a new plan,” appended a hurried chapter, which he took the next day to the publisher, asserting that he had had a most liberal offer for it elsewhere, and so persuaded the man to advance the required sum.
Amusing as are many of the anecdotes quoted, there is one which may be called “divinely” funny, being connected with a once well-known theologian—Dr. John Brown of Haddington. This famous Biblical commentator, who flourished from 1784 to 1858, was anything but rich in this world’s goods; and so poor when staying at Dunse, that he went into a shop and asked to be accommodated with a halfpennyworth of cheese. The shopman, awfully disgusted with the meanness of the order, remarked haughtily, that “they did not make” such small quantities; upon which the doctor asked, “Then what’s the least you can sell?” “A penn’orth,” was the reply. On the divine saying “Very well,” the man proceeded to weigh that quantity, and then placed it on the counter, anticipating to be paid for it. “Now,” said Dr. Brown, “I will show you how to sell a halfpennyworth of cheese;” upon which, in the coolest manner conceivable, he cut the modicum into two pieces, and appropriating one half, put down his coin and departed.
Impecuniosity in addition to sharpening men’s wits, by which expression is understood the sharpening of the inventive faculties, has also the power of making sharp man’s wit, as instanced in the case of the beggar who accosted Marivaux, the well-known French writer of romance. This mendicant, who appears to have been what we were wont to call a “sturdy rogue,” looked so unlike what one soliciting alms should, that the man of letters said to him, “My good friend, strong and stout as you are, it is a great shame that you do not go to work;” when he was met with the reply, “Ah, master, if you did but know how lazy I am!” for which amazing audacity, he was rewarded by Marivaux, who said, “Well, I see thou are an honest fellow. Here’s a piece of money for you.”
Though, perhaps not strictly witty, the man’s remark was excessively comic, and for aught I know, it may have been his conduct that gave rise to the now well-known expression—“funny beggar.”
For impromptu wit connected with impecuniosity, there is the case of Ben Jonson, who was invited to dinner at the Falcon Tavern, by a vintner, to whom he was much in debt, and then told that if he could give an immediate answer to four questions, his debt should be forgiven him. The interrogatories put to him by the vintner were these, “What is God best pleased with? What is the Devil best pleased with? What is the World best pleased with? and what am I best pleased with?” To which Ben replied:
“God is best pleased when men forsake their sin.
The devil is best pleased when they persist therein.
The world’s best pleased when thou dost sell good wine,
And thou’rt best pleased when I do pay for mine.”