An old lady was in the habit of talking to Jerrold in a gloomy, depressing manner, presenting to him only the sad side of life. “Hang it,” said Jerrold, one day, after a long and sombre interview, “she would not allow that there was a bright side to the moon.”
Jerrold said to an ardent young gentleman, who burned with desire to see himself in print: “Be advised by me, young man: don’t take down the shutters before there is something in the windows.”
While Jerrold was discussing one day, with Mr. Selby, the vexed question of adapting dramatic pieces from the French, that gentleman insisted upon claiming some of his characters as strictly original creations. “Do you remember my Baroness in Ask No Questions?” said Mr. Selby. “Yes, indeed; I don’t think I ever saw a piece of yours without being struck by your barrenness,” was the retort.—Mark Lemon’s Jest-book.
CONCEITED ALARMS OF DENNIS.
John Dennis, the dramatist, had a most extravagant and enthusiastic opinion of his tragedy of Liberty Asserted. He imagined that there were in it some strokes on the French nation so severe, that they would never be forgiven; and that, in consequence, Louis XIV. would never make peace with England unless the author was given up as a sacrifice to the national resentment. Accordingly, when the congress for the negotiation of the Peace of Utrecht was in contemplation, the terrified Dennis waited on the Duke of Marlborough, who had formerly been his patron, to entreat the intercession of his Grace with the plenipotentiaries, that they should not consent to his surrender to France being made one of the conditions of the treaty. The Duke gravely told the dramatist that he was sorry to be unable to do this service, as he had no influence with the Ministry of the day; but, he added, that he thought Dennis’ case not quite desperate, for, said his Grace, “I have taken no care to get myself excepted in the articles of peace, and yet I cannot help thinking that I have done the French almost as much damage as Mr. Dennis himself.” At another time, when Dennis was visiting at a gentleman’s house on the Sussex coast, and was walking on the beach, he saw a vessel, as he imagined, sailing towards him. The self-important timidity of Dennis saw in this incident a reason for the greatest alarm for himself, and distrust of his friend. Supposing he was betrayed, he made the best of his way to London, without even taking leave of his host, whom he believed to have lent himself to a plot for delivering him up as a captive to a French vessel sent on purpose to carry him off.
A COMPOSITION WITH CONSCIENCE.
Lully, the composer, being once thought mortally ill, his friends called a confessor, who, finding the patient’s state critical, and his mind very ill at ease, told him that he could obtain absolution only one way—by burning all that he had by him of a yet unpublished opera. The remonstrance of his friends was in vain; Lully burnt the music, and the confessor departed well pleased. The composer, however, recovered, and told one of his visitors, a nobleman who was his patron, of the sacrifice he had made to the demands of the confessor. “And so,” cried the nobleman, “you have burnt your opera, and are really such a blockhead as to believe in the absurdities of a monk!” “Stop, my friend, stop,” returned Lully; “let me whisper in your ear: I knew very well what I was about—I have another copy.”