The Duke of Norfolk of Foote's time was much addicted to the bottle. On a masquerade night, he asked Foote what new character he should go in. "Go sober!" said Foote.
DCXLVIII.—WET AND DRY.
Dr. Macknight, who was a better commentator than preacher, having been caught in a shower of rain, entered the vestry soaked with wet. As the time drew on for divine service he became much distressed, and ejaculated over and over, "O, I wish that I was dry! Do you think I'm dry? Do you think I'm dry eneuch noo?" To this his jocose colleague, Dr. Henry, the historian, returned: "Bide a wee, doctor, and ye'se be dry eneuch when ye get into the pu'pit."
DCXLIX.—RUM AND WATER.
A certain Scotchman, who is not a member of any temperance society, being asked by a dealer to purchase some fine old Jamaica, dryly answered, "To tell you the truth, Mr. ——, I canna' say I'm very fond of rum; for if I tak' mair than six tum'lers, it's very apt to gi'e me a headache."
DCL.—A BUDGET OF BLUNDERS.
Perhaps the best concentrated specimen of blunders, such as occur in all nations, but which, of course, are fathered upon Paddy wholesale, as if by common consent, is the following:—
Copy of a Letter, written during the Rebellion by Sir ——, an Irish Member of Parliament, to his friend in London.
My dear Sir,—
Having now a little peace and quietness, I sit down to inform you of the dreadful bustle and confusion we are in from these blood-thirsty rebels, most of whom are, I'm glad to say, killed and dispersed. We are in a pretty mess, can get nothing to eat, nor wine to drink, except whiskey, and when we sit down to dinner we are obliged to keep both hands armed. Whilst I write this, I hold a sword in each hand and a pistol in the other. I concluded from the beginning that this would be the end of it, and I see I was right, for it is not half over yet. At present there are such goings on that everything is at a standstill. I should have answered your letter a fortnight ago, but I did not receive it till this morning. Indeed, scarcely a mail arrives safe without being robbed. No longer ago than yesterday the coach with the mails from Dublin was robbed near this town; the bags had been judiciously left behind for fear of accident, and by good luck there was nobody in it but two outside passengers, who had nothing for the thieves to take. Last Thursday notice was given that a gang of rebels was advancing here under the French standard, but they had no colors, nor any drums except bagpipes. Immediately every man in the place, including women and children, ran out to meet them. We soon found our force much too little; we were far too near to think of retreating. Death was in every face, but to it we went, and, by the time half our little party were killed, we began to be all alive again. Fortunately the rebels had no guns, except pistols, cutlasses, and pikes, and as we had plenty of muskets and ammunition, we put them all to the sword. Not a soul of them escaped, except some that were drowned in an adjacent bog, and, in a very short time, nothing was to be heard but silence. Their uniforms were all different colors, but mostly green. After the action we went to rummage a sort of camp, which they had left behind them. All we found was a few pikes, without heads, a parcel of empty bottles full of water, and a bundle of French commissions filled up with Irish names. Troops are now stationed all round the country, which exactly squares with my ideas.