The Duke of C—mb—l—d has taken from this country a thing which not one person in it will grudge: of course we are understood at once to mean his departure.—G. A'B.
CMXXVI.—ACCURATE DESCRIPTION.
A certain lawyer received a severe injury from something in the shape of a horsewhip. "Where were you hurt?" said a medical friend. "Was it near the vertebra?"—"No, no," said the other; "it was near the racecourse."
CMXXVII.—SOLOMON'S TEMPLE.
When Reginald Heber read his prize poem of "Palestine" to Sir Walter Scott, the latter observed that, in the verses on Solomon's Temple, one striking circumstance had escaped him; namely, that no tools were used in its erection. Reginald retired for a few minutes to the corner of the room, and returned with the beautiful lines:—
"No hammer fell, no ponderous axes rung;
Like some tall palm, the mystic fabric sprung.
Majestic silence," &c.
CMXXVIII.—THE STAFFORDSHIRE COLLIERIES.
Many anecdotes might be collected to show the great difficulty of discovering a person in the collieries without being in possession of his nickname. The following was received from a respectable attorney. During his clerkship he was sent to serve some legal process on a man whose name and address were given to him with legacy accuracy. He traversed the village to which he had been directed from end to end without success; and after spending many hours in the search was about to abandon it in despair, when a young woman who had witnessed his labors kindly undertook to make inquiries for him, and began to hail her friends for that purpose. "Oi say, Bullyed, does thee know a man named Adam Green?" The bull-head was shaken in sign of ignorance. "Loy-a-bed, does thee?" Lie-a-bed's opportunities of making acquaintance had been rather limited, and she could not resolve the difficulty. Stumpy (a man with a wooden leg), Cowskin, Spindleshanks, Corkeye, Pigtail, and Yellowbelly were severally invoked, but in vain; and the querist fell into a brown study, in which she remained for some time. At length, however, her eyes suddenly brightened, and, slapping one of her companions on the shoulder, she exclaimed, triumphantly, "Dash my wig! whoy he means my feyther!" and then, turning to the gentleman, she added, "You should ha' ax'd for Ould Blackbird!"
CMXXIX.—A POSER.
Foote was once met by a friend in town with a young man who was flashing away very brilliantly, while Foote seemed grave: "Why, Foote," said his friend, "you are flat to-day; you don't seem to relish a joke!"—"You have not tried me yet, sir," said Foote.