A visitor at Churchtown, North Meols, thought people must like to be buried in the churchyard there, because it was so healthy.
CMXL.—A PROPER ANSWER.
A knavish attorney asking a very worthy gentleman what was honesty, "What is that to you?" said he; "meddle with those things that concern you."
CMXLI.—GOOD HEARING.
I heard last week, friend Edward, thou wast dead,
I'm very glad to hear it, too, cries Ned.
CMXLII.—AN UNCONSCIOUS POSTSCRIPT.
George Selwyn once affirmed, in company, that no woman ever wrote a letter without a postscript. "My next letter shall refute you!" said Lady G——. Selwyn soon after received a letter from her ladyship, where, after her signature, stood: "P.S. Who was right; you or I?"
CMXLIII.—HOAXING AN AUDIENCE.
Cooke was announced one evening to play the Stranger at the Dublin Theatre. When he made his appearance, evident marks of agitation were visible in his countenance and gestures: this, by the generality of the audience, was called fine acting; but those who were acquainted with his failing, classed it very properly under the head of intoxication. When the applause had ceased, with difficulty he pronounced, "Yonder hut—yonder hut," pointing to the cottage; then beating his breast, and striking his forehead, he paced the stage in much apparent agitation of mind. Still this was taken as the chef-d'œuvre of fine acting, and was followed by loud plaudits, and "Bravo! bravo!" At length, having cast many a menacing look at the prompter, who repeatedly, though in vain, gave him the word, he came forward, and, with overacted feeling, thus addressed the audience: "You are a mercantile people—you know the value of money—a thousand pounds, my all, lent to serve a friend, is lost for ever. My son, too—pardon the feelings of a parent—my only son—as brave a youth as ever fought his country's battles, is slain—not many hours ago I received the intelligence; but he died in the defence of his King!" Here his feelings became so powerful that they choked his utterance, and, with his handkerchief to his eyes, he staggered off the stage, amidst the applause of those who, not knowing the man, pitied his situation. Now, the fact is, Cooke never possessed £1,000 in his life, nor had he ever the honor of being a father; but, too much intoxicated to recollect his part, he invented this story, as the only way by which he could decently retire; and the sequel of the business was, that he was sent home in a chair, whilst another actor played the part.