MXXV.—DOING HOMAGE.
Returning from hunting one day, George III. entered affably into conversation with his wine-merchant, Mr. Carbonel, and rode with him side by side a considerable way. Lord Walsingham was in attendance; and watching an opportunity, took Mr. Carbonel aside, and whispered something to him. "What's that? what's that Walsingham has been saying to you?" inquired the good-humored monarch. "I find, sir, I have been unintentionally guilty of disrespect; my lord informed me that I ought to have taken off my hat whenever I addressed your Majesty; but your Majesty will please to observe, that whenever I hunt, my hat is fastened to my wig, and my wig is fastened to my head, and I am on the back of a very high-spirited horse, so that if anything goes off we must all go off together!" The king laughed heartily at this apology.
MXXVI.—SYDNEY SMITH SOPORIFIC.
A lady complaining to Sydney Smith that she could not sleep,—"I can furnish you," he said, "with a perfect soporific. I have published two volumes of Sermons; take them up to bed with you. I recommended them once to Blanco White, and before the third page—he was fast asleep!"
MXXVII.—EPIGRAM.
(On ——'s ponderous speeches.)
Though Sir Edward has made many speeches of late,
The House would most willingly spare them;
For it finds they possess such remarkable weight,
That it's really a trouble to bear them.
MXXVIII.—GOOD AT A PINCH.
A severe snow-storm in the Highlands, which lasted for several weeks, having stopped all communication betwixt neighboring hamlets, snuff-takers were reduced to their last pinch. Borrowing and begging from all the neighbors within reach were resorted to, but this soon failed, and all were alike reduced to the extremity which unwillingly abstinent snuffers alone know. The minister of the parish was amongst the unhappy number; the craving was so intense, that study was out of the question. As a last resort, the beadle was despatched through the snow, to a neighboring glen in the hope of getting a supply; but became back as unsuccessful as he went. "What's to be dune, John?" was the minister's pathetic inquiry. John shook his head, as much as to say that he could not tell; but immediately thereafter started up, as if a new idea had occurred to him. He came back in a few minutes, crying, "Hae." The minister, too eager to be scrutinizing, took a long, deep pinch, and then said, "Whaur did you get it?"—"I soupit[B] the poupit," was John's expressive reply. The minister's accumulated superfluous Sabbath snuff now came into good use.
[B] Swept.