At one of the annual dinners of the members of the Chapel Royal, a gentleman had been plaguing Edward Cannon with a somewhat dry disquisition on the noble art of fencing. Cannon for some time endured it with patience; but at length, on the man remarking that Sir George D—— was a great fencer, Cannon, who disliked him, replied, "I don't know, sir, whether Sir George is a great fencer, but Sir George is a great fool!" A little startled, the other rejoined, "Possibly he is; but then, you know, a man may be both."—"So I see, sir," said Cannon, turning away.
MDLXXII.—ON BUTLER'S MONUMENT.
While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive,
No generous patron would a dinner give.
See him, when starved to death and turned to dust,
Presented with a monumental bust.
The poet's fate is here in emblem shown,—
He asked for bread, and he received a stone.
MDLXXIII.—A WORD IN SEASON.
Mrs. Powell the actress was at a court of assize when a young barrister, who rose to make his maiden speech, suddenly stopped short and could not proceed. The lady, feeling for his situation, cried out, as though he had been a young actor on his first appearance, "Somebody give him the word,—somebody give him the word!"
MDLXXIV.—"GETTING THE WORST OF IT."
Porson was once disputing with an acquaintance, who, getting the worst of it, said, "Professor, my opinion of you is most contemptible."—"Sir," returned the great Grecian, "I never knew an opinion of yours that was not contemptible."
MDLXXV.—A SATISFACTORY EXPLANATION.
One of the curiosities some time since shown at a public exhibition, professed to be a skull of Oliver Cromwell. A gentleman present observed that it could not be Cromwell's, as he had a very large head, and this was a small skull. "O, I know all that," said the exhibitor, undisturbed, "but you see this was his skull when he was a boy."