Cooke and Dibdin went, at a tolerably steady quick-step, as far as the middle of Greek Street, when Cooke, who had passed his hand along all the palisades and shutters as he marched, came in contact with the recently-painted new front of a coachmaker's shop, from which he obtained a complete handful of wet color. Without any explanation as to the cause of his anger, he rushed suddenly into the middle of the street, and raised a stone to hurl against the unoffending windows; but Dibdin was in time to save them from destruction, and him from the watch-house. On being asked the cause of his hostility to the premises of a man who could not have offended him, he replied, with a hiccup, "what! not offend? A —— ignorant coachmaker, to leave his house out, new-painted, at this time of night!"
CCI.—MEASURING HIS DISTANCE.
A browbeating counsel asked a witness how far he had been from a certain place. "Just four yards, two feet, and six inches," was the reply. "How came you to be so exact, my friend?"—"Because I expected some fool or other would ask me, and so I measured it."
CCII.—VERY CLEAR.
"What is light?" asked a schoolmaster of the booby of a class. "A sovereign that isn't full weight is light," was the prompt reply.
CCIII.—BROTHERLY LOVE.
"Ah!" said a conceited young parson, "I have this afternoon been preaching to a congregation of asses."—"Then that was the reason why you always called them beloved brethren," replied a strong-minded lady.
CCIV.—EPIGRAM.
By a friend of Sir Turncoat 'twas lately averr'd,
The electors would find him as good as his word!
"As good as his word," did you say, "gracious me!
What a terrible scamp little Turncoat must be!"