Upon the death of a seaman, some money became payable to his widow, Elizabeth Smith, No. 20 (of a certain, say “King”) Street, Wapping. The government agent called at No. 20 King Street, and finding that Elizabeth Smith lived there, paid the money without further inquiry. Subsequently the true widow, Elizabeth Smith, turned up; and it was then discovered that, at the very time the money was paid, the street was being re-numbered, and there were two houses numbered 20; and what was most remarkable, there was an Elizabeth Smith living in each of them.
Some time in the last century, a Mrs. Stephens professed to have received from her husband a medicine for dissolving “the stone in the bladder,” and offered to sell it to government. In order to test the virtue of this medicine, a patient was selected who had undeniably the complaint in question. He took the medicine, and was soon quite well. The doctors watched him anxiously, and when he died, many years after, he was seized by them, and the body examined. It was then discovered that the stone had made for itself a little sac in the bladder, and was so tightly secured that it had never caused any inconvenience.
Government, however, (somewhat prematurely,) rewarded Mrs. Stephens with a sum of £10,000. The cure appeared to have been purely accidental, as the remedy was nothing but potash, which has little or no virtue in such cases.
A gentleman of fortune, named Angerstein, lost a large quantity of valuable plate. His butler was soon on the track of the thieves, (who had brought a coach to carry the plate), and enquired at the first turnpike gate whether any vehicle had lately passed. The gate-keeper stated that a hackney-coach had shortly before gone through; and though he was surprised at its passing by so early in the morning, he had not noticed the “number” on the coach. A servant girl, hearing the conversation, volunteered her statement, that she saw the coach pass by, and its number was “45.” As the girl could not read, they were surprised at her knowing the “number.” She stated that she knew it well, as being the same number she had long seen about the walls everywhere, which she knew was “45,” as every one was speaking of it. This allusion of the girl’s was in reference to the “Wilkes” disturbances, when the 45th number of the True Briton was prosecuted, and caused a great deal of public excitement. Mr. Angerstein’s butler went at once to London and found out the driver of the hackney-coach No. 45, who at once drove him to the place where the plate was deposited, and it was all recovered.
Some years since, in the “Temple,” was a vertical sun-dial, with the motto, “Be gone about your business.” It is stated that this very appropriate motto was the result of the following blunder:—When the dial was erected, the benchers were applied to for a motto. They desired the “builder’s man” to call at the library at a certain hour on a certain day, when he should receive instructions. But they forgot the whole matter. On the appointed day and hour the “builder’s man” called at the library, and found only a lawyer in close study over a law book. The man stated the cause of his intrusion, which suited so badly the lawyer’s time and leisure that he bid the man sharply “Be gone about your business.” The lawyer’s testy reply was duly painted in big letters upon the dial, and was considered so apposite that it was not only allowed to remain, but was considered to be as appropriate a motto as could be chosen.