A ROYAL QUANDARY.
On the first consignment of Seidlitz Powders to the capital of Delhi, the monarch was deeply interested in the accounts of the refreshing beverage. A box was brought to the king in full court, and the interpreter explained to his majesty how it was to be used. Into a goblet he put the contents of the twelve blue papers; and, having added water, the king drank it off. This was the alkali, and the royal countenance exhibited no sign of satisfaction. It was then explained that in the combination of the two powders lay the luxury; and the twelve white powders were quickly dissolved in water, and as eagerly swallowed by his majesty. With a shriek that will never be forgotten, the monarch rose, staggered, exploded, and, in his agony, screamed, “Hold me down!” Then, rushing from the throne, he fell prostrate on the floor. There he lay during the long-continued effervescence of the compound, spirting like ten thousand pennyworths of imperial pop, and believing himself in the agonies of death, a melancholy and convincing proof that kings are mortal.
RELICS.
“What is this?” said a traveller, who entertained reasonable doubts as to the genuineness of certain so-called relics of antiquity, while visiting an old cathedral in the Netherlands: “what is contained in this phial?”
“Sir,” replied the sacristan, “that phial contains one of the frogs picked up when Pharaoh was visited with the plague of frogs.”
“I am sure, then,” rejoined the traveller, “there could have been no epicures in those days.”
“Why so?” said the sacristan.
“Because they would have eaten him, he is so large and fat.”
The traveller took up another phial which was near. “This contains?” said he,—
“That is a most precious relic of the church, which we value very highly.”