When Onslow was speaker of the British House of Commons, a member, who was very fond of hearing himself speak—though nobody would listen to him—on one occasion made a direct appeal to the chair, in consequence of the accustomed noise that was going on: “Mr. Speaker, I desire to know if I have not a right to be heard?” The speaker hoped, at first, to escape the necessity of a reply, by calling “Order! Order!” but this proving, as usual, of no avail, the honorable member inquired, in a louder tone than before, “Sir, have not I a right to be heard?” “Sir,” replied Onslow, “you have a right to speak.”
Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania, abhorred smoking. His Quaker Council one day observing him approach, laid down their pipes. “I am glad to see,” said Penn, “that you are ashamed of that vile habit.” “Not at all,” said a principal Friend, “we only lay down our pipes lest we should offend a weak brother.”
A saloon-keeper having started business in a building where trunks had been made, asked a friend what he had better do with the old sign, “Trunk Factory.” “O,” said the friend, “just change the T to D, and it will suit you exactly.”
Years ago, when Henry Ward Beecher’s reputation was not world-wide, a Western Young Men’s Christian Association tried to persuade the divine to go out and lecture to them without charge, saying it would increase his fame. He telegraphed in reply: “I will lecture for F. A. M. E.—fifty and my expenses.”
Admiral Keppel was sent to the Dey of Algiers to negotiate the restoration of some English vessels which had been captured by Algerine pirates. He advocated the cause entrusted to him with a warmth and spirit which completely confounded the Dey’s ideas of what was due to absolute power. “I wonder,” said the offended dignitary, “at the King of England’s insolence in sending me such a foolish, beardless boy.”
“Had my master,” retorted Keppel, “considered that wisdom was to be measured by the length of the beard, he would have sent you a he-goat.”
Thackeray tells us of a woman begging alms from him, who, when she saw him put his hand in his pocket, cried out: “May the blessing of God follow you all your life!” But, when he only pulled out his snuff-box, she immediately added: “And never overtake ye.”
Dr. Reid, the celebrated medical writer, was requested by a lady of literary eminence to call at her house. “Be sure you recollect the address,” she said as she quitted the room—“No. 1 Chesterfield street.” “Madam,” said the doctor, “I am too great an admirer of politeness not to remember Chesterfield, and, I fear, too selfish ever to forget Number One.”
Two men disputing about the pronunciation of the word “either”—one saying it was ee-ther, the other i-ther—agreed to refer it to the first person they met, who happened to be an Irishman, who confounded both by declaring, “it’s nayther, for it’s ayther.”