A Parisian millionaire once wrote to the celebrated comic author, Scribe:—“Honored Sir—I wish very much to ally my name with yours in the creation of a dramatic work. Will you be so kind as to write a comedy of which I shall compose one or two lines, so that I may be mentioned in the title; I will bear the entire pecuniary expense, so that I may divide the glory.” Scribe, who was vain even to conceit, replied:—“Sir—I regret that I cannot comply with your modest request. It is not in accordance with my ideas of religion or propriety that a horse and an ass should be yoked together.” To which the millionaire quickly responded:—“Sir—I have received your impertinent letter. How dare you call me a horse!”
Voltaire was warmly panegyrizing Haller one day, when a person present remarked that his eulogy was very disinterested, for Haller did not speak well of him. “Ah, well,” said Voltaire, “perhaps we are both of us mistaken.”
An Irishman, abusing Erin, declared that it contained nothing good but the whiskey. Whereupon a wag observed, “You mean to say, then, that with all her faults you love her still.”
Bacon relates that a fellow named Hogg importuned Sir Nicholas to save his life on account of the kindred between Hog and Bacon. “Aye,” replied the judge, “but you and I cannot be kindred except you be hanged, for Hog is not Bacon until it be well hanged.”
Lord Eldon, struck by the appearance of a beautiful woman passing Westminster Hall, expressed his admiration freely. The lady overhearing, returned the compliment by pronouncing him to a friend near by a most excellent judge.
Thackeray, while in Charleston, S. C., was introduced to Mrs. C., one of the leaders of its society. In his pert way he said, “I am happy to meet you, madam; I have heard that you are a fast woman.” “Oh, Mr. Thackeray,” she replied with a fascinating smile, “we must not believe all we hear; I had heard, sir, that you were a gentleman.”
Mr. Spurgeon rebuked certain of his followers who refused to interfere in politics on the ground that they were “not of this world.” This, he argued, was mere metaphor. “You might as well,” said he, “being sheep of the Lord, decline to eat mutton-chop on the plea that it would be cannibalism.”
A young barrister, intending to be very eloquent, observed, “such principles as these, my Lord, are written in the Book of Nature.” “What page, sir?” said Lord Chief Justice Ellenborough; and the orator was silenced for life.