An Arab of Tetuan asked a Jew, which of the three religions was the best: the Jewish, the Christian, or the Mahometan?
The Jew replied—“If Messiah really came, the Christian is the best; if He did not, mine is the best; but whether or no, yours, Mahomet, is always bad.”
ECCENTRICITIES OF ENGLISHMEN.
It is not to be wondered at that a country so fecund in heroes and men of genius as the home of Nelson, Newton, and Byron, should also produce some very eccentric men. Of no other sons of Adam are such whimsicalities and oddities related as of those born in England. At every step on the other side of the Channel one meets with mad philosophers, who, if they unexpectedly inherit a large fortune, instead of leading a sybaritic life, order a schooner or brig to be built, embark straight away without troubling about their destination, let the wind take them whither it lists, swallow half-a-dozen bottles of rum, double themselves into a berth, and mingle their snores with the roaring of the waves until their craft strands on a shoal, when the dampness of the ocean reminds them it’s time to wake up.
I knew an Englishman poorer than a retired Spanish ensign, and more miserly than an old clo’man, who, with the help of a clever Newfoundland, which he loved like a brother, saved the life of a lord’s daughter who had fallen into the Thames. Ten years later, when he did not even remember his generous deed, he received from the father of the lord’s daughter a gift of £200,000 sterling. This stroke of good luck produced no impression on his mind, to judge by any outward expression of joy; and the following day when his creditors came to congratulate him, they found him, to their surprise, bathed in his own blood. Not far from the corpse lay a letter with the following contents: “Let nobody be accused of my death, ascribe it still less to bad fortune. I was happy in the act of suicide; I had good health and money. And yet I felt inclined to kill myself first, because I felt inclined, secondly, because from a boy I had always wished for a capital of £100,000, and I find myself with one hundred thousand more than I wanted. I leave half my fortune to my Newfoundland dog, to be invested in cat’s-meat, of which he is very fond, and the other half to whoever undertakes to buy the cat’s-meat for the dog. Witness my signature....”
Needless to say, that all who knew the last will and testament of the deceased, wanted to discharge it, with no further philanthropy than receiving the recompense. As for the dog, which was present at the reading of his master’s will, that so greatly concerned him, he did not show the slightest sign of joy. However, the will was declared invalid, and to avoid all disputes the £200,000 were returned to the chest of the noble lord.
The latter, finding himself again possessor of funds of which he had taken leave for ever, desired to use them to satisfy a caprice, which should give him the fame, throughout the whole country, of a wit. He laid a wager with a rich tradesman that he would not sell a hundred thousand sovereigns at a halfpenny each, though he should take his stand for six hours in one of the most crowded spots of the capital. This proposition deceived the tradesman as it would have deceived anybody, and he agreed to take the bet, the stakes being nothing less than £200,000, convinced that it was impossible he could lose. There was a Court levée that day, and a tremendous crowd of people were crossing the Thames over Westminster Bridge towards St. James’s Palace. The tradesman and the lord took up their post one side of the bridge, behind a huge open chest, full of sovereigns. “A ha’penny each, sovereigns a ha’penny each!” cried the tradesman, and the lord at his side did nothing but laugh; the stipulations being that the lord should only be allowed to laugh, and the tradesman to say “A ha’penny each, sovereigns a ha’penny each!” The people passed on, saying: “What a take in! Good heavens! Sovereigns for a ha’penny. What will they be like?” The tradesman began to despair. More than one passer-by took up one of the coins, turned it round and round, and then noticing the laughter which the lord pretended he could not stifle, put the money back, saying, “They are well imitated, but nobody can do me.”
“A ha’penny each, sovereigns a ha’penny each!” shouted the tradesman unceasingly, and the more he exerted himself to cry his ware, the more clearly did the public think they saw through the trick by which he hoped to empty their pockets. They stayed thus from nine in the morning till three in the afternoon, the lord laughing and the tradesman shouting. The result was that the latter lost the bet. Only two sovereigns were sold, and these were bought by a medical student, believing them to be false, but hoping to pass them in a gambling den or other low place. When he found they were accepted, he returned post-haste to Westminster Bridge to lay in a new provision, but arrived too late; the lord and the tradesman had already vanished.
A. Ribot y Fontserré.