A dowager Duchess of Bedford, in her eighty-fifth year, was living at Buxton, at a time when it was the medical farce of the day for the faculty to resolve every complaint of whim and caprice into “a shock of the nervous system.” Her grace, after inquiring of many of her friends in the room, what brought them there? and being generally answered, “for a nervous complaint,” was asked in her turn, what brought her to Buxton! “I came only for pleasure,” answered the hale old lady, “for, thank God, I was born before nerves came into fashion.”
SUBSTANCE AND SHADOW.
A fellow went to the parish priest, and told him, with a long face, that he had seen a ghost. “When and where?” said the pastor. “Last night,” replied the man, “I was passing by the church, and up against the wall of it did I behold the spectre.” “In what shape did it appear?” replied the priest. “It appeared in the shape of a great ass.” “Go home, and hold your tongue about it,” rejoined the pastor, “you are a very timid man, and have been frightened by your own shadow.”
PROFESSIONAL ENTHUSIASM.
Brindley, an engineer, carried his attachment to artificial navigations so far, that when examined before the House of Commons he spoke of rivers with most sovereign contempt. One of the members asked him for what purpose he apprehended rivers to have been created? To this, after a moment’s pause, he replied, “To feed navigable canals.”
SYCOPHANCY CARICATURED.
At a time when Queen Elizabeth was making one of her progresses through the kingdom, a mayor of Coventry, attended by a large cavalcade, went out to meet her Majesty and usher her into the city with due formality. On their return, the weather being very hot, as they passed through a wide brook, Mr. Mayor’s horse several times attempted to drink, and each time his worship checked him, which her Majesty observing called out to him, “Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor! let your horse drink, Mr. Mayor;” but the magistrate, veiling his bonnet, and bowing very low, modestly answered, “Nay, nay, may it please your Majesty’s horse to drink first!”
A LACONIC LETTER FROM A CLERGYMAN TO HIS CURATE.
“I do not like your terms; my wife is very ill; and please God she but die, I’ll do the duty myself.”
A NEW TRANSLATION.