A TERRIBLE THING OUT-TERRIBLED.
A dull play-wright, about to read one of his compositions in the green-room at Drury Lane, observed, that he knew nothing so terrible as reading a piece before such a critical audience. “I know one thing more terrible,” said Mrs. Powell. “What can that be?” asked the author. “To be obliged to sit and hear it.”
WRECKERS.
The people at a certain part of the coast of Cornwall, where wrecks frequently happen, used to be so demoralized by the unrestrained plunder of the unfortunate vessels, that they lost almost every humane feeling. It is said that even the clergy sunk under the dominion of this species of selfishness, and were almost as bad as the people. One Sunday, the news of a wreck was promulgated to a congregation engaged in public worship; and in an instant all were eagerly hurrying out at the door, to set off towards the spot. The clergyman hereupon called, in a most emphatic voice, that he only desired to say five more words to them. They turned with impatient attention to hear him. He approached, as if to address them; when, having got to the front of the throng, “Now,” says he, “let us start fair!” and off he ran, all the rest following him, towards the place where the wreck had happened, which, it is believed, he was the first to reach.
SIR ISAAC NEWTON.
All the world has heard of Sir Isaac Newton roasting himself before a great fire, till informed of the possibility of escaping the fate he apprehended by pushing back his chair. The story of his employing the finger of a lady, whom he was courting, as a tobacco-stopper is equally well-known. Not so that which follows:—Dr. Stukely, one day visiting Sir Isaac by appointment, was told by a servant that the philosopher was in his study. No one was permitted to disturb him there; but as it was near dinner time the visitor sat down to wait for him. After a time, dinner was brought in—a boiled chicken under a cover. An hour passed, and Sir Isaac did not appear. The doctor ate the fowl, and, covering up the empty dish, bade the servant dress another for her master. Before that was ready the great man came down; he apologised for his delay, and added, “Give me but leave to take my short dinner, and I shall be at your service; I am fatigued and faint.” Saying this, he lifted the cover, and, without any emotion, turned about to Stukely with a smile: “See,” says he, “what we studious people are; I forgot I had dined.”
INDIRECT ANSWER.
A person employed by a sick gentleman to read to him, very soon evinced a great aptitude to stumble whenever he came to any word not belonging to his mother tongue. Tired with this at length, the sick man asked him if he really pretended to know any other language than his own. “Why, really sir,” answered the unfortunate reader, “I cannot exactly say I do; but I have a brother who is perfectly acquainted with French.”
JOHN BUNYAN.
What are now denominated mince pies were formerly called Christmas pies. When John Bunyan, author of the Pilgrim’s Progress, was in Shrewsbury gaol for preaching and praying, a gentleman who knew his abhorrence of anything Popish, and wished to play upon his peculiarity, one 25th of December sent his servant to the poor puritan, and desired his acceptance of a large Christmas pie. John took little time to consider; but, seizing the pastry, desired the messenger to thank his master, and “Tell him,” added he, “I have lived long enough, and am now hungry enough, to know the difference between Christmas and pie.”