DIRTY HANDS.
A well beneficed old parson being at a public dinner, he entertained them with nothing else but the situation and profits of his parochial livings, which last, he said, he kept entirely to himself. The company in general despised him too much to make any remarks on his egotisms; but Quin being of the party, and observing the parson, as he stretched across the table, to shew a pair of very dirty yellow hands, he immediately called out,—“So, so, doctor, I think you do keep your glebe in your own hands.”
MESS-ROOM GOSSIP.
The late Duke of York once remarked to Colonel W. at the mess of the 11th regiment, that the colonel was uncommonly bald, and, although a younger man than his royal highness, he stood in more need of a wig. The colonel, who had been of very long standing in the service, and whose promotion had been by no means rapid, informed his royal highness that his baldness could be very easily accounted for. “In what manner?” asked his royal highness, rather eagerly. To which Colonel W. replied, “By junior officers stepping over my head.” The duke was so pleased with the reply, that the gallant colonel obtained promotion in a few days afterwards.
BEAU BRUMMELL.
When Brummell was the great oracle on coats, the Duke of Leinster was very anxious to bespeak the approbation of the “Emperor of the Dandies,” for a “cut” which he had just patronised. The duke, in the course of his eulogy on his Schneider, had frequently occasion to use the words “my coat.” “Your coat, my dear fellow!” said Brummell, “what coat?” “Why, this coat,” said Leinster; “this coat that I have on.” Brummell, after regarding the vestment with an air of infinite scorn, walked up to the duke, and, taking the collar between his finger and thumb, as if fearful of contamination, said, “What! duke, do you call that thing a coat?”
COUNSELLOR C——.
Counsellor C—— being very infirm and goutified from his excesses, meeting one day with an old friend of his, a permit officer of the custom-house, the latter asked how he did? “Ah?” says the counsellor, “you will not have me long amongst you.” “Come, come,” says the other, “do not be cast down; you shall not have a permit to die yet a while.” “Shall not I, indeed?” says the counsellor; “why, then, I would have you keep a sharp look-out for death; for, if you don’t, I am afraid he will smuggle me.”
PURITANISM AT BOWLS.
The Puritans carried their peculiar tenets into the minutest affairs of life. When Lord Brook, one of the number played at bowls, he would sometimes run after his cast, and cry, “Rub, rub, rub,” in the eager, but absurd hope that such a cry would give effect to his play. On such occasions, his chaplain would run after him with equal eagerness, and earnestly exclaim, “Oh, good my lord, you must leave that to God.”