In a country playhouse, after the play was over, and most wretchedly performed, an actor came upon the stage to give out the next play. “Pray,” says a gentleman, “what is the name of the piece you have played to-night.” “The Stage-coach, sir.” “Then let me know when you perform it again, that I may be an outside passenger.”
ANSER CAPITOLINUS.
“Boy, what have you got before you there?” cried a pursy old doctor of divinity, who sat at the head of a table in one of the colleges of Oxford, to a young man a good way down. “Anser Capitolinus,” cried the boy in reply. “A capital answer,” roared the doctor; “send me a wing.”
LORD BATEMAN.
In 1781, Lord Bateman waited upon the king, and with a very low bow, begged to know “at what hour his majesty would please to have the stag hounds turned out.” “I cannot exactly answer that,” replied the king, “but I can inform you, that your lordship was turned out about two hours ago.” The Marquis Caermarthen succeeded him.
WAY TO TURNHAM GREEN.
Oliver Goldsmith being at supper one night with a lady, who was making an apology for the brownness of her pickles, very gravely desired her to send them to Hammersmith. “To Hammersmith, doctor!” says the lady; “why, is there any thing particular in that place?” “O yes, madam,” says he, “that is the way to Turn’em Green.”
A JIBE AT THE SCOTCH.
In a company where Johnson and Foote were together, the emigration of the Scotch to London became the subject of conversation: Foote insisted that the emigrants were as numerous in the former, as in the present reign; the doctor the contrary: this dispute continued with a friendly warmth for some time, when Johnson called out, “You are certainly wrong, Sam; but I see how you are deceived; you cannot distinguish them now as formerly, for the fellows all come breeched to the capital of late years.”
POLITICAL BON-MOT.