As the late Earl of Chesterfield and Lord Petre were once stepping out of a carriage, a great lamp, oil and all, fell from the centre of an iron arch before the house, missing Lord Petre by about half-an-inch. “Oh, my lord,” said he, “I was near being gone!” “Why, yes,” replied the Earl coolly, “but there would certainly have been one comfort attending the accident, since you must infallibly have received extreme unction before you went.”

RICH AND THE HACKNEY COACHMAN.

As Rich, the harlequin, was one evening returning home from the playhouse in a hackney coach, he ordered the coachman to drive him to the Sun, then a famous tavern in Clare Market. Just as the coach passed one of the windows of the tavern, Rich, who perceived it to be open, dexterously threw himself out of the coach-window into the room. The coachman, who saw nothing of this transaction, drew up, descended from his box, opened the coach door, and let down the step; then, taking off his hat, he waited for some time, expecting his fare to alight; but at length, looking into the coach, and seeing it empty, he bestowed a few hearty curses on the rascal who had bilked him, remounted his box, turned about, and was driving back to the stand; when Rich, who had watched his opportunity, threw himself into the coach, looked out, asked the fellow where the devil he was driving, and desired him to turn again. The coachman, almost petrified with fear, instantly obeyed, and once more drew up to the door of the tavern. Rich now got out; and, after reproaching the fellow with stupidity, tendered him his money. “No, God bless your honour,” said the coachman, “my master has ordered me to take no money to-night.” “Pshaw!” said Rich, “your master’s a fool; here’s a shilling for yourself.” “No, no,” said the coachman, who by that time had remounted his box, “that won’t do; I know you too well, for all your shoes—and so, Mr. Devil, for once you’re outwitted!”

NEAREST ROAD TO HELL.

The Earl of Rochester once endeavoured to throw off his wit upon a young academic at Oxford, by thus accosting him:—

“Pray, Mr. Student, can you tell,

Which is the nearest way to Hell?”

The other instantly retorted,—

“Some say Woodstock, I say nay,

For Rochester’s the nearest way.”