Upon another occasion, the blank form for the income-tax return was sent in to Mr. Tooke to be filled up. He inserted the word "Nil," signed it, and returned it to the board of county magistrates. Shortly afterward he was called before this honorable body of gentlemen to make an explanation. "What do you mean by 'Nil,' sir?" asked the most ponderous of the gentlemen upon the bench. "I mean literally 'Nil,'" answered the wag.
"We perfectly understand the meaning of the Latin word Nil—nothing," rejoined the magistrate, with an air of self-congratulation upon his learning. "But do you mean to say, sir, that you live without any income at all—that you live upon nothing?"
"Upon nothing but my brains, gentlemen," was Tooke's answer.
"Upon nothing but his brains!" exclaimed the presiding dignitary to his associates. "It seems to me that this is a novel source of income."
"Ah, gentlemen," retorted the humorist, "it is not every man that has brains to mortgage."
In nothing is the irregularity of our orthography shown more than in the pronunciation of certain proper names. The English noble names of Beauchamp, Beauvoir, and Cholmondeley are pronounced respectively Beechum, Beaver, and Chumley.
One of the "Anglo-Saxun" reformers, meeting Lord Cholmondeley one day coming out of his own house, and not being acquainted with his Lordship's person, asked him if Lord Chol-mon-de-ley (pronouncing each syllable distinctly), was at home? "No," replied the Peer, without hesitation, "nor any of his pe-o-ple."
Before commons were abolished at Yale College, it used to be customary for the steward to provide turkeys for the Thanksgiving dinner. As visits of poultry to the "Hall" table were "few and far between," this feast was looked forward to with anxious interest by all the students. The birds, divested of their feathers, were ordinarily deposited over-night in some place of safety—not unfrequently in the Treasurer's office.