A string of echo puns surpassing all others, may be seen in a scarce work, published in the reign of James I. A specimen—a divine, willing to play more with words, than to be serious in the expounding of his text, spoke thus in one part of the sermon:—"This dyall shewes we must die all; yet, notwithstanding, all howses are turned into ale-houses; our cares are turned into cates; our paradise, into, a pair of dice; our marriage, into a merry age; our matrimony, into a matter of money; our divines, into dry vines. It was not so in the days of Noah, Ah no!"—T.G.
Advertisement Extraordinary, from a Newspaper of 1796.—"Whereas the right hon. William Pitt, Chancellor of his Majesty's Exchequer, did on the night of Monday last, and on or about the hour of six o'clock, utter in his place in the House of Commons, certain sentences or phrases, containing several assurances, denials, promises, retractions, persuasions, explanations, hints, insinuations, and intimations, and expressing much hope, fear, joy, sorrow, confidence, and doubt, upon the subject of peace, then and there recommended by Charles Grey, esq., member of the aforesaid House of Commons, for the county of Northumberland; and whereas the entire effectual and certain meaning of the whole of the said sentences, phrases, denials, promises, retractions, persuasions, explanations, hints, insinuations, and intimations, has escaped and fled, so that what remains is to plain understandings incomprehensible, and to many good men is matter of painful contemplation: now this is to promise to any person who shall restore the said lost meaning, or shall illustrate, simplify, and explain the said meaning, the sum of five thousand pounds, to be paid on the first day of April next, at the office of John Bull, esq., Pay-All and Fight-All, to the several high contracting powers, engaged in the present just and necessary war!
"Done at the office of Mr. John Bull's Chief Decypherer, Turnagain Lane, Circumbendibus Street, Obscurity Square, Feb. 18, 1796."
Cheap Soup.—Take ten quarts of water, and stir it with a rush-light till it boils; season it to your liking, and it is ready for use. N.B. The wick may be bolted.—Monthly Mag.
Epitaph on the death of Miss Eliza More, aged 14.
Here lies who never lied before,
And one who will never lie More,