A Mr. Topham, who was many inches above the usual stature of men, used to tell an amusing story of himself. Going once to inquire for a person, he looked in at the window over the door, and asked an old woman who sat by the fire if her husband was at home. “No, sir,” said she; “but if you will please to _alight_ and come in, I will go and call him.”
A gentleman happening to have high words with a butcher in St. James’s market, was at last so provoked, that he raised his cane, and threatened to give him a good dressing. “No Master,” said his antagonist, “it shall only be lent, and I will take care it shall be repaid with interest.”
There was little piety in the army in the reign of the second George. It is told of an officer, who was desirous of presenting a petition to that monarch, and who requested a friend’s assistance in drawing it up, that, finding it concluded as usual, “And your petitioner shall ever pray,” he exclaimed, “_Pray!_ I never prayed in my life, and shall not begin now: why should I tell a lie to his majesty?” So he substituted, “And your petitioner shall ever _fight_.” The king laughed heartily at this eccentricity, and granted the officer his request.
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.”
“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.”
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.
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_.”