An auctioneer, at a sale of antiquities, put up a helmet, with the following candid observation:--“This, ladies and gentlemen, is a helmet of Romulus, the Roman Founder; but whether he was a brass or iron founder, I cannot tell.”
It was a beautiful turn given by a great lady, who, being asked where her husband was, when he lay concealed for being deeply concerned in a conspiracy, resolutely answered, “She had hid him.” This confession drew her before the king, who told her, nothing but her discovering where her lord was concealed, could save her from the torture. “And will that do?” said the lady. “Yes,” replied the king, “I give you my word for it.” “Then,” answered she, “I have hid him in my heart, where you’ll find him.” Which answer so charmed the king that he granted a free pardon to both the husband and wife.
Colonel Bond, who had been one of King Charles the First’s judges, died a day or two before Cromwell; and it was strongly reported everywhere that the Protector was dead. “No,” said a gentleman, who knew better, “he has only given _Bond_ to the devil for his further appearance.”
Lord Mansfield, being willing to save a man who stole a watch, desired the jury to value it at tenpence; upon which the prosecutor cried out, “Tenpence, my lord! why the very fashion of it cost me five pounds!” “Oh,” said his lordship, “We must not hang a man for _fashion’s sake_.”
An officer in the fleet of Earl St. Vincent, asked one of the captains, who was gallantly bearing down upon the Spanish fleet, “Whether he had reckoned the number of the enemy?” “No,” replied the latter, “it will be time enough to do that when we have made them strike!”
Mr. Pitt was forming a park about Walmer Castle, thinking to enclose it with posts and rails. As he was one day calculating the expense, a gentleman stood by, and told him that he did not go the cheapest way to work. “Why?” said the Premier. “Because,” replied the gentleman, “if you will find _posts_ the country will find _railing_.”
A young man, in a large company, descanting very flippantly on a subject, his knowledge of which was evidently very superficial, the Duchess of Devonshire asked his name. “’Tis Scarlet,” replied a gentleman who stood by. “That may be,” said her grace, “and yet he is not _deep read_.”