Part 69

"The Bishops should be standing before the pay-table, and receiving their weekly allowance; Lord John and Spring Rice counting, ringing, and biting the sovereigns, and the Bishop of Exeter insisting that the Chancellor of the Exchequer has given him one which was not weight. Viscount Melbourne, in high chuckle, should be standing with his hat on, and his back to the fire, delighted with the contest; and the Deans and Canons should be in the background waiting till their turn came, and the Bishops were paid; and among them a Canon of large composition, urging them not to give way too much to the Bench. Perhaps I should add the President of the Board of Trade, recommending the truck principle to the Bishops, and offering to pay them in hassocks, cassocks, aprons, shovel-hats, sermon-cases, and such like ecclesiastical gear."

"Rather Than Otherwise."

Theodore Hook gives somewhere a finished trait of one of those characters who are so dreadfully tenacious of truth, that they will not risk losing their hold of it by a direct answer to the simplest question. A gentleman who was very much in debt had a servant with this sort of scrupulous conscientiousness. He was horribly dunned and in such daily danger of arrest, that the sight of a red waistcoat (which the myrmidons of the sheriff wore in the last century) threw him into a sort of scarlet fever. One day he had reason to believe that during his absence an unpleasant visitor of that description had called, and on returning, he was very particular in his inquiries respecting the persons who had been at the house. His cautious servant partly described one calling who excited his alarm. "What kind of man was he?" The girl could not say. "Had he any papers in his hand?" She did not observe. "Did he wear top-boots?" The cautious housemaid could not charge her memory. At last, as a final effort to satisfy his curiosity, the tantalized debtor gasped out a final question, "Had he," he asked almost dreading the answer, "a red waistcoat?" The girl stood for a moment in an attitude of profound cogitation, and after she had worked up her master to the highest pitch of impatience by delay, drawled out, "Well, sir, I think he had--rather than otherwise."

Classic Soup Distribution.

While the Relief Act was in operation in Ireland, in time of famine, one of the committees received the following answer to an advertisement for the post of clerk:--

"Qui Bavium non odit, amet tua carmina, Mævi."

VIRG. Ecl. iii., 90.

"Ego sum--I am Parvus homo--A little man, Aptus vivere--Fit to live In quod dabis--On what you'll give; Per totam diem--And, the whole day, Familiariter--'In the family way.' Distribuere--Out to deal Farinam Indicam--Indian meal, Aut jus Soyerum--Or Soyer's soup, Multo agmini--To many a troup, Mulierum et hominum--Of woman and man Stanneo vase--With a tin can. Hoc tibi mitto--I send this in, (Ne peccatum--No Murtherin' sin,) Nam locum quæro--For a place I seek, Ut quaque hebdomada--That every week Fruar et potiar--We may 'hob and nob' Quindecem 'Robertullis'--On Fifteen 'Bob.'"

CAIUS JULIUS BATTUS, Philomath.

"Ballinahown, v. Prid. 1 d. Maii, MDCCCLVII."

The Irish paper from which this is taken adds, that the classic candidate was rejected.

Alphabet Single Rhymed.

An eccentric Correspondent of Notes and Queries, who signs "Eighty-one," has sent to that journal the following amusing trifle--an Alphabet constructed on a single rhyme:--

"A was an Army, to settle disputes; B was a Bull, not the mildest of brutes; C was a Cheque, duly drawn upon Coutts; D was King David, with harps and with lutes; E was an Emperor, hailed with salutes; F was a Funeral, followed by mutes; G was a Gallant, in Wellington boots; H was a Hermit, and lived upon roots; J was Justinian, his Institutes; K was a Keeper, who commonly shoots; L was a Lemon, the sourest of fruits; M was a Ministry--say Lord Bute's; N was Nicholson, famous on flutes; O was an Owl, that hisses and hoots; P was a Pond, full of leeches and newts; Q was a Quaker, in whitey-brown suits; R was a Reason, which Paley refutes; S was a Serjeant, with twenty recruits; T was Ten Tories, of doubtful reputes; U was uncommonly bad cheroots; V vicious motives, which malice imputes; X an Ex-King, driven out by émeutes; Y is a Yawn; then the last rhyme that suits, Z is the Zuyder Zee, dwelt in by coots."

Non Sequitur and Therefore.

Lord Avonmore was subject to perpetual fits of absence of mind, and was frequently insensible to the conversation that was going on. He was wrapped in one of his wonted reveries, and not hearing one syllable of what was passing (it was at a large professional dinner given by Mr. Burke), Curran, who was sitting next to his Lordship, having been called on for a toast, gave, "All our absent friends," patting at the same time Lord Avonmore on the shoulder and telling him he had just drunk his health. Taking the intimation as a serious one, Avonmore rose, and apologizing for his inattention, returned thanks to the company for the honour they had done him by drinking his health.

There was a curious character, Serjeant Kelly, at the Irish bar. He was, in his day, a man of celebrity. Curran used to give some odd sketches of him. His most whimsical peculiarity was his inveterate habit of drawing conclusions directly at variance with his premises. He had acquired the name of Serjeant Therefore. Curran said that he was a perfect human personification of a non sequitur. For instance, meeting Curran one Sunday, near St. Patrick's, he said to him, "The Archbishop gave us an excellent discourse this morning. It was well written and well delivered: therefore I shall make a point of being at the Four Courts to-morrow at ten." At another time, observing to a person whom he met in the street, "What a delightful morning this is for walking!" he finished his remark on the weather by saying, "therefore, I will go home as soon as I can, and stir out no more the whole day."

His speeches in Court were interminable, and his therefore kept him going on, though every one thought that he had done. The whole Court was in a titter when the Serjeant came out with them, whilst he himself was quite unconscious of the cause of it.

"This is so clear a point, gentlemen," he would tell the jury, "that I am convinced you felt it to be so the very moment I stated it. I should pay your understanding but a poor compliment to dwell on it for a minute; therefore, I shall now proceed to explain it to you as minutely as possible." Into such absurdities did the Serjeant's favourite "therefore" betray him.

INDEX.

Abbey, Fonthill, building of, 6

Abershawe, Jerry, gratitude of, 546

Ackermann, the publisher, and William Combe, 474

Adams, Jack, the astrologer of Clerkenwell Green, 130

Advertising for a wife, 95

Agapemone, the, or abode of love, 68

Albemarle, the eccentric Duchess of, 519

Alchemists, modern, 124-29