The Jest Book<br />The Choicest Anecdotes and Sayings by Mark Lemon (speed reading book txt) 📕

To hear Dash by the hour blunder forth his vile prose,
Job himself scarcely patience could keep;
He's so dull that each moment we're ready to doze,
Yet so noisy we can't go to sleep.
MDLVIII.—DRY HUMOR.

An Irish post-boy having driven a gentleman a long stage during torrents of rain, was asked if he was not very wet? "Arrah! I wouldn't care about being very wet, if I wasn't so very dry, your honor."

MDLIX.—CHANGE FOR A GUINEA.

The beautiful Lady Coventry was exhibiting to Selwyn a splendid new dress, covered with large silver spangles, the size of a shilling, and inquired of him whether he admired her taste. "Why," he said, "you will be change for a guinea."

MDLX.—AS BLACK AS HE COULD BE PAINTED.

A little boy one day came running home, and said, "O father, I've just seen the blackest man that ever was!"—"How black was he, my son?"—"O, he was as black as black can be! why, father, charcoal would make a white mark on him!"

MDLXI.—A MAN AND A BROTHER.

Harry Woodward, walking with a friend, met a most miserable object, who earnestly solicited their charity. On Woodward giving a few pence, his friend said, "I believe that fellow is an impostor."—"He is either the[Pg 338] most distressed man, or the best actor, I ever saw in my life," replied the comedian: "and, as either one or the other, he has a brotherly claim upon me."

MDLXII.—PULLING UP A POET.

A poet was once walking with T——, in the street, reciting some of his verses. T—— perceiving, at a short distance, a man yawning, pointed him out to the poet, saying, "Not so loud, he hears you."

MDLXIII.—AN HONOR TO TIPPERARY.

A gentleman from Ireland, on entering a London tavern, saw a countryman of his, a Tipperary squire, sitting over his pint of wine in the coffee-room. "My dear fellow," said he, "what are you about? For the honor of Tipperary, don't be after sitting over a pint of wine in a house like this!"—"Make yourself aisy, countryman," was the reply, "It's the seventh I have had, and every one in the room knows it."

MDLXIV.—WITTY THANKSGIVING.

Barham having sent his friend, Sydney Smith, a brace of pheasants, the present was acknowledged in the following characteristic epistle: "Many thanks, my dear sir, for your kind present of game. If there is a pure and elevated pleasure in this world, it is that of roast pheasant and bread sauce; barn-door fowls for dissenters, but for the real churchman, the thirty-nine times articled clerk, the pheasant, the pheasant.—Ever yours, S.S."

MDLXV.—A REASON FOR NOT MOVING.

Thomson, the author of the "Seasons," was wonderfully indolent. A friend entered his room, and finding him in bed, although the day was far spent, asked him why he did not get up. "Man, I hae nae motive," replied the poet.

MDLXVI.—KILLED BY HIS OWN REMEDY.

The surgeon of an English ship of war used to prescribe salt water for his patients in all disorders. Having sailed[Pg 339] one evening on a party of pleasure, he happened by some mischance to be drowned. The captain, who had not heard of the disaster, asked one of the tars next day if he had heard anything of the doctor. "Yes," answered Jack: "he was drowned last night in his own medicine chest."

MDLXVII.—NOTHING SURPRISING.

Admiral Lee, when only a post captain, being on board his ship one very rainy and stormy night, the officer of the watch came down to his cabin and cried, "Sir, the sheet-anchor is coming home."—"Indeed," says the captain, "I think the sheet-anchor is perfectly in the right of it. I don't know what would stay out such a stormy night as this."

MDLXVIII.—RUNNING NO RISK.