A lady who kept a boarding-school some years ago, near London, wrote a novel, in which, among other extravagant expressions, occurred the following: – “His Lordship could not weep; the tale of sorrow had frozen his lachrymal canals.” A person to whom the fair author lent a copy of her work, returned it, after a perusal, with this note appended in pencil to the word canals: “Madam, I am a keen skater; would they bear?”
This famous lady, who wrote many plays and romances, in the most extravagant taste of the reign of Charles II., asked Bishop Wilkins, how she could get up to the world he had discovered in the moon; for, as the way must needs be long, a person travelling thither would require to have some resting places by the way? “Oh, madam,” said the bishop, “your grace, who has built so many castles in the air, can be at no loss.”
Mr. Pennant had an unaccountable antipathy to wigs. Dining at Chester with an officer who wore a wig, when they had drunk pretty freely, he, after much impatience, and many wistful looks, started up, seized the wig, and threw it into the fire. It was in flames in a moment, and so was the officer, who ran to his sword. Down stairs flew Pennant, and the officer after him, through all the streets of Chester. But Pennant escaped from superior local knowledge. This a wag called Pennant’s Tour in Chester.
A felon who was just on the point of being turned off, asked the hangman if he had any message to send to the place where he was going? “I will trouble you with a line,” replied the finisher of the law, placing the cord under his left ear.
Dryden and Otway lived opposite to each other in Queen Street. Otway coming one night from the tavern, chalked upon Dryden’s door, “Here lives John Dryden; he is a wit.” Dryden knew his handwriting, and, next day, chalked on Otway’s door, “Here lives Tom Otway; he is oppo-site.”
“With regard to purgatory,” says an old popish writer, “with regard to purgatory, I will not say a great deal; but this much I think, – that the Protestants may go farther, and fare worse.”
It being proved, on a trial at Guildhall, that a man’s name was really Inch, who pretended that it was Linch. “I see,” said the judge, “the old proverb is verified in this man, who being allowed an Inch, has taken an L.”