at Constantinople, he, with the rest of the gentlemen who were in a public
capacity at the same court, determined one day when there was to be a grand
banquet, to have each of them a dish dressed after the manner of their
respective countries; and Lord Paget, for the honour of England, ordered a
piece of _roast beef and a plum pudding_. The beef was easily cooked, but
the court cooks not knowing how to make a plum pudding, he gave them a
receipt:--"So many eggs, so much milk, so much flour, and a given quantity
of raisins; to be beaten up together, and boiled so many hours in so many
gallons of water." When dinner was served up, first came the French
ambassador's dish--then that of the Spanish ambassador--and next, two
fellows bearing an immense pan, and bawling, "_Room for the English
ambassador's dish!_" "Confound my stupidity!" cried his lordship; "I forgot
to tell them of the bag, and these stupid scoundrels have boiled it without
one; and in five gallons of water too. It will be good plum broth,
however!"
Dr. Kirwan, the celebrated Irish chemist, having one day at dinner with him
a party of friends, was descanting upon the antiseptic qualities of
charcoal, and added, that if a quantity of pulverised charcoal were boiled
together with tainted meat, it would remove all symptoms of putrescence,
and render it perfectly sweet. Shortly afterwards, the doctor helped a
gentleman to a slice of boiled leg of mutton, which was so far gone as to
shed an odour not very agreeable to the noses of the company. The gentleman
repeatedly turned it upon his plate, without venturing to taste it; and the
doctor observing him, said, "Sir, perhaps you don't like mutton?" "Oh, yes,
doctor," he replied, "I am very fond of mutton, but I do not think the cook
has boiled charcoal enough with it."
When the Archbishop of York sent Ben Jonson an excellent dish of fish from
his dinner table, but without drink, he said,--
"In a dish came fish
From the arch-bis-
Hop was not there,
Because there was no _beer_."
Poor-Man-of-Mutton is a term applied to a shoulder of mutton in Scotland
after it has been served as a roast at dinner, and appears as a broiled
bone at supper, or at the dinner next day. The late Earl of B., popularly
known as "Old Rag," being indisposed at a hotel in London, one morning the
landlord came to enumerate the good things in his larder, in order to
prevail on his guest to eat something, when his lordship replied,
"Landlord, I think I _could_ eat a morsel of a poor man;" which, with the
extreme ugliness of his lordship's countenance, so terrified the landlord,
that he fled from the room and tumbled down stairs, supposing the earl,
when at home, was in the habit of eating a joint of a vassal, or tenant
when his appetite was dainty.
Swift.--A gentleman, at whose house Swift was dining in Ireland, after
dinner introduced remarkably small hock glasses, and at length, turning to
Swift, addressed him,--"Mr. Dean, I shall be happy to take a glass of hic,
hæc, hoc, with you." "Sir," rejoined the doctor, "I shall be happy to
comply, but it must be out of a _hujus_ glass."
Swift, having a shoulder of mutton too much done brought up for his dinner,
sent for the cook, and told her to take the mutton down, and do it less.
"Please your honour, I cannot do it less." "But," said the dean, "if it had
not been done enough, you could have done it more, could you not?" "Oh,
yes, sir, very easily." "Why, then," said the dean, "for the future, when
you commit a fault, let it be such a one as can be mended."
DOCTORS.
Making Things Better.--A rich man sent to call a physician for a slight
disorder. The physician felt his pulse, and said, "Do you eat well?" "Yes,"
said the patient. "Do you sleep well?" "I do." "Oh, then," said the
physician, "I must give you something to take away all that."
Madame de Villecerf, who was brought to death in the flower of her age by
the unskilfulness of her surgeon, comforted him thus: "I do not look upon
you," she said, in dying, "as a person whose error has cost me my life, but
as a benefactor, who hastens my entry into a happy immortality. As the
world may judge otherwise, I have put you in a situation, by my will, to
quit your profession."
Willie Law, a half-witted man, was the descendant of an ancient family,
nearly related to the famous John Law, of Lauriston, the celebrated
financier of France. Willie on that account was often spoken to and taken
notice of by gentlemen of distinction. Posting one day through Kirkaldy,
with more than ordinary speed, he was met by Mr. Oswald, of Dunnikier, who
asked him where he was going in such a hurry. "Going!" says Willie, with
apparent surprise, "I'm gaen to my cousin Lord Elgin's burial." "Your
cousin Lord Elgin's burial, you fool! Lord Elgin's not dead," replied Mr.
Oswald. "Oh, never mind," quoth Willie; "there's six doctors out o'
Edinbro' at him, and they'll hae him dead afore I get there."
Physicians in China.--Caleb Colton, nephew of the late Sir George Staunton,
gives in a recent publication the following anecdote:--"My late uncle, Sir
G. Staunton, related to me a curious anecdote of old Kien Long, Emperor of
China. He was inquiring of Sir George the manner in which physicians were
paid in England. When, after some difficulty, his majesty was made to
comprehend the system, he exclaimed, 'Is any man well in England that can
afford to be ill? Now, I will inform you,' said he, 'how I manage my
physicians. I have four, to whom the care of my health is committed: a
certain weekly salary is allowed them; but the moment I am ill the salary
stops till I am well again. I need not tell you that my illnesses are
usually short.'"
Zimmerman, who was very eminent as a physician, went from Hanover to attend
Frederick the Great in his last illness. One day the king said to him, "You
have, I presume, sir, helped many a man into another world?" This was
rather a bitter pill for the doctor; but the dose he gave the king in
return was a judicious mixture of truth and flattery: "Not so many as your
majesty, nor with so much honour to myself."
Montaigne, who is great upon doctors, used to beseech his friends that if
he felt ill they would let him get a little stronger before sending for the
doctor.
Molière, when once travelling through Auvergne, was taken very ill at a
distance from any place where he could procure respectable medical aid. It
was proposed to him to send for a celebrated physician at Clermont. "No,
no," said he, "he is too great a man for me: go and bring me the village
surgeon; he will not, perhaps, have the hardihood to kill me so soon."
Louis XIV., who was a slave to his physicians, asked Molière one day what
he did with his doctor. "Oh, sire," said he, "when I am ill I send for him.
He comes; we have a chat, and enjoy ourselves. He prescribes;--I don't take
it, and I am cured."
General Guise going over one campaign to Flanders, observed a raw young
officer, who was in the same vessel with him, and with his usual humanity
told him that he would take care of him, and conduct him to Antwerp, where
they were both going, which he accordingly did, and then took leave of him.
The young fellow was soon told by some arch rogues, whom he happened to
fall in with, that he must signalise himself by fighting some man of known
courage, or else he would soon be despised in the regiment. The young man
said he knew no one but Colonel Guise, and he had received great
obligations from him. "It is all one for that," said they, "in these cases.
The Colonel is the fittest man in the world, as everybody knows his
bravery." Soon afterwards the young officer accosted Colonel Guise, as he
was walking up and down the coffee room, and began, in a hesitating manner,
to tell him how much obliged he had been to him, and how sensible he was of
his obligations. "Sir," replied Colonel Guise, "I have done my duty by you,
and no more." "But Colonel," added the young officer, faltering, "I am told
that I must fight some gentleman of known courage, and who has killed
several persons, and that nobody"--"Oh, sir," interrupted the Colonel,
"your friends do me too much honour; but there is a gentleman (pointing to
a fierce-looking black fellow that was sitting at one of the tables) who
has killed half the regiment, and who will suit you much better." The
officer went up to him, and told him he had heard of his bravery, and that
for that reason he must fight him. "Who?--I, sir?" said the gentleman;
"why, I am the _apothecary_."
Dr. Moore, author of "Zeluco," used to say that at least two-thirds of a
physician's fees were for imaginary complaints. Among several instances of
this nature, he mentions one of a clothier, who, after drinking the Bath
waters, took it into his head to try Bristol hot wells. Previous, however,
to his setting off, he requested his physician to favour him with a letter,
stating his case to any brother doctor. This done, the patient got into a
chaise and started. After proceeding half way, he felt curious to see the
contents of the letter, and on opening it, read as follows:--"Dear
Sir,--The bearer is a fat Wiltshire clothier: _make the most of him_." It
is almost unnecessary to add that his cure was from that moment effected,
as he ordered the chaise to turn, and immediately proceeded _home_.
Sir Charles Wager had a sovereign contempt for physicians, though he
believed a surgeon, in some cases, _might_ be of service. It happened that
Sir Charles was seized with a fever while he was out upon a cruise, and the
surgeon, without much difficulty, prevailed upon him to lose a little
blood, and suffer a blister to be laid on his back. By-and-bye it was
thought necessary to lay on another blister, and repeat the bleeding, to
which Sir Charles also consented. The symptoms then abated, and the surgeon
told him that he must now swallow a few bolusses, and take a draught. "No,
no, doctor," says Sir Charles, "you shall batter my hulk as long as you
will, but depend on it, you shan't _board_ me."
Nash and the Doctor.--When the celebrated Beau Nash was ill, Dr. Cheyne
wrote a prescription for him. The next day, the doctor coming to see his
patient, inquired if he had followed his prescription? "No, truly, doctor,"
said Nash; "if I had, I should have broken my neck, for I threw it out of a
two-pair-of-stairs window."
Gin _versus_ Medicine.--The celebrated Dr. Ward was not more remarkable for
humanity and skill than for wit and humour. An old woman, to whom he had
administered some medicines proper for a disorder under which she laboured,
applied to him, with a complaint that she had not experienced any kind of
effect from taking them. "No effect at all?" said the doctor. "None in the
least," replied the woman. "Why, then you should have taken a bumping glass
of gin." "So I did, sir." "Well, but when you found that did not succeed,
you should have taken another." "So I did, sir; and another after that."
"Oh, you did?" said the doctor; "aye, aye, it is just as I imagined: you
complain that you found no effect from my prescription, and you confess
yourself that you swallowed gin enough to counteract any medicine in the
whole system of physic."
Abernethy.--A Chancery barrister having been for a long while annoyed by an
irritable ulcer on one of his legs, called upon Mr. Abernethy for the
purpose of obtaining that gentleman's advice. The counsellor judging of an
ulcer as of a brief, that it must be seen before its nature could be
understood, was busily employed in removing his stocking and bandages, when
Mr. Abernethy abruptly advanced towards him, and exclaimed in a stentorian
voice, "Halloo! what are you about there? Put out your tongue, man! Aye,
there 'tis--I see it--I'm satisfied. Quite enough;--shut up your leg,
man--shut it up--shut it up! Go home and read my book, p.--, and take one
of the pills there mentioned every night on going to bed." The lawyer
handed over the fee, and was about to leave the room, when Mr. A. thus
accosted him: "Why, look here;--this is but a shilling!" The barrister
sarcastically replied, "Aye, there 'tis--I see it--I'm satisfied. Quite
enough, man;--shut it up--shut it up!" and hastily decamped from the room.
A lady, who had received a severe bite in her arm from a dog, went to Mr.
Abernethy, but knowing his aversion to hearing any statement of
particulars, she merely uncovered the injured part, and held it before him
in silence. After looking at it an instant, he said in an inquiring tone,
"Scratch?" "Bite," replied the lady. "Cat?" asked the doctor. "Dog,"
rejoined the patient. So delighted was Mr. A. with the brevity and
promptness of her answers, that he exclaimed, "Zounds, madam! you are the
most sensible woman I ever met with in my life."
Astley Cooper.--Probably no surgeon of ancient or modern times enjoyed a
greater share of reputation during his life than fell to the lot of Sir
Astley, and that in all parts of the world. We cannot give a better example
of this than the fact of his signature being received as a passport among
the mountains of Biscay by the wild followers of Don Carlos. A young
English surgeon, seeking for employment, was carried as a prisoner before
Zumalacarrequi, who demanded what testimonials he had of his calling or his
qualifications. Our countryman presented his diploma of the College of
Surgeons, and the name of Astley Paston Cooper, which was attached to it,
no sooner struck the eye of the Carlist leader, than he at once received
his prisoner with friendship, and appointed him a surgeon in his army.
THE DRAMA--ACTORS, ETC.
Shaving a Queen.--For some time after the restoration of Charles the
Second, young smooth-faced men performed the women's parts on the stage.
That monarch, coming before his usual time to hear Shakspeare's Hamlet,
sent the Earl of Rochester to know the reason of the delay; who brought
word back, that the queen was not quite shaved. "Ods fish" (his usual
expression), "I beg her majesty's pardon! we will wait till her barber is
done with her."
Liston, in his early career, was a favourite at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and
having applied to the manager for a remuneration equal to the increased
value of his services, he refused the request, adding, "If you are
dissatisfied you are welcome to leave me; such actors as you, sir, are to
be found in every bush." On the evening of the day when this colloquy
occurred, the manager was driving to another town, where he intended "to
carry on the war," when he perceived Liston standing in the middle of a
hedge by the road-side. "Good heavens! Liston," cried the manager, "what
are you doing there?" "Only looking for some of the actors you told me of
this morning," was the reply.
Good-natured Author.--The late M. Segur, among other literary productions,
supplied the French theatres with a number of pleasing trifles. If he was
not always successful, he was at least always gay in his reverses. When his
works were ill received by the public, he consoled himself for a failure by
a bon-mot; he made even a point of consoling his companions in misfortune.
A piece of his was once brought forward called the _Yellow Cabriolet_,
which happened to be condemned on the first representation. Some days
afterwards a piece, by another author, was presented, which was equally
unfortunate. The author, petrified at his failure, stood for a moment
immoveable. "Come, come, my dear sir," said M. Segur, "don't be cast down,
I will give you a seat in my _Yellow Cabriolet_."
A Heavy Play.--When Sir Charles Sedley's comedy of "Bellamira" was
performed, the roof of the theatre fell down, by which, however, few people
were hurt except the author. This occasioned Sir Fleetwood Shepherd to say,
"There was so much fire in his play, that it blew up the poet, house and
all." "No," replied the good-natured author, "the play was so heavy, that
it broke down the house, and buried the poor poet in his own rubbish."
Monsieur de la Motte, soon after the representation of his "Ines de
Castro," which was very successful, although much censured by the press,
was sitting one day in a coffee-house, when he heard several of the critics
abusing his play. Finding that he was unknown to them, he joined heartily
in abusing it himself. At length, after a great many sarcastic remarks, one
of them, yawning, said, "Well, what shall we do with ourselves this
evening?" "Why, suppose," said de la Motte, "we go to the _seventy-second_
representation of this bad play."
The Sailor and the Actress.--"When I was a poor girl," said the Duchess of
St. Albans, "working very hard for my thirty shillings a week, I went down
to Liverpool during the holidays, where I was always kindly received. I was
to perform in a new piece, something like those pretty little dramas they
get up now at our minor theatres; and in my character I represented a poor,
friendless orphan girl, reduced to the most wretched poverty. A heartless
tradesman prosecutes the sad heroine for a heavy debt, and insists on
putting her in prison unless some one will be bail for her. The girl
replies, 'Then I have no hope, I have not a friend in the world.' 'What?
will no one be bail for you, to save you from prison?' asks the stern
creditor. 'I have told you I have not a friend on earth,' is the reply. But
just as I was uttering the words, I saw a sailor in the upper gallery
springing over the railing, letting himself down from one tier to another,
until he bounded clear over the orchestra and footlights, and placed
himself beside me in a moment.' Yes, you shall have _one_ friend at least,
my poor young woman,' said he, with the greatest expression in his honest,
sunburnt countenance; 'I will go bail for you to any amount. And as for
_you_ (turning to the frightened actor), if you don't bear a hand, and
shift your moorings, you lubber, it will be worse for you when I come
athwart your bows.' Every creature in the house rose; the uproar was
perfectly indescribable; peals of laughter, screams of terror, cheers from
his tawny messmates in the gallery, preparatory scrapings of violins from
the orchestra, were mingled together; and amidst the universal din there
stood the unconscious cause of it, sheltering me, 'the poor, distressed
young woman,' and breathing defiance and destruction against my mimic
persecutor. He was only persuaded to relinquish his care of me by the
manager pretending to arrive and rescue me, with a profusion of theatrical
banknotes."
Kean.--In the second year of Kean's London triumph, an elderly lady, whose
sympathy had been excited by his forlorn condition in boyhood, but who had
lost sight of him in his wanderings till his sudden starting into fame
astonished the world, was induced, on renewing their acquaintance, to pay a
visit of some days to him and Mrs. Kean, at their residence in
Clarges-street. She made no secret of her intention to evince the interest
she felt in his welfare by a considerable bequest in her will; but, on
accompanying Mrs. K. to the theatre to see Kean perform _Luke_, she was so
appalled by the cold-blooded villany of the character, that, attributing
the skill of the actor to the actual possession of the fiendlike
attributes, her regard was turned into suspicion and distrust. She left
London the next day, and dying soon afterwards, it appeared that she had
altered her testamentary disposition of her property, which had once been
made in Kean's favour, and bequeathed the sum originally destined for him
to a distant relative, of whom she knew nothing but by name.
Mimic Reclaimed.--In the beginning of the last century, a comedian of the
name of Griffin, celebrated for his talents as a mimic, was employed by a
comic author to imitate the personal peculiarities of the celebrated Dr.
Woodward, whom he intended to be introduced in a comedy as _Dr. Fossil_.
The mimic, dressed as a countryman, waited on the doctor with a long
catalogue of complaints with which he said his wife was afflicted. The
physician heard with amazement diseases and pains of the most opposite
nature, repeated and redoubled on the wretched patient. The actor having
thus detained the doctor until he thought himself completely master of his
errand, presented him with a guinea as his fee. "Put up thy money, poor
fellow," cried the doctor, "thou hast need of all thy cash, and all thy
patience, too, with such a bundle of diseases tied to thy back." The mimic
returned to his employer, who was in raptures at his success, until he told
him that he would sooner die than prostitute his talents to render such
genuine humanity food for diversion.
Senesino and Farinelli, when in England together, being engaged at
different theatres on the same night, had not an opportunity of hearing
each other, till, by one of those sudden revolutions which frequently
happen, yet are always unexpected, they were both employed to sing on the
same stage. Senesino had the part of a furious tyrant to represent and
Farinelli that of an unfortunate hero in chains; but in the course of the
very first song, the latter so softened the heart of the enraged tyrant,
that Senesino, forgetting his assumed character, ran to Farinelli and
embraced him.
Weeping at a Play.--It is a prevailing folly to be ashamed to shed a tear
at any part of a tragedy, however affecting. "The reason," says the
Spectator, "is, that persons think it makes them look ridiculous, by
betraying the weakness of their nature. But why may not nature show itself
in tragedy, as well as in comedy or farce? We see persons not ashamed to
laugh loudly at the humour of a Falstaff,--or the tricks of a harlequin;
and why should not the tear be equally allowed to flow for the misfortunes
of a Juliet, or the forlornness of an Ophelia?" Sir Richard Steele records
on this subject a saying of Mr. Wilks the actor, as just as it was polite.
Being told in the green-room that there was a general in the boxes weeping
for Juliana, he observed with a smile, "_And I warrant you, sir, he'll
fight ne'er the worse for that_."
Dramatic Effect.--It is related in the annals of the stage, as a remarkable
instance of the force of imagination, that when Banks's play of the _Earl
of Essex_ was performed, a soldier, who stood sentinel on the stage,
entered so deeply into the distress of the scene, that in the delusion of
his imagination, upon the Countess of Nottingham's denying the receipt of
the ring which Essex had sent by her to the queen to claim a promise of
favour, he exclaimed, "'Tis false! she has it in her bosom;" and
immediately seized the mock countess to make her deliver it up.
Charles Hulet, a comedian of some celebrity in the early part of the last
century, was an apprentice to a bookseller. After reading plays in his
master's shop, he used to repeat the speeches in the kitchen, in the
evening, to the destruction of many a chair, which he substituted in the
room of the real persons in the drama. One night, as he was repeating the
part of Alexander, with his wooden representative of Clitus, (an elbow
chair), and coming to the speech where the old general is to be killed,
this young mock Alexander snatched a poker, instead of a javelin, and threw
it with such strength, against poor Clitus, that the chair was killed upon
the spot, and lay mangled on the floor. The death of Clitus made a
monstrous noise, which disturbed the master in the parlour, who called out
to know the reason; and was answered by the cook below, "Nothing, sir, but
that Alexander has killed Clitus."
Goldsmith's Marlow.--Mr. Lewis Grummit, an eminent grazier of Lincolnshire,
met late one night a commercial traveller who had mistaken his road, and
inquired the way to the nearest inn or public house. Mr. G. replied, that
as he was a stranger, he would show him the way to a quiet respectable
house of public entertainment for man and horse; and took him to his own
residence. The traveller, by the perfect ease and confidence of his manner,
shewed the success of his host's stratagem; and every thing that he called
for, was instantly provided for himself and his horse. In the morning he
called, in an authoritative tone, for his bill, and the hospitable landlord
had all the recompense he desired in the surprise and altered manners of
his guest. It was from this incident that Dr. Goldsmith took the hint of
Marlow mistaking the house of Mr. Hardcastle for an inn, in the comedy of
"_She Stoops to Conquer_."