involuntary fit of laughter, which subjected him to the severe rebuke of
his auditors. It happened in the scene of Romeo and the apothecary, who,
going for the phial of poison, found it broken; not to detain the scene, he
snatched, in a hurry, a pot of soft pomatum. Quick was no sooner presented
with it, than he fell into a convulsive fit of laughter. But, being soon
recalled to a sense of his duty by the reproofs of the audience, he came
forward and made the following whimsical apology:--"Ladies and gentlemen, I
could not resist the idea that struck me when the pot of pomatum, instead
of the phial of poison, was presented. Had he at the same time given me a
tea-spoon, it would not have been so improper; for the poison might have
been made up as a lenitive electuary. But, if you please, ladies and
gentlemen, we will begin the scene again without laughing."
Garrick and Rich.--Soon after the appearance of Garrick at the theatre of
Drury Lane, to which he, by his astonishing powers, brought all the world,
while Mr. Rich was playing his pantomimes at Covent Garden to empty
benches, he and Mr. Garrick happened to meet one morning at the Bedford
coffee-house. Having fallen into conversation, Garrick asked the Covent
Garden manager, how much his house would hold, when crowded with company.
"Why, master," said Rich, "I cannot well tell; but if you will come and
play Richard for one night, I shall be able to give an account."
Morand, author of _Le Capricieuse_, was in a box of the theatre during the
first representation of that comedy; the pit loudly expressing
disapprobation at the extravagance and improbability of some traits in this
character, the author became impatient; he put his head out of the box, and
called, "Know, gentlemen, that this is the very picture of my
mother-in-law. What do you say now?"
Foote, on his last journey to France for the recovery of his health, while
waiting for the packet, entered the kitchen of the Ship tavern at Dover,
and, addressing the cook, who prided herself in never having been ten miles
out of town, exclaimed, "Why, cookee, I understand you have been a great
traveller." She denying the charge, Foote replied, "Why, they tell me up
stairs that you have been all over _Grease_, and I am sure I have seen you
myself at _Spithead_."
A person talking to Foote of an acquaintance of his, who was so avaricious
as even to lament the prospect of his funeral expences, though a short time
before he had been censuring one of his own relations for his parsimonious
temper--"Now is it not strange," continued he, "that this man would not
remove the beam from his own eye, before he attempted to take the mote out
of other peoples?" "Why, so I dare say he would," cried Foote, "if he were
sure of selling the timber."
DUTY.
General Mackenzie, when commander-in-chief of the Chatham division of
marines, during the late war, was very rigid as to duty; and, among other
regulations, would suffer no officer to be saluted on guard if out of his
uniform. It one day happened that the general observed a lieutenant of
marines in a plain dress, and, though he knew the young officer quite
intimately, he called to the sentinel to turn him out. The officer appealed
to the general, saying who he was; "I know you not," said the general;
"turn him out." A short time after, the general had been at a small
distance from Chatham, to pay a visit, and returning in the evening in a
blue coat, claimed entrance at the yard gate. The sentinel demanded the
countersign, which the general not knowing, desired the officer of the
guard to be sent for, who proved to be the lieutenant whom the general had
treated so cavalierly.--"Who are you?" inquired the officer.--"I am General
Mackenzie," was the reply.--"What, without an uniform?" rejoined the
lieutenant; "oh, get back, get back, impostor; the general would break your
bones if he knew you assumed his name." The general on this made his
retreat; and the next day, inviting the young officer to breakfast, told
him--"He had done his duty with very commendable exactness."
Morvilliers, keeper of the seals to Charles the Ninth of France, was one
day ordered by his sovereign to put the seals to the pardon of a nobleman
who had committed murder. He refused. The king then took the seals out of
his hands, and having put them himself to the instrument of remission,
returned them immediately to Morvilliers, who refused to take them again,
saying, "The seals have twice put me in a situation of great honour: once
when I received them, and again when I resigned them."
Louis the Fourteenth had granted a pardon to a nobleman who had committed
some very great crime. M. Voisin, the chancellor, ran to him in his
closet, and exclaimed, "Sire, you cannot pardon a person in the situation
of Mr. ----." "I have promised him," replied the king, who was always
impatient of contradiction; "go and fetch the great seal." "But sire--."
"Pray, sir, do as I order you." The chancellor returned with the seals;
Louis applied them himself to the instrument containing the pardon, and
gives them again to the chancellor. "They are polluted, now, sire,"
exclaimed the intrepid and excellent magistrate, pushing them from him on
the table, "I cannot take them again." "What an impracticable man!" cried
the monarch, and threw the pardon into the fire. "I will now, sire, take
them again," said the chancellor; "fire purifies all things."
FIDELITY.
Old Ambrose.--Among the few individuals who accompanied James II. to
France, when he was dethroned, was Madame de Varonne, a lady of good
family, but of ruined fortune. She was compelled to part with all her
servants successively, until she came to her footman, Ambrose, who had
lived with her twenty years; and who, although of an austere deportment,
was a faithful and valuable servant. At length her resources would not
permit her to retain even Ambrose, and she told him he must seek another
place. "Another place!" exclaimed the astonished servant; "No; I will never
quit you, let what will happen; I will live and die in your service." In
vain was Ambrose told by his mistress that she was totally ruined; that she
had sold every thing she had, and that she had no other means of
subsistence than by seeking some employment for herself. Ambrose protested
he would not quit his mistress; he brought her his scanty savings of twenty
years, and engaged himself to a brazier for tenpence a day and his board.
The money he brought every evening to his mistress, whom he thus supported
for four years; at the end of which time she received a pension from the
French king, which enabled her to reward the remarkable fidelity of her old
servant.
The Kennedies.--Mr. Pennant, in his Tour in Scotland, relates the following
circumstance, which shows that a sense of honour may prevail in those who
have little regard to moral obligation:--After the battle of Culloden, in
the year 1745, a reward of thirty thousand pounds was offered to any one
who should discover or deliver up the young Pretender. He had taken refuge
with the Kennedies, two common thieves, who protected him with the greatest
fidelity, robbed for his support, and often went in disguise to Inverness
to purchase provisions for him. A considerable time afterwards one of these
men, who had resisted the temptation of thirty thousand pounds from a
regard to his honour, was hanged for stealing a cow of the value of thirty
shillings.
A young woman, named La Blonde, was in the service of M. Migeon, a furrier,
in the Rue St. Honoré, in Paris; this tradesman, though embarrassed in his
affairs, was not deserted by his faithful domestic, who remained at his
house without receiving any salary. Migeon, some years afterwards died,
leaving a wife and two young children without the means of support. The
cares of La Blonde were now transferred to the assistance of the distressed
family of her deceased master, for whose support she expended fifteen
hundred francs, the fruit of her labour, as well as the produce of rent
from her small patrimony. From time to time this worthy servant was offered
other situations, but to all such offers she replied by the inquiry, "Who
will take care of this family if I desert them?" At length the widow
Migeon, overcome with grief, became seriously ill. La Blonde passed her
days in comforting her dying mistress, and at night went to take care of
the sick, in order to have the means of relieving her wants. The widow
Migeon died on the 28th of April, 1787. Some persons then proposed to La
Blonde to send the two little orphans to the poor house; but the generous
girl, indignant at this proposition, replied, "that at Ruel, her native
country, her two hundred livres of rent would suffice for their subsistence
and her own."
A Faithful Depositary.--Under the ministry of Neckar in France, the
receiver of taxes at Roye, in Picardy, had the misfortune to have his
premises burnt,--cattle, furniture, and every thing became the prey of the
flames, except two thousand livres of the king's money, the produce of the
taxes which he had collected. These the courageous man rescued from the
flames, and the next day lodged them in the hands of the provincial
director. When Neckar was apprised of the fact, he laid it before the king,
and afterwards wrote to the receiver with his own hand as follows: "His
Majesty having been informed of the circumstance of your loss, and being
pleased with the conduct you have displayed, returns you the 2000 livres,
which he desires you will keep as a testimony of his esteem."
FONTENELLE.
A Reproof.--Two youngsters once asked Fontenelle whether it was more
correct to say, _donnez-nous à boire_, (give us to drink), or
_apportez-nous à boire_, (bring us drink). The academician replied, "That
both were unappropriate in their mouths; and that the proper term for such
fellows as they was _menez-nous à boire_, lead us to drink."
Fontenelle was once staying with his nephew, M. Aube, and had the
misfortune to let a spark fall upon his clothes, which set fire to the bed,
and eventually to the room. M. Aube was extremely angry with his uncle, and
shewed him what precautions he ought to have taken to prevent such an
accident. "My dear nephew," replied Fontenelle, calmly, "when I set fire to
your house again, depend upon it I will act differently."
Fontenelle, being praised for the clearness of his style on the deepest
subjects, said, "If I have any merit, it is that I have always endeavoured
to understand myself."
The conversation turning one day, in the presence of Fontenelle, on the
marks of originality in the works of Father Castel, well known to the
scientific world for his "Vrai Systeme de Physique generale de Newton;"
some person observed, "but he is mad." "I know it," returned Fontenelle,
"and I am very sorry for it, for it is a great pity. But I like him better
for being original and a little mad, than I should if he were in his senses
without being original."
FOOLS.
Triboulet, the fool of Francis the First, was threatened with death by a
man in power, of whom he had been speaking disrespectfully; and he applied
to the king for protection. "Be satisfied," said the king: "if any man
should put you to death, I will order him to be hanged a quarter of an hour
after." "Ah, sir!" replied Triboulet, "I should be much obliged if your
majesty would order him to be hanged a quarter of an hour before!"
Dr. Gregory, professor of the practice of physic at Edinburgh, was one of
the first to enrol himself in the Royal Edinburgh Volunteers, when that
corps was raised. So anxious was he to make himself master of military
tactics, that he not only paid the most punctual attendance on all the
regimental field-days, but studied at home for several hours a day, under
the serjeant-major of the regiment. On one of these occasions the serjeant,
out of all temper at the awkwardness of his learned pupil, exclaimed in a
rage, "Why, sir, I would rather teach ten fools than one philosopher."
James I. gave all manner of liberty and encouragement to the exercise of
buffoonery, and took great delight in it himself. Happening once to bear
somewhat hard on one of his Scotch courtiers, "By my saul," returns the
peer, "he that made your majesty a king, spoiled the best fool in
Christendom."
FORGIVENESS.
French Curate.--During the French revolution, the inhabitants of a village
in Dauphiné had determined on sacrificing their lord to their revenge, and
were only dissuaded from it by the eloquence of the curé, who thus
addressed them:--"My friends," said he, "the day of vengeance is arrived;
the individual who has so long tyrannized over you must now suffer his
merited punishment. As the care of this flock has been entrusted to me, it
behoves me to watch over their best interests, nor will I forsake their
righteous cause. Suffer me only to be your leader, and swear to me that in
all circumstances you will follow my example." All the villagers swore they
would. "And," continues he, "you will further solemnly promise to enter
into any engagement which I may now make, and to remain faithful to this
your oath." All the villagers exclaimed, "We do." "Well then," said he,
solemnly taking the oath, "I swear to forgive our lord." Unexpected as this
was, the villagers kept their word and forgave him.
The Duke of Orleans, on being appointed Regent of France, insisted on
possessing the power of pardoning. "I have no objection," said he, "to have
my hands tied from doing harm, but I will have them left free to do good."
Abon Hannifah, chief of a Turkish sect, once received a blow in the face
from a ruffian, and rebuked him in these terms, not unworthy of Christian
imitation: "If I were vindictive, I should return you outrage for outrage;
if I were an informer, I should accuse you before the caliph: but I prefer
putting up a prayer to God, that in the day of judgment he will cause me to
enter paradise with you."
Alphonsus, King of Naples and Sicily, so celebrated in history for his
clemency, was once asked why he was so forgiving to all men, even to those
most notoriously wicked? "Because," answered he, "good men are won by
justice; the bad by clemency." When some of his ministers complained to him
on another occasion of his lenity, which they were pleased to say was more
than became a prince: "What, then," exclaimed he, "would you have lions and
tigers to reign over you? It is for wild beasts to scourge; but for man to
forgive."
Van Dyke.--"When any one commits an offence against me," this painter used
to say, "I try to raise my soul so high that the offence shall not be able
to reach up to it."
Mariè Antoinette.--On the elevation of this princess to the throne after
the death of Louis XV., an officer of the body-guard, who had given her
offence on some former occasion, expressed his intention of resigning his
commission; but the queen forbade him. "Remain," said she, "forget the past
as I forgive it. Far be it from the Queen of France to revenge the injuries
of the Dauphiness."
FRIENDS.
Friends and Hares.--The Duke of Longueville's reply, when it was observed
to him that the gentlemen bordering on his estates were continually hunting
upon them, and that he ought not to suffer it, is worthy of imitation: "I
had much rather," answered the duke, "have friends than hares."
Henri IV. once reproached M. d'Aubigné for continuing his friendship for M.
de la Trémouille, who had recently been banished from court. D'Aubigné
replied--"As M. de la Trémouille is so unfortunate as to have lost the
confidence of his master, he may well be allowed to retain that of his
friend."
GRATITUDE.
Curran says, "when a boy, I was one morning playing at marbles in the
village ball alley, with a light heart and lighter pocket. The gibe and
the jest went gaily round, when suddenly there appeared amongst us a
stranger, of a very remarkable and very cheerful aspect; his intrusion was
not the least restraint upon our merry little assemblage, on the contrary,
he seemed pleased, and even delighted; he was a benevolent creature, and
the days of infancy (after all the happiest we shall ever see), perhaps
rose upon his memory. God bless him! I see his fine form, at the distance
of half a century, just as he stood before me in the little ball-alley in
the days of my childhood. His name was Dr. Boyse. He took a particular
fancy to me. I was winning, and was full of waggery, thinking every thing
that was eccentric, and by no means a miser of my eccentricities; every one
was welcome to a share of them, and I had plenty to spare after having
freighted the company. Some sweetmeats easily bribed me home with him. I
learned from poor Boyse my alphabet and my grammar, and the rudiments of
the classics. He taught me all he could, and then sent me to the school at
Middleton. In short, he made a man of me. I recollect it was about five and
thirty years afterwards, when I had risen to some eminence at the bar, and
when I had a seat in parliament, on my return one day from court, I found
an old gentleman seated alone in my drawing-room, his feet familiarly
placed, on each side of the Italian marble chimney-piece, and his whole air
bespeaking the consciousness of one quite at home. He turned round--_it was
my friend of the ball-alley_. I rushed instinctively into his arms, and
burst into tears. Words cannot describe the scene which followed:--"You are
right, sir; you are right. The chimney-piece is your's--the pictures are
your's--the house is your's. You gave me all I have--my friend--my
father--my benefactor!" He dined with me; and in the evening I caught the
tear glistening in his fine blue eye, when he saw poor little Jack, the
creature of his bounty, rising in the House of Commons, to reply to a
_Right_ Honourable. Poor Boyse! he is now gone; and no suitor had a larger
deposit of practical benevolence in the Court above. This is his wine--let
us drink to his memory."
GHOSTS.
Bishop Fowler, of Gloucester, and Justice Powell, had frequent altercations
on the subject of ghosts. The bishop was a zealous defender of the reality
of them; the justice was somewhat sceptical. The bishop one day met his
friend, and the justice told him that since their last conference on the
subject, he had had ocular demonstration, which had convinced him of the
existence of ghosts. "I rejoice at your conversion," replied the bishop;
"give me the circumstance which produced it, with all the particulars:--
ocular demonstration, you say?"--"Yes, my lord; as I lay last night in my
bed, about the twelfth hour, I was awakened by an extraordinary noise, and
heard something coming up stairs!"--"Go on, sir."--"Fearfully alarmed at
the noise, I drew my curtain--." "Proceed."--"And saw a faint glimmering
light enter my chamber."--"Of a blue colour, was it not?" interrogated the
doctor.--"Of a pale blue! and this pale blue light was followed by a tall,
meagre, stern figure, who appeared as an old man of seventy years of age,
arrayed in a long light coloured rug gown, bound with a leathern girdle:
his beard thick and grisly; his hair scant and straight; his face of a dark
sable hue; upon his head a large fur cap; and in his hand a long staff.
Terror seized my whole frame. I trembled till the bed shook, and cold drops
hung upon every limb. The figure advanced with a slow and solemn
step."--"Did you not speak to it? there was money hid, or murder committed,
without doubt," said the bishop.--"My lord, I did speak to it; I adjured it
by all that was holy to tell me whence, and for what purpose it thus
appeared."--"And in heaven's name what was the reply?"--"Before he deigned
to speak, he lifted up his staff three several times, my lord, and smote
the floor, even so loudly that verily the strokes caused the room to
reverberate the thundering sound. He then waved the pale blue light which
he bore in what is called a lantern, he waved it even to my eyes; and he
told me, my lord, he told me that he was--yes, my lord--that he was--not
more nor less than--_the watchman!_ who had come to give me notice that my
street-door was open, and that unless I rose and shut it, I might be robbed
before morning." The justice had no sooner concluded, than the bishop
disappeared.
HEROISM.
A Dieppe Pilot.--In August, 1777, a vessel from Rochelle, laden with salt,
and manned by eight hands, with two passengers on board, was discovered
making for the pier of Dieppe. The wind was at the time so high, and the
sea so boisterous, that a coasting pilot made four fruitless attempts to
get out, and conduct the vessel into port. Boussard, a bold and intrepid
pilot, perceiving that the helmsman was ignorant of his dangerous position,
endeavoured to direct him by a speaking trumpet and signals; but the
captain could neither see nor hear, on account of the darkness of the
night, the roaring of the winds, and the tremendous swell of the sea. The
vessel in the meantime grounded on a flinty bottom, at a short distance
from the advanced jetty. Boussard, touched with the cries of the
unfortunate crew, resolved to spring to their assistance, in spite of every
remonstrance, and the apparent impossibility of success. Having tied one
end of a rope round his waist, and fastened the other to the jetty, he
plunged headlong into the raging deep. When he had got very near the ship,
a wave carried him off, and dashed him on shore. Several times was he thus
repulsed, rolled upon flinty stones, and covered with the wreck of the
vessel, which the fury of the waves was tearing rapidly to pieces. He did
not however give up his attempt. A wave now threw him under the vessel, and
he was given up for lost, but he quickly emerged, holding in his arms a
sailor, who had been washed overboard. He brought him on shore motionless
and just expiring. In short, after an infinity of efforts and struggles, he
reached the wreck, and threw the rope on board. All who had strength enough
to avail themselves of this assistance, were successively dragged to land.
Boussard, who imagined he had now saved all the crew, worn down by
fatigue, and smarting from his wounds and bruises, walked with great
difficulty to the light-house, where he fainted through exhaustion.
Assistance being procured, he quickly recovered. On hearing that cries
still issued from the wreck, he once more collected the little strength he
had left, rushed from the arms of his friends, plunged again into the sea,
and had the good fortune to save the life of one of the passengers, who was
lashed to the wreck, and who had been unable before to profit by the means
of escape.
Mons. de Crosne, the Intendant of Rouen, having stated these circumstances
to M. Neckar, then director-general of the finances, he immediately
addressed the following letter to Boussard, in his own hand-writing:--
"Brave man, I was not apprized by the Intendant till the day before
yesterday, of the gallant deed achieved by you on the 31st of August.
Yesterday I reported it to his majesty, who was pleased to enjoin me to
communicate to you his satisfaction, and to acquaint you, that he presents
you with one thousand livres, by way of present, and an annual pension of
three hundred livres. Continue to succour others when you have it in your
power; and pray for your king, who loves and recompenses the brave."
Italian Peasant.--A great inundation having taken place in the north of
Italy, owing to an excessive fall of snow in the Alps, followed by a speedy
thaw, the river Adige carried off a bridge near Verona, all except the
middle part, on which was the house of the toll-gatherer, who thus, with
his whole family, remained imprisoned by the waves, and in momentary danger
of destruction. They were discovered from the bank, stretching forth their
hands, screaming, and imploring succour, while fragments of the only
remaining arch were continually dropping into the water. In this extreme
danger, a nobleman who was present, a Count of Pulverino, held out a purse
of a hundred sequins, as a reward to any adventurer who would take a boat
and deliver this unhappy family. But the danger of being borne down by the
rapidity of the current, or of being dashed against a fragment of the
bridge, was so great, that no one in the vast number of spectators had
courage enough to attempt the exploit. A peasant passing along enquired
what was going on, and was informed of the circumstances. Immediately
jumping into a boat, he, by strength of oars, gained the middle of the
river, brought his boat under the pile, and the whole family safely
descended by means of a rope. By a still more strenuous effort, and great
strength of arm, he brought the boat and family to shore. "Brave fellow!"
exclaimed the count, handing the purse to him, "here is your recompense."
"I shall never expose my life for money," answered the peasant; "my labour
is a sufficient livelihood for myself, my wife, and children. Give the
purse to this poor family, who have lost their all."