TITLES FOR THE LIBRARY DOOR, CHATSWORTH.

The Duke of Devonshire found it necessary to construct a door of sham books for an entrance to the library of Chatsworth. He was tired of the hackneyed Plain Dealings, Essays on Wood, Perpetual Motion, etc., on such doors, and asked Thomas Hood to give him some new titles. The following are selections from his amusing list:—

McAdam’s Views in Rhodes.

Pygmalion. By Lord Bacon.

Dante’s Inferno; or, Descriptions of Van Demon’s Land.

Tadpoles; or, Tales out of my Own Head.

Designs for Friezes. By Sir John Franklin.

Recollections of Bannister. By Lord Stair.

Ye Devill on Two-Styx (Black Letter).

Malthus’ Attack of Infantry.

The Life of Zimmerman. By Himself.

Boyle on Steam.

Book-Keeping by Single Entry.

Rules for Punctuation. By a thorough-bred Pointer.

On the Site of Tully’s Offices.

Cornaro on Longevity and the Construction of 74’s.

Cursory Remarks on Swearing.

Shelley’s Conchologist.

On Sore Throat and the Migration of the Swallow. By Abernethy.

The Scottish Boccaccio. By D. Cameron.

Chronological Account of the Date Tree. Percy Vere. In 40 vols.

In-i-go on Secret Entrances.

Cook’s Specimens of the Sandwich Tongue.

Peel on Bell’s System.

Lamb’s Recollections of Suett.

Blaine on Equestrian Burglary; or The Breaking-in of Horses.

The Rape of the Lock, with Bramah’s Notes.

Kosciusko on the Right of the Poles to stick up for themselves.

Haughty-cultural Remarks on London Pride.

THE JESTS OF HIEROCLES.

A young man, meeting an acquaintance, said, “I heard that you were dead.” “But,” says the other, “you see me alive.” “I do not know how that may be,” replied he: “you are a notorious liar; but my informant was a person of credit.”

A man wrote to a friend in Greece, begging him to purchase books. From negligence or avarice, he neglected to execute the commission; but, fearing that his correspondent might be offended, he exclaimed, when next they met, “My dear friend, I never got the letter you wrote to me about the books.”

An irritable man went to visit a sick friend, and asked him concerning his health. The patient was so ill that he could not reply; whereupon the other, in a rage, said, “I hope that I may soon fall sick, and then I will not answer you when you visit me.”

A speculative gentleman, wishing to teach his horse to live without food, starved him to death. “I suffered a great loss,” said he, “for just as he learned to live without eating, he died.”

A robust countryman, meeting a physician, ran to hide behind a wall: being asked the cause, he replied, “It is so long since I have been sick, that I am ashamed to look a physician in the face.”

A curious inquirer, desirous to know how he looked when asleep, sat with closed eyes before a mirror.

A man, hearing that a raven would live two hundred years, bought one to try.

One of twin brothers died: a fellow, meeting the survivor, asked, “Which is it that’s dead, you or your brother?”

A man who had to cross a river entered a boat on horseback: being asked why, he replied, “I must ride, because I am in a hurry.”

A foolish fellow, having a house to sell, took a brick from the wall to exhibit as a sample.

A man, meeting a friend, said, “I spoke to you last night in a dream.” “Pardon me,” replied the other; “I did not hear you.”

A man that had nearly been drowned while bathing, declared that he would never enter the water again till he had learned to swim.

A student in want of money sold his books, and wrote home, “Father, rejoice; for I now derive my support from literature.”

During a storm, the passengers on board a vessel that appeared in danger seized different implements to aid them in swimming; and one of the number selected for this purpose the anchor.

A wittol, a barber, and a bald-headed man travelled together. Losing their way, they were forced to sleep in the open air; and, to avert danger, it was agreed to keep watch by turns. The lot fell first on the barber, who, for amusement, shaved the fool’s head while he slept; he then woke him, and the fool, raising his hand to scratch his head, exclaimed, “Here’s a pretty mistake! Rascal, you have waked the bald-headed man instead of me.”

A gentleman had a cask of fine wine, from which his servant stole a large quantity. When the master perceived the deficiency, he diligently inspected the top of the cask, but could find no traces of an opening. “Look if there be not a hole in the bottom,” said a bystander. “Blockhead,” he replied, “do you not see that the deficiency is at the top, and not at the bottom?”

BREVITY.

The London member of the house of Rothschild once wrote to his Paris correspondent to ascertain if any alteration had occurred in the price of certain stocks. The inquiry was only a simple

Mr. McNair, a man of few words, wrote to his nephew at Pittsburg the following laconic letter:—

Dear Nephew,

To which the nephew replied, by return of mail,—

Dear Uncle,

The long of this short was, that the uncle wrote to his nephew, See my coal on, which a se-mi-col-on expressed; and the youngster informed his uncle that the coal was shipped, by simply saying, Col-on.

When Lord Buckley married a rich and beautiful lady, whose hand had been solicited at the same time by Lord Powis, in the height of his felicity he wrote thus to the Duke of Dorset:—

Dear Dorset:—I am the happiest dog alive!

ANSWER:

Dear Buckley:—Every dog has his day.

Louis XIV., who loved a concise style, one day met a priest on the road, whom he asked, hastily,—

“Whence came you—where are you going—what do you want?”

The priest instantly replied,—

“From Bruges—to Paris—a benefice.”

“You shall have it,” replied the king.

A lady having occasion to call upon Abernethy, the great surgeon, and knowing his repugnance to any thing like verbosity, forbore speaking except simply in reply to his laconic inquiries. The consultation, during three visits, was conducted in the following manner:—

First Day.—(Lady enters and holds out her finger.) Abernethy.—“Cut?” Lady.—“Bite.” A.—“Dog?” L.—“Parrot.” A.—“Go home and poultice it.”

Second Day.—(Finger held out again.) A.—“Better?” L.—“Worse.” A.—“Go home and poultice it again.”

Third Day.—(Finger held out as before.) A.—“Better?” L.—“Well.” A.—“You’re the most sensible woman I ever met with. Good-bye. Get out.”

Since CÆsar’s famous “veni, vidi, vici,” (I came, I saw, I conquered,) many military commanders have rendered their despatches memorable for pith and conciseness; but Sir Sidney Smith bears the palm for both wit and brevity in his announcement of the capture of Scinde:—“Peccavi” (I have sinned). Gen. Havelock’s “We are in Lucknow” has already become a matter of history.

The following jeu d’esprit, written in 1793, was occasioned by the circumstance of Lord Howe returning from his pursuit of the French fleet, after an absence of six weeks, during which he had only seen the enemy, without having been able to overtake and bring them to action:—

If brevity is the soul of wit, Talleyrand was the greatest of wits. A single word was often sufficient for his keenest retort. When a hypochondriac, who had notoriously led a profligate life, complained to the diplomatist that he was enduring the torments of hell,—“Je sens les tourmens de l’enfer,”—the answer was, “DÉjÀ?” (Already?) To a lady who had lost her husband Talleyrand once addressed a letter of condolence in two words:—“O, Madame!” In less than a year the lady had married again; and then his letter of congratulation was, “Ah, Madame!” Could any thing be more wittily significant than the “O” and the “Ah” of this sententious correspondence?

SAME JOKE DIVERSIFIED.

Prince Metternich once requested the autograph of Jules Janin. The witty journalist sent him the following:—

“I acknowledge the receipt from M. de Metternich of twenty bottles of Johannisberg, for which I return infinite thanks.

The prince, in return, doubled the quantity, and sent him forty bottles.

This is equal to the joke of Rochester on the occasion of Charles II.’s crew of rakes writing pieces of poetry and handing them to Dryden, so that he might decide which was the prettiest poet. Rochester finished his piece in a few minutes; and Dryden decided that it was the best. On reading it, the lines were found to be the following:—

“I promise to pay, to the order of John Dryden, twenty pounds.—Rochester.”

The following hyperbolical compliment paid to Louis XIV., after his numerous victories, is almost literally translated from the French of a Gascon author of those days, and, extraordinary as it may seem, is said to have obtained for the writer of it the premium alluded to in his gasconade:—

The Emperor Nicholas of Russia was thus “sold,” a few years ago. During an interview which Martineff, the comedian and mimic, had succeeded in obtaining with the Prince, (Volkhonsky, high steward,) the emperor walked into the room unexpectedly, yet with a design, as was soon made evident. Telling the actor that he had heard of his talents and should like to see a specimen of them, he bade him mimic the old minister. This feat was performed with so much gusto that the emperor laughed immoderately, and then, to the great horror of the poor actor, desired to have himself “taken off.” “’Tis physically impossible,” pleaded Martineff. “Nonsense!” said Nicholas: “I insist on its being done.” Finding himself on the horns of a dilemma, the mimic took heart of grace, and, with a promptitude and presence of mind that probably saved him, buttoned his coat over his breast, expanded his chest, threw up his head, and, assuming the imperial port to the best of his power, strode across the room and back; then, stopping opposite the minister, he cried, in the exact tone and manner of the Czar, “Volkhonsky! pay Monsieur Martineff one thousand silver roubles.” The emperor for a moment was disconcerted; but, recovering himself with a faint smile, he ordered the money to be paid.

When Nicholas Biddle was President of the United States Bank, there was an old negro hanger-on about the premises named Harry. One day, in a social mood, Biddle said to the darkey, “Well what is your name, my old friend?” “Harry, sir—ole Harry, sir,” said the other, touching his shabby hat. “Old Harry!” said Biddle, “why that is the name that they give to the devil, is it not?” “Yes, sir,” said the colored gentleman, “sometimes ole Harry and sometimes ole Nick.”

SYLLOGISM.

The famous sorites or syllogism of Themistocles was: That his infant son commanded the whole world, proved thus:—

A FALSE FRIEND.

“You may say what you please,” said Bill Muggins, speaking of a deceased comrade, “Jake was a good boy, he was, and a great hunter; but he was the meanest man that ever breathed in Old Kentuck; and he played one of the sharpest tricks you ever heard of, and I’ll tell you how it was. I was out shootin’ with him one mornin’. I tell you the duck was plenty; and other game we despised as long as we could see duck. Jake he was too mean to blaze away unless he could shoot two or three at a shot. He used to blow me up for wastin’ shot and powder so, but I didn’t care—I banged away. Well, somehow or other, while fussin’ around the boat, my powder-flask fell overboard in about sixteen feet of water, which was as clear as good gin, and I could see the flask lay at the bottom. Jake was a good swimmer, and a good diver, and he said he’d fetch her up; so in a minit he was in. Well, I waited quite a considerable time for him to come up; then I looked over the side for him. Great Jerusalem! there sot old Jake on a pile of oyster-shells pourin’ the powder out of my flask into his’n. Wasn’t that mean?”

A Gascon, in proof of his nobility, asserted that in his father’s castle they used no other firewood than the batons of the different marshals of France of his family.

A Gascon officer, on hearing of the boastful exploits of a certain prince, who, among other things, had killed six men with his own hands in the course of an assault upon a city, said, disdainfully, “Poh, that’s nothing: the mattress I sleep on is stuffed with nothing but the whiskers of those I have sent to the other world.”

Vernon’s skill in the invention of marvellous stories has never been surpassed, even by the peddlers of wooden nutmegs. Talking one day about the intense heat of the sun in India, he remarked that it was a common thing there for people to be charred to powder by a coup de soleil, and that upon one occasion, while dining with a Hindoo, one of his host’s wives was suddenly reduced to ashes, whereupon the Hindoo rang the bell, and said to the attendant who answered it, “Bring fresh glasses, and sweep up your mistress.”

Another of his stories was this. He happened to be shooting hyenas near Carthage, when he stumbled, and fell down an abyss of many fathoms’ depth. He was surprised, however, to find himself unhurt; for he lighted as if on a feather bed. Presently he perceived that he was gently moved upward; and, having by degrees reached the mouth of the abyss, he again stood safe on terra firma. He had fallen upon an immense mass of bats, which, disturbed from their slumbers, had risen out of the abyss and brought him up with them.

CHARLES MATHEWS AND THE SILVER SPOON.

Soon after Mathews went from York to the Haymarket Theatre, he was invited with other performers to dine with Mr. A——, afterwards an eminent silversmith, but who at that period followed the business of a pawnbroker. It so happened that A—— was called out of the parlor, at the back of the shop, during dinner. Mathews, with wonderful celerity, altering his hair, countenance, hat, &c., took a large gravy-spoon off the dinner-table, ran instantly into the street, entered one of the little dark doors leading to the pawnbroker’s counter, and actually pledged to the unconscious A—— his own gravy-spoon. Mathews contrived with equal rapidity to return and seat himself (having left the street-door open) before A—— reappeared at the dinner-table. As a matter of course, this was made the subject of a wager. An Éclaircissement took place before the party broke up, to the infinite astonishment of A——.

A ROYAL QUANDARY.

On the first consignment of Seidlitz Powders to the capital of Delhi, the monarch was deeply interested in the accounts of the refreshing beverage. A box was brought to the king in full court, and the interpreter explained to his majesty how it was to be used. Into a goblet he put the contents of the twelve blue papers; and, having added water, the king drank it off. This was the alkali, and the royal countenance exhibited no sign of satisfaction. It was then explained that in the combination of the two powders lay the luxury; and the twelve white powders were quickly dissolved in water, and as eagerly swallowed by his majesty. With a shriek that will never be forgotten, the monarch rose, staggered, exploded, and, in his agony, screamed, “Hold me down!” Then, rushing from the throne, he fell prostrate on the floor. There he lay during the long-continued effervescence of the compound, spirting like ten thousand pennyworths of imperial pop, and believing himself in the agonies of death, a melancholy and convincing proof that kings are mortal.

RELICS.

“What is this?” said a traveller, who entertained reasonable doubts as to the genuineness of certain so-called relics of antiquity, while visiting an old cathedral in the Netherlands: “what is contained in this phial?”

“Sir,” replied the sacristan, “that phial contains one of the frogs picked up when Pharaoh was visited with the plague of frogs.”

“I am sure, then,” rejoined the traveller, “there could have been no epicures in those days.”

“Why so?” said the sacristan.

“Because they would have eaten him, he is so large and fat.”

The traveller took up another phial which was near. “This contains?” said he,—

“That is a most precious relic of the church, which we value very highly.”

“It looks very dark.”

“There is good reason for that.”

“I am somewhat curious. Tell me why.”

“You perceive it is very dark.”

“I own it.”

“That, sir, is some of the darkness which Moses spread over the land of Egypt.”

“Indeed! I presume, what the moderns call darkness made visible.”

ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.

“Mother,” asked a little girl, while listening to the reading of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, “why don’t the book never mention Topsy’s last name? I have tried to hear it whenever it speaks of her, but it has not once said it.”

“Why, she had no other name, my child.”

“Yes she had, mother, and I know it.”

“Well, what was it?”

“Why Turvy—Topsy Turvy.”

“You had better go to bed, my dear,” said the mother. “You are as bad as your old grandmother, for she can’t say pork without beans, for the life of her.”

P. AND Q.

When it was fully expected that Mr. W——, whose unmanageable voice had obtained for him the title of “Bubble and Squeak,” would be elected Speaker of the House of Commons, and Mr. Canning was so informed, he observed that if the report were true, the members must mind their P’s and Q’s; or else, instead of saying “Mr. Speaker,” they would say “Mr. Squeaker!”

“JACK ROBINSON.”

Lord Eldon relates that during the parliamentary debates on the India Bill, when Mr. John Robinson was Secretary to the Treasury, Sheridan, on one evening when Fox’s majorities were decreasing, said, “Mr. Speaker, this is not at all to be wondered at, when a member is employed to corrupt everybody in order to obtain votes.” Upon this there was a great outcry by almost everybody in the house. “Who is it?” “Name him! Name him!” “Sir,” said Sheridan to the Speaker, “I shall not name the person. It is an unpleasant and invidious thing to do so; and, therefore, I shall not name him. But don’t suppose, Sir, that I abstain because there is any difficulty in naming him; I could do that, Sir, as soon as you could say ‘Jack Robinson.’”

A RUSSIAN JESTER AND HIS JOKES.

Popular traditions in Russia unite in representing the jester Balakireff as the constant attendant of Peter the Great, who figures largely in all the stories attached to the name of his buffoon.

On one occasion Balakireff begged permission of his imperial master to attach himself to the guard stationed at the palace, and Peter, for the sake of the joke, consented—warning him at the same time that any officer of the guard who happened to lose his sword, or to be absent from his post when summoned, was punished with death. The newly-made officer promised to do his best; but the temptation of some good wine sent to his quarters that evening by the Czar, “to moisten his commission,” proved too strong for him; and he partook so freely as to become completely “screwed.” While he was sleeping off his debauch, Peter stole softly into the room, and carried off his sword. Balakireff missing it on awakening, and frightened out of his wits at the probable consequences, could devise no better remedy than to replace the weapon with his own professional sword of lath,—the hilt and trappings of which were exactly similar to those of the guardsmen. Thus equipped, he appeared on parade the next morning, confident in the assurance of remaining undetected, if not forced to draw his weapon. But Peter, who had doubtless foreseen this contingency, instantly began storming at one of the men for his untidy appearance, and at length faced round upon Balakireff with the stern order, “Captain Balakireff, draw your sword and cut that sloven down!”

The poor jester, thus brought fairly to bay, laid his hand on his hilt as if to obey, but at the same time exclaimed fervently, “Merciful Heaven! let my sword be turned into wood!”

And drawing the weapon, he exhibited in very deed a harmless lath. Even the presence of the Emperor was powerless to check the roar of laughter which followed, and Balakireff was allowed to escape.

The jester’s ingenuity occasionally served him in extricating others from trouble as well as himself. A cousin of his, having fallen under the displeasure of the Czar, was about to be executed; and Balakireff presented himself at Court to petition for a reprieve. Peter, seeing him enter, and at once divining his errand, shouted to him: “It’s no use your coming here; I swear that I will not grant what you are going to ask!”

Quick as thought, Balakireff dropped on his knees, and exclaimed, “Peter Alexejevitch, I beseech you put that scamp of a cousin of mine to death!”

Peter, thus caught in his own trap, had no choice but to laugh, and send a pardon to the offender.

During one of the Czar’s Livonian campaigns, a thick fog greatly obstructed the movements of the army. At length a pale watery gleam began to show itself through the mist, and two of the Russian officers fell to disputing whether this were the sun or not. Balakireff, happening to pass by at that moment, they appealed to him to decide. “Is that light yonder the sun, brother?”

“How should I know,” answered the jester; “I’ve never been here before!”

At the end of the same campaign, several of the officers were relating their exploits, when Balakireff stepped in among them. “I’ve got a story to tell, too,” cried he, boastfully; “a better one than any of yours!”

“Let us hear it, then,” answered the officers; and Balakireff began,—

“I never liked this way of fighting, all in a crowd together, which they have nowadays; it seems to me more manly for each to stand by himself; and therefore I always went out alone. Now it chanced that one day, while reconnoitering close to the enemy’s outposts, I suddenly espied a Swedish soldier lying on the ground, just in front of me. There was not a moment to lose; he might start up and give the alarm. I drew my sword, rushed upon him, and at one blow cut off his right foot!”

“You fool!” cried one of the listeners, “you should rather have cut off his head!”

“So I would,” answered Balakireff, with a grin, “but somebody else had done that already!”

At times Balakireff pushed his waggeries too far, and gave serious offense to his formidable patron. On one of these occasions the enraged Emperor summarily banished him from the Court, bidding him “never appear on Russian soil again.” The jester disappeared accordingly; but a week had hardly elapsed when Peter, standing at his window, espied his disgraced favorite coolly driving a cart past the very gates of the palace. Foreseeing some new jest, he hastened down, and asked with pretended roughness, “How dare you disobey me, when I forbade you to show yourself on Russian ground?”

“I haven’t disobeyed you,” answered Balakireff, coolly; “I’m not on Russian ground now!”

“Not on Russian ground?”

“No; this cart-load of earth that I’m sitting on is Swedish soil. I dug it up in Finland only the other day!”

Peter, who had doubtless begun already to regret the loss of his jester, laughed at the evasion, and restored him to favor. Some Russian writers embellished this story (a German version of which figures in the adventures of Tyll Eulenspiegel) with the addition that Peter, on hearing the excuse, answered, “If Finland be Swedish soil now, it shall be Russian before long”—a threat which he was not slow to fulfill.