Our meals, indeed, are slender-what of that? EPILOGUE TO THE SAME. Spoken by Mr. Woodward, in the character of a fine Gentleman. [Speaking without. 'Pshaw! damn your epilogue, and hold your tongueShall we of rank be told what's right and wrong? Had you ten epilogues, you should not speak 'em, Tho' he had writ them all in linguum Grecum. I'll do't, by all the gods! (you must excuse me) Tho' author, actors, audience, all abuse me! [To the audience. Behold a gentleman!-and that's enough! Laugh if you please-I'll take a pinch of snuff! I come to tell you (let me not surprise you) That I'm a wit--and worthy to advise you. How could you suffer that same country booby, That pro-log speaking savage, that great looby, To talk his nonsense?-give me leave to say, 'Twas low! damn'd low!-but save the fellow's play Let the poor devil eat; allow him that, And give a meal to measter, mon, and cat! But why attack the fashions? senseless rogue! We have no joys but what result from vogue: The mode should all controul!-nay, ev'ry passion, Sense, appetite, and all, give way to fashion: I hate as much as he a turtle-feast, But 'till the present turtle-rage is ceas'd, I'd ride a hundred miles to make myself a beast. I have no ears; yet op'ras I adore ! Always prepar'd to die-to sleep—no more! The ladies too were carp'd at, and their dress, He wants 'em all ruff'd up like good queen Bess! They are, forsooth, too much expos'd and free: Were more expos'd, no ill effects I see, For more or less, 'tis all the same to me. Poor gaming too, was maul'd among the rest, LOQUACITY. GARRI. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice: his reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them: and when you have them, they are not worth the search. SCOTTICISMS. Step in to the fire, (sometimes pronounced hastily, step into the fire,) means, in Scotland, come or go to the fire. A Scotch woman said, She never minded sermons' meaning she never remembered sermons. He stays in the Lawn-market; i. e. he lives there. To cry upon a person, means, to call him, not to drown him with tears. To cast out with a person, means, to fall out: with him. He is turned a fine boy, means he is become a fot boy. He dines at home for ordinary, read, he commonly dines at home. He has cut out his hair, for, he has cut off his has I cannot go the day, for, I cannot go to-day. To look over the window, for, look out of the window. To be at home, does not mean, in Scotland, to be THE LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER. in one's own house; but it means to be at no great | Fowls à la Condé, slices eke of salmon, distance, or not out of town.-Is Mr. Bell at home? Yes, sir! he is at home, but he is not within, or he is not in. He stuck among the clay, instead of, in the clay. Make a pen to me, buy a knife to me, instead of for. He insisted for it; he insisted to have it. Take tent, is the Scotch for take care. "If you don't take tent," said a Scotch physician, in Jamaica, to his patient, "it will be soon all over with you." The family, thinking that the doctor meant to recommend the use of the wine called tent, despatched the house-negroes in all directions to procure some of it. But when the doctor next came, they found that they had only mistaken one of his Caledonian phrases. A turbot for relief of those who cram, Relieved with dindon à la Parigeux; There also was-the sinner that I am! How shall I get this gourmand stanza through ?— Soupe à la Beauveau, whose relief was Dory, Relieved itself by pork, for greater glory. But I must crowd all into one grand mess Or mass; for should I stretch into detail, My Muse would run much more into excess, Than when some squeamish people deem her frail. But though a “ bonne vivante," I must confess Her stomach's not her peccant part; this tale However doth require some slight refection, Just to relieve her spirits from dejection. 545 With sauces Genevoises, and haunch of venison; Wines too which might again have slain young Ammon A man like whom I hope we shan't see many soon; With things I can't withstand or understand, While great Lucullus' (Robe triumphal) muffles- What are the fillets on the victor's brow To these? They are rags or dust. Where is the arc k Which nodded to the nation's spoils below Where the triumphal chariot's haughty march? Follow'd by "Petits puits d'amour"—a dish Which encyclopedize both flesh and fish; Of intellect expended on two courses; And indigestion's grand multiplication Requires arithmetic beyond my forces. Who would suppose, from Adam's simple ration, That cookery could have call'd forth such resources, As form a science and a nomenclature From out the commonest demands of nature? The glasses jingled, and the palates tingled; In the feast, pecking less than I can tell; Can't like ripe age in gourmandise excel, The salmi, the consommé, the purée, "Bubble and squeak" would spoil my liquid lay; Your stomach! Ere you dine, the French will do ; Which prove plain English truer of the two. Must I pass over in my bill of fare? ABROAD AND AT HOME. The English abroad can never get to look as if they were at home. The Irish and Scotch, after being some time in a place, get the air of the natives; but an Englishman, in any foreign court, looks about him as if he was going to steal a tankard. SWIFT'S OBJECTION TO MATRIMONY. Though the dean was the best of company, and one of the liveliest men in England of his age, he said, (when in ao ill bumour,) "The best of life is but just tolerable: 'tis the most we can make of it." He observed that it was very apt to be a misfortune to be used to the best company: and gave as a reason for his not marrying, that he had always been used to converse with women of the higher class, and that he might as well think of marrying a princess as oce of them." A competence" said he "enables me, single as I am, to keep as good company as I have been used to, but with a wife of this kind and a fami what should I have done ?" ART OF CONVERSATION. No one will ever shine in conversation, who thinks of saying fine things: to please, one must say AB! things indifferent, and many very bad. TO DEATH. Oh, Death! thou dunnest of all duns! thou daily And (if let in) insists, in terms unhandsome, She is so rare, and thou hast so much prey. REMEDY FOR DULNESS. Lord Dorset used to say of a very goodnaturá dull fellow, "Tis a thousand pities that man is 24 ill-natured! that one might kick him out of come pany." MERCANTILE INDIGESTION, WITH THE PRESCRIP TIONS OF AN EDINBURGH PROFESSOR. Scene-Doctor's study. Enter a douce-looking Patient-Good morning, doctor; I'm just come in to Edinburgh about some law business, and I thought when I was here at ony rate I might just as weel tak your advice, sir, anent my trouble. Doctor. And pray what may your trouble be, my good sir? Pa. O yes; though I don't care much about them. Dr.-You take a glass of ale or porter with your cheese? Pa.-Yes, one or the other, but seldom both. Dr. You west-country people generally take a glass of Highland whiskey after dinner. Pa.-Yes, we do; it's good for digestion, Dr.-Do you take any wine during dinner? Pa. Yes, a glass or two of sherry; but I'm indifferent as to wine during dinner. I drink a good deal beer. Pa. 'Deed, doctor, I'm no very sure; but I'm thinking it's a kind of weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of pinkling about my stomach-of just no right. Dr.-You'r from the west country I should suppose, sir? Pa. Yes, sir, from Glasgow. Dr.-Aye. Pray, sir, are you a gourmand-a glutton? Pa.-God forbid, sir, I'm one of the plainest men living in all the west country. Dr. Then perhaps you're a drunkard? Pa-No, doctor, thank God no one can accuse me of that; I'm of the Dissenting persuasion, doctor, and an elder, so ye may suppose I'm nae drunkard. Dr.-Aside—(I'll suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode of life.) I'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I should wish to hear in detail what you do eat and drink. When do you breakfast, and what do you take to it? Pa-I breakfast at nine o'clock. I tak a cup of Pa. O yes, sir, but I don't count that as any Pa. Oh, sir, I eat a very plain dinner indeed. Dr.-What quantity of port do you drink? or so. Dr.-In the west country it is impossible, I hear, to dine without punch! Pa.-Yes, sir, indeed 'tis punch we drink chiefly; but for myself, unless I happen to have a friend with me I never tak more than a couple of tumblers or so, and that's moderate. Dr.-Oh, exceedingly moderate indeed! You then after this slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter? Pa.-Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the evening letters. Dr.-And on your return you take supper, I suppose? Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to tak supper; just a bit of toasted cheese, or half a hundred of oysters, something before going to bed; a rizzer'd haddock, or or the like o'that; and, may be, two-thirds of a bottle of ale; but I tak no regular supper. Dr.-But you take a little more punch after that. I tak a tumbler of warm whiskey toddy at Pa. No, sir, punch does not agree with me at bed night; it's lighter to sleep on. time. Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This you say, is your every-day life; but upon great occasions you perhaps exceed little? Pa.-No, sir, except when a friend or two dine with p me, or I dine out, which, as I am a sober family man, does not often happen. Dr.-Not above twice a-week? Dr. Of course you sleep well, and have a good appetite? Pa.-Yes, sir-thank God I have-indeed, any wee harl o'health that I hae is about meal time. Dr.-Sir, you are not obliged to me-put up your money, sir.--Do you think I'll take a fee from you for telling you what you knew as well as myself! Though you're no physician, sir, you are not altogether a fool. You have read your Bible, and must know that drunkenness and gluttony are both sinful and dangerous, and whatever you may think, you have this day confessed to me that you are a notorious glutton and drunkard. Go home, sir, and reform, or take my word for it your life is not worth half a year's purchase. (Exit Patient, dum-founded and looking blue.) Dr.-(Solus.) Sober and temperate !-Dr. Watt tried to live in Glasgow, and make his patients live moderately, and purged and bled them when they were sick; but it would not do. Let the Glasgow doctors prescribe beef-steaks and rum punch, and their fortune is made. UPON A CERTAIN LORD'S GIVING SOME THOUSANDS` FOR A HOUSE. BY MR. GARKICK. So many thousands for a house For you-of all the world-Lord Mouse! Dr.-(Assuming a severe look, knitting his brows, and lowering his eye-brows.)-Now, sir, you are a very pretty fellow, indeed; you come here and tell me that you are a moderate man, and I might have believed you, did I not know the nature of the people in your part of the country; but upon examination I find by your own showing, that you are a most voracious glutton; you breakfast in the morning in a style that would serve a moderate man for dinner; and from five o'clock in the afternoon you undergo one almost uninterrupted loading of your stomach till you go to bed. This is your moderation! You told me too another falsehood-you said you were a sober man, yet by your own showing you are a beer swiller, a dram-drinker, a wine-bibber, and a guzzler of Glasgow punch; a liquor, the name of which is associated, in my mind, only with the ideas of low company and beastly intoxication. You tell me you eat indigestible suppers, and swill toddy to force sleep-I see that you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what human stomach can stand this?-Go home, sir, and leave off your present course of riotous living-take some dry toast and tea to your breakfast-some plain meat and soup for dinner, without adding to it any thing to spur on your flagging appetite; you may take a cup of tea in the evening, but One day, when Betterton called on Archbishop never let me hear of haddocks and toasted cheese, and Tillotson, at Lambeth, the prelate asked hum; - How oysters, with their accompaniments of ale and toddy it came about, that after he had made the most mov at night; give up chewing that vile-narcotic-ing discourse that he could, was touched deeply with nauseous abomination, and there are some hopes it himself, and spoke it as feelingly as he was abur. that your stomach may recover its tone, and you be in good health like your neighbours. Pa.-I'm sure, doctor, I'm very much obliged to you-(taking out a bunch of Bank-notes)-I shall endeavour to ORIGIN OF BUMPER. When the English were good Catholics, they dinner: au bon père; whence our bumper. usually drank the Pope's health in a full glass after THE PULPIT AND THE STAGE. yet he could never move people in the church, mear so much as the other did on the stage?"—"That" s Betterton, "I think is easy to be accounted for: ta because you are only telling them a story, and I m showing them facts," |