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The LAUGHING UNLUCKY HINTs.

Bishop Burnet was very remarkable for his *mporary absence of mind; in the days of the Feat Marlborough, he obtained an interview with him, and was even asked to dine, but cautioned to be on his guard and not commit himself. Among other great company was Prince Eugene, *ho seeing a dignified clergyman present, asked who he was, and having heard he had been at Paris in 1680, asked him how long it was since he had left it. Burnet, fluttered, answered with precipitation he could not recollect the year, but it was at the time that the Countess of Soissons was imprisoned on suspicion of practicing a conoraled mode of poisoning people. This lady happened to be the mother of Prince Eugene, and both parties' eyes being fixed upon each other, then only he perceived his mistake, stammered, apologized, and retired in the utmost confusion. pon another occasion, the Bishop dining one cay with Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, the conversation turned upon the ingratitude of the Go*rnment to the Duke, who had just lost his Places. Burnet aptly compared him to Belisarius; *hen her Grace asked what was the occasion of **ownfal “Oh madam, (says Burnet) poor L-lisarius had a shocking brimstone of a wife.”

Good Health.

A healthy old gentleman was once asked by a king, what physician and apothecary he made use of to look so well at his time of life. “Sire,” replied the gentleman, “my physician has always been a horse, and my apothecary an ass.”

At Tr ACTIVE PLAY-BILL.

Soon after the representation of the dramatic pieces of “ Deaf and Dumb,” and the “ Blind Girl,” the following whimsical advertisement appeared.

“We have the pleasure to announce to the Public, that there is in preparation, and intended to be produced before Christmas (if it be possible *: that time to complete the splendid profusion of

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scenery, machinery, dresses, and decorations), the following entertainment: “An entirely new grand serio-comic-pantomimic-operatic-tragical Drama, called, “The Idiot,” or Deaf, Dumb, and Blind.” “In Act 1st. A scene of the interior of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, including various surgical operations, and a dance by invalids on crutches, with a pas seul by the matron. In Act 24. A procession of physicians, surgeons, and apothecaries, on a cattle-day, productive consequently of much comic confusion. In Act 3d. A sea-fight by condemned malefactors, a proper number of whom will be killed on the stage, by particular desire of several persons of distinction. Scene, An Indian Coast: savage spectators by the patients of the Small-pox Hospital. “In Act 4th. A new and unrivalled composition, called “ The Whooping Cough;’ (the united efforts of our best musicians,) to be sung by Mr. Incledon. The execution of this bravura will completely immortalize the fame of the singer “ In Act 5th. A grand shock of electricity—an mctic by the three Miss Stentors; an amputation ; a chorus of hysterical and hypocondriac persons, male and fema'e; to conclude with an apoplectic fit, which carries off all the characters. “After which will be presented a Farce, called “The Maniac and the Cripple.’”

THE FARCE OF PHYSIC.

When IDr. , some years since, went to practise at Bath, a gentleman asked Dr. Delacour, what could bring a practitioner from the metropolis to open a shop in the country. “The reason,” replied he, “is obvious enough, sir; when a doctor breaks down on the London turf, he retires to cover at Bath for a guinea and a shilling.”—“Why, my dear doctor, this makes physic a mere farce.”—“True,” rejoined he, “a direct farce, for it is generally the last act before the curtain drops.”

The maker's FUNERAL. The death of Mr. Holland of Drury-lane theatre, who was the son of a baker at Chiswick, had a very great effect upon the spirits of Foote, who had a very warm friendship for him ; being a legatee, as well as appointed by the will of the deceased one of the bearers, he attended the corpse to the family vault at Chiswick, and there very sincerely paid a plentiful tribute of tears to his memory. On his return to town, by way of alleviating his grief, he called in at the Bedford-coffee-house; when Harry Woodward coming up to him, asked him if he had not been paying the last compliment to his friend Holland “Yes, poor fellow,” says Foote, almost weeping at the same time, “I have just seen him shoved into the family oven.” THE DECANTER. O thou, that high thy head dost bear, With round smooth neck, and single ear, With well-turn’d narrow mouth, from whence Flow streams of noblest eloquence ; *Tis thou that first the bard divine, Sacred to Pharbus, and the nine, That mirth and soft delight can'st move, Sacred to Venus, and to love : Yet, spite of all thy virtues rare, Thou'rt not a boon-companion fair; Thou’rt full of wine, when thirsty I; And when I’m drunk, then thou art dry.

MATRIMONIAL ADVERT is EMENT.

Confined in a certain street, the north-end of the city, up three pair of stairs backwards, by the cruelty of a most unnatural mother, and the indolence of a father, who doth not want for sense, but spirit to wear the breeches, a young girl, turned of one-and-twenty, not very tall, but thought to be too much so by her mother, who still keeps her in flat-heeled shoes. The young lady cannot boast of as much beauty as her mamma, but she has the advantage of her in an easy temper, and would be quiet if she would let her. She would be much obliged to any gentleman who could take pity on

her sufferings, and relieve her by marriage, from the distresses, bolts, and bars, she labours under. N. B. She is quite easy as to fortune, and will be as well contented with a partner of 1,000l. Per annum, as with a larger sum.

WUI.G.A.R. NATURES. Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains; Grasp it, like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains. . 'Tis the same with vulgar natures, Use them kindly, they rebel; But be rough as nutmeg graters, And the rogues obey you well. Fight 1 NG ANd PAi Nti NG. When Hayman was painting the pictures of the British heroes for the Rotunda at Vauxhall, the Marquis of Granby paid him a visit at his house in St. Martin's-lane, and told him he came at the request of his friend Tyers, the proprietor of Wauxhall Gardens, to sit for his portrait. “But Frank,” said the Marquis, “before I sit to you! insist on having a set-to with you.” Hayman, not understanding him, and appearing much sufprised at the oddity of the declaration, the Marquis exclaimed : “I have been told you were one of the best boxers of the school of Broughton, and I am not altogether deficient in the pugilistic art; but, since I have been in Germany, I have got a little out of practice, therefore I will have a fair trial of strength and skill.” Hayman pleaded his age and gout as insuperable obstacles. To the firs: position the marquis replied that there was ver: little difference between them ; to the latter, that cxercise was a specific remedy, and added, that a few rounds would cause a glow that would give animation to the canvass. At length they began and after the exertion of much skill and strengo on both sides, Hayman gave the marquis a blow on the stomach, when they both fell with a tre mendous noise, which brought up the affrighte Mrs Hayman, who found them rolling over easil

other on the carpet, like two bears.

GEORGE in. AND GARRICK.

When George the Second went to sce Garrick act Richard the Third, the only part of the play which amused or interested the king, was the Lord-Mayor of London ; and when Garrick was attending the royal party from the theatre, anxious to hear the king's opinion of his own performance, all the compliment he received from the sovereign was a high eulogy upon the Lord-Mayor. “I do love dat Lord-Mayor.” said the king, “capital Lord-May or—fine Lord-Mayor dirt, Air. Garrick, where you get such capital Lord-Miayor.”

co our. TRY. A lady being asked what was the difference between a coquette and a woman of gal/antry, answered, “ The same that there is between a sharper and a thief.” THE BEAUTIFUL MA 1 D. That Belt’s an angel all confess: An angel I agree her ; That she’s a devil, is prov’d by this, She tempts all new that see her. No wonder then our hearts we find Subdued, do all we can, Since heaven and hell are both combin’d Against poor unortal inau.

ty the Gost El. A clergyman in an inland county once concluded his sermon with the following words:– * Brethren, next Friday is my tythe-day, and those who bring the tythes on that day, which are my due, shall be rewarded with a good dinner; but those who do not, may depend, that on Saturday they will dine on a lawyer's letter.” LovE's FELoNY. To a Lady in a Court of Assize. While petty offences and felonies smart, Is there no jurisdiction for stealing a heart? You, fair one, will smile and cry, “Laws I defy wou :” Assured that no peers can be summon'd to try you ! But think not that paltry defence will secure ye: For the Muses and Graces will just make a jury.

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W. I was then going to fetch a midwife.
B. Stop there, if you please. Gentlemen of

the jury, please to attend to this–So, John Tomkins, you, a hale, hearty man, were going to fetch a midwife. Now, aus wer me directly—look this way, sir. what could you possibly want with a midwife 2 W. I wanted to fetch her to a neighbour's wife, who was ill a-bed. B. A neighbour's wife! What, then, you have no wife of your own W. No, sir. B. Recollect yourself, you say you have no wife of your own: W. No, sir; I never had a wife. B. None of your quibbles, friend ; I did not ask you if you ever had a wife; I ask you if you have now a wife 2 and you say no. W. Yes, sir; and I say truth. . B. Yes, sir! and no, sir! and you say truth

we shall soon find that out. And was there nobody to fetch a midwife but you? W. No.; my neighbour lay ill himself— B. What! did he want a midwife too? (a loud laugh). W. He lay ill of a fever; and so I went to serve him. B. No doubt, you are a very serviceable fellow in your way. But pray, now, after you had fetched the midwife, where did you go W. I went to call upon a friend— B. Hold, what time in the day was this 2 W. About seven o’clock in the evening. B. It was quite day-light, was it not W. Yes, sir; it was a fine summer evening. B. What is it always day-light in a summer evening W. I believe so—(smiling). B. No laughing, sir, if you please ; this is too serious a matter for levity. What did you do when you went to call upon a friend ? W. He asked me to take a walk ; and when we were walking, we heard a great noise— B. And where was this f W. In the street. B. Pray attend, sir, I don't ask you whether it was in the street—I ask you what street W. I don’t know the name of the street, but it turned down fromB. Now, sir, upon your oath—do you say you don’t know the name of the street 2 W. No, I don't. B. Did you never hear it W. I may have heard it, but I can't say I remember it 2 B. Do you always forget what you have heard? W. I don't know that I ever heard it; but I may have heard it, and forgot it. B. Well, sir, perhaps we may fall upon a way to make you remember it. W. I don't know, sir; I would tell it if I knew it. B. Oh to be sure you would ; you are remarkably communicative. Well, you heard a noise, and I suppose you went to see it too.

w. Yes; we went to the house where it came from. B. So it came from a house; and pray what kind of a house 2 W. The Cock and Bottle, a public-house 2 B. The Cock and Bottle ! why I never heard of such a house. Pray what has a cock to do with a bottle 2 W. I can’t tell, that is the sign. B. Well, and what passed then : W. We went in to see what was the matter, and the prisoner there—

B. Where * W. Him at the bar, there; I know him very well. B. You know him how came you to know him * W. We worked journey-work together once;

and I remember him very well. B. So your memory returns: you can't tell the name of the street, but you know the name of the public-house, and you know the prisoner at the bar. You are a very pretty fellow ! and pray what was the prisoner doing 2 W. When I saw him. he was— B. When you saw him did I ask you what he was doing when you did not set him ; W. I understood he had been fighting. B. Give us none of your understanding, tell what you saw. W. He was drinking some Hollands and water, B. Are you sure it was Hollands and water W. Yes; he asked me to drink with him, and I just put it to my lips. B. No doubt you did, and I dare say did not take it soon from them. But now, sir, recollect you are upon oath—look at the jury, sir—upon your oath, will you aver that it was Hollands and water W. Yes, it was. B. What ; was it not plain gin W. No ; the landlord said it was Hollands. B. Oh now we shall come to the point.—The landlord said Do you believe every thing the landlord of the Cock and Bottle says ;

o THE LAUGHING

W. I don't know him enough. B. Pray what religion are you of W. I am a Protestant. B. Do you believe in a future state * W Yes. B. Then, what passed after you drank the Hollands and water? W. I heard there had been a fight, and a man killed; and I said, “Oh! Robert, I hope you have not done this:” and he shook his head.— B. Shook his head; and what did you understand by that? W. Sir : B. I say, what did you understand by his shaking his head : W. I can't tell. B. Can't tell !—Can't you tell what a man Frams when he shakes his head 2 W. He said nothing. B. Said nothing ! I don't ask you what he said —What did you say? W. What did I say? B. Don't repeat my words, fellow ; but come to the point at once.—Did you see the dead man W. Yes; he lay in the next room. . B. Aud how came he to be dead W. There had been a fight, as I said before— B. I don't want you to repeat what you said before. W. There had been a fight between him and theB. Speak up—his lordship don’t hear you— can't you raise your voice W. There had been a fight between him and the prisoner— B. Stop there—Pray, sir, when did this fight gin 2 W. I can't tell exactly ; it might be an hour before. The inan was quite dead. B. And so he might, if the fight had been a onth before ; that was not what I asked you. Did you see the fight W. No-it was over before we came in. B. We! what we? W. 1 and my friend

PHILOSOPHER. - 181 B. Well—and it was over—and you saw no. thing 2

W. No. - B. Gem'men of the jury, you’ll please to attend to this ; he positively swears he saw nothing of the fight. Pray, sir, how was it that you saw nothing of the fight? W. Because it was over before I entered the house, as I said before. B. No repetitions, friend.—Was there any fighting after you entered W. No, all was quiet. B. Quiet! you just now said, you heard a noise —you and your precious friend. W. Yes, we heard a noise— B. Speak up, can’t you ? and don’t hesitate so. W. The noise was from the people crying and lamenting— B. Don't look to me—look to the jury—well, crying and lamenting— W. Crying and lamenting that it happened ; and all blaming the dead man. B. Blaming the dead man why, I should liave thought him the most quiet of the whole--(another laugh)-But what did they blame him for : W. Because he struck the prisoner several times without any cause. B. Did you see him strike the prisoner * W. No ; but I was told that— B. We don't ask you what you was told—What did you see : W. I saw no more than I have told you. B. Then why do you come here to tell us what you heard : or 1 only wanted to give the reason why the company blamed the deceased. B. Oh we have nothing to do with your reasons or theirs either. JV. No, sir, I don't say you have. B. Now, sir, remember you are upon oath— you set out with fetching a mid wife : I presume you now went for an undertaker : o W. No, I did not. B. No! that is surprising; such (, friendly man as you ! I wonder the prisoner did not employ you.

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