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During the time that Paley was staying with the Bishop of Durham, an old clergyman perchance visited the palace, who asserted, during conversation, "Although he had been married almost forty years, he had never had the slightest difference with his wife.” The bishop, much pleased with so rare an instance of connubial felicity, was on the very point of complimenting the divine, when Paley archly observed, "Don't you think, my lord, it must have been very flat?"


Porson was one day conversing in Latin with a certain learned Theban, from the sister university, when the latter, wishing to convince the professor that he was better acquainted with the writings of Cicero than any man living, affirmed that he had spent thirteen years "in perlegendo Cicerone;" to which the Greek professor, with admirable wit, replied, "And echo answered, ove." (Oh, ass!)


A Cantab, who happened to be under Sir Busick Harwood, when professor, was enjoined to live temperately, as a cure for his malady. The doctor called upon him one day, and found him enjoying himself over a bottle of Madeira. "Ah, doctor!" exclaimed the patient, at the same time reaching out his hand to bid him welcome, "I am glad to see you; you are just in time to


taste the first bottle of some prime Madeira !" Ah!" replied Sir Busick, "these bottles of Madeira will never do-they are the cause of all your sufferings !" "Are they so?" cried the patient," then fill your glass, my dear doctor; for, since we know the cause, the sooner we get rid of it the better."

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Jemmy Gordon, nimis notus omnibus, ignotus sibi, the well-known writer of many a theme and declamation for varmint-men, alias non-reading Cantabs, who may be said to merit the cognomen of Trismegistus, having been complimented by an acquaintance on the result of one of his themes, to which the prize of a certain college was awarded, quaintly enough replied, "It is no great credit to be first in an ass-race."

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When England was threatened with invasion by France, a certain corporation agreed to form a volunteer corps, on condition that they should not be obliged to quit the country. Their proposal was submitted to Mr. Pitt, the premier, who facetiously observed, he had no objection to the terms, if they would permit him to add, except in case of invasion."


The Cocoa-Tree Tavern, in St. James's Street, in those days designated the Wits' Coffee-House, was the frequent resort of the celebrated Cantab, Dr. Garth. He was one

morning seated there, conversing with some persons of rank, when Rowe, the poet, well known as a dramatic writer and commentator on Shakspeare, entered, and seated himself in an opposite box to that in which was the doctor and his friends. Rowe was not only inattentive to his dress and appearance, but insufferably vain, and fond of being noticed by persons of consequence. He endeavoured for some time to catch the doctor's eye, but, failing, he desired the waiter to ask for his snuff-box, which he knew to be a valuable one, set with diamonds, which had been presented to Garth by some foreign prince. After taking a pinch, he returned it; but asked for it so repeatedly, that Garth, out of all patience, and perceiving his drift, wrote on the lid the two Greek characters-. P. (Phi Rho). This the mortified poet interpreted FIE! ROWE! and instantly quitted the room.

To this specimen of the doctor's wit may be added the following example of his humanity and compassion. The doctor was one day detained in his chariot, in a narrow street, near Covent Garden, through a crowd collected to witness a bruising-match between two Amazonian ladies of the Billingsgate tribe, when an old woman hobbled up to him, and begged him "for God's sake to take a look at her husband, who was in a mortal bad way;" adding, "I know you are a sweet-tempered gentleman, as well as a cute doctor, so make bold to ar your advice." The doctor, not a jot offended at her liberty of speech, immediately quitted his chariot, and followed her to her abode of misery, where he found that the patient wanted food rather than physic; and, finding from their answers to his questions, that they deserved

compassion, taking out his pencil, he wrote the following infallible prescription for such cases, addressed to his banker-"Pay the bearer £10."


That celebrated Cantab-" O rare Ben Jonson," was one day invited to dine with a vintner, in whose books his name had appeared on the debtor's side for no inconsiderable period, without any equivalent being likely to appear under the term creditor. The wine, a beverage of which our poet was not a little fond, had gone merrily round, when the vintner declared he would forgive Ben his debt, if he could immediately answer him the following questions "What God is best pleased with? What the devil is best pleased with ?-What the world is best pleased with ?—And what he was best pleased with?" Ben, under the inspiration of the jolly god, gave an immediate answer in the following admirable impromptu :-


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"God is best pleased when men forsake their sin;

The devil's best pleased when they persist therein; The world's best pleased when thou dost sell good wine; And you're best pleased when I do pay for mine."


That Dr. Parr is neither very choice nor delicate in his epithets, when his temper-ature is raised above summer heat, is no secret to those who may have fallen under

his lash. He once called a clergyman a fool, and there was probably some truth in his application of the word. The clergyman, however, being of a different opinion, declared he would complain to the bishop of the usage. "Do so," added the learned Grecian, "and my Lord Bishop will confirm you."


Porson was once travelling in a stage-coach, when a young Oxonian, fresh from college, was amusing the ladies with a variety of small talk, to which he added a quotation, as he said, from Sophocles. A Greek quotation, and in a stage-coach too, roused our professor, who, in a dog-sleep, was slumbering in one corner of the vehicle. Rubbing his eyes, “I think, young gentleman," said Porson, "you just now favoured us with a quotation from Sophocles; I don't happen to recollect it there." "Oh? Sir," replied the Oxonian, "the quotation is word for word as I repeated it, and in Sophocles too; but I suspect, Sir, it is some time since you were at college." Porson, applying his hand to his great coat, took out a small pocket edition of Sophocles, and handed it to our tyro, saying he should be much obliged if he would show him the passage in that little book. Having rummaged the pages for some time, "Upon second thoughts," said the Oxonian, "I now recollect 'tis in Euripides."-" Then," said the professor, putting his hand into his pocket, and handing him a similar edition of that author," perhaps you will be so good as to find it for me in that little book."-He re

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