Various - English Jests and Anecdotes стр 5.

Sheridan. Surely, sir, you are not looking for King Street?

Stranger (growing more impatient). I tell you, sir, it is a street with a very odd name.

Sheridan. Bless me, sir, it is not Queen Street, is it?

Stranger (evincing some degree of irritation). Queen Street! no, no! it is a sort of a curious name, I tell you.

Sheridan. I wish, sir, I could assist you: let me think. It may be Oxford Street?

Stranger (getting testy). Sir, for Heavens sake, think; I keep telling you, that it is a street with any thing but a common name; any body knows Oxford Street.

Sheridan. Perhaps, the street has no name after all.

Stranger. No name, sir! Why, I tell you it has,  confound the name!

Sheridan. Really, sir, I am very sorry that I am unable to assist you; but let me suggest Piccadilly.

The stranger could no longer restrain his irritation, but bounced away, exclaiming, Oh, damn it, what a thick-headed fellow! Sheridan, calling to him and bowing, replied, Sir, I envy your admirable memory; then walked on, enjoying his joke.1

Between Tickell and Sheridan there was a never-ending skirmish of wit, both verbal and practical; and the latter kind, in particular, was carried on between them with all the waggery, and, not unfrequently, the malice of school-boys.

On one occasion, Sheridan having covered the floor of a dark passage, leading from the drawing-room, with all the plates and dishes of the house, ranged closely together, provoked his unconscious play-fellow to pursue him into the midst of them. Having left a path for his own escape, he passed through easily, but Tickell falling at full length into the ambuscade, was very much cut in several places. The next day, Lord John Townshend, on paying a visit to the bedside of Tickell, found him covered with patches, and indignantly vowing vengeance against Sheridan for his unjustifiable trick. In the midst of his anger, however, he could not help exclaiming, with the true feeling of an amateur of this sort of mischief, But how amazingly well done it was!

Stevens (who died gravedigger of Clerkenwell, in 1768, at the age of ninety), was once on an examination before one of the courts in Westminster Hall, relative to some parochial affairs, when, being asked who he was, he replied I am gravedigger of the parish of St. Jamess, Clerkenwell, at your honours service.

An anecdote is told of Mr. Roger of Werndee, in Monmouthshire, which exhibits the pride of ancestry in a striking point of view. His house was in such a state of dilapidation, that the proprietor was in danger of perishing under the ruins of the ancient mansion, which he venerated even in decay. A stranger, whom he accidently met at the foot of the Skyrrid, made various inquiries respecting the country, the prospects, and the neighbouring houses, and among others, asked, Whose is this antique mansion before us? That, sir, is Werndee, a very ancient house; for out of it came the Earls of Pembroke of the first line, and the Earls of Pembroke of the second line; the Lords Herberts of Cherbury, the Herberts of Coldbrook, Ramsay, Cardiff, and York; the Morgans of Acton; the Earl of Hunsdon; the houses of Ircowm and Lanarth, and all the Powells. Out of this house, also, by the female line, came the Duke of Beaufort. And pray, sir, who lives there now? I do sir. Then pardon me, and accept a piece of advice; come out of it yourself, or youll soon be buried in the ruins of it.

George Selwyn one day dining at the Duke of Richmonds, a French marquis was declaiming on the ingenuity of his countryman; who, he said, were de grande artistes for de modes and de fashions, pour tout le monde. For instance, said he, look at de roffel (ruffle), dat fine ornament for de hand and for de breast: de Frenchman invent it, and all de oder nations in Europe quickly adopt de same plan. True, replied Mr. Selwyn, we allow that your countrymen have great merit in invention; but you must at the same time admit, that, though the English are not an inventive, they are at least an improving people: for example, to the very articles which you mention they have made a very important and useful addition. Les Anglois, Mistare Selvin, returned the Frenchman, stroking and pulling down the ruffles on his breast and hands, are, sans doute, ver clevar men; mais je ne connois pas quelle improvement dey could make to de roffel; que ce la, Monsieur? Why, by adding a shirt to it, replied Selwyn.

A Russian officer, named Valensky, who had a command in the Persian expedition, had once been beaten by the Emperor Peters order, mistaking him for another. Well, said Peter, I am sorry for it, but you will deserve it one day or other, and then remind me that you are in arrears with me; which accordingly happened upon that very expedition, and he was excused.

As Mr. Sheridan was coming up to town in one of the public coaches for the purpose of canvassing Westminster, at the time when Paull was his opponent, he found himself in company with two Westminster electors. In the course of the conversation, one of them asked the other to whom he meant to give his vote? When his friend replied, To Paull, certainly; for though I think him but a shabby sort of fellow, I would vote for any one rather than that rascal Sheridan!

Do you know Sheridan? asked the stranger.

Not I, sir, answered the gentleman, nor should I wish to know him.

The conversation dropped here; but when the party alighted to breakfast, Sheridan called aside the one gentleman, and said,

Pray who is that very agreeable friend of yours? He is one of the pleasantest fellows I ever met with, and I should be glad to know his name?

His name is Mr. T : he is an eminent lawyer, and resides in Lincolns Inn Fields.

Breakfast over, the party resumed their seats in the coach; soon after which, Sheridan turned the discourse to the law. It is, said he, a fine profession. Men may rise from it to the highest eminence in the state; and it gives vast scope to the display of talent: many of the most virtuous and noble characters recorded in our history have been lawyers. I am sorry, however, to add, that some of the greatest rascals have been lawyers; but of all the rascals of lawyers I ever heard of, the greatest is one Mr. T , who lives in Lincolns Inn Fields.

I am Mr. T , said the gentleman.

And I am Mr. Sheridan, was the reply.

The jest was instantly seen; they shook hands, and, instead of voting against the facetious orator, the lawyer exerted himself warmly in promoting his election.

A bully telling a gentleman, that in manhood and valour he came far behind him, You are not far wrong, answered the other; the last time I fought with you, you ran away so fast that I could not overtake you, run as I might.

The second Duke of Buckingham talking to Sir Robert Viner in a melancholy humour about his personal extravagance, I am afraid, Sir Robert, he said, I shall die a beggar at last the most terrible thing in the world. Upon my word, my lord, answered the mayor, there is another thing more terrible which you have reason to apprehend, and that is, that you will live a beggar at the rate you go on.