back in his chair, wiped his forehead, and, unconsciously picking up his glass, drank off the contents, microbes and all!

יי!

A friend calling upon Peter Burrowes, the celebrated Irish barrister, one morning in his dressing-room, found him shaving with his face to the wall, and asked him why he chose so strange an attitude. The answer was, "To look in the glass." "Why, there is no glass there!" said the friend. "Bless me!" exclaimed Burrowes, "I did not notice that before." Then, ringing the bell, he called the servant and questioned him respecting the looking-glass which had been hanging on the wall. "Oh, sir," said the servant, "it was broken six weeks ago A certain learned professor at Cambridge is a very absent-minded man. A friend of his had been seriously ill. When he was convalescent, the professor used to send him jellies and other delicacies. One day he took him a fine bunch of hothouse grapes. The old friends were very pleased to see each other, and were soon deep in a discussion. The professor, becoming interested, began absent-mindedly picking the grapes, taking one at a time. till they were all gone. On going out of the door he called back to his friend,

66

Now, mind you eat those grapes; they will do you all the good in the world !" A well-known archbishop was also noted for his absent-mindedness. Dining at home one evening, he found fault with the flavor of the soup. Next evening he dined out at a large dinner party. Forgetting for the moment that he was not in his own house, but a guest, he observed across the table to his wife, "This soup is, my dear, again a failure."

Sir

was

There are many amusing examples of the infantile ignorance of judges, such as the late Lord Coleridge's "Who is Connie Gilchrist ?" Henry Hawkins's "What is hay?" and Earl Halsbury's "Who Pigott?" In a libel action by a lady journalist against Mr. Gilbert a few years ago, Sir E. Clarke read from a book of the plaintiff's a description of Chopin'sumber-shaded hair." Lord Russell of Killowen's face assumed a look of blank astonishment. "What

"Umber-shaded,"

that

shade ?" said he. replied Sir Edward. replied Sir Edward. "Yes, but what shade is that?" pressed the Chief Justice. The British jury could stand it no longer. "Brown, my lord-brown," they all cried with one voice; and the case proceeded. Mr. Justice Ball, an Irish judge, was noted for his amusing manifestations of ignorance, but whether they were real or pretended has never been clearly established. He tried a case in which a man was indicted for robbery at the house of a poor widow. The first witness was the young daughter of the widow, who identified the prisoner as the man who had entered the house and smashed her mother's chest. "Do you say the prisoner at the bar broke your mother's chest ?" said the judge in astonishment. "He did my lord," answered the girl; he jumped on it till he smashed it entirely." The judge turned to the Crown Counsel and said, "How is this? Why is not the prisoner indicted for murder? If he smashed this poor woman's chest in the way the witness has described, he must surely have killed her." But, my lord," said the counsel, "it was a wooden chest!" Some men were indicted at the Cork Assizes for riot and assault before the same judge. The prisoners had beaten two laborers who were drawing turf from a bog belonging to an obnoxious landlord. One of the witnesses said, in the course of his evidence, "As we came near to the bog we saw the prisoners fencing along the road." "Eh! what do you say the prisoners were doing?" asked Mr. Justice Ball. "Fencing, my lord." "With what ?" "Spades and shovels, my lord." The judge, looking amazed, said to the Crown Counsel, "Can this be true? Am I to understand that peasants in this part of the country fence along the roads, using spades and shovels for foils ?" "I can explain it, my lord," said the counsel. "The prisoners were making a ditch, which we call a fence in this part of the country."

Nearly all great scientific discoveries have been combated and misunderstood, even by great men. Admiral Sir Charles Napier fiercely opposed the introduction of steam power into the

Royal Navy, and one day exclaimed in the House of Commons: Mr. Speaker, when we enter her Majesty's naval service and face the chances of war we go prepared to be hacked in pieces by cutlasses, to be riddled with bullets, or to be blown to bits by shot and shell; but, Mr. Speaker, we do not go prepared to be boiled alive!" The last words he brought out with tremendous emphasis. Steam power in men-of-war with boilers which at any moment might be shattered by an enemy's shot-this was a prospect the gallant sailor could not face. Yet in a few years Sir Charles Napier found himself in command of the largest steam navy that the world had ever

seen.

Lord Stanley (subsequently the great Lord Derby) presided over a Select Committee of the House of Commons to examine into the state of steam navigation. George Stevenson, the Stevenson, the eminent engineer, who was examined, spoke of the probability of steamships crossing the Atlantic. Good heavens, what do you say?" exclaimed Lord Stanley, rising from his seat. "If steamships cross the Atlantic, I will eat the boiler of the first boat." That pledge was never redeemed.

In more recent years a Lord Chancellor, even after he had seen a theatre illuminated without candle or oil, poured ridicule on a scheme for "supsupplying every house in London with gas in the same manner as they are now supplied with water by the New River Company." Again, so eminent a chemist and gas specialist as Sir Humphry Davy himself is alleged to have said on one occasion that it was as reasonable to talk of ventilating London with windmills as of lighting it with gas. It is an historical fact that when the Houses of Parliament were first lighted by gas, more than one famous legislator was seen closely to scrutinize an exposed portion of the gas piping and then to touch it apprehensively, with the notion, evidently, that it might be hot enough to burn his fingers and endanger the neighboring wood work.

The story of the comment of Cuvier, the celebrated French naturalist, on the definition of the word "crab" adopted by the Committee of

the French Academy employed in the preparation of the Academy Dictionary is well known, but is always fresh and amusing. The definition was: "Crab, a small red fish which walks backward." "Your definition would be perfect, gentlemen," said Cuvier, only for three exceptions. The crab is not a fish, it is not red, and it does not walk backwards." The Royal Society is the English analogue of the French Academy. Many years ago a sailor who had broken his leg was advised to send to the Royal Society an account of the remarkable manner in which he had healed the fracture. He did so. His story was that, having fractured the limb by falling from the top of a mast, he had dressed it with nothing but tar and oakum, which had proved so wonderfully efficacious that in three days he was able to walk just as well as before the accident. This remarkable story naturally caused some excitement among the members of the society. No one had previously suspected tar and oakum of possessing such miraculous healing powers. eral letters accordingly passed between the Royal Society and the humble sailor, who continued to assert most solemnly that his broken leg had been treated with tar and oakum, and with these two applications only. The Society might have remained puzzled for an indefinite period had not the man remarked in a postscript to his last letter:

66

Sev

"I forgot to inform your honors, by the way, that the leg was a wooden

one !"

Rather a good story is told about Professor Huxley when he was delivering a lecture at the Literary and Philosophical Society, Newcastle-on-Tyne, some years ago. The subject was, "The Geographical Distribution of Fossil Remains of Animals ;" and consequently numerous diagrams were required. Old Alexander, the porter of the institution, and quite a distinguished character among the members of the society, was assisting the Professor to hang the diagrams. The screen on which the diagrams were hung was not very large, and Huxley, do as he would, could not succeed without the blank corner of one dia

gram overlapping the illustration of another one on which he placed great importance. What was to be done? The Professor asked Alexander to bring a pair of scissors. The scissors were brought, but, as the joint was somewhat loose, the Professor was not able to cut the paper, and he threw the scissors down in disgust, adding that they were useless. "Vera guid shears. Professor," said Alexander. "I tell you they won't cut," said Huxley. %6 Try again," said Alexander; " they will cut."

The Professor tried again, and, not succeeding, said somewhat angrily, "Bring me another pair of scissors." Lord (then Sir William) Armstrong stepped forward and or dered Alexander to go and buy a new pair. "Vera guid shears, Sir William," persisted Alexander, and picking up the scissors from the table, and placing his thumb and forefinger into the handles, he stepped forward and asked Huxley how he wanted the paper cut. Cut it there," said Huxley, somewhat tartly, at the same time indicating the place with his forefinger. Alexander took hold of the paper, and, inserting the scissors, pressed the blades together and cut off the required portion as neatly as if he had used a straight-edge; then, turning to the Professor with a rather significant leer and twinkle of the eye, said, "Seeance an' airt dinna ay gang thegither, Professor!" Huxley and all present collapsed. Huxley put his hand into his pocket, and, taking out a sovereign, gave it to Alexander, adding at the same time, "You have done me." The same evening Alexander related the story with great gusto over a glass of whiskey to a friend. When asked how he dared make so free with such a distinguished man, he replied with great emphasis, "Lord, mon, they bits o' professor bodies ken naething at a' except their buiks!"

A few years ago the Duke of Argyll was taken suddenly ill while delivering a lecture in a hall in Edinburgh, with Lord Kelvin in the chair. When the aged peer was carried down to one of the ante-rooms," wrote one of the Scottish newspapers, 66 one of the first things to be thought of was the lighting of a fire, and this task was tackled

by the Duke's host, Lord Kelvin. But instead of placing some paper in the grate and some wood on that, in the orthodox manner, he amazed the onlookers by desperate efforts to kindle a handful of sticks at a gas-burner!" Ordinary mortals, it was added, may be pardoned in taking some comfort to themselves on learning that "even so great a philosopher as Lord Kelvin does not know how to light a fire."

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Every one remembers the story of Newton, who cut a large hole in his room door to let his big cat out and a small one for the use of the kitten. The same anecdote is told in Ireland in relation to the Rev. John Barrett, D.D., who was Vice-Provost of Trinity College, Dublin, at the beginning of the present century. Dr. Barrett, who was known in Trinity as "Jacky," was remarkable for his eccentricity and want of knowledge of the world, and had, it is stated, for half a century never wandered outside the walls of Trinity College. He had never seen the sea-which he compared in his imagination with Xenophon's plain of wormwood. He was an accomplished divine, of blameless life and a celebrated Hebrew scholar. His language, however, was uniformly profane, and his favorite method of beginning a conversation was, May the devil admire me." On being asked on one occasion how he was, he replied," Between lectures and chapels, chapels and lectures, h-1 to my soul, I have no time to say my prayers. A student was summoned before the college authorities for shouting "Sweep! sweep!' after the Vice-Provost, who was not marked for cleanliness of attire. The student's defence was that he was merely calling a sweep, whom he required to clean the chimney of his rooms. The Vice-Provost met the explanation thus: "May the devil admire me, but I was the only sweep in the quadrangle at the time." He was a notorious miser, and lost heavily in Irish canal shares. He was told his money was "sunk in the canal," and immediately asked in the simplicity of his heart why could it not be fished up. When his attention was directed to the fact that the big hole in the door would be available for the kitten as well as

the cat, he immediately exclaimed, "Well, may the devil admire me, but I never thought of that before." At a meeting of the College Board, at which the question of getting rid of a heap of rubbish lying in the College Park turned up, Barrett suggested that a hole should be dug and the stuff buried in it. "But, Dr. Barrett," said some one, "what shall we do with the stuff that comes out of the hole?" "Dig another and bury it," was the ready response. An old woman who attended Barrett went out one frosty morning with a penny to bring him a halfpenny worth of milk for his breakfast. As she was returning to the College she slipped, severely injuring her leg, and was conveyed to Mercer's Hospital. Her master visited the poor creature, and was affected to tears when he found her writhing in pain. But, his penurious feelings at length getting the upper hand, he said, "Catty, what Catty, what about the jug?" "Ah, sure, sir, it was smashed on the pavement," she replied. "Well, well, it can't be helped," said he, but, Catty, what about the halfpenny change, do you see?"

66

Many great men have been remarkably silent and taciturn. One of these was Sir William Grant, the learned Master of the Rolls. He was the most patient of judges. He listened for two days to an elaborate legal argument as to the purport and effect of a certain. Act of Parliament, and when Counsel had at length finished, simply said,

66

Gentlemen, that Act has been long since repealed." On one of his visits. to his native county of Banff, he rode for a few miles accompanied by some friends. The only observation which escaped him was when passing a field of peas: "Very fine peas." Next day he rode out with the same party and was equally silent; but on again passing the identical field of peas he muttered, "And very finely podded too.

The late Mr. Parnell was also a rather taciturn man. One night in the early 'Eighties, when he and some of his followers were suspended for persistent obstruction in the House of Commons, he went up to the distinguished Strangers' Gallery with a colleague to watch the subsequent course of events in the House. Noticing that he was

66

very preoccupied and abstracted, his colleague said: "A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Parnell." "Well," replied the Irish leader, "I was thinking how it had never struck me before that there are so many bald-headed members in the House." General Grant was also a man of remarkably few words. He used to pass hours in company without ever opening his lips. During his visit to this country he dined at Apsley House, the guest of the second Duke of Wellington. A very distinguished company was present to meet him. He spoke in monosyllables only during the dinner; but when the ladies had retired, he remarked aloud to his host, "My lord, I have heard that your father was a military man!" The late Professor Jowett is the hero of another amusing story of taciturnity and simplicity. The Professor during his connection with Balliol College had occasion to visit some of the farms belonging to the college in the North. One of the leading tenants was deputed to take him round. A long tramp they had, in the course of which Dr. Jowett uttered not a word, while the farmer was too much stricken with awe to venture a remark. But when the walk was almost done, the Professor was roused to speech. Looking over a stone wall to a goodly field of vivid green, he abruptly said, "Fine potatoes." Quoth the farmer: "Yon's turmuts." Not a word more was spoken between them.

The late Mr. Barney Barnato was, as is well known, an extremely shrewd and wideawake man. But there is a story told on the Stock Exchange of how a simple country parson got the better of him. The parson wrote to him in terms something like the following: "Respected Sir,-As the Vicar of――, my aim has always been investment and not speculation. When your bank came out I regarded the shares as an investment, and I purchased 400 at £4, sinking my little all in them-and a good deal more. They have now fallen to £2 and I am undone. My parish I cannot face as a bankrupt, and what am I to do? I throw myself on your mercy." Mr. Barnato, so the story goes, was deeply moved by this touching appeal, and wrote back that

1898.

in the painful circumstances of the case he would buy back from the clergyman the 400 shares at £4-the price he had paid for them. Immediately on receipt of this generous reply the guileless country parson at once wired to his brokers: " Buy 400 Barnato Banks at 2, and send round to Barnato Brothers, who will give you 4 for them."

Lord Blessington, the husband of the celebrated Countess of Blessington, was very susceptible to a cold, and had therefore a horror of a draught. He was able-Count d'Orsay used to declare to detect a current of air caused by the key being left crossways in the keyhole of the door. He and his wife and a youth were one day walking on the banks of the Thames. The boy, skipping backward and forward, went several times dangerously close to the edge of the bank. "Take care, take care" cried Lord Blessington, exhibiting a degree of solicitude most unusual where another person was concerned. "For heaven's sake, mind what you are about, boy, or you'll certainly fall into the river." After two or three repetitions of his alarm in this fashion for the lad, Lady Blessington, losing patience, said, "Oh, let the boy alone; if he does fall into the water he swims like a fish." "Yes, yes," said his lordship in injured tones, "that's all very well; but what about me? I shall catch my death of cold driving home in the carriage with him."

knew him well. He was Thomas Bab ington, Lord Macaulay!

LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATION

A well-known archbishop of Dublin was, toward the end of his life, at a dinner given by the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. In the midst of the dinner the company was startled by seeing the archbishop rise from his seat, looking pale and agitated, and crying, "It has come-it has come !" "What has come, your Grace ?" eagerly cried half-a-dozen voices from different parts of the table. "What I have been expecting for some years-a stroke of paralysis, solemnly answered the Archbishop. "I have been pinching myself for the last ten minutes, and find my leg entirely without sensation." "Pardon me, my dear Archbishop," said the hostess, looking up to him with a quizzical smile, " pardon me for contradicting you, but it is my leg that you have been pinching!"

The pleasant coffee-room of the old "Star and Garter" at Richmondwhich was burned down in 1869-was patronized by statesmen, politicians, and writers. On Saturday evenings it was regularly visited by a middle-aged gentleman of rather broad stature, with gray hair, and a large shirt-collar which formed a conspicuous feature in his attire. He would dine always alone at a particular corner table, and after dinner it was his humor to build up before him a pyramid of tumblers and wineglasses, which he topped with a decanter. Occasionally the whole structure would topple over and litter the table with its ruins. Then the middle-aged gentleman would rise, pay his bill, including the charge for broken glass, and depart. The waiters

NEW SERIES.-VOL. LXVIII., No. 5.

"Oh,

Sheridan Knowles, the dramatist, was also noted for his absence of mind. As he was walking down the Strand one day with a friend he stopped to greet a gentleman, who, however, received him very coldly. "Do you know," said he to Knowles, "that you owe me an apology?" "An apology! what for?” asked the dramatist. "For not keeping that dinner engagement you had with me last Thursday. I had a number of people to meet you, and you never came or even sent an explanation of your absence." I'm so sorry, exclaimed Knowles; "I've such a memory that I forgot all about the affair; forgive me and invite me to another dinner." It was then arranged that he should dine with the gentleman on the following Wednesday; and in order to secure against the engagement being again forgotten he there and then recorded it in his diary. On rejoining his friend he told him the story of his lapse of memory. "Who is the gentleman ?" asked the friend. "Well, I'm blest," cried Sheridan Knowles; "I have forgotten his name." "That's funny," said the friend; "but you can easily find it out by referring to the directory. You know his address, of course. not even that," roared the unhappy dramatist. The late Mr. Justice

44

“No,