The Punster's Pocket-book

W. R. V. – ANA

"A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy."

[There are very few literary persons in London, at least among those connected with the public press, who have not occasionally enjoyed the pleasant, punning, conversational powers of my friend W. R. V. whose whim, wit, and great good nature are not more esteemed, than his unaffected manners, and sincerity of disposition justly entitle him to.]

Some one observed, "Matches are made in Heaven." "Yes," answered he, "and they are very often dipped in the other place."

Two men contending at a tavern upon the point of who wrote that beautiful song on Ingratitude, "Blow, blow, thou wintry wind!" one said Ben Jonson; the other said Shakspeare. R.V. to adjust their differences, observed, "They must have written it between them, for each was a-verse to ingratitude."

A fat gentleman who was at a loss for the name of the nobleman who was shut up in a tower and starved to death, applied to the punster – "You-go-lean-O!" was the reply.

"A tailor is the ninth part of a man," observed a would-be-wit, in the presence of a knight of the sheers: "But," answered R.V. "a fool's no part at all."

"He that will pun will pick a pocket," observed an old cynic. "You speak from experience," was the stopper to this vinegar cruet.

Rhodes, the punning landlord of the Coal Hole tavern, took the Bell Inn at Hammersmith: R.V. hoped that as he had so long answered the bell, the Bell would now answer him.

One asked him what works he had in the press. "Why, the History of the Bank, with notes; the Art of Cookery, with plates; and the Science of Single Stick, with wood cuts."

A person told him that Louis dix-huit, when he entered London, put up at Grillon's hotel. "I am surprised at that," said he; "his father took his chop at Hatchett's."

A barber recommended him his aromatic essence for the improvement of his hair. "No, no; don't waste your fragrance on the desert hair."

A friend remarked of a gentleman with very large curly whiskers, that he said nothing. "Poor fellow; don't you see he's lock-jawed?"

"How well you put on your cravat," said a crony: "that tie's something new." – "Yes; it's a novel-tie."

He pacified a quarrelsome fellow one evening by observing, "I should not like to go up in a balloon with you, for fear of our falling out."

Seeing a porter bring in an edition of a new work of his from the press to his bookseller, "Dear me!" he exclaimed, "what a weight is off my mind."

"What a swell you are in your new frock coat," said a quiz to him one day. "Don't you like it? – I do: indeed I'm quite wrapped up in it."

The same person meeting him one day in the city, observing he had on a new waistcoat, asked if it was a city cut. "No," answered he, "it's a west-cut."

Dining at the Wrekin tavern, he asked for a wine glass: the waiter, in bringing it, inadvertently let it fall – "Zounds! I did not ask you for a tumbler!"

Sitting in company with one of those people who find fault with every thing, good, bad, or indifferent, he could not refrain from quizzing the old fellow. "True, true; we have nothing new or good now-a-days: Waterloo bridge is a catchpenny, Herschell's telescope all my eye, the steam engine a bottle of smoke, and the safety-coach a complete take in."

Bearcroft the classic observed to him, that learning was pabulum animi, food of the mind. "Yes," replied he, "and that's the reason, I suppose, the collegians wear trencher caps."

On George the Fourth landing at Calais in 1820, the wind was so boisterous as to blow off his foraging cap, greatly inconveniencing him: a brave officer, Captain Jones of the Brunswicks, who stood near, presented His Majesty with his own, which the King graciously accepted, and wore until he got to his carriage. This drew from him the following impromptu:

He blamed a friend for dedicating a very clever work to a certain nobleman, notorious for his stupidity. "My book wanted a title," was the reply. "Oh!" he observed, "but it might otherwise have been peer-less."

On Sir Robert Wilson's motion for investigating the affair that deprived him of his rank as General being lost, he lamented it as very hard that they should refuse him "even a major-ity."

Being proposed a member of the Phœnix Club, he asked when they met: – "Every Saturday evening during the winter." – "Then," said he, "I shall never make a Phœnix, for I can't rise from the fire."

NORBURYANA21;

A good Pun has, from time immemorial, been quite as admissible in our courts of law, as a good plea; and not unusually has proved successful with the feelings of a jury, when the latter, left entirely to the more weighty arguments of precedents and rejoinder, would only have produced a temporary suspension of the understanding. Lord Norbury's talent as a punster is proverbial, and his wit upon all occasions as clear as his judgments are sound: scarcely a packet of Irish papers arrive in the sister kingdom, but the first inquiry of the humourist is after the last good thing of the Chief Justice's; and, if he fails to encounter a new pun, he retreats homewards like a city sportsman, without game for the morrow; for pun-less, he is quite as miserable as if he was penny-less; and if he cannot crack a new joke at the club, he is like to go cracked himself with vexation in consequence.

It is one of the evils attending eminence in any art, that many loose performances will be attributed to genius, for the sake of notoriety, which would cause a blush upon the cheek of the talented individual under whose cognomen they are surreptitiously launched forth into public life. Every new pun, made by the Emeralders, whether invented in the Four Courts of Dublin, or at the midnight orgies held in the broad and narrow Courts of London, at the Fives Court or the Tennis Court, the King's Court, or the Courts of law and equity, are all heaped upon the great original, Lord Norbury; who has, in consequence, as many sins of this sort to bear with, as any criminal that ever appeared before his legal tribunal. In selecting from an accredited stock, the compiler of this little book has endeavoured to affix to the Noble Punster, only, the legitimate offspring of his own creation; or at least such, if any one has stolen in, as may not disgrace his witty family.

Is, "Right can never die;" then, said his lordship, punning thereon, "right must be left for ever."

"Who is that lovely girl?" exclaimed Lord Norbury, riding in company with his friend Counsellor Grahaarty. "Miss Glass," replied the barrister. "Glass!" reiterated the facetious judge; "by the love which man bears to woman, I should often become intoxicated, could I press such a glass to my lips!"

The numerous and severe animadversions on Lord Norbury in the Imperial Parliament, only afforded his Lordship an opportunity for a supplemental criticism, viz. "That the English Broom (Brougham) wanted an Irish stick to it;" an appendage which, in the early part of his Lordship's career, he certainly would have been very ready to furnish.

The late Counsellor Egan, well known by the appellation of Bully Egan, from his rough courage, got into the Irish parliament during the administration of the late Marquis of Rockingham, and joined with the Whigs of that day in a most outrageous opposition to the administration of the noble Marquis, upon the question of regency, when the opposition succeeded in voting the unlimited regency of Ireland to the Prince of Wales. The Marquis, unable to rally, fled to England without beat of drum, leaving the oppositionists masters of the political field. Not content with this retreat, the Whigs continued to pelt the character of the noble Marquis, by way of post obit, and to heap all those maledictions upon his administration, when defunct, which they had so indefatigably done while living. Amongst the rest, Mr. Egan, in the course of a debate, thought proper to introduce in his speech an episode, in which he proposed, "Now that the Marquis was politically dead, to pencil his epitaph;" and this he did in such coarse and ponderous words, that Mr. Toler, the present Lord Norbury, in his reply, termed this effort of Egan, penciling with a pickaxe.

On passing sentence of death upon a prisoner who had been convicted of privately stealing a time piece, Lord Norbury, after dwelling upon the enormity of his crime, concluded a very impressive speech by observing, that he had been grasping at time, and caught eternity.

Meeting with a lady in Dublin who was possessed of considerable property in a distant part of the country, and in whose welfare he had taken great interest, particularly during the progress of a bill through parliament for draining her lands, he accosted her, "Ah, my dear Mrs. G – , how d'ye do? – how goes on your water ways? – I must come and take a view of your little canal and locks."

A man having been capitally convicted before Lord Norbury, was, as usual, asked what he had to say why judgment of death should not pass against him – "Say!" replied he, "why, I think the joke has been carried far enough already, and the less that is said about it the better; so if you please, my lord, we'll drop the subject." "The subject may drop," replied his lordship.

A gentleman helping his Lordship to some pie made of raspberry jam, inquired if he would have some more fruit? "Jam satis," replied the punster.

"Lord Byron calls his abusers dogs," said a friend to Lord Norbury; "No doubt he wishes them and their censures cur-tailed," was the reply.

Riding one day with a friend of the name of Speare, whose horse appeared to jolt him very much, his Lordship could not help observing it. "He is young, and awkward in his paces, but may mend," said Speare. "By the bye, my Lord, I want a name for him." "It must be Shake-speare, then," retorted his Lordship.

Sir Abraham Bradley King, Lord Mayor of Dublin, declined, through prudential motives, from giving, during his mayoralty, the Orange toast, so offensive to the King James's party. James, the next Lord Mayor, was not so particular, but gave it at his first dinner. Lord Norbury, who was present, could not help observing, "You are no friend to King, —James."

Lord Norbury calling one day on Mrs. O'Connor, the mattrass-maker in Sackville Street, Dublin, who is a very pretty woman, remonstrated with her on having so long delayed sending home his order: "Sure your Lordship," said the good woman, with great naiveté, "there's no curled hair to be had now in Dublin, neither for love nor money." "By the powers above," replied his Lordship, looking amorously, "but it was very plentiful in this city, Mrs. O'Connor, when I was a curly boy."

Late on a Saturday evening, as Lord Norbury had concluded charging the jury, after a laborious and long trial, when they retired to make up their verdict, a barrister got up to make a motion respecting a horse, that had been returned to a jockey for not being sound. His lordship complained of his being much tired after the business of the day, and begged they would postpone the business till Monday. The lawyer, anxious to push forward the business, said it would only occupy him a few minutes to try it. His Lordship rising, said in his usual dry way: "Gentlemen, to-morrow is a holiday; you will have time and leisure to try the horse yourselves."

Lord Norbury being in company with some lawyers, was asked, had he seen a pamphlet that was written by O'Grady, in which he was reflected on? replied, "Yes, yes, I took it to the water-closet with me." When told who was the author, he replied, "Ha! I did not think my friend Grady intended me such a wipe."

Lord Norbury, while indisposed, was troubled with a determination of blood to the head. Surgeon Carrol accordingly opened the temporal artery; and whilst attending to the operation, his Lordship said to him, "Carrol, I believe you were never called to the bar?" "No, my Lord, I never was," replied the surgeon. – "Well, I am sure, Doctor, I can safely say you have cut a figure in the Temple."

On being informed, last autumn, of the elopement of Mrs. Moore, whose maiden name was Woodcock, Lord Norbury said, "Then we must look out our fleecy hosiery." – "Why so, my Lord?" "Because it is an unerring symptom of a sudden, long, and severe winter to see, so early in the season, the Woodcocks forsake the Moors."

Lord Norbury, meeting the Marchioness of Conyngham and Lady Elizabeth riding on horseback in the Phœnix Park, took occasion to admire the beauty of their horses: "The gift of His Majesty," said her Ladyship artlessly: "and Lady Elizabeth's is also a royal present." – "Then I understand," said Lord Norbury, "His Majesty mounts you both."

A gentleman on circuit narrating to his Lordship some extravagant feat in sporting, mentioned that he had lately shot thirty-three hares before breakfast. – "Thirty-three hares!" exclaimed Lord Norbury: "Zounds, Sir! then you must have been firing at a wig."

A report having reached his Lordship that a female pedant, who was well known as a blue stocking and linguist, was about to be married, he observed, "He could answer for her disposition to conjugate, but feared she would have no opportunity of declining."

At a trial in the Irish Court, Mr. Hope, an eminent attorney, being employed as agent in a certain cause, apologized to the court for the absence of Mr. Joy, his counsel, requesting that it would delay for a few minutes, till Mr. Joy, who was engaged in another court, would return. Some time having elapsed, Lord Norbury addressed the bar, saying, "Gentlemen, I think we had better proceed with the business of the day – although

A witness being interrogated by Lord Norbury, in a manner not pleasing to him, turned to an acquaintance, and told him in a half whisper, that he did not come there to be queered by the old one. Lord Norbury heard him, and instantly replied in his own cant, "I'm old, 'tis true, and I'm rum sometimes – and for once I'll be queer, and send you to quod."

Mr. Curran was to dine with Lord Norbury, when Mr. Toler. His dinner hours were late, which Mr. Curran always disliked. Mr. Toler was going to take his ride, and meeting Mr. Curran walking towards his house, said, "Do not forget, Curran, you dine with me to-day." "I rather fear, my friend," replied Mr. Curran, "it will be so long first, that you may forget it."

In a celebrated trial, wherein Mr. Trumble was plaintiff, and Mr. Allpress of Abbey-street, defendant, before Lord Norbury and a special jury, Mr. Serjeant Johnson, Counsellor Leland, and one or two more very fat barristers were employed for the defendant. The opposite bar were remarkably thin spare men, viz. Messrs. Goold, North, Pennyfather, &c. Mr. Johnson, in defending his client from paying a penal rent, in the heat of argument said, "My Lord and gentlemen of the jury, the opposite party stand forth like Shylock in the play, with their knife outstretched to cut from us the very pound of flesh!" Lord Norbury very tritely interrupted the learned serjeant by saying, "Mr. Johnson, the opposite bar perhaps conceive you can spare it better."

When it was told to Lord Norbury, that sentence of transportation to Botany Bay was passed upon the notorious Mr. Smith, who had been detected in clandestinely pocketing some notes off the vestry-room table, after the collection for the Charity Schools of St. Michael's Church, in November 1819, he jocosely replied, "that he thought it very hard, as it was no uncommon thing to have note takers at all such public meetings."

The Persian Ambassador having, among other public places, visited the Irish Courts of Justice, in November Term of 1819, coming into the Court of Common Pleas whilst it was sitting, the business was suspended for a short time, to view so extraordinary a personage, he being fully dressed in the eastern costume, long beard, &c. After he had retired, one of the Judges asked Lord Norbury what he thought of him, his Lordship wittily replied, "he might be a very clever man, but he was certain he was not a close shaver."

The counsel in the Irish courts are not always so decorous and attentive as they should be. During the examination of a witness, Lord Norbury had occasion once or twice to request silence; when the man, in a reply to a question from his lordship relative to his occupation, answered that "he kept a racket court." "Indeed," said the judge, and looking archly at the bar, continued, "and I am very sorry to say that I am Chief Justice of a racket court much too often."

A certain Irish musical amateur, who was very irritable, had a party of vocal and instrumental friends on a particular evening in every week at his own house; when some wags, more desirous of promoting discord than harmony, used to assemble under his windows, making the most hideous noises, or in the Irish phraseology, "giving him a shaloo," upon which the amateur dislodged the contents of a certain chamber utensil upon the heads of some passers by, but unfortunately missed his persecutors. For this assault an action was brought and tried before Lord Norbury, who, in summing up the case to the jury, good humouredly observed, "that the plaintiffs must be considered in the light of uninvited guests, and it could not be denied that they had been treated by the defendant with pot-luck."

In a humorous trial between the rival managers, Messrs. Daly and Astley, respecting the right of the latter to perform the farce of "My Grandmother," at the Peter-street theatre, Dublin, Daly's counsel stated, that the penalties recoverable from the defendant, for his infringement of the rights of the patent theatre, would all be given to that excellent charity the Lying-in Hospital. Mr. Toler, in reply, observed, "That it was notorious, no man in Dublin had contributed more largely, in one way, to the Lying-in Hospital than Mr. Daly; and it was therefore but fair, if he recovered in this action, that he should send them the cash. But," continued the facetious counsel, "although Mr. Daly's attachment to good pieces is proverbial, we do not choose that he shall monopolize all the good pieces in Dublin, from 'My Grandmother' down to 'Miss in her Teens.'"

PUNNING EPIGRAMS

Dean Swift's barber one day told him that he had taken a public house. "And what's your sign?" said the Dean. "Oh, the pole and bason; and if your worship would just write me a few lines to put upon it, by way of motto, I have no doubt but it would draw me plenty of customers." The Dean took out his pencil, and wrote the following couplet, which long graced the barber's sign: