600 The Conversazione. (Jung, 
went on—was beggared,—and you know how and where he died. 
Poor fellow! He deserved a better fate. He was a kind-hearted crea- 
ture ; and if he coveted a princely fortune, I am satisfied he would 
have used it like a prince. But I am forgetting my story. Well, then. 
It was after he had totally relinquished his profession as an oculist, that 
he might devote his entire time and attention to the Mexican mining 
affairs, that a gentleman, ignorant of the circumstance, called upon him 
one morning to consult him. Sir William looked at him for a moment, 
and then exclaimed, in the words of Macbeth, addressing Banquo’s 
ghost, “ Avaunt—there is no speculation in those eyes !’—[_Another loud 
laugh. | 
Dr. U.- ns. Ha! ha! ha! very good: but too good for my friend 
Sir William. I never knew hin: guilty of saying a good thing; and 
not often of comprehending one. 
Major P—r—it. His apprehension was not so slow, I suppose, 
as that of a gentleman in whose company I dined yesterday, who 
broke out into a violent fit of laughter, half .an hour after a joke had 
been passed, protesting, with great earnestness, that he had only just 
then discovered its meaning. 
Mr. § n. That’s nothing compared to Lord Sundon, who was 
one of the Commissioners of the Treasury in the reign of George II. 
The celebrated Bob Doddington was a colleague of the noble lord, and 
was always complaining of his slowness of comprehension. One day 
that Lord Sundon laughed at something which Doddington had said, 
Winnington, another member of the board, said to him, in a whisper, 
«You are very ungrateful: you see Lord Sundon takes your joke.”— 
« No, no,” replied Doddington, “ he is laughing now at what I said 
last board day.” 
Mr. G t, (a genileman weighing eighteen stone, with a wooden leg, 
and a cork hand.) Talking of apt quotations, I'll give you an instance 
of an apt translation. Lord North, whom the Oxonians used to call 
their witty chancellor, was performing the office of a Cicerone, or, in 
other words, showing the lions of the University, to a lady. They came 
to the schools. The lady was inquisitive. She asked the meaning of 
« Ars Grammatica, “ Ars Logica,’ &c. &c. written over the doors. 
Lord North explained. At length she espied “ Ars Musica.”—« That, 
said the lady, “means of course .’ © Yes,” interrupted Lord 
North, “ that is what we call in English bum-fidale !” 
Dr. U——ns. That’s a pun, and a vile one. I abhor punning. It 
is the very lowest species of wit, if indeed it can be called wit at all. - 
Any booby can make a bad pun, and I never heard a good one. 
Major P—r—tt. Then I'll tell you one, Doctor, and you shall con- 
fess it is a good one. A certain person, who shall be nameless, filled the 
situation of Plumian Professor of Astronomy at Oxford. He was a great 
stickler for decorum, and all due respect to his office. One day he re- 
ceived a letter by the post, directed to himself, as the Plumbian Professor. 
He shook with indignation. What an insult! Plumbian professor ! 
Leaden professor! Was it meant to be insinuated that there was any 
thing of a leaden quality in his lectures or writings! While thus irate, 
a friend of the professor happened to drop in. He showed him the 
letter, and. expatiated upon the indignity of the superscription. His 
friend endeavoured to convince him that it must be merely a slip of the 
pen. In vain. The professor would not be pacified. “ Well,” said his 
