Garrick having remarked at the Beef-Steak Club, that he had so large a mass of manuscript plays submitted to his perusal, that they were constantly liable to be mislaid, he observed, that, unpleasant as it was to reject an author’s piece, it was an affront to the poor devil’s feelings if it could not instantly be found; and that, for this reason, he made a point of ticketing and labelling the play that was to be returned, that it might be forthcoming at a moment’s notice. “A fig for your hypocrisy!” exclaimed Murphy, across the table: “you know Davy, you mislaid my tragedy two months ago, and I make no doubt you have lost it.” “Yes,” replied Garrick; “but you forget, you ungrateful dog, that I offered you more than its value; for you might have had two manuscript farces in its stead.”

      On one occasion, Garrick dined in the beef-steak room at Covent Garden, ready dressed in character for the part of Ranger, which he was to perform the same night at the other theatre. Ranger appears in the opening of the comedy; and as the curtain was not drawn up at the usual time, the audience began to manifest considerable impatience, for Garrick had not yet arrived. A call-boy was instantly despatched for him, but he was unfortunately retarded by a line of carriages that blocked up the whole of Russel Street, which it was necessary for him to cross. This protracted still further the commencement of the piece; and the house evinced considerable dissatisfaction, with cries of “Manager, manager!” When Garrick at length reached the green-room, he found Dr. Ford, one of the patentees, pacing backwards and forwards in great agitation. The moment the doctor saw him, he addressed him in a strong tone of rebuke. “I think, David, considering the stake you and I have in this theatre, you might pay more attention to its business.” “True, my good friend,” returned Garrick, “I should have been in good time; but I was thinking of my steak in the other.” The appearance of their favourite soon pacified the audience, and Garrick went through the character with more vivacity than ever.

      When Colman read his admirable opera of Inkle and Yarico to the late Dr. Moseley, the doctor made no remark during the progress of the piece; but, when it was concluded, being asked what he thought of it, “It won’t do,” said the doctor; “stuff, nonsense!” Every body else having been delighted with it, this decided disapprobation puzzled the circle: he was asked why? “I’ll tell you why,” answered the critic; “you say in the finale,

      It won’t do: there is but one bell in the whole island.”

      Some one was asked 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.”

      In the reign of King James the First, it is said, that titles were not always well placed; which made an extravagant young fellow very smart upon a courtier, whom he desired to move the King to make him a lord. “What pretensions, either of blood or merit,” replies the courtier, “have you to recommend you to that dignity?” The young man confessed modestly, that “he hoped he stood possessed of all the qualities requisite for a fashionable nobleman; that he loved dogs, dice, and drabs; scorned wit in poor clothes; and had beat his shoemaker, and ruined his tailor.” The matter came to the king’s ear; but the young candidate’s preferment was opposed by a person in waiting, who, it seems, had had no feeling in the affair. The king demanded what reasons there were against the man’s being made a lord; the courtier insisted, that “he was a mean obscure person, and not so much as a gentleman.” “Oh! it is no matter for that,” replies the monarch, merrily, “I can make a lord, though I cannot make a gentleman.”

      A noted wag remarked the absurdity of a tradesman putting his name plump in the middle of the words expressing his trade, – a practice very common in London. “For example,” said he, “how ridiculous it is to see General Henderson Fish-merchant, in Holborn; or Dealer in Mash Potatoes, in the Commercial Road.” “Dear me,” exclaimed a young lady present, “I am very fond of mash-potatoes; I should like to deal with that man.” “If you are so fond of them,” replied her informant, “probably you would like better to board with him.”