A rich usurer was very lame of one of his legs, and yet nothing of hurt outwardly to be seen, whereupon he sent for a surgeon for his advice; who, being more honest than ordinary, told him, “It was in vain to meddle with it, for it was only old age that was the cause.” _But why then_ (said the usurer) _should not my other leg be as lame as this, seeing that the one is no older than the other?_ * * * * * A gentleman disputing about religion in Button’s Coffeehouse, some of the company said, “You talk of religion! I will hold you five guineas, you cannot repeat the Lord’s prayer; Sir Richard Steele here shall hold stakes.” The money being deposited, the gentleman began, _I believe in God_; and so went through his Creed. _Well_, said the other, _I own I have lost, but I did not think that you could have done it_. * * * * * A gentleman calling for small-beer at another gentleman’s table, finding it very hard, gave it the servant again without drinking. “What,” said the master of the house, “do you not like the beer?” _It is not to be found fault with_, answered the other, _for one should never speak ill of the dead_. Some gentlemen being at a tavern together, for want of better diversion, some proposed play; but, said another of the company, “I have fourteen good reasons against gaming.” “What are those,” said another? “In the first place,” answered he, _I have no Money_. _Oh!_ said the first, _if you had four hundred reasons, you need not name another_. * * * * * Quin used to apply a story to the then ministry. A master of a brig calls out, _Who is there?_ A boy answered, _Will, Sir.--What are you doing?--Nothing, Sir.--Is Tom there?--Yes_, says Tom.--_What are you doing, Tom?--Helping Will, Sir._ * * * * * A gentleman, passing a woman who was skinning eels, and observing the torture of the poor animals, asked her, how she could have the heart to put them to such pain. _Ah_, said she, _poor creatures! they be used to it_. * * * * * A silly priest at Trumpington being to read that place, _Eli, Eli, Lamasabachthani_, began to consider with himself, that it might be ridiculous and absurd for him to read it as it stood, because he was vicar of Trumpington, and not of Ely: and therefore he read it, _Trumpington, Trumpington, Lamasabachthani_. * * * * * It seems impossible, right here, not to digress, chronologically, for a moment. Every one will have noticed that these old time jests are the foundations on which many modern stories are built, but the last one quoted above is so palpably the prototype of a current Boston story that it must be told. * * * * * A small child named Halliwell, spending the night with a neighbor, Mrs. Cabot, knelt at the knee of her hostess to say her evening prayer.