A musician of the name of Goodall, who belonged to the orchestra of the Theatre Royal, Richmond, in 1767, was fonder of his, or any other man's, bottle than his own bassoon. The natural consequence was, that he frequently failed in his attendances at the theatre. Upon one occasion, after an absence of a week, he returned in the middle of the performances for the evening. A piece was being acted called the "Intriguing Chambermaid," in which there is a character of an old gentleman called _Mr. Goodall_, who comes on as from a journey, followed by a servant carrying his portmanteau. To him there enters a lady, _Mrs. Highman_, whose first exclamation is, "Bless my eyes, what do I see? _Mr. Goodall_ returned?" At that precise moment Old Goodall happened to put his head into the orchestra, and fancying himself addressed, called out, "Lord bless you, ma'am, I've been here this half hour." Old Storace (the father of the celebrated composer) had lost nearly all his teeth at rather an early period of his life. This, to one who was decidedly a _bon vivant_, was a great annoyance. A dentist of eminence undertook to supply the defect: he drew the few teeth which, remained, and fitted the patient with an entire new set, which acted by means of springs, and were removable at pleasure. The operation was so skilfully performed, and the resemblance so good, that Storace flattered himself that no one could discover the deception. Being one day in company with Foster (a performer in the Drury Lane orchestra, and one celebrated among his companions for quaintness and humour), he said, "Now, Foster, I'll surprise you--I'll show you something you never could have guessed." So saying, he took out the ivory teeth, and exclaimed with an air of triumph, "There, what do you think of that?" "Poh! nonsense! surprise me," replied Foster, "I knew perfectly well they were false." "How the devil could you know that?" said Storace. "Why," rejoined Foster, "_I never knew anything true come out of your mouth!_"--_Athenæum_. * * * * *