Equally familiar is the jest of the pedant who was looking out for a place to prepare a tomb for himself, and on a friend indicating what he thought to be a suitable spot, “Very true,” said the pedant, “but it is unhealthy.”  And we have the prototype of a modern “Irish” story in the following:  A pedant sealed a jar of wine, and his slaves perforated it below and drew off some of the liquor.  He was astonished to find his wine disappear while the seal remained intact.  A friend, to whom he had communicated the affair, advised him to look and ascertain if the liquor had not been drawn off from below.  “Why, you fool,” said he, “it is not the lower, but the upper, portion that is going off.”

It was a Greek pedant who stood before a mirror and shut his eyes that he might know how he looked when asleep—­a jest which reappears in Taylor’s Wit and Mirth in this form:  “A wealthy monsieur in France (hauing profound reuenues and a shallow braine) was told by his man that he did continually gape in his sleepe, at which he was angry with his man, saying he would not belieue it.  His man verified it to be true; his master said that he would neuer belieue any that told him so, except (quoth hee) I chance to see it with mine owne eyes; and therefore I will have a great Looking glasse at my bed’s feet for the purpose to try whether thou art a lying knaue or not."[2]

Not unlike some of our “Joe Millers” is the following:  A citizen of Cumae, on an ass, passed by an orchard, and seeing a branch of a fig-tree loaded with delicious fruit, he laid hold of it, but the ass went on, leaving him suspended.  Just then the gardener came up, and asked him what he did there.  The man replied, “I fell off the ass.”—­An analogue to this drollery is found in an Indian story-book, entitled Katha Manjari:  One day a thief climbed up a cocoa-nut tree in a garden to steal the fruit.  The gardener heard the noise, and while he was running from his house, giving the alarm, the thief hastily descended from the tree.  “Why were you up that tree?” asked the gardener.  The thief replied, “My brother, I went up to gather grass for my calf.”  “Ha! ha! is there grass, then, on a cocoa-nut tree?” said the gardener.  “No,” quoth the thief; “but I did not know; therefore I came down again.”—­And we have a variant of this in the Turkish jest of the fellow who went into a garden and pulled up carrots, turnips, and other kinds of vegetables, some of which he put into a sack, and some into his bosom.  The gardener, coming suddenly on the spot, laid hold of him, and said, “What are you seeking here?” The simpleton replied, “For some days past a great wind has been blowing, and that wind blew me hither.”  “But who pulled up these vegetables?” “As the wind blew very violently, it cast me here and there; and whatever I laid hold of in the hope of saving myself remained in my hands.”  “Ah,” said the gardener, “but who filled this sack with them?” “Well, that is the very question I was about to ask myself when you came up.”