remarkable Instance of this Kind. There came up a shrewd
young Fellow to a plain young Man, his Countryman, and taking him aside
with a grave concern'd Countenance, goes on at this rate: I see you
here, and have you heard nothing out of _Yorkshire_--You look so
surpriz'd you could not have heard of it--and yet the Particulars are
such, that it cannot be false: I am sorry I am got into it so far that I
now must tell you; but I know not but it may be for your Service to
know--on _Tuesday_ last, just after Dinner--you know his Manner is to
smoke, opening his Box, your Father fell down dead in an Apoplexy. The
Youth shew'd the filial Sorrow which he ought--Upon which the witty Man
cry'd, _Bite, there was nothing in all this_--

To put an end to this silly, pernicious, frivolous Way at once, I will
give the Reader one late Instance of a _Bite_, which no _Biter_ for the
future will ever be able to equal, tho' I heartily wish him the same
Occasion. It is a Superstition with some Surgeons who beg the Bodies of
condemn'd Malefactors, to go to the Gaol, and bargain for the Carcase
with the Criminal himself. A good honest Fellow did so last Sessions,
and was admitted to the condemned Men on the Morning wherein they died.
The Surgeon communicated his Business, and fell into discourse with a
little Fellow, who refused Twelve Shillings, and insisted upon Fifteen
for his Body. The Fellow, who kill'd the Officer of _Newgate_, very
forwardly, and like a Man who was willing to deal, told him, Look you,
Mr. Surgeon, that little dry Fellow, who has been half-starved all his
Life, and is now half-dead with Fear, cannot answer your Purpose. I have
ever liv'd high and freely, my Veins are full, I have not pined in
Imprisonment; you see my Crest swells to your Knife, and after
_Jack-Catch_ has done, upon my Honour you'll find me as sound as e'er a
Bullock in any of the Markets. Come, for Twenty Shillings I am your
Man--Says the Surgeon, Done, there's a Guinea--This witty Rogue took the
Money, and as soon as he had it in his Fist, cries, _Bite, I am to be
hang'd in Chains._

T.

[Footnote 1: See No. 47. Swift writes,

'I'll teach you a way to outwit Mrs. Johnson; it is a new fashioned
way of being witty, and they call it a _Bite_. You must ask a
bantering question, or tell some lie in a serious manner, then she
will answer, or speak as if you were in earnest, and then cry you,
"Madam, there's a _Bite_." I would not have you u