is at No. 54?'

"'Why, lor, it's only the baker with pies.'

"'Pies, Betty? What _can_ they want with pies at 54? They had pies
yesterday!'"

Poole had the happy knack of turning every trifling incident to valuable
account. I remember his telling me an anecdote in illustration of this
faculty. I believe he never printed it. Being at Brighton one day, he
strolled into an hotel to get an early dinner, took his seat at a table,
and was discussing his chop and ale, when another guest entered, took
his stand by the fire, and began whistling. After a minute or two,--

"Fine day, Sir," said he.

"Very fine," answered Poole.

"Business pretty brisk?"

"I believe so."

"Do anything with Jones on the Parade?"

"Now," said Poole, "it so happened that Jones was the grocer from whom I
occasionally bought a quarter of a pound of tea; so I answered,--

"'A little.'

"'Good man, Sir,' quoth the stranger.

"'Glad to hear it, Sir.'

"'Do anything with Thomson in King Street?'

"'No, Sir.'

"'Shaky, Sir.'

"'Sorry to hear it, Sir; recommend Mahomet's baths!'

"'Anything with Smith in James Street?'

"'Nothing,--I have heard the name of Smith before, certainly; but of
this particular Smith I know nothing.'"

The stranger looked at Poole earnestly, advanced to the table, and with
his arms a-kimbo said,--

"By Jove, Sir, I begin to think you are a gentleman!"

"I hope so, Sir," answered Poole; "and I hope you are the same!"

"Nothing of the kind," said the stranger; "and if you are a gentleman,
what business have you here?"

Upon which he rang the bell, and, as the waiter entered, indignantly
exclaimed,--

"That's a gentleman,--turn him out!"

Poole had unluckily entered and taken his seat in the commercial room of
the hotel!

All who knew Poole know that he was ever full of himself,--believing his
renown to be the common talk of the world. A whimsical illustration of
this weakness was lately told me by a mutual friend. When at Paris
recently, he chanced to say to Poole, "Of course you are full of all the
theatres."--"No, Sir, I am not," he answered, solemnly and indignantly.
"Will you believe _this_? I went to the Opera Comique, told the Director
I wished a free admission; he asked me who I was; I said, 'John Poole.'
Sir, I ask you, will you believe _this_? He said, _he didn't know me_!"

The Queen gave him a nomination to the Charter-House, where his age
might have been passed in ease, respectability, c