ordered to withdraw, and the House began to debate on the propriety of the question. The discussion lasted for some hours; but at length the determination being in favour of Davy, he was called in, and the Speaker informed him he might put his question. “I protest, Mr. Speaker,” replied Davy, “I entirely forget what it was.” This, as may easily be believed, threw the House into a roar of laughter.
His brother-serjeant, Whitaker, was still more celebrated for his wit, or rather dry humour. On some contested election before the House of Commons, he argued that the testimony of a Mr. Smith would be very material for his client. The adverse party were very desirous that the witness should not be produced, and urged that he was in so bad a state of health it might be extremely prejudicial to him to remain for some hours in so hot a place as a full House of Commons. At length it was determined that Mr. Smith should be examined; and to give a colour to what had been alleged, he was brought in muffled up, and supported by a friend. All the members were very attentive when Whitaker rose to examine him, expecting some question that would get to the bottom of the business. The serjeant got up with great gravity, and began his examination with—“Pray, Mr. Smith, how do you do?” The greater part of the House being in the secret, or at least suspecting that his illness was mere pretence, burst into a roar of laughter not less violent than that produced by Davy’s sally on
