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Lady of uncertain age(discussing dinner party). No, I cannot say it was very complimentary; they gave me to an archæologist to take down.
there's wine for youOld Jones."Yes, my boy,there'swine for you, eh? I bought ten pounds worth of it the other day."Brown."What alotyou must have got!"
Old Jones."Yes, my boy,there'swine for you, eh? I bought ten pounds worth of it the other day."
Brown."What alotyou must have got!"
A BIG ORDERA BIG ORDERStout Party(to waitress), "Put me on a pancake, please!"
Stout Party(to waitress), "Put me on a pancake, please!"
At a Literary BanquetAt a Literary and Artistic Banquet.—Waiter(to colleague). "Well, they may 'ave the intellec', Fred, but we certainly 'as the good looks!"
At a Literary and Artistic Banquet.—Waiter(to colleague). "Well, they may 'ave the intellec', Fred, but we certainly 'as the good looks!"
phonographic speech machineWhy not a phonographic after-dinner speech machine? Celebrities could be represented at any number of banquets.["An experiment in dinner speeches by telephone is to be tried at Massachusetts Institute."]
Why not a phonographic after-dinner speech machine? Celebrities could be represented at any number of banquets.
["An experiment in dinner speeches by telephone is to be tried at Massachusetts Institute."]
THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED OTHERWISETHINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED OTHERWISEWould-be Considerate Hostess (to son of the house)."How inattentive you are, John! You really must look after Mr. Brown.He's helping himself to everything!"[Discomfiture of Brown, who, if somewhat shy, is conscious of a very healthy appetite.
Would-be Considerate Hostess (to son of the house)."How inattentive you are, John! You really must look after Mr. Brown.He's helping himself to everything!"
[Discomfiture of Brown, who, if somewhat shy, is conscious of a very healthy appetite.
Things One would(n't) rather have left UnsaidThings One would(n't) rather have left Unsaid.—(In Mrs. Talbot de Vere Skynflynte's drawing-room, after one of her grand dinner-parties where nobody gets enough to eat.)General Guzzleton."What's that? Tea? No, thanks. I never take tea unless I've dined!"
Things One would(n't) rather have left Unsaid.—(In Mrs. Talbot de Vere Skynflynte's drawing-room, after one of her grand dinner-parties where nobody gets enough to eat.)General Guzzleton."What's that? Tea? No, thanks. I never take tea unless I've dined!"
Ices and tea and coffee and small cakes are as good as a feast.
You may bring an amateur tenor up to a piano, but you cannot make him sing.
A lord in the room is worth two dukes in the bush.
In provincial society the lord-lieutenant is king.
Flirtation is the mother of invention.
All good dances lead to the conservatory.
Take care of the rounds, and the squares will look after themselves.
It is a wise waltzer who knows her own step.
A dinner in time saves nine.
When the confectioner comes in by the door the cook flies out by the window.
What is port to your wine merchant is death to your guests.
Keep your champagne dry.
Call a stable-boy by any other name, and hewill resemble the rose under similar circumstances.
You can't make a head butler out of a local greengrocer.
When the soup is cold, the wit flies out.
If you have enough cheap and nasty dishes, some of them must be eaten.
Themenumakes the dinner.
AskMr. Punchto a really good and well thought-out meal, and you will have an exceptionally lucky man for your guest.
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Good-bye dinner, good-bye lunch,Good-bye turtle, good-bye punch,Good-bye jambon soaked in cham.,Good-bye venison, cutlets lamb,Good-bye salmon, smelts, and sole,Good-bye Heidsieck's monopole,Good-bye hock, sauterne, and sherry,Good-bye all that makes me merry,Good-bye liqueurs,petit verre,Good-bye sauceau Vin Madère,Good-bye all these joys of life,Good-bye fork, and good-bye knife,Good-bye all I take when out,Good-byethenthis twinge of gout!
Good-bye dinner, good-bye lunch,Good-bye turtle, good-bye punch,Good-bye jambon soaked in cham.,Good-bye venison, cutlets lamb,Good-bye salmon, smelts, and sole,Good-bye Heidsieck's monopole,Good-bye hock, sauterne, and sherry,Good-bye all that makes me merry,Good-bye liqueurs,petit verre,Good-bye sauceau Vin Madère,Good-bye all these joys of life,Good-bye fork, and good-bye knife,Good-bye all I take when out,Good-byethenthis twinge of gout!
Good-bye dinner, good-bye lunch,
Good-bye turtle, good-bye punch,
Good-bye jambon soaked in cham.,
Good-bye venison, cutlets lamb,
Good-bye salmon, smelts, and sole,
Good-bye Heidsieck's monopole,
Good-bye hock, sauterne, and sherry,
Good-bye all that makes me merry,
Good-bye liqueurs,petit verre,
Good-bye sauceau Vin Madère,
Good-bye all these joys of life,
Good-bye fork, and good-bye knife,
Good-bye all I take when out,
Good-byethenthis twinge of gout!
Our Gallant ColonelOur Gallant Colonel."Your daughters, my dear Mrs. Tympanum, are looking delightful to-night—simply delightful!"Mrs. Tympanum (rather hard of hearing, and very intent on a rôti of ducklings)."Yes, aren't they! I've had them stuffed with sage and onions!"
Our Gallant Colonel."Your daughters, my dear Mrs. Tympanum, are looking delightful to-night—simply delightful!"
Mrs. Tympanum (rather hard of hearing, and very intent on a rôti of ducklings)."Yes, aren't they! I've had them stuffed with sage and onions!"
CruelCruel!—Smith (usually a shy, reserved, and silent man) tells a rather long, but otherwise entertaining, story, about an orange, which meets with great success. Brown (when the laughter and applause have subsided)."Bravo, Smith! Capital, old man! But, I say, you told it better one night at Jones's, a few months ago!"Jones."No, no! Where he told it best was that morning we breakfasted with you, Brown, somewhere about the beginning of the year before last!"Robinson."Ah, but don't you recollect the way he told it after that supper I gave you fellows at Evans' in 'fifty-one'? How wedidlaugh, to be sure!"
Cruel!—Smith (usually a shy, reserved, and silent man) tells a rather long, but otherwise entertaining, story, about an orange, which meets with great success. Brown (when the laughter and applause have subsided)."Bravo, Smith! Capital, old man! But, I say, you told it better one night at Jones's, a few months ago!"Jones."No, no! Where he told it best was that morning we breakfasted with you, Brown, somewhere about the beginning of the year before last!"Robinson."Ah, but don't you recollect the way he told it after that supper I gave you fellows at Evans' in 'fifty-one'? How wedidlaugh, to be sure!"
Whose Fault?Whose Fault?—Wife (reproachfully)."O, Charles!" (She had returned to the dining-room, wondering why he had not come upstairs to tea.) Charles (who had evidently taken a little too much wine)."V'y well, my dear! 'Sh not my fault! 'Sh your fault! Cooksh fault! 'Bisque soup was salt! Sh'preme d'la V'laille was smoked! And orange frittersh 'tough as leather! What did Capt'n du Cane shay? Bad cookery cause of all sorts o' crimes. 'Shamed of yourshelf!"
Whose Fault?—Wife (reproachfully)."O, Charles!" (She had returned to the dining-room, wondering why he had not come upstairs to tea.) Charles (who had evidently taken a little too much wine)."V'y well, my dear! 'Sh not my fault! 'Sh your fault! Cooksh fault! 'Bisque soup was salt! Sh'preme d'la V'laille was smoked! And orange frittersh 'tough as leather! What did Capt'n du Cane shay? Bad cookery cause of all sorts o' crimes. 'Shamed of yourshelf!"
our veins are filled"For when our veins are filledWith wine and feeding, we have suppler soulsThan in our priest-like fasts."—Shakspeare:Coriolanus.After-dinner Criticism.—Guest (who has had a pleasant evening, will just have a look at his host's pictures before he goes)."Yesh—(hic)—'like tha' pictsh're! Fi' lanshc'pe! 'Like the treesh! 'Branshes wave 'bout s' nash'rally!!!"
"For when our veins are filledWith wine and feeding, we have suppler soulsThan in our priest-like fasts."—Shakspeare:Coriolanus.
"For when our veins are filledWith wine and feeding, we have suppler soulsThan in our priest-like fasts."—Shakspeare:Coriolanus.
"For when our veins are filled
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls
Than in our priest-like fasts."—Shakspeare:Coriolanus.
After-dinner Criticism.—Guest (who has had a pleasant evening, will just have a look at his host's pictures before he goes)."Yesh—(hic)—'like tha' pictsh're! Fi' lanshc'pe! 'Like the treesh! 'Branshes wave 'bout s' nash'rally!!!"
Twice of soup is vulgar, but three times of soup implies that you must be more than double-plated with vulgarity. Such a thing was never known, not even at the Trinity Board, and turtle is not the slightest excuse for your pushing things to such a vulgar length. An alderman would really blush for you.
A soft answer turneth away wrath, and an invitation to take a glass of wine will frequently restore warmth between two friends where only coldness existed before.
No matter how plain your cook may be, so long as your dinner is well-dressed.
A few compliments go a great way. A little savourypâtéis quite enough. Try too many, and you'll find they'll prove heavy.
When the ladies retire from the dinner-table, it is not usual for you (supposing you to be a gentleman) to retire with them. In this instance, the same law extends to the mistress as to the servants:—"No Followers Allowed."
A gratuity well bestowed frequently has a happy effect. The servant that is fee'd well takes care that his master does the same.
In the hands of an inferiorartiste, whether an omelette turns out good or bad, is quite a matter of toss up. It is the same with a pancake.
Keep ill-natured people from your table, as you would sour fruit. They are sure to disagree with every one. Avoid crab-apples, lest the apple of discord should turn up amongst them.
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"The tocsin of the soul—the dinner-bell."So said, admiringly, the late Lord Byron,But he had never heardyournoisy knell,O blatant bellowing thing of brass or iron,Or surely he had metrically cursedYour nerve-distracting Corybantic clangour.Would his fine indignation could have versedMy utter hate, my agonising anger.Alas! is gusto then so great a sin,Is feeding man so terrible a sinnerThat such a worse thanDuncan-raising dinMust summon him to—dinner?
"The tocsin of the soul—the dinner-bell."So said, admiringly, the late Lord Byron,But he had never heardyournoisy knell,O blatant bellowing thing of brass or iron,Or surely he had metrically cursedYour nerve-distracting Corybantic clangour.
"The tocsin of the soul—the dinner-bell."
So said, admiringly, the late Lord Byron,
But he had never heardyournoisy knell,
O blatant bellowing thing of brass or iron,
Or surely he had metrically cursed
Your nerve-distracting Corybantic clangour.
Would his fine indignation could have versedMy utter hate, my agonising anger.Alas! is gusto then so great a sin,Is feeding man so terrible a sinnerThat such a worse thanDuncan-raising dinMust summon him to—dinner?
Would his fine indignation could have versed
My utter hate, my agonising anger.
Alas! is gusto then so great a sin,
Is feeding man so terrible a sinner
That such a worse thanDuncan-raising din
Must summon him to—dinner?
Down a PegDown a Peg.—Mr. Gifted Hopkins (minor poet, essayist, critic, golfer, fin-de-siècle idol, &c.)."Oh, Mrs. Smart—a—I've been thinking, for the last twenty minutes, of something to say to you!"Mrs. Smart (cheerfully)."Please go on thinking, Mr. Hopkins,—and I'll go on talking to Professor Brayne in the meantime.
Down a Peg.—Mr. Gifted Hopkins (minor poet, essayist, critic, golfer, fin-de-siècle idol, &c.)."Oh, Mrs. Smart—a—I've been thinking, for the last twenty minutes, of something to say to you!"Mrs. Smart (cheerfully)."Please go on thinking, Mr. Hopkins,—and I'll go on talking to Professor Brayne in the meantime.
Past and PresentPast and Present.—Serious and much-married man."My dear friend, Iwasastonished to hear ofyourdining at Madame Troisétoiles!—a 'woman with a past' you know!"The Friend(bachelor "unattached"). "Well, you see, old man, she got a first-ratechef, so it isn't her 'past,' but her 're-past' thatIcare about."
Past and Present.—Serious and much-married man."My dear friend, Iwasastonished to hear ofyourdining at Madame Troisétoiles!—a 'woman with a past' you know!"
The Friend(bachelor "unattached"). "Well, you see, old man, she got a first-ratechef, so it isn't her 'past,' but her 're-past' thatIcare about."
A ConnoisseurA Connoisseur.—Sir Pompey Bedell."This bottle of Romanée-conti seems rather cloudy, Brown! Itoughtto be all right. I know it stands me intwelve guineas a dozen!"The New Butler."There certainlyhissome sediment, Sir Pompey; but it's of no consequence whatever! I tried a bottle of itmyselfthe other day, and found it first-rate!"
A Connoisseur.—Sir Pompey Bedell."This bottle of Romanée-conti seems rather cloudy, Brown! Itoughtto be all right. I know it stands me intwelve guineas a dozen!"
The New Butler."There certainlyhissome sediment, Sir Pompey; but it's of no consequence whatever! I tried a bottle of itmyselfthe other day, and found it first-rate!"
A PIOUS FRAUDA PIOUS FRAUD!"Hullo, Monty, what have you got in your button-hole? You don't mean to say you've joined the blue ribbon army?""Yes; for this night only. Going to dine with Jakes. Don't want to hurt poor old Jakes' feelings—don't want to be poisoned by his beastly wine. See?"
"Hullo, Monty, what have you got in your button-hole? You don't mean to say you've joined the blue ribbon army?"
"Yes; for this night only. Going to dine with Jakes. Don't want to hurt poor old Jakes' feelings—don't want to be poisoned by his beastly wine. See?"
DAYS OF THE CRINOLINEIN THE DAYS OF THE CRINOLINE—DINING UNDER DIFFICULTIES
RepletionRepletion.—Robert."Pudding or cheese, sir?"Abstracted Editor."Owing to pressure of other matter, 'regret we are unable to find room for it!"
Repletion.—Robert."Pudding or cheese, sir?"
Abstracted Editor."Owing to pressure of other matter, 'regret we are unable to find room for it!"
how's the enemyBrown(who has been dining at the club with Jones). "Just come in a minute, old fellow, and have a night-cap."Jones."I'm afraid it's getting a little late. Let's see how's the enemy."Brown."Oh! that's all right.She'sin bed."
Brown(who has been dining at the club with Jones). "Just come in a minute, old fellow, and have a night-cap."
Jones."I'm afraid it's getting a little late. Let's see how's the enemy."
Brown."Oh! that's all right.She'sin bed."
INNOCENTS IN THE CITYINNOCENTS IN THE CITYMrs. Fitznoodle(evidently not well versed in the delicacies of a Guildhall feast). "Freddy, dear, can you tell me whatisthe difference between 'calipash' and 'calipee'?"Colonel Fitznoodle(hesitating, and looking round for an answer). "Certainly, my dear. Exactly the difference there is between 'Gog' and 'Magog'!"
Mrs. Fitznoodle(evidently not well versed in the delicacies of a Guildhall feast). "Freddy, dear, can you tell me whatisthe difference between 'calipash' and 'calipee'?"
Colonel Fitznoodle(hesitating, and looking round for an answer). "Certainly, my dear. Exactly the difference there is between 'Gog' and 'Magog'!"
(With apologies to the P-ll M-ll G-z-tte)
(With apologies to the P-ll M-ll G-z-tte)
It had been my good fortune to give to Mademoiselle Faustine, a charming little actress, a tip for the Welter Plate last spring. What more natural than that I should ask her to give me a dinner as some slight return? She readily accepted, and asked me to name the day. Glancing at the sixth volume of my engagement book, I found my first vacant date was June 18, '97. This was fortunate, as it is hardly possible—except at Voisin's—to get a decent dinner unless you order it a year in advance.
"Where shall we dine?" asked Faustine.
"There is only one place where peopledodine," I answered, a little reproachfully. "The Bon Marché. I will order the dinner."
So the place and the date were fixed.
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As Faustine was a quarter of an hour late—I had not seen her since our arrangement—I waitedin the alabaster portico of the Bon Marché, chatting amiably to the courteous commissionaire, an old comrade of mine in the Wimbledon days. Jules, the courteouschef, wasau désespoir. Why had I not given him more notice? Madame was fifteen minutes late. If he had only known! In a year and fifteen minutes it is possible to cook a dinner. In a year—no. I tried to calm the worthy fellow—an old ally of mine in the Crimean war. In vain; he complained the sardines were spoiling. So I went into the dining-room, nodding courteously to eight princes of the blood, neither of whom appeared, for the moment, to recognise me.
As I seated myself, the entire staff, headed by a brass band, brought me mysardines à l'huile. These are aspecialitéof the house, and are never—should never be, at least—eaten with the tin. Thepotage à la potassewas quite excellent. I congratulated the courteouschef, pointing out to him the desirability of mixing, sometimes, a little anti-pyrine into the potassium—both drugs far too rarely used in modern cookery. Then came the question of wine. This I solved for the momentby ordering two Jeroboams of Stereoscopic Company et Fils; acuvéeof '80, absolutelyreservéefor my own use. As I had engaged the entire staff of waiters, a crown prince, who was entertaining one of our leading bicyclists, rose to leave, with his guest. I smiled and nodded to them as they passed, which appeared to hasten their departure.
Themoulin à ventwas delicious, but thedindon décousuI could not pass. No self-respectinggourmetwill pass everything at a dinner.
Gontran, the kindlymaître d'hôtel, was almost in tears, but I consoled him by observing that the ostriches were cooked to a turn, and thebombe glacée à l'anarchistefaultless.
But my hostess? Where was she? Where was Mademoiselle Faustine? I had quite forgotten her! I beckoned to Hagenbock, the press representative of the restaurant, who informed me she had been dead eight months! I, who read nothing but menus, had omitted to notice this in the papers. I was greatly pained. The shock unnerved me—I could eat no more. Besides, who was now to pay the bill?
I reproduce the bill.
Couverts, £5. Diners, £36 8s.Pain, 2s.Champagne, £47. Liqueurs, 15s.Addition, 3s.
In all, £89 8s.—(This is one of the few restaurants where a charge is made for the addition.)
"Make out the bill," said I, "in francs, and send it to the executors of Mademoiselle Faustine."
Monsieur Victor de Train-de-Luxe is in many respects a delightful person. In other ways he is not. For instance, because he was, accidentally, the cause of my backing a winner at Ascot (simply by means of ordinary stable information), he had the bad taste to suggest that I should stand him a dinner.
I said, "Certainly, my dear Comte" (Comte being the courtesy title I invariably give to foreigners from whom I have the hope of borrowing money).
"Where shall it be?"
"There is only one place where onecandine," I said.
"Of course—the Bon Marché," he replied.
"No," I answered. "No,mon ami. If you wish to eat a really characteristic English dinner, come to the Vegetarian Restaurant in Edgware Road. Come along. Come,now!"
"But it's only six o'clock. I am not hungry."
"All the better," I replied. And I also pointed out to him that the best way to see London is outside an omnibus. So we started.
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Arrived at the restaurant, I was enthusiastically received by the courteous cashier, who presented me with a previous bill, which, I noticed, had not been receipted. I said I thought it rather rude to present a gentleman with a bill which they hadn't taken the trouble to receipt.
We sat down.
"I'm glad," I said to Victor, "that I didn't know this dinner was coming off to-day. If I had had notice, I might have ordered it beforehand; and a dinner, to be perfection, should be eaten, if possible, on the day it is cooked. At least, that's what I always think. I may be wrong."
Monsieur de Train-de-Luxe smiled, said I was afarceur, and I ordered our dinner.
First, some turnip turtle soup, then, ortolans of spinach and mashed potatoes, followed by a canvas-backed duck made of Indian corn, and last, not least, plum-pudding. As all will agree, this makes a very delicious and seasonable repast. Long dinners have quite gone out of fashion. And this was washed down with a sparkling bottle of orange champagne, '97.
My friend Victor, who is rather agourmet, was so struck with the first mouthful of soup, that he said it was quite enough, observing, he had never tasted anything like it.
Pleased with this praise, I asked his opinion of the ortolans. He said that their aroma dispensed with the necessity for their consumption. He was evidently surprised.
When the bill was presented by the courteous "chucker-out," we found that most unluckily neither of us had any money.
I append the bill.
Dinners (for two), 1s.9d.Champagne, 3d.Total, 2s.
To this I ought really to add:—
Cab (for three) to Marylebone Police Court, 1s. 6d. (The constable refused to walk without us.)
Loss to reputation by report of proceedings, 8d.
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Professor Guzzleton(to Fair Chatterbox). Are you aware that our host has a French cook?
Fair Chatterbox.So I hear!
Professor Guzzleton.And that that French cook is the best in London?
Fair Chatterbox.So I believe!
Professor Guzzleton.Then don't you think we had better defer all further conversation till we meet again in the drawing-room?
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"My uncle, the admiral," said Mrs. Ramsbotham, "is very old fashioned, and always goes to sleep every day after dinner with his banana on his head."
SYMPATHETICToast-master(to chairman of public dinner). "Would you like to propose your toast now, my lord, or should we let 'em enjoy themselves a bit longer?"
Toast-master(to chairman of public dinner). "Would you like to propose your toast now, my lord, or should we let 'em enjoy themselves a bit longer?"
Infelicitous MisquotationsInfelicitous Misquotations.—Hostess."You've eaten hardly anything, Mr. Simpkins!"Mr. S."My dear lady, I've dined 'wisely, but not too well!'"
Infelicitous Misquotations.—Hostess."You've eaten hardly anything, Mr. Simpkins!"
Mr. S."My dear lady, I've dined 'wisely, but not too well!'"
TRIUMPHS OF THE FUNNY MANTRIUMPHS OF THE FUNNY MANHired Waiter(handing the liqueurs). "Please, sir,don'tmake me laugh—I shall spill 'em all!"
Hired Waiter(handing the liqueurs). "Please, sir,don'tmake me laugh—I shall spill 'em all!"
OVERHEARD AT A CITY RESTAURANTOVERHEARD AT A CITY RESTAURANT"I said Welshradish, nothorse rabbit!"
"I said Welshradish, nothorse rabbit!"
IRRESISTIBLEIRRESISTIBLEOur Robert(on duty in the provinces, offering dish to neglected spinster). "Little duck!"[In such a tone of voice, that, at the risk of the sage and—— she accepts!
Our Robert(on duty in the provinces, offering dish to neglected spinster). "Little duck!"
[In such a tone of voice, that, at the risk of the sage and—— she accepts!
shall we join ladiesHost."I say, my boy, shall we join ladies in drawing-room?"Guest."I sh'inksho."Host."Can you say, 'The scenery's truly rural 'bout here?'"Guest."Sc-scenery tooralooral."Host."All right, come along!"
Host."I say, my boy, shall we join ladies in drawing-room?"
Guest."I sh'inksho."
Host."Can you say, 'The scenery's truly rural 'bout here?'"
Guest."Sc-scenery tooralooral."
Host."All right, come along!"
He knew the CuisineHe knew the Cuisine.—Hungry Diner(scanning the menu). "Look here, waiter, I'm starving. I think I'll have a little of everything!"Waiter."Yessir. (Bawls off.) 'Ash one!"
He knew the Cuisine.—Hungry Diner(scanning the menu). "Look here, waiter, I'm starving. I think I'll have a little of everything!"
Waiter."Yessir. (Bawls off.) 'Ash one!"
Put me in my little bedSONGS AND THEIR SINGERS
beauty's eyesSONGS AND THEIR SINGERS
to be a butterflySONGS AND THEIR SINGERS
the heart bowed downSONGS AND THEIR SINGERS
the devout loverSONGS AND THEIR SINGERS
to blossomsSONGS AND THEIR SINGERS
we'll all go a hunting todaySONGS AND THEIR SINGERS
"When the wine is in, the wit is out;"Only to dolts the adage reaches.No wise man could for a moment doubtThe value of after-dinner speeches.Punchcan remember the time when Peel,Whose wisdom still the country teaches,After steak and port, his nine o'clock meal,Made the best of after-dinner speeches.When the Ministers come to the Mansion House,(The King of London their presence beseeches,)No guest who has any touch ofnousWill be weary of after-dinner speeches.When the Royal Academy blooms in May,With its pretty girls and their cheeks like peachesWho won't, on the opening Saturday,Listen to after-dinner speeches?When there's ought that's generous to be done,A greeting to pay that no soul impeaches,A dinner's the best thing under the sun,And its gold coin the after-dinner speeches.And as to the House, which often suffersFrom talk that to dreariest platitude reaches,It does not often allow its duffersTo make long after-dinner speeches.
"When the wine is in, the wit is out;"Only to dolts the adage reaches.No wise man could for a moment doubtThe value of after-dinner speeches.
"When the wine is in, the wit is out;"
Only to dolts the adage reaches.
No wise man could for a moment doubt
The value of after-dinner speeches.
Punchcan remember the time when Peel,Whose wisdom still the country teaches,After steak and port, his nine o'clock meal,Made the best of after-dinner speeches.
Punchcan remember the time when Peel,
Whose wisdom still the country teaches,
After steak and port, his nine o'clock meal,
Made the best of after-dinner speeches.
When the Ministers come to the Mansion House,(The King of London their presence beseeches,)No guest who has any touch ofnousWill be weary of after-dinner speeches.
When the Ministers come to the Mansion House,
(The King of London their presence beseeches,)
No guest who has any touch ofnous
Will be weary of after-dinner speeches.
When the Royal Academy blooms in May,With its pretty girls and their cheeks like peachesWho won't, on the opening Saturday,Listen to after-dinner speeches?
When the Royal Academy blooms in May,
With its pretty girls and their cheeks like peaches
Who won't, on the opening Saturday,
Listen to after-dinner speeches?
When there's ought that's generous to be done,A greeting to pay that no soul impeaches,A dinner's the best thing under the sun,And its gold coin the after-dinner speeches.
When there's ought that's generous to be done,
A greeting to pay that no soul impeaches,
A dinner's the best thing under the sun,
And its gold coin the after-dinner speeches.
And as to the House, which often suffersFrom talk that to dreariest platitude reaches,It does not often allow its duffersTo make long after-dinner speeches.
And as to the House, which often suffers
From talk that to dreariest platitude reaches,
It does not often allow its duffers
To make long after-dinner speeches.
SCENE—CHOP-HOUSESCENE—CHOP-HOUSEEnter Street Boy, and, with suppressed ecstasy."Oh, please, there's your cat and kittens having such a game with the things in the winder!"
Enter Street Boy, and, with suppressed ecstasy."Oh, please, there's your cat and kittens having such a game with the things in the winder!"
Customer(looking at bill). Here, waiter, there's surely some mistake in this total.
Waiter(politely). Zehn thousand pardons, sir! Mit my usual carelessness I have added in ze date and vorgot to charge you for ze butter.
Swell.Waiter! This—ah—chop's vewy dwy!
Waiter.'Ndeed, sir? Perhaps if you were to order something to drink with it, sir——
A REBUKEA REBUKEHost."Fish is very expensive, just now, I can tell you. This salmon cost me two and sixpence a pound!"Guest(no business of his). "Ah, it's very good, I think I'll take another eighteen penn'orth!"
Host."Fish is very expensive, just now, I can tell you. This salmon cost me two and sixpence a pound!"
Guest(no business of his). "Ah, it's very good, I think I'll take another eighteen penn'orth!"
CAUTIONCAUTIONThe Major."Don't you like liqueurs, Mrs. Jinks?"Mrs. Jinks."Yes; but they make one sounreserved!"
The Major."Don't you like liqueurs, Mrs. Jinks?"
Mrs. Jinks."Yes; but they make one sounreserved!"
A BORN ORATORA BORN ORATOR (IN THE EAST)Farmer(proposing landlord's health). "An' if a' squiears 'uddewas our squieardew, there wudna be so many on 'em asdewas theydew dew!"
Farmer(proposing landlord's health). "An' if a' squiears 'uddewas our squieardew, there wudna be so many on 'em asdewas theydew dew!"
No ExcuseNo Excuse for not Believing.—"Then you don't believe in phrenology?" "No, rather not. I once gave one of those fellows a sovereign to read my head, and, after feeling it a long time, all he said was, that I had no idea of the value of money."
No Excuse for not Believing.—"Then you don't believe in phrenology?" "No, rather not. I once gave one of those fellows a sovereign to read my head, and, after feeling it a long time, all he said was, that I had no idea of the value of money."
Things one would put DifferentlyThings one would rather have put Differently.—Mr. Bumblepup."I must apologise for coming in ordinary evening dress."Hostess."Well, you really have the advantage of us. We're all looking more foolish than usual, and you're not."
Things one would rather have put Differently.—Mr. Bumblepup."I must apologise for coming in ordinary evening dress."Hostess."Well, you really have the advantage of us. We're all looking more foolish than usual, and you're not."
Mr. BorehamMr. Boreham(in the thick of a long and pointless story). "Well, as I was saying, I happened to be in the City the other day, and, as I was walking down Cheapside, whom should I meet but my old friend, Stodgeley, whom I haven't seen for fifteen years. Well, what do you think he did? He stopped dead when he saw me, slapped me on the shoulder, and said, 'Surely this must be my dear old friend, Boreham?'"She(with difficulty keeping awake). "Yes?—and was it?"
Mr. Boreham(in the thick of a long and pointless story). "Well, as I was saying, I happened to be in the City the other day, and, as I was walking down Cheapside, whom should I meet but my old friend, Stodgeley, whom I haven't seen for fifteen years. Well, what do you think he did? He stopped dead when he saw me, slapped me on the shoulder, and said, 'Surely this must be my dear old friend, Boreham?'"She(with difficulty keeping awake). "Yes?—and was it?"
we've a very poor dinnerHostess(to friend who has been brought in to take pot-luck). "I'm afraid, Mr. Simpson, we've only got a very poor dinner to offer you."Mr. Simpson."My dear Mrs. Jones, I beg you not to apologise! I assure you I think it quite desirable tounderfeedoccasionally!"
Hostess(to friend who has been brought in to take pot-luck). "I'm afraid, Mr. Simpson, we've only got a very poor dinner to offer you."
Mr. Simpson."My dear Mrs. Jones, I beg you not to apologise! I assure you I think it quite desirable tounderfeedoccasionally!"
(Compiled for the use of Orators during the Month of May Mouthings)
(Compiled for the use of Orators during the Month of May Mouthings)
Question.You are accustomed to take the chair at a public dinner?
Answer.Yes. Or, to speak by the card, a dinner for the rest of the company.
Q.Why, do you not partake of the good cheer before you with the rest of your convives?
A.Certainly not. I have to speak later on—a consideration which entirely destroys my appetite.
Q.Is there anything new to be said in the loyal toasts?
A.No; and therefore it is better to return to the simplest form, which is sure to be received with heartfelt enthusiasm.
Q.What can be said about the united service?
A.That it is absolutely delightful to expend millions in the furtherance of their interests.
Q.And can anything interesting be put in about the Houses of Parliament?
A.Not much. Sneers at the Lords are no longer popular, and the Lower House is too respectable to be anything but a dull subject.
Q.What about the toast of the evening?
A.That must be left to the secretary, who will furnish the chairman with the necessary facts, which may be mixed with original remarks, two-thirds humorous to one-third pathetic.
Q.How are the visitors to be treated?
A.With fulsome eulogy or comic depreciation inspired by the pages of that excellent manual,Who's Who. Particular attention can be paid to the entries under "Recreations" in that admirable work, for appropriate chaff.
Q.And in what terms does a chairman respond to the toast of his own health?
A.In a few muttered words addressed to an audience composed of a gentleman fast asleep, the toast-master, and the waiters.
Social AgoniesSocial Agonies.—"I say, old chap, it's short notice, butdocome and dine this next Thursday!" "Can't, dear old man. I'm engaged three deep for the night!" "Oh, sorry! I've got the Duke and Duchess of Runnymede, and Lord Savory!" "Oh,"—(seeing it in quite a different light)—"nextThursday, did you say? I thought you said Thursdayweek. Oh, yes, I shall be delighted!"[Their Graces and Lord S. never turned up, after all!]
Social Agonies.—"I say, old chap, it's short notice, butdocome and dine this next Thursday!" "Can't, dear old man. I'm engaged three deep for the night!" "Oh, sorry! I've got the Duke and Duchess of Runnymede, and Lord Savory!" "Oh,"—(seeing it in quite a different light)—"nextThursday, did you say? I thought you said Thursdayweek. Oh, yes, I shall be delighted!"
[Their Graces and Lord S. never turned up, after all!]