Lucilius, trans. byR. Garnett.
ANATION does wisely if not well, in starving her men of genius. Fatten them, and they are done for.
Charles Buxton,Notes of Thought.
WHEN the enterprising burglar's not a-burgling,When the cut-throat isn't occupied with crimeHe loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling,And listen to the merry village chime.When the coster's finished jumping on his mother,He loves to lie a-basking in the sun—Oh! take one consideration with another,The policeman's lot is not a happy one!
W. S. Gilbert,Pirates of Penzance.
THE young girl said: "The gentleman must be very rich, for he is very ugly." The public judges in a similar manner: "The man must be very learned, for he is very tiresome."
Heinrich Heine,Thoughts and Fancies.
AND he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter hearty,He was so wonderfully active for so very stout a party.And I said, "O gentle pie-man, why so very, very merry?Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?"
W. S. Gilbert,Bab Ballads.
SPECULATION—a word that sometimes begins with its second letter.
Horace Smith,The Tin Trumpet.
HE remembers the ball at the Ferry,And the ride, and the gate, and the vow,And the rose that you gave him—that verySame rose he is treasuring now(Which his blanket he's kicked on his trunk, Miss,And insists on his legs being free;And his language to me from his bunk, Miss,Is frequent and painful and free).
Bret Harte,Complete Works.
NOUS ne trouvons guère de gens de bons sens que ceux qui sont de notre avis.
La Rochefoucauld,Réflexions.
FRENCH AND ENGLISH.
THE French excel us very much in millinery;They also bear the bell in matters culinary.The reason's plain: French beauty and French meatWith English cannot of themselves compete.Thus, an inferior article possessing,Our neighbours help it by superior dressing;They dress their dishes, and they dress their dames,Till Art, almost, can rival Nature's claims.
Lord Neaves,Songs and Verses.
PRIORITY is a poor recommendation in a husband if he has got no other.
Mrs. Cadwallader, inGeorge Eliot'sMiddlemarch.
IF spirits you would lightenConsult good Doctor Brighton,And swallow his prescriptions and abide by his decree:If nerves be weak or shakenJust try a week with Bacon,His physic soon is taken—At our London-by-the-Sea.
J. Ashby Sterry,Boudoir Ballads.
THE then Duke of Cumberland (the foolish Duke, as he was called) came one night into Foote's green-room at the Haymarket Theatre. "Well, Foote," said he, "here I am, ready, as usual, to swallow your good things." "Upon my soul," replied Foote, "your Royal Highness must have an excellent digestion, for you never bring any up again."
Rogers,Table Talk.
THERE'S folks born to property, and there's folks catch hold on it; and the law's made for them as catch hold.
Tommy Trounsem, inGeorge Eliot'sFelix Holt.
EXAMINING one of the Sunday school boys at Addington, I asked him what a prophet was. He did not know. "If I were to tell you what would happen to you this day twelve month, and it should come to pass, what would you call me then, my little man?" "A fortune-teller, sir."
R. H. Barham,Diary.
SOME take a lover, some take drams or prayers;Some play the devil, and then write a novel.
Lord Byron,Don Juan.
BEING one day at Trinity College, at dinner, [Donne] was asked to write a motto for the College snuff-box, which was always circulating on the dinner-table. "Considering where we are," said Donne, "there could be nothing better than 'Quicunque vult.'"
Crabb Robinson,Diary.
CRITICS tell me, soonThere'll be no singing in a song,No melody in tune.But birds will warble in the trees,Nor for the critics care;And in the murmur of the breezeWe yet may find some air.
J. R. Planché,Songs and Poems.
MR. BENTLEY proposed to establish a periodical publication, to be called "The Wits' Miscellany." [James] Smith objected that the title promised too much. Shortly afterwards the publisher came to tell him he had profited by the hint, and resolved to call it "Bentley's Miscellany." "Isn't that going a little too far the other way?" was the remark.
Abraham Hayward,Essays.
BREAK, break, break!My cups and saucers, O scout;And I'm glad that my tongue can't utterThe oaths that my soul points out.It is well for the china-shop manWho gets a fresh order each day;And it's deucedly well for yourself,Who are in the said china-man's pay.And my stately vases goTo your uncle's, I ween, to be cashed;And it's oh for the light of my broken lamp,And the tick of my clock that is smashed.Break, break, break!At the foot of my stairs in glee;But the coin I have spent in glass that is crackedWill never come back to me.
The Shotover Papers.
CROLY said very smart things, and with surprising readiness. I was at his table one day when one of the guests inquired the name of a pyramidal dish of barley-sugar. Some one replied, "A pyramidà Macédoine." "For what use?" rejoined the other. "To give aPhilipto the appetite," said Croly.
W. H. Harrison,Reminiscences.
ON SOME VERSES CALLED TRIFLES.
PAUL, I have read your book, and though you write ill,I needs must praise your most judicious title.
Anon.
MRS. POSH was one of those incomparable wives who have a proper command of tongue, who never reply to angry words at the moment, and who always, with exquisite calm and self-posession, pay off every angry word by an amiable sting at the right moment.
Lord Lytton,What will he do with it?
TO LADY BROWN.
WHEN I was young anddébonnaire,The brownest nymph to me was fair;But now I'm old, and wiser grown,The fairest nymph to me is Brown.
George, Lord Lyttleton.
WHEN last the Queen was about to be confined, the Prince Consort said to one of his little boys, "I think it very likely, my dear, that the Queen will present you with a little brother or sister; which of the two would you prefer?" The child, pausing—"Well, I think, if it is all the same to mamma, I should prefer a pony."
J. C. Young,Diary.
SOME ladies now make pretty songs,And some make pretty nurses:Some men are great at righting wrongs,—And some at writing verses.
Frederick Locker,London Lyrics.
FOLLOW the light of the old-fashioned Presbyterians that I've heard sing at Glasgow. The preacher gives out the Psalm, and then everybody sings a different tune, as it happens to turn up in their throats. It's a domineering thing to set a tune and expect everybody else to follow it. It's a denial of private judgment.
Felix Holt, inGeorge Eliot's novel.
ON A CERTAIN RADICAL.
BLOGGS rails against high birth. Yes, Bloggs—you seeYour ears are longer than your pedigree.
James Hannay,Sketches and Characters.
ILIKE neighbours, and I like chickens; but I do not think they ought to be united near a garden.
C. D. Warner,My Summer in a Garden.
LADY, very fair are you,And your eyes are very blue,And your hose;And your brow is like the snow,And the various things you knowGoodness knows.
Mortimer Collins,Ad Chloen, M.A.
THE Jacobins, in realizing their systems of fraternization, always contrived to be the elder brothers.
Guesses at Truth.
CARELESS rhymer, it is trueThat my favourite colour's blue;But am ITo be made a victim, sir,If to puddings I preferCambridge π ?
Mortimer Collins,Chloe, M.A.
CANDIDEFound life most tolerable after meals.
Lord Byron,Don Juan.
WOMEN, and men who are like women, mind the binding more than the book.
Lord Chesterfield,Letters to his Son.
THERE was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy,And the youngest he was little Billee.Now when they got as far as the EquatorThey'd nothing left but one split pea.Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,"I am extremely hungaree."To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy,"We've nothing left, us must eat we."Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,"With one another we shouldn't agree!There's little Bill he's young and tender,We're old and tough, so let's eat he."
W. M. Thackeray.
"WHAT AILS HIM AT THE LASSIE?"
AFRIEND tells me a funny little story of Mrs. —— (the grandmother of Colonel M——), who was shown a picture of Joseph and Potiphar's wife, in which of course the patriarch showed his usual desire to withdraw himself from her society. Mrs. —— looked at it for a little while, and then said, "Eh, now, and what ails him at the lassie?"
Frederick Locker,Patchwork.
IN his last illness, reduced as he was to a skeleton, [Hood] noticed a very large mustard poultice which Mrs. Hood was making for him, and exclaimed, "O Mary! Mary! that will be a great deal of mustard to a very little meat!"
J. R. Planché,Recollections.
THE LATEST DECALOGUE.
THOU shalt have one God only: whoWould be at the expense of two?No graven images may beWorshipped, except the currency:Swear not at all; for, for thy curse,Thine enemy is none the worse:At church on Sunday to attendWill serve to keep the world thy friend:Honour thy parents; that is, allFrom whom advancement may befall:Thou shalt not kill; but needst not striveOfficiously to keep alive:Do not adultery commit;Advantage rarely comes of it:Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat,When it's so lucrative to cheat:Bear not false witness; let the lieHave time on its own wings to fly:Thou shalt not covet, but traditionApproves all forms of competition.
A. H. Clough,Poems.
MR. MACCULLOCH, the eminent political economist, in dining with us, a few days after [an aeronautical friend had made an ascent], was most anxious to learn where he had descended on this occasion. The answer was, "Amongst the flats of Essex." "A most appropriate locality," said my distinguished countryman, "and one which shows how true it is that 'birds of a feather flock together.'"
Mark Boyd,Reminiscences.
HE said that I was proud, mother,—that I looked for rank and gold;He said I did not love him,—he said my words were cold;He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game,—And it may be that I did, mother; but who hasn't done the same?You may lay me in my bed, mother,—my head is throbbing sore;And, mother, prithee, let the sheets be duly aired before;And if you'd do a kindness to your poor desponding child,Draw me a pot of beer, mother—and, mother, draw it mild!
Bon Gaultier Ballads.
VOLTAIRE was a very good Jesus Christ—for the French.
Charles Lamb,apudLeigh Hunt.
ON A THEATRICAL NUISANCE:
PERCHED in a box which cost her not asou,Giglina chatters all the evening through,Fidgets with opera-glass, and flowers, and shawls,Annoys the actors, irritates the stalls.Forgive her harmless pride—the cause is plain—She wants us all to know she's had champagne.
Shirley Brooks,Wit and Humour.
O, I know the way o' wives; they set one on to abuse their husbands, and then they turn round on one and praise 'em as if they wanted to sell 'em.
Priscilla Lammeter, inGeorge Eliot'sMill on the Floss.
"AND hast thou slain the Jabberwock?Come to my arms, my beamish boy!O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"He chortled in his joy.'Twas brillig, and the slithy tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe;All mimsy were the borogroves,And the mome raths outgrabe.
Lewis Carroll,Through the Looking-Glass.
MRS. WORDSWORTH and a lady were walking once in a wood where the stock-dove was cooing. A farmer's wife coming by, said, "Oh, I do like stock-doves!" Mrs. Wordsworth, in all her enthusiasm for Wordsworth's beautiful address to the stock-dove, took the old woman to her heart. "But," continued the old woman, "some like 'em in a pie; for my part there's nothing like 'em stewed in onions!"
B. R. Haydon,Diary.
TO AN AUTHOR.
IN spite of hints, in spite of looks,Titus, I send thee not my books.The reason, Titus, canst divine?I fear lest thou shouldst send me thine.
Martial, trans. byR. Garnett.
AFRIEND, who was about to marry the natural daughter of the Duke de ——, was expatiating at great length on the virtues, good qualities, and talents of his future wife, but without making allusion to her birth. "A t'entendre," observed Montrond, "on dirait que tu épouses une fille surnaturelle."
Gronow,Recollections.
READING new books is like eating new bread:One can bear it at first, but by gradual steps heIs brought to death's door of a mental dyspepsy.
J. R. Lowell,A Fable for Critics.
CCasey mentioned to me a parody of his on two lines in the "Veiled Prophet":—
"He knew no more of fear than one who dwellsBeneath the tropics knows of icicles."
The following is his parody, which, bless my stars, none of my critics were lively enough to hit upon, for it would have stuck by me:—
"He knew no more of fear than one who dwellsOn Scotia's mountains knows of shoe-buckles."
Thomas Moore,Diary.
WHY mourns my Eugene? In his dark eye of blueWhy trembles the tear-drop to sympathy due?Ah, why must a bosom so pure and refin'dThus vibrate, all nerve, at the woes of mankind?Like a sunbeam the clouds of the tempest between,A smile lights the eye of the pensive Eugene;And thus, in soft accents, the mourner replies,"Hang your mustard! it brings the tears in my eyes!"
R. H. Barham,Ingoldsby Lyrics.
DRESS does not make a man, but it often makes a successful one. What all men should avoid is the "shabby genteel." No man ever gets over it. You had better be in rags.
Vigo, inLord Beaconsfield'sEndymion.
IN moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter(And Heaven it knoweth what that may mean;Meaning, however, is no great matter)Where woods are a-tremble, with rifts atween;Thro' God's own heather we wonn'd together,I and my Willie (O love, my love!):I need hardly remark it was glorious weather,And flitter-bats waver'd alow, above.Boats were curtsying, rising, bowing(Boats in that climate are so polite),And sands were a ribbon of green endowing,And O the sun-dazzle on bark and bight.Thro' the rare red heather we danced together,(O love, my Willie!) and smelt for flowers:I must mention again it was glorious weather,Rhymes are so scarce in this world of ours.
C. S. Calverley,Fly Leaves.
'TIS ridiculous for a lord to print verses. It is well enough to make them to please himself, but to make them public is foolish. If a man in his private chamber twirls his bandstrings, or plays with a rush to please himself, 'tis well enough, but if he should go into Fleet Street, and sit upon a stall, and twirl a bandstring, or play with a rush, then all the boys in the street would laugh at him.
Selden,Table Talk.
HERE, in the grassy hollow, would be spreadThe snowy cloth—dimpled with various viands.Ah! cleanly damask of our native land!Ah! pleasant memory of pigeon-pie,Short-crusted—savoury-jellied—flow'ry-yolked!Ah! fair white-bosomed fowl with tawny tongueWell married! lobster-salad, crisp and cool,With polished silver from clean crockeryForked up—washed down with drinks that make me nowThirsty to think of.Yes, with ginger-popThese crags should echo.Ah! rare golden gleamOf sack in silver goblets gilt within!—Bright evanescent raptures of champagne—Brisk bottled stout in pewters creamy-crowned!
G. J. Cayley,Las Alforgas.
SAY, as the witty Duke of Buckingham did to the dog that bit him, "I wish you were married, and went to live in the country."
Ellesmere, inHelps'Friends in Council.
CROQUET—A dainty and difficult sport in its way.Thus I counsel the sage, who to play at it stoops,Belabour thy neighbour and spoon through thy hoops.
Frederick Locker,London Lyrics.
WE are never so thoroughly tired of the company of any one else as we are sometimes of our own.
W. Hazlitt,Characteristics.
ON A VERY TRIFLING FELLOW BEING KNIGHTED.
WHAT! Dares made a knight! No, don't be frighted;He only lost his way, and was be-nighted.
Richard Graves(1715-1804).
SATAN was a blunderer, an introducer ofnovità, who made a stupendous failure. If he had succeeded, we should all have been worshipping him, and his portrait would have been more flattered.
Machiavelli, inGeorge Eliot'sRomola.
YOU see the goodly hair that Galla wears;'Tis certain her own hair: who would have thought it?She swears it is her own, and true she swears,For hard by Temple Bar last day she bought it.
Sir John Haryngton(1561-1612).
THE worst of human maladies are the most transient also—love that is half despairing, and seasickness that is quite so.
Leslie, inMallock'sNew Republic.
ON A SMALL EATER.
SIMPLICITY is best, 'tis true,But not in every mortal's power:If thou, O maid, canst live on dew,'Tis proof thou art indeed a flower.
R. Garnett,Idylls and Epigrams.
ON Walpole's remarking that, of two pictures mentioned, one was "a shade above the other in point of merit," [Hook] replied: "I presume you mean to say it was ashade over(chef d'œuvre)."
R. H. Barham,Diary.
THE nightingales are all about—Their song is everywhere—Their notes are lovely (though they're outSo often in the air).The zephyr, dancing through the topsOf ash and poplar, weavesLow melodies, and scarcely stopsTo murmur "By your leaves!"Night steeps the passions of the dayIn quiet, peace, and love.Pale Dian, in her tranquil way,Kicks up a shine above.
H. S. Leigh,Carols of Cockayne.
TINDER—a thin rag; such, for instance, as the dresses of modern females, intended to catch the sparks, raise a flame, and light up a match.
Horace Smith,The Tin Trumpet.
ON DRESS.
HE who a gold-finch strives to make his wifeMakes her, perhaps, a wag-tail all her life.
A Collection of Epigrams(1727).
[oF Lafayette]: The world is surprised that there was once an honest man: the situation remains vacant.
Heinrich Heine,Thoughts and Fancies.
ON AILING AND ALE-ING.
COME, come, for trifles never stick:Most servants have a failing;Yours, it is true, are sometimes sick,But mine are always ale-ing.
Henry Luttrell.
SIR GEORGE ROSE, being introduced one day to two charming young ladies, whose names were Mary and Louisa, instantly added, with a bow, "Ah, yes!Marie-Louise—the sweetestpearI know!"
Macmillan's Magazine.
TO A CRUEL FAIR ONE.
'TIS done; I yield; adieu, thou cruel fair!Adieu, th' averted face, th' ungracious cheek!I go to die, to finish all my care,To hang—to hang?—yes, round another's neck.
Leigh Hunt(from the French).
BISHOP (reproving delinquent Page)."Wretched boy!Whois it that sees and hears all we do, and before whomeven Iam but as a crushed worm?"Page."The Missus, my Lord!"
Punch.
ON DRUNKEN COURAGE.
WHO only in his cups will fight is likeA clock that must be oil'd well ere it strikes.
Thomas Bancroft(circa1600).
TALKING to —— is like playing long whist.
Lady Ashburton,apudLord Houghton.
CERBERUS.
MY dog, who picks up everything one teaches,Has got "three heads," like Mr. Gladstone's speeches,But, as might naturally be expected,His are considerably more connected.
H. J. Byron, inEnglish Epigrams.
BLESSED be the word "nice"!—it is the copper coin of commendation. Without it, we should have to praise more handsomely.
Charles Buxton,Notes of Thought.
ON NEWGATE WINDOWS.
ALL Newgate windows bay windows they be;All lookers out there stand at bay we see.
John Heywood(1506-1565).
IT was a grand scene, Mr. Artemus Ward standing on the platform; many of the audience sleeping tranquilly in their seats; others leaving the room and not returning; others crying like a child at some of the jokes,—all, all formed a most impressive scene, and showed the powers of this remarkable orator. And when he announced that he should never lecture in that town again, the applause was absolutely deafening.
C. F. Browne,Artemus Ward's Lecture.
THE REASONS FOR DRINKING.
IF all be true that I do think,There are five reasons we should drink:Good wine; a friend; or being dry;Or lest we should be by-and-by;Or any other reason why.
Henry Aldrich.
[BARHAM] having expressed himself in terms of abhorrence of a piece of baseness and treachery which came under his notice, he was addressed by the delinquent with—"Well, sir, perhaps some day you may come to change your opinion of me!" "Perhaps I may, sir," was the reply; "for if I should find any one who holds a more contemptible opinion of you than I do myself, I should lay down my own and take up his."
R. H. D. Barham,Life of Barham.
FALSE LOVE'S QUIRK.
"OH, sweet one!" sighs the lover,"Could I but this discover,—Thy breast so softly moving,Will it ever cease from loving?"Says she, her eyes upturning,"The love within me burningNo time can ever smother"—For some one or another!
Lord Southesk,Greenwood's Farewell.
BENJAMIN CONSTANT, on some one asking (with reference to his book on religion) how he managed to reconcile the statements of his latter volumes with those of his first, published so long ago, answered, "Il n'y a rien qui s'arrange aussi facilement que les faits."
Thomas Moore,Diary.
I'M told that virgins augur someMisfortune if their shoe-strings comeTo grief on Friday:And so did Di, and then her prideDecreed that shoe-strings so untiedAre "so untidy!"
Frederick Locker,London Lyrics.
ON one occasion the late Lady Holland took [Luttrell] a drive in her carriage over a rough road; and as she was very nervous, she insisted on being driven at a foot's pace. This ordeal lasted some hours, and when he was at last released, poor Luttrell, perfectly exasperated, rushed into the nearest club-house, and exclaimed, clenching his teeth and hands, "The very funerals passed us!"
Gronow,Recollections.
TO A YOUNG LADY.
AN original something dear maid, you would win meTo write, but how shall I begin?For I fear I have nothing original in me—Excepting Original Sin.
Thomas Campbell.
LA société est un état de guerre, réglé par les lois.
L'Art de Parvenir.
PERCHANCE it was her eyes of blue,Her cheeks that might the rose have shamed,Her figure in proportion trueTo all the rules by artists framed;Perhaps it was her mental worthThat made her lover love her so,Perhaps her name, or wealth, or birth,—I cannot tell—I do not know.He may have had a rival, whoDid fiercely gage him to a duel,And being the luckiest of the twoDefeated him with triumph cruel;Thenshemay have proved false, and turnedTo welcome to her arms his foe,Lefthimdespairing, conquer'd, spurned,—I cannot tell—I do not know.
Songs of Singularity.
IT is of no use to tell a neighbour that his hens eat your tomatoes: it makes no impression on him, for the tomatoes are not his. The best way is to casually remark to him that he has a fine lot of chickens, pretty well grown, and that you like spring chickens broiled. He will take them away at once.
C. D. Warner,My Summer in a Garden.
ONE persuaded his friend to marry a little woman, because of evils the least was to be chosen.
Conceits, Clinches, etc. (1639).
CHARLES KEMBLE used to tell a story about some poor foreigner, dancer or pantomimist in the country, who, after many annual attempts to clear his expenses, came forward one evening with a face beaming with pleasure and gratitude, and addressed the audience in these words:—"Dear Public! moche oblige. Ver good benefice—only lose half-a-crown. I come again!"
J. R. Planché,Recollections.
"LET'S show," said M'Clan, "to this Sassenach loonThat the bag-pipescanplay him a regular tune.Let's see," said M'Clan, as he thoughtfully sat,"'In my Cottage' is easy—I'll practise at that."He blew at his "Cottage," and blew with a will,For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until(You'll hardly believe it) M'Clan, I declare,Elicited something resembling an air.It was wild—it was fitful—as wild as the breeze—It wandered about into several keys;It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I'm aware;But still it distinctly suggested an air.
W. S. Gilbert,Bab Ballads.
ALL men are brothers—Cains and Abels.
Anon.
THE blameless kingRising again (to Lancelot's discontent,Who held all speeches a tremendous bore),Said, "If one duty to be done remains,And 'tis neglected, all the rest is noughtBut Dead Sea apples and the acts of Apes."Smiled Guinevere, and begged him not to preach;She knew that duty, and it should be done;So what of pudding on that festal nightWas not consumed by Arthur and his guests,The queen upon the following morning fried.
Shirley Brooks,Wit and Humour.
ONE way of getting an idea of our fellow-countrymen's miseries is to go and look at their pleasures.
George Eliot,Felix Holt.
TO A RICH LADY.
IWILL not ask if thou canst touchThe tuneful ivory key,—Those silent notes of thine are suchAs quite suffice for me.I'll make no question if thy skillThe pencil comprehends;—Enough for me, love, if thou stillCanst draw—thy dividends.
Punch.
AT the Duke of Wellington's funeral, the little child of a friend of mine was standing with her mother at Lord Ashburton's window to see the mournful pageant. During the passage of the procession, she made no remark until the duke's horse was led by, its saddle empty, and his boots reversed in the stirrups, when she looked up in her mother's face and said, "Mamma, when we die, will there be nothing left of us but boots?"
J. C. Young,Diary.
SUCH power hath Beer. The heart which Grief hath canker'dHath one unfailing remedy—the tankard.
C. S. Calverley,Verses and Translations.
DINED with Mr. (Sydney) Smith. He told me of the motto he had proposed for Bishop Burgess's arms, in allusion to his brother, the well-known fish-sauce projector:
"Gravijamdudumsauciacurâ."
R. H. Barham,Life.
ONE'S self-satisfaction is an untaxed kind of property which it is very unpleasant to find depreciated.
George Eliot,Middlemarch.
"MY lord cannot stand Treeby more than two days, and Treeby cannot stand my lord for a longer period, and that is why they are such friends." "A sound basis of agreement," said Lord Roehampton. "I believe absence is a great element of charm."
Lord Beaconsfield,Endymion.
SALAD.
OCOOL in the summer is salad,And warm in the winter is love;And a poet shall sing you a balladDelicious thereon and thereof.A singer I am, if no sinner,My muse has a marvellous wing,And I willingly worship at dinnerThe Sirens of Spring.Take Endive—like love it is bitter,Take beet—for like love it is red,Crisp leaf of the lettuce shall glitter,And cress from the rivulet's bed:Anchovies, foam-born, like the ladyWhose beauty has maddened this bard;And olives, from groves that are shady;And eggs—boil 'em hard.
Mortimer Collins,The British Birds.
QUERY, whether churches are not dormitories of the living as well as of the dead?
Swift,Thoughts.
THE Mock Turtle said, "No wise fish would goanywhere without a porpoise.""Wouldn't it, really?" said Alice, in a tone ofgreat surprise."Of course not," said the Mock Turtle; "why, if afish came tome, and told me he was going a journey, Ishould say, 'With what porpoise?'""Don't you mean 'purpose?'" said Alice."I mean what I say," the Mock Turtle replied, in anoffended tone.
Lewis Carroll,Alice in Wonderland.
VILL'ST dou learn de Deutsche Sprache?If a shendleman dou art,Denn strike right indo Deutschland,Und get a schveetes-heart.From Schwabenland or Sachsen,Vhere now dis writer pees;Und de bretty girls all wachsenShoost like aepples on de drees.Boot if dou bee'st a laty,Denn, on de oder hand,Take a blonde moustachioed loferIn de vine green Sherman land.Und if you shoost kit married(Vood mit vood soon makes a vire),You'll learn to sprechen Deutsch, mein kind,Ash fast ash you tesire.
C. G. Leland,Breitmann Ballads.
THE Bishop of St. David's has been studying Welsh all the summer; it is a difficult language, and I hope he will be careful,—it is so easy for him to take up the Funeral Service and read it over the next wedding-party, or to make a mistake in a tense in a Confirmation, and the children will have renounced their godfathers and godmothers and got nothing in their place.
Sydney Smith,apudLord Houghton.
BEAUTIFUL soup, so rich and green,Waiting in a hot tureen!Who for such dainties would not stoop?Soup of the evening, beautiful soup!Soup of the evening, beautiful soup!Beautiful soup! Who cares for fish,Game, or any other dish?Who would not give all else for two pEnnyworth only of beautiful soup?Pennyworth only of beautiful soup?
Lewis Carroll,Alice in Wonderland.
WRITING to Manning, Charles Lamb says: "—— says he could write like Shakespeare if he had amind—so you see nothing is wanting but themind."
Crabb Robinson,Diary.
ON BALLS AND OPERAS.
IF by their names we things should call,It surely would be propererTo term a singing-piece abawl,A dancing-piece ahopperer!
Anon.
AMONG all forms of mistake, prophecy is the most gratuitous.
George Eliot,Middlemarch.
ON LOVE.
LOVE levels all—it elevates the clown,And often brings the fattest people down.
H. J. Byron, inEnglish Epigrams.
THE Hanoverian squires are asses who can talk of nothing but horses.
Heinrich Heine,Thoughts and Fancies.
SIR George Warrender was once obliged to put off a dinner-party in consequence of the death of a relative, and sat down to a haunch of venison by himself. While eating, he said to his butler, "John, this will make a capital hash to-morrow." "Yes, Sir George, if you leave offnow!"
R. H. Barham,Life.
TO CHLORIS.
CHLORIS, I swear, by all I ever swore,That from this hour I shall not love thee more."What! love no more? oh, why this altered vow?"Because Icannotlove theemore—thannow.
Thomas Moore.
YOU close your petition with the words: "And we will ever pray." I think you had better—you need to do it.
Mark Twain,Choice Works.
HUSBANDS, more covetous than sage,Condemn this china-buying rage;They count that woman's prudence littleWho sets her heart on things so brittle.
John Gay,Poems.
UMBRELLA—an article which, by the morality of society, you may steal from friend or foe, and which, for the same reason, you should not lend to either.
Horace Smith,The Tin Trumpet.
LA curiosité n'est que la vanité. Le plus souvent on ne veut savoir que pour en parler.
Pascal,Pensées.
OHOW unlike our shores,Where with ten thousand tongues each city roars!There to all men, whate'er their age or walk,Life's one great solemn business is to talk.There what the penny press by morning writeIs echoed for a halfpenny at night:There stump young Ministers; old Maids debate;There loud Professors scold like Billingsgate:There, as the World into the Church expands,A moral Atheist spouts in parson's bands;And poets, doubtful of the parts of speech,Desperate of rhyme, acquire the art to preach.
Windbag, inCourthope'sParadise of Birds.
PRINCE METTERNICH said to Lord Dudley, "You are the only Englishman I know who speaks good French. It is remarked, the common people in Vienna speak better than the educated men in London." "That may well be," replied Lord Dudley. "Your Highness should recollect that Buonaparte has not been twice in London to teach them."
Crabb Robinson,Diary.
WHEN a felon's not engaged in his employment,Or maturing his felonious little plans,His capacity for innocent enjoymentIs just as great as any honest man's.
W. S. Gilbert,Pirates of Penzance.
SHE'S an angel in a frockWith a fascinating cockTo her nose.
Frederick Locker,London Lyrics.
TO speak highly of one with whom we are intimate is a species of egotism.
W. Hazlitt,Characteristics.
THE annals of our native land were lapsed in doubt and mystery,Till Mr. Freeman t'other day discovered English History,And now admonishes the world it is his fixed intentionTo make it a monopoly and patent the invention.
F. D., inPall Mall Gazette.
"IT is rather sad," sighed Virginia, as she dived into a box of French chocolate-creams, "to think that all the poor people are drowned that these things belonged to.""They are not dead," said the Professor: "they still live on this holy and stupendous earth. They live in the use we are making of all they had got together. The owner of those chocolate-creams is immortal because you are eating them."Virginia licked her lips, and said, "Nonsense!""It is not nonsense," said the Professor. "It is the religion of Humanity."
W. H. Mallock,The New Paul and Virginia.
THE sort of funI witnessed therewas"awful;"Buffoonery devoid of allThat makes an art of folly,Music that was "most music-hall,"To hear "most melancholy."
J. R. Planché,Songs and Poems.
YOU are a woman; you must never speak what you think: your words must contradict your thoughts: but your actions may contradict your words. So, when I ask you if you can love me, you must say no; but you must love me too. If I tell you you are handsome, you must deny it, and say I flatter you; and you must think yourself more charming than I speak you, and like me for the beauty I say you have, as much as if I had it myself.
Tattle, inCongreve'sLove for Love.
DEAR Poet, do not rhyme at all!But if you must, don't tell your neighbour,Or five in six, who cannot scrawl,Will dub you donkey for your labour.Be patient, but be sure you won'tWin vogue without extreme vexation;Yet hope for sympathy,—but don'tExpect it from a near relation.
Frederick Locker,London Lyrics.
NOUS pardonnons souvent à ceux qui nous ennuient; mais nous ne pouvons pardonner à ceux qui nous ennuyons.
La Rochefoucauld,Réflexions.
THERE is a phrase we oft have seenOn bottle-labels writ,And those who invalids have beenBest know the drift of it;It may embody in a lineA world of chemic lore,And skill to portion and combine—The mixture as before.This will apply to many things,To oratory most,Addresses made to kings and queens,And wedding speech and toast;For commonplace and complimentAre mingled o'er and o'er;Thissaves the trouble to invent—The mixture as before.