_Hereditary Transmission_
Madame Bonaparte (Betsy Patterson) once attended a state dinner, and was
escorted to the table by Lord Dundas. He had already received some of
her sarcastic speeches, and in a not very pleasant mood asked her
whether she had read Mrs. Trollope’s book on America. She had. “Well,
madame,” said the Englishman, “what do you think of her pronouncing all
Americans vulgarians?” “I am not surprised at that,” answered sprightly
Betsy Bonaparte. “Were all the Americans descendants of the Indians or
the Esquimaux, I should be astonished; but being the direct descendants
of the English, it would be very strange if they were not vulgarians.”
There was no more heard from Lord Dundas that evening.
_Fitting Answers_
One sultry evening, Phœbe Cary, dressed as usual in a close-fitting
bodice, entered the room where John G. Saxe and others were seated. Saxe
greeted her with, “Miss Phœbe, why do you dress so closely in such hot
weather? Look at me.” He had on a linen duster, and was fanning himself
industriously. Phœbe replied instantly, “I never feel comfortable with
loose sacks around me.”
On another occasion, at the tea-table, the question arose about the
number of children John Rogers had—“nine small children and one at the
breast.” The company were evenly divided whether there were nine or ten.
Phœbe was appealed to, when she said, “Ten, of course.” “How do you
reach such a positive decision?” some one asked. “Don’t nine and one to
carry make ten?” was her reply.
_Left-Handed Compliments_
Leyden, having had a quarrel with the author of “The Pleasures of Hope,”
once said to Sir Walter Scott,—
“You may tell Campbell that I hate him, but that he has written the best
poetry that has been written for fifty years.”