“Tell Leyden that I detest him, but I know the value of his critical
approbation.”
_Not Beyond Reach_
Rev. Dr. Bethune asked a morose and miserly man how he was getting
along. The man replied, “What business is that of yours?” Said the
doctor, “Oh, sir, I am one of those who take an interest even in the
meanest of God’s creatures.”
_Limitation of Authority_
Pope Paul IV. was so shocked at Michael Angelo’s undressed figures in
his famous “Last Judgment,” that he employed Daniele da Volterra to
clothe them; and he, in consequence, received the nickname of “Il
Braghettone” (the breeches-maker). Michael Angelo, with his usual wit,
punished Messer Biagio da Cesena, master of the ceremonies (who first
suggested to the Pope the impropriety of nude figures), by painting him
in hell, with ass’s ears, as Midas.
The story goes that Biagio implored the Pope to insist upon the removal
of this caricature, whereupon Paul IV. replied:
“I might have released you from purgatory, but over hell I have no
power!”
_Like Topsy_
When General Schenck was United States minister to England, the wife of
a British cabinet officer assured him that “England made America all
that she is.” “Pardon, madam,” said the general, “you remind me of the
answer of the Ohio lad in his teens who, attending Sunday school for the
first time, was asked by the teacher, ‘Who made you?’ ‘Made me?’ ‘Yes.’
‘Why, God made me about so long (holding his hands about ten inches
apart), but I growed the rest.’”
_Opposite Effects_
“The matrimonial fever seems to be raging in this vicinity,” said a
smart young man to a young lady in a street car.
“Are you sure it only seems to be?” said she, not wishing to commit
herself.
“It is raging about as bad as the yellow fever in the South last year,”
said he, further pushing his opportunity.
“Yes,” she replied, in a utilitarian tone of voice, “but it has just the
opposite effect upon the population.”
_Maternity_
“I never could _bear_ children,” said a crusty old maid to Mrs.
Partington. “Perhaps, if you could, you would like them better,” mildly
replied the old lady.
_Date of Possession_
“Don’t you think,” said a husband, mildly rebuking his wife, “that women
are possessed by the devil?” “Yes,” was the quick reply, “as soon as
they are married.”
_The Old Dominion_
When a distinguished French abbe was making a visit to this country in
the early days of our national history, he happened to be dining with
some Washington celebrities, of whom John Randolph, of Roanoke, was one,
and the place of whose residence was not known to the foreigner. The
question was put to the abbe:
“And how were you pleased with the South?”
“Exceedingly; but I confess to having been a little disappointed—I had
heard so much—in the Virginia gentlemen.”
“Perhaps you were unfortunate in your circle,” broke in Randolph, with a
sneer. “You did not come to Roanoke, for instance.”
“True,” said the abbe, covering his evident annoyance at the rude tone
with his usual calm smile. “True; the next time I visit Virginia I shall
certainly go to Roanoke.”
“_Gentlemen_,” answered Randolph, emphasizing the word, “do not come to
Roanoke unless they are _invited_!”
It was a cruel thrust, but the abbe took it in the same placid manner;
and lifting his gray head, paused for a moment to give due emphasis to
his words, and then replied, looking inquiringly at the other guests:
“Said I not, messieurs, that I was disappointed in Virginia gentlemen?”
_No Jury Then and There_
Allen, the Quaker, waited upon the Duke of Sussex to remind him of his
promise to present a petition to abolish capital punishment. The duke
did not seem to like the job, and observed that Scripture has declared,
“Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.” “But
please note,” replied the Quaker, “that when Cain killed Abel he was not
hung for it.” “That’s true,” rejoined the duke, “but remember, Allen,
there were not twelve men in the world then to make a jury.”
_Each His Own Way_
Among the anecdotes recalled by the death of M. Leverrier is one which
describes M. Villemain, the secretary of the French Academy, as
declaiming in the library one day in a vigorous manner against Napoleon
III. Leverrier, who was an ardent imperialist, chanced to overhear some
of his remarks, and demanded, “How dare you speak thus of the emperor in
a public building?” Villemain looked up carelessly and replied, “And
pray who may you be?” “You know me, sir,” said the astronomer. “Your
face may be familiar to me, but I don’t exactly recall your name.”
“Leverrier is my name.” “Oh, yes, Leverrier. Astronomer, I think? In his
day I was intimately acquainted with M. Laplace; he was an astronomer,
too,—and a gentleman.” “Sir,” said Leverrier, “I despise wit, but if you
continue speaking thus I warn you that I shall report your words to the
proper authorities.” “Well,” said Villemain, shrugging his shoulders,
“every one has his way of making a living.”
_Nature’s Painting_
A young lady with very rosy cheeks, walking down Charles Street in
Baltimore, overheard a clubman say, “By Heaven, she’s painted.” Turning
quickly around, she said, “Yes, and by Heaven only.”
_A Boomerang_
Some years ago several army officers were stopping at a hotel in
Washington. Among them were a Captain Emerson and a Captain Jones.
Emerson and Jones used to have a good deal of fun together at the
dinner-table and elsewhere. One day at the dinner-table, when the
dining-hall was well filled, Captain Jones finished his dinner first,
got up, and walked almost to the dining-hall door, when Emerson called
to him in a loud voice: “Hallo, captain! see here. I want to speak to
you a minute.” The captain turned and walked back to the table and bent
over him, when Emerson whispered, “I wanted to ask you how far you would
have gone if I had not spoken to you.” The captain never changed a
muscle, but straightened up and put his fingers into his vest pocket and
said, “Captain Emerson, I don’t know of a man in the world I would
rather lend five dollars to than you, but the fact is I haven’t a cent
with me to-day,” and he turned on his heel and walked away. Emerson was
the color of a dozen rainbows, but he had to stand it.
_Relationship_
As my wife and I at the window one day,
Stood watching a man with a monkey,
A cart came by with a “broth of a boy,”
Who was driving a stout little donkey.
To my wife I then spoke, by way of a joke,
“There’s a relation of yours in that carriage,”
To which she replied, as the donkey she spied,
“Ah, yes, a relation _by marriage_.”
_Decay’s Effacement_
In an action that was tried in an English court, when the question in
dispute was as to the quality and condition of a gas-pipe that had been
laid down many years before, a witness stated that it was an old pipe,
and therefore out of condition. The judge remarking that “people do not
necessarily get out of condition by being old,” the witness promptly
answered, “They do, my lord, if buried in the ground.”
_A Woman’s Revenge_
Sophie Arnould was a last century favorite, whose voice gave way in
youth, and of her the Abbe Galiani caustically said, “She has the finest
asthma I ever heard.” But the lady revenged herself, if not on him, on
the religious order to which he belonged. Hearing that a capuchin had
been eaten by wolves, she exclaimed, “Poor beasts! what a dreadful thing
hunger must be!”
_Best for Her_
An old bachelor, picking up a book, exclaimed, upon seeing a woodcut
representing a man kneeling at the feet of a woman, “Before I would ever
kneel to a woman I would encircle my neck with a rope and stretch it!”
And then, turning to a young woman, he inquired, “Do you not think it
would be the best thing I could do?” “It would, undoubtedly, be the best
for the woman.”
_Ecclesiastical Tit-for-Tat_
Two young men who had been chums in college entered the ministry. One
became a Baptist, the other an Episcopalian. They did not meet again for
several years. When brought together once more, the Baptist invited the
Episcopalian to preach from his pulpit, which, though out of the usual
course, he did, to the great satisfaction of the congregation. Sermon
over, the two divines ducked their heads behind the breastwork of the
preaching desk, and held the following colloquy: “Fine sermon, Tom; much
obliged. Sorry I can’t repay your kindness for preaching by asking you
to stay to our communion. Can’t though, you know, because you have never
been baptized.” “Oh, don’t concern yourself about that, Jim. I couldn’t
receive the communion at your hands because you have never been
ordained.”
_Even Chances_
He was an entire stranger to the girls present, and the boys were mean
and would not introduce him. He finally plucked up courage, and,
stepping up to a young lady, requested the pleasure of her company for
the next dance. She looked at him in surprise, and informed him that she
had not the pleasure of his acquaintance. “Well,” remarked the young
man, “you don’t take any more chances than I do.”
_A Quick-Witted Damsel_
A young lady was sitting with a gallant captain in a charmingly
decorated recess. On her knee was a diminutive niece, placed there _pour
les convenances_. In the adjoining room, with the door open, were the
rest of the company. Says the little niece, in a jealous and very
audible voice, “Auntie, kiss me, too.” What had just happened may be
easily imagined. “You should say _twice_, Ethel dear; _two_ is not
grammar,” was the immediate rejoinder. Clever girl that!
_Meeting an Emergency_
It is related of Compton, the English comedian, that he happened to stop
at a hotel where a meeting of clergymen had just been ended, and the
preachers were about to dine. The landlord, seeing his white tie and
long black coat, mistook him for a minister, and said he was sure the
Dean would be pleased to have the visitor dine with them. “I thank you,”
answered Compton, who was very hungry. “I have no card. You can say, the
Rev. Mr. Payne, who is passing through the town.” The Dean not only
invited Compton to dine, but seated him at his right, and, through
courtesy, asked him to say grace. Compton felt a cold chill run through
him, but, with perfect presence of mind, he recalled the opening part of
the church service, and solemnly said, “O Lord, open thou our _lips_,
and our _mouths_ shall show forth thy praise.”
_Declined with Thanks_
When Mr. Wilberforce, the great anti-slavery advocate (the father of the
late Bishop of Winchester), was once a candidate for parliamentary
honors, his sister, an amiable and witty young lady, offered the
compliment of a new gown to each of the wives of those freemen who voted
for her brother, on which she was saluted with the cry of “Miss
Wilberforce forever!” when she pleasantly observed, “I thank you,
gentlemen; but I cannot agree with you, for I really do not wish to be
‘Miss Wilberforce’ forever.”
_A Courteous Retort_
A good illustration of “the retort courteous” was given to Count Herbert
Bismarck, the rough-and-rude son of Prince Bismarck, on the occasion of
the German Emperor’s visit to Rome. At the railway station Count Herbert
pushed rudely against an Italian dignitary, who was watching the
proceedings. The dignitary, greatly incensed, remonstrated forcibly
against such unceremonious treatment, whereupon Count Herbert turned
around haughtily and said,—
“I don’t think you know who I am. I am Count Herbert Bismarck.”
“That,” replied the Italian, bowing politely, “as an excuse, is
insufficient, but as an explanation it is ample.”
_Bearding the Lion_
(Snoggs, the Lion Comique of the music halls, has made himself
unendurably offensive by his vulgar familiarity.) Lion Comique: “Dunno
me? Well, you ought to; my name is in the papers often enough.”
Irritated Swell: “I daresay; but I seldom if ever read the police
reports!”
_Distinction With a Difference_
Dr. St. John Roosa, of New York, in the course of a speech which he made
at the dinner of the State Medical Society, emphasized a point by
telling a story. A person not entirely well up in music asked a
professor of music if Mendelssohn was still composing. “No,” was the
reply, “he is still decomposing.”
_Future Provision_
A refractory Boston youngster was being sharply rebuked by his mother
for his numerous transgressions.
“Harry, Harry,” she exclaimed, “if you behave in that way, you will
worry your father and mother to death; and what will you do without any
father and mother?”
“The Lord is my shepherd,” said the small boy; “I shall not want.”
Which went to prove that his Sunday-school training had not been
entirely lost on him.
_Sumner’s Legal Learning_
When Charles Sumner visited Europe the first time, he took with him
letters from Judge Story. At one time he was invited to sit with the
Lord Chief-Justice of the King’s Bench. During the trial a point arose
which seemed a novel one. The Lord Chief-Justice turned to Sumner and
asked him if there were any American decisions on that point. “No, your
lordship,” he replied, “but this point has been decided in your
lordship’s court in such a case,” giving him the citation. This
remarkable readiness gave him _éclat_ throughout the kingdom.
_Walk_ vs. _Conversation_
A tutor of one of the Oxford colleges who limped in his walk was some
years after accosted by a well-known politician, who asked him if he was
not the chaplain of the college at such a time, naming the year. The
doctor replied that he was. The interrogator observed, “I knew you by
your limp.” “Well,” said the doctor, “it seems my limping made a deeper
impression than my preaching.” “Ah, doctor,” was the reply, with ready
wit, “it is the highest compliment we can pay a minister, to say that he
is known by his walk rather than by his conversation.”
_The Last Chance_
Some years ago Phillips Brooks was recovering from an illness, and was
denying himself to all visitors, when Robert G. Ingersoll called. The
bishop received him at once. “I appreciate this very much,” said Mr.
Ingersoll, “but why do you see me when you deny yourself to your
friends?”
“It is this way,” said the bishop; “I feel confident of seeing my
friends in the next world, but this may be my last chance of seeing
you.”
_Divine Knowledge_
An itinerant called on John Bunyan one day with “a message from the
Lord,” saying he had been to half the jails in England in search of him,
and was glad at last to find him. To which Bunyan replied, “If the Lord
had sent you, you would not have needed to take so much trouble to find
me out, for He knew that I have been in Bedford Jail these seven years
past.”
_A Quaint Reproof—Acceptability Without a Dress Suit_
Ramsay, in his “Scottish Characteristics,” says, “A well-known member of
the Scottish bar, when a youth, was very foppish, and short and sharp in
his temper. He was going to pay a visit in the country, and was making a
great fuss in preparing and putting up his habiliments. His old aunt was
much annoyed at all this bustle, and stopped him with the somewhat
contemptuous question, ‘Whaur’s this you’re gaun’, Robbie, that ye mak
sic a grand wark about yer claes?’ The young man lost temper, and
pettishly replied, ‘I’m going to the devil.’ ‘’Deed, Robbie, then’, was
the quiet answer, ‘ye needna be sae nice; he’ll juist tak’ ye as ye
are.’”
_Marriage in Heaven_
Says Sylvia to a reverend Dean,
“What reason can be given,
Since marriage is a holy thing,
That there is none in heaven?”
“There are no women,” he replied.
She quick returns the jest:
“Women there are, but I’m afraid
They cannot find a priest.”
_Force and Argument_
Many persons who have seen the following lines of Dr. Trapp on a
regiment being sent to Oxford, and at the same time a valuable library
sent to Cambridge, by George I. in 1715, have not seen the answer which
they provoked:
The king, observing with judicious eyes
The state of both his universities,
To Oxford sent a troop of horse; and why?
That learned body wanted loyalty:
To Cambridge books he sent, as well discerning
How much that loyal body wanted learning.
The answer came from Sir William Browne, a physician of Lynn in Norfolk:
The King to Oxford sent a troop of horse,
For Tories own no argument but force;
With equal skill to Cambridge books he sent,
For Whigs admit no force but argument.
_The Condemned Jester_
Horace Smith, one of the authors of the “Rejected Addresses,” tells us
that a king of Scanderoon had a jester who played audacious tricks on
the royal family, the courtiers, and persons of great distinction. But
at length, emboldened by long tolerance of his freaks and hoaxes, the
buffoon went too far:
Some sin, at last, beyond all measure
Incurred the desperate displeasure
Of his serene and raging highness;
Whether he twitched his most revered
And sacred beard
Or had intruded on the shyness
Of the seraglio, or let fly
An epigram at royalty,
None knows—his sin was an occult one;
But records tell us that the sultan,
Meaning to terrrify the knave,
Exclaimed, “’Tis time to stop that breath;
Thy doom is sealed, presumptuous slave!
Thou stand’st condemned to certain death.
Silence, base rebel! no replying.
But such is my indulgence still
Out of my own free grace and will,
I leave to thee the mode of dying.”
“Thy royal will be done—’tis just,”
Replied the wretch, and kissed the dust;
“Since, my last moments to assuage,
Your majesty’s humane decree
Has deigned to leave the choice to me,
I’ll die, so please you, of old age!”
_Marjorie_
“Oh, dear,” said Farmer Brown one day,
“I never saw such weather!
The rain will spoil my meadow-hay
And all my crops together.”
His little daughter climbed his knee;
“I guess the sun will shine,” said she.
“But if the sun,” said Farmer Brown,
“Should bring a dry September,
With vines and stalks all wilted down,
And fields scorched to an ember”—
“Why then ’twill rain,” said Marjorie,
The little girl upon his knee.
“Ah, me!” sighed Farmer Brown, that fall,
“Now what’s the use of living?
No plan of mine succeeds at all”—
“Why, next month comes Thanksgiving,
And then, of course,” said Marjorie,
“We’re all as happy as can be.”
“Well, what should I be thankful for?”
Asked Farmer Brown. “My trouble
This summer has grown more and more,
My losses have been double,
I’ve nothing left”—“Why, you’ve got me!”
Said Marjorie, upon his knee.