Transcriber's Notes:
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
No attempt at consistency of spelling or punctuation has been made,
as the entire text consists of direct quotations from other sources.
A few minor corrections have been made to the index or where the
original source has clearly been misprinted.
* * * * *
QUIPS AND QUIDDITIES
_Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. per volume._
THE MAYFAIR LIBRARY.
THE NEW REPUBLIC. By W. H. MALLOCK.
THE NEW PAUL AND VIRGINIA. By W. H. MALLOCK.
THE TRUE HISTORY OF JOSHUA DAVIDSON. By E.
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OLD STORIES RE-TOLD. By WALTER THORNBURY.
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MORE PUNIANA. By the Hon. HUGH ROWLEY.
THOREAU: HIS LIFE AND AIMS. By H. A. PAGE.
BY STREAM AND SEA. By WILLIAM SENIOR.
JEUX D'ESPRIT. Collected and Edited by HENRY S. LEIGH.
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PENNELL.
PUCK ON PEGASUS. By H. CHOLMONDELEY PENNELL.
ORIGINAL PLAYS by W. S. GILBERT. FIRST SERIES.
Containing--The Wicked World, Pygmalion and Galatea, Charity,
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QUIPS AND QUIDDITIES. Selected by W. DAVENPORT ADAMS.
MELANCHOLY ANATOMISED: a Popular Abridgment of "Burton's Anatomy of
Melancholy."
THE AGONY COLUMN OF "THE TIMES," FROM 1800 TO 1870.
Edited by ALICE CLAY.
PASTIMES AND PLAYERS. By ROBERT MACGREGOR.
CURIOSITIES OF CRITICISM. By HENRY J. JENNINGS.
THE PHILOSOPHY OF HANDWRITING. By DON FELIX
DE SALAMANCA.
LATTER-DAY LYRICS. Edited by W. DAVENPORT ADAMS.
BALZAC'S COMÉDIE HUMAINE AND ITS AUTHOR.
With Translations by H. H. WALKER.
_Other Volumes are in preparation._
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY, W.
QUIPS AND QUIDDITIES
_A QUINTESSENCE OF QUIRKS
QUAINT, QUIZZICAL, AND
QUOTABLE_
SELECTED AND EDITED BY
W. DAVENPORT ADAMS
AUTHOR OF THE "DICTIONARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE," ETC.
[Illustration]
"How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy Quips and thy Quiddities?"
I _Henry IV._, i. 2
London
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1881
[_All rights reserved._]
PREFACE.
This is a modest little volume. It consists but
of selections from the Editor's note-book, and its
object is but to amuse. It does not even aspire
to be read consecutively. The Compiler's hope
is only that it may be found a pleasant companion
at spare moments--that it may be considered
handy for the pocket, and be thought agreeable to
dip into.
To that end, two things have been aimed at in
selecting--brevity and variety. There is scarcely
anything in the volume that cannot be read
almost at a glance, and the matter ranges over
a wide extent of literary effort--over play and
poem, over essay and novel, over maxim and epigram,
over memoir and diary. There is pun, and
there is parody; there is satire, and there is sarcasm.
In a word, the little book may say, with
Lafontaine, "Diversité c'est ma devise." There is
diversity even in the arrangement, which consists
merely of a general alternation of the prose and
verse. For the rest, the quips and quiddities are
in intentional disorder.
Let it be added that, though there are a few
anonymous passages, most are duly attributed to
their writers, together with references to the
volumes from which they have been taken. In
this, every care has been exercised to arrive at
accuracy. The idea of completeness is, of course,
foreign to a selection of this sort, and it may be
mentioned that the Editor has been specially
anxious to avoid as much as possible the ground
covered by Mr. Leigh in his "Jeux d'Esprit," and
by Mr. Dobson in his "Literary Frivolities." His
aim, indeed, has been to take the freshest and least
hackneyed of the passages in his collection, though
he has not hesitated to include a venerable saying
when it has seemed to him as good as it is venerable.
In conclusion, the Compiler desires to express
in the most hearty manner his indebtedness to
those numerous living writers whose bright and
airy fancies form, in his opinion, one of the chief
attractions of the book. He ought, perhaps, to
apologize to those writers for presenting their
fancies in a manner so generally fragmentary and
disconnected. But that the contents of the book
should be thus disconnected and fragmentary was
part and parcel of its plan and origin, and, that
being the case, the Editor hopes to be excused.
He may state that, in those few cases where a
piece of verse is given entire, it is distinguished
by the presence of a heading. The epigrams,
maxims, and anecdotes are, of course, reproduced
as written--being, in their very nature, of the
brevity essential to a quip.
Further: on the principle that no book, however
unpretending, should be without an Index, the
Compiler has supplied one for the present volume.
W.D.A.
"Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?"
"Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing."
I _Henry IV._, ii. 2.
QUIPS AND QUIDDITIES.
When Miss Callender, afterwards Mrs. Sheridan,
published a novel, the hero of which commits
forgery, that wicked wit, Sydney Smith, said he
knew she was a Callender, but did not know till then
that she was a Newgate Calendar.
FANNY KEMBLE, _Record of a Girlhood_.
An estate and beauty joined, are of an unlimited, nay, a power
pontifical; make one not only absolute, but infallible. A fine
woman's never in the wrong.
_Lady Betty_, in CIBBER's _Careless Husband_.
_THEOPHILUS._
When I'm drinking my tea
I think of my _The_;
When I'm drinking my coffee
I think of my _Offee_;
So, whether I'm drinking my tea or my coffee,
I'm always a-thinking of thee, my Theoffy.
ROGERS, _apud_ MOORE.
Bobus was very amusing. He is a great authority
on Indian matters. We talked of the insects
and the snakes, and he said a thing which
reminded me of his brother Sydney: "Always, sir,
manage to have at your table some fleshy blooming
young writer or cadet, just come out, that the mosquitoes
may stick to him, and leave the rest of the company
alone."
LORD MACAULAY, _Life_.
Lady Greenwich, in a conversation with
Lady Tweeddale, named the Saxons. "The
Saxons, my dear," cried the Marchioness; "who
were they?" "Lord, madam, did your ladyship never
read the History of England?" "No, my dear; pray,
who wrote it?"
HORACE WALPOLE, _Correspondence_.
_ON THE MARRIAGE OF A MR. LOT AND A MISS SALTER._
Because on her way she chose to halt,
Lot's wife, in the Scriptures, was turned into salt;
But though in her course she ne'er did falter,
This young Lot's wife, strange to say, was Salter.
HICKS, _apud_ J. C. YOUNG.
Hook was dining at Powell's one day, and the talk
fell upon _feu_ Jack Reeve. "Yes," said Theodore,
when they were speaking of his funeral,
"I met him in his private box, going to the pit."
H. F. CHORLEY, _Life and Letters_.
_TO A BAD FIDDLER._
Old Orpheus played so well, he moved old Nick,
While thou mov'st nothing but thy fiddlestick!
_A Collection of Epigrams_ (1727).
A lady from China who was dining with the
Archbishop [Whately] told him that English
flowers reared in that country lose their perfume
in two or three years. "Indeed!" was the immediate
remark, "I had no idea that the Chinese were such
de-scent-ers."
E. J. WHATELY's _Life of Whately_.
_ON THE ART UNIONS._
That Picture-Raffles will conduce to nourish
Design, or cause good colouring to flourish,
Admits of logic-chopping and wise-sawing:
But surely Lotteries encourage Drawing?
THOMAS HOOD, _Whims and Oddities_.
Robert Smith (brother of Sydney, and familiarly
called "Bobus") was a lawyer and an
ex-Advocate-General, and happened on one
occasion to be engaged in argument with an excellent
physician touching the merits of their respective professions.
"You must admit," urged Dr. ----, "that
your profession does not make angels of men." "No,"
was the retort, "there you have the best of it; yours
certainly gives them the first chance."
ABRAHAM HAYWARD, _Essays_.
In London I never know what I'd be at,
Enraptured with this, and enchanted by that;
I'm wild with the sweets of variety's plan,
And Life seems a blessing too happy for man.
But the Country, Lord help me! sets all matters right;
So calm and composing from morning to night;
Oh! it settles the spirits when nothing is seen
But an ass on a common, a goose on a green.
CHARLES MORRIS, _Lyra Urbanica_.
Parler d'amour, c'est faire amour.
BALZAC, _Physiologie du Mariage_.
At the Polish ball, the Lord Mayor said to Lady
Douglas, who squints, "Which do you prefer,
my lady, Gog or Magog?" "Of the _three_,"
said Lady Douglas, "I prefer your lordship!"
B. R. HAYDON, _Diary_.
_ON THE CAPPADOCIANS._
A viper bit a Cappadocian's hide;
But 'twas the viper, not the man, that died.
ANON., _from the Greek_.
The merits of a certain American diplomatist being
on the _tapis_, [Washington Irving] said, in allusion
to his pomposity, "Ah, he is a great man;
and, in his own estimation, a very great man--a man of
great weight. When he goes to the West, the East
tips up."
J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.
When a rapt audience has encored "Fra Poco"
Or "Casta Diva," I have heard that then
The Prima Donna, smiling herself out,
Recruits her flagging powers with bottled stout.
C. S. CALVERLEY, _Verses and Translations_.
I believe everything. It saves one such a world
of bore from intelligent people who are anxious
to explain things you doubt about.
_Lucy Forrester_, in BROOKS' _Aspen Court_.
Rank so friendly now with trade is,
Bill discounters titled ladies
Stoop to raise.
Manners used to make the man,
It is only money can
Nowadays.
J. JEMMETT BROWNE, _Songs of Many Seasons_.
Black is a great fact. Want of fashion in the cut;
want of richness in the material; want of _chic_
in the wearer--all these it covers, like charity.
There's a sentiment about it which appeals to the feelings,
and it is becoming to the skin.
ANNA C. STEELE.
Are you quite sure that Pygmalion is the only
person who ever fell in love with his own
handiwork?
_Guesses at Truth._
Duty,--that's to say the complying
With whate'er's expected here,
On your unknown cousin's dying,
Straight be ready with the tear;
Upon etiquette relying,
Unto usage nought denying,
Lend your waist to be embraced,
Blush not even, never fear.
A. H. CLOUGH, _Poems_.
What Jenner said on hearing in Elysium that
complaints had been made of his having a statue
in Trafalgar Square:--
England, ingratitude still blots
The escutcheon of the brave and free:
I saved you many million spots,
And now you grudge one spot to me.
SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.
Deh! what are we sinners doing all our lives?
Making soup in a basket, and getting nothing
but the scum for our stomachs.
_Machiavelli_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Romola_.
My idea of an agreeable person is a person who
agrees with me.
_Hugo Bohun_, in LORD BEACONSFIELD's _Lothair_.
"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail,
"There's the porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle--will you come and join the dance?
"You can really have no notion how delightful it will be
When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!"
But the snail replied, "Too far, too far!" and gave a look askance,
Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.
LEWIS CARROLL, _Alice in Wonderland_.
I could draw on wood at a very tender age.
When a mere child I once drew a small cartload
of turnips over a wooden bridge. The people
of the village noticed me. I drew their attention.
C. F. BROWNE, _Artemus Ward's Lecture_.
That all-softening over-powering knell,
The tocsin of the soul--the dinner-bell.
LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.
Now Darwin proves as clear as mud,
That, endless ages ere the Flood,
The Coming Man's primeval form
Was simply an Ascidian worm:
And having then the habit got
Of passing liquor down his throat,
He keeps it still, and shows full well
That Man--was--once----a leather bottèl.
LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.
"The ancients," quoth Paul, "were very great
men, Mr. MacGrawler."
"They were so, sir," returned the critic;
"we make it a rule in our profession to assert that fact."
"But, sir," said Paul, "they are wrong now and then."
"Never, Ignoramus, never."
"They praised poverty, Mr. MacGrawler," said Paul,
with a sigh.
"Hem," quoth the critic, a little staggered; but presently
recovering his characteristic acumen, he observed,
"It is true, Paul, but that was the poverty of other
people."
LORD LYTTON, _Paul Clifford_.
Yes, Fortune deserves to be chidden,
It is a coincidence queer--
Whenever one wants to be hidden
Some blockhead is sure to appear!
FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.
One day in the country [Sheridan Knowles] said to
Abbot, with whom he had been acting there,
"My dear fellow, I'm off to-morrow. Can I
take any letters for you?" "You're very kind," answered
Abbot; "but where are you going to?" "_I haven't
made up my mind._"
J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.
_BLUE STOCKINGS._
The newspapers lately have taught us to know
How some strong-minded hens are beginning to crow.
But, dear ladies, beware: take the word of a friend,
That when rivalry comes, all affection must end.
With the brightest of _spoons_ would be war to the _knife_
In political contests 'twixt husband and wife;
And the sentence of doom might be sudden and brief
If a feminine subaltern jilted her chief.
We men take a pride in concealing our chains,
And would like to be thought to monopolize brains;
So I'll give you this maxim, my counsels to crown--
_If the stockings are blue, keep the petticoats down._
_Once a Week._
Talking of Kean, I mentioned his having told
me that he had eked out his means of living,
before he emerged from obscurity, by teaching
dancing, fencing, elocution, and boxing. "Elocution
and boxing!" (repeated Bobus Smith)--"a word and a
blow."
THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.
_MILITARY._
Smart soldiers like to be well tightened in:
Loose habits would destroy all discipline.
H. J. BYRON, in _English Epigrams_.
Fontaine, the architect, who built the triumphal
arch in the Carrousel, placed upon it an empty
car, drawn by the famous bronze Venetian
horses. Talleyrand asked him, "_Qui avez vous l'intention
de mettre dans le char?_" The answer was, "_L'Empereur
Napoléon, comme de raison_." Upon which Talleyrand
said, "_Le char l'attend_."
GRONOW, _Recollections_.
'Tis doubtless well to be sometimes awake--
Awake to duty, and awake to truth,--
But when, alas! a nice review we take
Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth,
The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep
Are those we passed in childhood or asleep!
JOHN GODFREY SAXE, _Poems_.
_Sir Toby._ "Does not our life consist of the four
elements?"
_Sir Andrew._ "Faith, so they say; but I think
it rather consists of eating and drinking."
_Twelfth Night_, Act II., Scene 3.
She thought "Wives and Daughters" "_so_ jolly;"
"Had I read it?" She knew that I had:
Like the rest, I should dote upon "Molly;"
And "poor Mrs. Gaskell--how sad!"
"Like Browning?" "But so-so." His proof lay
Too deep for her frivolous mood,
That preferred your mere metrical _soufflé_
To the stronger poetical food;
Yet at times he was good--"as a tonic:"
Was Tennyson writing just now?
And was this new poet Byronic,
And clever, and naughty, or how?
AUSTIN DOBSON, _Vignettes in Rhyme_.
Old friends are best. King James used to call for
his old shoes; they were easiest for his feet.
SELDEN, _Table Talk_.
Let a coach be called,
And let the man who called it be the caller;
And in his calling let him nothing call,
But coach, coach, coach! Oh for a coach, ye gods!
CAREY, _Chrononhotonthologos_.
If you could make a pudding wi' thinking o' the
batter, it 'ud be easy getting dinner.
_Mrs. Poyser_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.
There's somewhat on my breast, father,
There's somewhat on my breast;
The livelong day I sigh, father,
And at night I cannot rest.
'Tis not the lack of gold, father,
Nor want of worldly gear;
My lands are broad, and fair to see,
My friends are kind and dear.
'Tis not that Janet's false, father,
'Tis not that she's unkind;
Though busy flatterers swarm around,
I know her constant mind.
'Tis not her coldness, father,
That chills my labouring breast:
It's that confounded cucumber
I've eat and can't digest.
R. H. BARHAM, _Ingoldsby Lyrics_.
Insolence is a charming quality, when, like
mercy, it is not strained.
_Once a Week._
Ancient Phillis has young graces,
'Tis a strange thing, but a true one!
Shall I tell you how?
She, herself, makes her own faces,
And each morning wears a new one;
Where's the wonder now?
_Lord Froth_, in CONGREVE's _Double Dealer_.
Célébrité--l'avantage d'être connu de ceux que
vous ne connaissez pas.
CHAMFORT, _Maximes_.
'Tis past all bearing, when a husband slights his bride,
Who last Christmas still was blushing at her elder sister's side;
Still on some minute allowance finding collars, boots, and gloves,
Still to cousinly flirtations limiting her list of loves,
Still by stern domestic edict charged on no account to read
Any of Miss Brontë's novels, or to finish _Adam Bede_.
_First Lady_, in TREVELYAN's _Ladies in Parliament_.
I differ from all the ordinary biographers of
that independent gentleman Don't Care. I
believe Don't Care came to a good end. At any
rate he came to some end. Whereas numbers of people
never have beginning, or ending, of their own.
_Ellesmere_, in HELPS's _Friends in Council_.
_DISTICH._
Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her.
This one may love her some day; some day the lover will not.
JOHN HAY, _Poems_.
One morning [Jerrold and Compton] proceeded
together to view the pictures in the Gallery of
Illustration. On entering the ante-room, they
found themselves opposite to a number of very long
looking-glasses. Pausing before one of these, [Compton]
remarked to Jerrold, "You've come here to admire
works of art! Very well, first feast your eyes on that
work of nature!"--pointing to his own figure reflected
in the glass; "look at it, there's a picture for you!"
"Yes," said Jerrold, regarding it intently, "very fine,
very fine indeed!" Then, turning to his friend: "Wants
hanging, though!"
_Memoir of Henry Compton._
Sing for the garish eye,
When moonless brandlings cling!
Let the froddering crooner cry,
And the braddled sapster sing.
For never, and never again,
Will the tottering beechlings play,
For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
And the throngers croon in May!
W. S. GILBERT.
Sydney Smith said of a certain quarrelsome
person that his very face was a breach of the
peace.
J. T. FIELDS, _Yesterdays with Authors_.
Kerchief in hand I saw them stand;
In every kerchief lurked a lunch;
When they unfurl'd them it was grand
To watch bronzed men and maidens crunch
The sounding celery-stick, or ram
The knife into the blushing ham.
Dash'd the bold fork through pies of pork;
O'er hard-boil'd eggs the saltspoon shook;
Leapt from its lair the playful cork:
Yet some there were, to whom the brook
Seemed sweetest beverage, and for meat
They chose the red root of the beet.
C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.
Of all virtues, magnanimity is the rarest. There
are a hundred persons of merit for one who
willingly acknowledges it in another.
W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.
Bisness first, pleasure artervards, as King Richard
the Third said ven he stabbed the tother king in
the Tower, afore he murdered the babbies.
CHARLES DICKENS, _apud_ J. T. FIELDS.
We are all of us liable to this error of imagining
that we are grieved at a fault, when we are only
grieved at having done something to lower ourselves
in our own estimation.
E. M. SEWELL, _Margaret Percival_.
I trembled once beneath her spell
Whose spelling was extremely so-so.
FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.
It's easy finding reasons why other folks should be
patient.
_Bartle Massey_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.
_OUR TRAVELLER._
If thou wouldst stand on Etna's burning brow,
With smoke above, and roaring flames below;
And gaze adown that molten gulf reveal'd
Till thy soul shudder'd, and thy senses reel'd;--
If thou wouldst beard Niagara in his pride,
Or stem the billows of Propontic tide;
Scale all alone some dizzy Alpine _haut_,
And shriek "Excelsior!" amidst the snow;--
Wouldst tempt all deaths, all dangers that may be,
Perils by land, and perils on the sea,--
This vast round world, I say, if thou wouldst view it,
Then why the dickens don't you go and do it?
H. CHOLMONDELEY PENNELL, _Puck on Pegasus_.
I am saddest when I sing; so are those who hear
me. They are sadder even than I am.
C. F. BROWNE, _Artemus Ward's Lecture_.
An ape with a pliable thumb and big brain,
When the gift of the gab he had managed to gain,
As a lord of creation established his reign,
Which nobody can deny.
But I'm sadly afraid, if we do not take care,
A relapse to low life may our prospects impair,
So of beastly propensities let us beware,
Which nobody can deny.
Their lofty position our children may lose,
And, reduced to all-fours, must then narrow their views,
Which would shortly unfit them for wearing our shoes,
Which nobody can deny.
Their vertebræ next might be taken away,
When they'd sink to an oyster, or insect, some day,
Or the pitiful part of a polypus play,
Which nobody can deny.
LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.
It's dreadful to think on, people playing with their
own insides in that way! And it's flying i' the
face o' Providence; for what are the doctors for,
if we aren't to call 'em in?
_Mrs. Pullet_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Mill on the Floss_.
Brief, in two rules he summed the ends of man--
Keep all you have, and try for all you can!
LORD LYTTON, _King Arthur_.
_LOVE SONG._
What mistress half so dear as mine,
Half so well dressed, so pungent, fragrant,
Who can such attributes combine,
To charm the constant, fix the vagrant?
Who can display such varied arts,
To suit the taste of saint and sinner,
Who go so near to touch their hearts,
As thou, my darling dainty dinner?
Still my breast holds a rival queen,
A bright-eyed nymph of sloping shoulders,
Whose ruddy cheeks and graceful mien
Entrance the sense of all beholders.
Oh! when thy lips to mine are pressed,
What transports titillate my throttle!
My love can find new life and zest,
In thee, and thee alone, my bottle!
HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.
Fashion with us is like the man in one of Le
Sage's novels, who was constantly changing his
servants, and yet had but one suit of livery,
which every newcomer, whether he was tall or short, fat
or thin, was obliged to wear.
_Wormwood_, in LORD LYTTON's _Pelham_.
Unmarketable maidens of the mart,
Who, plumpness gone, fine delicacy feint,
And hide your sins in piety and paint.
ALFRED AUSTIN, _The Season_.
Seeing O. Smith, the popular melodramatic actor,
on the opposite side of the Strand, Knowles
rushed across the road, seized him by the hand,
and inquired eagerly after his health. Smith, who only
knew him by sight, said, "I think, Mr. Knowles, you
are mistaken; I am O. Smith." "My dear fellow," cried
Knowles, "I beg you ten thousand pardons: I took
you for your _namesake_, T. P. Cooke!"
J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.
_A PRACTICAL ANSWER._
_Says Hyam to Moses,
"Let's cut off our noses,"
Says Moses to Hyam,
"Ma tear, who would buy 'em?"_
SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.
Turnips should never be pulled: it injures them.
It is much better to send a boy up and let him
shake the tree.
MARK TWAIN, _Choice Works_.
He lived in a cave by the seas,
He lived upon oysters and foes,
But his list of forbidden degrees
An extensive morality shows;
Geological evidence goes
To prove he had never a pan,
But he shaved with a shell when he chose,--
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.
He worshipped the rain and the breeze,
He worshipped the river that flows,
And the dawn, and the moon, and the trees,
And bogies, and serpents, and crows;
He buried his dead with their toes
Tucked-up, an original plan,
Till their knees came right under their nose,--
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.
ANDREW LANG, _Ballades in Blue China_.
On ne loue d'ordinaire que pour être loué.
LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.
Would you adopt a strong logical attitude,
Bear this in mind, and, whatever you do,
Always allow your opponent full latitude,
Whether or not his assumption be true.
Then, when he manifests feelings of gratitude
Merely because you've not shut him up flat,
Turn his pet paradox into a platitude
With the remark, "Oh, of _course_, we know that!"
GODFREY TURNER.
The gentle reader, who may wax unkind,
And, caring little for the author's ease,
Insist on knowing what he means--a hard
And hapless situation for a bard.
LORD BYRON, _Beppo_.
My dear, when you have a clergyman in your
family you must accommodate your tastes: I
did that very early. When I married Humphrey,
I made up my mind to like sermons, and I set out by
liking the end very much. That soon spread to the
middle and the beginning, because I couldn't have the
end without them.
_Mrs. Cadwallader_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Middlemarch_.
Great theologians, talk not of Trinity:
Heretics, plague us no more with your fibs;
One question only, Which is the Divinity,--
Willcox or Gibbs?
MORTIMER COLLINS, _The British Birds_.
"Is that the contents you are looking at?" inquired
an anxious author, who saw Rogers's eye
fixed on a table or list at the commencement
of a presentation copy of a new work. "No," said
Rogers, pointing to the list of subscribers, "the _dis_-contents."
A. HAYWARD, _Essays_.
The river's like glass--
As slowly I pass,
This sweet little lass
Raises two
Forget-me-not eyes
In laughing surprise--
From canoe.
And as I float by,
Said I, "Miss, O why?
O why may not I
Drift with you?"
Said she, with a start,
"I've no room in my heart--
Or canoe!"
J. ASHBY STERRY, _Boudoir Ballads_.
Kenny one day mentioned Charles Lamb's being
once bored by a lady praising to him "such a
charming man!" etc., etc.; ending with, "I know
him, bless him!" On which Lamb said, "Well, I don't,
but d---- him at a hazard."
THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
LEWIS CARROLL, _Hunting of the Snark_.
I remember being present at a dinner in
London, when a very severe and saturnine
Scotch Presbyterian was abusing Sunday newspapers,
and concluded a violent tirade by saying, "I
am determined to set my face against them." "So am I,"
said Theodore Hook, "every Sunday morning."
GRONOW, _Recollections_.
_ON A RADICAL REFORMER._
Tomkins will clear the land, they say,
From every foul abuse;
So chimneys in the olden time
Were cleansèd by a goose.
JAMES HANNAY, _Sketches and Characters_.
I was mentioning that some one had said of
Sharpe's very dark complexion that he looked
as if the dye of his old trade (hat making) had
got engrained into his face. "Yes," said Luttrell, "darkness
that may be _felt_!"
THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.
It seems that poor Bruin has never had peace
'Twixt bald men in Bethel, and wise men in grease.
FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.
The term _sound divine_ being used, I said, "I do
not know what is a sound divine," quoting Pope--
"'Dulness is sacred in a sound divine.'"
"But I do," said Donaldson. "It is a divine who is
_vox et præterea nihil_."
CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.
Plain food is quite enough for me;
Three courses are as good as ten;
If Nature can subsist on three,
Thank heaven for three--Amen!
I always thought cold victual nice--
My _choice_ should be vanilla-ice.
I care not much for gold or land;
Give me a mortgage here or there;
Some good bank-stock, some note of hand,
Or trifling railroad share:--
I only ask that fortune send
A _little_ more than I shall spend.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
Some one saying to Sir F. Gould, "I am told you
eat three eggs _every day at breakfast_,"--"No,"
answered Gould, "on the contrary." Some of
those present asked, "What was the contrary of eating
three eggs?" "Laying three eggs, I suppose," said
Luttrell.
THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.
Blossom of hawthorn whitens in May:
Never an end to true love's sway!
Blossom of hawthorn fades in June:
I shall be tired of my true love soon!
Blossom of hawthorn's gone in July:
Darling, I must be off,--good-bye!
ANON.
The late Mr. Nightingale was telling Horace Smith
of his having given a late royal duke an account
of an accident he had met with when he had been
run away with, and of the duke's exclaiming aloud to himself,
when he heard he had jumped out of the carriage,
"Fool! fool!" "Now," said the narrator to his auditor,
"it's all very well for him to call me a fool, but I can't
conceive why he should. Can you?" "No," replied
the wag, as if reflecting, "because he could not suppose
you ignorant of the fact."
J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.
Such are the sylvan scenes that thrill
This heart! The lawns, the happy shade
Where matrons, whom the sunbeams grill,
Stir with slow spoon their lemonade;
And maidens flirt (no extra charge)
In comfort at the fountain's marge!
C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.
The crow!--the crow!--the great black crow!
He loves the fat meadow--his taste is low;
He loves the fat worms, and he dines in a row
With fifty fine cousins all black as a sloe.
Sloe--sloe! you great black crow!
But it is jolly to fare like a great black crow!
P. J. BAILEY, _Festus_.
If a man's got a bit of property, a stake in the
country, he'll want to keep things square.
Where Jack isn't safe, Tom's in danger.
_Mr. Wace_, in GEORGE ELIOT'S _Felix Holt_.
Turn not from poor pussy in disdain,
Whose pride of ancestry may equal thine;
For is she not a blood descendant of
The ancient Catty line?
R. H. NEWELL, _Orpheus C. Kerr Papers_.
I heard the other day of Jekyll making the
following pun. He said, "Erskine used to
hesitate very much, and could not speak very
well after dinner. I dined with him once at the Fishmongers'
Company. He made such a sad work of
speechifying that I asked him whether it was in honour
of the Company that he _floundered_ so?"
CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.
Who knows if what Adam might speak
Was mono- or poly-syllabic;
Was Gothic, or Gaelic, or Greek,
Tartàric, Chinese, or Aràbic?
It may have been Sanskrit or Zend--
It must have been something or other;
But thus far I'll stoutly contend,--
It wasn't the tongue of his mother.
LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.
Men's natures are neither black nor white, but
_brown_.
CHARLES BUXTON, _Notes of Thought_.
Oh, Love's but a dance,
Where Time plays the fiddle!
See the couples advance,--
Oh, Love's but a dance!
A whisper, a glance,--
"Shall we twirl down the middle?"
Oh, Love's but a dance,
Where Time plays the fiddle!
AUSTIN DOBSON, _Proverbs in Porcelain_.
I met a man in Oregon who hadn't any teeth--not
a tooth in his head--yet that man could play on
the bass drum better than any man I ever met.
C. F. BROWNE, _Artemus Ward's Lecture_.
The Duke of Rutland, at one of his levées,
being at a loss for something to say to every
person he was bound in etiquette to notice,
remarked to Sir John Hamilton that there was a prospect
of an excellent crop. "The timely rain," observed
the duke, "will bring everything above ground." "God
forbid, your excellency!" exclaimed the courtier. His
excellency stared, whilst Sir John continued, sighing
heavily as he spoke, "Yes, God forbid! for I have
_three wives_ under it!"
SIR JONAH BARRINGTON, _Memoirs_.
"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak,--
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"
"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw
Has lasted the rest of my life."
LEWIS CARROLL, _Alice in Wonderland_.
Le monde récompense plus souvent les apparances
du mérite que le mérite même.
LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.
Curran told an anecdote of an Irish parliament
man, who was boasting in the House of Commons
of his attachment to trial by jury. "Mr.
Speaker, by the trial by jury I have lived, and by the
blessing of God, with the trial by jury I will die!"
Curran sat near him, and whispered audibly, "What,
Jack! do you mean to be hanged?"
CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.
They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice--
They roused him with mustard and cress--
They roused him with jam and judicious advice--
They set him conundrums to guess.
LEWIS CARROLL, _Hunting of the Snark_.
My old friend Maltby, the brother of the bishop, was
a very absent man. One day at Paris, in the
Louvre, we were looking at the pictures, when a
lady entered who spoke to me, and kept me some minutes
in conversation. On rejoining Maltby, I said, "That
was Mrs. ----. We have not met so long, she had
almost forgotten me, and asked me if my name was
Rogers." Maltby, still looking at the pictures, "And
was it?"
ROGERS, _apud_ J. R. PLANCHÉ.
No one likes to be disturbed at meals
Or love.
LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.
What is man's end? To know and to be free.
Think you to compass it by tracts and tea?
ALFRED AUSTIN, _The Season_.
To preach long, loud, and damnation, is the way to
be cried up. We love a man that damns us, and
we run after him again to save us.
SELDEN, _Table Talk_.
It's such a very serious thing
To be a funny man!
JOHN GODFREY SAXE, _Poems_.
A bore cannot be a good man: for the better he
is, the greater bore he will be, and the more
hateful he will make goodness.
LADY ASHBURTON, _apud_ LORD HOUGHTON.
Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life
Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swaller-tail coats,
An' marched round in front of a drum and a fife,
To get some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes;
But John P.
Robinson he
Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee.
J. R. LOWELL, _Biglow Papers_.
I could resign that eye of blue,
Howe'er its splendour used to thrill me;
And e'en that cheek of roseate hue--
To lose it, Chloe, would not kill me.
That sunny neck I ne'er should miss,
However much I raved about it;
And sweetly as that lip can kiss,
I think I could exist without it.
In short, so well I've learned to fast,
That, sooth, my love, I know not whether
I might not bring myself at last
To do without you altogether.
THOMAS MOORE.
L'art de plaire est l'art de tromper.
VAUVENARGUES, _Réflexions_.
We don't marry beggars, said she: why, no:
It seems that to make 'em is what you do;
And as I can cook, and scour, and sew,
I needn't pay half my victuals for you.
A man for himself should be able to scratch,
But tickling's a luxury:--love, indeed!
Love burns as long as a lucifer-match,
Wedlock's the candle! Now that's my creed.
GEORGE MEREDITH, _Modern Love_.
And while my schoolmates studied less,
I resolutely studied _Moore_.
_Songs of Singularity._
"One of my aides-de-camp," said Lord Wellesley
to Plunket on one occasion, "has written a
personal narrative of his travels,--pray, Chief
Justice, what is your definition of 'personal'?" "My
lord," replied Plunket, "we lawyers always consider
_personal_ as opposed to _real_."
LORD ALBEMARLE, _Fifty Years of my Life_.
I make the butter fly, all in an hour:
I put aside the preserves and cold meats,
Telling my master his cream has turned sour,
Hiding his pickles, purloining his sweets.
I never languish for husband or dower,
I never sigh to see gyps at my feet:
I make the butter fly, all in an hour,
Taking it home for my Saturday treat.
_Lydia_, in G. O. TREVELYAN's _Horace at Athens_.
English is an expressive language, but not
difficult to master. Its range is limited. It
consists, so far as I can observe, of four words:
"nice," "jolly," "charming," and "bore;" and some
grammarians add "fond."
_Pinto_, in LORD BEACONSFIELD's _Lothair_.
When Sir George Rose was appointed one of the
four judges of the now extinct Court of Review,
he came to Lincoln's Inn with his colleagues to
be sworn in. Some friend congratulating him on his
access of dignity, he observed, "Yes! here we are, you
see--_four by honours_!"
_Macmillan's Magazine._
Ah! who has seen the mailèd lobster rise,
Clap her broad wings, and, soaring, claim the skies?
When did the owl, descending from her bower,
Crop, 'midst the fleecy flocks, the tender flower;
Or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb,
In the salt wave, and fish-like strive to swim?
The same with plants--potatoes 'tatoes breed,
The costly cabbage springs from cabbage-seed;
Lettuce to lettuce, leeks to leeks, succeed;
Nor e'er did cooling cucumbers presume
To flower like myrtle, or like violets bloom.
_The Anti-Jacobin._
Une femme d'esprit m'a dit un jour un mot qui
pourrait bien être le secret de son sexe; c'est
que toute femme, en prenant un amant, tient
plus de compte de la manière dont les autres femmes
voient cet homme que de la manière dont elle le voit
elle-même.
CHAMFORT, _Maximes_.
Here, waiter, I'll dine in this box;
I've looked at your long bill of fare:
A Pythagorean it shocks
To view all the rarities there.
I'm not o'erburdened with cash,
Roast beef is the dinner for me;
Then why should I eat _calipash_,
Or why should I eat _calipee_?
Your trifle's no trifle, I ween,
To customers prudent as I am;
Your peas in December are green,
But I'm not so green as to buy 'em.
With ven'son I seldom am fed--
Go, bring me a sirloin, you ninny;
Who dines at a guinea a head
Will ne'er by his head get a guinea.
JAMES SMITH, _Horace in London_.
One of Lord Dudley's eccentric habits was that of
speaking to himself or thinking aloud. Soon
after he succeeded to the title of Dudley and
Ward, a lady asked Lord Castlereagh how he accounted
for the custom. "It is only Dudley speaking to Ward,"
was the ready answer to her inquiry.
SINCLAIR, _Old Times and Distant Places_.
Le secret d'ennuyer est celui de tout dire.
VOLTAIRE, _Discours_, vi.
I never heard Rogers volunteer an opinion upon
Campbell, except after his death, when he had
been to see the poet's statue. "It is the first
time," said he, "that I have seen him stand straight for
many years."
BRYAN WALLER PROCTER.
"Vexation of spirit"--that is the part that
belongs to us; we leave the "vanity" to the
women.
_Vanecourt_, in L. OLIPHANT's _Piccadilly_.
I watched her as she stoop'd to pluck
A wild flower in her hair to twine;
And wish'd that it had been my luck
To call her mine.
Anon I heard her rate, with mad
Mad words, her babe within its cot;
And felt particularly glad
That it had not.
C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.
Practice does not always make perfect. Curran,
when told by his physician that he seemed
to cough with more difficulty, replied, "That
is odd enough, for I have been practising all night."
HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.
We talk little if we do not talk about ourselves.
W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.
And how was the Devil drest?
O, he was in his Sunday's best;
His jacket was red and his breeches were blue,
And there was a hole where the tail came through.
_The Devil's Walk._
A closed glass bookcase provoked from Dr. Drake
the remark that he never could stand "Locke
on the Human Understanding."
LORD TEIGNMOUTH, _Reminiscences_.
There was a time, ere Trollope learned to spell,
When S. G. O. wrote seldom or wrote well;
When Swinburne only lusted after tarts,
When Beales was yet a Bachelor of Arts;
Ere Broad Church rose to make logicians stare,
That medley of St. Paul and St. Voltaire.
RICHARD CRAWLEY, _Horse and Foot_.
[Redmond Barry] said once to Corry, who
was praising Crompton's performance of some
particular character a night or two before,
"Yes, he played the part pretty well; he hadn't time to
study it!"
THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.
If a daughter you have, she's the plague of your life,
No peace shall you know, though you've buried your wife!
At twenty she mocks at the duty you've taught her--
O, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
Sighing and whining,
Dying and pining,
O, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
When scarce in their teens, they have wit to perplex us,
With letters and lovers for ever they vex us;
While each still rejects the fair suitor you've brought her;
O, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
Wrangling and jangling,
Flouting and pouting,
O, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
R. B. SHERIDAN, _The Duenna_.
_Kitty_: What is your ladyship so fond of?
_Lady Bab's Servant_: Shickspur. Did you
never read Shickspur?
_Kitty_: Shickspur! Shickspur! Who wrote it? No,
I never read Shickspur.
_High Life Below Stairs_, Act II. Scene 1.
Nul n'est content de sa fortune
Ni mécontent de son esprit.
MADAME DESHOULIÈRES, _Réflexions_.
In courtship suppose you can't sing
Your Cara, your Liebe, your Zoë,
A kiss and a sight of the ring
Will more quickly prevail with your Chloe.
Or if you in twenty strange tongues
Could call for a beef-steak and bottle,
A purse with less learning and lungs
Would bring them much nearer your throttle.
LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.
The father of C----, a distinguished artist, was
complimented by a friend on the talents and
reputation of his son, and on the comfort he
must be to his father. "Yes," was the reply, "he is a
very good son--a very good son, if he did not swear at
his mother so."
W. H. HARRISON, _University Magazine_.
The old, old tale! ay, there's the smart;
Her heart, or what she call'd her heart,
Was hard as granite:
Who breaks a heart, and then omits
To gather up the broken bits
Is heartless, Janet.
FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.
The French don't know what they want, and will
never be satisfied till they get it.
WILLIAM HARNESS, _Life_.
She played the accordion divinely--accordionly I
praised her.
C. F. BROWNE, _Artemus Ward's Lecture_.
Should yours (kind heaven, avert the omen!)
Like the cravats of vulgar, low men,
Asunder start--and, yawning wide,
Disclose a chasm on either side;
Or should it stubbornly persist
To take some awkward tasteless twist,
Some crease, indelible, and look
Just like a dunce's dog-eared book,
How would you parry the disgrace?
In what assembly show your face?
How brook your rival's scornful glance,
Or partners' titter in the dance?
How in the morning dare to meet
The quizzers of the park and street?
Your occupation's gone; in vain
Hope to dine out, or flirt again.
The ladies from their lists would put you,
And even _I_, my friend, must cut you!
H. LUTTRELL, _Letters to Julia_.
A man can never manage a woman. Till a woman
marries, a prudent man leaves her to women;
when she does marry, she manages her husband,
and there's an end of it.
_Kenelm Chillingly_, in LORD LYTTON's novel.
_HOMAGE TO THE SCOTCH RIFLES, BY A SPITEFUL
COMPETITOR._
It seems that the Scots
Turn out much better shots
At long distance, than most of the Englishmen are:
But this we all knew
That a Scotchman could do--
Make a small piece of metal go awfully far.
SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.
Some one peevishly complaining, "You take the
words out of my mouth," Donaldson replied,
"You are very hard to please; would you have
liked it better if I had made you swallow them?"
CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.
I am lying, we'll say, in the nook I love,
Screened from the sunlight's scorching glow,
Watching the big clouds up above,
And blowing a lazy cloud below;
Blowing a cloud from my meerschaum black,
And thinking or not as I feel inclined,
With a light alpaca coat on my back,
And nothing particular on my mind.
_Once a Week._
There was a Presbyterian minister who married a
couple of his rustic parishioners, and had felt
exceedingly disconcerted, on his asking the
bridegroom if he were willing to take the woman for his
wedded wife, by his scratching his head and saying,
"Ay, I'm wullin'; but I'd rather hae her sister."
J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.
The prospect's always fine in the Prospectus!
J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Songs and Poems_.
Animals are such agreeable friends--they ask no
questions, they pass no criticisms.
GEORGE ELIOT, _Mr. Gilfil's Love Story_.
There is a _tact_,
Which keeps, when pushed by questions rather rough,
A lady always distant from the fact:
The charming creatures lie with such a grace,
There's nothing so becoming to the face.
LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.
Walked Corry over to Bowood. In looking at
the cascade, he mentioned what Plunket said,
when some one, praising his waterfall, exclaimed,
"Why, it's quite a cataract." "Oh, that's all
my eye," said Plunket.
THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.
These panting damsels, dancing for their lives,
Are only maidens waltzing into wives.
ALFRED AUSTIN, _The Season_.
Another friend assured me it was policy to
"feed a cold and starve a fever." I had both.
So I thought it best to feed myself up for the
cold, and then keep dark and let the fever starve awhile.
In a case of this kind, I seldom do things by halves.
I ate pretty heartily. I conferred my custom upon a
stranger who had just opened his restaurant that morning.
He waited near me in respectful silence, until I had
finished feeding my cold, when he inquired if the people
about Virginia were much afflicted with colds? I told
him I thought they were. He then went out and took in
his sign.
MARK TWAIN, _Choice Works_.
A fine lady is like a cat; when young, the most
gamesome and lively of all creatures--when old,
the most melancholy.
ALEXANDER POPE, in LOCKER's _Patchwork_.
'Tis the voice of the lobster; I heard him declare
"You have baked me quite brown, I must sugar my hair."
As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
LEWIS CARROLL, _Alice in Wonderland_.
Poor relations are undeniably irritating--their
existence is so entirely uncalled for on our part,
and they are almost always very faulty people.
GEORGE ELIOT, _Mill on the Floss_.
There was an APE in the days that were earlier;
Centuries passed, and his hair became curlier:
Centuries more gave a thumb to his wrist--
Then he was MAN, and a Positivist.
MORTIMER COLLINS, _The British Birds_.
It was observed he never gave an opinion on any
subject, and never told an anecdote. Indeed,
he would sometimes remark, when a man fell
into his anecdotage it was a sign for him to retire from
the world.
LORD BEACONSFIELD, _Lothair_.
You cannot eat breakfast all day,
Nor is it the act of a sinner,
When breakfast is taken away,
To turn your attention to dinner;
And it's not in the range of belief,
That you could hold him as a glutton,
Who, when he is tired of beef,
Determines to tackle the mutton.
_Defendant_, in W. S. GILBERT's _Trial by Jury_.
Had the Romans public dinners? Answer me
that. Imagine a Roman--whose theory at least
of a dinner was that it was a thing for enjoyment,
whereas we often look on it as a continuation of the
business of the day,--I say, imagine a Roman girding
himself up, literally girding himself up, to make an after
dinner speech.
_Ellesmere_, in HELPS's _Friends in Council_.
Folks will teach you when at school--
"Never tell a lie!"
Nonsense: if you're not a fool
You may always break the rule,
But you must be sly;
For they'll whip you, past a doubt,
If they ever find you out.
Folks say, "Children should not let
Angry passions rise."
Humbug! When you're in a pet
Why on earth should you regret
Blacking some one's eyes?
Children's eyes are made, in fact,
Just on purpose to be black'd.
H. S. LEIGH, _Carols of Cockayne_.
It is not now "We have seen his star in the East,"
but "We have seen the star on his breast, and
are come to worship him."
SHENSTONE, _Essays_.
_A FAITHFUL PAGE._
Nearly one hundred years ago, my grandfather,
Captain William Locker, was at dinner, and a
servant-boy, lately engaged, was handing him a
tray of liqueurs, in different-sized glasses. Being in the
middle of an anecdote to his neighbour, he mechanically
held out his hand towards the tray, but, as people often
do when they are thinking of something else, he did not
take a glass. The boy thought he was hesitating which
liqueur he would have, and, like a good fellow, wishing
to help his master, he pointed to one particular glass,
and whispered, "That's the biggest, sir."
FREDERICK LOCKER, _Patchwork_.
All men are equal, the Frenchman says;
Most men will gladly receive
What a fervid fool, with a flattering phrase,
Tricks out for fools to believe;
But these men have less brains than a wren!
When a larch is a lily,
And Bessy like Billy
A beard shall achieve,
Then I will believe
That equality reigns among men!
J. S. BLACKIE, _Musa Burschicosa_.