With styrruppes, knyghte, to boote?"
I sayde not that--I answere "Noe,"--
Yt lacketh such, I woot--
It ys a mutton-saddel, loe!
Parte of ye fleecie brute.
LEWIS CARROLL, _Phantasmagoria_.
Story of Lord Middleton, out hunting, calling to
Gunter the confectioner to "Hold hard," and
not ride over the hounds. "My horse is so hot,
my Lord, that I don't know what to do with him." "Ice
him, Gunter, ice him."
R. H. BARHAM, _Life_.
She's rising now, and taking off her bonnet,
And probably will end by sitting on it;
For oft, as sad experiences teach,
The novice, trembling from his maiden speech,
Drops flustered in his place, and crushes flat
His innocent and all-unconscious hat.
_2nd Lady_, in G. O. TREVELYAN's _Ladies in Parliament_.
_ON A LEFT-HANDED WRITING-MASTER._
Though Nature thee of thy right hand bereft,
Right well thou writest with the hand that's left.
FRANCIS FULLER, _apud_ NICHOLLS.
We are never so much disposed to quarrel with
others, as when we are dissatisfied with ourselves.
W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.
The cockney, met in Middlesex, or Surrey,
Is often cold, and always in a hurry.
FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.
Speaking one day of a newly risen sect of religionists
who proscribed the use of animal food,
the Archbishop [Whately] said to Dr. Wilson,
"Do you know anything, Wilson, of this new sect?"
"Yes, my Lord; I have seen their confession of faith,
which is a book of cookery."
E. J. WHATELY's _Life of Whately_.
And I do think the amateur cornopean
Should be put down by law--but that's perhaps Utopian.
C. S. CALVERLEY, _Verses and Translations_.
Le premier soupir de l'amour est le dernier de la
sagesse.
CHARRON, _La Sagesse_.
For he himself has said it,
And it's greatly to his credit,
That he is an Englishman!
For he might have been a Roosian,
A French, or Turk, or Proosian,
Or perhaps Italian!
But in spite of all temptations
To belong to other nations,
He remains an Englishman!
W. S. GILBERT, _H.M.S. Pinafore_.
Baron Alderson being asked by the chaplain
of the High Sheriff at the assizes over which he
was to preside, how long he would like him to
preach, replied, "About half an hour, with a leaning to
mercy."
J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.
_ON EVENING DRESS._
When dress'd for the evening, girls, nowadays,
Scarce an atom of dress on them leave;
Nor blame them--for what is an Evening Dress,
But a dress that is suited to Eve?
ANON.
It's the silliest lie a sensible man like you ever
believed, to say a woman makes a house comfortable.
It's a story got up, because the women
are there, and something must be found for 'em to do.
I tell you there isn't a thing under the sun that needs to
be done at all, but what a man can do better than a
woman, unless it's bearing children, and they do that in
a poor make-shift way. It had better ha' been left to
the men.
_Bartle Massey_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.
To sniggle or to dibble, that's the question!
Whether to bait a hook with worm or bumble,
Or to take up arms of any sea, some trouble
To fish, and then home send 'em. To fly--to whip--
To moor and tie my boat up by the end
To any wooden post, or natural rock
We may be near to, on a Preservation
Devoutly to be fished. To fly--to whip--
To whip! perchance two bream;--and there's the chub!
F. C. BURNAND, _Happy Thoughts_.
Anecdote of Phil Stone, the property-man of
Drury Lane:--"Will you be so good, sir, as to
stand a little backer?" said Phil to a gentleman
behind the scenes, who had placed himself so forward as
to be seen by the audience. "No, my fine fellow," returned
the exquisite, who quite mistook his meaning;
"but here is a pinch of snuff at your service."
R. H. BARHAM, _Life_.
At a friend's house Charles Lamb was presented
with a cheese; it was a very ripe, not to say a
lively cheese, and, as Lamb was leaving, his
friend offered him a piece of paper in which to wrap it,
so that he might convey it more conveniently. "Thank
you," said Charles, "but would not several yards of
twine be better, and then, you know, I could _lead_ it
home?"
FREDERICK LOCKER, _Patchwork_.
"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need;
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us," the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said;
"Do you admire the view?"
LEWIS CARROLL, _Through the Looking-Glass_.
Religion is like the fashion. One man wears
his doublet slashed, another laced, another plain;
but every man has a doublet: so every man has
his religion. We differ about the trimming.
SELDEN, _Table Talk_.
Romances paint at full length people's wooings,
But only give a bust of marriages;
For no one cares for matrimonial cooings,
There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss.
LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.
A young lady decorously brought up should only
have two considerations in her choice of a
husband: first, is his birth honourable? secondly,
will his death be advantageous? All other trifling details
should be left to parental anxiety.
_Madame Deschappelles_, in LORD LYTTON's _Lady of Lyons_.
"The doctor's as drunk as the d----," we said,
And we managed a shutter to borrow;
We rais'd him, and sigh'd at the thought that his head
Would consumedly ache on the morrow.
We bore him home and we put him to bed,
And we told his wife and his daughter
To give him next morning a couple of red-
Herrings with soda-water.
Slowly and sadly we all walked down
From his room in the uppermost story;
A rush-light we placed on the cold hearth-stone,
And left him alone in his glory.
R. H. BARHAM, _Ingoldsby Lyrics_.
Benjamin Franklin was always proud of
telling how he entered Philadelphia, for the first
time, with nothing in the world but two shillings
in his pocket and four rolls of bread under his arm. But
really, when you come to examine it critically, it was
nothing. Anybody could have done it.
MARK TWAIN, _Choice Works_.
I've thought very often 'twould be a good thing
In all public collections of books, if a wing
Were set off by itself, like the seas from the dry lands,
Marked "_Literature suited to desolate islands_",14113
And filled with such books as could never be read
Save by readers of proofs, forced to do it for bread,--
Such books as one's wrecked on in small country taverns,
Such as hermits might mortify over in caverns,
Such as Satan, if printing had then been invented,
As a climax of woe, would to Jove have presented,
Such as Crusoe might dip in, although there are few so
Outrageously cornered by fate as poor Crusoe.
J. R. LOWELL, _A Fable for Critics_.
_Bellmour._ Ah! courtship to marriage is but
as the music in the play-house till the curtain's
drawn; but that once up, then opens the scene
of pleasure.
_Belinda._ Oh, foh--no; rather, courtship to marriage
is a very witty prologue to a very dull play.
CONGREVE, _The Old Bachelor_.
_ON HEARING A LADY PRAISE A CERTAIN
REV. DOCTOR'S EYES._
I cannot praise the Doctor's eyes;
I never saw his glance divine;
He always shuts them when he prays,
And when he preaches he shuts mine.
G. OUTRAM, _Lyrics: Legal, etc._
This picture is a great work of art. It is an oil
painting--done in petroleum. It is by the Old
Masters. It was the last thing they did before
dying. They did this and then they expired.
Some of the greatest artists in London come here
every morning before daylight with lanterns to look at it.
They say they never saw anything like it before--and
they hope they never shall again.
C. F. BROWNE, _Artemus Ward's Lecture_.
_THE WORLD._
The world is like a rink, you know:
You lose your _wheel_, and come to woe!
J. ASHBY STERRY, in _English Epigrams_.
Men will sooner forgive an injury than an insult.
LORD CHESTERFIELD, _Letters to his Son_.
Why is it that stupid people are always so much
more anxious to talk to one, than clever people?
CHARLES BUXTON, _Notes of Thought_.
And Darwin, too, who leads the throng "in vulgum voces spargere,"
Maintains Humanity is nought except a big menagerie,
The progeny of tailless apes, sharp-eared but puggy-nosed, sir,
Who nightly climbed their "family trees," and on the top reposed, sir.
There's Carlyle, on the other hand, whose first and last concern it is
To preach up the "immensities" and muse on the "eternities";
But if one credits what one hears, the gist of all his brag is, sir,
That "Erbwürst," rightly understood, is transcendental haggis, sir.
F. D., in _Pall Mall Gazette_.
_DUNSFORD._ Travelling is a great trial of people's
inability to live together.
_Ellesmere._ Yes. Lavater says that you do
not know a man until you have divided an inheritance
with him; but I think a long journey with him will do.
ARTHUR HELPS, _Friends in Council_.
_ON AN ALDERMAN._
That he was born it cannot be denied;
He ate, drank, slept, talk'd politics, and died.
JOHN CUNNINGHAM (1729-1773).
At a large dinner party at Jerdan's, one of the
guests indulged in some wonderful accounts of
his shooting. The number of birds he had
killed, and the distances at which he had brought them
down, were extraordinary. Hood quietly remarked,--
"What he hit is history,
What he missed is mystery."
J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.
I'm very fond of water:
It ever must delight
Each mother's son or daughter--
When qualified aright.
LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.
An epicure, while eating oysters, swallowed one that
was not fresh. "Zounds, waiter!" he ejaculated,
making a wry face; "what sort of an oyster do
you call this?" "A native, sir," replied the wielder of the
knife. "A native!--I call it a _settler_, so you need not
open any more."
HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.
Once Uncle went astray,
Smoked, joked, and swore away--
Sworn by he's now, by a
Large congregation.
FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.
You've heard what a lady in Italy did--
How to vex a cross husband she buried a "kid!"
Sam swears she'd have managed things better by half
If, instead of the "kid," she had buried the calf!
R. H. BARHAM, _Ingoldsby Lyrics_.
Il est plus facile de légaliser certaines choses que
de les légitimer.
CHAMFORT, _Maximes_.
Wilt thou love me, fairest?
Though thou art not fair,
And I think thou wearest
Some one else's hair.
Thou couldst love, though, dearly:
And, as I am told,
Thou art very nearly
Worth thy weight, in gold.
Dost thou love, sweet one?
Tell me if thou dost!
Women fairly beat one,
But I think thou must.
Thou art loved so dearly:
I am plain, but then
Thou (to speak sincerely)
Art as plain again.
C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.
"Certainly, my Lord," said the attendant.
"He knows me," thought Lothair; but it
was not so. When the British nation is at
once grateful and enthusiastic, they always call you "my
Lord."
LORD BEACONSFIELD's _Lothair_.
_THE RECOGNITION._
Home they brought her sailor son,
Grown a man across the sea,
Tall and broad and black of beard,
And hoarse of voice as man may be.
Hand to shake and mouth to kiss,
Both he offered ere he spoke;
And she said--"What man is this
Comes to play a sorry joke?"
Then they praised him--call'd him "smart,"
"Tightest lad that ever stept;"
But her son she did not know,
And she neither smiled nor wept.
Rose, a nurse of ninety years,
Set a pigeon-pie in sight;
She saw him eat--"'Tis he! 'tis he!"
She knew him--by his appetite!
WILLAM SAWYER.
Lord Allen, being rather the worse for drinking
too much wine at dinner, teased Count D'Orsay,
and said some very disagreeable things, which
irritated him; when suddenly John Bush entered the
club and shook hands with the Count, who exclaimed,
"Voilà, la différence entre une bonne _bouche_ et une mauvaise
_haleine_."
GRONOW, _Recollections_.
_ANOTHER WAY._
When lovely woman, Lump of Folly,
Would show the world her vainest trait;
Would treat herself as child her dolly,
And warn each man of sense away;
The surest method she'll discover
To prompt a wink from every eye,
Degrade a spouse, disgust a lover,
And spoil a scalp-skin, is--to dye.
SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.
The bean is a graceful, confiding, engaging vine;
but you can never put beans into poetry, nor
into the highest sort of prose. Corn is the child
of song. It waves in all literature. But mix it with
beans, and its high tone is gone. The bean is a vulgar
vegetable, without culture, or any flavour of high society
among vegetables.
C. D. WARNER, _My Summer in a Garden_.
Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order, when
A church of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen,
And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor,
And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.
BRET HARTE, _Complete Works_.
"I was born, Signora, on New Year's Night,
1800." "Did I not tell you," said the Marquis,
"that he is one of the first men of our century?"
HEINRICH HEINE, _Travel Pictures_.
When dinner has opprest one,
I think it is perhaps the gloomiest hour
Which turns up out of the sad twenty-four.
LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.
As a boy, George Washington gave no promise of
the greatness he was one day to achieve. He
was ignorant of the commonest accomplishments
of youth. He could not even lie. But then he
never had any of those precious advantages which are
within the reach of the humblest of the boys of the
present day. Any boy can lie now. I could lie before
I could stand.
MARK TWAIN, _Choice Works_.
By the way, Shakespeare endorses polygamy. He
speaks of the Merry Wives of Windsor. How
many wives did Mr. Windsor have?
C. F. BROWNE, _Artemus Ward's Lecture_.
I dare say she's like the rest o' the women--
thinks two and two'll come to make five, if she
cries and bothers enough about it.
_Bartle Massey_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.
Don't you see a hint of marriage
In his sober-sided face,
In his rather careless carriage
And extremely rapid pace?
If he's not committed treason,
Or some wicked action done,
Can you see the faintest reason
Why a bachelor should run?
Why should he be in a flurry?
But a loving wife to greet,
Is a circumstance to hurry
The most dignified of feet!
JOHN GODFREY SAXE, _Poems_.
Mr. Luttrell once said to me, "Sir, the man
who says he does not like a good dinner, is
either a fool or a liar."
J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.
_TO PHOEBE._
"Gentle, modest little flower,
Sweet epitome of May,
Love me but for half an hour,
Love me, love me, little fay."
Sentences so swiftly flaming
In your tiny shell-like ear,
I should always be exclaiming
If I loved you, Phoebe dear:
"Smiles that thrill from any distance
Shed upon me while I sing!
Please ecstaticize existence,
Love me, oh thou, fairy thing!"
Words like these outpouring sadly
You'd perpetually hear,
If I loved you fondly, madly;--
But I do not, Phoebe dear.
W. S. GILBERT, _Bab Ballads_.
On one occasion, when Power the actor was
present, Hood was asked to propose his health.
After enumerating the various talents that popular
comedian possessed, he requested the company to
observe that such a combination was a remarkable
illustration of the old proverb, "It never rains but it
_powers_."
J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.
I dreamed that somebody was dead. It was a
private gentleman, and a particular friend; and
I was greatly overcome when the news was
broken to me (very delicately) by a gentleman in a
cocked hat, top boots, and a sheet. Nothing else.
"Good God!" I said, "is he dead?" "He is as dead,
sir," rejoined the gentleman, "as a door nail. But we
must all die, Mr. Dickens, sooner or later, my dear sir."
"Ah!" I said; "yes, to be sure. Very true. But
what did he die of?" The gentleman burst into a flood
of tears, and said, in a voice broken by emotion, "He
christened his youngest child, sir, with a toasting fork!"
CHARLES DICKENS, _apud_ J. T. FIELDS.
I suppose all phrases of mere compliment have
their turn to be true. A man is occasionally
thankful when he says "thank you."
_Stephen Guest_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Mill on the Floss_.
_ON ATALANTA._
When the young Greek for Atalanta sigh'd,
He might have fool'd and follow'd till he died!
He learn'd the sex, the bribe before her roll'd,
And found, the short way to the heart, is--Gold.
GEORGE CROLY (1780-1860).
_De mortuis nil nisi bene_: of the living speak nothing
but evil.
HEINRICH HEINE, _Thoughts and Fancies_.
I once met a man who had forgiven an injury.
I hope some day to meet the man who has forgiven
an insult.
CHARLES BUXTON, _Notes of Thought_.
Walk in the Park--you'll seldom fail
To find a Sybaris on the rail
By Lydia's ponies,
Or hap on Barrus, wigged, and stayed,
Ogling some unsuspecting maid.
The great Gargilius, then, behold!
His "long-bow" hunting tales of old
Are now but duller;
Fair Neobule too! Is not
One Hebrus here--from Aldershot?
Aha, you colour!
Be wise. There old Canidia sits;
No doubt she's tearing you to bits.
Here's Pyrrha, "golden-haired" at will;
Prig Damasippus, preaching still;
Asterie flirting,--
Radiant, of course. We'll make her black,--
Ask her when Gyges' ship comes back.
AUSTIN DOBSON, _Vignettes in Rhyme_.
La reconnaissance de la plupart des hommes n'est
qu'une secrète envie de recevoir de plus grands
bienfaits.
LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.
The surest way to make ourselves agreeable to
others is by seeming to think them so.
W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.
_SELF-EVIDENT._
When other lips and other eyes
Their tales of love shall tell,
Which means the usual sort of lies
You've heard from many a swell;
When, bored with what you feel is bosh,
You'd give the world to see
A friend whose love you know will wash,
Oh, then remember me!
When Signor Solo goes his tours,
And Captain Craft's at Ryde,
And Lord Fitzpop is on the moors,
And Lord knows who beside;
When to exist you feel a task
Without a friend at tea,
At such a moment I but ask
That you'll remember me.
J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Songs and Poems_.
When a man is called stingy, it is as much as calling
him rich; and when a man's called rich, why
he's a man universally respected.
_Sir John Vesey_, in LORD LYTTON's _Money_.
Cursed be the Bank of England notes, that tempt the soul to sin!
Cursed be the want of acres,--doubly cursed the want of tin!
Cursed be the marriage-contract, that enslaved thy soul to greed!
Cursed be the sallow lawyer, that prepared and drew the deed!
Cursed be his foul apprentice, who the loathsome fees did earn!
Cursed be the clerk and parson--cursed be the whole concern!
_Bon Gaultier Ballads._
Never hold anybody by the button, or the hand,
in order to be heard out; for, if people are not
willing to hear you, you had much better hold
your tongue than them.
LORD CHESTERFIELD, _Letters to his Son_.
I have learned to love Lucy, though faded she be;
If my next love be lovely, the better for me;
By the end of next summer, I'll give you my oath,
It was best, after all, to have flirted with both.
CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.
General Ornano, observing a certain nobleman--who,
by some misfortune in his youth,
lost the use of his legs--in a Bath chair, which
he wheeled about, and inquiring the name of the
English peer, D'Orsay answered, "Père la Chaise."
GRONOW, _Recollections_.
Poet-professor! Now my brain thou kindlest:
I am become a most determined Tyndallist.
If it is known a fellow can make skies,
Why not make bright blue eyes?
This to deny the folly of a dunce it is:
Surely a girl as easy as a sunset is?
If you can make a halo or eclipse,
Why not two laughing lips?
Why should an author scribble rhymes or articles?
Bring me a dozen tiny Tyndall-particles:
Therefrom I'll coin a dinner, Nash's wine,
And a nice girl to dine.
MORTIMER COLLINS, _The British Birds_.
They now speak of the peculiar difficulties and
restrictions of the Episcopal Office. I only
read in Scripture of two inhibitions--boxing and
polygamy.
SYDNEY SMITH, _apud_ LORD HOUGHTON.
_ON AN OFFERING MADE BY KING JAMES I. AT
A GRAVE COMEDY CALLED "THE MARRIAGE
OF ARTS."_
At Christ Church "Marriage," play'd before the King,
Lest these learn'd mates should want an offering,
The King himself did offer--what, I pray?
He offer'd, once or twice--to go away.
_A Collection of Epigrams_ (1727).
---- has only two ideas, and they are his legs, and
they are spindle-shanked.
LADY ASHBURTON, _apud_ LORD HOUGHTON.
Dry as Compton's fun,
Dry as author's pocket;
Bright as that loved one
Whose face adorns my locket;
At the beaker's brim
Beading brittle bubbles,
Sea in which to swim,
And cast away all troubles;
Sea where sorrow sinks,
Ne'er to rise again--oh,
Blessedest of drinks,
Welcome, "Pommery Gréno!"
EDMUND YATES.
_ON CLOSE-FIST'S SUBSCRIPTION._
The charity of Close-Fist, give to fame:--
He has at last subscrib'd--how much?--his name.
ANON.
The late Bishop of Exeter and Baron Alderson
were sitting next each other at a public dinner.
After the usual toasts had been drunk, the
health of "The Navy" was proposed. Lord Campbell,
expecting to have to return thanks for "The Bar,"
and not having heard the toast distinctly, got up. On
which the late bishop whispered to Baron Alderson,
"What is Campbell about? What is he returning thanks
for the Navy for?" "Oh," answered the witty judge,
"he has made a mistake. He thinks the word is
spelt with a K."
J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.
Song-birds darted about, some inky
As coal, some snowy (I ween) as curds;
Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky--
They reck of no eerie To-come, these birds!
But they skim over bents which the mill-stream washes,
Or hang in the lift 'neath a white cloud's hem;
They need no parasols, no goloshes;
And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth them.
C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.
The man who's fond precociously of stirring
Must be a spoon.
THOMAS HOOD.
_ON ONE PETER AND HIS WIFE._
Outrageous hourly with his wife was Peter;
Some do aver he has been known to beat her.
"She seems unhappy," said a friend one day;
Peter turn'd sharply: "What is that you say?
Her temper you have there misunderstood:
She dares not be unhappy if she would."
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
A man who puts a non-natural strained sense on a
promise is no better than a robber.
_Rev. A. Debarry_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Felix Holt_.
_DISTICH._
What is a first love worth except to prepare for a second?
What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first.
JOHN HAY, _Poems_.
In [Lady Charlotte Lindsay's] later days, when once
complimented on looking very well, she replied,
"I dare say it's true--the bloom of ugliness is
past."
LORD HOUGHTON, _Monographs_.
_IN VIRTUTEM._
Virtue we praise, yet practise not her good.
(Athenian-like) we act not what we know.
So many men do talk of Robin Hood
Who never yet shot arrow from his bow.
THOMAS FREEMAN (_circa_ 1591-1614).
Scandal--what one half the world takes a
pleasure in inventing, and the other half in
believing.
HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.
_All's for the best_, indeed
Such is My simple creed;
Still I must go and weed
Hard in my garden.
FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.
Where's the use of talking to a woman with
babbies? She's got no conscience--no conscience--it's
all run to milk.
_Bartle Massey_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.
Together must we seek
That undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No uncommercial travellers return.
_Brutus_, in G. O. TREVELYAN's _Horace at Athens_.
The Mormon's religion is singular, and his wives
are plural.
C. F. BROWNE, _Artemus Ward's Lecture_.
At morning's call
The small-voiced pug-dog welcomes in the sun,
And flea-bit mongrels, wakening one by one,
Give answer all.
When evening dim
Draws round us, then the lovely caterwaul,
Tart solo, sour duet, and general squall,
These are our hymn.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
Charles Lamb was sitting next some chattering
woman at dinner. Observing he didn't attend
to her, "You don't seem," said the lady, "to be
at all the better for what I have been saying to you."
"No, ma'am," he answered, "but this gentleman on the
other side of me must, for it all came in at one ear and
went out at the other."
THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.
Forty times over let Michaelmas pass,
Grizzling hair the brain doth clear--
Then you know a boy is an ass,
Then you know the worth of a lass,
Once you have come to Forty Year.
W. M. THACKERAY.
Men are not troubled to hear a man dispraised,
because they know, though he be naught,
there's worth in others. But women are mightily
troubled to hear any one of them spoken against, as if
the sex itself were guilty of some untrustworthiness.
SELDEN, _Table Talk_.
_'TWAS EVER THUS._