[Illustration:
NOT WITTY HIMSELF, BUT THE CAUSE OF WIT IN OTHERS.
]
Poor Brook Green was always too ready to display his ignorance. Nothing
could restrain him, when he found a good opportunity A gentleman was
showing the Elgin marbles to some ladies in the British Museum, when
Green rushed up to him, and said in the most positive manner, "Excuse
me, sir, but I think you called those stones marbles!" "I did, sir,"
replied the gentleman, rather surprised. "Well, but now look at them,
really you cannot call them marbles." "But I do, sir, I maintain that
they are," exclaimed the gentleman in a simmering passion; "do you
pretend to tell me that they are not the Elgin marbles?" "Pooh, pooh,"
said Green, with a contemptuous smile, "it's ridiculous—you can't be
serious." "Since they are not the Elgin marbles, then, sir, perhaps you
can tell me what they are?" "Oh! that's not for me to say," answered
Brook Green; "but I can only assure these ladies that they're a precious
deal more skittles than marbles," and he walked away quite triumphantly.
Smith and Jones were looking over a new portrait of Buggins, painted by
Muggins. "It's too dark, much too dark," said Jones, "you can hardly see
a thing." "I tell you what it is," exclaimed Smith, "the lights want
bringing up; what do you say, Green? Don't you think the portrait would
look all the better if the lights were brought up?" "Certainly," he
said, and he left the room. They were wondering what had become of him
when he walked in five minutes afterwards with a pair of lighted
candles. "My dear Green," said Smith, "what have you brought those
candles for?" "Come, that's cool," answered poor Brook; "didn't you say
the lights wanted bringing up?" Jones gave him one of his frowns which
lasted five minutes.
He thought every one was imposing on him, and no wonder, for he was
being hoaxed almost every minute of his life. "What's this!" he asked,
whilst looking over some engravings. "That's Cleopatra's needle, sir."
"Well, on my word it's very like a needle, and a stitch of it must have
saved nine of any other needle;" and he laughed away as if he had made
the very best joke in the world. "And what is this, pray?" he asked,
taking up another engraving "Why, sir, that is the great Pyramid."
"Nonsense, my dear fellow, you make a mistake; if the last was
Cleopatra's needle, this one must be her thimble," and he gave the
shopman such a dig in the ribs that he was kicked out of the shop.
"Look at that idiot!" he cried, pointing to a man who was leading a
watering-cart; "will you believe it, I have told him no less than ten
times that all the water is running out of his cart, and yet he takes no
notice of what I say."
You could persuade Green to believe any absurdity. "I wish you would
step over to the Bedford, Green," said young Thomson, "and order me a
dozen of port?" "I haven't the time," answered our hero. "Well, then,
will you get me half a dozen; the deuce is in it, my good fellow, if you
haven't time enough for that!" Green actually went; and he would do the
same thing for you to-morrow. He has been known to get half way over a
river, and then swim back again for fear of not reaching the opposite
side. On another occasion he ordered a pair of globes, but sent them
back because they were not exactly alike. He also had a sun-dial fitted
up in his bedroom, to enable him, as he said, to rise every morning with
the sun.
Brook Green's knowledge of literature was very superficial. The editor
of the _Quarterly_ made a wager with him once that he would not mention
a single thing correctly out of Shakspeare. "Can't I, indeed!" he
exclaimed; "why I know his works all through from beginning to end:
first of all, there is a set of chessmen, then there are two dice-boxes,
after that six dices, and lastly, a game of draughts. I'll just trouble
you for the money, if you please." The poor fellow had always looked
upon a backgammon board, which folded up like a book, as a copy of
SHAKSPEARE'S WORKS, for so it was labelled; and he was quite indignant
because the editor of the _Quarterly_ would not pay him the wager, which
he considered he had fairly won.
* * * * *
AGRICULTURAL.—Turn down your flower-beds to see if they are damp, and
give them a good shaking. If they want airing, let them have an extra
sheet of snow, and pass the warming-pan once or twice over them. Rub up
your "Sweet William" with tallow, and let your "Old Bachelor" have a
warm bath the last thing at night, if you fancy he has caught cold.
* * * * *
DIRECTION FOR HUSBANDS.—All the wards of a latch-key should be
home-wards.
THE DAWN WHEN UNADORNED ADORNED
THE MOST.
[Illustration:
"92 IN THE SHADE."
]
Bright blew the wind, and plaintive rose the air,
Dark was the morning, but the night was fair;
A misty shade hung over great and small,
Afraid to rise, yet unprepared to fall.
Birds clustered shivering amid the trees;
Thermometers stood still at twelve degrees;
The wolf was dormant in his mountain lair;
The tiger strutted forth to take the air;
The elephant upon his mossy bed
Reposed instinctively his monstrous head;
Even the windmill paused, as if it found
Not yet the time for turning itself round.
The thunder through the air with caution crept;
The very chamois looked before it leapt;
The nightingale went forth long ere 'twas dark,
The early morn was ready for the lark.
The cuckoo nestled in the budding rose;
The pink was dying in cornelian throes.
The dahlia, with the thickening gloom upon her,
Looked nightlier than the nightshade (Bella Donna)
And all was silent in the distant glen,
Save that tremendous hum—the hum of men!