Part 11

He blew at his "Cottage," and blew with a will, For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until (You'll hardly believe it) M'Clan, I declare, Elicited something resembling an air.

It was wild--it was fitful--as wild as the breeze-- It wandered about into several keys; It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I'm aware; But still it distinctly suggested an air.

W. S. GILBERT, _Bab Ballads_.

All men are brothers--Cains and Abels.

ANON.

The blameless king Rising again (to Lancelot's discontent, Who held all speeches a tremendous bore), Said, "If one duty to be done remains, And 'tis neglected, all the rest is nought But Dead Sea apples and the acts of Apes."

Smiled Guinevere, and begged him not to preach; She knew that duty, and it should be done; So what of pudding on that festal night Was not consumed by Arthur and his guests, The queen upon the following morning fried.

SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.

One way of getting an idea of our fellow-countrymen's miseries is to go and look at their pleasures.

GEORGE ELIOT, _Felix Holt_.

_TO A RICH LADY._

I will not ask if thou canst touch The tuneful ivory key,-- Those silent notes of thine are such As quite suffice for me.

I'll make no question if thy skill The pencil comprehends;-- Enough for me, love, if thou still Canst draw--thy dividends.

_Punch._

At the Duke of Wellington's funeral, the little child of a friend of mine was standing with her mother at Lord Ashburton's window to see the mournful pageant. During the passage of the procession, she made no remark until the duke's horse was led by, its saddle empty, and his boots reversed in the stirrups, when she looked up in her mother's face and said, "Mamma, when we die, will there be nothing left of us but boots?"

J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.

Such power hath Beer. The heart which Grief hath canker'd Hath one unfailing remedy--the tankard.

C. S. CALVERLEY, _Verses and Translations_.

Dined with Mr. (Sydney) Smith. He told me of the motto he had proposed for Bishop Burgess's arms, in allusion to his brother, the well-known fish-sauce projector:

"_Gravi_ jamdudum _saucia_ curâ."

R. H. BARHAM, _Life_.

One's self-satisfaction is an untaxed kind of property which it is very unpleasant to find depreciated.

GEORGE ELIOT, _Middlemarch_.

"My lord cannot stand Treeby more than two days, and Treeby cannot stand my lord for a longer period, and that is why they are such friends." "A sound basis of agreement," said Lord Roehampton. "I believe absence is a great element of charm."

LORD BEACONSFIELD, _Endymion_.

_SALAD._

O cool in the summer is salad, And warm in the winter is love; And a poet shall sing you a ballad Delicious thereon and thereof. A singer I am, if no sinner, My muse has a marvellous wing, And I willingly worship at dinner The Sirens of Spring.

Take Endive--like love it is bitter, Take beet--for like love it is red, Crisp leaf of the lettuce shall glitter, And cress from the rivulet's bed: Anchovies, foam-born, like the lady Whose beauty has maddened this bard; And olives, from groves that are shady; And eggs--boil 'em hard.

MORTIMER COLLINS, _The British Birds_.

Query, whether churches are not dormitories of the living as well as of the dead?

SWIFT, _Thoughts_.

The Mock Turtle said, "No wise fish would go anywhere without a porpoise."

"Wouldn't it, really?" said Alice, in a tone of great surprise.

"Of course not," said the Mock Turtle; "why, if a fish came to _me_, and told me he was going a journey, I should say, 'With what porpoise?'"

"Don't you mean 'purpose?'" said Alice.

"I mean what I say," the Mock Turtle replied, in an offended tone.

LEWIS CARROLL, _Alice in Wonderland_.

Vill'st dou learn de Deutsche Sprache? If a shendleman dou art, Denn strike right indo Deutschland, Und get a schveetes-heart. From Schwabenland or Sachsen, Vhere now dis writer pees; Und de bretty girls all wachsen Shoost like aepples on de drees.

Boot if dou bee'st a laty, Denn, on de oder hand, Take a blonde moustachioed lofer In de vine green Sherman land. Und if you shoost kit married (Vood mit vood soon makes a vire), You'll learn to sprechen Deutsch, mein kind, Ash fast ash you tesire.

C. G. LELAND, _Breitmann Ballads_.

The Bishop of St. David's has been studying Welsh all the summer; it is a difficult language, and I hope he will be careful,--it is so easy for him to take up the Funeral Service and read it over the next wedding-party, or to make a mistake in a tense in a Confirmation, and the children will have renounced their godfathers and godmothers and got nothing in their place.

SYDNEY SMITH, _apud_ LORD HOUGHTON.

Beautiful soup, so rich and green, Waiting in a hot tureen! Who for such dainties would not stoop? Soup of the evening, beautiful soup! Soup of the evening, beautiful soup!

Beautiful soup! Who cares for fish, Game, or any other dish? Who would not give all else for two p Ennyworth only of beautiful soup? Pennyworth only of beautiful soup?

LEWIS CARROLL, _Alice in Wonderland_.

Writing to Manning, Charles Lamb says: "---- says he could write like Shakespeare if he had a _mind_--so you see nothing is wanting but the _mind_."

CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.

_ON BALLS AND OPERAS._

If by their names we things should call, It surely would be properer To term a singing-piece a _bawl_, A dancing-piece a _hopperer_!

ANON.

Among all forms of mistake, prophecy is the most gratuitous.

GEORGE ELIOT, _Middlemarch_.

_ON LOVE._

Love levels all--it elevates the clown, And often brings the fattest people down.

H. J. BYRON, in _English Epigrams_.

The Hanoverian squires are asses who can talk of nothing but horses.

HEINRICH HEINE, _Thoughts and Fancies_.

Sir George Warrender was once obliged to put off a dinner-party in consequence of the death of a relative, and sat down to a haunch of venison by himself. While eating, he said to his butler, "John, this will make a capital hash to-morrow." "Yes, Sir George, if you leave off _now_!"

R. H. BARHAM, _Life_.

_TO CHLORIS._

Chloris, I swear, by all I ever swore, That from this hour I shall not love thee more. "What! love no more? oh, why this altered vow?" Because I _cannot_ love thee _more_--than _now_.

THOMAS MOORE.

You close your petition with the words: "And we will ever pray." I think you had better--you need to do it.

MARK TWAIN, _Choice Works_.

Husbands, more covetous than sage, Condemn this china-buying rage; They count that woman's prudence little Who sets her heart on things so brittle.

JOHN GAY, _Poems_.

Umbrella--an article which, by the morality of society, you may steal from friend or foe, and which, for the same reason, you should not lend to either.

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

La curiosité n'est que la vanité. Le plus souvent on ne veut savoir que pour en parler.

PASCAL, _Pensées_.

O how unlike our shores, Where with ten thousand tongues each city roars! There to all men, whate'er their age or walk, Life's one great solemn business is to talk. There what the penny press by morning write Is echoed for a halfpenny at night: There stump young Ministers; old Maids debate; There loud Professors scold like Billingsgate: There, as the World into the Church expands, A moral Atheist spouts in parson's bands; And poets, doubtful of the parts of speech, Desperate of rhyme, acquire the art to preach.

_Windbag_, in COURTHOPE's _Paradise of Birds_.

Prince Metternich said to Lord Dudley, "You are the only Englishman I know who speaks good French. It is remarked, the common people in Vienna speak better than the educated men in London." "That may well be," replied Lord Dudley. "Your Highness should recollect that Buonaparte has not been twice in London to teach them."

CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.

When a felon's not engaged in his employment, Or maturing his felonious little plans, His capacity for innocent enjoyment Is just as great as any honest man's.

W. S. GILBERT, _Pirates of Penzance_.

She's an angel in a frock With a fascinating cock To her nose.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

To speak highly of one with whom we are intimate is a species of egotism.

W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.

The annals of our native land were lapsed in doubt and mystery, Till Mr. Freeman t'other day discovered English History, And now admonishes the world it is his fixed intention To make it a monopoly and patent the invention.

F. D., in _Pall Mall Gazette_.

"It is rather sad," sighed Virginia, as she dived into a box of French chocolate-creams, "to think that all the poor people are drowned that these things belonged to."

"They are not dead," said the Professor: "they still live on this holy and stupendous earth. They live in the use we are making of all they had got together. The owner of those chocolate-creams is immortal because you are eating them."

Virginia licked her lips, and said, "Nonsense!"

"It is not nonsense," said the Professor. "It is the religion of Humanity."

W. H. MALLOCK, _The New Paul and Virginia_.

The sort of fun I witnessed there _was_ "awful;" Buffoonery devoid of all That makes an art of folly, Music that was "most music-hall," To hear "most melancholy."

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Songs and Poems_.

You are a woman; you must never speak what you think: your words must contradict your thoughts: but your actions may contradict your words. So, when I ask you if you can love me, you must say no; but you must love me too. If I tell you you are handsome, you must deny it, and say I flatter you; and you must think yourself more charming than I speak you, and like me for the beauty I say you have, as much as if I had it myself.

_Tattle_, in CONGREVE's _Love for Love_.

Dear Poet, do not rhyme at all! But if you must, don't tell your neighbour, Or five in six, who cannot scrawl, Will dub you donkey for your labour. Be patient, but be sure you won't Win vogue without extreme vexation; Yet hope for sympathy,--but don't Expect it from a near relation.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Nous pardonnons souvent à ceux qui nous ennuient; mais nous ne pouvons pardonner à ceux qui nous ennuyons.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.

There is a phrase we oft have seen On bottle-labels writ, And those who invalids have been Best know the drift of it; It may embody in a line A world of chemic lore, And skill to portion and combine-- _The mixture as before_.

This will apply to many things, To oratory most, Addresses made to kings and queens, And wedding speech and toast; For commonplace and compliment Are mingled o'er and o'er; _This_ saves the trouble to invent-- _The mixture as before_.

_Songs of Singularity._

I had forgotten to mention that essay, Miss Daylmer; that is our essay on cookery,--the one we always begin with in reading to ladies; as Milverton said, "entirely within their province." I wish they paid more attention to it; but people seldom do attend to things within their province.

_Ellesmere_, in HELPS's _Friends in Council_.

There was an old waiter at Wapping Drew corks for a week without stopping; Cried he, "It's too bad! The practice I've had! Yet cannot prevent them from popping!"

There was an old priest of Peru, Who dreamt he converted a Jew; He woke in the night In a deuce of a fright, And found it was perfectly true.

There was an old witch of Malacca, Who smoked such atrocious tob_acca_, When tigers came near, They trembled with fear, And didn't attempt to att_acca_.

_Songs of Singularity._

A woman dictates before marriage in order that she may have an appetite for submission afterwards.

GEORGE ELIOT, _Middlemarch_.

Sydney Smith, speaking of his being shampooed at Mahomet's Baths at Brighton in 1840, said they "squeezed enough out of him to make a lean curate."

R. H. BARHAM, _Life_.

Now brim your glass, and plant it well Beneath your nose on the table, And you will find what philosophers tell Of I and non-I is no fable. Now listen to wisdom, my son! Myself am the subject, This wine is the object: These things are two, But I'll prove to you That subject and object are one.

I take this glass in my hand, and stand Upon my legs, if I can, And look and smile benign and bland, And feel that I am a man. Now stretch all the strength of your brains! I drink--and the object Is lost in the subject, Making one entity In the identity Of me, and the wine in my veins!

J. S. BLACKIE, _Musa Burschicosa_.

Punsters being abused, and the old joke repeated that "He who puns will pick a pocket," some one said, "Punsters themselves have no pockets." "No," said Lamb, "they carry only a _ridicule_."

CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.

It is always a pleasure to me when two of my friends like each other, just as I am always glad when two of my enemies take to fighting with each other.

HEINRICH HEINE, _Preface to Don Quixote_.

He stood on his head on the wild sea-shore, And joy was the cause of the act, For he felt as he never had felt before, Insanely glad, in fact.

And why? In that vessel that left the bay His mother-in-law had sail'd To a tropical country far away, Where tigers and snakes prevail'd.

_Songs of Singularity._

[Berkeley] had no ear for music himself, but music was an enthusiasm in the family, and he retained the well-known Signor Pasquilino for years to teach his children. It was then that the Signor, who had been learning English from a dictionary, exclaimed in an outbreak of gratitude, "May God _pickle_ your lordship!"

A. C. FRASER, _Berkeley_.

Women always did, from the first, make a muss in a garden.

C. D. WARNER, _My Summer in a Garden_.

_GOOD ADVICE._

This gardener's rule applies to youth and age: When young "sow wild oats," but when old "grow sage."

H. J. BYRON, in _English Epigrams_.

The sacred slow harmonium bring, The gentler pianette, The cymbals, with sonorous ring, The dulcet flageolet.

Nor be the voice of glory dumb, Of conquest and of strife, Bring forth the stirring trump and drum, The shrill and piercing fife.

Ay, bring them all, my soul with glee To music I'll devote; Bring all--for all are one to me,-- I cannot play a note!

_Songs of Singularity._

We sometimes hate those who differ from us in opinion worse than we should for an attempt to injure us in the most serious point. A favourite theory is a possession for life; and we resent any attack upon it proportionably.

W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.

When Mrs. M'Gibbon was preparing to act Jane Shore, at Liverpool, her dresser, an ignorant country girl, informed her that a woman had called to request two box orders, because she and her daughter had walked four miles on purpose to see the play. "Does she know me?" inquired the mistress. "Not at all," was the reply. "What a very odd request!" exclaimed Mrs. M'G. "Has the good woman got her faculties about her?" "I think she have, ma'am, for I see she ha' got summut tied up in a red silk handkercher."

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

A clerke ther was, a puissant wight was hee, Who of ye Wethere hadde ye maisterie; Alway it was his mirthe and his solace To put eche seson's wethere out of place.

Whaune that Aprille shoures wer our desyre, He gaf us Julye sonnes as hotte as fyre; But sith ye summere togges we donned agayne, Eftsoons ye wethere chaunged to colde and rayne.

_Songs of Singularity._

I shouldn't like to be a man--to cough so loud, and stand straddling about on a wet day, and be so wasteful with meat and drink. They're a coarse lot, I think.

_Denner_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Felix Holt_.

Once the mastodon was: pterodactyls were common as cocks: Then the Mammoth was God: now is He a prize ox.

Parallels all things are: yet many of these are askew: You are certainly I: but certainly I am not you.

Springs the rock from the plain, shoots the stream from the rock: Cocks exist for the hen: but hens exist for the cock.

God, whom we see not, is: and God, who is not, we see: Fiddle, we know, is diddle: and diddle, we take it, is dee.

_The Heptalogia._

_A privileged person._--One who is so much of a savage when thwarted that civilized persons avoid thwarting him.

ANNE EVANS, _Poems and Music_.

I've studied human nature, and I know a thing or two; Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do: A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small.

W. S. GILBERT, _Bab Ballads_.

The Bishop of Exeter, in the course of conversation at a dinner-party, mentioned that many years since, while trout-fishing, he lost his watch and chain, which he supposed had been pulled from his pocket by the bough of a tree. Some time afterwards, when staying in the same neighbourhood, he took a stroll by the side of the river, and came to the secluded spot where he supposed he had lost his valuables, and there, to his surprise and delight, he found them under a bush. The anecdote, vouched for by the word of a bishop, astonished the company; but this was changed to amusement by his son's inquiring whether the watch, when found, was going. "No," replied the bishop; "the wonder was that it was not gone."

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

_ON FORTUNE._

Fortune, they say, doth give too much to many: And yet she never gave enough to any.

SIR JOHN HARYNGTON (1561-1612).

I do not speak of this mole in any tone of complaint. I desire to write nothing against him which I should wish to recall at the last,--nothing foreign to the spirit of that beautiful saying of the dying boy, "He had no copybook, which, dying, he was sorry he had blotted."

C. D. WARNER, _My Summer in a Garden_.

Know, then, that when that touching scene Had reached its tenderest pitch, When all was pathos, calm, serene, _His nose began to itch_.

'Twas sad, but so it came to pass, The knight might chafe and frown, But could not reach it, for alas! _He wore his vizor down_.

_Songs of Singularity._

I remember asking [Bagehot] if he had enjoyed a particular dinner which he had rather expected to enjoy, but he replied, "No, the sherry was bad; tasted as if L---- had dropped his h's into it."

R. H. HUTTON, _Memoir of W. Bagehot_.

When Beings of the fairer sex Arrange their white arms round our necks, We are, we ought to be, enraptured.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

"Pray, Mr. Foote, do you ever go to church?" "No, madam; not that I see any harm in it."

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

_ON AN INCAPABLE PERSON._

Fortune advanced thee that all might aver That nothing is impossible to her.

R. GARNETT (from the Greek).

I remember a Trinity College (Dublin) story of a student who, having to translate Cæsar, rendered the first sentence, "Omnis Gallia divisa est in tres partes,"--"All Gaul is quartered into three halves."

W. H. HARRISON, _University Magazine_.

Always seem to be modest and bashful, yet wise; Remember the value of using your eyes; Recollect, too, that money's not easily met, And always accept every offer you get; Be polite to all--grandmammas, sisters, and mothers, For they've all of them grandsons, or own sons or brothers; And never forget the chief object in life Is to quickly be settled--a well-to-do wife.

_Phoebe_, in H. P. STEPHENS's _Billee Taylor_.

One asked what herb that was that cured all diseases. It was answered, "Time."

_Conceits, Clinches_, etc. (1639).

In his sleeves, which were long, He had twenty-four packs-- Which was coming it strong, Yet I state but the facts; And we found on his nails, which were taper, What is frequent in tapers--that's wax.

BRET HARTE, _Complete Works_.

In a conversation which happened to turn on railway accidents and the variety of human sufferings, a bank director observed that he always felt great interest in the case of a broken limb. "Then, I suppose," said ----, "for a compound fracture you feel compound interest."

W. JERDAN, _Memoirs_.

_ON A CERTAIN POET._

Thy verses are eternal, O my friend, For he who reads them reads them to no end.

_A Collection of Epigrams_ (1727).

One day, coming late to dinner in the country, [Lady Charlotte Lindsay] excused herself by the "macadamnable" state of the roads.

LORD HOUGHTON, _Monographs_.

I wish some girls that I could name Were half as silent as their pictures!

W. M. PRAED.

The other day I heard that whimsical fellow G---- make a rather foolish remark, to the effect that the pleasure of _not_ going to church was a pleasure that _never_ palled.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _Patchwork_.

And day again declines; In shadow sleep the vines, And the last ray thro' the pines Feebly glows, Then sinks behind yon ridge; And the usual evening midge Is settling on the bridge Of my nose.

And keen's the air and cold, And the sheep are in the fold, And Night walks stable-stoled Thro' the trees; And on the silent river The floating star-beams quiver;-- And now, the saints deliver Us from fleas.

C. S. CALVERLEY, _Verses and Translations_.

Tommy Townshend, a violent, foolish fellow, who was always talking strong language, said in some debate, "Nothing will satisfy me but to have the noble Lord [North]'s head; I will have his head." Lord North said, "The honourable gentleman says he will have my head. I bear him no malice in return, for though the honourable gentleman says he will have my head, I can assure him I would on no account have his."

CHARLES GREVILLE, _Diary_.

With undissembled grief I tell,-- For sorrow never comes too late,-- The simplest bonnet in Pall Mall Is sold for £1 8_s._

CATHARINE M. FANSHAWE.

Said the Gryphon, "Do you know why it's called a whiting?"

"I never thought about it," said Alice. "Why?"

"_It does the boots and shoes_," the Gryphon replied very solemnly.

Alice was thoroughly puzzled. "Does the boots and shoes?" she repeated in a wondering tone.

"Why, what are _your_ shoes done with?" said the Gryphon. "I mean, what makes them so shiny?"

Alice looked down at them, and considered a little before she gave her answer. "They're done with blacking, I believe."

"Boots and shoes under the sea," the Gryphon went on in a deep voice, "are done with whiting. Now you know."

LEWIS CARROLL, _Alice in Wonderland_.

I'm always dull on Christmas Day, It lets a flood of ills in, For that's the time those birds of prey Bring all their horrid bills in!

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Songs and Poems_.

The wit of a family is usually best received among strangers.

GEORGE ELIOT, _Middlemarch_.

Sweet maids in wimples fair y-wrought, Shall smile upon thee. Thou shalt say, Oft, by thy halidame, there's nought So gracious and so fair as they, But what thy halidame may be, I trow 'tis useless asking me.

H. SAVILE CLARKE.

Le vrai honnête homme est celui qui ne se pique de rien.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.

O memory! thou art but a sigh For friendships dead and loves forgot, And many a cold and altered eye That once did say--Forget me not!

And I must bow me to thy laws, For--odd although it may be thought-- I can't tell who the deuce it was That gave me this Forget-me-not!

_Bon Gaultier Ballads._