Part 2

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_.