Part 4

George the Third scolded Lord North for never going to the concert of antient music: "Your brother, the bishop," said the king, "never misses them, my lord." "Sir," answered the premier, "if I were as deaf as my brother, the bishop, I would never miss them either!"

R. H. BARHAM, _Life_.

_ON A MODERN ACTRESS._

"Miss Neilson's 'benefit'," one says; I ask to what the phrase refers; For, sure, when such an artist plays, The "benefit" is ours, not hers.

W. D. A.

Our king [William IV.] is _ultra_-popular. Have you heard Lord Alvanley's _bon mot_ concerning him? He was standing at the window at White's, when the king, with a thousand of his loving subjects at his heels, was walking up St. James's Street. A friend said to him, "What are you staring at, Alvanley?" "I am waiting to see his Majesty's pocket picked," was the reply.

MISS MITFORD, _Life and Letters_.

Methinks the lays of now-a-days Are painfully in earnest.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Hicks was talking to Thackeray of a certain gentleman's strange addiction to beer. "It's a great pity," said Hicks, "that he does not keep a check-rein on himself, for he is a marvellous fellow otherwise--I mean, for talent I hardly know his equal." "No," retorted Thackeray, "he is a remarkable man. Take him for half-and-half, we ne'er shall look upon his like again."

J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.

Pro conibus calidis, conibus frigidis, Pro conibus mollibus, conibus rigidis, Pro conibus senibus Atque juvenibus, Gratias agimus fatis, Habuimus satis.

ANON.

One of the "Hooks and Eyes" was expatiating on the fact that he had dined three times at the Duke of Devonshire's, and that on neither occasion had there been any fish at table. "I cannot account for it," he added. "I can," said Jerrold: "they ate it all upstairs."

CHARLES MACKAY, _Recollections_.

Veracity is a plant of paradise, and its seeds have never flourished beyond the walls.

_Machiavelli_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Romola_.

I know not why my soul is rack'd: Why I ne'er smile as was my wont: I only know that, as a fact, I don't.

I used to roam o'er glen and glade, Buoyant and blithe as other folk: And not unfrequently I made A joke.

All day I sang; of love, of fame, Of fights our fathers fought of yore, Until the thing almost became A bore.

I cannot sing the old songs now It is not that I deem them low; 'Tis that I can't remember how They go.

C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.

During [a] drive, Lord William L----, a man of fashion, but, like other of the great men of the day, an issuer of paper money discounted at high rates by the usurers, was thrown off his horse. Mr. and Mrs. King immediately quitted the carriage, and placed the noble lord within. On this circumstance being mentioned in the clubs, Brummell observed it was only "a Bill _Jewly_ (duly) taken up and honoured."

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

She made the cleverest people quite ashamed, And even the good with inward envy groaned, Finding themselves so very much exceeded In their own way by all the things that she did.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

On the elevation of some childless person to the peerage, [Lady Charlotte Lindsay] remarked that he was "of the new Order, which seemed the popular one, not of the Barons, but the Barrens."

LORD HOUGHTON, _Monographs_.

Oft when petty annoyances ruffle the soul, And the temper defies philosophic control, The emotion is quelled, and a calm will succeed, Through the simple device of inhaling the Weed: Such magical power has the soothing Canaster To bring balmy content and good humour to Gaster.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

Morgan John O'Connell had the ready wit of his country in a remarkable degree. We were walking by the Wey one day, when an Oxford graduate, who had a taste for botany, plucked a flower (_Balsamum impatiens_) from the river, remarking that it was a very rare plant. "It is an out-of-the-_Wey_ one, at any rate," was the instantaneous reply.

W. H. HARRISON, _University Magazine_.

Oh! 'tis the most tremendous bore Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago.

_Bon Gaultier Ballads._

I never on any account allow my business to interfere with my drinking.

C. F. BROWNE, _Artemus Ward's Lecture_.

_NURSERY RHYME._

What is an Englishman made of? Roast beef and jam tart, And a pint of good Clar't, And that's what an Englishman's made of.

What is a Frenchman, pray, made of? Horse steak, and frog fritter, And absinthe so bitter, And that's what a Frenchman is made of.

SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.

Marriage is a desperate thing. The frogs in Æsop were extreme wise; they had a great mind to some water, but they would not leap into the well, because they could not get out again.

SELDEN, _Table Talk_.

("Don't speak so hard of ----; he lives on your good graces.") That accounts for his being so thin.

LADY ASHBURTON, _apud_ LORD HOUGHTON.

We are wise--and we make ourselves hazy; We are foolish--and so, go to church; While Sambo but laughs, and is lazy (Vile discipline! lend me thy birch); He dreams of no life save the present, His virtue is but when it suits; Sometimes, which is not quite so pleasant, I miss coat or boots.

_Once a Week._

You remember Thurlow's answer to some one complaining of the injustice of a company, "Why, you never expected justice from a company, did you? They have neither a soul to save, nor a body to kick."

SYDNEY SMITH, _Life and Letters_.

Elliston, the actor, a self-educated man, was playing cribbage one evening, with Lamb, and on drawing out his first card, exclaimed, "When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war." "Yes," replied Lamb, "and when _you_ meet Greek, you don't understand it."

_Life of Rev. W Harness._

To Justice Park's brother, who was a great church-goer, some one applied the words, "_Parcus_ deorum cultor."

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

"You'll soon get used to her looks," said he, "And a very nice girl you'll find her; She may very well pass for forty-three, In the dusk, with a light behind her!"

_Judge_, in W. S. GILBERT's _Trial by Jury_.

"My brethren," said Swift in a sermon, "there are three sorts of pride--of birth, of riches, and of talents. I shall not now speak of the latter, none of you being liable to that abominable vice."

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

No doubt this patience, when the world is damning us, Is philosophic in our former friends; It is also pleasant to be deem'd magnanimous, The more so in obtaining our own ends. Revenge in person's certainly no virtue, But then 'tis not _my_ fault if _others_ hurt you.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

He was not an intellectual Croesus, but his pockets were full of sixpences.

LORD BEACONSFIELD, _Lothair_.

It's after a dinner at Freemason's Hall That the orator's talent shines brightest of all; When his eye becomes glazed, and his voice becomes thick, And he's had so much hock he can only say _hic_. So the company leave him to slumber and snore Till he's put in a hat and conveyed to the door; And he finds, upon reaching his home in a cab, That his wife rather shines in the gift of the gab.

H. S. LEIGH, _Carols of Cockayne_.

One of our countrymen having been introduced by M. de la Rochefoucauld to Mademoiselle Bigottini, the beautiful and graceful dancer, in the course of conversation with this gentleman, asked him in what part of the theatre he was placed; upon which he replied, "Mademoiselle, _dans un loge róti_," instead of "_grillé_." The lady could not understand what he meant, until his introducer explained the mistake, observing, "_Ces diables d'Anglais pensent toujours à leur Rosbif_."

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry, You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead-- There were no birds to fly.

LEWIS CARROLL, _Through the Looking-Glass_.

A man of business should always have his eyes open, but must often seem to have them shut.

LORD CHESTERFIELD, _Maxims_.

Next morning twelve citizens came ('Twas the coroner bade them attend) To the end that it might be determined How the man had determined his end!

JOHN GODFREY SAXE, _Poems_.

I remember on one occasion acting in "Venice Preserved." A long and rather drowsy dying speech of my poor friend Jaffier was "dragging its slow length along," when one of the gallery, in a tone of great impatience, called out very loudly, "Ah now, die at once;" to which another from the other side immediately replied, "Be quiet, you blackguard," then, turning with a patronizing tone to the lingering Jaffier, "Take your time!"

W. C. MACREADY, _Diary_.

The days they grow shorter and shorter, The town's worse than ever for smoke, Invention, Necessity's daughter! How long must we blacken and choke? Much longer we ne'er can endure it, The smother each resident damns; Unless something's done to cure it, 'Twill cure _us_ like so many hams.

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Songs and Poems_.

A kind Providence furnishes the limpest personality with a little gum or starch in the form of tradition.

GEORGE ELIOT, _Middlemarch_.

Oil and water--woman and a secret-- Are hostile properties.

_Baradas_, in LORD LYTTON's _Richelieu_.

At a musical _soirée_ in Paris, a lady, possessing a magnificent soprano voice and remarkable facility of execution, sang the great Maestro's well-known aria, "Una Voce," with great effect, but overladen with fiorituri of the most elaborate description. Rossini, at its conclusion, advanced to the piano and complimented the lady most highly upon her vocal powers, terminating his encomiums with the cruel inquiry: "Mais de qui est la musique?"

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.

_ON A BAD SINGER._

Swans sing before they die; 'twere no bad thing Did certain persons die before they sing.

S. T. COLERIDGE.

"Is life worth living?" That depends upon the liver.

_The World._

_OLD LOVES._

"Then, you liked little Bowes."-- "And you liked Jane Raby!" "But you like _me_ now, Rose?"-- "As I liked 'little Bowes'!" "Am I then to suppose----" "_Hush!--you mustn't wake baby!_" "_Did_ you like little Bowes?"-- "If you liked Jane Raby!"

AUSTIN DOBSON, _Proverbs in Porcelain_.

Women, when left to themselves, talk chiefly about their dress; they think more about their lovers than they talk about them.

W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.

O if billows and pillows, and bowers and flowers, And all the brave rhymes of an elder day, Could be furled together, this genial weather, And carted, or carried on "wafts" away, Nor ever again trotted out--ah me! How much fewer volumes of verse there'd be!

C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.

_Miss Prue._ Must I tell a lie, then? _Tattle._ Yes, if you'd be well-bred. All well-bred persons lie.

CONGREVE, _Love for Love_.

Some attacks on the lungs, that of woe would be full, Are repelled by a filter of loose Cotton Wool; But a barrier of brass, or a _chevaux-de-frise_, Won't exclude some descriptions of Dust and Disease.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

When an acquaintance came up to him and said, "Why, Jerrold, I hear you said my nose was like the ace of clubs!" Jerrold returned, "No, I didn't; but now I look at it, I see it is very like."

MRS. COWDEN CLARKE.

_WUS, EVER WUS._

Wus, ever wus! By freak of Puck's My most exciting hopes are dashed; I never wore my spotless ducks But madly--wildly!--they were splashed.

I never roved by Cynthia's beam, To gaze upon the starry sky, But some old stiff-backed beetle came, And charged into my pensive eye.

And oh! I never did the swell In Regent Street, amongst the beaus, But smuts the most prodigious fell, And always settled on my nose!

H. CHOLMONDELEY PENNELL, _Puck on Pegasus_.

L'hymen vient après l'amour, comme la fumée après la flamme.

CHAMFORT, _Maximes_.

It may be so--perhaps thou hast A warm and loving heart; I will not blame thee for thy face, Poor devil as thou art. That thing thou fondly deem'st a nose, Unsightly though it be-- In spite of all the cold world's scorn, It may be much to thee.

Those eyes--among thine elder friends Perhaps they pass for blue; No matter--if a man can see, What more have eyes to do? Thy mouth--that fissure in thy face, By something like a chin, May be a very useful place To put thy victuals in.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

Nothing shows one who his friends are, like prosperity and ripe fruit. I had a good friend in the country whom I almost never visited except in cherry time. By your fruits you shall know them.

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

_AN EPITAPH._

A lovely young lady I mourn in my rhymes: She was pleasant, good-natured, and civil sometimes. Her figure was good: she had very fine eyes, And her talk was a mixture of foolish and wise. Her adorers were many, and one of them said, "She waltzed rather well! It's a pity she's dead!"

G. J. CAYLEY, in _Comic Poets_.

Anybody amuses me for once. A new acquaintance is like a new book. I prefer it, even if bad, to a classic.

_Lady Montfort_, in LORD BEACONSFIELD's _Endymion_.

Now I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent To say another is an ass,--at least, to all intent; Nor should the individual who happens to be meant Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent.

BRET HARTE, _Complete Works_.

Story of Edward Walpole, who, being told, one day at the "Garrick," that the confectioners had a way of discharging the ink from old parchment by a chemical process, and then making the parchment into isinglass for their jellies, said, "Then I find a man may now eat his deeds as well as his words."

R. H. BARHAM, _Life_.

What is the spell that 'twixt a saint and sinner The diff'rence makes?--a sermon? Bah! a dinner.

ALFRED AUSTIN, _The Season_.

"I vent to the club this mornin', sir. There vorn't no letters, sir." "Very good, Topping." "How's missus, sir?" "Pretty well, Topping." "Glad to hear it, sir. _My_ missus ain't very well, sir." "No!" "No, sir, she's agoin', sir, to have a hincrease werry soon, and it makes her nervous, sir; and ven a young voman gets down at sich a time, sir, she goes down werry deep, sir." To this sentiment I reply affirmatively, and then he adds, as he stirs the fire (as if he were thinking out loud), "Wot a mystery it is! Wot a go is natur'!"

CHARLES DICKENS, _apud_ J. T. FIELDS.

The most forlorn--what worms we are!-- Would wish to finish this cigar Before departing.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Mrs. Cadwallader says it is nonsense, people going a long journey when they are married. She says they get tired to death of each other, and can't quarrel comfortably, as they would at home.

_Celia Brooke_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Middlemarch_.

Some think that man from a monkey grew By steps of long generation, When, after many blunders, a few Good hits were made in creation; But I can't comprehend this at all; Of blind groping forces Though Darwin discourses, I rather incline To believe in design With Plato, and Peter, and Paul.

J. S. BLACKIE, _Musa Burschicosa_.

In a trial, where a German and his wife were giving evidence, the former was asked by the counsel, "How old are you?" "I am _dirty_." "And what is your wife?" "Mine wife is _dirty-two_." "Then, sir, you are a very nasty couple, and I wish to have nothing further to say to either of you."

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

He'd better be apt with his pen Than well-dressed, and well-booted and gloved, Who likes to be liked by the men, By the women who loves to be loved: And Fashion full often has paid Her good word in return for a gay word, For a song in the manner of Praed, Or an anecdote worthy of Hayward.

G. O. TREVELYAN, _Ladies in Parliament_.

Oh, my Maria! Alas! she married another. They frequently do. I hope she is happy--because I am.

C. F. BROWNE, _Artemus Ward's Lecture_.

Rise up, cold reverend, to a see; Confound the unbeliever! Yet ne'er 'neath thee my seat shall be For ever and for ever.

Preach, softly preach, in lawn and be A comely, model liver, But ne'er 'neath thee my seat shall be For ever and for ever.

And here shall sleep thy Alderman, And here thy pauper shiver, And here by thee shall buzz the "she," For ever and for ever.

A thousand men shall sneer at thee, A thousand women quiver, But ne'er 'neath thee my seat shall be For ever and for ever.

_The Shotover Papers._

For people to live happily together, the real secret is, that they should not live too much together.

_Ellesmere_, in HELPS's _Friends in Council_.

Lord Ellenborough's saying to a witness; "Why, you are an industrious fellow; you must have taken pains with yourself; no man was ever _naturally_ so stupid."

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

If you've a thousand a year or a minute; If you're a D'Orsay, whom every one follows; If you've a head (it don't matter what's in it) Fair as Apollo's; If you approve of flirtations, good dinners, Seascapes divine which the merry winds whiten, Nice little saints and still nicer young sinners,-- Winter in Brighton!

MORTIMER COLLINS.

He [Bagehot] used to say, banteringly, to his mother, by way of putting her off at a time when she was anxious for him to marry, "A man's mother is his misfortune, but his wife is his fault!"

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

_A LADY ON THE PRINCESSE DRESS._

My dress, you'll aver, is Economy's own, Designed with most exquisite taste; From zone unto hem, and from tucker to zone, You can't find a vestige of _waist_!

J. ASHBY STERRY, in _English Epigrams_.

Lord Palmerston, during his last attack of gout, exclaimed, playfully, "_Die_, my dear doctor! That's the _last_ thing I think of doing."

J. C. JEAFFRESON, _About Lawyers_.

_ON POVERTY._

He who in his pocket has no money Should, in his mouth, be never without honey.

_Epigrams in Distich._

Tavern--a house kept for those who are not housekeepers.

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

When the breakfast is spread, When the topers are mellow, When the foam of the bride-cake is white, and the fierce orange-blossoms are yellow.

LEWIS CARROLL, _Phantasmagoria_.

On [one] occasion, at a concert, a very indifferent tenor, who sang repeatedly out of tune, was indiscreet enough to express his regret to Rossini that he should have heard him for the first time in that room, as, he complained, "Le plafond est si sourd." Rossini raised his eyes to the abused ceiling, and simply ejaculated, "Heureux plafond!"

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.

If, sick of home and luxuries, You want a new sensation, And sigh for the unwonted ease Of _un_accommodation,-- If you would taste, as amateur, And vagabond beginner, The painful pleasures of the poor-- Get up a picnic dinner.

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

A country rector, coming up to preach at Oxford in his turn, complained to Dr. Routh, the venerable Principal of Maudlin, that the remuneration was very inadequate, considering the travelling expenses and the labour necessary for the composition of the discourse. "How much did they give you?" inquired Dr. Routh. "Only five pounds," was the reply. "Only five pounds?" repeated the doctor; "why, I would not have preached that sermon for fifty!"

_Life of Rev. W. Harness._

Dey vented to de Voman's Righds, Vere laties all agrees, De gals should pe de voters, And deir beaux all de votées. "For efery man dat nefer vorks, Von frau should vranchised pe: Dat ish de vay I solf dis ding," Said Breitmann, said he.

C. G. LELAND, _Breitmann Ballads_.

There is nothing more universally commended than a fine day; the reason is, that people can commend it without envy.

SHENSTONE, _Essays_.

Let the singing singers, With vocal voices, most vociferous, In sweet vociferation out-vociferize Even sound itself.

_Chrononhotonthologos_, in CAREY's farce.

Giving advice is, many times, only the privilege of saying a foolish thing one's self, under pretence of hindering another from doing one.

POPE, _Thoughts on Various Subjects_.

Of pay or play may preach this knot-- Of death or duns or love's devotion-- I tied it yesterday, but what It means, I've not the faintest notion.

H. CHOLMONDELEY PENNELL, _Pegasus Resaddled_.

_René._ Qu'est ce que c'est donc que les affaires, Monsieur Giraud? _Giraud._ Les affaires? c'est bien simple; c'est l'argent des autres.

DUMAS fils, _La Question d'Argent_.

Tous les méchants sont buveurs d'eau.

COMTE DE SÉGUR.

Miss Pellingle commences "Rousseau's Dream," with variations. Beautiful melody, by itself first, clear and distinct.

Now the air tries to break out between alternate notes, like a prisoner behind bars. Then we have a variation entirely bass.

_Happy thought._--Rousseau snoring.

Then a scampering up, a meeting with the right hand, a scampering down, and a leap off one note into space. Then both in the middle, wobbling; then down into the bass again.

_Happy thought._--Rousseau after a heavy supper.

A plaintive variation.--Rousseau in pain.

Light strain: Mazurka time.--Rousseau kicking in his sleep.

F. C. BURNAND, _Happy Thoughts_.

Sad is that woman's lot who, year by year, Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear, When Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs, Impatiently begins to "dim her eyes!" Compelled at last, in life's uncertain gloamings, To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved "combings," Reduced with rouge, lip-salve, and pearly gray, To "make up" for lost time, as best she may!

_Lady Jane_, in W. S. GILBERT's _Patience_.

No coinage in circulation so fluctuates in value as the worth of a marriageable man.

LORD LYTTON, _What will he do with it?_

_ANATHEMA IN EXCELSIS._

Creed of St. Anathasius? No, indeed. Call it, good priests, the Anathemasian Creed.

SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.

Mistrust all those who love you extremely upon a very slight acquaintance, and without any visible reason.

LORD CHESTERFIELD, _Maxims_.

_BENEVOLENT NEUTRALITY._

When man and wife at odds fall out, Let Syntax be your tutor; 'Twixt masculine and feminine, What should one be but neuter?

ANON.

MY friend the late Sam Phillips one day met Douglas Jerrold, and told him he had seen, the day before, Payne Collier looking wonderfully gay and well--quite an evergreen. "Ah," said Jerrold, "he may be evergreen, but he's never _read_." On my repeating this to Hicks, he smiled and said, "Now that's what I call 'ready wit.'"

J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.

One day, when conversing with [a] friend, something was said on the subject of religious persecution, on which [Whately] remarked, "It is no wonder that some English people have a taste for persecuting on account of religion, since it is the first lesson that most are taught in their nurseries." His friend expressed his incredulity, and denied that _he_, at least, had been taught it. "Are you sure?" replied Dr. Whately. "What think you of this-- 'Old Daddy Longlegs _won't say his prayers_, Take him by the left leg, and throw him downstairs'?

If that is not religious persecution, what is?"

E. J. WHATELY, _Life of Whately_.

_ON A PUBLIC-HOUSE._