Part 7

[Lady Charlotte Lindsay] said she had "sprained her ankle so often, and been told that it was worse than breaking her leg, that she said she had come to look upon a broken leg as a positive advantage."

LORD HOUGHTON, _Monographs_.

Blows are sarcasms turned stupid.

GEORGE ELIOT, _Felix Holt_.

They grieved for those who perished with the cutter, And also for the biscuit-casks and butter.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

Social arrangements are awful miscarriages; Cause of all crime is our system of marriages. Poets with sonnets, and lovers with trysts, Kindle the ire of the Positivists.

Husbands and wives should be all one community: Exquisite freedom with absolute unity. Wedding-rings worse are than manacled wrists-- Such is the creed of the Positivists.

MORTIMER COLLINS, _The British Birds_.

Fox, whose pecuniary embarrassments were universally recognized, being attacked by a severe indisposition, which confined him to his apartment, Dudley frequently visited him. In the course of conversation, Fox, alluding to his complaints, remarked that he was compelled to observe much regularity in his diet and hours; adding, "I live by rule, like clockwork." "Yes," replied Dudley; "I suppose you mean you go by _tick, tick, tick_."

SIR NATHANIEL WRAXALL, _Memoirs_.

_PROBATUM EST._

One loss has a companion always. _Semper_, When people lose their train, they lose their temper.

SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.

Working by the hour tends to make one moral. A plumber working by the job, trying to unscrew a rusty, refractory nut, in a cramped position, where the tongs continually slipped off, would swear; but I never heard one of them swear, or exhibit the least impatience at such a vexation, working by the hour. Nothing can move a man who is paid by the hour. How sweet the flight of time seems to his calm mind!

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

It greets me in my festal hours, It brings my gloom relief; It sprinkles life with loveliest flowers And plucks the sting from grief. I'd smile at poverty and pain; I'd welcome death with glee-- If to the last I might retain My own--my upper G!

H. S. LEIGH, _Carols of Cockayne_.

"Milton Perkins," said the Siren, "not thy wealth do I admire, But the intellect that flashes from those eyes of opal fire; And methinks the name thou bearest cannot surely be misplaced; And--embrace me, Mister Perkins!" Milton Perkins her embraced.

BRET HARTE, _Complete Works_.

Truth-vendors and medicine-vendors usually recommend swallowing. When a man sees his livelihood in a pill or a proposition, he likes to have orders for the dose, and not curious inquiries.

_Felix Holt_, in GEORGE ELIOT's novel.

Stuart Mill on Mind and Matter All our old Beliefs would scatter: Stuart Mill exerts his skill To make an end of Mind and Matter.

But had I skill, like Stuart Mill, His own position I could shatter: The weight of Mill I count as Nil-- If Mill has neither Mind nor Matter.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

"And how many hours a day did you do lessons?" said Alice. "Ten hours the first day," said the Mock Turtle; "nine the next, and so on." "What a curious plan!" exclaimed Alice. "That's the reason they're called lessons," the Gryphon remarked "because they lessen from day to day."

LEWIS CARROLL, _Alice in Wonderland_.

Quiconque n'a pas de caractère n'est pas un homme: c'est une chose.

CHAMFORT, _Maximes_.

It's hard work to tell which is Old Harry when everybody's got boots on.

_Mrs. Poyser_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.

I want you to come and pass sentence On two or three books with a plot; Of course you know "Janet's Repentance"? I'm reading Sir _Waverley_ Scott, The story of Edgar and Lucy, How thrilling, romantic, and true! The Master (his bride was a _goosey_!) Reminds me of you.

They tell me Cockayne has been crowning A poet whose garland endures: It was you who first spouted me Browning-- That stupid old Browning of yours! His vogue and his verve are alarming; I'm anxious to give him his due, But, Fred, he's not nearly so charming A poet as you!

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Joseph Gillon was a Writer to the Signet. Calling on him one day in his writing office, Sir Walter Scott said, "Why, Joseph, this place is as hot as an oven." "Well," quoth Gillon, "and isn't it here that I make my bread?"

LOCKHART, _Life of Scott_.

Forever! 'tis a single word! Our rude forefathers deem'd it two; Can you imagine so absurd A view? Forever! what abysms of woe The word reveals, what frenzy, what Despair! For ever (printed so) Did not. And nevermore must printer do As men did longago; but run "For" into "ever," bidding two Be one. Forever! passion-fraught, it throws O'er the dim page a gloom, a glamour: It's sweet, it's strange, and I suppose It's grammar.

C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.

Walking down St. James's Street, Lord Chelmsford was accosted by a stranger, who exclaimed, "Mr. Birch, I believe?" "If you believe that, sir, you'll believe anything," replied the ex-chancellor, as he passed on.

BERKELEY, _Life and Recollections_.

You snared me, Rose, with ribbons, Your rose-mouth made me thrall. Brief--briefer far than Gibbon's, Was my "Decline and Fall."

AUSTIN DOBSON, _Vignettes in Rhyme_.

The reason we dislike vanity in others is because it is perpetually hurting our own.

LORD LYTTON's _Pelham_.

Then nymphs had bluer eyes than hose, England then measured men by blows, And measured time by candles.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

A woman's choice usually means taking the only man she can get.

_Mrs. Cadwallader_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Middlemarch_.

To charm the girls he never spoke-- Although his voice was fine; He found the most convenient way Was just to drop a line.

And many a gudgeon of the pond, If they could speak to-day, Would own, with grief, this angler had A mighty "taking" way.

JOHN GODFREY SAXE, _Poems_.

I am always afraid of a fool: one cannot be sure that he is not a knave as well.

W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.

The people is much given to stoning its prophets that it may worship their reliques with the greater fervency: dogs that bark at us to-day lick our bones to-morrow with true canine fidelity.

HEINRICH HEINE, _Ludwig Beorne_.

Money makes a man laugh. A blind fiddler playing to a company, and playing but scurvily, the company laughed at him. His boy that led him, perceiving it, cried, "Father, let us begone; they do nothing but laugh at you." "Hold peace, boy," said the fiddler; "we shall have their money presently, and then we will laugh at them."

SELDEN, _Table Talk_.

In candent ire the solar splendour flames; The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames; His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes, And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.

How dulce to vive occult from mortal eyes, Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine!

Me wretched! Let me curr to quercine shades! Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous maids! Oh, might I vole to some umbrageous clump,-- Depart--be off--exude--evade--erump!

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

He slaps me gently on the back. He's stopped too long in the wine-cellar. A little tasting is a dangerous thing.

F. C. BURNAND, _Happy Thoughts_.

_THE MAIDENS._

Lovers, we pray you, gaining our consents, Let us, too, have _our_ mediæval bents; Give us, for cricket matches, tournaments.

_THE WIDOWERS._

We are stout, nor will uncomfortably truss Our arms and legs, like fowls; no jousts for us; In armour we should look ridiculous.

_THE FATHERS._

Of money, tournaments would cost a heap; Humour your sweethearts, sons, with something cheap; But look to settlements before you leap.

_Once a Week._

He [Samuel Beazley] suffered considerably a short time before his decease, and, his usual spirits occasionally forsaking him, he one day wrote so melancholy a letter that the friend to whom it was addressed, observed, in his reply, that it was "like the first chapter of Jeremiah." "You are mistaken, my dear fellow," retorted the wit; "it is the last chapter of Samuel."

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.

No one can perceive, as I'm a sinner, A very marked improvement in the dinner. We still consume, with mingled shame and grief, Veal that is tottering on the verge of beef, Veal void of stuffing, widowed of its ham, Or the roast shoulder of an ancient ram.

_Decius Mus_, in G. O. TREVELYAN's _Horace at Athens_.

"As for that," said Waldershare, "sensible men are all of the same religion." "And pray what is that?" inquired the prince. "Sensible men never tell."

LORD BEACONSFIELD, _Endymion_.

_ON AN OLD LOVE._

Upon the cabin stairs we met, the voyage nearly over; You leant upon his arm, my pet, from Calais unto Dover! And _he_ is looking very glad, tho' I am feeling sadder, That _I'm_ not your companion-lad on that companion-ladder!

J. ASHBY STERRY, in _English Epigrams_.

It strikes me that one mother-in-law is about enough to have in a family--unless you're very fond of excitement.

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

"Come here, my boy, hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, sir; Jist tell me who King Jonah was; Now tell me, if you can, sir." "King Jonah was the strongest man That ever wore a crown, sir; For though the whale did swallow him, It couldn't keep him down, sir."

"You're right, my boy, hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, sir; Just tell me who that Moses was; Now tell me, if you can, sir." "Shure Moses was the Christian name Of good King Pharaoh's daughter; She was a milkmaid, and she took A _profit_ from the water."

J. A. SIDEY, _Mistura Curiosa_.

A little incident Charlotte Cushman once related to me. She said a man in the gallery of a theatre made such a disturbance that the play could not proceed. Cries of "Throw him over" arose from all parts of the house, and the noise became furious. All was tumultuous above until a sweet and gentle female voice was heard in the pit, exclaiming, "No! I pray you, don't throw him over! I beg of you, dear friends, don't throw him over, but--_kill him where he is_."

J. T. FIELDS, _Yesterdays with Authors_.

With all his conscience and one eye askew, So false, he partly took himself for true; Whose pious talk, when most his heart was dry, Made wet the crafty crowsfoot round his eye; Who, never naming God except for gain, So never took that useful name in vain; Made Him his catspaw and the Cross his tool, And Christ the bait to trap his dupe and fool; Nor deeds of gift, but deeds of grace he forged, And snake-like slimed his victim ere he gorged; And oft at Bible meetings, o'er the rest Arising, did his holy oily best, Dropping the too rough H in Hell and Heaven, To spread the Word by which himself had thriven.

ALFRED TENNYSON, _Sea Dreams_.

Please the eyes and the ears, they will introduce you to the heart, and, nine times in ten, the heart governs the understanding.

LORD CHESTERFIELD, _Letters to his Son_.

The cup with trembling hands he grasps, Close to his thirsty lips he clasps, Ringed with its pewter rim--he gasps.

The eddying floor beneath him crawls, He clutches at the flying walls, Then like a lump of lead he falls.

_The Shotover Papers._

On fait souvent du bien pour pouvoir impunément faire du mal.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.

There's a joy without canker or cark, There's a pleasure eternally new, 'Tis to gloat on the glaze and the mark Of china that's ancient and blue; Unchipp'd all the centuries through It has pass'd, since the chime of it rang, And they fashion'd it, figure and hue, In the reign of the Emperor Hwang.

ANDREW LANG, _Ballades in Blue China_.

Ceremony.--All that is considered necessary by many in religion and friendship.

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

Rogues meet their due when out they fall, And each the other blames, sir, The pot should not the kettle call Opprobrious sorts of names, sir.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

I have nothing to say again' Craig, on'y it is a pity he couldna be hatched o'er again, an' hatched different.

_Mrs. Poyser_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.

Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

[Dr. Busby] was once invited, during a residence at Deal, by an old Westminster--who, from being a very idle, well-flogged boy, had, after a course of distinguished service, been named to the command of a fine frigate in the Downs--to visit him on board his ship. The doctor accepted the invitation; and, after he had got up the ship's side, the captain piped all hands for punishment, and said to the astonished doctor, "You d--d old scoundrel, I am delighted to have the opportunity of paying you off at last. Here, boatswain, give him three dozen."

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

_GOOD AND BAD LUCK._

Good Luck is the gayest of all gay girls; Long in one place she will not stay: Back from your brow she strokes the curls, Kisses you quick and flies away.

But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes And stays--no fancy has she for flitting-- Snatches of true-love songs she hums, And sits by your bed, and brings her knitting.

JOHN HAY, _Poems_.

I wish nine-tenths of the pictures that have been painted had never been preserved; it is such a nuisance having to go and see them.

_Ellesmere_, in HELPS's _Friends in Council_.

Victor Hugo is an Egoist, or, to use a stronger term, he is a Hugoist.

HEINRICH HEINE, _Musical Notes from Paris_.

_ON WOMEN AS UNIONISTS._

Among the men, what dire divisions rise-- For "Union" one, "No Union" t'other cries. Shame on the sex that such dispute began-- Ladies are all for union--to a man!

ANON.

Si c'est un crime de l'aimer, On n'en doit justement blâmer Que les beautés qui sont en elle; La faute en est au dieux Qui la firent si belle, Et non pas à mes yeux.

JEAN DE LINGENDES.

"Was not ---- very disagreeable?" "Why, he was as disagreeable as the occasion would permit," Luttrell said.

SYDNEY SMITH, _Life and Letters_.

"I believe that nothing in the newspapers is ever true," said Madame Phoebus.

"And that is why they are so popular," added Euphrosyne; "the taste of the age being so decidedly for fiction."

LORD BEACONSFIELD, _Lothair_.

He that would shine, and petrify his tutor, Should drink draught Allsopp in its "native pewter."

C. S. CALVERLEY, _Verses and Translations_.

Lauk, sir! Love's all in the fancy. One does not eat it, nor drink it: and as for the rest--why, it's a bother.

_Corporal Bunting_, in LYTTON's _Eugene Aram_.

"Mr. O----'s affairs turn out so sadly that he cannot have the pleasure of waiting upon his lordship at his agreeable house on Monday next.--N.B. His wife is dead."

J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.

Why, the Scotch tunes are just like a scolding, nagging woman. They go on with the same thing over and over again, and never come to a reasonable end. Anybody 'ud think the Scotch tunes had always been asking a question of somebody as deaf as old Taft, and had never got an answer yet.

_Bartle Massey_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.

_SOUL OF LADY._

Tell me, in this night of snow, Of happy Almack's, or the Row! Say in what carriages what fair Consume the ice in Berkeley Square; Or who in shops, with doubtful eye, Explore the silks they never buy; And how the hair is dressed in town, And what the shape of boot and gown?

_WINDBAG._

Snow-mantled shadow, would you know The fashions of the world below? Still the coiled chignon starward towers, Still false back-hair falls down in showers; But now all subtle souls revert To the abbreviated skirt, Whose velvet _paniers_ just denote The gown, that else were petticoat. Nor is such _naïve_ attire enough: Elizabeth's archaic ruff Rings every neck; besides, they rival, With a High-Gothic-Hat-Revival, Old Mother Hubbard, and renew Arcadianly the buckled shoe, To show, what's just a trifle shocking, The dimple of a snowy stocking.

W. J. COURTHOPE, _The Paradise of Birds_.

Be virtuous, and you will be eccentric.

MARK TWAIN, _Choice Works_.

_DON'T WE?_

We're informed that, in Happy Japan, Folks are free to believe what they can; But if they come teaching, And preaching and screeching, They go off to gaol in a van. Don't you wish _this_ was Happy Japan?

SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.

I hope I appreciate the value of children. We should soon come to nothing without them. Without them the common school would languish. But the problem is, what to do with them in a garden. For they are not good to eat, and there is a law against making away with them. The law is not very well enforced, it is true; for people do thin them out with constant dosing, paregoric, and soothing-syrups, and scanty clothing. But I, for one, feel it would not be right, aside from the law, to take the life, even of the smallest child, for the sake of a little fruit, more or less, in the garden. I may be wrong; but these are my sentiments, and I am not ashamed of them.

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

_ON DR. TRAPP'S TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL._

Mind but thy preaching, Trapp; translate no further: Is it not written, "Thou shall do no murder"?

_The Poetical Farrago_ (1794).

Shortly before his death, being visited by a clergyman whose features as well as language were more lugubrious than consoling, Hood looked up at him compassionately, and said, "My dear sir! I'm afraid your religion doesn't agree with you."

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.

_ON GRAPES AND GRIPES._

In Spain, that land of monks and apes, The thing called wine doth come from grapes; But, on the noble river Rhine, The thing called gripes doth come from wine.

S. T. COLERIDGE, _apud_ J. C. YOUNG.

Of Diggle, Barham used to tell many absurd stories. The most amusing of his practical jokes was one in which Barham had a share. The two boys having, in the course of one of their walks, discovered a Quakers' meeting-house, forthwith procured a penny tart of a neighbouring pastry-cook; furnished with this, Diggle marched boldly into the building, and, holding up the delicacy in the midst of the grave assembly, said with perfect solemnity, "Whoever speaks first shall have this pie." "Friend, go thy way," commenced a drab-coloured gentleman, rising, "go thy way, and----" "The pie's yours, sir!" exclaimed Master Diggle, politely, and placing it before the astounded speaker, hastily effected his escape.

R. H. D. BARHAM, _Life of Barham_.

Talking of some poor relations who had been recipients of his bounty for years, Compton said, "Yes, sir, the whole tribe of them leaned on me for years;" and then added, in his own peculiar manner, "Forty years long was I grieved with this generation."

_Memoir of Henry Compton._

_THE ORANGE._

It ripen'd by the river banks, Where, mask and moonlight aiding, Dons Blas and Juan play their pranks, Dark Donnas serenading.

By Moorish damsel it was pluck'd, Beneath the golden day there; By swain 'twas then in London suck'd-- Who flung the peel away there.

He could not know in Pimlico, As little she in Seville, That _I_ should reel upon that peel, And--wish them at the devil.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Kenny said that Anthony Pasquin (who was a very dirty fellow) "died of a cold caught by washing his face."

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

_ON THE PRINCE REGENT'S ILLNESS._

The Regent, sir, is taken ill; And all depends on Halford's skill; "Pray what," inquired the sage physician, "Has brought him to this sad condition?" When Bloomfield ventured to pronounce, "A little too much Cherry Bounce," The Regent, hearing what was said, Raised from his couch his aching head, And cried, "No, Halford, 'tis not so! _Cure us, O_ doctor,--_Curaçoa!_"

H. LUTTRELL, _apud_ BARHAM.

Brigham Young has two hundred wives. He loves not wisely, but two hundred well. He's dreadfully married. He's the most married man I ever saw in my life. He says that all he wants now is to live in peace for the remainder of his days, and have his dying pillow soothed by the loving hands of his family. Well, that's all right, I suppose; but if all his family soothe his dying pillow, he'll have to go out-doors to die.

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

And I said, "What is written, sweet sister, At the opposite end of the room?" She sobbed, as she answered, "All liquors Must be paid for ere leaving the room."

BRET HARTE, _Complete Works_.

Be wiser than other people if you can, but do not tell them so.

LORD CHESTERFIELD, _Letters to his Son_.

The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: "If this were only cleared away," They said, "It _would_ be grand!"

"If seven maids, with seven mops, Swept it for half a year, Do you suppose," the Walrus said, "That they could get it clear?" "I doubt it;" said the Carpenter, And shed a bitter tear.

LEWIS CARROLL, _Through the Looking-Glass_.

We easily convert our own vices into other people's virtues, the virtues of others into vices.

W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.

You'd better keep clear of love-letters, Or write them with caution and care; In faith, they may fasten your fetters, If wearing a conjugal air.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

Against stupidity the gods themselves combat in vain.

HEINRICH HEINE, _Art Notes from Paris_.

_ON LOVE AND MARRIAGE._

'Tis highly rational, we can't dispute, That Love, being naked, should promote a suit; But doth not oddity to him attach Whose fire's so oft extinguished by a match?

R. GARNETT, _Idylls and Epigrams_.

Lord Shelburne could say the most provoking things, and yet appear unconscious of their being so. In one of his speeches, alluding to Lord Carlisle, he said, "The noble lord has written a comedy." "No, a tragedy." "Oh, I beg pardon, I thought it was a comedy."

ROGERS, _Table Talk_.

There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms As rum and true religion.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

She never speaks to any one, which is of course a great advantage to any one.

LADY ASHBURTON, _apud_ LORD HOUGHTON.

I'm not denyin' the women are foolish: God Almighty made 'em to match the men.

_Mrs. Poyser_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.

"You didn't know I drew? I learnt at school." "Perhaps you only learnt to draw your sword?" "Why, that I can, of course--and also corks-- And covers--haw! haw! haw! But what I mean, Fortification--haw!--in Indian ink, That sort of thing--and though I draw it mild, Yet that--haw! haw!--that may be called my _forte_." "Oh fie! for shame! where do you think you'll go For making such a heap of foolish puns?" "Why, to the Punjaub, I should think--haw! haw! That sort of job, you know, would suit me best."

C. J. CAYLEY, _Las Alforgas_.

Tout le monde se plaint de sa mémoire, et personne ne se plaint de son jugement.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.

_ON THE HOUSE OF COMMONS_.

When lately Pym descended into Hell, Ere he the cups of Lethè did carouse, What place that was, he callèd loud to tell; To whom a Devil--"This is the Lower House."

WILLIAM DRUMMOND (1585-1649).