Part 9

The bean is a graceful, confiding, engaging vine; but you can never put beans into poetry, nor into the highest sort of prose. Corn is the child of song. It waves in all literature. But mix it with beans, and its high tone is gone. The bean is a vulgar vegetable, without culture, or any flavour of high society among vegetables.

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

Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order, when A church of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen, And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor, And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.

BRET HARTE, _Complete Works_.

"I was born, Signora, on New Year's Night, 1800." "Did I not tell you," said the Marquis, "that he is one of the first men of our century?"

HEINRICH HEINE, _Travel Pictures_.

When dinner has opprest one, I think it is perhaps the gloomiest hour Which turns up out of the sad twenty-four.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

As a boy, George Washington gave no promise of the greatness he was one day to achieve. He was ignorant of the commonest accomplishments of youth. He could not even lie. But then he never had any of those precious advantages which are within the reach of the humblest of the boys of the present day. Any boy can lie now. I could lie before I could stand.

MARK TWAIN, _Choice Works_.

By the way, Shakespeare endorses polygamy. He speaks of the Merry Wives of Windsor. How many wives did Mr. Windsor have?

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

I dare say she's like the rest o' the women-- thinks two and two'll come to make five, if she cries and bothers enough about it.

_Bartle Massey_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.

Don't you see a hint of marriage In his sober-sided face, In his rather careless carriage And extremely rapid pace?

If he's not committed treason, Or some wicked action done, Can you see the faintest reason Why a bachelor should run?

Why should he be in a flurry? But a loving wife to greet, Is a circumstance to hurry The most dignified of feet!

JOHN GODFREY SAXE, _Poems_.

Mr. Luttrell once said to me, "Sir, the man who says he does not like a good dinner, is either a fool or a liar."

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.

_TO PHOEBE._

"Gentle, modest little flower, Sweet epitome of May, Love me but for half an hour, Love me, love me, little fay." Sentences so swiftly flaming In your tiny shell-like ear, I should always be exclaiming If I loved you, Phoebe dear:

"Smiles that thrill from any distance Shed upon me while I sing! Please ecstaticize existence, Love me, oh thou, fairy thing!" Words like these outpouring sadly You'd perpetually hear, If I loved you fondly, madly;-- But I do not, Phoebe dear.

W. S. GILBERT, _Bab Ballads_.

On one occasion, when Power the actor was present, Hood was asked to propose his health. After enumerating the various talents that popular comedian possessed, he requested the company to observe that such a combination was a remarkable illustration of the old proverb, "It never rains but it _powers_."

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.

I dreamed that somebody was dead. It was a private gentleman, and a particular friend; and I was greatly overcome when the news was broken to me (very delicately) by a gentleman in a cocked hat, top boots, and a sheet. Nothing else. "Good God!" I said, "is he dead?" "He is as dead, sir," rejoined the gentleman, "as a door nail. But we must all die, Mr. Dickens, sooner or later, my dear sir." "Ah!" I said; "yes, to be sure. Very true. But what did he die of?" The gentleman burst into a flood of tears, and said, in a voice broken by emotion, "He christened his youngest child, sir, with a toasting fork!"

CHARLES DICKENS, _apud_ J. T. FIELDS.

I suppose all phrases of mere compliment have their turn to be true. A man is occasionally thankful when he says "thank you."

_Stephen Guest_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Mill on the Floss_.

_ON ATALANTA._

When the young Greek for Atalanta sigh'd, He might have fool'd and follow'd till he died! He learn'd the sex, the bribe before her roll'd, And found, the short way to the heart, is--Gold.

GEORGE CROLY (1780-1860).

_De mortuis nil nisi bene_: of the living speak nothing but evil.

HEINRICH HEINE, _Thoughts and Fancies_.

I once met a man who had forgiven an injury. I hope some day to meet the man who has forgiven an insult.

CHARLES BUXTON, _Notes of Thought_.

Walk in the Park--you'll seldom fail To find a Sybaris on the rail By Lydia's ponies, Or hap on Barrus, wigged, and stayed, Ogling some unsuspecting maid.

The great Gargilius, then, behold! His "long-bow" hunting tales of old Are now but duller; Fair Neobule too! Is not One Hebrus here--from Aldershot? Aha, you colour! Be wise. There old Canidia sits; No doubt she's tearing you to bits.

Here's Pyrrha, "golden-haired" at will; Prig Damasippus, preaching still; Asterie flirting,-- Radiant, of course. We'll make her black,-- Ask her when Gyges' ship comes back.

AUSTIN DOBSON, _Vignettes in Rhyme_.

La reconnaissance de la plupart des hommes n'est qu'une secrète envie de recevoir de plus grands bienfaits.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.

The surest way to make ourselves agreeable to others is by seeming to think them so.

W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.

_SELF-EVIDENT._

When other lips and other eyes Their tales of love shall tell, Which means the usual sort of lies You've heard from many a swell; When, bored with what you feel is bosh, You'd give the world to see A friend whose love you know will wash, Oh, then remember me!

When Signor Solo goes his tours, And Captain Craft's at Ryde, And Lord Fitzpop is on the moors, And Lord knows who beside; When to exist you feel a task Without a friend at tea, At such a moment I but ask That you'll remember me.

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Songs and Poems_.

When a man is called stingy, it is as much as calling him rich; and when a man's called rich, why he's a man universally respected.

_Sir John Vesey_, in LORD LYTTON's _Money_.

Cursed be the Bank of England notes, that tempt the soul to sin! Cursed be the want of acres,--doubly cursed the want of tin!

Cursed be the marriage-contract, that enslaved thy soul to greed! Cursed be the sallow lawyer, that prepared and drew the deed!

Cursed be his foul apprentice, who the loathsome fees did earn! Cursed be the clerk and parson--cursed be the whole concern!

_Bon Gaultier Ballads._

Never hold anybody by the button, or the hand, in order to be heard out; for, if people are not willing to hear you, you had much better hold your tongue than them.

LORD CHESTERFIELD, _Letters to his Son_.

I have learned to love Lucy, though faded she be; If my next love be lovely, the better for me; By the end of next summer, I'll give you my oath, It was best, after all, to have flirted with both.

CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.

General Ornano, observing a certain nobleman--who, by some misfortune in his youth, lost the use of his legs--in a Bath chair, which he wheeled about, and inquiring the name of the English peer, D'Orsay answered, "Père la Chaise."

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

Poet-professor! Now my brain thou kindlest: I am become a most determined Tyndallist. If it is known a fellow can make skies, Why not make bright blue eyes?

This to deny the folly of a dunce it is: Surely a girl as easy as a sunset is? If you can make a halo or eclipse, Why not two laughing lips?

Why should an author scribble rhymes or articles? Bring me a dozen tiny Tyndall-particles: Therefrom I'll coin a dinner, Nash's wine, And a nice girl to dine.

MORTIMER COLLINS, _The British Birds_.

They now speak of the peculiar difficulties and restrictions of the Episcopal Office. I only read in Scripture of two inhibitions--boxing and polygamy.

SYDNEY SMITH, _apud_ LORD HOUGHTON.

_ON AN OFFERING MADE BY KING JAMES I. AT A GRAVE COMEDY CALLED "THE MARRIAGE OF ARTS."_

At Christ Church "Marriage," play'd before the King, Lest these learn'd mates should want an offering, The King himself did offer--what, I pray? He offer'd, once or twice--to go away.

_A Collection of Epigrams_ (1727).

---- has only two ideas, and they are his legs, and they are spindle-shanked.

LADY ASHBURTON, _apud_ LORD HOUGHTON.

Dry as Compton's fun, Dry as author's pocket; Bright as that loved one Whose face adorns my locket; At the beaker's brim Beading brittle bubbles, Sea in which to swim, And cast away all troubles; Sea where sorrow sinks, Ne'er to rise again--oh, Blessedest of drinks, Welcome, "Pommery Gréno!"

EDMUND YATES.

_ON CLOSE-FIST'S SUBSCRIPTION._

The charity of Close-Fist, give to fame:-- He has at last subscrib'd--how much?--his name.

ANON.

The late Bishop of Exeter and Baron Alderson were sitting next each other at a public dinner. After the usual toasts had been drunk, the health of "The Navy" was proposed. Lord Campbell, expecting to have to return thanks for "The Bar," and not having heard the toast distinctly, got up. On which the late bishop whispered to Baron Alderson, "What is Campbell about? What is he returning thanks for the Navy for?" "Oh," answered the witty judge, "he has made a mistake. He thinks the word is spelt with a K."

J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.

Song-birds darted about, some inky As coal, some snowy (I ween) as curds; Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky-- They reck of no eerie To-come, these birds!

But they skim over bents which the mill-stream washes, Or hang in the lift 'neath a white cloud's hem; They need no parasols, no goloshes; And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth them.

C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.

The man who's fond precociously of stirring Must be a spoon.

THOMAS HOOD.

_ON ONE PETER AND HIS WIFE._

Outrageous hourly with his wife was Peter; Some do aver he has been known to beat her. "She seems unhappy," said a friend one day; Peter turn'd sharply: "What is that you say? Her temper you have there misunderstood: She dares not be unhappy if she would."

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

A man who puts a non-natural strained sense on a promise is no better than a robber.

_Rev. A. Debarry_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Felix Holt_.

_DISTICH._

What is a first love worth except to prepare for a second? What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first.

JOHN HAY, _Poems_.

In [Lady Charlotte Lindsay's] later days, when once complimented on looking very well, she replied, "I dare say it's true--the bloom of ugliness is past."

LORD HOUGHTON, _Monographs_.

_IN VIRTUTEM._

Virtue we praise, yet practise not her good. (Athenian-like) we act not what we know. So many men do talk of Robin Hood Who never yet shot arrow from his bow.

THOMAS FREEMAN (_circa_ 1591-1614).

Scandal--what one half the world takes a pleasure in inventing, and the other half in believing.

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

_All's for the best_, indeed Such is My simple creed; Still I must go and weed Hard in my garden.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Where's the use of talking to a woman with babbies? She's got no conscience--no conscience--it's all run to milk.

_Bartle Massey_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.

Together must we seek That undiscovered country, from whose bourn No uncommercial travellers return.

_Brutus_, in G. O. TREVELYAN's _Horace at Athens_.

The Mormon's religion is singular, and his wives are plural.

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

At morning's call The small-voiced pug-dog welcomes in the sun, And flea-bit mongrels, wakening one by one, Give answer all.

When evening dim Draws round us, then the lovely caterwaul, Tart solo, sour duet, and general squall, These are our hymn.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

Charles Lamb was sitting next some chattering woman at dinner. Observing he didn't attend to her, "You don't seem," said the lady, "to be at all the better for what I have been saying to you." "No, ma'am," he answered, "but this gentleman on the other side of me must, for it all came in at one ear and went out at the other."

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, Grizzling hair the brain doth clear-- Then you know a boy is an ass, Then you know the worth of a lass, Once you have come to Forty Year.

W. M. THACKERAY.

Men are not troubled to hear a man dispraised, because they know, though he be naught, there's worth in others. But women are mightily troubled to hear any one of them spoken against, as if the sex itself were guilty of some untrustworthiness.

SELDEN, _Table Talk_.

_'TWAS EVER THUS._

I never rear'd a young gazelle, (Because, you see, I never tried); But, had it known and loved me well, No doubt the creature would have died. My rich and aged uncle John Has known me long and loves me well, But still persists in living on-- I would he were a young gazelle.

I never loved a tree or flower; But, if I _had_, I beg to say The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower, Would soon have wither'd it away. I've dearly loved my uncle John, From childhood till the present hour, And yet he will go living on,-- I would he were a tree or flower!

H. S. LEIGH, _Carols of Cockayne_.

A domestic woman.--A woman like a domestic.

ANNE EVANS, _Poems and Music_.

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things; Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- Of cabbages--and kings-- And why the sea is boiling hot-- And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried, "Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath, And all of us are fat!" "No hurry!" said the Carpenter: They thanked him much for that.

LEWIS CARROLL, _Through the Looking-Glass_.

Ignorance is not so damnable as humbug, but when it prescribes pills it may happen to do more harm.

_Felix Holt_, in GEORGE ELIOT's novel.

I push aside the blinding books; The reverend pages seem to wink; Each _letter_ like a _dozen_ looks, Which _doesn't let a_ student think. Within my ears I hear a "thrum;" Before my eyes there floats a haze; And mocking shadows flit and come, And make my _nights_ a constant _daze_!

ROBERT REECE, in _Comic Poets_.

Orthodoxy is at a low ebb. Only two clergymen accepted my offer to come and help hoe my potatoes for the privilege of using my vegetable total-depravity figure about the snake-grass, or quash-grass, as some call it; and these two did not bring hoes. There seems to be a lack of disposition to hoe among our educated clergy.

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

_HOME THEY BROUGHT._

Home they brought her lap-dog dead, Just run over by a fly; Jeames to Buttons, winking, said, "Won't there be a row? oh my!"

Then they called the flyman low, Said his baseness could be proved, How she to the Beak should go,-- Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Said her maid (and risked her place) "In the 'ouse it should have kept, Flymen drives at such a pace"-- Still the lady's anger slept.

Rose her husband, best of dears, Laid a bracelet on her knee, Like a playful child she boxed his ears,-- "Sweet old pet!--let's have some tea!"

SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.

_ON BLESSED IGNORANCE._

He is most happy, sure, that knoweth nought, Because he knows not that he knoweth not.

ROBERT HEATH (_circa_ 1585-1607).

Alone amid the festive throng One infant brow is sad! One cherub face is wet with grief,-- What ails you, little lad?

Why still with scarifying sleeve That woful visage scrub? Ah, much I fear, my gentle boy, You don't enjoy your grub.

Here, on a sympathetic heart, Your tale of suffering pour. Come, darling! Tell me all. "_Boo--boo-- I can't eat any more!_"

H. CHOLMONDELEY PENNELL, _Puck on Pegasus_.

Never take a sheet-bath--never. Next to meeting a lady acquaintance who, for reasons best known to herself, don't see you when she looks at you, and don't know you when she sees you, it is about the most uncomfortable thing in the world.

MARK TWAIN, _Choice Works_.

The critic's lot is passing hard-- Between ourselves, I think reviewers, When call'd to truss a crowing bard, Should not be sparing of the skewers.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

To-morrow the critics will commence. You know who the critics are? The men who have failed in literature and art.

_Phoebus_, in LORD BEACONSFIELD's _Lothair_.

That climax of all human ills-- The inflammation of his weekly bills.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

On n'a guère de défauts qui ne soient plus pardonnables que les moyens dont on se sert pour les cacher.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.

Meeting a friend one day, when the weather had taken a most sudden and unaccountable turn from cold to warmth, the subject was mooted as usual, and characterized by the gentleman as being "most extraordinary." "Yes," replied [Compton], "it is a most unheard of thing; we've jumped from winter into summer without a spring."

_Memoir of Henry Compton._

"Pray what is this Permissive Bill, That some folks rave about? I can't with all my pains and skill, Its meaning quite make out?" O! it's a little simple Bill, That seeks to pass _incog._, To _permit_ ME--to _prevent_ YOU-- From having a glass of grog.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

Quelque mal qu'un homme puisse penser des femmes, il n'y a pas de femme qui n'en pense encore plus mal que lui.

CHAMFORT, _Maximes_.

With thy fogs, all so thick and so yellow, The most approved tint for _ennui_, Oh, when shall a man see thy fellow, November, for _felo-de-se_?

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Songs and Poems_.

"Life," continued Mr. Rose, "is a series of moments and emotions." "And a series of absurdities, too, very often," said Dr. Jenkinson. "Life is a solemn mystery," said Mr. Stocks, severely. "Life is a damned nuisance," muttered Leslie to himself.

W. H. MALLOCK, _The New Republic_.

The world's an ugly world. Offend Good people, how they wrangle! Their manners that they never mend,-- The characters they mangle! They eat, and drink, and scheme, and plod,-- They go to church on Sunday; And many are afraid of God-- And more of _Mrs. Grundy_.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

I went away the first, in order to give the men an opportunity of abusing me; for whenever the men abuse, the women, to support alike their coquetry and the conversation, think themselves called upon to defend.

_Pelham_, in LORD LYTTON's novel.

There's one John Bright, a Manchester man, Who taught the Tories to rule, By setting their stamp on his patent plan For renewing the youth of John Bull; But I say that it won't do at all. To seek for salvation By mere numeration Of polls would surprise, If they were to rise, Not a little both Plato and Paul.

J. S. BLACKIE, _Musa Burschicosa_.

Une femme vertueuse a dans le coeur une fibre du moins ou de plus que les autres femmes; elle est stupide ou sublime.

BALZAC, _Physiologie du Mariage_.

_ON SCOTCH WEATHER._

Scotland! thy weather's like a modish wife; Thy winds and rains for ever are at strife; Like thee the termagants their blustering try, And, when they can no longer scold, they cry.

AARON HILL (1685-1750).

Went with Lamb to Richman's. Richman produced one of Chatterton's forgeries. In one manuscript there were seventeen different kinds of e's. "Oh," said Lamb, "that must have been written by one of the-- 'Mob of gentlemen who write with _ease_.'"

CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.

_SCIRE TUUM NIHIL FIT._

To have a thing is little, if you're not allowed to show it, And to know a thing is nothing, unless others know you know it.

LORD NEAVES.

You're at an evening party, with A group of pleasant folks,-- You venture quietly to crack The least of little jokes,-- A lady doesn't catch the point, And begs you to explain,-- Alas! for one who drops a jest And takes it up again!

You drop a pretty _jeu-de-mot_ Into a neighbour's ears, Who likes to give you credit for The clever things he hears; And so he hawks your jest about, The old, authentic one, Just breaking off the point of it, And leaving out the pun!

JOHN GODFREY SAXE, _Poems_.

[Montrond's] death was a very wretched one. Left alone to the tender mercies of a well-known "lorette" of those days, Desirée R----, as he lay upon his bed, between fits of pain and drowsiness, he could see his fair friend picking from his shelves the choicest specimens of his old Sèvres china, or other articles of _vertu_. Turning to his doctor, he said, with a gleam of his old fun, "Qu'elle est attachante, cette femme-là!"

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

We love thee, Ann Maria Smith, And in thy condescension We see a future full of joys Too numerous to mention.

There's Cupid's arrow in thy glance, That by thy love's coercion Has reached our melting heart of hearts, And asked for one insertion.

There's music in thy honest tone, And silver in thy laughter; And truth--but we will give the full Particulars hereafter.

R. H. NEWELL, _Orpheus C. Kerr Papers_.

"Of course you know the three reasons which take men into society in London?" I said, after a pause.

"No, I don't. What are they?"

"Either to find a wife, or to look after one's wife, or to look after somebody else's."

L. OLIPHANT, _Piccadilly_.

_ON ONE WHO HAD A LARGE NOSE AND SQUINTED._

The reason why Doctor Dash squints, I suppose, Is because his two eyes are afraid of his nose.

ANON., in MOORE's _Diary_.

Never attack whole bodies of any kind. Individuals forgive sometimes; but bodies and societies never do.

LORD CHESTERFIELD, _Letters to his Son_.

_ON THE RIGHTS OF MINORITIES._

Sturdy Tom Paine, biographers relate, Once with his friends engaged in warm debate. Said they, "Minorities are always right;" Said he, "The truth is just the opposite." Finding them stubborn, "Frankly, now," said he, "In this opinion do ye all agree; All, every one, without exception?" When They thus affirmed unanimously, "Then, Correct," said he, "my sentiment must be, For I myself am the minority."

R. GARNETT, _Idylls and Epigrams_.

The Indians on the Overland Route live on route and herbs. They are an intemperate people. They drink with impunity, or anybody who invites them.

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

_ON ONE WEARING FALSE HAIR._

They say that thou dost tinge (O monstrous lie!) The hair that thou so raven-black dost buy.

LUCILIUS, trans. by R. GARNETT.

A nation does wisely if not well, in starving her men of genius. Fatten them, and they are done for.

CHARLES BUXTON, _Notes of Thought_.

When the enterprising burglar's not a-burgling, When the cut-throat isn't occupied with crime He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling, And listen to the merry village chime. When the coster's finished jumping on his mother, He loves to lie a-basking in the sun-- Oh! take one consideration with another, The policeman's lot is not a happy one!

W. S. GILBERT, _Pirates of Penzance_.

The young girl said: "The gentleman must be very rich, for he is very ugly." The public judges in a similar manner: "The man must be very learned, for he is very tiresome."

HEINRICH HEINE, _Thoughts and Fancies_.