Quips and Quiddities Part 2

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

Now Darwin proves as clear as mud, That, endless ages ere the Flood, The Coming Man's primeval form Was simply an Ascidian worm: And having then the habit got Of pa.s.sing liquor down his throat, He keeps it still, and shows full well That Man--was--once----a leather bottel.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

"The ancients," quoth Paul, "were very great men, Mr. MacGrawler."

"They were so, sir," returned the critic; "we make it a rule in our profession to a.s.sert that fact."

"But, sir," said Paul, "they are wrong now and then."

"Never, Ignoramus, never."

"They praised poverty, Mr. MacGrawler," said Paul, with a sigh.

"Hem," quoth the critic, a little staggered; but presently recovering his characteristic ac.u.men, he observed, "It is true, Paul, but that was the poverty of other people."

LORD LYTTON, _Paul Clifford_.

Yes, Fortune deserves to be chidden, It is a coincidence queer-- Whenever one wants to be hidden Some blockhead is sure to appear!

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

One day in the country [Sheridan Knowles] said to Abbot, with whom he had been acting there, "My dear fellow, I'm off to-morrow. Can I take any letters for you?" "You're very kind," answered Abbot; "but where are you going to?" "_I haven't made up my mind._"

J. R. PLANCHe, _Recollections_.

_BLUE STOCKINGS._

The newspapers lately have taught us to know How some strong-minded hens are beginning to crow.

But, dear ladies, beware: take the word of a friend, That when rivalry comes, all affection must end.

With the brightest of _spoons_ would be war to the _knife_ In political contests 'twixt husband and wife; And the sentence of doom might be sudden and brief If a feminine subaltern jilted her chief.

We men take a pride in concealing our chains, And would like to be thought to monopolize brains; So I'll give you this maxim, my counsels to crown-- _If the stockings are blue, keep the petticoats down._

_Once a Week._

Talking of Kean, I mentioned his having told me that he had eked out his means of living, before he emerged from obscurity, by teaching dancing, fencing, elocution, and boxing. "Elocution and boxing!" (repeated Bobus Smith)--"a word and a blow."

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

_MILITARY._

Smart soldiers like to be well tightened in: Loose habits would destroy all discipline.

H. J. BYRON, in _English Epigrams_.

Fontaine, the architect, who built the triumphal arch in the Carrousel, placed upon it an empty car, drawn by the famous bronze Venetian horses. Talleyrand asked him, "_Qui avez vous l'intention de mettre dans le char?_" The answer was, "_L'Empereur Napoleon, comme de raison_." Upon which Talleyrand said, "_Le char l'attend_."

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

'Tis doubtless well to be sometimes awake-- Awake to duty, and awake to truth,-- But when, alas! a nice review we take Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth, The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep Are those we pa.s.sed in childhood or asleep!

JOHN G.o.dFREY SAXE, _Poems_.

_Sir Toby._ "Does not our life consist of the four elements?"

_Sir Andrew._ "Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking."

_Twelfth Night_, Act II., Scene 3.

She thought "Wives and Daughters" "_so_ jolly;"

"Had I read it?" She knew that I had: Like the rest, I should dote upon "Molly;"

And "poor Mrs. Gaskell--how sad!"

"Like Browning?" "But so-so." His proof lay Too deep for her frivolous mood, That preferred your mere metrical _souffle_ To the stronger poetical food; Yet at times he was good--"as a tonic:"

Was Tennyson writing just now?

And was this new poet Byronic, And clever, and naughty, or how?

AUSTIN DOBSON, _Vignettes in Rhyme_.

Old friends are best. King James used to call for his old shoes; they were easiest for his feet.

SELDEN, _Table Talk_.

Let a coach be called, And let the man who called it be the caller; And in his calling let him nothing call, But coach, coach, coach! Oh for a coach, ye G.o.ds!

CAREY, _Chrononhotonthologos_.

If you could make a pudding wi' thinking o' the batter, it 'ud be easy getting dinner.

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

There's somewhat on my breast, father, There's somewhat on my breast; The livelong day I sigh, father, And at night I cannot rest.

'Tis not the lack of gold, father, Nor want of worldly gear; My lands are broad, and fair to see, My friends are kind and dear.

'Tis not that Janet's false, father, 'Tis not that she's unkind; Though busy flatterers swarm around, I know her constant mind.

'Tis not her coldness, father, That chills my labouring breast: It's that confounded cuc.u.mber I've eat and can't digest.

R. H. BARHAM, _Ingoldsby Lyrics_.