Quips and Quiddities Part 47

Nous ne trouvons guere de gens de bons sens que ceux qui sont de notre avis.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Reflexions_.

_FRENCH AND ENGLISH._

The French excel us very much in millinery; They also bear the bell in matters culinary.

The reason's plain: French beauty and French meat With English cannot of themselves compete.

Thus, an inferior article possessing, Our neighbours help it by superior dressing; They dress their dishes, and they dress their dames, Till Art, almost, can rival Nature's claims.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

Priority is a poor recommendation in a husband if he has got no other.

_Mrs. Cadwallader_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Middlemarch_.

If spirits you would lighten Consult good Doctor Brighton, And swallow his prescriptions and abide by his decree: If nerves be weak or shaken Just try a week with Bacon, His physic soon is taken-- At our London-by-the-Sea.

J. ASHBY STERRY, _Boudoir Ballads_.

The then Duke of c.u.mberland (the foolish Duke, as he was called) came one night into Foote's green-room at the Haymarket Theatre. "Well, Foote," said he, "here I am, ready, as usual, to swallow your good things." "Upon my soul," replied Foote, "your Royal Highness must have an excellent digestion, for you never bring any up again."

ROGERS, _Table Talk_.

There's folks born to property, and there's folks catch hold on it; and the law's made for them as catch hold.

_Tommy Trounsem_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Felix Holt_.

Examining one of the Sunday school boys at Addington, I asked him what a prophet was.

He did not know. "If I were to tell you what would happen to you this day twelve month, and it should come to pa.s.s, what would you call me then, my little man?" "A fortune-teller, sir."

R. H. BARHAM, _Diary_.

Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers; Some play the devil, and then write a novel.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

Being one day at Trinity College, at dinner, [Donne] was asked to write a motto for the College snuff-box, which was always circulating on the dinner-table. "Considering where we are," said Donne, "there could be nothing better than 'Quicunque vult.'"

CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.

Critics tell me, soon There'll be no singing in a song, No melody in tune.

But birds will warble in the trees, Nor for the critics care; And in the murmur of the breeze We yet may find some air.

J. R. PLANCHe, _Songs and Poems_.

Mr. Bentley proposed to establish a periodical publication, to be called "The Wits' Miscellany."

[James] Smith objected that the t.i.tle promised too much. Shortly afterwards the publisher came to tell him he had profited by the hint, and resolved to call it "Bentley's Miscellany." "Isn't that going a little too far the other way?" was the remark.

ABRAHAM HAYWARD, _Essays_.

Break, break, break!

My cups and saucers, O scout; And I'm glad that my tongue can't utter The oaths that my soul points out.

It is well for the china-shop man Who gets a fresh order each day; And it's deucedly well for yourself, Who are in the said china-man's pay.

And my stately vases go To your uncle's, I ween, to be cashed; And it's oh for the light of my broken lamp, And the tick of my clock that is smashed.

Break, break, break!

At the foot of my stairs in glee; But the coin I have spent in gla.s.s that is cracked Will never come back to me.

_The Shotover Papers._

Croly said very smart things, and with surprising readiness. I was at his table one day when one of the guests inquired the name of a pyramidal dish of barley-sugar. Some one replied, "A pyramid _a Macedoine_." "For what use?" rejoined the other.

"To give a _Philip_ to the appet.i.te," said Croly.

W. H. HARRISON, _Reminiscences_.

_ON SOME VERSES CALLED TRIFLES._

Paul, I have read your book, and though you write ill, I needs must praise your most judicious t.i.tle.

ANON.

Mrs. Posh was one of those incomparable wives who have a proper command of tongue, who never reply to angry words at the moment, and who always, with exquisite calm and self-posession, pay off every angry word by an amiable sting at the right moment.

LORD LYTTON, _What will he do with it?_

_TO LADY BROWN._

When I was young and _debonnaire_, The brownest nymph to me was fair; But now I'm old, and wiser grown, The fairest nymph to me is Brown.

GEORGE, LORD LYTTLETON.