Quips and Quiddities Part 48

When last the Queen was about to be confined, the Prince Consort said to one of his little boys, "I think it very likely, my dear, that the Queen will present you with a little brother or sister; which of the two would you prefer?" The child, pausing--"Well, I think, if it is all the same to mamma, I should prefer a pony."

J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.

Some ladies now make pretty songs, And some make pretty nurses: Some men are great at righting wrongs,-- And some at writing verses.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Follow the light of the old-fas.h.i.+oned Presbyterians that I've heard sing at Glasgow. The preacher gives out the Psalm, and then everybody sings a different tune, as it happens to turn up in their throats. It's a domineering thing to set a tune and expect everybody else to follow it. It's a denial of private judgment.

_Felix Holt_, in GEORGE ELIOT's novel.

_ON A CERTAIN RADICAL._

Bloggs rails against high birth. Yes, Bloggs--you see Your ears are longer than your pedigree.

JAMES HANNAY, _Sketches and Characters_.

I like neighbours, and I like chickens; but I do not think they ought to be united near a garden.

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

Lady, very fair are you, And your eyes are very blue, And your hose; And your brow is like the snow, And the various things you know Goodness knows.

MORTIMER COLLINS, _Ad Chloen, M.A._

The Jacobins, in realizing their systems of fraternization, always contrived to be the elder brothers.

_Guesses at Truth._

Careless rhymer, it is true That my favourite colour's blue; But am I To be made a victim, sir, If to puddings I prefer Cambridge [Greek: p]?

MORTIMER COLLINS, _Chloe, M.A._

Candide Found life most tolerable after meals.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

Women, and men who are like women, mind the binding more than the book.

LORD CHESTERFIELD, _Letters to his Son_.

There was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy, And the youngest he was little Billee.

Now when they got as far as the Equator They'd nothing left but one split pea.

Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, "I am extremely hungaree."

To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, "We've nothing left, us must eat we."

Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, "With one another we shouldn't agree!

There's little Bill he's young and tender, We're old and tough, so let's eat he."

W. M. THACKERAY.

"_WHAT AILS HIM AT THE La.s.sIE?_"

A friend tells me a funny little story of Mrs. ---- (the grandmother of Colonel M----), who was shown a picture of Joseph and Potiphar's wife, in which of course the patriarch showed his usual desire to withdraw himself from her society. Mrs. ---- looked at it for a little while, and then said, "Eh, now, and what ails him at the la.s.sie?"

FREDERICK LOCKER, _Patchwork_.

In his last illness, reduced as he was to a skeleton, [Hood] noticed a very large mustard poultice which Mrs. Hood was making for him, and exclaimed, "O Mary! Mary! that will be a great deal of mustard to a very little meat!"

J. R. PLANCHe, _Recollections_.

_THE LATEST DECALOGUE._

Thou shalt have one G.o.d only: who Would be at the expense of two?

No graven images may be Wors.h.i.+pped, except the currency: Swear not at all; for, for thy curse, Thine enemy is none the worse: At church on Sunday to attend Will serve to keep the world thy friend: Honour thy parents; that is, all From whom advancement may befall: Thou shalt not kill; but needst not strive Officiously to keep alive: Do not adultery commit; Advantage rarely comes of it: Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat, When it's so lucrative to cheat: Bear not false witness; let the lie Have time on its own wings to fly: Thou shalt not covet, but tradition Approves all forms of compet.i.tion.

A. H. CLOUGH, _Poems_.

Mr. MacCulloch, the eminent political economist, in dining with us, a few days after [an aeronautical friend had made an ascent], was most anxious to learn where he had descended on this occasion. The answer was, "Amongst the flats of Ess.e.x." "A most appropriate locality," said my distinguished countryman, "and one which shows how true it is that 'birds of a feather flock together.'"

MARK BOYD, _Reminiscences._

He said that I was proud, mother,--that I looked for rank and gold; He said I did not love him,--he said my words were cold; He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game,-- And it may be that I did, mother; but who hasn't done the same?

You may lay me in my bed, mother,--my head is throbbing sore; And, mother, prithee, let the sheets be duly aired before; And if you'd do a kindness to your poor desponding child, Draw me a pot of beer, mother--and, mother, draw it mild!

_Bon Gaultier Ballads._

Voltaire was a very good Jesus Christ--for the French.