Quips and Quiddities Part 18

A lovely young lady I mourn in my rhymes: She was pleasant, good-natured, and civil sometimes.

Her figure was good: she had very fine eyes, And her talk was a mixture of foolish and wise.

Her adorers were many, and one of them said, "She waltzed rather well! It's a pity she's dead!"

G. J. CAYLEY, in _Comic Poets_.

Anybody amuses me for once. A new acquaintance is like a new book. I prefer it, even if bad, to a cla.s.sic.

_Lady Montfort_, in LORD BEACONSFIELD's _Endymion_.

Now I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent To say another is an a.s.s,--at least, to all intent; Nor should the individual who happens to be meant Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent.

BRET HARTE, _Complete Works_.

Story of Edward Walpole, who, being told, one day at the "Garrick," that the confectioners had a way of discharging the ink from old parchment by a chemical process, and then making the parchment into isingla.s.s for their jellies, said, "Then I find a man may now eat his deeds as well as his words."

R. H. BARHAM, _Life_.

What is the spell that 'twixt a saint and sinner The diff'rence makes?--a sermon? Bah! a dinner.

ALFRED AUSTIN, _The Season_.

"I vent to the club this mornin', sir. There vorn't no letters, sir." "Very good, Topping."

"How's missus, sir?" "Pretty well, Topping."

"Glad to hear it, sir. _My_ missus ain't very well, sir." "No!" "No, sir, she's agoin', sir, to have a hincrease werry soon, and it makes her nervous, sir; and ven a young voman gets down at sich a time, sir, she goes down werry deep, sir." To this sentiment I reply affirmatively, and then he adds, as he stirs the fire (as if he were thinking out loud), "Wot a mystery it is! Wot a go is natur'!"

CHARLES d.i.c.kENS, _apud_ J. T. FIELDS.

The most forlorn--what worms we are!-- Would wish to finish this cigar Before departing.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Mrs. Cadwallader says it is nonsense, people going a long journey when they are married.

She says they get tired to death of each other, and can't quarrel comfortably, as they would at home.

_Celia Brooke_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Middlemarch_.

Some think that man from a monkey grew By steps of long generation, When, after many blunders, a few Good hits were made in creation; But I can't comprehend this at all; Of blind groping forces Though Darwin discourses, I rather incline To believe in design With Plato, and Peter, and Paul.

J. S. BLACKIE, _Musa Burschicosa_.

In a trial, where a German and his wife were giving evidence, the former was asked by the counsel, "How old are you?" "I am _dirty_." "And what is your wife?" "Mine wife is _dirty-two_." "Then, sir, you are a very nasty couple, and I wish to have nothing further to say to either of you."

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

He'd better be apt with his pen Than well-dressed, and well-booted and gloved, Who likes to be liked by the men, By the women who loves to be loved: And Fas.h.i.+on full often has paid Her good word in return for a gay word, For a song in the manner of Praed, Or an anecdote worthy of Hayward.

G. O. TREVELYAN, _Ladies in Parliament_.

Oh, my Maria! Alas! she married another. They frequently do. I hope she is happy--because I am.

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

Rise up, cold reverend, to a see; Confound the unbeliever!

Yet ne'er 'neath thee my seat shall be For ever and for ever.

Preach, softly preach, in lawn and be A comely, model liver, But ne'er 'neath thee my seat shall be For ever and for ever.

And here shall sleep thy Alderman, And here thy pauper s.h.i.+ver, And here by thee shall buzz the "she,"

For ever and for ever.

A thousand men shall sneer at thee, A thousand women quiver, But ne'er 'neath thee my seat shall be For ever and for ever.

_The Shotover Papers._

For people to live happily together, the real secret is, that they should not live too much together.

_Ellesmere_, in HELPS's _Friends in Council_.

Lord Ellenborough's saying to a witness; "Why, you are an industrious fellow; you must have taken pains with yourself; no man was ever _naturally_ so stupid."

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

If you've a thousand a year or a minute; If you're a D'Orsay, whom every one follows; If you've a head (it don't matter what's in it) Fair as Apollo's; If you approve of flirtations, good dinners, Seascapes divine which the merry winds whiten, Nice little saints and still nicer young sinners,-- Winter in Brighton!

MORTIMER COLLINS.

He [Bagehot] used to say, banteringly, to his mother, by way of putting her off at a time when she was anxious for him to marry, "A man's mother is his misfortune, but his wife is his fault!"

R. H. HUTTON, _Memoir of W. Bagehot_.

_A LADY ON THE PRINCESSE DRESS._