Quips and Quiddities Part 31

SIR NATHANIEL WRAXALL, _Memoirs_.

_PROBATUM EST._

One loss has a companion always. _Semper_, When people lose their train, they lose their temper.

s.h.i.+RLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.

Working by the hour tends to make one moral.

A plumber working by the job, trying to unscrew a rusty, refractory nut, in a cramped position, where the tongs continually slipped off, would swear; but I never heard one of them swear, or exhibit the least impatience at such a vexation, working by the hour.

Nothing can move a man who is paid by the hour. How sweet the flight of time seems to his calm mind!

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

It greets me in my festal hours, It brings my gloom relief; It sprinkles life with loveliest flowers And plucks the sting from grief.

I'd smile at poverty and pain; I'd welcome death with glee-- If to the last I might retain My own--my upper G!

H. S. LEIGH, _Carols of c.o.c.kayne_.

"Milton Perkins," said the Siren, "not thy wealth do I admire, But the intellect that flashes from those eyes of opal fire; And methinks the name thou bearest cannot surely be misplaced; And--embrace me, Mister Perkins!" Milton Perkins her embraced.

BRET HARTE, _Complete Works_.

Truth-vendors and medicine-vendors usually recommend swallowing. When a man sees his livelihood in a pill or a proposition, he likes to have orders for the dose, and not curious inquiries.

_Felix Holt_, in GEORGE ELIOT's novel.

Stuart Mill on Mind and Matter All our old Beliefs would scatter: Stuart Mill exerts his skill To make an end of Mind and Matter.

But had I skill, like Stuart Mill, His own position I could shatter: The weight of Mill I count as Nil-- If Mill has neither Mind nor Matter.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

"And how many hours a day did you do lessons?"

said Alice.

"Ten hours the first day," said the Mock Turtle; "nine the next, and so on."

"What a curious plan!" exclaimed Alice.

"That's the reason they're called lessons," the Gryphon remarked "because they lessen from day to day."

LEWIS CARROLL, _Alice in Wonderland_.

Quiconque n'a pas de caractere n'est pas un homme: c'est une chose.

CHAMFORT, _Maximes_.

It's hard work to tell which is Old Harry when everybody's got boots on.

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

I want you to come and pa.s.s sentence On two or three books with a plot; Of course you know "Janet's Repentance"?

I'm reading Sir _Waverley_ Scott, The story of Edgar and Lucy, How thrilling, romantic, and true!

The Master (his bride was a _goosey_!) Reminds me of you.

They tell me c.o.c.kayne has been crowning A poet whose garland endures: It was you who first spouted me Browning-- That stupid old Browning of yours!

His vogue and his verve are alarming; I'm anxious to give him his due, But, Fred, he's not nearly so charming A poet as you!

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Joseph Gillon was a Writer to the Signet. Calling on him one day in his writing office, Sir Walter Scott said, "Why, Joseph, this place is as hot as an oven." "Well," quoth Gillon, "and isn't it here that I make my bread?"

LOCKHART, _Life of Scott_.

Forever! 'tis a single word!

Our rude forefathers deem'd it two; Can you imagine so absurd A view?

Forever! what abysms of woe The word reveals, what frenzy, what Despair! For ever (printed so) Did not.

And nevermore must printer do As men did longago; but run "For" into "ever," bidding two Be one.

Forever! pa.s.sion-fraught, it throws O'er the dim page a gloom, a glamour: It's sweet, it's strange, and I suppose It's grammar.

C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.

Walking down St. James's Street, Lord Chelmsford was accosted by a stranger, who exclaimed, "Mr. Birch, I believe?" "If you believe that, sir, you'll believe anything," replied the ex-chancellor, as he pa.s.sed on.

BERKELEY, _Life and Recollections_.

You snared me, Rose, with ribbons, Your rose-mouth made me thrall.

Brief--briefer far than Gibbon's, Was my "Decline and Fall."

AUSTIN DOBSON, _Vignettes in Rhyme_.

The reason we dislike vanity in others is because it is perpetually hurting our own.

LORD LYTTON's _Pelham_.