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 Fashion 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 shiver, 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._