Quips and Quiddities Part 54

CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.

When a felon's not engaged in his employment, Or maturing his felonious little plans, His capacity for innocent enjoyment Is just as great as any honest man's.

W. S. GILBERT, _Pirates of Penzance_.

She's an angel in a frock With a fascinating c.o.c.k To her nose.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

To speak highly of one with whom we are intimate is a species of egotism.

W. HAZLITT, _Characteristics_.

The annals of our native land were lapsed in doubt and mystery, Till Mr. Freeman t'other day discovered English History, And now admonishes the world it is his fixed intention To make it a monopoly and patent the invention.

F. D., in _Pall Mall Gazette_.

"It is rather sad," sighed Virginia, as she dived into a box of French chocolate-creams, "to think that all the poor people are drowned that these things belonged to."

"They are not dead," said the Professor: "they still live on this holy and stupendous earth. They live in the use we are making of all they had got together. The owner of those chocolate-creams is immortal because you are eating them."

Virginia licked her lips, and said, "Nonsense!"

"It is not nonsense," said the Professor. "It is the religion of Humanity."

W. H. MALLOCK, _The New Paul and Virginia_.

The sort of fun I witnessed there _was_ "awful;"

Buffoonery devoid of all That makes an art of folly, Music that was "most music-hall,"

To hear "most melancholy."

J. R. PLANCHe, _Songs and Poems_.

You are a woman; you must never speak what you think: your words must contradict your thoughts: but your actions may contradict your words. So, when I ask you if you can love me, you must say no; but you must love me too. If I tell you you are handsome, you must deny it, and say I flatter you; and you must think yourself more charming than I speak you, and like me for the beauty I say you have, as much as if I had it myself.

_Tattle_, in CONGREVE's _Love for Love_.

Dear Poet, do not rhyme at all!

But if you must, don't tell your neighbour, Or five in six, who cannot scrawl, Will dub you donkey for your labour.

Be patient, but be sure you won't Win vogue without extreme vexation; Yet hope for sympathy,--but don't Expect it from a near relation.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Nous pardonnons souvent a ceux qui nous ennuient; mais nous ne pouvons pardonner a ceux qui nous ennuyons.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Reflexions_.

There is a phrase we oft have seen On bottle-labels writ, And those who invalids have been Best know the drift of it; It may embody in a line A world of chemic lore, And skill to portion and combine-- _The mixture as before_.

This will apply to many things, To oratory most, Addresses made to kings and queens, And wedding speech and toast; For commonplace and compliment Are mingled o'er and o'er; _This_ saves the trouble to invent-- _The mixture as before_.

_Songs of Singularity._

I had forgotten to mention that essay, Miss Daylmer; that is our essay on cookery,--the one we always begin with in reading to ladies; as Milverton said, "entirely within their province." I wish they paid more attention to it; but people seldom do attend to things within their province.

_Ellesmere_, in HELPS's _Friends in Council_.

There was an old waiter at Wapping Drew corks for a week without stopping; Cried he, "It's too bad!

The practice I've had!

Yet cannot prevent them from popping!"

There was an old priest of Peru, Who dreamt he converted a Jew; He woke in the night In a deuce of a fright, And found it was perfectly true.

There was an old witch of Malacca, Who smoked such atrocious tob_acca_, When tigers came near, They trembled with fear, And didn't attempt to att_acca_.

_Songs of Singularity._

A woman dictates before marriage in order that she may have an appet.i.te for submission afterwards.

GEORGE ELIOT, _Middlemarch_.

Sydney Smith, speaking of his being shampooed at Mahomet's Baths at Brighton in 1840, said they "squeezed enough out of him to make a lean curate."

R. H. BARHAM, _Life_.

Now brim your gla.s.s, and plant it well Beneath your nose on the table, And you will find what philosophers tell Of I and non-I is no fable.

Now listen to wisdom, my son!

Myself am the subject, This wine is the object: These things are two, But I'll prove to you That subject and object are one.

I take this gla.s.s in my hand, and stand Upon my legs, if I can, And look and smile benign and bland, And feel that I am a man.

Now stretch all the strength of your brains!

I drink--and the object Is lost in the subject, Making one ent.i.ty In the ident.i.ty Of me, and the wine in my veins!