Chapter C: D. WARNER, My Summer in a Garden

Would it were wind and wave alone!
The terrors of the torrid zone,
The indiscriminate cyclone,
A man might parry;
But only faith, or "triple brass,"
Can help the "outward-bound" to pass
Safe through that eastward-faring class
Who sail to marry.

For him fond mothers, stout and fair,
Ascend the tortuous cabin stair
Only to hold around his chair
Insidious sessions;
For him the eyes of daughters droop
Across the plate of handed soup,
Suggesting seats upon the poop,
And soft confessions.

AUSTIN DOBSON, _Vignettes in Rhyme_.

It's poor work allays settin' the dead above the
livin'. It 'ud be better if folks 'ud make much
of us beforehand, isted o' beginnin' when we're
gone.

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

The authoress of the "Wild Irish Girl," Lady
Morgan, justly proud of her gifted sister Olivia,
was in the habit of addressing every new-comer
with, "I must make you acquainted with my Livy." She
once used this form of words to a gentleman who had
just been worsted in an encounter of wits with the lady
in question. "Yes, ma'am," was the reply; "I happen
to know your _Livy_, and I would to Heaven your _Livy_
was _Tacitus_."

LORD ALBEMARLE, _Fifty Years of my Life._

"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed,"
Observes some solemn, sentimental owl;
Maxims like these are very cheaply said;
But e'er you make yourself a fool or fowl,
Pray just inquire about his rise and fall,
And whether larks have any bed at all!

The "time for honest folks to be in bed"
Is in the morning, if I reason right;
And he who cannot keep his precious head
Upon its pillow till it's fairly light,
And so enjoy his forty morning winks,
Is up to knavery; or else--he drinks!

JOHN GODFREY SAXE, _Poems._

_A Popular Man._--One who is so boldly vulgar
that the timidly vulgar admire him.

ANNE EVANS, _Poems and Music._

We can't for a certainty tell
What mirth may molest us on Monday;
But, at least, to begin the week well,
Let us all be unhappy on Sunday.

These gardens, their walks and green bowers,
Might be free to the poor man for one day;
But no, the glad plants and gay flowers
Mustn't bloom or smell sweetly on Sunday.

Abroad we forbid folks to roam
For fear they get social or frisky;
But of course they can sit still at home,
And get dismally drunk upon whiskey.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

La haine des faibles n'est pas si dangereuse que
leur amitié.

VAUVENARGUES, _Réflexions_.

To Matthew Arnold we must go to put us in the right, sir,
About his elevating scheme of "sweetness" and of "light," sir,
Which some folks say will one fine day achieve a marked ascendancy,
Though "Providence" it waters down into a "stream of tendency."

F. D., in _Pall Mall Gazette_.

Chambermaids use up more hair-oil than any
six men. If charged with purloining the same,
they lie about it. What do they care about a
hereafter? Absolutely nothing.

MARK TWAIN, _Choice Works_.

When sorely tempted to purloin
Your _pietà_ of Marc Antoine,
Fair virtue doth fair play enjoin,
Fair Virtuoso!

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

No man can be wise on an empty stomach.

_Bartle Massey_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.

All tragedies are finished by a death,
All comedies are ended by a marriage;
The future states of both are left to faith,
For authors fear description might disparage
The worlds to come of both, or fall beneath.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

The Bailli de Ferrette was always dressed in knee-breeches,
with a cocked hat and sword, the
slender proportions of which greatly resembled
those of his legs. "Do tell me, my dear Bailli," said
Montrond one day, "have you got three legs or three
swords?"

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

A Mexican lady's hair never curls--it's as straight
as an Indian's. Some people's hair won't curl
under any circumstances. My hair won't curl
under two shillings.