Chapter C: F. BROWNE, Artemus Ward's Lecture

Nothing is accounted so proper in England as
property.

_Guesses at Truth._

As the husband is, the wife is,--he is stomach-plagued and old;
And his curry soups will make thy cheek the colour of his gold.

When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely then
Something lower than his hookah,--something less than his cayenne.

What is this? His eyes are pinky. Was't the claret? Oh, no, no--
Bless your soul! it was the salmon--salmon always makes him so.

_Bon Gaultier Ballads._

A clergyman had commenced an able discourse,
when one of the hearers exclaimed,
"That's Tillotson!" This was allowed to pass;
but very soon another exclamation followed, "That's
Paley." The preacher then addressed the disturber: "I
tell you, sir, if there is to be a repetition of such conduct,
I shall call on the churchwarden to have you removed
from the church." "That's your own," was the ready
reply.

MARK BOYD, _Reminiscences_.

College mostly makes people like bladders--just
good for nothing but t' hold the stuff as is poured
into 'em.

_Bartle Massey_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.

Werther had a love for Charlotte
Such as words could never utter;
Would you know how first he met her?
She was cutting bread and butter.

So he sighed and pined and ogled,
And his passion boiled and bubbled,
Till he blew his silly brains out,
And no more was by it troubled.

Charlotte, having seen his body
Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well-conducted person,
Went on cutting bread and butter.

W. M. THACKERAY.

Perhaps the best illustration I can give of
[Bagehot's] more sardonic humour, was his
remark to a friend who had a church on the
grounds near his house:--"Ah, you've got the church
in the grounds! I like that. It's well the tenants
shouldn't be _quite_ sure that the landlord's power stops
with this world."

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

_ON WIVES._

All wives are bad,--yet two blest hours they give,
When first they wed, and when they cease to live.

PALLADAS, trans. by J. H. MERIVALE.

"Yes, my dear curate," said the Professor, "what
I am enjoying is the champagne that you
drink, and what you are enjoying is the champagne
that I drink. This is altruism; this is benevolence;
this is the sublime outcome of enlightened
modern thought. The pleasures of the table, in themselves,
are low and beastly ones; but if we each of us
are only glad because the others are enjoying them, they
become holy and glorious beyond description."

"They do," cried the curate rapturously, "indeed they
do. I will drink another bottle for your sake."

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

Some d--d people have come in, and I must stop.
By d--d, I mean deuced.

LAMB to WORDSWORTH.

Ours is so far-advanced an age!
Sensation-tales, a classic stage,
Commodious villas!
We boast high art, an Albert Hall,
Australian meats, and men who call
Their sires gorillas!

AUSTIN DOBSON, _Vignettes in Rhyme_.

It being asked at Paris whom they would have as
godfather for Rothschild's baby--"Talleyrand,"
said a Frenchman. "Pourquoi, monsieur?"
"Parcequ'il est le moins chrétien possible."

B. R. HAYDON, _Diary_.

Before the blast are driven the flying clouds--
(And I should like to blow a cloud as well,)
The vapours wrap the mountain-tops in shrouds--
(I left my mild cheroots at the hotel.)
Dotting the glassy surface of the stream,
(Oh, here's a cigarette--my mind's at ease.)
The boats move silently, as in a dream--
(Confound it! where on earth are my fusees?)

H. S. LEIGH, _Carols of Cockayne_.

Emile de Girardin, the famous political writer, a
natural son of Alexandre de Girardin, becoming
celebrated, Montrond said to his father,
"Dépêchez-vous de le reconnaître, ou bientôt il ne
vous reconnaîtra pas."

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine--
A sad, sour, sober beverage,--by time
Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavour,
Down to a very homely household savour.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

Lettuce is like conversation; it must be fresh,
and crisp, so sparkling that you scarcely notice
the bitter in it. Lettuce, like conversation,
requires a good deal of oil, to avoid friction, and
keep the company smooth; a pinch of attic salt; a
dash of pepper; a quantity of mustard and vinegar, by
all means, but so mixed that you will notice no sharp
contrasts; and a trifle of sugar.