Chapter C: S. CALVERLEY, Fly Leaves

"Certainly, my Lord," said the attendant.
"He knows me," thought Lothair; but it
was not so. When the British nation is at
once grateful and enthusiastic, they always call you "my
Lord."

LORD BEACONSFIELD's _Lothair_.

_THE RECOGNITION._

Home they brought her sailor son,
Grown a man across the sea,
Tall and broad and black of beard,
And hoarse of voice as man may be.

Hand to shake and mouth to kiss,
Both he offered ere he spoke;
And she said--"What man is this
Comes to play a sorry joke?"

Then they praised him--call'd him "smart,"
"Tightest lad that ever stept;"
But her son she did not know,
And she neither smiled nor wept.

Rose, a nurse of ninety years,
Set a pigeon-pie in sight;
She saw him eat--"'Tis he! 'tis he!"
She knew him--by his appetite!

WILLAM SAWYER.

Lord Allen, being rather the worse for drinking
too much wine at dinner, teased Count D'Orsay,
and said some very disagreeable things, which
irritated him; when suddenly John Bush entered the
club and shook hands with the Count, who exclaimed,
"Voilà, la différence entre une bonne _bouche_ et une mauvaise
_haleine_."

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

_ANOTHER WAY._

When lovely woman, Lump of Folly,
Would show the world her vainest trait;
Would treat herself as child her dolly,
And warn each man of sense away;
The surest method she'll discover
To prompt a wink from every eye,
Degrade a spouse, disgust a lover,
And spoil a scalp-skin, is--to dye.

SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.

The bean is a graceful, confiding, engaging vine;
but you can never put beans into poetry, nor
into the highest sort of prose. Corn is the child
of song. It waves in all literature. But mix it with
beans, and its high tone is gone. The bean is a vulgar
vegetable, without culture, or any flavour of high society
among vegetables.