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

_ON ONE WEARING FALSE HAIR._

They say that thou dost tinge (O monstrous lie!)
The hair that thou so raven-black dost buy.

LUCILIUS, trans. by R. GARNETT.

A nation does wisely if not well, in starving her
men of genius. Fatten them, and they are done
for.

CHARLES BUXTON, _Notes of Thought_.

When the enterprising burglar's not a-burgling,
When the cut-throat isn't occupied with crime
He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling,
And listen to the merry village chime.
When the coster's finished jumping on his mother,
He loves to lie a-basking in the sun--
Oh! take one consideration with another,
The policeman's lot is not a happy one!

W. S. GILBERT, _Pirates of Penzance_.

The young girl said: "The gentleman must be very
rich, for he is very ugly." The public judges in
a similar manner: "The man must be very
learned, for he is very tiresome."

HEINRICH HEINE, _Thoughts and Fancies_.

And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and
laughed with laughter hearty,
He was so wonderfully active for so very stout
a party.

And I said, "O gentle pie-man, why so very, very merry?
Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?"

W. S. GILBERT, _Bab Ballads_.

Speculation--a word that sometimes begins
with its second letter.

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

He remembers the ball at the Ferry,
And the ride, and the gate, and the vow,
And the rose that you gave him--that very
Same rose he is treasuring now
(Which his blanket he's kicked on his trunk, Miss,
And insists on his legs being free;
And his language to me from his bunk, Miss,
Is frequent and painful and free).

BRET HARTE, _Complete Works_.

Nous ne trouvons guère de gens de bons sens que
ceux qui sont de notre avis.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.

_FRENCH AND ENGLISH._

The French excel us very much in millinery;
They also bear the bell in matters culinary.
The reason's plain: French beauty and French meat
With English cannot of themselves compete.
Thus, an inferior article possessing,
Our neighbours help it by superior dressing;
They dress their dishes, and they dress their dames,
Till Art, almost, can rival Nature's claims.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

Priority is a poor recommendation in a husband
if he has got no other.

_Mrs. Cadwallader_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Middlemarch_.

If spirits you would lighten
Consult good Doctor Brighton,
And swallow his prescriptions and abide by his decree:
If nerves be weak or shaken
Just try a week with Bacon,
His physic soon is taken--
At our London-by-the-Sea.

J. ASHBY STERRY, _Boudoir Ballads_.

The then Duke of Cumberland (the foolish Duke,
as he was called) came one night into Foote's
green-room at the Haymarket Theatre. "Well,
Foote," said he, "here I am, ready, as usual, to swallow
your good things." "Upon my soul," replied Foote,
"your Royal Highness must have an excellent digestion,
for you never bring any up again."

ROGERS, _Table Talk_.

There's folks born to property, and there's folks
catch hold on it; and the law's made for them
as catch hold.

_Tommy Trounsem_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Felix Holt_.

Examining one of the Sunday school boys at
Addington, I asked him what a prophet was.
He did not know. "If I were to tell you what
would happen to you this day twelve month, and it should
come to pass, what would you call me then, my little
man?" "A fortune-teller, sir."

R. H. BARHAM, _Diary_.

Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers;
Some play the devil, and then write a novel.

LORD BYRON, _Don Juan_.

Being one day at Trinity College, at dinner,
[Donne] was asked to write a motto for the
College snuff-box, which was always circulating
on the dinner-table. "Considering where we are," said
Donne, "there could be nothing better than 'Quicunque
vult.'"

CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.

Critics tell me, soon
There'll be no singing in a song,
No melody in tune.
But birds will warble in the trees,
Nor for the critics care;
And in the murmur of the breeze
We yet may find some air.

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Songs and Poems_.

Mr. Bentley proposed to establish a periodical
publication, to be called "The Wits' Miscellany."
[James] Smith objected that the title promised
too much. Shortly afterwards the publisher came to
tell him he had profited by the hint, and resolved to call
it "Bentley's Miscellany." "Isn't that going a little too
far the other way?" was the remark.

ABRAHAM HAYWARD, _Essays_.

Break, break, break!
My cups and saucers, O scout;
And I'm glad that my tongue can't utter
The oaths that my soul points out.

It is well for the china-shop man
Who gets a fresh order each day;
And it's deucedly well for yourself,
Who are in the said china-man's pay.

And my stately vases go
To your uncle's, I ween, to be cashed;
And it's oh for the light of my broken lamp,
And the tick of my clock that is smashed.

Break, break, break!
At the foot of my stairs in glee;
But the coin I have spent in glass that is cracked
Will never come back to me.

_The Shotover Papers._

Croly said very smart things, and with surprising
readiness. I was at his table one day when one
of the guests inquired the name of a pyramidal
dish of barley-sugar. Some one replied, "A pyramid
_à Macédoine_." "For what use?" rejoined the other.
"To give a _Philip_ to the appetite," said Croly.

W. H. HARRISON, _Reminiscences_.

_ON SOME VERSES CALLED TRIFLES._

Paul, I have read your book, and though you write ill,
I needs must praise your most judicious title.

ANON.

Mrs. Posh was one of those incomparable wives
who have a proper command of tongue, who
never reply to angry words at the moment, and
who always, with exquisite calm and self-posession, pay
off every angry word by an amiable sting at the right
moment.

LORD LYTTON, _What will he do with it?_

_TO LADY BROWN._

When I was young and _débonnaire_,
The brownest nymph to me was fair;
But now I'm old, and wiser grown,
The fairest nymph to me is Brown.

GEORGE, LORD LYTTLETON.

When last the Queen was about to be confined,
the Prince Consort said to one of his little boys,
"I think it very likely, my dear, that the Queen
will present you with a little brother or sister; which of
the two would you prefer?" The child, pausing--"Well,
I think, if it is all the same to mamma, I should
prefer a pony."

J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.

Some ladies now make pretty songs,
And some make pretty nurses:
Some men are great at righting wrongs,--
And some at writing verses.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

Follow the light of the old-fashioned Presbyterians
that I've heard sing at Glasgow. The
preacher gives out the Psalm, and then everybody
sings a different tune, as it happens to turn up in
their throats. It's a domineering thing to set a tune
and expect everybody else to follow it. It's a denial of
private judgment.

_Felix Holt_, in GEORGE ELIOT's novel.

_ON A CERTAIN RADICAL._

Bloggs rails against high birth. Yes, Bloggs--you see
Your ears are longer than your pedigree.

JAMES HANNAY, _Sketches and Characters_.

I like neighbours, and I like chickens; but I do
not think they ought to be united near a garden.