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

_THE REASONS FOR DRINKING._

If all be true that I do think,
There are five reasons we should drink:
Good wine; a friend; or being dry;
Or lest we should be by-and-by;
Or any other reason why.

HENRY ALDRICH.

[Barham] having expressed himself in terms of
abhorrence of a piece of baseness and treachery
which came under his notice, he was addressed
by the delinquent with--"Well, sir, perhaps some day
you may come to change your opinion of me!" "Perhaps
I may, sir," was the reply; "for if I should find
any one who holds a more contemptible opinion of you
than I do myself, I should lay down my own and take up
his."

R. H. D. BARHAM, _Life of Barham_.

_FALSE LOVE'S QUIRK._

"Oh, sweet one!" sighs the lover,
"Could I but this discover,--
Thy breast so softly moving,
Will it ever cease from loving?"

Says she, her eyes upturning,
"The love within me burning
No time can ever smother"--
For some one or another!

LORD SOUTHESK, _Greenwood's Farewell_.

Benjamin Constant, on some one asking
(with reference to his book on religion) how he
managed to reconcile the statements of his
latter volumes with those of his first, published so long
ago, answered, "Il n'y a rien qui s'arrange aussi facilement
que les faits."

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

I'm told that virgins augur some
Misfortune if their shoe-strings come
To grief on Friday:
And so did Di, and then her pride
Decreed that shoe-strings so untied
Are "so untidy!"

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

On one occasion the late Lady Holland took
[Luttrell] a drive in her carriage over a rough
road; and as she was very nervous, she insisted
on being driven at a foot's pace. This ordeal lasted
some hours, and when he was at last released, poor
Luttrell, perfectly exasperated, rushed into the nearest
club-house, and exclaimed, clenching his teeth and
hands, "The very funerals passed us!"

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

_TO A YOUNG LADY._

An original something dear maid, you would win me
To write, but how shall I begin?
For I fear I have nothing original in me--
Excepting Original Sin.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

La société est un état de guerre, réglé par les lois.

_L'Art de Parvenir._

Perchance it was her eyes of blue,
Her cheeks that might the rose have shamed,
Her figure in proportion true
To all the rules by artists framed;
Perhaps it was her mental worth
That made her lover love her so,
Perhaps her name, or wealth, or birth,--
I cannot tell--I do not know.

He may have had a rival, who
Did fiercely gage him to a duel,
And being the luckiest of the two
Defeated him with triumph cruel;
Then _she_ may have proved false, and turned
To welcome to her arms his foe,
Left _him_ despairing, conquer'd, spurned,--
I cannot tell--I do not know.

_Songs of Singularity._

It is of no use to tell a neighbour that his hens
eat your tomatoes: it makes no impression on
him, for the tomatoes are not his. The best
way is to casually remark to him that he has a fine lot of
chickens, pretty well grown, and that you like spring
chickens broiled. He will take them away at once.