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

An ape with a pliable thumb and big brain,
When the gift of the gab he had managed to gain,
As a lord of creation established his reign,
Which nobody can deny.

But I'm sadly afraid, if we do not take care,
A relapse to low life may our prospects impair,
So of beastly propensities let us beware,
Which nobody can deny.

Their lofty position our children may lose,
And, reduced to all-fours, must then narrow their views,
Which would shortly unfit them for wearing our shoes,
Which nobody can deny.

Their vertebræ next might be taken away,
When they'd sink to an oyster, or insect, some day,
Or the pitiful part of a polypus play,
Which nobody can deny.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

It's dreadful to think on, people playing with their
own insides in that way! And it's flying i' the
face o' Providence; for what are the doctors for,
if we aren't to call 'em in?

_Mrs. Pullet_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Mill on the Floss_.

Brief, in two rules he summed the ends of man--
Keep all you have, and try for all you can!

LORD LYTTON, _King Arthur_.

_LOVE SONG._

What mistress half so dear as mine,
Half so well dressed, so pungent, fragrant,
Who can such attributes combine,
To charm the constant, fix the vagrant?
Who can display such varied arts,
To suit the taste of saint and sinner,
Who go so near to touch their hearts,
As thou, my darling dainty dinner?

Still my breast holds a rival queen,
A bright-eyed nymph of sloping shoulders,
Whose ruddy cheeks and graceful mien
Entrance the sense of all beholders.
Oh! when thy lips to mine are pressed,
What transports titillate my throttle!
My love can find new life and zest,
In thee, and thee alone, my bottle!

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

Fashion with us is like the man in one of Le
Sage's novels, who was constantly changing his
servants, and yet had but one suit of livery,
which every newcomer, whether he was tall or short, fat
or thin, was obliged to wear.

_Wormwood_, in LORD LYTTON's _Pelham_.

Unmarketable maidens of the mart,
Who, plumpness gone, fine delicacy feint,
And hide your sins in piety and paint.

ALFRED AUSTIN, _The Season_.

Seeing O. Smith, the popular melodramatic actor,
on the opposite side of the Strand, Knowles
rushed across the road, seized him by the hand,
and inquired eagerly after his health. Smith, who only
knew him by sight, said, "I think, Mr. Knowles, you
are mistaken; I am O. Smith." "My dear fellow," cried
Knowles, "I beg you ten thousand pardons: I took
you for your _namesake_, T. P. Cooke!"

J. R. PLANCHÉ, _Recollections_.

_A PRACTICAL ANSWER._

_Says Hyam to Moses,
"Let's cut off our noses,"
Says Moses to Hyam,
"Ma tear, who would buy 'em?"_

SHIRLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.

Turnips should never be pulled: it injures them.
It is much better to send a boy up and let him
shake the tree.

MARK TWAIN, _Choice Works_.

He lived in a cave by the seas,
He lived upon oysters and foes,
But his list of forbidden degrees
An extensive morality shows;
Geological evidence goes
To prove he had never a pan,
But he shaved with a shell when he chose,--
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.

He worshipped the rain and the breeze,
He worshipped the river that flows,
And the dawn, and the moon, and the trees,
And bogies, and serpents, and crows;
He buried his dead with their toes
Tucked-up, an original plan,
Till their knees came right under their nose,--
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.

ANDREW LANG, _Ballades in Blue China_.

On ne loue d'ordinaire que pour être loué.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Réflexions_.

Would you adopt a strong logical attitude,
Bear this in mind, and, whatever you do,
Always allow your opponent full latitude,
Whether or not his assumption be true.
Then, when he manifests feelings of gratitude
Merely because you've not shut him up flat,
Turn his pet paradox into a platitude
With the remark, "Oh, of _course_, we know that!"

GODFREY TURNER.

The gentle reader, who may wax unkind,
And, caring little for the author's ease,
Insist on knowing what he means--a hard
And hapless situation for a bard.

LORD BYRON, _Beppo_.

My dear, when you have a clergyman in your
family you must accommodate your tastes: I
did that very early. When I married Humphrey,
I made up my mind to like sermons, and I set out by
liking the end very much. That soon spread to the
middle and the beginning, because I couldn't have the
end without them.

_Mrs. Cadwallader_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Middlemarch_.

Great theologians, talk not of Trinity:
Heretics, plague us no more with your fibs;
One question only, Which is the Divinity,--
Willcox or Gibbs?

MORTIMER COLLINS, _The British Birds_.

"Is that the contents you are looking at?" inquired
an anxious author, who saw Rogers's eye
fixed on a table or list at the commencement
of a presentation copy of a new work. "No," said
Rogers, pointing to the list of subscribers, "the _dis_-contents."

A. HAYWARD, _Essays_.

The river's like glass--
As slowly I pass,
This sweet little lass
Raises two
Forget-me-not eyes
In laughing surprise--
From canoe.
And as I float by,
Said I, "Miss, O why?
O why may not I
Drift with you?"
Said she, with a start,
"I've no room in my heart--
Or canoe!"

J. ASHBY STERRY, _Boudoir Ballads_.

Kenny one day mentioned Charles Lamb's being
once bored by a lady praising to him "such a
charming man!" etc., etc.; ending with, "I know
him, bless him!" On which Lamb said, "Well, I don't,
but d---- him at a hazard."

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.

LEWIS CARROLL, _Hunting of the Snark_.

I remember being present at a dinner in
London, when a very severe and saturnine
Scotch Presbyterian was abusing Sunday newspapers,
and concluded a violent tirade by saying, "I
am determined to set my face against them." "So am I,"
said Theodore Hook, "every Sunday morning."

GRONOW, _Recollections_.

_ON A RADICAL REFORMER._

Tomkins will clear the land, they say,
From every foul abuse;
So chimneys in the olden time
Were cleansèd by a goose.

JAMES HANNAY, _Sketches and Characters_.

I was mentioning that some one had said of
Sharpe's very dark complexion that he looked
as if the dye of his old trade (hat making) had
got engrained into his face. "Yes," said Luttrell, "darkness
that may be _felt_!"

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

It seems that poor Bruin has never had peace
'Twixt bald men in Bethel, and wise men in grease.

FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.

The term _sound divine_ being used, I said, "I do
not know what is a sound divine," quoting Pope--
"'Dulness is sacred in a sound divine.'"
"But I do," said Donaldson. "It is a divine who is
_vox et præterea nihil_."

CRABB ROBINSON, _Diary_.

Plain food is quite enough for me;
Three courses are as good as ten;
If Nature can subsist on three,
Thank heaven for three--Amen!
I always thought cold victual nice--
My _choice_ should be vanilla-ice.

I care not much for gold or land;
Give me a mortgage here or there;
Some good bank-stock, some note of hand,
Or trifling railroad share:--
I only ask that fortune send
A _little_ more than I shall spend.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

Some one saying to Sir F. Gould, "I am told you
eat three eggs _every day at breakfast_,"--"No,"
answered Gould, "on the contrary." Some of
those present asked, "What was the contrary of eating
three eggs?" "Laying three eggs, I suppose," said
Luttrell.

THOMAS MOORE, _Diary_.

Blossom of hawthorn whitens in May:
Never an end to true love's sway!
Blossom of hawthorn fades in June:
I shall be tired of my true love soon!
Blossom of hawthorn's gone in July:
Darling, I must be off,--good-bye!

ANON.

The late Mr. Nightingale was telling Horace Smith
of his having given a late royal duke an account
of an accident he had met with when he had been
run away with, and of the duke's exclaiming aloud to himself,
when he heard he had jumped out of the carriage,
"Fool! fool!" "Now," said the narrator to his auditor,
"it's all very well for him to call me a fool, but I can't
conceive why he should. Can you?" "No," replied
the wag, as if reflecting, "because he could not suppose
you ignorant of the fact."

J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.

Such are the sylvan scenes that thrill
This heart! The lawns, the happy shade
Where matrons, whom the sunbeams grill,
Stir with slow spoon their lemonade;
And maidens flirt (no extra charge)
In comfort at the fountain's marge!