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SYDNEY SMITH, _apud_ LORD HOUGHTON.
_ON AN OFFERING MADE BY KING JAMES I. AT A GRAVE COMEDY CALLED "THE MARRIAGE OF ARTS."_
At Christ Church "Marriage," play'd before the King, Lest these learn'd mates should want an offering, The King himself did offer--what, I pray?
He offer'd, once or twice--to go away.
_A Collection of Epigrams_ (1727).
---- has only two ideas, and they are his legs, and they are spindle-shanked.
LADY ASHBURTON, _apud_ LORD HOUGHTON.
Dry as Compton's fun, Dry as author's pocket; Bright as that loved one Whose face adorns my locket; At the beaker's brim Beading brittle bubbles, Sea in which to swim, And cast away all troubles; Sea where sorrow sinks, Ne'er to rise again--oh, Blessedest of drinks, Welcome, "Pommery Greno!"
EDMUND YATES.
_ON CLOSE-FIST'S SUBSCRIPTION._
The charity of Close-Fist, give to fame:-- He has at last subscrib'd--how much?--his name.
ANON.
The late Bishop of Exeter and Baron Alderson were sitting next each other at a public dinner.
After the usual toasts had been drunk, the health of "The Navy" was proposed. Lord Campbell, expecting to have to return thanks for "The Bar,"
and not having heard the toast distinctly, got up. On which the late bishop whispered to Baron Alderson, "What is Campbell about? What is he returning thanks for the Navy for?" "Oh," answered the witty judge, "he has made a mistake. He thinks the word is spelt with a K."
J. C. YOUNG, _Diary_.
Song-birds darted about, some inky As coal, some snowy (I ween) as curds; Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky-- They reck of no eerie To-come, these birds!
But they skim over bents which the mill-stream washes, Or hang in the lift 'neath a white cloud's hem; They need no parasols, no goloshes; And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth them.
C. S. CALVERLEY, _Fly Leaves_.
The man who's fond precociously of stirring Must be a spoon.
THOMAS HOOD.
_ON ONE PETER AND HIS WIFE._
Outrageous hourly with his wife was Peter; Some do aver he has been known to beat her.
"She seems unhappy," said a friend one day; Peter turn'd sharply: "What is that you say?
Her temper you have there misunderstood: She dares not be unhappy if she would."
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
A man who puts a non-natural strained sense on a promise is no better than a robber.
_Rev. A. Debarry_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Felix Holt_.
_DISTICH._
What is a first love worth except to prepare for a second?
What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first.
JOHN HAY, _Poems_.
In [Lady Charlotte Lindsay's] later days, when once complimented on looking very well, she replied, "I dare say it's true--the bloom of ugliness is past."
LORD HOUGHTON, _Monographs_.
_IN VIRTUTEM._
Virtue we praise, yet practise not her good.
(Athenian-like) we act not what we know.
So many men do talk of Robin Hood Who never yet shot arrow from his bow.
THOMAS FREEMAN (_circa_ 1591-1614).
Scandal--what one half the world takes a pleasure in inventing, and the other half in believing.
HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.
_All's for the best_, indeed Such is My simple creed; Still I must go and weed Hard in my garden.
FREDERICK LOCKER, _London Lyrics_.
Where's the use of talking to a woman with babbies? She's got no conscience--no conscience--it's all run to milk.
_Bartle Ma.s.sey_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Adam Bede_.
Together must we seek That undiscovered country, from whose bourn No uncommercial travellers return.
