alt="T"/> HERE'S somewhat on my breast, father, There's somewhat on my breast; The livelong day I sigh, father, And at night I cannot rest. 'Tis not the lack of gold, father, Nor want of worldly gear; My lands are broad, and fair to see, My friends are kind and dear. 'Tis not that Janet's false, father, 'Tis not that she's unkind; Though busy flatterers swarm around, I know her constant mind. 'Tis not her coldness, father, That chills my labouring breast: It's that confounded cucumber I've eat and can't digest.
R. H. Barham, Ingoldsby Lyrics.
NSOLENCE is a charming quality, when, like mercy, it is not strained.
Once a Week.
NCIENT Phillis has young graces, 'Tis a strange thing, but a true one! Shall I tell you how? She, herself, makes her own faces, And each morning wears a new one; Where's the wonder now?
Lord Froth, in Congreve 's Double Dealer.
ÉLÉBRITÉ—l'avantage d'être connu de ceux que vous ne connaissez pas.
Chamfort, Maximes.
IS past all bearing, when a husband slights his bride, Who last Christmas still was blushing at her elder sister's side; Still on some minute allowance finding collars, boots, and gloves, Still to cousinly flirtations limiting her list of loves, Still by stern domestic edict charged on no account to read Any of Miss Brontë's novels, or to finish Adam Bede.
First Lady, in Trevelyan's Ladies in Parliament.
DIFFER from all the ordinary biographers of that independent gentleman Don't Care. I believe Don't Care came to a good end. At any rate he came to some end. Whereas numbers of people never have beginning, or ending, of their own.
Ellesmere, in Helps's Friends in Council.
DISTICH.
ISELY a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her. This one may love her some day; some day the lover will not.
John Hay, Poems.
NE morning [Jerrold and Compton] proceeded together to view the pictures in the Gallery of Illustration. On entering the ante-room, they found themselves opposite to a number of very long looking-glasses. Pausing before one of these, [Compton] remarked to Jerrold, "You've come here to admire works of art! Very well, first feast your eyes on that work of nature!"—pointing to his own figure reflected in the glass; "look at it, there's a picture for you!" "Yes," said Jerrold, regarding it intently, "very fine, very fine indeed!" Then, turning to his friend: "Wants hanging, though!"
Memoir of Henry Compton.
ING for the garish eye, When moonless brandlings cling! Let the froddering crooner cry, And the braddled sapster sing. For never, and never again, Will the tottering beechlings play, For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud, And the throngers croon in May!
W. S. Gilbert.
YDNEY SMITH said of a certain quarrelsome person that his very face was a breach of the peace.
J. T. Fields, Yesterdays with Authors.
ERCHIEF in hand I saw them stand; In every kerchief lurked a lunch; When they unfurl'd them it was grand To watch bronzed men and maidens crunch The sounding celery-stick, or ram The knife into the blushing ham. Dash'd the bold fork through pies of pork; O'er hard-boil'd eggs the saltspoon shook; Leapt from its lair the playful cork: Yet some there were, to whom the brook Seemed sweetest beverage, and for meat They chose the red root of the beet.
C. S. Calverley, Fly Leaves.
F all virtues, magnanimity is the rarest. There are a hundred persons of merit for one who willingly acknowledges it in another.
W. Hazlitt, Characteristics.
ISNESS first, pleasure artervards, as King Richard the Third said ven he stabbed the tother king in the Tower, afore he murdered the babbies.
Charles Dickens, apud J. T. Fields.
E are all of us liable to this error of imagining that we are grieved at a fault, when we are only grieved at having done something to lower ourselves in our own estimation.
E. M. Sewell, Margaret Percival.
TREMBLED once beneath her spell Whose spelling was extremely so-so.
Frederick Locker, London Lyrics.
T'S easy finding reasons why other folks should be patient.
Bartle Massey, in George Eliot's Adam Bede.
OUR TRAVELLER.
F thou wouldst stand on Etna's burning brow, With smoke above, and roaring flames below; And gaze adown that molten gulf reveal'd Till thy soul shudder'd, and thy senses reel'd;— If thou wouldst beard Niagara in his pride, Or stem the billows of Propontic tide; Scale all alone some dizzy Alpine haut, And shriek "Excelsior!" amidst the snow;— Wouldst tempt all deaths, all dangers that may be, Perils by land, and perils on the sea— This vast round world, I say, if thou wouldst view it, Then why the dickens don't you go and do it?
H. Cholmondeley Pennell, Puck on Pegasus.
AM saddest when I sing; so are those who hear me. They are sadder even than I am.
alt="T"/> HERE'S somewhat on my breast, father, There's somewhat on my breast; The livelong day I sigh, father, And at night I cannot rest. 'Tis not the lack of gold, father, Nor want of worldly gear; My lands are broad, and fair to see, My friends are kind and dear. 'Tis not that Janet's false, father, 'Tis not that she's unkind; Though busy flatterers swarm around, I know her constant mind. 'Tis not her coldness, father, That chills my labouring breast: It's that confounded cucumber I've eat and can't digest.
