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 n.o.body can deny.

Their vertebrae 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 n.o.body 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 t.i.tillate 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. PLANCHe, _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 sh.e.l.l 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 etre loue.

LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, _Reflexions_.

Would you adopt a strong logical att.i.tude, Bear this in mind, and, whatever you do, Always allow your opponent full lat.i.tude, Whether or not his a.s.sumption be true.

Then, when he manifests feelings of grat.i.tude Merely because you've not shut him up flat, Turn his pet paradox into a plat.i.tude With the remark, "Oh, of _course_, we know that!"

G.o.dFREY 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,-- Willc.o.x 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 gla.s.s-- As slowly I pa.s.s, This sweet little la.s.s 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?"