FLASHES OF REPARTEE
Hereditary Transmission
Madame Bonaparte (Betsy Patterson) once attended a state dinner, and was escorted to the table by Lord Dundas. He had already received some of her sarcastic speeches, and in a not very pleasant mood asked her whether she had read Mrs. Trollope’s book on America. She had. “Well, madame,” said the Englishman, “what do you think of her pronouncing all Americans vulgarians?” “I am not surprised at that,” answered sprightly Betsy Bonaparte. “Were all the Americans descendants of the Indians or the Esquimaux, I should be astonished; but being the direct descendants of the English, it would be very strange if they were not vulgarians.” There was no more heard from Lord Dundas that evening.
Fitting Answers
One sultry evening, Phœbe Cary, dressed as usual in a close-fitting bodice, entered the room where John G. Saxe and others were seated. Saxe greeted her with, “Miss Phœbe, why do you dress so closely in such hot weather? Look at me.” He had on a linen duster, and was fanning himself industriously. Phœbe replied instantly, “I never feel comfortable with loose sacks around me.”
On another occasion, at the tea-table, the question arose about the number of children John Rogers had—“nine small children and one at the breast.” The company were evenly divided whether there were nine or ten. Phœbe was appealed to, when she said, “Ten, of course.” “How do you reach such a positive decision?” some one asked. “Don’t nine and one to carry make ten?” was her reply.
Left-Handed Compliments
Leyden, having had a quarrel with the author of “The Pleasures of Hope,” once said to Sir Walter Scott,—
“You may tell Campbell that I hate him, but that he has written the best poetry that has been written for fifty years.”
Scott conveyed the message with fidelity, and Campbell replied,—
“Tell Leyden that I detest him, but I know the value of his critical approbation.”
Not Beyond Reach
Rev. Dr. Bethune asked a morose and miserly man how he was getting along. The man replied, “What business is that of yours?” Said the doctor, “Oh, sir, I am one of those who take an interest even in the meanest of God’s creatures.”
Limitation of Authority
Pope Paul IV. was so shocked at Michael Angelo’s undressed figures in his famous “Last Judgment,” that he employed Daniele da Volterra to clothe them; and he, in consequence, received the nickname of “Il Braghettone” (the breeches-maker). Michael Angelo, with his usual wit, punished Messer Biagio da Cesena, master of the ceremonies (who first suggested to the Pope the impropriety of nude figures), by painting him in hell, with ass’s ears, as Midas.
The story goes that Biagio implored the Pope to insist upon the removal of this caricature, whereupon Paul IV. replied:
“I might have released you from purgatory, but over hell I have no power!”
Like Topsy
When General Schenck was United States minister to England, the wife of a British cabinet officer assured him that “England made America all that she is.” “Pardon, madam,” said the general, “you remind me of the answer of the Ohio lad in his teens who, attending Sunday school for the first time, was asked by the teacher, ‘Who made you?’ ‘Made me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Why, God made me about so long (holding his hands about ten inches apart), but I growed the rest.’”
Opposite Effects
“The matrimonial fever seems to be raging in this vicinity,” said a smart young man to a young lady in a street car.
“Are you sure it only seems to be?” said she, not wishing to commit herself.
“It is raging about as bad as the yellow fever in the South last year,” said he, further pushing his opportunity.
“Yes,” she replied, in a utilitarian tone of voice, “but it has just the opposite effect upon the population.”
Maternity
“I never could bear children,” said a crusty old maid to Mrs. Partington. “Perhaps, if you could, you would like them better,” mildly replied the old lady.
Date of Possession
“Don’t you think,” said a husband, mildly rebuking his wife, “that women are possessed by the devil?” “Yes,” was the quick reply, “as soon as they are married.”
The Old Dominion
When a distinguished French abbe was making a visit to this country in the early days of our national history, he happened to be dining with some Washington celebrities, of whom John Randolph, of Roanoke, was one, and the place of whose residence was not known to the foreigner. The question was put to the abbe:
“And how were you pleased with the South?”
“Exceedingly; but I confess to having been a little disappointed—I had heard so much—in the Virginia gentlemen.”
“Perhaps you were unfortunate in your circle,” broke in Randolph, with a sneer. “You did not come to Roanoke, for instance.”
“True,” said the abbe, covering his evident annoyance at the rude tone with his usual calm smile. “True; the next time I visit Virginia I shall certainly go to Roanoke.”
“Gentlemen,” answered Randolph, emphasizing the word, “do not come to Roanoke unless they are invited!”
It was a cruel thrust, but the abbe took it in the same placid manner; and lifting his gray head, paused for a moment to give due emphasis to his words, and then replied, looking inquiringly at the other guests:
“Said I not, messieurs, that I was disappointed in Virginia gentlemen?”
No Jury Then and There
Allen, the Quaker, waited upon the Duke of Sussex to remind him of his promise to present a petition to abolish capital punishment. The duke did not seem to like the job, and observed that Scripture has declared, “Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.” “But please note,” replied the Quaker, “that when Cain killed Abel he was not hung for it.” “That’s true,” rejoined the duke, “but remember, Allen, there were not twelve men in the world then to make a jury.”
Each His Own Way
Among the anecdotes recalled by the death of M. Leverrier is one which describes M. Villemain, the secretary of the French Academy, as declaiming in the library one day in a vigorous manner against Napoleon III. Leverrier, who was an ardent imperialist, chanced to overhear some of his remarks, and demanded, “How dare you speak thus of the emperor in a public building?” Villemain looked up carelessly and replied, “And pray who may you be?” “You know me, sir,” said the astronomer. “Your face may be familiar to me, but I don’t exactly recall your name.” “Leverrier is my name.” “Oh, yes, Leverrier. Astronomer, I think? In his day I was intimately acquainted with M. Laplace; he was an astronomer, too,—and a gentleman.” “Sir,” said Leverrier, “I despise wit, but if you continue speaking thus I warn you that I shall report your words to the proper authorities.” “Well,” said Villemain, shrugging his shoulders, “every one has his way of making a living.”
Nature’s Painting
A young lady with very rosy cheeks, walking down Charles Street in Baltimore, overheard a clubman say, “By Heaven, she’s painted.” Turning quickly around, she said, “Yes, and by Heaven only.”
A Boomerang
Some years ago several army officers were stopping at a hotel in Washington. Among them were a Captain Emerson and a Captain Jones. Emerson and Jones used to have a good deal of fun together at the dinner-table and elsewhere. One day at the dinner-table, when the dining-hall was well filled, Captain Jones finished his dinner first, got up, and walked almost to the dining-hall door, when Emerson called to him in a loud voice: “Hallo, captain! see here. I want to speak to you a minute.” The captain turned and walked back to the table and bent over him, when Emerson whispered, “I wanted to ask you how far you would have gone if I had not spoken to you.” The captain never changed a muscle, but straightened up and put his fingers into his vest pocket and said, “Captain Emerson, I don’t know of a man in the world I would rather lend five dollars to than you, but the fact is I haven’t a cent with me to-day,” and he turned on his heel and walked away. Emerson was the color of a dozen rainbows, but he had to stand it.
Relationship
As my wife and I at the window one day,
Stood watching a man with a monkey,
A cart came by with a “broth of a boy,”
Who was driving a stout little donkey.
To my wife I then spoke, by way of a joke,
“There’s a relation of yours in that carriage,”
To which she replied, as the donkey she spied,
“Ah, yes, a relation by marriage.”
Decay’s Effacement
In an action that was tried in an English court, when the question in dispute was as to the quality and condition of a gas-pipe that had been laid down many years before, a witness stated that it was an old pipe, and therefore out of condition. The judge remarking that “people do not necessarily get out of condition by being old,” the witness promptly answered, “They do, my lord, if buried in the ground.”
A Woman’s Revenge
Sophie Arnould was a last century favorite, whose voice gave way in youth, and of her the Abbe Galiani caustically said, “She has the finest asthma I ever heard.” But the lady revenged herself, if not on him, on the religious order to which he belonged. Hearing that a capuchin had been eaten by wolves, she exclaimed, “Poor beasts! what a dreadful thing hunger must be!”
Best for Her
An old bachelor, picking up a book, exclaimed, upon seeing a woodcut representing a man kneeling at the feet of a woman, “Before I would ever kneel to a woman I would encircle my neck with a rope and stretch it!” And then, turning to a young woman, he inquired, “Do you not think it would be the best thing I could do?” “It would, undoubtedly, be the best for the woman.”
Ecclesiastical Tit-for-Tat
Two young men who had been chums in college entered the ministry. One became a Baptist, the other an Episcopalian. They did not meet again for several years. When brought together once more, the Baptist invited the Episcopalian to preach from his pulpit, which, though out of the usual course, he did, to the great satisfaction of the congregation. Sermon over, the two divines ducked their heads behind the breastwork of the preaching desk, and held the following colloquy: “Fine sermon, Tom; much obliged. Sorry I can’t repay your kindness for preaching by asking you to stay to our communion. Can’t though, you know, because you have never been baptized.” “Oh, don’t concern yourself about that, Jim. I couldn’t receive the communion at your hands because you have never been ordained.”
Even Chances
He was an entire stranger to the girls present, and the boys were mean and would not introduce him. He finally plucked up courage, and, stepping up to a young lady, requested the pleasure of her company for the next dance. She looked at him in surprise, and informed him that she had not the pleasure of his acquaintance. “Well,” remarked the young man, “you don’t take any more chances than I do.”
A Quick-Witted Damsel
A young lady was sitting with a gallant captain in a charmingly decorated recess. On her knee was a diminutive niece, placed there pour les convenances. In the adjoining room, with the door open, were the rest of the company. Says the little niece, in a jealous and very audible voice, “Auntie, kiss me, too.” What had just happened may be easily imagined. “You should say twice, Ethel dear; two is not grammar,” was the immediate rejoinder. Clever girl that!
Meeting an Emergency
It is related of Compton, the English comedian, that he happened to stop at a hotel where a meeting of clergymen had just been ended, and the preachers were about to dine. The landlord, seeing his white tie and long black coat, mistook him for a minister, and said he was sure the Dean would be pleased to have the visitor dine with them. “I thank you,” answered Compton, who was very hungry. “I have no card. You can say, the Rev. Mr. Payne, who is passing through the town.” The Dean not only invited Compton to dine, but seated him at his right, and, through courtesy, asked him to say grace. Compton felt a cold chill run through him, but, with perfect presence of mind, he recalled the opening part of the church service, and solemnly said, “O Lord, open thou our lips, and our mouths shall show forth thy praise.”
Declined with Thanks
When Mr. Wilberforce, the great anti-slavery advocate (the father of the late Bishop of Winchester), was once a candidate for parliamentary honors, his sister, an amiable and witty young lady, offered the compliment of a new gown to each of the wives of those freemen who voted for her brother, on which she was saluted with the cry of “Miss Wilberforce forever!” when she pleasantly observed, “I thank you, gentlemen; but I cannot agree with you, for I really do not wish to be ‘Miss Wilberforce’ forever.”
A Courteous Retort
A good illustration of “the retort courteous” was given to Count Herbert Bismarck, the rough-and-rude son of Prince Bismarck, on the occasion of the German Emperor’s visit to Rome. At the railway station Count Herbert pushed rudely against an Italian dignitary, who was watching the proceedings. The dignitary, greatly incensed, remonstrated forcibly against such unceremonious treatment, whereupon Count Herbert turned around haughtily and said,—
“I don’t think you know who I am. I am Count Herbert Bismarck.”
“That,” replied the Italian, bowing politely, “as an excuse, is insufficient, but as an explanation it is ample.”
Bearding the Lion
(Snoggs, the Lion Comique of the music halls, has made himself unendurably offensive by his vulgar familiarity.) Lion Comique: “Dunno me? Well, you ought to; my name is in the papers often enough.” Irritated Swell: “I daresay; but I seldom if ever read the police reports!”
Distinction With a Difference
Dr. St. John Roosa, of New York, in the course of a speech which he made at the dinner of the State Medical Society, emphasized a point by telling a story. A person not entirely well up in music asked a professor of music if Mendelssohn was still composing. “No,” was the reply, “he is still decomposing.”
Future Provision
A refractory Boston youngster was being sharply rebuked by his mother for his numerous transgressions.
“Harry, Harry,” she exclaimed, “if you behave in that way, you will worry your father and mother to death; and what will you do without any father and mother?”
“The Lord is my shepherd,” said the small boy; “I shall not want.”
Which went to prove that his Sunday-school training had not been entirely lost on him.
Sumner’s Legal Learning
When Charles Sumner visited Europe the first time, he took with him letters from Judge Story. At one time he was invited to sit with the Lord Chief-Justice of the King’s Bench. During the trial a point arose which seemed a novel one. The Lord Chief-Justice turned to Sumner and asked him if there were any American decisions on that point. “No, your lordship,” he replied, “but this point has been decided in your lordship’s court in such a case,” giving him the citation. This remarkable readiness gave him éclat throughout the kingdom.
Walk vs. Conversation
A tutor of one of the Oxford colleges who limped in his walk was some years after accosted by a well-known politician, who asked him if he was not the chaplain of the college at such a time, naming the year. The doctor replied that he was. The interrogator observed, “I knew you by your limp.” “Well,” said the doctor, “it seems my limping made a deeper impression than my preaching.” “Ah, doctor,” was the reply, with ready wit, “it is the highest compliment we can pay a minister, to say that he is known by his walk rather than by his conversation.”
The Last Chance
Some years ago Phillips Brooks was recovering from an illness, and was denying himself to all visitors, when Robert G. Ingersoll called. The bishop received him at once. “I appreciate this very much,” said Mr. Ingersoll, “but why do you see me when you deny yourself to your friends?”
“It is this way,” said the bishop; “I feel confident of seeing my friends in the next world, but this may be my last chance of seeing you.”
Divine Knowledge
An itinerant called on John Bunyan one day with “a message from the Lord,” saying he had been to half the jails in England in search of him, and was glad at last to find him. To which Bunyan replied, “If the Lord had sent you, you would not have needed to take so much trouble to find me out, for He knew that I have been in Bedford Jail these seven years past.”
A Quaint Reproof—Acceptability Without a Dress Suit
Ramsay, in his “Scottish Characteristics,” says, “A well-known member of the Scottish bar, when a youth, was very foppish, and short and sharp in his temper. He was going to pay a visit in the country, and was making a great fuss in preparing and putting up his habiliments. His old aunt was much annoyed at all this bustle, and stopped him with the somewhat contemptuous question, ‘Whaur’s this you’re gaun’, Robbie, that ye mak sic a grand wark about yer claes?’ The young man lost temper, and pettishly replied, ‘I’m going to the devil.’ ‘’Deed, Robbie, then’, was the quiet answer, ‘ye needna be sae nice; he’ll juist tak’ ye as ye are.’”
Marriage in Heaven
Says Sylvia to a reverend Dean,
“What reason can be given,
Since marriage is a holy thing,
That there is none in heaven?”
“There are no women,” he replied.
She quick returns the jest:
“Women there are, but I’m afraid
They cannot find a priest.”
Force and Argument
Many persons who have seen the following lines of Dr. Trapp on a regiment being sent to Oxford, and at the same time a valuable library sent to Cambridge, by George I. in 1715, have not seen the answer which they provoked:
The king, observing with judicious eyes
The state of both his universities,
To Oxford sent a troop of horse; and why?
That learned body wanted loyalty:
To Cambridge books he sent, as well discerning
How much that loyal body wanted learning.
The answer came from Sir William Browne, a physician of Lynn in Norfolk:
The King to Oxford sent a troop of horse,
For Tories own no argument but force;
With equal skill to Cambridge books he sent,
For Whigs admit no force but argument.
The Condemned Jester
Horace Smith, one of the authors of the “Rejected Addresses,” tells us that a king of Scanderoon had a jester who played audacious tricks on the royal family, the courtiers, and persons of great distinction. But at length, emboldened by long tolerance of his freaks and hoaxes, the buffoon went too far:
Some sin, at last, beyond all measure
Incurred the desperate displeasure
Of his serene and raging highness;
Whether he twitched his most revered
And sacred beard
Or had intruded on the shyness
Of the seraglio, or let fly
An epigram at royalty,
None knows—his sin was an occult one;
But records tell us that the sultan,
Meaning to terrrify the knave,
Exclaimed, “’Tis time to stop that breath;
Thy doom is sealed, presumptuous slave!
Thou stand’st condemned to certain death.
Silence, base rebel! no replying.
But such is my indulgence still
Out of my own free grace and will,
I leave to thee the mode of dying.”
“Thy royal will be done—’tis just,”
Replied the wretch, and kissed the dust;
“Since, my last moments to assuage,
Your majesty’s humane decree
Has deigned to leave the choice to me,
I’ll die, so please you, of old age!”
Marjorie
“Oh, dear,” said Farmer Brown one day,
“I never saw such weather!
The rain will spoil my meadow-hay
And all my crops together.”
His little daughter climbed his knee;
“I guess the sun will shine,” said she.
“But if the sun,” said Farmer Brown,
“Should bring a dry September,
With vines and stalks all wilted down,
And fields scorched to an ember”—
“Why then ’twill rain,” said Marjorie,
The little girl upon his knee.
“Ah, me!” sighed Farmer Brown, that fall,
“Now what’s the use of living?
No plan of mine succeeds at all”—
“Why, next month comes Thanksgiving,
And then, of course,” said Marjorie,
“We’re all as happy as can be.”
“Well, what should I be thankful for?”
Asked Farmer Brown. “My trouble
This summer has grown more and more,
My losses have been double,
I’ve nothing left”—“Why, you’ve got me!”
Said Marjorie, upon his knee.