CONCISE AND TO THE POINT.
Spartan brevity of speech is still sometimes amusingly illustrated. A most worthy man, unaccustomed to public speaking, being suddenly called upon to address a Sunday school, rose to his feet, and, after vainly struggling for utterance, at last hoarsely muttered: ‘Dear children, don’t ever play with powder.’—The following gallant toast was lately given at a military dinner in Carolina: ‘The ladies—our arms their protection—their arms our reward.’
‘Don’t eat stale Q-cumbers. They will W up,’ is the terse advice of some wit.—Announcements on shop-signs expressed in the succinct style of one connected with a certain restaurant in New York, should serve as startling advertisements: ‘Lunch, 75 cents; square meal, 1 dollar; perfect gorge, 1 dollar 25 cents.’—In the same city, a shopkeeper is said to have stuck upon his door this laconic advertisement: ‘A boy wanted.’ On going to his shop next morning, he beheld a smiling little urchin in a basket, with the following pithy label: ‘Here he is!’—A penny-a-liner would hardly find much employment on the Kansas paper which informed the public that ‘Mr Blank of Missouri got to owning horses that didn’t belong to him, and the next thing he knew he couldn’t get his feet down to the ground.’ Lynched, probably.—A Western writer, speaking of a new play just written by a gentleman of Cincinnati, says: ‘The unities are admirably observed; the dullness which commences with the first act, never flags for a moment until the curtain falls.’
The characteristics of several nations have been summed up in the following concise form: The first thing a Spaniard does on founding a colony is to build a gallows; a Portuguese, to build a church; an Englishman, a drinking-booth; and a Frenchman, a dancing-floor.
A cobbler visited one of the large manufactories the other day, and for the first time in his life saw shoes made by machinery. ‘What do you think of that?’ asked the foreman.—‘It beats awl,’ was the laconic and significant reply.—A ‘sensible’ woman, as Dr Abernethy would have called her, was discovered by a shy man, who made her a rather original proposal. He bought a wedding ring, and sent it to the lady, inclosing a sheet of notepaper with the brief question, ‘Does it fit?’ By return of post he received for answer: ‘Beautifully.’
It is related that Makart, the great Viennese painter, is even more taciturn than Von Moltke, the man who is silent in seven languages. An American, who had been told that the best way to get on friendly terms with the artist would be to play chess with him at the café to which he resorted nightly, watched his opportunity, and, when Makart’s opponent rose, slipped into his chair. At last his dream was about to be realised, he was to spend an evening in Makart’s society. The painter signed to him to play, and the game began, and went on with no other sound than the moving of the pieces. At last the American made the winning move, and exclaimed, ‘Mate!’ Up rose Makart in disgust and stalked out, saying angrily to a friend who asked why he left so early: ‘Oh, I can’t stand playing with a chatterbox!’
The expressions used by some boys and girls if written as pronounced would look like a foreign language. Specimens of boys’ conversation like the following may be called shorthand talking: ‘Warejego lasnight?’ ‘Hadder skate.’—‘Jerfind the ice hard’ngood?’ ‘Yes; hard’nough.’—‘Jer goerlone? ‘No; Bill’n Joe wenterlong.’—‘Howlate jerstay?’ ‘Pastate.’—‘Lemmeknow wenyergoin, woneher? I wanter go’nshowyer howto skate.’—‘H—m, ficoodn’ skate better’n you I’d sell out ’nquit.’ ‘Well, we’ll tryerace ’nseefyercan.’
The well-known answer of the Greeks to the Persian king before the battle of Thermopylæ, was rivalled by the despatch of General Suvaroff to the Russian Empress: ‘Hurrah! Ismail’s ours!’ The Empress returned an answer equally brief: ‘Hurrah! Field-Marshal!’
The message from Lord Charles Beresford to his wife from the fort near Metemmeh was pithy enough: ‘Quite well and cheerful. Privations have been severe; thirst, hunger, battles desperate; but things look better.’
There are some quaint and pithy epistles on record. Quin, when offended by Rich, went away in resentment and wrote: ‘I am at Bath.’ The answer was as laconic, though not quite so civil: ‘Stay there.’
Sibbald, the editor of the Chronicles of Scottish Poetry, resided in London for three or four years, during which time his friends in Scotland were ignorant not only of his movements, but even of his address. In the longrun, his brother, a Leith merchant, contrived to get a letter conveyed to him, the object of which was to inquire into his circumstances and to ask where he lived. His reply ran as follows: ‘Dear Brother—I live in So-ho, and my business is so-so.—Yours, James Sibbald.’
Concise and to the point was the curious letter sent by a farmer to a schoolmaster as an excuse for his son’s absence from school: ‘Cepatomtogoatatrin.’ This meant, kep’ at ’ome to go a-taterin’ (gathering potatoes). A Canadian freshman once wrote home to his father: ‘Dear Papa—I want a little change.’ The fond parent replied by the next post: ‘Dear Charlie—Just wait for it. Time brings change to every one.’
Briefer than these was an epistle of Emile de Girardin to his second wife, with whom he lived on most unfriendly terms. The house was large enough to permit them to dwell entirely separate from one another. One day, Madame de Girardin had an important communication to make to her husband. Taking a small sheet of paper she wrote: ‘The Boudoir to the Library: Would like to go to Switzerland.’—M. de Girardin, imitating her concise style, responded: ‘The Library to the Boudoir: Go.’ That was all.
One of the most laconic wills on record ran thus: ‘I have nothing; I owe a great deal—the rest I give to the poor.’—A similar terse epitaph to the following would have suited that will-maker: ‘Died of thin shoes, January 1839.’