The Bed-Book of Happiness / Being a colligation or assemblage of cheerful writings brought together from many quarters into this one compass for the diversion, distraction, and delight of those who lie abed,—a friend to the invalid, a companion to the sleepless, an excuse to the tired

by Harold Begbie

Foote used to say that the Irish take us in and the Scots turn us out.

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A stout duellist once said to his diminutive antagonist, "It is a perfectly unequal contest. It is almost impossible to hit any one of your size, or to miss any one of mine."

"I agree," said his opponent. "And I will chalk my size on your body. We will not count the shots that go out of the ring."

* * * * *

"Ah," said Curran, noticing an Irish friend walking along absent-mindedly with his tongue out, "he is evidently trying to catch the English accent."

* * * * *

Sydney Smith was asked his opinion of Newton's portrait of Tom Moore. "Couldn't you," he asked the painter, "put more hostility to the Established Church into the face?"

* * * * *

An intemperate duke asked Foote how he should go to a masquerade. "Go sober," said Foote.