DXVIII.—A NICE DISTINCTION.
"What is the difference," asked Archbishop Whately of a young clergyman he was examining, "between a form and a ceremony? The meaning seems nearly the same; yet there is a very nice distinction." Various answers were given. "Well," he said, "it lies in this: you sit upon a form, but you stand upon ceremony."
DXIX.—LATE DINNER.
Some one remarking that the dinner hour was always getting later and later, "Ay," quoth Rogers, "it will soon end in our not dining till to-morrow."
DXX.—AN OLD JOKE.
As a wag at a ball, to a nymph on each arm
Alternately turning, and thinking to charm,
Exclaimed in these words, of which Quin was the giver—
"You're my Gizzard, my dear; and, my love, you're my Liver."
"Alas!" cried the Fair on his left—"to what use?
For you never saw either served up with a goose!"
DXXI.—TIME WORKS WONDERS.
A gentleman dining at a hotel, whose servants were "few and far between," despatched a lad among them for a cut of beef. After a long time the lad returned, and was asked by the faint and hungry gentleman, "Are you the lad who took away my plate for this beef?"—"Yes, sir."—"Bless me," resumed the hungry wit, "how you have grown!"
DXXII.—A NOVEL IDEA.
"Morrow's Library" is the Mudie of Dublin; and the Rev. Mr. Day, a popular preacher. "How inconsistent," said Archbishop Whately, "is the piety of certain ladies here. They go to Day for a sermon and to Morrow for a novel!"