Great was their chagrin, then, when, in the thick of his first battle, a courier having dashed up and asked him how long he could hold his position, he did not reply:
“Till hell freezes over!”
But merely:
“As long as may be necessary!”
Now, of course, there was nothing for his friends to do, in simple justice to themselves, but advise him to resign and engage in trade.
The Eye of the Fly
Sydney Smith jokes have a delicate flavor of age, but an anecdote in “Memories of Half a Century” has not been told so often as some of the classic tales. Sydney was a guest at the dinner of an archdeacon, and a fellow-guest, whose hobby was natural history, was a bore, if once started on his subject. Smith promised to try to keep him in check. The naturalist got his opening.
“Mr. Archdeacon,” said he, “have you seen the pamphlet written by my friend, Professor Dickenson, on the remarkable size of the eye in a common housefly?”
The archdeacon courteously said he had not. The bore pursued his advantage.
“I can assure you it is a most interesting pamphlet, setting forth particulars, hitherto unobserved, as to the unusual size of that eye.”