Dinners and Luncheons by Paul Pierce (top ten ebook reader .txt) 📕

"I can teach sugar to slip down your throat a million of ways."—Dekker.

"Feel, masters, how I shake."—2nd Henry IV.

"My morning incense and my evening meal the sweets of hasty pudding."—Barlow.

"I always thought cold victuals nice;
My choice would be vanilla ice."
—Holmes.

"How gladly then he plucks the grafted pear,
Or grape that dims the purple tyrants wear."
—Horace.

"In the name of the prophet, figs!"—Horace Smith.

"Pray, does anybody here hate cheese? I would be glad of a bit."—Swift.

"At which my nose is in great indignation."—Tempest.

"A last course at dinner without cheese," says Savarin, "is like a pretty woman with only one eye."

"One sip of this
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight."—Milton.

"By Hercules! I do hold it and will affirm it to be the most sovereign and precious herb that ever the earth tendered to the use of man.—B. Jonson.

"The man who smokes thinks like a sage and acts like a Samaritan."—Bulwer Lytton.

"I never knew tobacco taken as a parenthesis before."—B. Jonson.

"Good, my Lord, you are full of heavenly stuff."—Henry VIII.

"I feel the old convivial glow (unaided) o'er me stealing,
The warm champagny, old particular, brandy, punchy feeling."
—Holmes.

"Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used; exclaim no more against it."—Othello.

"I pray thee, take the cork out of thy mouth that I may drink."—As You Like It.

"This wine should be eaten, it's too good to be drunk.—Swift.

"Fill the goblets again, Cnacias. Let us drink the last cup to the manes of famous Lysander, and then, though unwillingly, I must warn you of the approach of day. The host who loves his guests rises from the table when the joy reaches its climax. The pleasant memory of this untroubled evening will soon bring you back to this house, whereas you would be less willing to return if you were forced to think of the hours of depression which followed your enjoyment."—From "An Egyptian Princess."

"If you would know the flavor of a pie,
The juicy sweet, the spice and tart, you must
Be patient till the fiery core is cool,
And bite a little deeper than the crust.

If you would know the flavor of a man,—
God's mud pie, made of Eden's dew and dust,—
Be patient till love's fire has warmed him through,
And look a little deeper than the crust."
—Aloysius Coll.

Upon one occasion when six fair women and half a dozen brave men, gathered round a hospitable board, had fallen into that state of "innocuous desuetude" from which nothing but heroic measures would relieve them, a still small voice was heard asking if any one present could tell why the "Athenasian creed is like a tiger?" It chanced that no one present could guess, and when the propounder, a delicate, spirituelle looking woman declared that it was "because of its damnation clause," there was a roar of laughter that successfully put to flight all stiffness and formality.

A well-known gentleman gained quite a reputation among his set by propounding a French riddle, which is sometimes called Voltaire's riddle, because no one ever answered it. He wrote on the back of a card the following: "Ga" and asked if anyone could make it out, saying the answer was what every one had or should have had when he sat down to dinner. The card went round the table and made conversation for some time. After fruitless efforts, all gave it up, and he wrote underneath the "Ga" as follows:

Capital G. Small a.
G. grande. a petite.
J'ai grande apetite.
I have a good appetite. See?

There is only one thing which is said to be worse than being called upon unexpectedly to make an after dinner speech—that is to prepare an after dinner speech and not be asked to deliver it.

Over the teacups: "Do you believe that awful story they are telling about Miss Prim?"

Ladies in Chorus—"Yes. What is it?"

"Say, mister," said the little fresh air child as she watched the cattle enjoying their cud, "do you have to buy gum for all of them cows to chew?"

I remember the Colonel from Missouri who forgot the name of the suburb he wanted to go to near Boston. "It runs in my head," said he to the hotel clerk, "its name is something like whisky straight, though that is not it exactly." "Oh," said the clerk, "I know; you mean Jamaica Plain." "Yes, yes, that's it," said the Colonel, and he immediately ordered two whisky straights.—Henry C. Caldwell.

"These Americanos," cries the affrighted Tagal, "are cannibals."

"What ever gave you such an idea?" asks the Moro.

"I just heard one of those soldiers ask that pretty school teacher to come and eat a Filipino with him!"

Lady—"Little boy, are you sure this butter is clean?"

Boy from the Country—"I low as how it ought to be. Ma and Sis set up half the night picking the specks out of it."

Squire's daughter—"Do you think it is quite healthy to keep your pigs so close to the cottage?"

Hodge—"I dunno, Miss. Noan of ther pigs ain't ever been ill."

Emaciated Invalid (just arrived at the springs)—"Is it true that drinking these waters produces fat?"

Native (weight 250)—"Produces fat? Why, stranger, when I came here I only weighed eight pounds, and look at me now!"

At a "literary dinner" in London, Mr. Zangwell told a story of a fat lady of his acquaintance. Her corpulence had so grown upon her that she resolved to consult a physician about it. She had had no previous experience with "banting" of any sort.

The doctor drew up a careful dietary for her. She must eat dry toast, plain boiled beef, and a few other things of the same lean sort, and in a month return and report the result to the doctor.

At the end of the time the lady came, and was so stout that she could hardly get through the door. The doctor was aghast.

"Did you eat what I told you?" he asked.

"Religiously," she answered.

His brow wrinkled in perplexity. Suddenly he had a flash of inspiration.

"Did you eat anything else?" he asked.

"Why, I ate my ordinary meals," said the lady.

Considerate Little Girl—"Please, Mr. Keeper, will it hurt the elephant if I give him a currant out of my bun?"—Leisure Hours.

Howard Paul is responsible for this anecdote of Lillian Russell. The fair vocalist was lunching at a restaurant and ordered "floating island"—a popular entremet. In due course it arrived, and on its snowy surface three little red ants were having a cheap picnic and wriggling about in ecstatic contortions on the banquet they were enjoying. "Waiter," said Miss Russell, "I asked you for an island, but I expressed no desire to have it inhabited—take it away and bring me a dessert island."

A lank, awkward countryman presented himself at the clerk's desk in an American hotel, and, after having a room assigned to him, inquired at what hours meals were served.

"Breakfast from seven to eleven, luncheon from eleven to three, dinner from three to eight, supper from eight to twelve," recited the hotel clerk glibly.

"Jerushy!" ejaculated the country man, with bulging eyes, "When am I going to get time to see the town?"

A waiter in a restaurant once entered the room where a lady and gentleman were dining—they were just finishing their soup—without any preliminary knock. What he saw led him to stammer: "A thousand pardons, Monsieur; I was too precipitate." "Why, you idiot," said the gentleman, "what are you standing there for, with your head under the tray? Did you never see a gentleman kiss a lady before in this restaurant?" "Oui, Monsieur, but nevaire before ze feesh—nevaire!"

"It ain't any trouble to get along in Europe, whether you know the language or not," said the man who had been on a "personally conducted." "Take Germany, for instance. One day I wanted a drink, and I went into one of the gardens and said to the waiter: 'Look here, old man, I'm dry; do you understand? Dry!' and the next minute he came back with three beers."

Mrs. Smith—"I'm afraid you'll have to look for a new place the first of the month, Bridget." Fat Bridget—"What fur, Ma'am?" Mrs. Smith—"Mr. Smith objects to so much waste in the kitchen." Fat Bridget—"Lor, Ma'am, if that's all, I'll lace mesilf widin an inch of my life."

"I want you to come and dine with me," said John to Pat, "though I can only offer you a nice piece of beef and boiled potatoes." "Don't make the laist apology about the dinner," said Pat, "it's the very same I should have had at home, barrin' the bafe."

"You must find that impediment in your speech rather inconvenient at times, Mr. Brown."

"Oh, n-o—everyb-body has his little p-peculiarity. Stammering is m-m-mine; what is y-yours?"

"Well, really, Mr. Brown, I am not aware that I have any."

"W-which hand d-do you stir y-your tea with?"

"The right hand, of course."

"W-well, that is y-your p-peculiarity; most p-people u-use a t-teaspoon."

The second course of the table d'hote was being served.

"What is this leathery stuff?" demanded the corpulent diner.

"That, sir, is filet of sole," replied the waiter.

"Take it away," said the corpulent diner, "and see if you can't get me a nice, tender piece of the upper, with the buttons removed."

"Gracious," exclaimed Mr. Swellman, "The baby has eaten a lot of that dog biscuit."

"Never mind, dear," replied Mrs. Swellman. "It just serves Fido right, for he's often stolen the baby's food—haven't you, Fido? 'Oo naughty 'ittle rogue, 'oo!"

Once upon a time there was a young man who felt sure that within his bosom burned the incandescent light of dramatic fire. To assure the world of this fact he secured a position as supernumerary in a theatrical combination which was presenting a repertoire of classical tragedies.

Of course, all great careers have an humble start; so had his. All that was required of him was to come on R. U. E., when the lordly baron was about to take his regal bride to his proud ancestral halls, and inform him, and the audience:

"My lord, the carriage waits."

The leading lady, who played the fair young bride, was rather inclined to embonpoint, as we say when we wish to insinuate as delicately as possible that some one is fat.

The budding genius had rehearsed his lines—or line—until he felt that he was letter perfect. He haunted the wings all evening until he heard his cue. Then he strutted onto the scene, struck a tragic pose, and announced excitedly:

"My Lord! She carries weights!"

Frank Stockton tells a fish story. A gentleman asked a question of a boy who was fishing. The boy mumbled an indistinct response. "Why don't you speak plainly?" said the gentleman. "What have you in your mouth?"

"Wums—wums for bait," answered the boy.

"That was the first instance I ever knew," remarked Mr. Stockton in telling the story, "of anybody really speaking with baited breath."

Smith—"Did you ever see a woman trying to pull a cork out of a bottle, colonel?"

Col. Drinker—"No, suh; and no gentleman will stand idly by and see a lady struggling to take a cork out of a bottle. It takes her too long, suh?"

Wife—"We have been married twelve years, and not once during that time have I missed baking you a cake for your birthday. Have I dear?"

Hubby—"No, my pet I look back upon those cakes as milestones in my life."

Jones—"You don't usually say grace at meals?"

Bones—"No; only when the minister is present."

Jones—"Ah, I see. He not alone graces the occasion, but he occasions the grace."

Doctor—"My dear young