EXAMPLE OF APT RETORTS

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 72, Issue 105, 4 May 1929, Page 14 (Supplement)

EXAMPLE OF APT RETORTS

It is a great gift to possess a ready wit when caught at an inopportune moment (says a writer in the Newcastle Weekly Chronicle). There is an old story that will bear repetition of Henry Labouchere. One day during his university career, feeling boied with his studies, he flung aside his books and decided to spend the day in London. Strolling leisurely up Oxford Street, he was surprised to meet his father, who, equally astonished, ejaculated, “Why, Henry!” “Sir,” replied the son, calling his native wit to his aid, “you have the advantage of mo.” which w r as perfectly correct. The young diplomat turned down the next street, and, out of sight, hurried to Liverpool street station and caught ..he 1 next train to Cambridge. Labouchere the elder, utterly nonplussed, sought his luncheon place, and afterwards entrained for the University city. Reaching his son’s room in the college, he knocked at the door, and was greeted with unmistakable welcome by the occupant, who, rising from amid the pile of books by w’hich he was surrounded, extended his hand, with a “Hello, father, 1 am glad to see you,” and so successful was the simulation of surprise that the elder man deemed it wise to make no further reference to his recent expr-

Both Church and law’ have been found equally ready in the exercise, of verbal sword play, and one of the best recorded stories in this connection is told of the popular preacher, William Jay, who ministered at the Argyle Chapel, Bath, for over 60 years. On one occasion two friendly barristers seated in the building during his conduct ox the service were not a little astoniaked by hearing the good man read from, the Apocalypse—“ All lawyers shall have their portion,” etc. Indignant, they waited outside at the close of the service, and asked Jay if he were conscious that he had used the word “lawyers” instead of “liars.” “1 know it,” came the calm reply. “But you didn’t correct it,” angrily”protested one of the silks. “Why didn’t you?” “Well, 1 thought it so near the truth as to be unnecessary.” “Give me any subject you like and I w'ill make a line on it,” invited Oscar Wilde at one of his famous Chelsea coteries. “1 will, Wilde,” came from the other side of the room. “The Queen!” “She’s no subject,” came back the flashing retort. One reads of Judge Bacon who was trying a culprit named Hogg for sheep-steal ing. The accused, having little else to say. endeavoured to save himself by a jest. A Bacon, he pleaded, should be merciful to a Hogg as his kinsman. But the judge pointed out that the hog did not become bacon until it had been hung. This calls to mind one of the wittiest, mots attributed to Curran. He was sitting at a supper party in Dublin opposite a famous hanging judge—Lord Clannel. According to the fashion of that period, the dishes were all get on the table at the same time, the guests helping themselves aa»; each other. “Is that hung beef am you, Curran?” asked Clannell, to w’hich Curran quickly retorted; “Try it, my lord, and it’s sure to be.’’ With all his bonhomie, there were few men who knew how to rebuke unwarranted familiarity with more -'kill and incision than Edward VII. “Hew much is tea?” he inquired of a society dame in charge of refreshments at a West End bazaar, which he was visiting when Prince of Wales. “Five shillings, sir,” she replied. Then? pouring out the tea, she touched the cup with her lips, and added; “Now it's a guinea, your Royal Highness.” The Prince, so runs the story, immediately paid the fee, saying as he did so: “Now Jet me have a clean cup, please. ’ ’ To administer oblique reproofs one needs as pretty a wit as that of Pope Leo XIII. The Pope used to amuse himself at the opening of large mixed audiences by identifying the groups in the hall according to their nationalities, and iv was his habit to confirm his guesses by occasional questions to f»il giims as he passed them. Coming to one group, he asked a man whether he was French. “I have the honour to be French, Holy Father,” was his loud reply. “Gently, gently, my son,” the Pope admonished smilingly, with a finger to his bps; “not quite so loudly. It would be cruel to those who have i not that honour.’*