ate their grandfathers; they behaved very respectfully to them for a long
time, but as soon as their grandfathers became old and troublesome, and
began to tell long stories, they immediately ate them; nothing could be
more _improper_ and even _disrespectful_ than dining off such near and
venerable relations, yet we could not with any propriety accuse them of
bad taste." This is very humorous. To say that it is improper or
disrespectful is as absurd as to say that it is bad taste. It is
properly described as cruel, revolting, and abominable.

Not being at all a French scholar, and coming suddenly in view of Mont
Blanc, I ventured to say to my guide, "_C'est tres joli_." "_Non_,
_Monsieur_," said he, "_ce n'est pas joli_, _mais c'est curieux a voir_."
I think we were both of us rather out of it that time.

I remember an old lady of my acquaintance pointing to her new chintz of
peonies and sunflowers, and asking me if I did not think it was very
"chaste." I should like to have said, "Oh, yes, very, quite rococo," but
I daren't.

The wife of a clergyman, writing to the papers about the "Penge Mystery,"
said that certain of the parties (whom most right-minded people thought
had committed most atrocious crimes, if not actual murder) had been
guilty of a breach of "les convenances de societe." This is almost equal
to De Quincey's friend, who committed a murder, which at the time he
thought little about. Keble said to Froude, "Froude, you said you
thought Law's _Serious Call_ was a clever book; it seemed to me as if you
had said the Day of Judgment will be a pretty sight."

I ought here to mention the use, or rather misuse, of words which are
often called "slang," such as "awfully jolly," "fearfully tedious,"