The Measure Of A Brain

ONE afternoon, when Jerrold was in his garden at Putney, enjoying a

glass of claret, a friend called upon him. The conversation ran on a

certain dull fellow, whose wealth made him prominent at that time.

Yes, said Jerrold, drawing his finger round the edge of his wineglass,

that's the range of his intellect, only it had never anything half so

good in it.

The Majesty Of Mud The Medicine Must Be Of Use facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail