When Butler died, he left his precious notebooks to be ravaged by his literary executors. This edition came out in 1934 and is still quite sanitized. I hope to get more of the real Butler from another source winging its way toward me.
Still, there are some worthwhile or funny bits.
Canadian Jokes: “When I was there I found their jokes like their roads—very long and not very good, leading to a little tin point of a spire which has been remorselessly obvious for miles without seeming to get any nearer.”
Pure snark: “I don’t like Plato, but I suppose I prefer him to Carlyle.”
On tourists: “On one of our Sunday walks Jones and my Cousin and I were at Gad’s Hill. An American tourist came up and asked if that was Charles Dickens’s house, pointing to it. I looked grave and said, ‘Yes, I am afraid it was,’ and left him.”
The miracles of Jesus Christ: “He should have gone about killing the rich old people who would not die.” (This from a man who almost became a priest, at a point where he’s waiting for his dad to kick the bucket so he can inherit).