It would appear that people who write good toasts tend to fish and play poker rather than, say, hunt and play tennis. As the following toasts seem to illustrate, the great toasters have gotten their exercise from hoisting glasses.
A little whiskey now and then
Is relished by the best of men;
It surely drives away dull care,
And makes ace high look like two pair.
Camp life is just one canned thing after another.
-Toast to camping
Gentlemen, the Queen!
She gazed at us serene,
She filled his flush,
Amidst the hush—
And gathered in the green.
Not the laurel—but the race,
Not the quarry—but the chase;
Not the dice—but the play
May I, Lord, enjoy always!
Poker—Like a glass of beer, you draw to fill.
The hand that rocks the cradle,
Is the hand that rules the earth-
But the hand that holds four aces!
Bet on it for all you're worth.
There was a man in our town,
And he was wondrous wise.
He jumped into a tournament
And came out with a prize.
And when he saw the cup he'd won,
With all his might and main,
He jumped into ten entry lists
But never won again.
They have carried the American name to the uttermost parts of the earth—and covered it with glory every time. That is a service to sentiment; but they did the general world a large practical service, also—a service to the great science of geography. . . . Why, when those boys started out you couldn't see the equator at all; you could walk right over it and never know it was there. . . . But that is all fixed now . . . and so I drink long life to the boys who ploughed a new equator round the globe stealing bases on their bellies!
-Mark Twain, to the members of the returning Spalding Baseball Tour of the World, 1889