Another of his stories was this. He happened to be shooting hyenas near

Carthage, when he stumbled, and fell down an abyss of many fathoms’

depth. He was surprised, however, to find himself unhurt; for he lighted

as if on a feather bed. Presently he perceived that he was gently moved

upward; and, having by degrees reached the mouth of the abyss, he again

stood safe on terra firma. He had fallen upon an immense mass of bats,

which, disturbed from their slumbers, had risen out of the abyss and

brought him up with them.

CHARLES MATHEWS AND THE SILVER SPOON.

Soon after Mathews went from York to the Haymarket Theatre, he was

invited with other performers to dine with Mr. A——, afterwards an

eminent silversmith, but who at that period followed the business of a

pawnbroker. It so happened that A—— was called out of the parlor, at the

back of the shop, during dinner. Mathews, with wonderful celerity,

altering his hair, countenance, hat, &c., took a large gravy-spoon off

the dinner-table, ran instantly into the street, entered one of the

little dark doors leading to the pawnbroker’s counter, and actually

pledged to the unconscious A—— his own gravy-spoon. Mathews contrived

with equal rapidity to return and seat himself (having left the

street-door open) before A—— reappeared at the dinner-table. As a matter

of course, this was made the subject of a wager. An _éclaircissement_

took place before the party broke up, to the infinite astonishment of

A——.

A ROYAL QUANDARY.

On the first consignment of Seidlitz Powders to the capital of Delhi,

the monarch was deeply interested in the accounts of the refreshing

beverage. A box was brought to the king in full court, and the

interpreter explained to his majesty how it was to be used. Into a

goblet he put the contents of the twelve blue papers; and, having added

water, the king drank it off. This was the alkali, and the royal

countenance exhibited no sign of satisfaction. It was then explained

that in the _combination_ of the two powders lay the luxury; and the

twelve white powders were quickly dissolved in water, and as eagerly

swallowed by his majesty. With a shriek that will never be forgotten,

the monarch rose, staggered, exploded, and, in his agony, screamed,

“_Hold me down!_” Then, rushing from the throne, he fell prostrate on

the floor. There he lay during the long-continued effervescence of the

compound, spirting like ten thousand pennyworths of imperial pop, and

believing himself in the agonies of death, a melancholy and convincing

proof that kings are mortal.

RELICS.

“What is this?” said a traveller, who entertained reasonable doubts as

to the genuineness of certain so-called relics of antiquity, while

visiting an old cathedral in the Netherlands: “what is contained in this

phial?”

“Sir,” replied the sacristan, “that phial contains one of the frogs

picked up when Pharaoh was visited with the plague of frogs.”

“I am sure, then,” rejoined the traveller, “there could have been no

epicures in those days.”

“Why so?” said the sacristan.

“Because they would have eaten him, he is so large and fat.”

The traveller took up another phial which was near. “This contains?”

said he,—

“That is a most precious relic of the church, which we value very

highly.”

“It looks very _dark_.”

“There is good reason for that.”

“I am somewhat curious. Tell me why.”

“You perceive it is very dark.”

“I own it.”

“That, sir, is some of the darkness which Moses spread over the land of

Egypt.”

“Indeed! I presume, what the moderns call _darkness made visible_.”

ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.

“Mother,” asked a little girl, while listening to the reading of Uncle

Tom’s Cabin, “why don’t the book never mention Topsy’s last name? I have

tried to hear it whenever it speaks of her, but it has not once said

it.”

“Why, she had no other name, my child.”

“Yes she had, mother, and I know it.”

“Well, what was it?”

“Why Turvy—Topsy Turvy.”

“You had better go to bed, my dear,” said the mother. “You are as bad as

your old grandmother, for she can’t say pork without beans, for the life

of her.”

P. AND Q.

When it was fully expected that Mr. W——, whose unmanageable voice had

obtained for him the title of “Bubble and Squeak,” would be elected

Speaker of the House of Commons, and Mr. Canning was so informed, he

observed that if the report were true, the members must mind their P’s

and Q’s; or else, instead of saying “Mr. S_p_eaker,” they would say “Mr.

S_q_ueaker!”

“JACK ROBINSON.”

Lord Eldon relates that during the parliamentary debates on the India

Bill, when Mr. John Robinson was Secretary to the Treasury, Sheridan, on

one evening when Fox’s majorities were decreasing, said, “Mr. Speaker,

this is not at all to be wondered at, when a member is employed to

corrupt everybody in order to obtain votes.” Upon this there was a great

outcry by almost everybody in the house. “Who is it?” “Name him! Name

him!” “Sir,” said Sheridan to the Speaker, “I shall not name the person.

It is an unpleasant and invidious thing to do so; and, therefore, I

shall not name him. But don’t suppose, Sir, that I abstain because there

is any difficulty in naming him; I could do that, Sir, as soon as you

could say ‘Jack Robinson.’”

A RUSSIAN JESTER AND HIS JOKES.

Popular traditions in Russia unite in representing the jester Balakireff

as the constant attendant of Peter the Great, who figures largely in all

the stories attached to the name of his buffoon.

On one occasion Balakireff begged permission of his imperial master to

attach himself to the guard stationed at the palace, and Peter, for the

sake of the joke, consented—warning him at the same time that any

officer of the guard who happened to lose his sword, or to be absent

from his post when summoned, was punished with death. The newly-made

officer promised to do his best; but the temptation of some good wine

sent to his quarters that evening by the Czar, “to moisten his

commission,” proved too strong for him; and he partook so freely as to

become completely “screwed.” While he was sleeping off his debauch,

Peter stole softly into the room, and carried off his sword. Balakireff

missing it on awakening, and frightened out of his wits at the probable

consequences, could devise no better remedy than to replace the weapon

with his own professional sword of lath,—the hilt and trappings of which

were exactly similar to those of the guardsmen. Thus equipped, he

appeared on parade the next morning, confident in the assurance of

remaining undetected, if not forced to draw his weapon. But Peter, who

had doubtless foreseen this contingency, instantly began storming at one

of the men for his untidy appearance, and at length faced round upon

Balakireff with the stern order, “Captain Balakireff, draw your sword

and cut that sloven down!”

The poor jester, thus brought fairly to bay, laid his hand on his hilt

as if to obey, but at the same time exclaimed fervently, “Merciful

Heaven! let my sword be turned into wood!”

And drawing the weapon, he exhibited in very deed a harmless lath. Even

the presence of the Emperor was powerless to check the roar of laughter

which followed, and Balakireff was allowed to escape.

* * * * *

The jester’s ingenuity occasionally served him in extricating others

from trouble as well as himself. A cousin of his, having fallen under

the displeasure of the Czar, was about to be executed; and Balakireff

presented himself at Court to petition for a reprieve. Peter, seeing him

enter, and at once divining his errand, shouted to him: “It’s no use

your coming here; I swear that I will _not_ grant what you are going to

ask!”

Quick as thought, Balakireff dropped on his knees, and exclaimed, “Peter

Alexejevitch, I beseech you put that scamp of a cousin of mine to

death!”

Peter, thus caught in his own trap, had no choice but to laugh, and send

a pardon to the offender.

* * * * *

During one of the Czar’s Livonian campaigns, a thick fog greatly

obstructed the movements of the army. At length a pale watery gleam

began to show itself through the mist, and two of the Russian officers

fell to disputing whether this were the sun or not. Balakireff,

happening to pass by at that moment, they appealed to him to decide. “Is

that light yonder the sun, brother?”

“How should I know,” answered the jester; “I’ve never been here before!”

* * * * *

At the end of the same campaign, several of the officers were relating

their exploits, when Balakireff stepped in among them. “I’ve got a story

to tell, too,” cried he, boastfully; “a better one than any of yours!”

“Let us hear it, then,” answered the officers; and Balakireff began,—

“I never liked this way of fighting, all in a crowd together, which they

have nowadays; it seems to me more manly for each to stand by himself;

and therefore I always went out alone. Now it chanced that one day,

while reconnoitering close to the enemy’s outposts, I suddenly espied a

Swedish soldier lying on the ground, just in front of me. There was not

a moment to lose; he might start up and give the alarm. I drew my sword,

rushed upon him, and at one blow cut off his right foot!”

“You fool!” cried one of the listeners, “you should rather have cut off

his head!”

“So I would,” answered Balakireff, with a grin, “but somebody else had

done that already!”

* * * * *

At times Balakireff pushed his waggeries too far, and gave serious

offense to his formidable patron. On one of these occasions the enraged

Emperor summarily banished him from the Court, bidding him “never appear

on Russian soil again.” The jester disappeared accordingly; but a week

had hardly elapsed when Peter, standing at his window, espied his

disgraced favorite coolly driving a cart past the very gates of the

palace. Foreseeing some new jest, he hastened down, and asked with

pretended roughness, “How dare you disobey me, when I forbade you to

show yourself on Russian ground?”

“I haven’t disobeyed you,” answered Balakireff, coolly; “I’m not on

Russian ground now!”

“Not on Russian ground?”

“No; this cart-load of earth that I’m sitting on is Swedish soil. I dug

it up in Finland only the other day!”

Peter, who had doubtless begun already to regret the loss of his jester,

laughed at the evasion, and restored him to favor. Some Russian writers

embellished this story (a German version of which figures in the

adventures of Tyll Eulenspiegel) with the addition that Peter, on

hearing the excuse, answered, “If Finland be Swedish soil now, it shall

be Russian before long”—a threat which he was not slow to fulfill.

The Flashes of Repartee.

Curran, being angry in a debate one day, put his hand on his heart,

saying: “I am the trusty guardian of my own honor.” “Then,” replied Sir

Boyle Roche, “I congratulate my honorable friend on the snug sinecure to

which he has appointed himself.”

* * * * *

On one occasion as the Rev. Matthew Wilkes, a celebrated London

preacher, was on his way to a meeting of ministers, he got caught in a

shower in the place called Billingsgate, where there were a large number

of women dealing in fish, who were using most profane and vulgar

language. As he stopped under a shed in the midst of them, he felt

called upon to give at least his testimony against their wickedness.

“Don’t you think,” said he, speaking with the greatest deliberation and

solemnity, “I shall appear as a swift witness against you in the day of

judgment?”

“I presume so,” said one, “for the biggest rogue always turns State’s

evidence.”

Matthew, when he got to the meeting, related the incident.

“And what did you say in reply, Mr. Wilkes?” said one of the ministers

present.

“What could I?” was the characteristic reply.

* * * * *

The late Mr. Cobden used to tell the following anecdote:—

“When in America,” said he, “I asked an enthusiastic American lady why

her country could not rest satisfied with the immense unoccupied

territories it already possessed, but must ever be hankering after the

lands of its neighbors, when her somewhat remarkable reply was, “Oh, the

propensity is a very bad one, I admit; but we came honestly by it, for

we inherited it from England.”

* * * * *

When Napoleon was only an officer of artillery, a Prussian officer said

in his presence with much pride, “My countrymen fight only for glory,

but Frenchmen for money.” “You are right,” replied Napoleon; “each of

them fight for what they are most in want of.”

* * * * *

A gentleman complimented a lady on her improved appearance. “You are

guilty of flattery,” said the lady. “Not so,” replied he, “for I vow you

are as plump as a partridge.” “At first,” responded she, “I thought you

guilty of flattery only, but you are now actually making game of me.”

* * * * *

A pedlar asked an old lady, to whom he was trying to sell some articles,

if she could tell him of any road that no pedlar had ever travelled. “I

know of but one,” said she, “and that is the road to Heaven.”

* * * * *

“What is that dog barking at?” asked a fop, whose boots were more

polished than his ideas. “Why,” said the bystander, “he sees another

puppy in your boots.”

* * * * *

A Quaker gentleman, riding in a carriage with a fashionable lady decked

with a profusion of jewelry, heard her complaining of the cold.

Shivering in her lace bonnet and shawl, as light as a cobweb, she

exclaimed: “What shall I do to get warm?” “I really don’t know,” replied

the Quaker solemnly, “unless thee puts on another breastpin.”

* * * * *

I dined once with Curran, said one of his friends, in the public room of

the chief inn at Greenwich, when he talked a great deal, and, as usual,

with considerable exaggeration. Speaking of something which he would not

do on any inducement, he exclaimed: “I had rather be hanged upon twenty

gibbets.” “Don’t you think, sir, that one would be enough for you?” said

a girl, a stranger, who was sitting at the table next to us. You ought

to have seen Curran’s face just then.

* * * * *

A tourist being exceedingly thirsty, stopped at a house by the roadside,

and asked for a drink of milk. He emptied several cups, and asked for

more. The woman of the house at length brought out a large bowl filled

with milk, and setting it down on the table, remarked, “A person would

think, sir, that you had never been weaned.”

* * * * *

Theodore Hook was walking, in the days of Warren’s blacking, where one

of the emissaries of that shining character had written on the wall,

“Try Warren’s B——,” but had been frightened by the approach of the owner

of the property, and had fled. “The rest is lacking,” said the wit.

* * * * *

The famous Rochester one day met Dr. Barrow in the Park, and being

determined, as he said, to put down the rusty piece of divinity,

accosted him by taking off his hat, and with a profound bow, exclaimed:

“Doctor, I am yours to my shoe-tie.” The Doctor, perceiving his aim,

returned the salute with equal ceremony: “My Lord, I am yours to the

ground.” His lordship then made a deeper salam, and said: “Doctor, I am

yours to the centre.” Barrow replied, “My Lord, I am yours to the

antipodes,” on which Rochester made another attempt by exclaiming. “I am

yours to the lowest pit.” “There, my Lord, I leave you,” replied Barrow.

A windy M. P., in the midst of a tedious speech, stopped to imbibe a

glass of water.

“I rise,” said Sheridan, “to a point of order.”

Everybody started, wondering what the point of order was.

“What is it?” said the speaker.

“I think, sir,” said Sheridan, “it is out of order for a windmill to go

by water.”

* * * * *

At Oxford, some twenty years ago, a tutor in one of the colleges limped

in his walk. Stopping one day last summer at a railroad station, he was

accosted by a well-known politician, who recognized him, and asked him

if he was not the chaplain at the college at such a time, naming the

year. The doctor replied that he was. “I was there,” said the

interrogator, “and I know you by your limp.” “Well,” said the doctor,

“it seems that my limping made a deeper impression on you than my

preaching.” “Ah, doctor,” was the ready reply, “it is the highest

compliment we can pay a minister to say that he is known by his walk,

rather than by his conversation.”

* * * * *

When Onslow was speaker of the British House of Commons, a member, who

was very fond of hearing himself speak—though nobody would listen to

him—on one occasion made a direct appeal to the chair, in consequence of

the accustomed noise that was going on: “Mr. Speaker, I desire to know

if I have not a right to be heard?” The speaker hoped, at first, to

escape the necessity of a reply, by calling “Order! Order!” but this

proving, as usual, of no avail, the honorable member inquired, in a

louder tone than before, “Sir, have not I a right to be heard?” “Sir,”

replied Onslow, “you have a right to speak.”

* * * * *

Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania, abhorred smoking. His Quaker Council

one day observing him approach, laid down their pipes. “I am glad to

see,” said Penn, “that you are ashamed of that vile habit.” “Not at

all,” said a principal Friend, “we only lay down our pipes lest we

should offend _a weak brother_.”

A saloon-keeper having started business in a building where trunks had

been made, asked a friend what he had better do with the old sign,

“Trunk Factory.” “O,” said the friend, “just change the T to D, and it

will suit you exactly.”

Years ago, when Henry Ward Beecher’s reputation was not world-wide, a

Western Young Men’s Christian Association tried to persuade the divine

to go out and lecture to them without charge, saying it would increase

his _fame_. He telegraphed in reply: “I will lecture for F. A. M.

E.—fifty and my expenses.”

Admiral Keppel was sent to the Dey of Algiers to negotiate the

restoration of some English vessels which had been captured by Algerine

pirates. He advocated the cause entrusted to him with a warmth and

spirit which completely confounded the Dey’s ideas of what was due to

absolute power. “I wonder,” said the offended dignitary, “at the King of

England’s insolence in sending me such a foolish, beardless boy.”

“Had my master,” retorted Keppel, “considered that wisdom was to be

measured by the length of the beard, he would have sent you a he-goat.”

Thackeray tells us of a woman begging alms from him, who, when she saw

him put his hand in his pocket, cried out: “May the blessing of God

follow you all your life!” But, when he only pulled out his snuff-box,

she immediately added: “And never overtake ye.”

Dr. Reid, the celebrated medical writer, was requested by a lady of

literary eminence to call at her house. “Be sure you recollect the

address,” she said as she quitted the room—“No. 1 Chesterfield street.”

“Madam,” said the doctor, “I am too great an admirer of politeness not

to remember Chesterfield, and, I fear, too selfish ever to forget Number

One.”

Two men disputing about the pronunciation of the word “either”—one

saying it was ee-ther, the other i-ther—agreed to refer it to the first

person they met, who happened to be an Irishman, who confounded both by

declaring, “it’s nayther, for it’s ayther.”

A Parisian millionaire once wrote to the celebrated comic author,

Scribe:—“Honored Sir—I wish very much to ally my name with yours in the

creation of a dramatic work. Will you be so kind as to write a comedy of

which I shall compose one or two lines, so that I may be mentioned in

the title; I will bear the entire pecuniary expense, so that I may

divide the glory.” Scribe, who was vain even to conceit, replied:—“Sir—I

regret that I cannot comply with your modest request. It is not in

accordance with my ideas of religion or propriety that a horse and an

ass should be yoked together.” To which the millionaire quickly

responded:—“Sir—I have received your impertinent letter. How dare you

call me a horse!”

Voltaire was warmly panegyrizing Haller one day, when a person present

remarked that his eulogy was very disinterested, for Haller did not

speak well of him. “Ah, well,” said Voltaire, “perhaps we are both of us

mistaken.”

An Irishman, abusing Erin, declared that it contained nothing good but

the whiskey. Whereupon a wag observed, “You mean to say, then, that with

all her faults you love her still.”

Bacon relates that a fellow named Hogg importuned Sir Nicholas to save

his life on account of the kindred between Hog and Bacon. “Aye,” replied

the judge, “but you and I cannot be kindred except you be hanged, for

Hog is not Bacon until it be well hanged.”

Lord Eldon, struck by the appearance of a beautiful woman passing

Westminster Hall, expressed his admiration freely. The lady overhearing,

returned the compliment by pronouncing him to a friend near by a most

excellent judge.

Thackeray, while in Charleston, S. C., was introduced to Mrs. C., one of

the leaders of its society. In his pert way he said, “I am happy to meet

you, madam; I have heard that you are a fast woman.” “Oh, Mr.

Thackeray,” she replied with a fascinating smile, “we must not believe

all we hear; I had heard, sir, that you were a gentleman.”

Mr. Spurgeon rebuked certain of his followers who refused to interfere

in politics on the ground that they were “not of this world.” This, he

argued, was mere metaphor. “You might as well,” said he, “being sheep of

the Lord, decline to eat mutton-chop on the plea that it would be

cannibalism.”

* * * * *

A young barrister, intending to be very eloquent, observed, “such

principles as these, my Lord, are written in the Book of Nature.” “What

page, sir?” said Lord Chief Justice Ellenborough; and the orator was

silenced for life.

The Sexes.

As unto the bow the cord is,

So unto the man is woman:

Though she bends him, she obeys him;

Though she draws him, yet she follows;

Useless each without the other.—_Hiawatha._

Mrs. Jameson, speaking of the mistaken belief that there are essential

masculine and feminine virtues and vices, says it is not the quality

itself, but the modification of the quality, which is masculine or

feminine; and on the manner or degree in which these are balanced or

combined in the individual, depends the perfection of that individual

character. As the influences of religion are extended and as

civilization advances, those qualities which are now admired as

essentially _feminine_ will be considered as essentially _human_,—such

as gentleness, purity, the more unselfish and spiritual sense of duty,

and the dominance of the affections over the passions. This is, perhaps,

what Buffon, speaking as a naturalist, meant when he said that with the

progress of humanity _Les races se féminisent_. The axiom of the Greek

philosopher Antisthenes, the disciple of Socrates, _The virtue of the

man and the woman is the same_, shows a perception of this moral truth,

a sort of anticipation of the Christian doctrine, even in the pagan

times.

Every reader of Wordsworth will recollect the poem entitled _The Happy

Warrior_. It has been quoted as an epitome of every manly, soldierly,

and elevated quality. Those who make the experiment of merely

substituting the word §WOMAN§ for the word §WARRIOR§, and changing the

feminine for the masculine pronoun, will find that it reads equally

well, and from beginning to end is literally as applicable to the one

sex as to the other. As thus:—

CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WOMAN.

Who is the happy _woman_? Who is _she_

That every _woman_ born should wish to be?

It is the generous spirit who, when brought

Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought

Upon the plan that pleased _her_ childish thought;

Whose high endeavors are an inward light,

That makes the path before _her_ always bright;

Who, with a natural instinct to discern

What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;

Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,

But makes _her_ moral being _her_ prime care;

Who, doomed to go in company with pain,

And fear, and sorrow, miserable train!

Turns _that_ necessity to glorious gain;

In face of these doth exercise a power

Which is our human nature’s highest dower;

Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves

Of their bad influence, and their good receives;

By objects, which might force the soul to abate

_Her_ feeling, rendered more compassionate;

Is placable,—because occasions rise

So often that demand such sacrifice;

More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure

As tempted more; more able to endure

As more exposed to suffering and distress;

Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.

’Tis _she_ whose law is reason; who depends

Upon that law as on the best of friends;

Whence, in a state where men are tempted still

To evil for a guard against worse ill,

And what in quality or act is best

Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,

_She_ fixes good on good alone, and owes

To virtue every triumph that _she_ knows;

Who, if _she_ rise to station or command,

Rises by open means, and there will stand

On honorable terms, or else retire—

* * * * *

Who comprehends _her_ trust, and to the same

Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;

And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait

For wealth, or honors, or for worldly state;

Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall

Like showers of manna, if they come at all;

Whose power shed round _her_, in the common strife

Or mild concerns of ordinary life,

A constant influence, a peculiar grace;

But who, if _she_ be called upon to face

Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined

Great issues, good or bad for human kind,

Is happy as a lover; and, attired

With sudden brightness, like to one inspired;

And through the heat of conflict keeps the law

In calmness made, and sees what _she_ foresaw;

Or if an unexpected call succeed,

Come when it will, is equal to the need!

Mrs. Jameson adds that in all these fifty-six lines there is only one

line which cannot be feminized in its significance,—that filled up with

asterisks, and which is totally at variance with the ideal of _a happy

woman_. It is the line—

And in himself possess his own desire.

No woman could exist happily or virtuously in such complete independence

of all external affections as these words express. “Her desire is to her

husband:” this is the sort of subjection prophesied for the daughters of

Eve. A woman doomed to exist without this earthly rest for her

affections does not “in herself possess her own desire;” she turns

towards God; and, if she does not make her life a life of worship, she

makes it a life of charity, or she dies a spiritual and a moral death.

Is it much better with the man who concentrates his aspirations in

himself?

THE PRAISE OF WOMEN.

_An Old English Ballad._

Both sexes, give ear to my fancy,

While the praise of a woman I sing

Confined not to Polly nor Nancy,

But alike from the beggar to king.

When Adam at first was created,

And lord of the universe crowned,

His happiness was not completed,

Because a help-meet was not found.

He had all things that were wanting,

Which yield us contentment in life;

Both horses and foxes for hunting,

Which many love more than a wife.

A garden, so planted by nature,

Man could not produce in his life;

And yet the all-wise Creator

Saw that he wanted a wife.

Old Adam was cast into slumber,

A rib taken out of his side;

And when he awoke in a wonder,

He beheld his most beautiful bride.

With transport he gazéd upon her,—

His happiness now was complete:

He praised the all-bountiful Donor,

Who thus had provided a mate.

She was not taken out of his head,

To rule and triumph over man;

Nor was she taken out of his heel,

To be ruled and trampled upon.

But she was taken out of his side,

His equal companion to be;

And thus they both were united,

And man is the top of the tree.

Then let not the fair be despiséd

By man, for she’s part of himself;

Since woman by Adam was prizéd

More than the whole world full of wealth.

For man without woman’s a beggar,

Although the whole world he possessed;

And the beggar who has a good wife,

With more than this world he is blest.

PARALLEL OF THE SEXES.

There is an admirable partition of qualities between the sexes, which

the great Author of being has distributed to each with a wisdom which

calls for our admiration. Man is strong,—woman is beautiful. Man is

daring and confident,—woman is diffident and unassuming. Man is great in

action,—woman, in suffering. Man shines abroad,—woman, at home. Man

talks to convince,—woman, to persuade and please. Man has a rugged

heart,—woman, a soft and tender one. Man prevents misery,—woman relieves

it. Man has science,—woman, taste. Man has judgment,—woman, sensibility.

Man is a being of justice,—woman, of mercy.

FEMALE SOCIETY.

The following remarks come with peculiar force from one of such

querulous and unconnubial habits as John Randolph:—

You know my opinion of female society: without it we should degenerate

into brutes. This observation applies with tenfold force to young men,

and those who are in the prime of manhood. For, after a certain time of

life, the literary man makes a shift (a poor one, I grant) to do without

the society of ladies. To a young man nothing is so important as a

spirit of devotion (next to his Creator) to some amiable woman, whose

image may occupy his heart and guard it from the pollution that besets

it on all sides. A man ought to choose his wife as Mrs. Primrose did her

wedding-gown,—for qualities that will “wear well.” One thing at least is

true, that, if matrimony has its cares, celibacy has no pleasures. A

Newton, or a mere scholar, may find enjoyment in study; a man of

literary taste can receive in books a powerful auxiliary; but a man must

have a bosom friend, and children around him, to cherish and support the

dreariness of old age.

WIFE—MISTRESS—LADY.

Who marries for love takes a wife; who marries for convenience takes a

mistress; who marries from consideration takes a lady. You are loved by

your wife, regarded by your mistress, tolerated by your lady. You have a

wife for yourself, a mistress for your house and its friends, a lady for

the world. Your wife will agree with you, your mistress will accommodate

you, your lady will manage you. Your wife will take care of your

household, your mistress of your house, your lady of appearances. If you

are sick, your wife will nurse you, your mistress will visit you, your

lady will inquire after your health. You take a walk with your wife, a

ride with your mistress, and join parties with your lady. Your wife will

share your grief, your mistress your money, and your lady your debts. If

you are dead, your wife will shed tears, your mistress lament, and your

lady wear mourning.—_From the German._

MY MOTHER.

That was a thrilling scene in the old chivalric time—the wine circling

around the board, and the banquet-hall ringing with sentiment and

song—when, the lady of each knightly heart having been pledged by name,

St. Leon arose in his turn, and, lifting the sparkling cup on high,

said,—

“I drink to one

Whose image never may depart,

Deep graven on this grateful heart,

Till memory is dead;

To one whose love for me shall last

When lighter passions long have passed,

So holy ’tis, and true;

To one whose love hath longer dwelt,

More deeply fixed, more keenly felt,

Than any pledge to you.”

Each guest upstarted at the word,

And laid his hand upon his sword,

With fury-flashing eye;

And Stanley said, “We crave the name,

Proud knight, of this most peerless dame,

Whose love you count so high.”

St. Leon paused, as if he would

Not breathe her name in careless mood

Thus lightly to another,—

Then bent his noble head, as though

To give that word the reverence due,

And gently said, “§My Mother§!”

LETTER TO A BRIDE.

The following letter was written by an old friend to a young lady on the

eve of her wedding day:—

I have sent you a few flowers to adorn the dying moments of your single

life. They are the gentlest types of delicate and durable friendship.

They spring up by our side when others have deserted it; and they will

be found watching over our graves when those who should cherish have

forgotten us. It seems that a past, so calm and pure as yours, should

expire with a kindred sweetness about it,—that flowers and music, kind

friends and earnest words, should consecrate the hour when a sentiment

is passing into a sacrament.

The three great stages of our being are the birth, the bridal, and the

burial. To the first we bring only weakness—for the last we have nothing

but dust! But here at the altar, when life joins life, the pair come

throbbing up to the holy man, whispering the deep promise that arms each

other’s heart, to help on in the life-struggle of care and duty. The

beautiful will be there, borrowing new beauty from the scene. The gay

and thoughtless, with their flounces and frivolities, will look solemn

for once. Youth will come to gaze upon the object of its secret

yearnings; and age will totter up to hear the words repeated that to

their own lives had given the charm. Some will weep over it as if it

were a tomb, and some laugh over it as if it were a joke; but two must

stand by it, for it is fate, not fun, this everlasting locking of their

lives.

And now, can you, who have queened it over so many bending forms, can

you come down at last to the frugal diet of a single heart? Hitherto you

have been a clock, giving your time to all the world. Now you are a

watch, buried in one particular bosom, warming only his breast, marking

only his hours, and ticking only to the beat of his heart—where time and

feeling shall be in unison, until those lower ties are lost in that

higher wedlock, where all hearts are united.

Hoping that calm and sunshine may hallow your clasped hands, I sink

silently into a signature.

* * *

Moslem Wisdom.

SHREWD DECISION OF ALI, CALIPH OF BAGDAD.

In the Preliminary Dissertation to Dr. Richardson’s Arabic Dictionary

the following curious anecdote is recorded:—

Two Arabians sat down to dinner: one had five loaves, the other three. A

stranger passing by desired permission to eat with them, which they

agreed to. The stranger dined, laid down eight pieces of money, and

departed. The proprietor of the five loaves took up five pieces and left

three for the other, who objected, and insisted on having one-half. The

cause came before Ali, who gave the following judgment:—“Let the owner

of the five loaves have seven pieces of money, and the owner of the

three loaves one; for, if we divide the eight loaves by three, they make

twenty-four parts; of which he who laid down the five loaves had

fifteen, while he who laid down three had only nine. As all fared alike,

and eight shares was each man’s proportion, the stranger ate seven parts

of the first man’s property, and only one belonging to the other. The

money, in justice, must be divided accordingly.”

THE WISDOM OF ALI.

The Prophet once, sitting in calm debate,

Said, “I am Wisdom’s fortress; but the gate

Thereof is Ali.” Wherefore, some who heard,

With unbelieving jealousy were stirred;

And, that they might on him confusion bring,

Ten of the boldest joined to prove the thing.

“Let us in turn to Ali go,” they said,

“And ask if Wisdom should be sought instead

Of earthly riches; then, if he reply

To each of us, in thought, accordantly,

And yet to none in speech or phrase the same,

His shall the honor be, and ours the shame.”

Now, when the first his bold demand did make,

These were the words which Ali straightway spake:—

“Wisdom is the inheritance of those

Whom Allah favors; riches, of his foes.”

Unto the second he said:—“Thyself must be

Guard to thy riches; but Wisdom guardeth thee.”

Unto the third:—“By Wisdom wealth is won;

But riches purchased Wisdom yet for none.”

Unto the fourth:—“Thy goods the thief may take;

But into Wisdom’s house he cannot break.”

Unto the fifth:—“Thy goods decrease the more

Thou givest; but woe enlarges Wisdom’s store.”

Unto the sixth:—“Wealth tempts to evil ways;

But the desire of Wisdom is God’s praise.”

Unto the seventh:—“Divide thy wealth, each part

Becomes a pittance. Give with open heart

Thy wisdom, and each separate gift shall be

All that thou hast, yet not impoverish thee.”

Unto the eighth:—“Wealth cannot keep itself;

But Wisdom is the steward even of pelf.”

Unto the ninth:—“The camels slowly bring

Thy goods; but Wisdom has the swallow’s wing.”

And lastly, when the tenth did question make,

These were the ready words which Ali spake:—

“Wealth is a darkness which the soul should fear;

But Wisdom is the lamp that makes it clear.”

Crimson with shame, the questioners withdrew,

And they declared, “The Prophet’s words were true:

The mouth of Ali is the golden door

Of Wisdom.”

When his friends to Ali bore

These words, he smiled, and said, “And should they ask

The same until my dying day, the task

Were easy; for the stream from Wisdom’s well,

Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.”

MOHAMMEDAN LOGIC.

The laws of Cos discountenance in a very singular manner any cruelty on

the part of females towards their admirers. An instance occurred while

Dr. Clarke and his companions were on the island, in which the unhappy

termination of a love-affair occasioned a trial for what the Mohammedan

lawyers casuistically describe as “homicide by an intermediate cause.”

The following was the case: a young man desperately in love with a girl

of Stanchis eagerly sought to marry her, but his proposals were

rejected. In consequence, he destroyed himself by poison. The Turkish

police arrested the father of the obdurate fair, and tried him for

culpable homicide. “If the accused,” argued they, with much gravity,

“had not had a daughter, the deceased would not have fallen in love;

consequently he would not have been disappointed; consequently he would

not have swallowed poison; consequently he would not have died;—but the

accused had a daughter, the deceased had fallen in love,” &c. Upon all

these counts he was called upon to pay the price of the young man’s

life; and this, being fixed at the sum of eighty piastres, was

accordingly exacted.

THE ALEXANDRIAN LIBRARY.

Said Omar, “Either these books are in conformity with the Koran, or they

are not. If they are, they are useless, and if not, they are evil: in

either event, therefore, let them be destroyed.”

Such was the logic that led to the destruction of seven hundred thousand

manuscript volumes.

TURKISH EXPEDIENTS.

A Turkish testator left to his eldest son one-half of his seventeen

horses, to his second son one-third, to his third son one-ninth of his

horses. The executor did not know what to do, as seventeen will neither

divide by two, nor by three, nor by nine. A dervise came up on

horseback, and the executor consulted him. The dervise said, “Take my

horse, and add him to the others.” There were then eighteen horses. The

executor then gave to the eldest son one-half,—nine; to the second son

one-third,—six; to the third son one-ninth,—two: total, seventeen. The

dervise then said, “You don’t want my horse now; I will take him back

again.”

Excerpta from Persian Poetry.

EARTH AN ILLUSION.

From the mists of the Ocean of Truth in the skies

A Mirage in deluding reflections doth rise,

There is naught but reality there to be seen;

We have here but the lie of its vapory sheen.—§Hafiz.§

HEAVEN AN ECHO OF EARTH.

’Tis but a shadow of the earth’s familiar bliss,

Bright mirrored on the sky’s ethereal fonts,

That fills our breasts with longings nothing can dismiss,

In tremulous and glimmering response.

A MORAL ATMOSPHERE.

It is as hard for one whom sinners still prevent

From prayer, to keep his virtue, yet with them to dwell,

As it would be for a lotus of sweetest scent

To blossom forth in beauty ’mid the flames of hell.

FORTUNE AND WORTH.

That haughty rich man see, a merely gilded clod;

This poor man see, pure gold with common dust besmeared.

Start not: in needy garb was Moses girt and shod,

When waved and shone before him Pharaoh’s golden beard!

BROKEN HEARTS.

When other things are broken they are nothing worth,

Unless it be to some old Jew or some repairer;

But hearts, the more they’re bruised and broken here on earth,

In heaven are so much the costlier and the fairer.

TO A GENEROUS MAN.

To cloud of rain refreshing all the land,

It is not fit to liken thy free hand;

For as that gives it weeps meanwhile,

But thou still givest with a smile.

BEAUTY’S PREROGATIVE.

Thy beauty pales all sublunary things,

And man to vassalage eternal dooms:

The road before thee should be swept with brooms

Made of the eye-lashes of peerless kings.

PROUD HUMILITY.

In proud humility a pious man went through the field;

The ears of corn were bowing in the wind, as if they kneeled;

He struck them on the head, and modestly began to say,

“Unto the Lord, not unto me, such honors should you pay.”

FOLLY FOR ONE’S SELF.

He who is only for his neighbors wise,

While his own soul in sad confusion lies,

Is like those men who builded Noah’s ark,

But sank, themselves, beneath the waters dark.

THE IMPOSSIBILITY.

When I shall see, though clad in gold or silk,

In peace and joy a wicked man or maid,

I then shall drink a bowl of pigeon’s milk,

And eat the yellow eggs the ox has laid.

THE SOBER DRUNKENNESS.

Beware the deadly fumes of that insane elation

Which rises from the cup of mad impiety,

And go get drunk with that divine intoxication

Which is more sober far than all sobriety.

A WINE-DRINKER’S METAPHORS.

As the nightingale oft from a rose’s dew sips,

So I wet with fresh wine my belanguishing lips.

As the soul of perfume through a flower’s petals slips,

So pure wine passes through the rose-door of my lips.

As to port from afar float the full-loaded ships,

So this wine-beaker drifts to the strand of my lips.

As the white-driven sea o’er a cliff’s edges drips,

So the red-tinted wine breaks in foam on my lips.

FROM MIRTSA SCHAFFY.

Better stars without shine,

Than the shine without stars.

Better wine without jars,

Than the jars without wine.

Better honey without bees,

Than the bees without honey.

Better please without money,

Than have money but not please.

THE DOUBLE PLOT.

Three hungry travellers found a bag of gold;

One ran into the town where bread was sold.

He thought, I will poison the bread I buy,

And seize the treasure when my comrades die.

But they too thought, When back his feet have hied,

We will destroy him and the gold divide.

They killed him; and, partaking of the bread,

In a few moments all were lying dead.

O world I behold what ill thy goods have done;

Thy gold thus poisoned two, and murdered one.

THE WORLD’S UNAPPRECIATION.

The lyrical poems of the East called _Ghazels_, of which the following,

from Trench, is a brief specimen, have this peculiarity,—that the first

two lines rhyme, and for this rhyme recurs a new one in the second line

of each succeeding couplet, the alternate lines being free:—

What is the good man and the wise?

Ofttimes a pearl which none doth prize;

Or jewel rare, which men account

A common pebble, and despise.

Set forth upon the world’s bazaar,

It mildly gleams, but no one buys,

Till it in anger Heaven withdraws

From the world’s undiscerning eyes,

And in its shell the pearl again,

And in its mine the jewel, lies.

THE CALIPH AND SATAN.

In heavy sleep the Caliph lay,

When some one called, “Arise and pray!”

The angry Caliph cried, “Who dare

Rebuke his king for slighted prayer?”

Then, from the corner of the room,

A voice cut sharply through the gloom:—

“My name is Satan. Rise! obey

Mohammed’s law: Awake and pray.”

“Thy _words_ are good,” the Caliph said,

“But their intent I somewhat dread;

For matters cannot well be worse

Than when the thief says, ‘Guard your purse.’

I cannot trust your counsel, friend:

It surely hides some wicked end.”

Said Satan, “Near the throne of God,

In ages past, we devils trod;

Angels of light, to us ’twas given

To guide each wandering foot to Heaven;

Not wholly lost is that first love,

Nor those pure tastes we knew above.

Roaming across a continent,

The Tartar moves his shifting tent,

But never quite forgets the day

When in his father’s arms he lay;

So we, once bathed in love divine,

Recall the taste of that rich wine.

God’s finger rested on my brow,—

That magic touch, I feel it now!

I fell, ’tis true,—Oh, ask not why!

For still to God I turn my eye;

It was a chance by which I fell:

Another takes me back to hell.

’Twas but my envy of mankind,

The envy of a loving mind.

Jealous of men, I could not bear

God’s love with this new race to share.

But yet God’s tables open stand,

His guests flock in from every land.

Some kind act toward the race of men

May toss us into heaven again.

A game of chess is all we see,—

And God the player, pieces we.

White, black,—queen, pawn,—’tis all the same;

For on both sides he plays the game.

Moved to and fro, from good to ill,

We rise and fall as suits his will.”

The Caliph said, “If this be so

I know not; but thy guile I know;

For how can I thy words believe,

When even §God§ thou didst deceive?

A sea of lies art thou,—our sin,

Only a drop that sea within.”

“Not so,” said Satan: “I serve God,

His angel now, and now his rod.

In tempting, I both bless and curse,

Make good men better, bad men worse.

Good coin is mixed with bad, my brother,

I but distinguish one from th’ other.”

“Granted,” the Caliph said; “but still

You never tempt to good, but ill.

Tell, then, the truth; for well I know

You come as my most deadly foe.”

Loud laughed the fiend. “You know me well;

Therefore my purpose will I tell:

If you had missed your prayer, I knew

A swift repentance would ensue;

And such repentance would have been

A good, outweighing far the sin.

I chose this humbleness divine,

Born out of fault, should not be thine;

Preferring prayers elate with pride,

To sin with penitence allied.”

Epigrams.

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAM ON EPIGRAMS.

Omnis epigramma, sit instar apis; sit aculeus illi,

Sint sua mella, sit et corporis exigui.

[Three things must epigrams, like bees, have all,—

A sting, and honey, and a body small.]

MIDAS AND MODERN STATESMEN.

Midas, they say, possessed the art, of old,

Of turning whatsoe’er he touched to gold.

This, modern statesmen can reverse with case;

Touch them with gold, they’ll turn to what you please.

INSCRIBED ON A STATUE TO SLEEP.

Somne levis, quanquam certissima mortis imago,

Consortem cupio te tamen esse tori,

Alma quies, optata, veni, nam sic sine vita

Vivere quam suave est, sic sine morte mori.—§Warton.§

[Light sleep, though death’s strong image, prythee give

Thy fellowship while in my couch I lie;

O gentle, wished-for rest, how sweet to _live_

Thus without _life_, and without _death_ to _die_!][18]

Footnote 18:

Come, gentle sleep! attend thy votary’s prayer,

And, though death’s image, to my couch repair;

How sweet, though lifeless, yet with life to lie,

And, without dying, oh, how sweet to die!—_Wolcot’s Trans._

TO DR. ROBERT FREIND, WHO WROTE LONG EPITAPHS.

Freind, for your epitaphs I’m grieved,

Where still so much is said:

One half will never be believed,

The other never read.—§Pope.§

THE FOOL AND THE POET.

Sir, I admit your general rule,

That every poet is a fool;

But you yourself may serve to show it

That every fool is not a poet.—§Pope.§

DUM VIVIMUS VIVAMUS.

Live while you live, the _epicure_ would say,

And seize the pleasures of the present day.

Live while you live, the sacred _preacher_ cries,

And give to God each moment as it flies.

Lord, in my view let both united be;

I live in pleasure while I live to thee.—§Doddridge.§

TO “MOLLY ASTON,”

_A celebrated “beauty, scholar, and wit,” who spoke in praise of

liberty._

Liber ut esse velim, suasisti, pulchra Maria:

Ut maneam liber, pulchra Maria, vale!—§Dr. Johnson.§

[Freedom you teach, fair Mary. To be free,

Farewell, lest I should be enslaved by thee!]

ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT.

Thou mayst of double ignorance boast,

Who knowst not that thou nothing knowst.—§Owen§, _Trans. by Cowper_.

TO OUR BED.

In bed we laugh, in bed we cry;

And born in bed, in bed we die:

The near approach the bed may show

Of human bliss to human woe.—§Benserade.§

LATE REPENTANCE.

Pravus, that aged debauchee,

Proclaimed a vow his sins to quit;

But is he yet from any free,

Except what now he _can’t_ commit?

ON A PALE LADY WITH A RED-NOSED HUSBAND.

Whence comes it that in Clara’s face

The lily only has its place?

Is it because the absent rose

Has gone to paint her husband’s nose?

ON SOME SNOW THAT MELTED ON A LADY’S BREAST.

Those envious flakes came down in haste,

To prove her breast less fair,

But, grieved to find themselves surpassed,[19]

Dissolved into a tear.

Footnote 19:

The following madrigal was addressed to a Lancastrian lady, and

accompanied with a white rose, during the opposition of the “White

Rose” and “Red Rose” adherents of the houses of York and Lancaster:—

If this fair rose offend thy sight,

It in thy bosom wear;

’Twill blush to find itself less white,

And turn Lancastrian there.

SELYAGGI’S DISTICH ADDRESSED TO JOHN MILTON.

_While at Rome._

Græcia Mœonidem, jactet sibi Roma Maronem,

Anglia Miltonum jactat utrique parem.

DRYDEN’S AMPLIFICATION.

Three poets in three distant ages born,

Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.

The first in loftiness of thought surpassed;

The next, in majesty; in both, the last.

The force of nature could no further go:

To make a third, she joined the former two.

ON BUTLER’S MONUMENT.

While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive,

No generous patron would a dinner give.

See him, when starved to death and turned to dust,

Presented with a monumental bust.

The poet’s fate is hero in emblem shown:

He asked for bread, and he received a _stone_.—§S. Wesley.§

OVERDRAWN COMPLIMENT.

So much, dear Pope, thy English Homer charms,

As pity melts us, or as passion warms,

That after-ages will with wonder seek

Who ’twas translated Homer into Greek.

SUGGESTED BY A GERMAN TOURIST.

_Who accompanied Prince Albert into Scotland._

Charmed with the drink which Highlanders compose,

A German traveller exclaimed, with glee,

“Potztausend! sare, if this be Athol _Brose_,[20]

How good the Athol _Boetry_ must be!”—§Tom Hood.§

Footnote 20:

Athol brose is a favorite Highland drink, composed of honey, whiskey,

and water, although the proportion of the latter is usually so

homœopathically minute as to be difficult of detection except by

chemical or microscopical analysis. Possibly the Scotch aversion to

injuring the flavor of their whiskey by dilution arises from a fact

noted by N. P. Willis, that the water has tasted so strongly of

sinners ever since the Flood.

ETERNITY.

Reason does but one quaint solution lend

To nature’s deepest yet divinest riddle;

Time is a _beginning_ and an _end_,

Eternity is nothing but a _middle_.

OCCASIONED BY THE LOSS OF A CLERGYMAN’S PORTMANTEAU,

_Containing his Sermons._

I’ve lost my portmanteau.

“I pity your grief.”

It contained all my sermons.

“I pity the thief!”

TO A LIVING AUTHOR.

Your comedy I’ve read, my friend,

And like the half you pilfered, best;

But sure the piece you yet may mend:

Take courage, man! and steal the rest.

THE FRUGAL QUEEN.

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell,

When deprived of her husband she lovéd so well,

In respect for the love and affection he showed her,

She reduced him to dust, and she drank off the powder.

But Queen Netherplace, of a different complexion,

When called on to order the funeral direction,

Would have ate her dead lord, on a slender pretence,

Not to show her respect, but—to save the expense!—§Burns.§

ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE’S BRAINS.

Lord, to account who dares thee call,

Or e’er dispute thy pleasure?

Else why within so thick a wall

Enclose so poor a treasure?—§Burns.§

GIVING AND TAKING.

“I never give a kiss,” says Prue,

“To naughty man, for I abhor it.”

She will not _give_ a kiss, ’tis true:

She’ll _take_ one, though, and thank you for it.—§Moore.§

TO ——.

“Moria pur quando vuol non è bisogna mutar ni faccia ni voce per esser

un Angelo.”

Die when you will, you need not wear

At Heaven’s court a form more fair

Than beauty here on earth has given;

Keep but the lovely looks we see,—

The voice we hear,—and you will be

An angel _ready-made_ for heaven!—§Moore.§

THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS, WITH A PRESENT OF A MIRROR.

This mirror my object of love will unfold

Whensoe’er your regard it allures:

Oh, would, when I’m gazing, that I might behold

On its surface the object of yours!

TO A CAPRICIOUS FRIEND.

Difficilis, facilis, jucundus, acerbus es idem,

Nec tecum possum vivere, nec sine te.—§Martial.§

[In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow,

Thou’rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow,

Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee,

There is no living with thee, nor without thee.—§Addison.§]

MENDAX.

See! yonder goes old Mendax, telling lies

To that good, easy man with whom he’s walking.

How know I that? you ask, with some surprise;

Why, don’t you see, my friend, the fellow’s talking!—§Lessing.§

ON FELL.

While Fell was reposing himself on the hay,

A reptile, concealed, bit his leg as he lay;

But, all venom himself, of the wound he made light,

And got well, while the scorpion died of the bite.—§Lessing.§

ON AN ILL-READ LAWYER.

An idle attorney besought a brother

For “something to read,—some novel or other,

That was really fresh and new.”

“Take Chitty!” replies his legal friend:

“There isn’t a book that I could lend,

That would prove more ‘novel’ to you!”—§Saxe.§

WOMAN’S WILL.

Men dying make their wills; but wives

Escape a work so sad:

Why should they make what all their lives

The gentle dames have had?—§Saxe.§

WELLINGTON’S NOSE.

“Pray, why does the great Captain’s nose

Resemble Venice?” Duncomb cries.

“Why,” quoth Sam Rogers, “I suppose

Because it has a bridge of size (sighs).”

ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER.

A poor man went to hang himself

But treasure chanced to find:

He pocketed the miser’s pelf,

And left the rope behind.

His money gone, the miser hung

Himself in sheer despair:

Thus each the other’s wants supplied,

And that was surely fair.

BAD SONGSTERS.

Swans sing before they die: ’twere no bad thing

Did certain persons die before they sing.—§Coleridge.§

ON A BAD FIDDLER.

Old Orpheus played so well, he moved Old Nick;

But thou mov’st nothing but thy fiddle-stick.

ON A CERTAIN D.D.

_Who, from a peculiarity in his walk, had acquired the sobriquet of Dr.

Toe, being jilted by Miss H., who eloped with her father’s footman._

’Twixt footman Sam and Doctor Toe

A controversy fell,

Which should prevail against his foe,

And bear away the belle.

The lady chose the footman’s heart.

Say, who can wonder? no man:

The whole prevailed above the part:

’Twas _Foot_-man _versus Toe_-man.

ON AN OLD LADY WHO MARRIED HER FOOTMAN.

Old Lady Lovejoy, aged just threescore,

Whose lusty footboy rode behind, before,

Is, in a fit of fondness, grown so kind,

He rides within, who rode before, behind.

“HOT CORN.”

“How much corn may a gentleman eat?” whispered P,

While the cobs on his plate lay in tiers.

“As to that,” answered Q, as he glanced at the heap,

“’Twill depend on the length of his ears.”

BONNETS.

In 1817, when straw bonnets first came into general use, it was common

to trim them with artificial wheat or barley, in ears; whence the

following:—

Who now of threatening famine dare complain,

When every female forehead teems with grain?

See how the wheat-sheaves nod amid the plumes:

Our barns are now transferred to drawing-rooms,

And husbands who indulge in active lives,

To fill their granaries, may thresh their wives!

Campbell, the poet, was asked by a lady to write something original in

her album. He wrote,—

An original something, dear maid, you would win me

To write; but how shall I begin?

For I’m sure I have nothing original in me,

Excepting _original sin_.

“How very easy ’tis,” cries Tom, “to write!

I find ’t no hardship verses to indite.”

“To credit that,” quoth Dick, “no oaths we need:

The hardship is for _those who have to read_.”

Thy verses are eternal, O my friend!

For he who reads them, reads them to no end.

Unfortunate lady, how sad is your lot!

Your ringlets are _red_, and your poems are not.

PRUDENT SIMPLICITY.

That thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be;

And serpent-like, that none may injure thee!—§Cowper.§

TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS.

I wish thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend;

For when at worst, they say, things always mend.—§Cowper.§

HOG _vs._ BACON.

Judge Bacon once trying a man, Hog by name,

Who made with his lordship of kindred a claim;

“Hold,” said the judge,—“you’re a little mistaken

Hog must be _hung_ first before ’tis good Bacon.”

A WARM RECEPTION.

Rusticus wrote a letter to his love,

And filled it full of warm and keen desire;

He hoped to raise a flame, and so he did:

The lady put his nonsense in the fire.

MEDICAL ADVICE.

“I’m very ill,” said Skinflint, once essaying

To get a doctor’s counsel without paying.

“I see it,” quoth the wily old physician;

“You’re in a most deplorable condition.”

“But tell me,” cried the miser, “for God’s sake,

Tell me, dear doctor, what I ought to take.”

“Take! as to that—why, take, at any price,”

Replied the leech, “_take medical advice_!”

DEFINITION OF A DENTIST.

A dentist fashions teeth of bone

For those whom fate has left without,

And finds provision for his _own_

By pulling other people’s out.

Dr. Samuel Goodenough, Bishop of Carlisle, preached on one occasion

before the House of Commons. The event gave rise to the following:—

’Tis well-enough that Goodenough

Before the House should preach;

For sure-enough full bad-enough

Are those he has to teach.

WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

As two divines their ambling steeds bestriding,

In merry mood o’er Boston Neck were riding,

Sudden a simple structure met their sight,

From which the convict takes his hempen flight;

When sailor-like he bids adieu to hope,

His all depending on a single rope.

“Say, brother,” cried the one, “pray where were you

Had yonder gallows been allowed its due?”

“Where?” cried the other, in sarcastic tone,

“Why, where but riding into town alone.”

A REFLECTION.

Says the Earth to the Moon “You’re a pilfering jade;

What you steal from the Sun is beyond all belief.”

Fair Cynthia replies, “Madam Earth, hold your prate;

The receiver is always as bad as the thief.”

“THE WOMAN GAVE ME OF THE TREE.”

When Eve upon the first of men

The apple pressed with specious cant,

Oh, what a thousand pities, then,

That Adam was not Adamant.

THE BLADES OF THE SHEARS.

Two lawyers when a knotty case was o’er,

Shook hands, and were as friendly as before;

“Zounds!” said the client, “I would fain know how

You can be friends, who were such foes just now?”

“Thou fool!” said one, “We lawyers, though so keen,

Like shears, ne’er cut ourselves, but what’s between.”

The following was written by Southey on Queen Elizabeth’s dining on

board Sir Francis Drake’s ship, on his return from circumnavigating the

globe:—

Oh, Nature! to old England still

Continue these mistakes;

Give us for all our _Kings_ such _Queens_,

And for our _Dux_ such _Drakes_.

INVISIBLE.

I cannot praise your parson’s eyes;

I never _see_ his eyes divine,

For when he prays he shuts _his_ eyes,

And when he preaches he shuts mine.

IMPERSONAL.

Quoth Madam Bas Bleu, “I hear you have said,

Intellectual women are always your dread;

Now tell me, dear sir, is it true?”

“Why, yes,” said the wag, “Very likely I may

Have made the remark in a jocular way;

But then, on my honor, I didn’t mean you.”

AFFINITIES.

“A lady, once, whose love was sold,

Asked if a reason could be told,

Why wedding rings were made of gold:

I ventured thus to instruct her:—

Love and lightning are the same;

On earth they glance, from Heaven they came:

Love is the soul’s electric flame—

And gold its best conductor.”

THE CRIER WHO COULD NOT CRY.

I heard a judge his tipstaff call

And say, “Sir, I desire

You go forthwith and search the Hall,

And send to me the crier.”

“And search, my Lord, in vain, I may”—

The tipstaff gravely said—

“The Crier cannot _cry_ to-day,

Because his wife is dead.”

THE PARSON AND BUTCHER.

A parson and a butcher chanced, they say,

To meet and moralize one Sabbath day.

“Ah!” cries the parson, “all things good and fair,

All that is virtuous, wise, belovéd, rare,

Is sure the first to feel the stroke of fate;

While vice and folly have a longer date.”

“True,” cries the butcher, “for it is decreed,

The fattest pig, alas! must soonest bleed.”

THE CLOCK.

A mechanic his labor will often discard,

If the rate of his pay he dislikes;

But a clock—and its _case_ is uncommonly hard—

Will continue to _work_ though it _strikes_.—§Hood.§

MASCULINE.

“What pity ’tis,” said John, the sage,

“That women should, for hire,

Expose themselves upon the stage,

By wearing men’s attire!”

“_Expose!_” cries Ned, who loves a jeer;

“In sense you surely fail:

What do the darlings have to fear

When clad in coats-of-_male_?”

IN RETURN FOR A LADY’S SKETCH OF THE APOLLO.

If fair Apollo drew his bow

As well as you have drawn it here,

No wonder that he carries woe

To many a maiden far and near.

One difference, though, I understand,

Between this picture and the giver:

Apollo keeps his bow in hand—

You keep your beaux upon the quiver.

WIDOWS.

As in India, one day, an Englishman sat

With a smart native lass at the window,

“Do your widows burn themselves? pray tell me that?”

Said the pretty, inquisitive Hindoo.

“Do they burn? ah, yes,” the gentleman said,

“With a flame not so easy to smother:

Our widows, the moment one husband is dead,

Immediately burn for another!”—§Canning.§

The following epigram by Samuel Rogers, on Lord Dudley’s studied

speeches in Parliament, was pronounced by Byron, in conversation with

Lady Blessington, “one of the best in the English language, with the

true Greek talent of expressing, by implication, what is wished to be

conveyed:”—

Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it:

He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.

On the marriage of Dr. Webb with Miss Gould, a classical friend sent him

the following:—

Tela fuit simplex statuens decus addere telæ,

Fecit hymen geminam puroque intexuit auro.

[Single no more, a double Webb behold;

Hymen embroidered it with virgin Gould.]

AFTER GOING TO LAW.

This law, they say, great nature’s chain connects,

That _causes_ ever must produce _effects_.

In me behold reversed great nature’s laws,—

All my _effects_ lost by a single _cause_.

SAME JAWBONE.

Jack eating rotten cheese did say,

“Like Samson I my thousands slay.”

“I vow,” says Roger, “so you do,

And with the selfsame weapon too.”

A FUNNY DETERMINATION.

Queenly Miss Quaint, the aim of whose life

Is to die an old maid or a minister’s wife,

Grotesquely averred, after hearing young Spread,

“I’ll hear him all day, _if I walk on my head_!”

“Good!” said old Hunx, with a comical smile;

“But please, if you’re late, don’t come up the broad aisle!”

MARRIAGE À LA MODE.

“Tom, you should take a wife.” “Nay, God forbid!”

“I found you one last night.” “The deuce you did!”

“Softly! perhaps she’ll please you.” “Oh, of course!”

“Eighteen.” “Alarming!” “Witty.” “Nay, that’s worse!”

“Discreet.” “All show!” “Handsome.” “To lure the fellows!”

“High-born.” “Ay, haughty!” “Tender-hearted.” “Jealous!”

“Talents o’erflowing.” “Ay, enough to sluice me!”

“And then, Tom, such a fortune!” “Introduce me!”

QUID PRO QUO.

“Marriage, not mirage, Jane, here in your letter:

With your education, you surely know better.”

Quickly spoke my young wife, while I sat in confusion,

“’Tis quite correct, Thomas: they’re each an illusion.”

WOMAN—CONTRA.

When Adam, waking, first his lids unfolds

In Eden’s groves, beside him he beholds

Bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, and knows

His earliest sleep has proved his last repose.

WOMAN—PRO.

Not she with traitorous kiss her Saviour stung,

Not she denied him with unholy tongue:

She, when apostles shrunk, could danger brave;

Last at the cross, and earliest at the grave.—§Barrett.§

ABUNDANCE OF FOOLS.

The world of fools has such a store,

That he who would not see an ass

Must bide at home, and bolt his door,

And break his looking-glass.—§La Monnoye.§

THE WORLD.

’Tis an excellent world that we live in

To lend, to spend, or to give in;

But to borrow, or beg, or get a man’s own,

’Tis just the worst world that ever was known.

TERMINER SANS OYER.

“Call silence!” the judge to the officer cries;

“This hubbub and talk, will it never be done?

Those people this morning have made such a noise,

We’ve decided ten causes without hearing one.”

DOUBLE VISION UTILIZED.

An incipient toper was checked t’other day,

In his downward career, in a very strange way.

The effect of indulgence, he found to his trouble,

Was that after two bottles he came to see double;

When with staggering steps to his home he betook him,

He saw always _two wives_, sitting up to rebuke him.

_One_ wife in her wrath makes a pretty strong case;

But a _couple_ thus scolding, what courage could face?

Impromptus.

One day, as Dr. Young was walking in his garden at Welwyn in company

with two ladies, (one of whom he afterwards married,) the servant came

to acquaint him that a gentleman wished to speak with him. “Tell him,”

said the doctor, “I am too happily engaged to change my situation.” The

ladies insisted that he should go, as his visitor was a man of rank, his

patron, and his friend. But, as persuasion had no effect, one took him

by the right arm, the other by the left, and led him to the garden-gate;

when, finding resistance in vain, he bowed, laid his hand upon his

heart, and, in that expressive manner for which he was so remarkable,

spoke the following lines:—

Thus Adam looked when from the garden driven,

And thus disputed orders sent from heaven.

Like him I go, but yet to go I’m loath;

Like him I go, for angels drove us both.

Hard was his fate, but mine still more unkind:

His Eve went with him, but mine stays behind.

Ben Jonson having been invited to dine at the Falcon Tavern, where he

was already deeply in debt, the landlord promised to wipe out the score

if he would tell him what God, and the devil, and the world, and the

landlord himself, would be best pleased with. To which the ready poet

promptly replied:—

God is best pleased when men forsake their sin;

The devil is best pleased when they persist therein;

The world’s best pleased when thou dost sell good wine;

And you’re best pleased when I do pay for mine.

A well-known instance of self-extrication from a dilemma is thus

rendered in rhyme:—

When Queen Elizabeth desired

That Melville would acknowledge fairly

Whether herself he most admired,

Or his own sovereign, Lady Mary?

The puzzled knight his answer thus expressed:—

“In her own country each is handsomest.”

Burns, going into church one Sunday and finding it difficult to procure

a seat, was kindly invited by a young lady into her pew. The sermon

being upon the terrors of the law, and the preacher being particularly

severe in his denunciation of sinners, the lady, who was very attentive,

became much agitated. Burns, on perceiving it, wrote with his pencil, on

a blank leaf of her Bible, the following:—

Fair maid, you need not take the hint,

Nor idle texts pursue:

’Twas only sinners that he meant,

Not angels such as you.

One evening at the King’s Arms, Dumfries, Burns was called from a party

of friends to see an impertinent coxcomb in the form of an English

commercial traveller, who patronizingly invited the _Ayrshire Ploughman_

to a glass of wine at his table. Entering into conversation with the

_condescending_ stranger, Burns soon saw what sort of person he had to

deal with. About to leave the room, the poet was urged to give a

specimen of his facility in impromptu versifying, when, having asked the

name and age of the conceited traveller, he instantly penned and handed

him the following stanza,—after which he abruptly departed:—

In seventeen hundred forty-nine,

Satan took stuff to make a swine,

And cuist it in a corner;

But wilily he changed his plan,

Shaped it to something like a man,

And ca’d it Andrew Horner.

After Burke had finished his extraordinary speech against Warren

Hastings, the latter (according to the testimony of his private

secretary, Mr. Evans) wrote the following sarcastic impromptu:—

Oft have we wondered that on Irish ground

No poisonous reptile ever yet was found;

The secret stands revealed in Nature’s work:

She saved her venom to create a _Burke_!

Dr. Johnson’s definition of a note of admiration (!), made on the

moment, is very neat:—

I see—I see—I know not what:

I see a dash above a dot,

Presenting to my contemplation

A perfect point of admiration!

An old gentleman named Gould, having married a young lady of nineteen,

thus addressed his friend Dr. G. at the wedding festival:—

So you see, my dear sir, though eighty years old,

A girl of nineteen falls in love with _old Gould_.

To which the doctor replied,—

A girl of nineteen may love _Gould_, it is true,

But believe me, dear sir, it is _Gold_ without _U_.

When Percy first published his collection of Ancient English Ballads, he

was rather lavish in commendation of their beautiful simplicity. This

provoked Dr. Johnson to say one evening, at the tea-table of Miss

Reynolds, that he could rhyme as well and as elegantly in common

narrative and conversation. “For instance,” said he,—

“As, with my hat upon my head,

I walked along the strand,

I there did meet another man

With his hat in his hand.

Or, to render such poetry subservient to my own immediate use,—

I therefore pray thee, Renny dear

That thou wilt give to me,

With cream and sugar softened well,

Another cup of tea.

Nor fear that I, my gentle maid,

Shall long detain the cup,

When once unto the bottom I

Have drank the liquor up.

Yet hear, alas! this mournful truth,

Nor hear it with a frown;

Thou canst not make the tea as fast

As I can gulp it down.”

Mr. Fox, the great orator, was on one occasion told by a lady that she

“_did not care three skips of a louse for him_.” He immediately took out

his pencil and wrote the following:—

A lady has told me, and in her own house,

That she cares not for me “three skips of a louse.”

I forgive the dear creature for what she has said,

Since women will talk of what _runs in their head_.

Barty Willard, who formerly lived in the northern part of Vermont, was

noted for his careless, vagabond habits, ready wit, and remarkable

facility at extempore rhyming. Sitting one day in a village store, among

a crowd of idlers who always gathered about him on his arrival, the

merchant asked Barty “why he always wore that shocking bad hat.” Barty

replied that it was simply because he was unable to purchase a new one.

“Come,” said the merchant; “make me a good rhyme on the old hat

immediately, without stopping to think, and I’ll give you the best

castor in the store.” Whereupon Barty threw his old tile on the floor,

and began:—

Here lies my old hat,

And, pray, what of that?

’Tis as good as the rest of my raiment:

If I buy me a better,

You’ll make me your debtor

And send me to jail for the payment.

The new hat was adjudged, by the “unanimous vote of the house,” to

belong to Barty, who wore it off in triumph, saying, “it was a poor head

that couldn’t take care of itself.”

* * * * *

An Oxford and Cambridge man, who had had frequent disputes concerning

the divinity of Christ, chancing to meet in company, the former, with a

serio-comical air, wrote the following lines and handed them to the

latter:—

Tu Judæ similis Dominumque Deumque negasti;

Dissimilis Judas est tibi—pœnituit.

[You, Judas like, your Lord and God denied;

Judas, unlike to you, repentant sighed.]

Whereupon the “heretic” retorted,—

Tu simul et similis Judæ, tu dissimilisque;

Judæ iterum similis sis, laqueumque petas.

[You are like Judas, yet unlike that elf;

Once more like Judas be, and hang yourself.]

The common phrase _Give the Devil his due_, was turned very wittily by a

member of the bar in North Carolina, some years ago, on three of his

legal brethren. During the trial of a case, Hillman, Dews, and Swain

(all distinguished lawyers, and the last-named President of the State

University) handed James Dodge, the Clerk of the Supreme Court, the

following epitaph:—

Here lies James Dodge, who dodged all good,

And never dodged an evil:

And, after dodging all he could,

He could not dodge the Devil!

Mr. Dodge sent back to the gentlemen the annexed impromptu reply, which

may be considered equal to any thing ever expressed in the best days of

Queens Anne or Bess:—

Here lies a Hillman and a Swain;

Their lot let no man choose:

They lived in sin, and died in pain,

And the Devil got his dues! (Dews.)

A lady wrote with a diamond on a pane of glass,—

God did at first make man upright; but he—

To which a gentleman added,—

Most surely had continued so; but _she_—

A lady wrote upon a window some verses, intimating her design of never

marrying. A gentleman wrote the following lines underneath:—

The lady whose resolve these words betoken,

Wrote them on glass, to show it may be broken.

Sir Walter Raleigh having written on a window,—

Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall,—

Queen Elizabeth, the instant she saw it, wrote under it,—

If thy heart fail thee, climb not at all.

Perhaps the most delicate flattery ever uttered was that of the

ambassador, who, being asked by a beautiful queen, upon his introduction

to her court, whether a celebrated beauty in his own country was the

handsomest woman he had ever seen, replied, “I thought so yesterday.”

A party of gentlemen at Lord Macclesfield’s, one evening, agreed to

amuse themselves by drawing tickets on which various uncomplimentary

devices were written. These were extemporaneously turned into

compliments by Cowper as follows:—

_Vanity._—Drawn by Lord Macclesfield.

Be vain, my lord, you have a right;

For who, like you, can boast this night,

A group assembled in one place

Fraught with such beauty, wit and grace?

_Insensibility._—Mr. Marsham.

Insensible can Marsham be?

Yes and no fault you must agree;

His heart his virtue only warms,

Insensible to vice’s charms.

_Inconstancy._—Mr. Adams.

Inconstancy there is no harm in,

In Adams where it looks so charming:

Who wavers as, he well may boast,

Which virtue he shall follow most.

_Impudence._—Mr. St. John.

St. John, your vice you can’t disown:

For in this age ’tis too well known,

That impudent that man must be

Who dares from folly to be free.

_Intemperance._—Mr. Gerard.

Intemperance implies excess:

Changed though the name, the fault’s not less;

Yet, blush not, Gerard, there’s no need,—

In all that’s worthy you exceed.

A _Blank_ was drawn by Mr. Legge.

If she a blank for Legge designed,

Sure Fortune is no longer blind;

For we shall fill the paper given

With every virtue under heaven.

_Cowardice._—Gen. Caillard.

Most soldiers cowardice disclaim,

But Caillard owns it without shame;

Bold in whate’er to arms belong,

He wants the courage to do wrong.

A traveller, upon reading the inscription affixed to the gates of

Bandon, (a town in Ireland originally peopled by English Protestants,)—

Jew, Turk or Atheist enter here;

But let no Papist dare appear,—

wrote the following smart reply underneath:—

He who wrote this wrote it well;

The same is written on the gates of hell.

At one of Burns’ convivial dinners he was requested to say grace;

whereupon he gave the following impromptu:—

Lord, we do thee humbly thank

For that we little merit.—

Now Jean may take the flesh away,

And Will bring in the spirit.

Refractory Rhyming.

When Canning was challenged to find a rhyme for _Julianna_, he

immediately wrote,—

Walking in the shady grove

With my Julianna,

For lozenges I gave my love

Ipecacuanha.

Ipecacuanha lozenges, though a myth when the stanza was written, are now

commonly sold by apothecaries.

* * * * *

Three or four wits, while dining together, discussed the difficulty of

finding rhymes for certain names. General Morris challenged any of the

party to find a happy rhyme for his name; and the challenge was

instantly taken up by John Brougham, whose facility at extempore rhyming

is proverbial:—

All hail to thee, thou gifted son!

The warrior-poet Morris!

’Tis seldom that we see in one

A Cæsar and a Horace.

Some years ago a French speculator found himself ruined by a sudden

collapse in the stock-market. He resolved to commit suicide, but, as he

was a connoisseur in monumental literature, he decided first to compose

his own epitaph. The first line—a very fine one—terminated with the word

_triomphe_. To this, search as he might, he could find no rhyme, and he

could not bring himself to sacrifice his beloved line. Time passed,

finding him still in search of his rhyme, assisted by a number of

benevolent friends, but all in vain. One day a promising speculation

presented itself: he seized the opportunity and regained his fortune.

The rhyme so zealously sought has at length been found, and the epitaph

completed. Here it is:—

Attendre que de soi la vétusté triomphe,

C’est absurde! Je vais au devant de la mort.

Mourir a plus d’attraits quand on est jeune encore:

A quoi bon devenir un vieillard monogomphe?

_Monogomphe_; a brilliant Hellenism signifying “who has but a single

tooth.”

* * * * *

To get a rhyme in English for the word _month_ was quite a matter of

interest with curious people years ago, and somebody made it out or

forced it by making a quatrain, in which a lisping little girl is

described as saying:—

——I can get a rhyme for a month.

I can thay it now, I thed it wunth!

Another plan was to twist the numeral _one_ into an ordinal. For

instance:—

Search through the works of Thackeray—you’ll find a rhyme to month;

He tells us of Phil Fogarty, of the fighting onety-oneth!

A parallel lisp is as follows:—

“You can’t,” says Tom to lisping Bill,

“Find any rhyme for month.”

“A great mithtake,” was Bill’s reply;

“I’ll find a rhyme at _onth_.”

And

Among our numerous English rhymes,

They say there’s none to month;

I tried and failed a hundred times,

But succeeded the hundred and _onth_.

But these are hardly fair. The rhyme is good, but the English is bad.

Christina Rosetti has done better in the admirable book of nursery

rhymes which she has published under the title of _Sing-Song_:—

How many weeks in a month?

Four, as the swift moon runn’th—

In both of these instances, however, the rhymes are evasions of the real

issue. The problem is not to make a word by compounding two, or

distorting one, but to find a word ready-made, in our unabridged

dictionaries that will rhyme properly to month. We believe there is

none. Nor is there a fair rhyme to the word _silver_, nor to _spirit_,

nor to _chimney_. Horace Smith, one of the authors of the _Rejected

Addresses_, once attempted to make one for chimney on a bet, and he did

it in this way:—

Standing on roof and by chimney

Are master and ’prentice with slim knee.

Another dissyllabic poser is _liquid_. Mr. C. A. Bristed attempts to

meet it as follows:—

After imbibing liquid,

A man in the South

Duly proceeds to stick quid

(Very likely a thick quid)

Into his mouth.

And “Mickey Rooney” contributes this:—

Shure Quicquid is a thick wit,

If he can not rhyme to liquid,

A thing that any Mick wid

The greatest aise can do:

Just take the herb called chick-weed,

Which they often cure the sick wid,

That’s a dacent rhyme for liquid,

And from a Mickey, too.

Some one having challenged a rhyme for _carpet_, the following “lines to

a pretty barmaid” were elicited in response:—

Sweet maid of the inn,

’Tis surely no sin

To toast such a beautiful bar pet;

Believe me, my dear,

Your feet would appear

At home on a nobleman’s carpet.

Rhymes were thus found for _window_:—

A cruel man a beetle caught,

And to the wall him pinned, oh!

Then said the beetle to the crowd,

“Though I’m stuck up I am not proud,”

And his soul went out of the window.

Bold Robin Hood, that archer good,

Shot down fat buck and _thin_ doe;

Rough storms withstood in thick greenwood,

Nor care for door or window.

This for _garden_:—

Though Afric’s lion be not here

In showman’s stoutly barred den,

An “Irish Lion” you may see

At large in Winter Garden.

The difficulty with porringer has thus been overcome:—

The second James a daughter had,

Too fine to lick a porringer;

He sought her out a noble lad,

And gave the Prince of Orange her.

And in this stanza:—

When nations doubt our power to fight,

We smile at every foreign jeer;

And with untroubled appetite,

Still empty plate and porringer.

These for _orange_ and _lemon_:—

I gave my darling child a lemon,

That lately grew its fragrant stem on;

And next, to give her pleasure _more_ range

I offered her a juicy orange,

And nuts—she cracked them in the door-hinge.

And many an _ill_, grim,

And travel-worn pilgrim,

has traveled far out of his way before succeeding with widow:—

Who would not always as he’s bid do,

Should never think to wed a widow.

The jury found that Pickwick did owe

Damages to Bardell’s widow.

Pickwick _loquitur_:—

Since of this suit I now am rid, O,

Ne’er again I’ll lodge with a widow!

Among the stubborn proper names are _Tipperary and Timbuctoo_. The most

successful effort to match the latter was an impromptu by a gentleman

who had accompanied a lady home from church one Sunday evening, and who

found her hymn-book is his pocket next morning. He returned it with

these lines:—

My dear and much respected Jenny,

You must have thought me quite a ninny

For carrying off your hymn-book to

My house. Had you thoughts visionary,

And did you dream some missionary

Had flown with it to Timbuctoo?

Another attempt runs thus:—

I went a hunting on the plains,

The plains of Timbuctoo;

I shot one buck for all my pains,

And he was a slim buck too.

An unattainable rhyme might be sought for _Euxine_, had not Byron said—

——Euxine,

The dirtiest little sea that mortal ever pukes in.

The following is from Tom Moore’s _Fudge Family in Paris_:—

Take instead of rope, pistol, or dagger, a

Desperate dash down the Falls of Niagara.

A request for a rhyme for Mackonochie elicited numerous replies, one of

which, in reference to a charitable occasion, begins thus:—

Who, folk bestowing

Their alms, when o’erflowing,

The coffer unlocks?

Fingers upon a key

Placing, Mackonochie

Opens the box.

Canning’s amusing little extravaganza, with which everybody is familiar,

beginning:—

Whene’er with haggard eyes I view

The dungeon that I’m rotting in,

I think of the companions true

Who studied with me at the U-

niversity of Gottingen,

has been parodied a hundred times; but it is itself a parody of Pindar,

whose fashion of dividing words in his odes all students of the classics

have abundant occasion to remember. The last stanza was appended by

William Pitt,—a fact not generally known:—

Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu,

That kings and priests are plotting in

Here doomed to starve on water gru-

el, never shall I see the U-

niversity of Gottingen.

Of these fantastic rhymes, Richard Harris Barham, has given us the

finest examples in the language, in his celebrated “Ingoldsby Legends.”

In the legend “Look at the Clock,” we have this:—

“Having once gained the summit, and managed to cross it, he

Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity.”

This from “The Ghost”:—

“And, being of a temper somewhat warm,

Would now and then seize upon small occasion,

A stick or stool, or anything that round did lie,

And baste her lord and master most confoundedly.”

In the “Tragedy” we have one even more whimsical and comical:—

“The poor little Page, too, himself got no quarter, but

Was served the same way,

And was found the next day

With his heels in the air, and his head in the water-butt.”

Byron has more than matched any of these in completeness of rhyme and

extent, if we may call it so, of rhyming surface, and matched even

himself in acidity of cynicism, in his couplet:—

“——Ye lords of ladies intellectual,

Come tell me, have they not hen-pecked you all.”

Punch has some very funny samples of eccentric rhymes, of which the best

is one that spells out the final word of a couplet, the last letter or

two, making so many syllables rhyme with the ending word of the

preceding line. Thus:—

“Me drunk! the cobbler cried, the devil trouble you,

You want to kick up a blest r-o-w,

I’ve just returned from a teetotal party,

Twelve on us jammed in a spring c-a-r-t,

The man as lectured now, was drunk; why bless ye,

He’s sent home in a c-h-a-i-s-e.”

Twenty-five years or more ago, in Boston, Monday was the gathering time

for Universalist clergymen, Tompkins’ book store being the place of

rendezvous. At these unions, King, Chapin, Hosea Ballou, Whittemore, and

other notabilities, were pretty sure to be present; and as it was

immediately after the graver labors of the Sabbath, the parsons were apt

to be in an unusually frisky condition.

Chapin, ordinarily, is of reticent habit; but when the company is

congenial, and he is in exhilarant mood, his wonderful flow of language

and quick perception make him a companion rarely equalled for wit and

repartee. On one occasion, when King and Chapin, and a dozen other

clergymen were at Tompkins’s, as was their wont, Chapin began to rhyme

upon the names of those present. Without a moment’s hesitation, he ran

off the name of each, rhyming it in verse, to the huge delight of the

company. Finally, after exhausting that list, the names of absent

clergymen were given to the ready poet, and there was not a single

failure. At last a clergyman said:—

“I can give you a name, Brother Chapin, to which you cannot make a

rhyme.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Brother Brimblecomb.”

Without a moment’s pause, Chapin said:—

“There was a man in our town,

His name—they called it Brimblecomb;

He stole the tailor’s needle and shears,

But couldn’t make the thimble come.”

Butler’s facility in overcoming stubborn words is amusing. For

instance:—

There was an ancient sage philosopher,

Who had read Alexander Ross over.

Coleridge, on the eve of his departure from Göttingen, being requested

by a student of the same class in the university to write in his

_Stammbuch_, or album, complied as follows:—

We both attended the same college,

Where sheets of paper we did blur many;

And now we’re going to sport our knowledge,

In England I, and you in Germany.

Father Prout, in his polyglot praise of rum punch, says:—

Doth love, young chiel, one’s bosom ruffle?

Would any feel ripe for a scuffle?

The simplest plan is just to take a

Well stiffened can of old Jamaica.

We parted by the gate in June,

That soft and balmy month,

Beneath the sweetly beaming moon,

And (wonth—hunth—sunth—bunth—I can’t find a rhyme to month).

Years were to pass ere we should meet;

A wide and yawning gulf

Divides me from my love so sweet,

While (ulf—sulf—dulf—mulf—stuck again; I can’t get any rhyme to gulf.

I’m in a gulf myself).

Oh, how I dreaded in my soul

To part from my sweet nymph,

While years should their long seasons roll

Before (nymph—dymph—ymph—I guess I’ll have to let it go at that).

Beneath my fortune’s stern decree

My lonely spirit sunk,

For a weary soul was mine to be

And (hunk—dunk—runk—sk—that will never do in the world).

She buried her dear, lovely face

Within her azure scarf,

She knew I’d take the wretchedness

As well as (parf—sarf—darf—half-and-half; that won’t answer either).

O, I had loved her many years,

I loved her for herself;

I loved her for her tender fears,

And also for her (welf—nelf—helf—pelf; no, no; not for her pelf).

I took between my hands her head,

How sweet her lips did pouch!

I kissed her lovingly and said:

(Bouch—mouche—louche—ouch; not a bit of it did I say ouch!)

I sorrowfully wrung her hand.

My tears they did escape,

My sorrow I could not command,

And I was but a (sape—dape—fape—ape; well, perhaps I did feel like an

ape).

I gave to her a fond adieu,

Sweet pupil of love’s school;

I told her I would e’er be true,

And always be a (dool—sool—mool—fool; since I come to think of it, I

was a fool, for she fell in love with another fellow before I was

gone a month).

Hood’s _Nocturnal Sketch_ presents a remarkable example of _la

difficulté vaincue_. Most bards find it sufficiently difficult to obtain

one rhyming word at the end of a line; but Hood secures three, with an

ease which is as graceful as it is surprising:—

Even has come; and from the dark park, hark

The signal of the setting sun—one gun!

And six is sounding from the chime—prime time

To go and see the Drury Lane Dane slain,

Or hear Othello’s jealous doubt spout out,

Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,

Denying to his frantic clutch much such;

Or else to see Ducrow, with wide tide, stride

Four horses as no other man can span;

Or in the small Olympic pit, sit split,

Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.

Anon night comes, and with her wings brings things

Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung:

The gas up blazes with its bright white light,

And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,

About the streets, and take up Pall-Mall Sal,

Who, trusting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.

Now thieves do enter for your cash, smash, crash,

Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep,

But, frightened by policeman B 3, flee,

And while they’re going, whisper low, “No go!”

Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads,

And sleepers grumble, Drat that cat!

Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls

Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill will.

Now bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise

In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor

Georgy, or Charles, or Billy, willy nilly;

But nurse-maid, in a night-mare rest, chest-pressed,

Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Græmes,

And that she hears—what faith is man’s—Ann’s banns

And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice;

White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out,

That upward goes, shows Rose knows those beaux’ woes.

Valentines.

A STRATEGIC LOVE-LETTER.

The following love-letter, dated in 1661, was sent by Philip, second

Earl of Chesterfield, to Lady Russell:—

Madam:—The dullness of this last cold season doth afford nothing that

is new to divert you; only here is a report that I fain would know the

truth of, which is, that I am extremely in love with you. Pray let me

know if it be true or no, since I am certain that nothing but yourself

can rightly inform me; for if you intend to use me favorably, and do

think I am in love with you, I most certainly am so; but if you intend

to receive me coldly, and do not believe that I am in love, I also am

sure that I am not; therefore let me entreat you to put me out of a

doubt which makes the greatest concern of,

Dear Madam, your most obedient faithful servant,

§Chesterfield§.

(It is the part of a skillful general to secure a good retreat.)

WRITTEN IN SYMPATHETIC INK.

Dear girl, if thou hadst been less fair,

Or I had been more bold,

The burning words I now would write,

Ere this, my tongue had told.

True to its bashful instinct still,

My love erects this screen,

And writes the words it dare not speak

In ink that can’t be seen.

CRYPTOGRAPHIC CORRESPONDENCE.

A lady wrote to a gentleman thus:—

“_I shall be_ much obliged to you, as reading _alone_ engages my

attention _at_ present, if you will lend me any one of the _Eight_

volumes of the Spectator. I hope you will excuse _this_ freedom, but

for a winter’s _evening_ I _don’t_ know a better entertainment. If I

_fail_ to return it soon, never trust me for the time _to come_.”

The words successively italicized convey the secret invitation.

MACAULAY’S VALENTINE.

The following valentine from Lord Macaulay to the Hon. Mary C. Stanhope,

daughter of Lord and Lady Mahon, 1851, is worthy of being preserved for

the sake as much of its author as of its own merits:—

Hail, day of music, day of love!

On earth below, and air above.

In air the turtle fondly moans,

The linnet pipes in joyous tones:

On earth the postman toils along,

Bent double by huge bales of song.

Where, rich with many a gorgeous dye,

Blazes all Cupid’s heraldry—

Myrtles and roses, doves and sparrows,

Love-knots and altars, lamps and arrows.

What nymph without wild hopes and fears

The double-rap this morning hears?

Unnumbered lasses, young and fair,

From Bethnel Green to Belgrave Square,

With cheeks high flushed, and hearts loud beating,

Await the tender annual greeting.

The loveliest lass of all is mine—

Good morrow to my Valentine!

Good morrow, gentle child: and then,

Again good morrow, and again,

Good morrow following still good morrow,

Without one cloud of strife or sorrow.

And when the god to whom we pay

In jest our homages to-day

Shall come to claim no more in jest,

His rightful empire o’er thy breast,

Benignant may his aspect be,

His yoke the truest liberty:

And if a tear his power confess,

Be it a tear of happiness.

It shall be so. The Muse displays

The future to her votary’s gaze:

Prophetic range my bosom swells—

I taste the cake—I hear the bells!

From Conduit street the close array

Of chariots barricades the way

To where I see, with outstretched hand,

Majestic thy great kinsman stand,[21]

And half unbend his brow of pride,

As welcoming so fair a bride;

Gay favors, thick as flakes of snow,

Brighten St. George’s portico:

Within I see the chancel’s pale,

The orange flowers, the Brussels veil,

The page on which those fingers white,

Still trembling from the awful rite,

For the last time shall faintly trace

The name of Stanhope’s noble race.

I see kind faces round thee pressing,

I hear kind voices whisper blessing:

And with those voices mingles mine—

All good attend my Valentine!

_St. Valentine’s Day, 1851._

§T. B. Macaulay.§

Footnote 21:

Statue of Mr. Pitt, in Hanover Square.

Very tender are Burns’ verses to his ladie loves. For instance:—

Oh! were I in the wildest waste,

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,

The desert were a paradise

If thou wert there, if thou wert there;

Or, were I monarch of the globe,

Wi’ thee to reign, wi’ thee to reign,

The brightest jewel in my crown

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

TEUTONIC ALLITERATION.

O du Dido, die du da den, der den, den du liebst liebt, lieb ’o

liebste des Freundes, den Freund des Freundes, des Freundes wegen.[22]

[O you Dido, you who, him, who him you love, loves, love O dearest of

the friend, the friend’s friend, for the friend’s sake.]

Footnote 22:

This will remind some of our German readers of the following

inscription:—

Der, der den, der den, den 15ten März hier gesetzten Warnungspfahl,

das niemand etwas in das Wasser werfen sollte, selbst in das Wasser

geworfen hat, auzeigt, erhält zehn Thaler Belohnung.

(Whoever, him, who, on the 15th of March the here placed warning-post,

that nobody should throw any thing into the water, has thrown the post

itself into the water, denounces, receives a reward of Ten Dollars.)

A LOVER TO HIS SWEETHEART.

Your face, your tongue, your wit,

So fair, so sweet, so sharp,

First bent, then drew, then hit,

Mine eye, mine ear, my heart.

Mine eye, mine ear, my heart,

To like, to learn, to love,

Your face, your tongue, your wit,

Doth lead, doth teach, doth move.

Your face, your tongue, your wit,

With beams, with sound, with art,

Doth bind, doth charm, doth rule,

Mine eye, mine ear, my heart.

Mine eye, mine ear, my heart,

With life, with hope, with skill,

Your face, your tongue, your wit,

Doth feed, doth feast, doth fill.

O face! O tongue! O wit!

With frowns, with check, with smart,

Wrong not, vex not, wound not,

Mine eye, mine ear, my heart.

This eye, this ear, this heart,

Shall joy, shall bend, shall swear,

Your face, your tongue, your wit,

To serve, to trust, to fear.

The lines may be read either from left to right, or from above

downwards. They may also be read in various directions.

CARDIAC EFFUSION.

Somebody named John Birchall wrote the following lines in 1684 with his

“heart’s blood”:—

These loving lines which I to you have sent,

In secrecy in my heart’s blood are pent,

Y^e pen I slipt as I y^e pen did make,

And freely bleeds, and will do for your sake.

MACARONIC VALENTINE.

Geist und sinn mich beügen über

Vous zu dire das ich Sie liebe!

Das herz que vous so lightly spurn

To you und sie allein will turn

Unbarmherzig—pourquoi scorn

Mon cœur with love and anguish torn?

Croyez vous das my despair

Votre bonheur can swell or faire?

Schönheit kann nicht cruel sein

Mepris ist keine macht divine,

Then, oh then, it can’t be thine.

Glaube das mine love is true,

Changeless, deep wie Himmel’s blue—

Que l’amour that now I swear

Zu Dir Ewigkeit I’ll bear.

Glaube das the gentle rays

Born and nourished in thy gaze

Sur mon cœur will ever dwell

Comme à l’instant when they fell—

Mechante! that you know full well.

George Digby, Earl of Bristol, one of the most graceful writers of the

Seventeenth Century, is credited with this:—

Fair Archabella, to thy eyes,

That flame just blushes in the skies,

Each noble heart doth sacrifice.

Yet be not cruel, since you may,

Whene’er you please, to save or slay,

Or with a frown benight the day.

I do not wish that you should rest

In any unknown highway breast,

The lodging of each common guest,

But I present a bleeding heart,

Wounded by love, not pricked by art,

That never knew a former smart.

Be pleased to smile, and then I live;

But if a frown, a death you give,

For which it were a sin to grieve.

Yet if it be decreed I fall,

Grant but one boon, one boon is all:—

That you would me your martyr call.

A COLORED MAN’S LOVE-LETTER.

A colored man living in Detroit had long admired a colored widow in a

neighboring street, but being afraid to reveal his passion, went to a

white man and asked him to write the lady a letter asking her hand in

marriage. The friend wrote, telling the woman in a few brief lines that

the size of her feet was the talk of the neighborhood, and asking her if

she couldn’t pare them down a little. The name of the colored man was

signed, and he was to call on her for an answer. Subsequently the writer

of the letter met the negro limping along the street, and asked him what

the widow said. The man showed him a bloodshot eye, a scratched nose, a

lame leg, and a spot on the scalp where a handful of wool had been

violently jerked out; and he answered in solemn tones: “She didn’t say

nuffin, an’ I didn’t stay dar mor’n a minute!”

UNPUBLISHED VERSES OF THOMAS MOORE.

Bright leaf, when storms thy bloom shall wither,

Oh, fly for calm and shelter hither;

And I will prize thy tints as truly

As when in Spring they blossom newly.

Bright leaf, when storms thy blooms shall wither,

Oh, fly for calm and shelter hither.

Sweet maid, while hope and rapture cheer thee,

’Tis not for me to linger near thee;

But when joys fade and hope deceives thee,

When all that soothes and flatters leaves thee—

Oh, then, how sweet in one forsaken,

Fresh hopes and joys again to waken!

EGYPTIAN SERENADE.

Sing again the song you sung

When we were together young—

When there were but you and I

Underneath the summer sky.

Sing the song, and sing it o’er,

Though I know that nevermore

Will it seem the song you sung

When we were together young.

PETITIONS.

THE MAIDS AND WIDOWS.

The following petition, signed by sixteen maids of Charleston, South

Carolina, was presented to the Governor of that province in March, 1733,

“the day of the feast”:—

§To His Excellency Governor Johnson.§

The humble petition of all the Maids whose names are

underwritten:—_Whereas_, We the humble petitioners are at present in a

very melancholy disposition of mind, considering how all the bachelors

are blindly captivated by widows, and our more youthful charms thereby

neglected: the consequence of this our request is, that your Excellency

will for the future order that no Widow shall presume to marry any young

man till the maids are provided for; or else to pay each of them a fine

for satisfaction, for invading our liberties; and likewise a fine to be

laid on all such bachelors as shall be married to widows. The great

disadvantage it is to us maids, is, that the widows, by their forward

carriages, do snap up the young men; and have the vanity to think their

merits beyond ours, which is a great imposition upon us who ought to

have the preference.

This is humbly recommended to your Excellency’s consideration, and hope

you will prevent any farther insults.

And we poor Maids as in duty bound will ever pray.

P. S.—I, being the oldest maid, and therefore most concerned, do think

it proper to be the messenger to your Excellency in behalf of my fellow

subscribers.

A MALADROIT PETITION.

An autograph of Madame de Maintenon has recently been discovered at

Chateau-Guinon, the history of which is curious. A worthy priest of

Cuiseaux, a small _Commune_ of La Brasse, desiring to repair his church,

which was becoming dilapidated, had the happy idea of addressing himself

to Madame de Maintenon, whose charitable bounty was upon every tongue.

Not being in the habit of corresponding with the great, the style of his

supplication cost him much thought, but at last he produced a memorial

commencing as follows:—

“Madame:—You enjoy the reputation, which I doubt not is well founded, of

according your favors to all who solicit them. I therefore venture to

appeal to your bounty in behalf of the church of Cuiseaux,” etc.

The exalted lady had no sooner cast her eyes upon the poor priest’s

unlucky exordium, than she flew into a rage, and had him thrown into

prison, whence it was with great difficulty that his friends procured a

release. The story seems apocryphal, but the memorial bears the

following indorsement in the handwriting of Madame de Maintenon:—The

lieutenant of police is ordered to issue a _lettre-de-cachet_ against

the signer of this petition.

Sonnets.

WRITING A SONNET.

Doris, the fair, a sonnet needs must have;

I ne’er was so put to ’t before;—a Sonnet!

Why fourteen verses must be spent upon it;

’Tis good howe’er to have conquered the first stave,

Yet I shall ne’er find rhymes enough by half,

Said I, and found myself i’ th’ midst o’ the second.

If twice four verses were but fairly reckoned

I should turn back on th’ hardest part and laugh,

Thus far with good success I think I’ve scribbled,

And of the twice seven lines have clean got o’er ten.

Courage! another ’ll finish the first triplet,

Thanks to thee, Muse, my work begins to shorten,

There’s thirteen lines got through driblet by driblet:

’Tis done! count how you will I warrant there’s fourteen.