FANCY TITLES FOR BOOKS.
_Furnished by Thomas Hood for a blind door in the Library at
Chatsworth, for his friend the Duke of Devonshire._
Percy Vere. In Forty Volumes.
Dante’s Inferno; or Descriptions of Van Demon’s Land.
Ye Devyle on Two Styx: (black letter).
Lamb’s Recollections of Suet.
Lamb on the Death of Wolfe.
Plurality of Livings: with Regard to the Common Cat.
Boyle on Steam.
Blaine on Equestrian Burglary; or the Breaking-in of Horses.
John Knox on Death’s Door.
Peel on Bell’s System.
Life of Jack Ketch, with Cuts of his own Execution.
Cursory Remarks upon Swearing.
Cook’s Specimens of the Sandwich Tongue.
Recollections of Banister. By Lord Stair.
On the Affinity of the Death-Watch and Sheep-Tick.
Malthus’ Attacks of Infantry.
McAdam’s Views of Rhodes.
The Life of Zimmermann. By Himself.
Pygmalion. By Lord Bacon.
Rules of Punctuation. By a Thoroughbred Pointer.
Chronological Account of the Date Tree.
Kosciusko on the Right of the Poles to Stick up for Themselves.
Prize Poems. In Blank Verse.
Shelley’s Conchology.
Chantry on the Sculpture of the Chipaway Indians.
The Scottish Boccaccio. By D. Cameron.
Hoyle on the Game Laws.
Johnson’s Contradictionary.
* * * * *
When Hood and his family were living at Ostend for economy’s sake, and
with the same motive Mrs. Hood was doing her own work, as we phrase it,
he wrote to a friend in England: “Jane is becoming an excellent cook
and housemaid, and I intend to raise her wages. She had nothing a week
before, and now I mean to double it.”
* * * * *
It has been estimated that of all possible or impossible ways of
earning an honest livelihood, the most arduous, and at the same time
the way which would secure the greatest good to the greatest number,
would be to go around, cold nights, and get into bed for people! To
this might be added, going around cold mornings and getting up for
people; and, most useful and most onerous of all, going around among
undecided people and making up their minds.
* * * * *
In these days of universal condensation--of condensed milk, condensed
meats, condensed news--perhaps no achievement of that kind ought to
surprise us; but it must be acknowledged that Thackeray’s condensing
feat was the most extraordinary on record. To compress “The Sorrows of
Werther”--that three volumed novel: a book of size--and tears, full of
pathos and prettiness, of devotion and desperation--into four stanzas
that tell the whole story, was a triumph of art which--which it is very
possible GOETHE would admire less than we do.
Werther had a love for Charlotte
Such as words can never utter.
Would you know how first he met her?
She was cutting bread and butter.
Charlotte was a married lady,
And a moral man was Werther,
And, for all the wealth of Indies,
Would do nothing for to hurt her.
So he sighed, and pined, and ogled,
And his passion boiled and bubbled,
Till he blew his silly brains out,
And no more was by it troubled.
Charlotte, when she saw his body
Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well conducted person,
Went on cutting bread and butter.
* * * * *
Theodore Hook was celebrated not more for his marvelous readiness in
rhyming than for the quality of the rhymes themselves. In his hands
the English language seemed to have no choice: plain prose appeared
impossible. Motley was the only wear; fantastic verse the only method
of expression. No less does he press into his service phrases from the
languages, as in the curious verses which follow, in praise of
CLUBS.
If any man loves comfort and
Has little cash to buy it, he
Should get into a crowded club--
A most select society!
While solitude and mutton cutlets
Serve _infelix uxor_, he
May have his club (like Hercules),
And revel there in luxury.
Here’s first the Athenæum club,
So wise, there’s not a man of it
That has not sense enough for six;
(In fact, that is the plan of it).
The very waiters answer you
With eloquence Socratical,
And always lay the knives and forks
In order mathematical.
The Union Club is quite superb;
Its best apartment daily is
The lounge of lawyers, doctors, beaux,
Merchants, _cum multis aliis_.
The Travellers are in Pall Mall,
And smoke cigars so cozily,
And dream they climb the highest Alps,
Or rove the plains of Moselai.
These are the stages which all men
Propose to play their parts upon;
For _clubs_ are what the Londoners
Have clearly set their _hearts_ upon.
OTHER WORLDS.
_Mr. Mortimer Collins indulges in sundry very odd speculations
concerning them._
Other worlds! Those planets evermore
In their golden orbits swiftly glide on;
From quick Hermes by the solar shore,
To remote Poseidon.
Are they like this world? The glory shed
From the ruddy dawn’s unfading portals?
Does it fall on regions tenanted
By a race of mortals?
Are there merry maidens, wicked-eyed,
Peeping slyly through the cottage lattice?
Have they vintage bearing countries wide?
Have they oyster patties?
Does a mighty ocean roar and break
On dark rocks and sandy shores fantastic?
Have they any Darwins there, to make
Theories elastic?
Does their weather change? November fog,
Weeping April, March with many a raw gust?
And do thunder and demented dog
Come to them in August?
Nineteenth century science should unravel
All these queries, but has somehow missed ’em.
When will it be possible to travel
Through the solar system?
STILTS.
Behold the mansion reared by dædal Jack,
See the malt stored in many a plethoric sack,
In the proud cirque of Ivan’s bivouac.
Mark how the Rat’s felonious fangs invade
The golden stores in John’s pavilion laid.
Anon, with velvet foot and Tarquin strides,
Subtle Grimalkin to his quarry glides--
Grimalkin grim, that slew the fierce _rodent_,
Whose tooth insidious Johann’s sackcloth rent.
Lo! now the deep mouthed canine foe’s assault,
That vexed the avenger of the stolen malt,
Stored in the hallowed precincts of the hall,
That rose complete at Jack’s creative call.
Here stalks the impetuous Cow with crumpled horn,
Whereon the exacerbating hound was torn,
Who bayed the feline slaughter beast that slew
The Rat predacious, whose keen fangs ran through
The textile fibres that involved the grain,
That lay in Hans’ inviolate domain.
Here walks forlorn the Damsel crowned with rue,
Lactiferous spoils from vaccine dugs who drew,
Of that corniculate beast whose tortuous horn
Tossed to the clouds, in fierce, vindictive scorn,
The harrying hound whose braggart bark and stir
Arched the lithe spine and reared the indignant fur
Of Puss, that with verminicidal claw,
Struck the weird Rat, in whose insatiate maw
Lay reeking malt, that erst in Ivan’s courts we saw.
Robed in senescent garb that seems, in sooth,
Too long a prey to Chronos’ iron tooth;
Behold the man whose amorous lips incline,
Full with young Eros’ osculative sign,
To the lorn maiden, whose lac-albic hands
Drew albu-lactic wealth from lacteal glands
Of the immortal bovine, by whose horn
Distort, to realm ethereal was borne
The beast catulean, vexer of that sly
Ulysses quadrupedal, who made die
The old mordacious Rat, that dared devour
Antecedaneous ale, in John’s domestic bower.
Lo here, with hirsute honors doffed, succinct
Of saponaceous lock, the Priest, who linked
In Hymen’s golden bands the torn unthrift,
Whose means exiguous stared from many a rift,
Even as he kissed the virgin all forlorn,
Who milked the cow with implicated horn,
Who in fine wrath the canine torturer skied,
That dared to vex the insidious muricide,
Who let the auroral effluence through the pelt
Of the sly Rat that robbed the palace Jack had built.
The loud, cantankerous Shanghai comes at last,
Whose shouts aroused the shorn ecclesiast,
Who sealed the vows of Hymen’s sacrament,
To him who robed in garments indigent,
Exosculates the damsel lachrymose,
The emulgator of that hornèd brute morose,
That tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that _kilt_
The rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that Jack built.
* * * * *
The _Home Journal_ having published a set of rather finical rules
for the conduct of equestrians in Central Park, a writer in _Vanity
Fair_ supplemented and satirized them as follows:
ETIQUETTE OF EQUITATION.
When a gentleman is to accompany a lady on horseback,
1st. There must be two horses. (Pillions are out of fashion, except in
some parts of Wales, Australia and New Jersey.)
2d. One horse must have a side saddle. The gentleman will not mount
this horse. By bearing this rule in mind he will soon find no
difficulty in recognizing his own steed.
3d. The gentleman will assist the lady to mount and adjust her foot
in the stirrup. There being but one stirrup, he will learn upon which
side to assist the lady after very little practice.
4th. He will then mount himself. As there are two stirrups to his
saddle, he may mount on either side, but by no means on both; at
least, not at the same time. The former is generally considered the
most graceful method of mounting. If he has known Mr. Rarey he may
mount without the aid of stirrups. If not, he may try, but will
probably fail.
5th. The gentleman should always ride on the right side of the lady.
According to some authorities, the right side is the left. According
to others, the other is the right. If the gentleman is left handed,
this will of course make a difference. Should he be ambidexter, it
will be indifferent.
6th. If the gentleman and lady meet persons on the road, these will
probably be strangers, that is if they are not acquaintances. In
either case the gentleman and lady must govern themselves accordingly.
Perhaps the latter is the evidence of highest breeding.
7th. If they be going in different directions, they will not be
expected to ride in company, nor must these request those to turn
and join the others; and _vice versa_. This is indecorous, and
indicates a lack of _savoir faire_.
8th. If the gentleman’s horse throw him he must not expect him to pick
him up, nor the lady; but otherwise the lady may. This is important to
be borne in mind by both.
9th. On their return, the gentleman will dismount first and assist
the lady from her horse, but he must not expect the same courtesy in
return.
N. B.--These rules apply equally to every species of equitation, as
pony riding, donkey riding, rocking horse riding, or “riding on a
rail.” There will, of course, be modifications required, according to
the form and style of the animal.
SONG OF THE RECENT REBELLION.
AIR: “_Lord Lovell_.”
Lord Lovell he sat in St. Charles’ Hotel,
In St. Charles’ Hotel sat he;
As fine a case of a rebel swell,
As ever you’d wish to see, see, see,
As ever you’d wish to see!
Lord Lovell the town had sworn to defend,
A-waving his sword on high;
He swore that the last ounce of powder he’d spend,
And in the last ditch he would die, die, die,
And in the last ditch he would die.
He swore by black and he swore by blue,
He swore by the stars and bars,
That never he’d fly from a Yankee crew
While he was a son of Mars, Mars, Mars,
While he was a son of Mars.
He had fifty thousand gal-li-ant men,
Fifty thousand men had he,
Who had all sworn with him they would never surren-
Der to any tarnation Yankee, kee, kee,
To any tarnation Yankee.
Sir Farragut came with a mighty fleet;
With a mighty fleet came he;
And Lord Lovell instanter began to retreat,
Before the first boat he could see, see, see,
Before the first boat he could see.
His “fifty thousand gal-li-ant men”
Dwindled down to thousands six,
Who heard a distant cannon, and then,
Commenced a-cutting their sticks, sticks, sticks--
Commenced a-cutting their sticks.
“Oh, tarry, Lord Lovell!” Sir Farragut cried;
“Oh, tarry, Lord Lovell!” cried he;
“I rather think not,” Lord Lovell replied,
“For I’m in a great hurree, ree, ree,
For I’m in a great hurr_ee_!
“I like the drinks at St. Charles’ Hotel,
But I never could bear strong Porter,
Especially when it is served in a shell,
Or mixed in an iron mortar!”
“I reckon you’re right,” Sir Farragut said,
“I reckon you’re right,” said he;
“For if my PORTER should fly to your head,
A terrible crash there’d be, be, be,
A terrible crash there’d be!”
Oh, a wonder it was to see them run!
A wonderful thing to see--
And the Yankees sailed up without shooting a gun,
And captured their great citee, tee, tee,
And captured their great citee.
Lord Lovell kept running all day and all night,
Lord Lovell a-running kept he,
For he swore that he couldn’t abide the sight
Of the gun of a live Yankee, kee, kee,
Of the gun of a live Yankee.
When Lord Lovell’s life was brought to a close
By a sharp-shooting Yankee gunner,
From his head there sprouted a red, red--nose,
From his feet a scarlet runner!
OTHER PARODIES.
“_Come into the garden, Maud!_”
Come out in the garden, Jane,
For the black bear, night, has run,
Come out in the garden, Jane,
It’s time the party was done;
And the chickens commence to cackle again,
And the cocks crow, one by one.
For a breeze begins to blow,
And the planet of Jupiter, he,
Grows shaky and pale, as the dawn, you know,
Comes striding over the sea;
Grows pale, as the dawn keeps coming, you know,
Grows paler and paler to be.
All night have the tulips shaked,
At the noise of the fiddle and drum,
All night has the trumpet-vine quivered and quaked,
As the sounds of the dancing have come;
Till the chickens and cocks in the hen-roost waked,
And they stopped the fiddle and drum.
I said to the tulip, “It’s I,” says I,
Whom she likes best of them all;
“When will they let her alone?” says I,
“She’s tired I know of the ball.
Now part of the folks have said good-bye,
And part are now in the hall;
They’ll all be off directly,” says I,
“And then I’m over the wall.”
I said to the pink, “Nigh over, I think,
The dancing and glancing and fun:
O young Lloyd Lever, your hopes will sink
When you find the charmer is won!
We’re one, we’re one,” I remarked to the pink,
“In spirit already one.”
And the red of the pink went into my face,
As I thought of your sweet “I will;”
And long I stood in that slippery place,
For I heard our waterfall spill,
Spill over the rocks and run on in the race,
The mill-race down by the mill,
From the tree where I feebly stated my case,
To the fence where you answered “I will.”
The drowsy buttercup went to bed
Nor left a lock of her hair;
The great sunflower he nodded his head
And the poppy snored in his chair;
But the pink wasn’t sleepy at all, she said,
Wishing my pleasure to share,
No tulip or pink of them cared for bed,
They knew I expected you there.
Queen pink of the feminine pinks in there,
Come out in the garden to me,
In the velvet basque, silk-lined you wear,
Queen pink and tulip you be:
Bob out little face, running over with hair,
And let the hollyhocks see.
Is that the marigold’s laugh I hear,
Or the sound of her foot as ’t fell?
She is coming, my duck, my dear;
She is coming, my bird, my belle.
The blood-pink cries; “She is near, she is near,”
And the pale pink sobs: “Do tell!”
The snap-dragon says: “D’you see her? D’you see her?”
And the tulip, “Yes, there by the well!”
She is coming, my joy, my pet,
Let her trip it, soft as she chose,
My pulses would livelier get
Were I dying there under the rose;
My blood flow rapider yet
Were I buried down under the rose,
Would start and trickle out ruby and wet
And bubble wherever she goes.
CLEON HATH A MILLION ACRES.
Brown has pockets running over,
Ne’er a dime have I;
Brown he has a wife and children,
Bachelor am I;
Brown he has a dozen servants,
One of ’em am I;
Yet the poorest of us couple
’s Brown; I’ll tell you why.
Brown, ’tis true, possesseth dollars,
All creation I;
And the income that it gives me
Lieth in my eye.
Brown he is a sleepy fellow,
Wide-awake am I;
He in broad-cloth, I in tow-cloth,
Handsomest am I.
Brown has had no education;
Mine you couldn’t buy;
He don’t know we call him “noodle,”
I assert it, I;
Brown, I tell you you’re a noodle,
Noodle you will die;
Who speaks first to change conditions?
--I declare--it’s I!
“WHEN I THINK OF MY BELOVED.”
(_Algonquin Song, in “Hiawatha.”_)
When I think of him I love so,
Oh lor! think of him I love so,
When I am a-thinking of him--
Ouch! my sweetheart, my Bee-no-nee!
Oh lor! when we left each other
He presented me a thimble--
As a pledge, a silver thimble,
Ouch! my sweetheart, my Bee-no-nee!
“I’ll go ’long with you,” he whispered,
Oh lor! to the place you come from;
“Let me go along,” he whispered,--
Ouch! my sweetheart, my Bee-no-nee!
“It’s awful fur, full fur,” I answered,
“Fur away it is,” I answered,
“Oh lor! yes, the place I come from--”
Ouch! my sweetheart, my Bee-no-nee!
As I looked ’round for to see him,
Where I left him for to see him,
He was looking for to see me--
Ouch! my sweetheart, my Bee-no-nee!
On the log he was a-sitting,
On the hollow log a-sitting,
That was chopped down by somebody--
Ouch! my sweetheart, my Bee-no-nee!
When I think of him I love so,
Oh lor! think of him I love so,
When I am a-thinking of him--
Ouch! my sweetheart, my Bee-no-nee!
(_From “Milkanwatha.”_)
“NEVER STOOPS THE SOARING VULTURE.”
(_Also from “Milkanwatha.”_)
Never jumps a sheep that’s frightened,
Over any fence whatever,
Over wall, or fence, or timber,
But a second follows after,
And a third, upon the second,
And a fourth, and fifth, and so on,
First a sheep, and then a dozen,
Till they all, in quick succession,
One by one have got clean over.
So misfortunes almost always,
Follow after one another,
Seem to watch each other always;
When they see the tail uplifted,
In the air the tail uplifted,
As the sorrow leapeth over;
Lo! they follow, thicker, faster,
Till the air of earth seems darkened
With the tails of sad misfortunes,
Till our heart within us, weary,
Cry out: “Are there more a-coming?”
THE FALLS OF LODORE.
“Rising and leaping, sinking and creeping,
Striking and raging, as if a war waging,
All around and around, with endless rebound,
Confounding, astounding,
Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound!
“Recoiling, turmoiling, and toiling and boiling,
And dashing, and flashing, and splashing and crashing,
All at once, and all o’er, with a mighty uproar;
And THIS way the water comes down at Lodore!”
A disappointed, “disillusioned,” tourist expresses below _his_ view of
the subject, which slightly differs from Southey’s.
Do you want to be told how it is that the water
Comes down at Lodore?
Why then I’m the man
Of all others, that can,
Or, rather, the man of all others, that _ought_ to
Be able to tell you, without any more
Fuss;
Thus!
Behind a small cavern,
Suppose a dark cavern,
Or ravine, more correctly,
From whose summit directly
As from a stone pitcher,
Out of the which, a
Volume of fluid
Enough for a Druid
To wade to his knees in,
Pours out unceasin’-
Gly down, and not up;
Which would be a sup-
Position so very
To nature contrary,
That it couldn’t be thought a
Supposable case,
For a cascade of water
On any man’s place;
Much more, at Lodore,
Where the water has always come down, heretofore.
Down deep precipices,
And awful abysses,
Ten feet, or fifteen,
The water is seen
To drip, skip, trip, slip, dip
A gill in a minute, in great agitation;
Then goes it again,
With a very perpen-
Dicular smash, dash, splash, crash;
A pint, at the least calculation!
Making no bones
Of wetting the stones,
Which can’t get out,
But wriggle about,
A whole quart of the cascade has got ’em;
And the way they go
Down, isn’t slow;
Rumble, and jumble, and tumble;
Hip, hop, drop, whop, stop!
A gallon has got to the bottom!
And the moral of that is, said the Duchess, that tourists shouldn’t see
NIAGARA before they visit Lodore.
“TELL ME, YE WINGED WINDS.”
Tell me, my secret soul,
Oh, tell me, Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting-place
From women, girls, and death?
Is there no happy spot
Where bachelors are blessed,
Where females never go,
And men escape that pest?
Faith, Hope, and Love, best boon to mortals given,
Waved their bright wings, and whispered, “Yes, in Heaven!”
SEEING IS BELIEVING: SEEING IS DECEIVING.
Here is a row of capital letters, and of figures, of ordinary size and
shapes:
SSSSXXXXZZZZZ33338888
They are such as are made up of two parts, of similar form. Look
carefully at these, and you will perceive that the upper halves of the
characters are a very little smaller than the lower halves--so little
that, at a mere glance, we should declare them to be of equal size.
Now, turn the page upside down, and, without any careful looking, you
will see that this difference in size is very much exaggerated--that
the real top half of the letter is very much smaller than the other
half. It will be seen by this that there is a tendency in the eye to
enlarge the upper part of any object upon which it looks. Thus two
circles of unequal size might be drawn and so placed that they would
appear exactly alike.
FANTASTIC NAMES.
An Ohio lady told me that she knew three young ladies belonging to one
family, named severally:
_Regina_, _Florida Geneva_, and _Missouri Iowa_. And that an
ill-starred child, born about the time of the first Atlantic cable
_furor_, was threatened with the name of _Atalanta Telegrapha
Cabelletta_!
The cable collapsed, and the child escaped; but a young lady of
Columbus, born January 1, 1863, was less fortunate. She was named
by her parents in honor of the event of that day, _Emancipation
Proclamation_, and is known by the pet name “Proklio.”
I knew a boy named _Chief Justice Marshall_; a young man, (greatness
was thrust upon him,) named _Commodore Perry V----r_, and have been
told of a little girl named by her novel-loving mother, _Lady Helen
Mar_.
Mrs. C., of Western New York, was, in her girlhood, acquainted with a
boy who by no means “rejoiced in the name” of _John Jerome Jeremiah
Ansegus P. S. Brown McB----e_.
A colored woman in Dunkirk named her infant son in honor of two lawyers
there: _Thomas P. Grosvenor William O. Stevens D----s_; and, at an
Industrial school in Detroit, there was some years ago a colored boy
named _Nicholas Evans Esquire Providence United States of America
Jefferson Davis B----s_.
In Cazenovia there once lived a young lady named _Encyclopedia
Britannica D----y_.
There, too, Messrs. _Hyde_ and _Coop_ lived side by side for several
years. Then Mr. _Hyde_ moved out of town, and spoiled that little game.
It was noted as a coincidence when a Mr. _Conkrite_, of Tecumseh,
Mich., sold his dwelling-house and lot to Mrs. _Cronkite_.
A farmer in Allegany county, N. Y., named his children _Wilhelmina
Rosalinda_, _Sobriski Lowanda_, _Eugertha Emily_, _Hiram Orlaska_,
_Monterey Maria_ and _Delwin Dacosti_. The following are also vouched
for as genuine American names: _Direxa Polyxany Dodge_, _Hostalina
Hypermnestra Meacham_, _Keren Habuch Moore_ and _Missouri Arkansas
Ward_.
There lived in Greenfield, N. Y., a certain Captain _Parasol_; and, at
Niagara Falls, for a time, a Methodist minister named _Alabaster_.
I have lately heard of a Mrs. _Achilles_, a Mr. and Mrs. _December_,
a _John January_, and a Mr. _Greengrass_; and of an Indiana girl, at
school in Cincinnati, named _Laura Eusebia Debutts Miranda M’Kinn
Parron Isabella Isadora Virginia Lucretia A----p_.
In 1874 one of the young ladies at a certain convent school in West
Virginia, was Miss _Claudia Deburnabue Bellinger Mary Joseph N----p_.
The following are names of stations on the “E. and N. A. Railway,”
New Brunswick: _Quispamsis_, _Nanwigewank_, _Ossekeag_, _Passekeag_,
_Apohaqui_, _Plumweseep_, _Penobsquis_, _Anagance_, _Petitcodiac_,
_Shediac_, _Point du Chene_; and we should particularly like to hear a
conductor sing them.
LADIES’ NAMES.
_Their Sound._
There is a strange deformity,
Combined with countless graces,
As often in the ladies’ names
As in the ladies’ faces.
Some names are fit for every age,
Some only fit for youth;
Some passing sweet and musical,
Some horribly uncouth;
Some fit for dames of loftiest grades,
Some only fit for scullery maids.
Ann is too plain and common,
And Nancy sounds but ill;
Yet Anna is endurable,
And Annie better still.
There is a grace in Charlotte,
In Eleanor a state,
An elegance in Isabelle,
A haughtiness in Kate:
And Sara is sedate and neat,
And Ellen innocent and sweet.
Matilda has a sickly sound,
Fit for a nurse’s trade;
Sophia is effeminate,
And Esther sage and staid;
Elizabeth’s a matchless name,
Fit for a queen to wear--
In castle, cottage, hut or hall,
A name beyond compare:
And Bess and Bessie follow well,
But Betsy is detestable.
Maria is too forward,
And Gertrude is too gruff,
Yet, coupled with a pretty face,
Is pretty name enough:
And Adelaide is fanciful,
And Laura is too fine,
But Emily is beautiful,
And Mary is divine;
Maud only suits a high-born dame,
And Fanny is a baby name.
Eliza is not very choice,
Jane is too blunt and bold,
And Martha somewhat sorrowful,
And Lucy proud and cold.
Amelia is too light and gay,
Fit only for a flirt,
And Caroline is vain and shy,
And Flora smart and pert;
Louisa is too soft and sleek--
But Alice, gentle, chaste and meek.
And Harriet is confiding,
And Clara grave and mild,
And Emma is affectionate,
And Janet arch and wild;
And Patience is expressive,
And Grace is old and rare,
And Hannah, kind and dutiful,
And Margaret, frank and fair;
And Faith, and Hope, and Charity
Are heavenly names for sisters three.
LADIES’ NAMES.
THEIR SIGNIFICANCE.
Frances is frank and free;
Bertha is purely bright;
Clara is illustrious;
Cecilia, dim of sight.
Katharine is pure;
Barbara, from afar;
Mabel is lovable;
Lucy is a morning star.
Wisdom is Sophia’s name;
Happiness, Letitia’s;
Adelaide a princess is;
Beatrice, delicious.[2]
Susan is a lily;
Julia has soft hair;
Sara is a lady;
Rosalind, as roses fair.
Constance, firm and resolute;
Grace is favor meet;
Emily has energy;
Melicent is honey-sweet.
Elizabeth and Isabel
To GOD are consecrate;
Edith is happiness;
Maud has courage great.
Mary or Maria,
Star of the sea;
Margaret, a pearl;
Agnes, chastity.
Agatha is truly kind;
Eleanor is light;
Esther is good fortune;
Elvira’s soul is white.
Antoinette, Anne, Anna,
Grace and favor rare;
Geraldine and Bridget,
Strong beyond compare.
Noble is Eugenia;
Flora, queen of flowers;
Virginia is purity;
Let her grace be ours!
GEOGRAPHICAL PROPRIETY.
The Brewers should to Malta go,
The dullards all to Scilly,
The Quakers to the Friendly Isles,
The Furriers to Chili.
Spinsters should to the Needles go;
Wine-bibbers to Burgundy;
Gourmands may lunch at Sandwich Isles,
Wits sail to Bay of Fundy.
Cooks, from Spithead, should go to Greece;
And, while the Miser waits
His passage to the Guinea Coast,
Spendthrifts are in the Straits.
The Babies (bless their little hearts!)
That break our nightly rest,
Might be sent off to Babylon,
To Lapland, or to Brest.
Musicians hasten to the Sound;
Itinerants to Rome;
And let the race of hypocrites
At Canton find their home.
Lovers should fly to Cape Good Hope,
Or castles build in Spain;
Debtors should go to Oh-I-Owe;
Our Sailors to the Maine.
Bold Bachelors to the United States;
Maids to the Isle of Man;
The Gardener should to Botany go;
And Shoeblacks to Japan.
This all arranged, and misplaced men
Would then no longer vex us;
While any not provided for
Could go, at once, to Texas!
THE CAPTURE.
When, in the tenth century, the Tartars, led by their ruthless chief,
invaded Hungary, and drove its king from the disastrous battle-field,
despair seized upon all the inhabitants of the land. Many had fallen
in conflict, many more were butchered by the pitiless foe, some sought
escape, others apathetically awaited their fate. Among the last was a
nobleman who lived retired on his property, distant from every public
road. He possessed fine herds, rich corn fields, and a well stocked
house, built but recently for the reception of his wife, who now for
two years had been its mistress.
Disheartening accounts of the general misfortune had reached his
secluded shelter, and its peaceful lord was horror-stricken. He
trembled at every sound, at every step; he found his meals less savory;
his sleep was troubled; he often sighed, and seemed quite lost and
wretched. Thus anxiously anticipating the troubles which menaced him,
he sat, one day, at his well closed window, when suddenly a Tartar,
mounted on a fiery steed, galloped into the court. The Hungarian sprang
from his seat, ran to meet his guest, and said:
“Tartar, thou art my lord; I am thy servant; all thou seest is thine.
Take what thou fanciest; I do not oppose thy power. Command; thy
servant obeys.”
The Tartar immediately leaped from his horse, entered the house, and
cast a careless glance on all the precious adornments it contained. His
eyes rested upon the brilliant beauty of the lady of the house, who
appeared, tastefully attired, to greet him there, no less graciously
than her consort.
The Tartar seized her, with scarcely a moment’s hesitation, and,
unheedful of her shrieks, swung himself upon the saddle, and spurred
away, carrying off his lovely booty.
All this was but an instant’s work. The nobleman was thunderstruck, yet
he recovered, and hastened to the gate. He could hardly distinguish,
in the distance, the figures of the lady and her relentless captor. At
length a deep sigh burst from his overcharged heart, and he exclaimed
in the bitterness of his bereavement:
“Alas! poor Tartar!”
* * * * *
Matrimony has been defined An insane desire on the part of a young man
to pay a young woman’s board. But it might be said, with equal justice,
to be An insane desire on the part of a young woman, to secure--a
master.
* * * * *
THE FIRST MARRIAGE.--And Adam said: “This is now bone of my
bone, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called woman because she was
taken out of man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother and
cleave unto his wife. They shall be one flesh.”
No cards.
* * * * *
In a country church-yard is found this epitaph: “Here lie the bodies of
James Robinson and Ruth his wife;” and, underneath, this text: “Their
warfare is accomplished.”
* * * * *
A lady having died unmarried at the age of sixty-five, the following
epitaph was engraved upon her tombstone:
“She was fearfully and wonderfully maid.”
* * * * *
“This animal,” said a menagerie-man, “is exceedingly timid and retired
in its habits. It is seldom seen by the human eye--sometimes never!”
* * * * *
If it was Talleyrand who described language as a gift bestowed upon man
in order to enable him to conceal his thoughts, he scarcely made that
use of it, when, in reply to some friend who asked his opinion of a
certain lady, he said: “She has but one fault--she is insufferable!”
* * * * *
“What do you want?” demanded an irate house-holder, called to the
window at eleven o’clock, by the ringing of the door-bell:
“Want to stay here all night.”
“Stay there, then!” Window closed emphatically.
* * * * *
“I want to go to the Revere,” said a stranger in Boston to a citizen on
the street.
“Well, you may go, if you’ll come back pretty soon,” was the
satisfactory reply.
* * * * *
“I wish to take you apart for a few moments,” one gentleman said to
another in a mixed company.
“Very well,” said the person addressed, rising and preparing to follow
the first speaker; “but I shall insist on being put together again!”
* * * * *
Two gentlemen meeting at the door of a street-car in Toledo, and
entering together, both faultlessly dressed for the evening, one of
them, glancing at his companion’s attire, asked briskly: “Well! who
is to be bored to-night?” “I don’t know,” said the other, _as_
briskly, “Where are you going?”
* * * * *
This is the way it sounded to the congregation:
“Wawkaw swaw daw aw waw,
Thaw saw thaw Law ahwaw,
Wawkaw taw thaw rahvawvaw braw
Aw thaw rahjawsaw aw!”
this is what the choir undertook to sing:
“Welcome sweet day of rest,
That saw the Lord arise!
Welcome to this reviving breast,
And these rejoicing eyes!”
* * * * *
Mary Wortley Montague was epigrammatic when she divided mankind into
“three classes--men, women, and the Hervey family”; an English writer
of the present century, when he summed up Harriet Martineau’s creed,
in a travesty on the Mohammedan confession of faith, “There is no
God, and Harriet is his prophet;” an English critic, who described
Forster’s Life of Charles Dickens as a “Biography of John Forster,
with Reminiscences of Dickens”; an American, who said of one of his
own noted countrymen (and it is equally true of many others), “He is
a self-made man, and he worships his Creator;” finally, President
Grant, when he exclaimed: “Sumner does not believe the Bible! I am not
surprised; he didn’t write it!”
* * * * *
Charles Francis Adams, in his eloquent eulogy on W. H. Seward, lapses
into a mixed metaphor which is, perhaps, all things considered, one of
the most remarkable on record. “One single hour,” he says, “of the will
displayed by General Jackson, at the time when Mr. Calhoun--the most
powerful leader secession ever had--was abetting active measures, would
have _stifled the fire in its cradle_.”
This is scarcely excelled even by Sir Roche Boyle’s celebrated trope:
“I smell a rat. I see him floating in the air. But, mark me, I shall
nip him in the bud!”
* * * * *
M. B. was planning plank walks from the front doors of his
Ellicottville cottage to the gate, wishing to combine greatest
convenience with least possible encroachment upon the verdure of the
modest lawn. “Friends in council,” assisting at his deliberations, took
diverse views of the case. One would have the walks meet obliquely in
the form of a Y. Another insisted that whatever angles there were,
should be right angles, etc. Finally, M. B. remarked: “Well! we don’t
seem to agree. No two of us agree. I think I’ll plank the yard all
over, and, where I _want_ the grass to grow BORE HOLES!”
* * * * *
Readers who admire the elliptical and suggestive style, and who,
therefore, adore Mrs. R. H. D. and Mrs. A. D. T. W., ought to be
pleased with the instructions given by a Philadelphian million-heiress
to her agent, in this wise, (_audivi_):
“Where the men are at work, they will throw stones and earth and
timbers against that tree, and there is no use in it. By a little care
they could avoid it, but they won’t _be_ careful. So I’d like you,
as soon as possible, to put a protection around it--_because it isn’t
necessary_.”
... “No, you needn’t drive her out of the grounds. Cows are not
allowed to run in the street, and the owner is liable for trespass if
they do. Shut her up in the yard, and if the owner don’t come for her
to-morrow--Pound her--_because there is a law against it_.”
* * * * *
“Aha!” said a Hibernian gentleman, surprised at his neighbor’s unusual
promptness; “Aha! So you’re first, at last! you were always behind
before!”
Another Emerald Islander, speaking at his breakfast table of the
difference between travel by steam and the old mode, thus illustrated
the point: “Afore the rail-road was built, if ye left Elmira at noon,
and drove purty fast, ye might likely get to Corning to tea. But
to-day, if ye were to start from Elmira at noon on an Express train for
Corning, why, ye’re there _Now_!”
* * * * *
Caledonian shrewdness and the Caledonian dialect, alike speak for
themselves, in a “bonny Scot’s” definition of metaphysics: “When the
mon wha is listenin’, dinna ken what the ither is talkin’ aboot, and
the mon wha is talkin’ dinna ken it himsel’, that is metapheesicks.”
* * * * *
“Be what you would seem to be,” said the Duchess, in Lewis Carroll’s
delightfully droll story of “Alice’s Adventures,”--“or, if you like it
put more simply: Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what
it might appear to others, that what you were or might have been, was
not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be
otherwise.”
That is slightly metapheesickal, perhaps; and the same objection might
be urged against Dr. Hunter’s favorite motto: “It is pretty impossible,
and, therefore, extremely difficult for us to convey unto others those
ideas whereof we are not possessed of ourselves.”
It was Dr. Hunter, who, some years before the war, returned from
Florida, where he had spent the winter in a vain quest of health, and
exhibited to one of his friends a thermometer he had procured there,
marked from 120° only down to zero.
“It was manufactured at the South, I suppose?” she said.
“Oh, no!” was his reply: “It was made in Boston. It’s a Northern
thermometer, with Southern principles.”
* * * * *
Colonel Bingham, of brave and witty memory, had resigned his commission
in the Union army, and come home to die. During his lingering illness,
the family received a visit from a distant relative, a Carolina lady,
with strong secession proclivities, but with sufficient tact not to
express them freely before her Northern friends. However, she could not
altogether conceal them, but would often express her sympathy for “the
soldiers, on both sides”--wish she could distribute the fruit of the
peach-orchard among them, “on both sides,” &c.
One day when the Colonel was suffering, with his usual fortitude, one
of his severest paroxysms of pain, the lady looked in at the door of
his room, and, after watching him a few moments with an expression of
the keenest commiseration, she turned away. Just as soon as he could
breathe again, he gasped out:
“Cousin--Sallie--looked--as if--she was--sorry for me--on both sides!”
* * * * *
A young lady who had married and come north to live, visited, after the
lapse of a year or two, her southern home. It was in the palmy days of
the peculiar institution, and she was as warmly welcomed by the colored
as by the white members of the household. Just before her arrival, a
bottle of medicine with a strong odor of Bourbon had been uncorked,
and, afterward, set away. After the first greetings were over, she
exclaimed:
“I smell spirits. What have you been doing?”
Old Aunt Chloe, who had lingered in the room so as to be near the
beloved new-comer, turned with an air of triumph to her mistress, who
had often rebuked her belief in ghosts, and burst out with:
“Dar, Missus! Didn’t I allus tole yo dere was sperits in dis yere
house? Sometimes I see ’em, sometimes I hear ’em, an’ yo wood’n b’lieve
me; but now, Miss Lizzie’s done gone SMELL ’em!”
* * * * *
The first chapter of a Western novel is said to contain the following
striking passage:
All of a sudden the fair girl continued to sit on the sands, gazing
upon the briny deep, upon whose bosom the tall ships went merrily by,
freighted, ah! who can tell with how much joy and sorrow, and pine
lumber, and emigrants, and hopes and salt fish!
* * * * *
“The story,” said our host, with his inexhaustible humor and
irresistible brogue, “is of a man who died, and forthwith presented
himself at Heaven’s gate, requesting admittance.
‘Have ye bin to Purgatory, my mon?’ says St. Peter.
‘No, yer Riverence.’
‘Thin it’s no good. Ye’ll have to wait awhile.’
While the unlucky ‘Peri’ was slowly withdrawing, another candidate
approached, and the same question was asked him.
‘No, yer Riverence, but I’ve been married.’
‘Well, that’s all the same,’ says St. Peter; ‘Come in!’
At this, the first arrival taking heart of grace, advanced again, and
says he:
‘Plaze yer Riverence, I’ve been married twice!’
‘Away wid ye! Away wid ye!’ says St. Peter: ‘Heaven is no place for
fools!’”
* * * * *
When, some years since, a coalition was talked of between the New York
_World_, the _Times_, and the _Herald_, the _Tribune_ remarked that,
after all, it would be nothing new; it was only the old story of “the
world, the flesh, and the devil.”
* * * * *
In 1871, when the French President was undecided and inactive, in the
face of all the frightful dangers that threatened the nation, some wit
quoted at him the well known verse from Tennyson:
“Thiers! Idle Thiers! We know not what you mean!”
* * * * *
In ’73 a print was widely circulated in Germany, representing Bismarck
pulling away at a rope which was fastened to the massive pillars of a
Cathedral. At his side stood His Satanic Majesty, who thus questioned
him:
“Well, my friend, what are you doing?”
“Trying to pull down the Church.”
“Trying to pull down the Church? And how long do you think it will take
you?”
“Oh, perhaps three or four years.”
“Very good, my friend, very good! I have been trying that for the last
eighteen hundred years; and, if you succeed in three or four, I’ll
resign in your favor!”
* * * * *
When a certain United States Senator disappointed his Ohio constituents
by voting on what they thought the wrong side of a question, some one
(who must have enjoyed his opportunity) hit him with the following
quotation: “He’s Ben Wade, and found wanting.”
* * * * *
“John P. Hale is an old goose!” exclaimed General Cass. Some friend
was kind enough to repeat this saying to the Senator; who replied with
a smile, (and, surely this was the “retort courteous,”) “Tell General
Cass that he’s a Michi-gander!”
* * * * *
At a public dinner in Boston, nearly twenty years ago, Judge Story
proposed as a toast: “The Orator of the Day: Fame follows merit
wherEVER IT goes!” To which Mr. Everett responded: “The President of
the Day: To whatever height the fabric of jurisprudence may aspire in
this country, it can never rise above one Story!”
* * * * *
A newspaper wit announces the discovery of a buried city in the
following pathetic terms: Another lost city has been found on the coast
of Siberia. Now let the man who lost it make his appearance, pay for
this advertisement, and take his old ruins away.
* * * * *
It has been said that the faculty of generalization belongs equally
to childhood and to genius. Was she a genius, clad in sable robes,
and bewailing the recent loss of her husband--she was certainly not a
child--who observed in conversation, with most impressive pathos: “For
we are all liable to become a widow!”
CHARACTERISTIC SAYINGS OF AMERICANS.
Franklin said many things that have passed into maxims, but nothing
that is better known and remembered than “He paid dear, very dear, for
his whistle.”
Washington made but very few epigrammatic speeches. Here is one: “To be
prepared for war is the most effectual means of preserving peace.”
Did you ever hear of old John Dickinson? Well, he wrote of Americans in
1768: “By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall.”
Patrick Henry, as every school-boy knows, gave us, “Give me liberty, or
give me death,” and “If this be treason, make the most of it.”
Thomas Paine had many quotable epigrammatic sentences: “Rose like a
rocket; fell like a stick;” “Times that try men’s souls;” “One step
from the sublime to the ridiculous,” etc., etc.
Jefferson’s writings are so besprinkled that it is difficult to
select. In despair we jump at “Few die and none resign,” certainly as
applicable to office-holders now as in Jefferson’s time.
Henry Lee gave Washington his immortal title, “First in war, first in
peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen.”
Charles Cotesworth Pinckney declared in favor of “Millions for defence,
but not one cent for tribute.”
“Peaceably if we can; forcibly if we must,” is from Josiah Quincy, 1841.
John Adams did not say, “Live or die, survive or perish, I am for the
constitution,” but Daniel Webster said it for him.
The revolutionary age alone would give us our article, had we time to
gather pearls. Coming down, we pass greater, but not more famous men.
Davy Crockett was the illustrious author of “Be sure you are right, and
then go ahead.”
Andrew Jackson gave us “The Union--it must be preserved.”
Benton almost lost his original identity in “Old Bullion,” from his
“hard money” doctrines.
Governor Throop, of New York, was called “Small Light Troop” for years,
from a phrase in a thanksgiving proclamation.
Scott’s “hasty plate of soup” lasted his lifetime.
Taylor’s battle order, “A little more grape, Captain Bragg,” will be
quoted after he is forgotten by “all the world and the rest of mankind.”
Seward is known for the “irrepressible conflict,” wherever the English
language is spoken.
To Washington Irving we owe “The Almighty Dollar.”
Rufas Choate gave us “glittering generalities.”
Tom Corwin’s “welcome with bloody hands to hospitable graves,” gave him
more unenviable criticism than any other saying in his life.
Calhoun gave us “state rights” as a most pernicious and absurd
equivalent for national supremacy under the constitution.
Douglas applied “squatter sovereignty,” though it is probable that Cass
invented it and Calhoun named it.
Stringfellow was the original “Border Ruffian.”
War times gave us no end of epigrammatic utterances. Those of Lincoln
alone would fill a volume--chief of these, is that noble sentiment:
“With charity to all, and malice toward none.”
McClellan’s “All quiet along the Potomac” was repeated so often that
its echo will “ring down through the ages.”
To Gen. Butler the country was indebted for the phrase “Contraband of
War,” as applied to fugitive negroes found within our lines.
Grant gave us “Fight it out on this line,” “Unconditional surrender,”
“I propose to move immediately upon your works,” “Bottled up,”
and a hundred others. It seems to have escaped notice that Grant
is responsible for more of these characterizing, elementary
crystallizations of thought, than any other military leader of modern
times.
One odd example occurs, in his response to Gen. Sheridan’s telegram:
“If things are pushed, Lee will surrender.” “Push things!” was the
reply, and that has passed into a proverb.
DIALECTICAL.
The peculiarities of the Yankee dialect are most amusingly exemplified
by James Russell Lowell, in the Biglow Papers, especially in the First
Series, from which the following extract is taken:
I ’spose you wonder where I be; I can’t tell fur the soul o’ me
Exactly where I be myself, meanin’ by thet, the hull o’ me.
When I left hum, I hed two legs, an’ they wa’n’t bad ones neither;
The scaliest trick they ever played, wuz bringin’ on me hither--
Now one on ’em’s I dunno where, they thought I was a-dyin’,
An’ cut it off, because they said ’twas kind of mortifyin’;
I’m willin to believe it wuz, and yet I can’t see, nuther,
Why one should take to feelin’ cheap a minute sooner ’n t’other,
Sence both wuz equilly to blame--but things is ez they be;
It took on so they took it off, an’ thet’s enough for me.
Where’s my left hand? Oh, darn it! now I recollect wut’s come on’t.
I haint no left hand but my right, and thet’s got jest a thumb on’t,
It aint so handy as it wuz to calkylate a sum on’t.
I’ve lost one eye, but then, I guess, by diligently usin’ it,
The other’ll see all I shall git by way of pay fer losin’ it.
I’ve hed some ribs broke, six I b’lieve, I haint kep’ no account of
’em;
When time to talk of pensions comes, we’ll settle the amount of ’em.
An’ talkin’ about broken ribs, it kinder brings to mind
One that I couldn’t never break--the one I left behind!
Ef you should see her, jest clean out the spout o’ your invention,
And pour the longest sweetnin’ in about a annooal pension;
And kinder hint, in case, you know, the critter should refuse to be
Consoled, I aint so expensive now to keep, as wut I used to be:--
There’s one eye less, ditto one arm, an’ then the leg that’s wooden,
Can be took off, an’ sot away, whenever there’s a pudden!
(Letter from Birdofreedom Sawin, a Mexican volunteer, to a friend at
home.)
* * * * *
The Dundreary “dialect” is admirably illustrated in
A LONDON EXQUISITE’S OPINION OF “UNCLE TOM’S CABIN.”
Aw must wead “Uncle Tom,”--a wawk
Which aw’m afwaid’s extwemely slow:
People one meets begin to talk
Of Mrs. Hawiet Beechah Stowe.
’Tis not as if aw saw haw name
To walls and windahs still confined;
All that is meawly vulgah fame:
Aw don’t wespect the common mind.
But Staffa’d House has made haw quite
Anothah kind of pawson look;
A countess would pawsist last night,
In asking me about haw book.
She wished to know if aw admiawd
Eva, which quite confounded me;
And then haw ladyship inquiawed
Whethaw aw didn’t hate Legwee.
Bai Jove! Aw was completely flawed;
Aw wished myself, or haw, in Fwance;
And that’s the way a fellah’s bawed
By evewy gahl he asks to dance!
Aw felt myself a greataw fool
Than aw had evaw felt befaw;
Aw’ll study at some wagged school
The tale of that old blackamaw!
It must be this same kind of Englishman, of whom the following story
is told: He was traveling on some American railroad, when a tremendous
explosion took place; the cars, at the same time, coming to a sudden
halt. The passengers sprang up in terror, and rushed out to acquaint
themselves with the cause and extent of the mischief, all but His
Serene Highness, who continued reading his newspaper. In a moment some
one rushed back, and informed him that the boiler had burst. “Awe!”
grunted the Englishman.
“Yes, and sixteen people have been killed!”
“Awe!” he muttered again.
“And--and,” said his interlocutor, with an effort, “your own man--your
servant--has been blown into a hundred pieces!”
“Awe! Bring me the piece that has the key of my portmanteau!”
THE LEGAL “DIALECT.”
ODE TO SPRING.
WRITTEN IN A LAWYER’S OFFICE.
Whereas, on sundry boughs and sprays
Now divers birds are heard to sing,
And sundry flowers their heads upraise,
Hail to the coming on of spring!
The birds aforesaid, happy pairs!
Love ’midst the aforesaid boughs enshrines,
In household nests, themselves, their heirs,
Administrators and assigns.
The songs of the said birds arouse
The memory of our youthful hours,
As young and green as the said boughs,
As fresh and fair as the said flowers.
Oh, busiest term of Cupid’s court!
Where tender plaintiffs actions bring;
Seasons of frolic and of sport,
Hail, as aforesaid, coming spring!
* * * * *
“Broad Wiltshire” is sampled below, in a psalm given out by the Clerk
of Bradford Parish Church during an Episcopal visitation:
Let us zing to the praayze an’ glawry ’o God, dree verses of the
hundred an’ vourteenth zaam,--a version specially ’dapted to the
’casion, by myself:
Why hop ye zo, ye little hills,
And what var do’ee skip?
Is it acoz you’m proud to zee
His grace, the Lard Bish_ip_?
Why skip ye zo ye little hills,
And what var do’ee hop?
Is it acoz to preach to we,
Is comed the Lard Bish_op_?
Ees--he has comed to preach to we,--
Then let us aal strick up,
An’ zing a glawrious zong of praayze,
An’ bless the Lard Bish_up_!
* * * * *
Persons fond of economizing words, sometimes use figures (are they
figures of speech?) and letters, in their stead. Thus, the fate of all
earthly things is presented by the consonants DK--a view of the case
entirely consonant with our own observation.
The following is a printer’s short-hand method of expressing his
emotions:
2 KT J.
An SA now I mean 2 write
2 U, sweet KT J,
The girl without a ||,
The belle of UTK.
I 1der if U got the 1
I wrote 2 U, B4
I sailed in the RKDA,
And sent by LN Moore?
My MT head will scarce contain
A calm IDA bright,
But, 8T miles from U, I must
M { this chance to write.
And first, should NE NV U,
B EZ, mind it not;
Should NE friendship show, B true;
They should not be forgot.
But friends and foes alike DK,
As U may plainly C,
In every funeral RA,
And every LEG.
From virtU never DV8;
Her influence B9
Alike induces 10dernS,
And 40tude divine.
This SA until U I C,
I pray U 2 to XQQ;
And not to burn in FIG
My young and 10der muse.
Now fare U well, DR KT J,
I trust that U R true;
When this U C, then U can say
An SA IOU.
AN AFFECTING STORY.
IIAR BB loved a maid,
He loved her to XS,
And XRSIId his NRGG
2 C her and confS.
Says he, “A meeting I’ll proQR,
B4 the day is past;
In spite of all my NMEE,
She shall B mine at last.”
Now UUULe, MLE
Was 10dR and B9,
FMN8 and gentL 2,
Some th0 she was Divine,
But poor IIAR made her X,
She said he was a calf--
SPCLE ODS;
0 spoke in his B½.
She said, “Should you go on UR nEE,
And melt awA in TRR,
Or WR at 10tions 4
The futR 50 years.
“U still would 0 B 2 me,
UR not 2 my mind,
So prA B YYR, sir, and go
Some betR maid 2 find.
“DR MLE, my love’s XS,
PrithE X10U8,
XQQ--4give--and love me, or
I’ll take an OP8.”
And so he did. Alas! poor man!
Kind readR shed a TR,
He took the OPM so strong,
It laid him on his BR!
GEORGE AND HIS POPPAR.
FEB. 22, A.D. 1738.
There livèd once a plan-ti-er
With his son, his only love,
To whom, upon his birth-day,
A brand new ax he guv.
This farmer had a gar-di-ing,
All filled with apple trees,
Which, for the city mar-ki-et,
He trièd for to reeze.
The son he takes the hatch-i-et,
Quite jolly and jocund,
And, going to the apple trees,
He chops them to the grund.
The farmer called his serv-i-ents,
And ranged them in a row;
“Now, who has chopped my apple trees,
And killed them, root and bo’?”
The servants stand ama-zi-ed,
All drawn up in a line;
Then comes a running up to him,
His young and hopeful sci’n.
“I cannot tell a lie, poppar,”
This truthful boy began;
“’Twas I who chopped your apple trees,
’Twas I, your little san.”
Now, who’d you s’pose this buffer was?
And who his filial kin?
It was the immortal Bushrod,
And the late G. Washingtin!
Feb. 22, 1875. MORAL.
Now, whoso takes a hatch-i-et,
And apple trees cuts down,
Will be, if he lives long enough,
A great and pious moun.
* * * * *
The preceding poem, while it places in a new light the immortal history
of the hatchet, also illustrates the wonderful adaptability of the
English language to the purposes of the poet. Thus, in the last stanza,
a rhyme is required for “down,” while the sense demands the word “man”
at the end of the corresponding line. Instantly the ingenious author
perceives the remedy, and changes “man” to “moun,” which doesn’t mean
anything to interfere with the sense, and rhymes with “down” in the
most satisfactory manner.
Other fine illustrations of this kind are found in that learned
translation of a part of the Eneid, published a few years since at
Winsted, Connecticut. Thus:
“The hair stood endwise on his powdered wig,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupig;
He wants to go, and then again he doesn’t;
The situation is indeed unpluzzent.”
The temptation is strong to quote just here several parallel passages
from Davidson’s very literal translation and from this Winsted version.
We will give one, for the sake of the contrast.
“Returning Aurora now illuminates the earth with the lamp of Phœbus,
and has chased away the dewy shades from the sky, when Dido,
half-frenzied, thus addressed her sympathizing sister:
Sister Anna, what dreams terrify and distract my mind! What think you
of this wondrous guest who has come to our abode? In mien how graceful
he appears! In manly fortitude and warlike deeds how great! I am fully
persuaded, (nor is my belief groundless,) that he is the offspring of
the gods. Had I not been fixed and steadfast in my resolution never
to join myself to any in the bonds of wedlock, since my first love by
death mocked and disappointed me, I might, perhaps, give way. Anna,
since the death of my unhappy spouse Sichæus, since the household gods
were stained with his blood, shed by a brother, this stranger alone has
warped my inclinations, and interested my wavering mind. I recognize
the symptoms of my former flame. But he who first linked me to himself,
hath borne away my affection. May he possess it still, and retain it in
the grave. (_Liber Quartus. Ibid._)
Next day the sun rose at the proper time,
And much improved the Carthaginian clime,
When thus her sister Anna she addressed:
“Sister, my nights are full of wild unrest:
This nice young man that’s now a-stopping here
To my affections is a-growing dear;
Celestial is his origin I _know_,--
Such fearless souls don’t emanate below.
My grief! what savage fights that man has fit,
And how genteel he can get up and git!
’F I hadn’t vowed not to unite again,
I’m not quite certain but I should cave in.
Since poor dear Sic was slew by brother Pyg,
For no live man I’ve ever cared a fig,
Till unto Carthage this brave hero came--
But now--I swan--I feel the ancient flame.
Yet, while Sichæus keeps his coffined state,
My heart lies with his ashes--that’s my gait.”
* * * * *
Prizes having been offered for rhymes corresponding to “Ipecacuanha,”
and “Timbuctoo,” it is to be hoped that the ingenious authors of the
following verses gained them:
As I was walking in the grove
With my Julianna,
Some oranges I gave my love,
Pine-apple and banana;
And then, her headache to remove,
Some ipecacuanha.
* * * * *
If I were a cassowary
On the plains of Timbuctoo,
I would eat a missionary,
Flesh and bones, and hymn-book, too.
“And the moral of that is,” as the Duchess observed:
That step can find no place
In rhyme, is not the case:
’Tis quite absurd:
To find a rhyme for “step,”
You only have to sep-
Arate a word.
Also: (“month” having been declared unrhymable;)
They seized a soldier in Broadway,
December was the month;
He saw his pistols thrown away,
He also saw his gun th-
rown away!
* * * * *
In W. G. Clarke’s youth he was requested by a young lady in the
millinery line to contribute a poem to her album. Her “Album” was an
account book diverted from its original purpose, and he responded as
follows:
_To Miss Lucretia Sophonisba Matilda Jerusha Catling_:
Thou canst not hope, O nymph divine | |
That I should ever court the | | 9
Or that, when passion’s glow is done, | |
My heart can ever love but | | 1
When, from Hope’s flowers exhales the dew,| |
Then Love’s false smiles desert us | | 2
Then Fancy’s radiance ’gins to flee, | |
And life is robbed of all the | | 3
And Sorrow sad her tears must pour | |
O’er cheeks where roses bloomed be | | 4
Yes! life’s a scene all dim as Styx; | |
Its joys are dear at | 3 | 6
Its raptures fly so quickly hence | |
They’re scarcely cheap at | | 18d
Oh! for the dreams that then survive! | |
They’re high at pennies | | 25
The breast no more is filled with heaven | |
When years it numbers | | 27
And yields it up to Manhood’s fate | |
About the age of | | 28
Finds the world cold and dim and dirty | |
Ere the heart’s annual count is | | 30
Alas! for all the joys that follow | |
I would not give a _quarter dollar_. | | 25
-------------
1 97½
Thus, my dear maid, I send to you
The balance of my meter due;
Please scrutinize the above amount,
And set it down to my account.
“FRAGMENTS OF AN ORIGINAL LOVE STORY.”
BY
J. G. STAUNTON, AND A SOUTH CAROLINA LADY.
After a “lovers’
quarrel,” when the party of the first part
----Meekly approached and knelt down at her feet,
Praying loud as before he had ranted,
That she would forgive him, and try to be sweet,
And said “Can’t you?” the dear girl re-canted.
Then softly he whispered “How could you do so?
I certainly thought I was jilted;
But come now with me; to the parson we’ll go!
Say, wilt thou, my dear?” and she wilted.
Then gaily he took her to see his new home;
A cottage by no means enchanted;
“Ah! here we can live without longing to roam,”
He said, “Sha’n’t we, my love?” and they shantied,
And gently beamed o’er them love’s rose-colored ray;
(The bridegroom and bride of this ballad;)
He said “Let us walk at the close of the day,
My own lovely Sall,” and they sallied.
He plucked her the sweetest and loveliest flowers
That scented the path where they wandered;
And when she exclaimed “Let us turn from these bowers,
To roam near the pond!” then they pondered.
Old time softly paused o’er the home of this pair,
Nor grief nor perplexity haunted;
And when the meek husband asked “What shall I wear?”
“Plaid pants,” she replied, and he panted.
She, like a good wife, made his wardrobe her care;
(Neglecting it seemed to her wicked;)
So, when she brought linen, all shining and fair,
Saying “Wear this, dear Dick!” then he dickied.
And when a bright bud of divinity came,
To gladden the home where it tarried,
They put it to vote that the young stranger’s name
Sweet CARRIE should be, and _’twas carried_.
* * * * *
But perhaps the most “pronounced” example of adaptability, as referred
to above, is found in a poem recently contributed to a Rochester paper.
Spring, sprang, beautiful sprung!
The wild-winged warblers are wanging a wung,
And the soft southern breezes are brazing a broze,
That thaws up the ice with remarkable thoze.
O betterest time of all moments of tome,
I’ll rhyme thee a rhimelet in tenderest rhome,
And tell thee how oft in my longing, I’ve lung
To welcome thy coming, O beautiful sprung!
Symbolical season! exquisitest soze!
All nature uprising in gleefulest gloze,
Wide opens its larynx to sing and to shout,
Exuberant pleasure and gratefulest grout.
The blithe little rivulets run to the seas,--
The little buds start on the hemlocks and trees;
The wild geese are screaming their vigorest scream,
And the frogs that were dreaming no longer will dream.
Of course there is sadness in thinking the thought
That there’ll be no more skating for skaters who skaught;
But the Erie Canal, with its _de_crease in tolls,
Will cause us to smile a succession of smoles.
* * * * *
If “the exigencies of rhyme” need not be considered in constructing
English verse, neither need the exigencies of rhythm, as shown by the
following highly artistic couplets:
The wind blew down our well-sweep,
And father and I put it up again ---- sheep.
* * * * *
Wasn’t Pharaoh a Rascal
Because he wouldn’t let the children of Israel go three days’
journey into the wilderness, to celebrate the Paschal?
* * * * *
In ’73, a modest volume of poems was published by an Hon. and Rev.
gentleman of Central New York,[3] in which occur the following rather
surprising verses: (not consecutively, but here and there.)
O bright shining morn of the year,
I cannot foretell thy events;
Trusting in God, why should I fear,
Though having so many relents!
* * * * *
I looked on his form; ’twas like mine;
Transparent his body did seem;
His vigor could never repine;
With glory his features all gleam.
* * * * *
Oh, that the great ocean of love,
Where all the inhabitants bathe,
Ere they go to the bright realms above,
In His sight to whom they have clave.
* * * * *
We saw there as beacons of light
God’s temples of worship, so fair;
We saw there, enlisted in fight,
The wicked who cursed God with dare.
* * * * *
O then they all sang as before,
And the prophets they came rushing down;
And skipping, they came to that shore
Where saints shall forever be crowned!
* * * * *
To find the “concealed sense” (concealed _non_sense!) of the
verses that follow, the first and third, second and fourth lines, are
read consecutively:
That man must lead a happy life,
Who’s free from matrimonial chains;
Who is directed by a wife,
Is sure to suffer for his pains.
Adam could find no solid peace,
When Eve was given for a mate;
Till he beheld a woman’s face,
Adam was in a happy state.
In all the female race appear
Hypocrisy, deceit, and pride,
The tokens of a heart sincere,
In woman never did reside.
What tongue is able to unfold
The failings that in woman dwell?
The merits in her we behold,
Are almost imperceptible.
Confusion take the man, I say,
Who makes a woman his delight!
Who will no court to women pay,
Keeps always reason in his sight.
This is nonsense, too; though, certainly, women are the faultiest of
human beings--except men.
Be that as it may, few women have ever been more severely, or, perhaps,
more justly, cauterized, than poor Job’s poor wife, in Coleridge’s
celebrated _Epigram_:
Sly Beelzebub took all occasions
To try Job’s constancy and patience.
He took his honor, took his health,
He took his children, took his wealth,
His servants, horses, oxen, cows--
But cunning Satan did _not_ take his spouse.
But Heaven, that brings out good from evil,
And loves to disappoint the Devil,
Had predetermined to restore
Twofold all Job had lost before:
His servants, horses, oxen, cows.
Short-sighted Satan! NOT to take his spouse?
SECRET CORRESPONDENCE.
A young lady, newly married, being obliged to show her husband all the
letters she wrote, sent the following to an intimate friend:
I cannot be satisfied, my dearest friend,
blest as I am in the matrimonial state,
until I confide to your most friendly keeping
trusting to your interest in what interests me,
the various deep sensations which swell
with the liveliest feelings of satisfaction
my almost bursting heart. I tell you, my dear
husband is one of the most amiable of men.
I have been married nearly seven weeks, and
have never found the least possible reason to
repent the day that joined us. My husband is
in person and manners far from resembling those
ugly, cross, old, disagreeable and jealous
monsters, who think by confining to secure
a wife, it is his maxim to treat as a
bosom friend and confidant and not as a
plaything or menial slave the woman
chosen to be his companion. Neither party
he frequently says, ought to obey implicitly,
but each yield to the other in turn.
I know my husband loves nothing more
than he does me; he flatters me more
than the glass, and his intoxication
(for I must so call the excess of his love,)
often makes me blush for the unworthiness
of its object, and wish I could be more deserving
of the man whose name I bear. To
say all in one word, my dearest friend, and to
crown the whole, my former gallant lover
is now my indulgent husband. My fondness
is returned, and I might have married
a prince, without the felicity I find with
him! Adieu! May you be blest as I am unable
to wish that I could be more
happy.
(The key to the above letter is to omit every alternate line: reading
the first, third, fifth, &c., consecutively.)
* * * * *
It is said that among ancient Christian devices the figure of a fish
occurs very frequently, with the inscription _anthropou_ (in Greek
letters), signifying _of man_. The following explanation has been
given: The Greek word for _fish_ is _ichthus_, and each of the five
letters composing the Greek word, (ch and th being each represented by
only one letter,) is the initial of a significant word, as follows:
iesus--Jesus,
christos--Christ,
theou--of God,
uios--Son,
soter--Saviour.
The whole, followed by anthropou, (the word inscribed upon the figure
of the fish,) forms a profession of Christian faith:
JESUS CHRIST, SON OF GOD, SAVIOUR OF MEN.
* * * * *
Pilate’s question addressed to our Lord, “What is truth?” “Quid est
Veritas?” contains in itself, by a perfect anagram, its own answer:
“Est vir qui adest:” “_It is the Man who stands before you._”
When “I cry that I sin” is transposed, it is clear
My resource, “Christianity,” soon will appear.
* * * * *
The following very curious sentence, “_Sator arepo teret opera
rotas_,” is not first-class Latin, but may be freely translated: “I
cease from my work; the mower will wear his wheels.” It is, in fact,
something like a nonsensical verse, but has these peculiarities: 1st.
It spells backward and forward the same. 2d. Then, the first letter
of each word spells the first word. 3d. Then, all the second letters
of each word spell the second word. 4th. Then, all the third, and so
on through, the fourth and fifth. 5th. Then, commencing with the last
word, the last letter of each word spells the first word. 6th. Then,
the next to the last, and so on, through.
* * * * *
The lines which constitute the Pyramid below, may be read from the base
upward, or from the apex downward, indifferently.
There
For aye
To stay,
Commanding,
’Tis standing,
With God-like air,
Sublimely fair.
Its form declaring,
Its height admiring,
Looks on it from afar
Lo! every smiling star.
To raise the pile to heaven
These beauteous stones are given,
Each prayer for truth-inspiring light,
Each manly struggle for the right,
Each kindly word to cheer the lowly,
Each aspiration for the holy,
Each strong temptation overcome,
Each clamorous passion held in silence dumb.
As it arises slowly toward the upper heaven
Stone after stone until the mass is given.
Its base upon the earth, its apex in the skies,
The good man’s character, a pyramid doth rise.
* * * * *
“Revolution” is transposed “to love ruin,” and “French Revolution,”
“Violence run forth.”
One of the prettiest of modern anagrams is “Florence Nightingale,”
“Flit on, cheering angel.”
* * * * *
If the name Napoleon be successively “beheaded” till only two letters
are left, each remainder forms a significant word; and these words,
combined in a certain manner, form a concise sketch of Napoleon the
First. Thus:
Napoleon, Apoleon, Poleon, Oleon,
destroying, cities, destructive,
Leon, Eon, On,
lion, going about, being.
Napoleon, on, oleon, leon, eon, apoleon, poleon.
Napoleon being a destructive lion, going about destroying cities.
* * * * *
The following sentence of only thirty-four letters contains all the
letters of the alphabet:
John quickly extemporized five tow bags.
HISTORY.
Sir Walter Raleigh, in his prison, was composing the second volume
of his “History of the World.” Leaning on the sill of his window, he
meditated on the duties of the historian to mankind, when suddenly his
attention was attracted by a disturbance in the court yard before his
cell. He saw one man strike another whom he supposed by his dress to
be an officer; the latter at once drew his sword, and ran the former
through the body. The wounded man felled his adversary with a stick,
and then sank upon the pavement. At this juncture the guard came up,
and carried off the officer insensible, and then the corpse of the man
who had been run through.
Next day Raleigh was visited by an intimate friend, to whom he related
the circumstances of the quarrel, and its issue. To his astonishment,
his friend unhesitatingly declared that the prisoner had mistaken the
whole series of incidents which had passed before his eyes.
The supposed officer was not an officer at all, but the servant of a
foreign ambassador; it was he who had dealt the first blow; he had
not drawn his sword, but the other had snatched it from his side, and
had run _him_ through the body before any one could interfere;
whereupon a stranger, from among the crowd, knocked the murderer
down with his stick; and some of the foreigners belonging to the
ambassador’s retinue carried off the corpse.
Raleigh’s friend added that the Government had ordered the arrest and
immediate trial of the murderer, as the man assassinated was one of the
principal servants of the Spanish ambassador.
“Excuse me,” said Raleigh, “but I cannot have been deceived as you
suppose, for I was eye-witness to the events, which took place under my
own window; and the man fell there on that spot where you see a paving
stone standing up above the rest.”
“My dear Sir Walter,” replied his friend, “I was sitting on that stone
when the fray took place, and I received this slight scratch on my
cheek in snatching the sword from the murderer. Upon my word of honor,
you were deceived in every particular.”
Sir Walter, when alone, took up the second volume of his history, which
was in manuscript, and, contemplating it, thought: “If two men see the
same thing so differently--nay, if I cannot believe my own eyes, how
can I be assured of the truth of a tithe of the events which happened
ages before I was born?” and he flung the manuscript into the fire.
Charles Dudley Warner, travelling in Nubia and Egypt, asserts that “The
Arabian Nights’ Entertainment” is the best history ever written. In the
light of the above facts, perhaps it is.