_(For the Mirror.)_
"Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,
Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove;
Give me the mild gleam of the soul breathing glance,
And the rapture which dwells in the first _kiss_ of love."
BYRON.
There is no national custom so universally and so justly honoured with
esteem and respect, "winning golden opinions from all sorts of people,"
as kissing. Generally speaking, we discover that a usage which finds
favour in the eyes of the vulgar, is despised and detested by the
educated, the refined, and the proud; but this elegant practice forms a
brilliant exception to a rule otherwise tolerably absolute. Kissing
possesses infinite claims to our love, claims which no other custom in
the wide world can even pretend to advance. Kissing is an endearing,
affectionate, ancient, rational, and national mode of displaying the
thousand glowing emotions of the soul;--it is traced back by some as far
as the termination of the siege of Troy, for say they, "Upon the return
of the Grecian warriors, their wives met them, and joined their lips
together with joy." There are some, however, who give the honour of
having invented kissing to Rouix, or Rowena, the daughter of Hengist, the
Saxon; a Dutch historian tells us, she, "pressed the beaker with her
lipkens (little lips,) and saluted the amorous Vortigern with a husgin
(little kiss,)" and this latter authority we ourselves feel most inclined
to rely on; deeply anxious to secure to our fair countrywomen the honour
of having invented this delightful art.
Numberless are the authors who have written and spoken with rapture on
English kissing.
"The women of England," says Polydore Virgil, "not only salute their
relations with a kiss, but all persons promiscuously; and this ceremony
they repeat, gently touching them with their lips, not only with grace,
but without the least immodesty. Such, however, as are of the blood-royal
do not kiss their inferiors, but offer the back of the hand, as men do,
by way of saluting each other."
Erasmus too--the grave, the phlegmatic Erasmus, melts into love and
playful thoughts, when he thinks of kisses--"Did you but know, my
Faustus," he writes to one of his friends, "the pleasures which England
affords, you would fly here on winged feet, and if your gout would not
allow you, you would wish yourself a Dædalus. To mention to you one among
many things, here are nymphs of the loveliest looks, good humoured, and
whom you would prefer even to your favourite Muses. Here also prevails a
custom never enough to be commended, that wherever you come, every one
receives you with a kiss, and when you take your leave, every one gives
you a kiss; when you return, kisses again meet you. If any one leaves you
they give you a kiss; if you meet any one, the first salutation is a
kiss; in short, wherever you go, kisses every where abound; which, my
Faustus, did you once taste how very sweet and how very fragrant they
are, you would not, like Solon, wish for ten years exile in England, but
would desire to spend there the whole of your life."
Oh what miracles have been wrought by a kiss! Philosophers, stoics,
hermits, and misers have become men of the world, of taste, and of
generosity; idiots have become wise; and, truth to tell, wise men
idiots--warriors have turned cowards and cowards brave--statesmen have
become poets, and political economists sensible men. Oh, wonderful art,
which can produce such strange effects! to thee, the magic powers of
steam seem commonplace and tedious; the wizard may break his rod in
despair, and the king his sceptre, for thou canst effect in a moment what
they may vainly labour years to accomplish. Well may the poet celebrate
thy praises in words that breathe and thoughts that burn; well may the
minstrel fire with sudden inspiration and strike the lute with rapture
when he thinks of thee; well might the knight of bygone times brave every
danger when thou wert his bright reward; well might Vortigern resign his
kingdom, or Mark Antony the world, when it was thee that tempted. Long,
long, may England be praised for her prevalence of this divine custom!
Long may British women be as celebrated for the fragrance of their
kisses, as they ever were, and ever will be for their virtue and their
beauty.