The lover may be shy--
His bashfulness goes by
When first he kisses.
The bibber, though so staid,
Gets bravely unafraid
When wine his bliss is.
Yet he who, in his youth,
No wine nor kiss hath tasted.
Will some day think, in truth,
That half his joys were wasted.
--_Joel Benton_.
* * * * *
I have heard it asked why we speak of the dead with unqualified
praise: of the living, always with certain reservations. It may
be answered, because we have nothing to fear from the former,
while the latter may stand in our way: so impure is our boasted
solicitude for the memory of the dead. If it were the sacred and
earnest feeling we pretend, it would strengthen and animate our
intercourse with the living.--_Goethe_.
_THE QUEEN'S CLOSET._
Did anybody ever see a fairy in the city? Was a glimpse ever
caught of Fairyland there? I say _No_. But I was in the country
this summer where a great number of mushrooms grew, and one day
when I was walking in a grassy lane I met a little, old
queen, who was fanning herself with the leaf of the
poor-man's-weather-glass; she had taken off her crown, and it was
lying on the top of a lovely red mushroom. I poked the mushroom
with my parasol, and instantly felt on my face a faint puff of
air, and heard a hum no louder than the buzz of an angry fly.