The invited neighbors to the _husking_ come;
A frolic scene, where work, and mirth, and play
Unite their charms to chase the hours away.
Where the huge heap lies centred in the hall,
The lamp suspended from the cheerful wall,
Brown, corn-fed nymphs, and strong, hard-handed beaux,
Alternate ranged, extend in circling rows,
Assume their seats, the solid mass attack;
The dry husks rustle, and the corn-cobs crack;
The song, the laugh, alternate notes resound,
And the sweet cider trips in silence round.
The laws of husking every wight can tell,
And sure no laws he ever keeps so well:
For each red ear a general kiss he gains,
With each smut ear he smuts the luckless swains;
But when to some sweet maid a prize is cast,
Red as her lips, and taper as her waist,
She walks the round and culls one favored beau,
Who leaps the luscious tribute to bestow.
Various the sports, as are the wits and brains
Of well-pleased lasses and contending swains;
Till the vast mound of corn is swept away,
And he that gets the last ear wins the day.”
TAKING TOLL AT THE BRIDGE.
The old custom of “taking toll” has been humorously commemorated by
the Belgian artist Dillens, in a painting of singular beauty. It was
exhibited at the Paris International Exhibition in 1855, and purchased
by the late Emperor of the French. The scene is in Zealand. A quiet
summer evening invites the peasantry of the country to a stroll. Three
couples, habited in Sunday or holiday costume, have in their walks
reached a bridge. Whether or not it is a legal exaction that a toll
must be enforced there, is little to the purpose, but one of a peculiar
character is demanded, and is most willingly paid by the first pair who
reach the spot: the buxom maiden, whose pleasant upturned face shows she
has no reluctance to submit to the agreeable extortion, is quite as ready
to pay the toll as her lover is to take it. Of course the example will be
followed by their companions behind, though the two young men pretend to
be quite unconscious of what is going on, and one of the females affects
a look of surprise.
A BRAVE ICELAND GIRL.
Mr. Waller, in his interesting account of a visit to Iceland in 1872,
gives us a very clear idea of some of the customs of the people, whom he
found inconveniently hospitable. Among other incidents, he relates the
following instance of native kindness and feminine courage:
“In the morning I made a small study, and, after a very tolerable meal
and many good wishes, we rode off. All went well until we came to the
river Markafljot, which happened to be very much flooded. Not liking to
attempt to swim under the circumstances, we rode on down the bank for
some miles, and fortunately found a house.
“Knocking at the door, we asked, ‘Is the river very deep?’
“‘Very,’ said a voice from the inside.
“‘Is there a man who will show us a ford?’ we asked again.
“‘No,’ was the reply; ‘both Jan and Olave are up in the mountains; but
one of the girls will do quite as well. Here, Thora, go and show the
Englishmen the way.’
“Immediately an exceedingly handsome young woman ran out, and, nodding
kindly to me, went around to the back of the house, caught a pony, put a
bridle on it, and, not taking the trouble to fetch a saddle, vaulted on
his bare back, and, sitting astride, drove her heels into its sides and
galloped off down the river-bank as hard as she could go, shouting for us
to follow.
“We became naturally rather excited at such a display of dash on the part
of such a pretty girl, and started off immediately in chase. But, though
we did our utmost to catch her, she increased her distance hand over
hand. There was no doubt about it,—she had as much courage as ever we
could boast of, and in point of horsemanship was a hundred yards ahead of
either of us.
“For about half a mile we rattled along, when suddenly she pulled up
short on a sand-bank.
“‘You can cross here,’ she said, ‘but you must be careful. Make straight
for that rock right over there, and when you have reached it you will be
able to see the cairn of stones we built to show the landing-place.’
“‘All right,’ I said. ‘Good-by.’
“She looked puzzled for a moment, and then said, ‘I’ll come through with
you: it will be safer.’
“‘Good gracious, Bjarni, don’t let her come!’ I said: ‘she is sure to be
drowned, and I can’t get her out with all those wet clothes on. Tell her
to go back.’
“But before I was half-way through the sentence, she had urged her horse
into the water, and in a moment was twenty yards into the river. Of
course we followed as quickly as possible, and after a great deal of
splashing reached the middle of the flood. ‘Now,’ she said, bringing her
horse up abreast with mine, and pointing with her whip, ‘there’s the
mark.’ The water was running level with the horses’ withers, and it was
only by lifting their heads very high that they could keep their noses
clear.
“‘Good-by,’ she said; ‘God bless you,’ and, before I was quite aware of
it, kissed me on the cheek.
“I was about to return the compliment, but she was gone; and, a few
minutes after, we saw her, a mere speck in the distance, galloping over
the plain.
“Kissing in Iceland is a custom similar to shaking hands here. I would
have expected it in ordinary situations but a kiss in the midst of
boundless waters was, to say the least of it, strange. It was certainly
the wettest one I ever had in my life.”
PARAGUAYAN COMPULSION.
“Everybody in Paraguay smokes,” says a South American traveler, “and
every female above the age of thirteen chews. I am wrong. They do not
chew, but put tobacco in their mouths, keep it there constantly, except
when eating, and, instead of chewing it, roll it about and suck it.
Imagine yourself about to salute the red lips of a magnificent little
Hebe, arrayed with satin and flashing with diamonds, as she puts you back
with one delicate hand, while with the other she draws forth from her
mouth a brownish-black roll of tobacco quite two inches long, looking
like a monster grub, and then, depositing the savory lozenge on the brim
of your sombrero, puts up her face and is ready for a salute. I have
sometimes seen an over-delicate foreigner turn away with a shudder of
loathing under such circumstances, and get the epithet of ‘the savage!’
applied to him by the offended beauty for his sensitive squeamishness.
However, one soon gets used to this in Paraguay, where you are, perforce
of custom, obliged to kiss every lady you are introduced to, and one-half
you meet are really tempting enough to render you regardless of the
consequences, and you would sip the dew of the proffered lip in the
face of a tobacco-factory,—even in the double-distilled honeydew of Old
Virginia.”
A NEW YORK DRUMMER’S PREDICAMENT.
At Big Creek, Arkansas, they have a peculiar fashion, which sometimes
proves embarrassing. As there is no preacher within thirty miles, the way
for marrying is by kissing across a table. Recently, a New York drummer
who was there on business put up at a private house, and became quite
intimate with the inmates. One evening he was fooling around one of the
girls, and trying the sweetness of her temper, when she gave his whiskers
a pull and ran. He followed. She got the table between them. He chased
her around it several times. When out of breath, he stopped on the other
side, and, making a wild plunge, caught her in his arms and gave her a
hearty kiss. She then sat down on the sofa, and they talked pleasantly
for a couple of hours,—he thinking it singular that she should sit up so
late.
At last she said, “Don’t you think it’s about time we went to bed?”
“I guess you are right,” he remarked; “let’s go.”
She lit a candle, and he was about to do the same, when she said, “I
reckon one’s enough. One candle will light two folks to bed.”
“Undoubtedly it would, when those two people occupy the same room. But
your candle won’t illuminate my chamber.”
“Ain’t we going to occupy the same room? Ain’t we married?”
“Ain’t we what?” shouted the gentleman.
“Married! Didn’t you kiss me across the table? That married us.”
A cold sweat spread over the drummer. He saw in an instant that if he
said he wasn’t married to her she would make an outcry, and then her
loving and much-tobacco-consuming father would arise in his wrath and
carve him into cutlets, and her brothers would bring down their shot-guns
and empty the contents into him. He must be strategic. He must put her
off. So he said:
“Fairest of your sex, permit me to remark that I did not know that
kissing across the table constituted a marriage-ceremony. But I am
content. I have never seen one who so completely filled my idea of a
beautiful, sweet, loving, and modest woman. However, I would never think
of holding you to this marriage until I had asked the permission of your
father to pay my addresses to you. To-morrow, at dinner, when the entire
family are present, I will propose for your fair hand.”
This satisfied the lady, and, after bestowing upon him a fervent kiss,
she went to her room, and he went to his. He packed his carpet-bag,
took off his boots, and made tracks for the nearest railroad-station.
He didn’t feel entirely safe until he had reached St. Louis. He hasn’t
informed his wife of this little adventure. He’s afraid she might write
out to Arkansas for the facts in the case, and then he might get arrested
for bigamy. Women sometimes won’t listen to reason, you know.
A DANGEROUS GAME.
“Drop the handkerchief” is a dangerous game. Desdemona dropped her
handkerchief, and it cost her her life. Handkerchiefs have played a great
deal of mischief. A handkerchief ruptured a Baptist church in Dedham,
Mass. There was a church sociable in the chapel, and they “played plays,”
and “drop the handkerchief” was one of the plays. We don’t remember just
how it’s done, but they stand in a circle, promiscuously, and a lady,
taking a handkerchief, walks around on the outside of the circle and
drops the handkerchief behind one of the male persuasion, and he runs
after her, or he don’t—we forget which—but, any way, if he catches her,
or if he don’t—we forget which—he can kiss her. There is kissing about
it, any way, whether he catches her or not, for “drop the handkerchief”
would be no play with kissing left out. And “drop the handkerchief” is a
real play, and when grown-up people play, kissing is the main part. So we
know there is kissing in it; and the account of this Dedham affair says
“the game involves kissing,” to which the Rev. Mr. Foster, pastor, took
exception, and he declared “right out loud” that the “church was built
for a house of God, and not for kissing-parties.” And one of the young
men who was “involved” in the kissing-party even threatened to smite the
parson, and the account says “the pleasure of the evening was destroyed,”
and the Rev. Mr. Foster resigned his charge.
A QUESTION OF TASTE.
The Dunkards, at their national convention at Girard, Ill., discussed
whether white members were bound to salute colored ones with the holy
kiss. After mature deliberation, it was decided to be a matter of
taste merely, and that, while those who chose to indulge in universal
osculation, irrespective of race or color, should have full liberty to
do so, no member should feel himself obliged to follow such example.
The decision doubtless, it is said, lightened many anxious hearts. The
Dunkards, or German Baptists, wear broad-brimmed hats, and fasten their
shad-belly coats close up to the throat; wear no neck-ties, and never
waste time in blacking their boots; consider buttons too much like
jewelry, and tie up their clothes with strings; live frugally, and eschew
cakes and sweets; work much, and spend little; never are wealthy, and
yet have no poor among them; kiss promiscuously in public, and have no
jealousies; never give the first word, and never answer back; regard
ancient customs, and disregard the new; never hold office, and never take
contracts.
THE LATTER-DAY KISS OF PEACE.
The members of the United Brethren Church, or “Church of God,” in
Pennsylvania, observe the sacrament of feet-washing inculcated in the
thirteenth chapter of St. John’s Gospel. The ceremony is thus described
by a Pittsburg reporter:
“The front seats were entirely filled by men and women who desired to
take part in the ceremony. The females, however, largely preponderated,
and of both sexes there were probably twenty-five or thirty. The pastor
partially filled two basins with water. The feet-washing was done by a
man and woman, each of whom wore an apron in imitation of the girdle
worn by Christ, and each, taking up a basin of water, washed one by one
the feet of those of their own sex, the shoes and stockings as a matter
of course having been taken off. Both feet were placed in the basin,
and upon being taken out were wiped with the apron worn by the washer,
whereupon the one performing the ceremony and the one submitting to it
shook hands and kissed each other, there being no distinction at all
made in the matter of sex, the men kissing each other as well as the
women. While this peculiar ordinance was being attended to, the audience
manifested the most eager and intense interest. People crowded forward in
the aisles to get a good look at it, and so great was the curiosity of
those occupying the back seats that many stood up on the benches for the
purpose of getting a better view. During the performance of the ceremony
the congregation sang, with unusual vigor,—
“‘This is the way I long have sought,
And mourned because I found it not.’”
NATIONAL DIFFERENCES.
An eminent English authoress was leaving an afternoon concert in London,
when two old ladies from the country, finding that she was the writer of
books that had delighted them, rushed up to her and begged permission to
kiss her hand. The authoress blushed deeply, and began tugging at her
tight-fitting glove. The glove was only withdrawn after a minute or two
of effort, causing much embarrassment to the modest authoress. A French
gentleman, who had witnessed the proceeding, remarked that if it had been
George Sand she would instantly have thrown her arms around the old women
and kissed each on both cheeks.
DETECTIVE UTILITY.
Some ungallant writers assert that in the desire of the ancients to test
the sobriety of their wives and daughters, who it seems were apt to make
too free with the juice of the grape, notwithstanding a prohibition
to the contrary, originated a practice reprobated by Socrates the
philosopher, Cato the elder, and Ambrose the saint, and lauded by lyrists
and lovers from the beginning of time. The refinement of manners among
the classic dames and damsels before mentioned was probably pretty much
upon a par with that depicted in the “Beggars’ Opera,” when Macheath
exclaims, after saluting Jenny Diver, “One may know by your kiss that
your gin is excellent.”
[Illustration]
THE KISS IN POETRY.
SONNET UPON A STOLEN KISS.
Now gentle Sleep hath closèd up those eyes
Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe;
And free access unto that sweet lip lies,
From whence I long the rosy breath to draw.
Methinks no wrong it were if I should steal,
From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss;
None sees the theft that would the theft reveal,
Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss:
Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,
There would be little sign I would do so;
Why then should I this robbery delay?
Oh! she may wake, and therewith angry grow!
Well, if she do, I’ll back restore that one,
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.
GEORGE WITHER.
THE KISS—A DIALOGUE.
1. Among thy fancies, tell me this:
What is the thing we call a kiss?
2. I shall resolve ye what it is:
It is a creature born and bred
Between the lips, all cherry red;
By love and warm desires fed;
_Chor._ And makes more soft the bridal bed.
It is an active flame that flies
First to the babies of the eyes,
And charms them there with lullabies;
_Chor._ And stills the bride too when she cries:
Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,
It frisks, and flies,—now here, now there;
’Tis now far off, and then ’tis near;
_Chor._ And here, and there, and everywhere.
1. Has it a speaking virtue?—2. Yes.
1. How speaks it, say?—2. Do you but this,
Part your joined lips, then speaks your kiss;
_Chor._ And this love’s sweetest language is.
1. Has it a body?—2. Ay, and wings,
With thousand rare encolorings;
And as it flies, it gently sings,
_Chor._ Love honey yields, but never stings.
ROBERT HERRICK.
THE SIRENS’ SONG.
Steer hither, steer your wingèd pines,
All beaten mariners:
Here lie undiscovered mines
A prey to passengers;
Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Which make the phœnix urn and nest;
Fear not your ships,
Nor any to oppose you save our lips;
But come on shore,
Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more.
For swelling waves, our panting breasts,
Where never storms arise,
Exchange; and be awhile our guests;
For stars, gaze on our eyes;
The compass, Love shall hourly sing,
And, as he goes about the ring,
We will not miss
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.
BROWNE: _Inner Temple Masque._
THE KISS.
Oh that a joy so soon should waste!
Or so sweet a bliss
As a kiss
Might not forever last!
So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious,
The dew that lies on roses,
When the morn herself discloses,
Is not so precious.
Oh, rather than I would it smother,
Were I to taste such another,
It should be my wishing
That I might die kissing.
BEN JONSON.
* * * * *
Thou more than most sweet glove,
Unto my more sweet love,
Suffer me to store with kisses
This empty lodging that now misses
The pure rosy hand that wore thee,
Whiter than the kid that bore thee.
Thou art soft, but that was softer;
Cupid’s self hath kissed it ofter
Than e’er he did his mother’s doves,
Supposing her the queen of loves,
That was thy mistress,
Best of gloves.
BEN JONSON.
TO CHARIS.
[Begging another kiss, on condition of mending the former.]
For Love’s sake, kiss me once again;
I long, and should not beg in vain;
Here’s none to spy or see:
Why do you doubt or stay?
I’ll taste as lightly as the bee,
That doth but touch his flower and flies away.
Once more, and, faith, I will be gone:
Can he that loves ask less than one?
Nay, you may err in this,
And all your bounty wrong:
This could be called but half a kiss;
What we’ve but once to do, we should do long.
I will but mend the last, and tell
Where, how, it would have relished well;
Join lip to lip, and try;
Each suck the other’s breath,
And, whilst our tongues perplexed lie,
Let who will think us dead, or wish our death.
BEN JONSON.
THE PARTING KISS.
One kind kiss before we part,
Drop a tear, and bid adieu:
Though we sever, my fond heart,
Till we meet, shall pant for you.
Yet, yet weep not so, my love,
Let me kiss that falling tear:
Though my body must remove,
All my soul will still be here.
All my soul, and all my heart,
And every wish shall pant for you;
One kind kiss, then, ere we part,
Drop a tear, and bid adieu.
DODSLEY.
YIELDING TO TEMPTATION.
What a rout do you make for a single sweet kiss!
I seized it, ’tis true, and I ne’er shall repent it.
May he ne’er enjoy one who shall think ’twas amiss;
But for me, I thank dear Cytherea who sent it.
You may pout, and look prettily cross; but, I pray,
What business so near to my lips had your cheek?
If you _will_ put temptation so pat in one’s way,
Saints, resist if you can; but for _me_, I’m too weak.
But come, dearest Delia, our quarrel let’s end;
Nor will I by force, what you gave not, retain.
By allowing the kiss I’m forever your friend;
If you say that I _stole_ it,—why, _take it again_.
HORACE WALPOLE.
INES SENT A KISS TO ME.
[From the Spanish of Silvestre.]
Ines sent a kiss to me,
While we danced upon the green:
Let that kiss a blessing be,
And conceal no woes unseen.
How I dared I know not now,—
While we danced, I gently said,
Smiling, “Give me, lovely maid,
Give me one sweet kiss!”—when, lo!
Gathering blushes robed her brow,
And, with love and fear afraid,
Thus she spoke: “I’ll send the kiss
In a calmer day of bliss.”
Then I cried, “Dear maid! what day
Can be half so sweet as this?
Throw not hopes and joys away;
Send, oh, send the promised kiss!
Can so bright a gift be mine,
Bought without a pang of pain?
’Tis perchance a ray divine,
Darker night to bring again.
“Could I dwell on such a thought,
I of very joy should die;
Naught of earth’s enjoyments, naught,
Could be like that ecstasy.
I will pay her interest meet,
When her lips shall breathe on me,
And for every kiss so sweet
Give her many more than three.”
THE WANDERING KNIGHT’S SONG.
[From the Spanish.]
My ornaments are arms,
My pastime is in war,
My bed is cold upon the wold,
My lamp yon star.
My journeyings are long,
My slumbers short and broken;
From hill to hill I wander still,
Kissing thy token.
I ride from land to land,
I sail from sea to sea:
Some day more kind I fate may find,
Some night kiss thee!
THE COCK AND THE FOX.
[From the Fables of La Fontaine.]
Upon a tree there mounted guard
A veteran cock, adroit and cunning;
When to the roots a fox up running
Spoke thus, in tones of kind regard:
“Our quarrel, brother, ’s at an end;
Henceforth I hope to live your friend;
For peace now reigns
Throughout the animals’ domains.
I bear the news. Come down, I pray,
And give me the embrace fraternal;
And please, my brother, don’t delay:
So much the tidings do concern all,
That I must spread them far to-day.
Now you and yours can take your walks
Without a fear or thought of hawks;
And should you clash with them or others,
In us you’ll find the best of brothers;—
For which you may, this joyful night,
Your merry bonfires light.
But, first, let’s seal the bliss
With one fraternal kiss.”
“Good friend,” the cock replied, “upon my word,
A better thing I never heard;
And doubly I rejoice
To hear it from your voice:
And, really, there must be something in it,
For yonder come two greyhounds, who, I flatter
Myself, are couriers on this very matter;
They come so fast, they’ll be here in a minute.
I’ll down, and all of us will seal the blessing
With general kissing and caressing.”
“Adieu,” said fox; “my errand’s pressing;
I’ll hurry on my way,
And we’ll rejoice some other day.”
So off the fellow scampered, quick and light,
To gain the fox-holes of a neighboring height,—
Less happy in his stratagem than flight.
The cock laughed sweetly in his sleeve;—
’Tis doubly sweet deceiver to deceive.
ANACREONTIC.
[From the French of Menage.]
As, dancing o’er the enamelled plain,
The floweret of the virgin train,
My soul’s Corinna, lightly played,
Young Cupid saw the graceful maid;
He saw, and in a moment flew,
And round her neck his arms he threw,
And said, with smiles of infant joy,
“Oh! kiss me, mother, kiss thy boy!”
Unconscious of a mother’s name,
The modest virgin blushed with shame;
And, angry Cupid scarce believing
That vision could be so deceiving,
Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame,
The little infant blushed with shame.
“Be not ashamed, my boy,” I cried,
For I was lingering by his side;
“Corinna and thy lovely mother,
Believe me, are so like each other
That clearest eyes are oft betrayed,
And take thy Venus for the maid.”
THE LANDLADY’S DAUGHTER.
[From the German of Uhland.]
There came three students over the Rhine:
Dame Werter’s house they entered in:
“Dame Werter, hast thou good beer and wine
And where’s that lovely daughter of thine?”
“My beer and my wine are fresh and clear,
My daughter is lying cold on her bier.”
They stepped within the chamber of rest,
Where shrined lay the maiden, in black robes dressed.
The first he drew from her face the veil:
“Ah! wert thou alive, thou maiden so pale,”
He said, as he gazed with saddened brow,
“How dearly would I love thee now!”
The second he covered the face anew,
And, weeping, he turned aside from the view:
“Ah me, that thou liest on the cold bier,
The one I have loved for so many a year!”
The third once more uplifted the veil:
He kissed the lips so deadly pale;
“Thee loved I _ever_, _still_ love I thee,
And thee will I love through eternity.”
And that kiss—that kiss—with Promethean flame
Thrilled with new life the quivering frame;
And the maid uprose, and stood by his side,
That student’s own loved and loving bride!
BLOOMING NELLY.
On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
For summer lightly drest,
The youthful, blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wandering through the wood,
Who for her favor oft had sued,
He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed,
And trembled where he stood.
Her closèd eyes, like weapons sheathed,
Were sealed in soft repose;
Her lip, still as she fragrant breathed,
It richer dyed the rose.
The springing lilies sweetly prest,
Wild-wanton, kissed her rival breast:
He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed,
His bosom ill at rest.