compartment with him were two ladies whom he had never seen before, but
who were evidently acquainted with him. They examined him minutely, and
commented freely upon his martial bearing, his hale old age, the style of
his dress, etc. They continued their annoyance until finally the painter
determined to put an end to the persecution. As the train passed through
the tunnel of St. Cloud, the three travellers were wrapped in complete
darkness. Vernet raised the back of his hand to his mouth, and kissed it
twice violently. On emerging from the obscurity, he found that the ladies
had withdrawn their attention from him, and were accusing each other of
having been kissed by a man in the dark!
Presently they arrived at Paris; and Vernet, on leaving them, said,
“Ladies, I shall be puzzled all my life by the inquiry, _Which_ of these
two ladies was it that kissed me?”
A correspondent of one of the London morning papers writes, “The
following little incident which happened the other day illustrates the
necessity of providing more light in the carriages of the Metropolitan
Underground Railway. A gentleman had taken his seat in a second-class
carriage which had already nine occupants. On the side opposite to him
sat one of the prettiest women he had ever seen. She had entered the
carriage accompanied by an elderly gentleman, who seated himself opposite
to her, and whose attentions to the lady left little doubt that they
stood to one another in the relation of husband and wife. The light was
exceedingly dim when they started. At Victoria Station, a boy, who sat
next to the elderly gentleman, got out. In consequence of the departure
of the boy there was a moving up of the tightly-wedged passengers on that
side of the carriage, and the gentleman whom I first mentioned was thus
brought right opposite to the lady whose beauty had already attracted his
attention, and sat in the position originally occupied by her elderly
companion. From Victoria to South Kensington they were left in total
darkness, and this is what happened, in the words of the narrator: ‘A
light little hand was laid on my shoulder; I felt a sweet warm breath
fan my face; a pair of the softest, most perfect lips were pressed to
mine with a delicious sensation which I cannot describe. Then a little
hand slid down my arm, thrilling every nerve in my body, and finally
deposited three lozenges in my hand. As we neared the lights of South
Kensington Station, the hand was withdrawn. May the gentleman on my left
ever remain in blissful ignorance of the mistake made by his better half
in the darkness of that tunnel.’ Let us echo that wish, and hope that the
secret of three lozenges was never divulged. Under certain circumstances
darkness has its advantages,—that is to say, if you are not travelling
with your wife.”
Those who have read “The Newcomes” will probably remember the following
passage:
“A young gentleman and a young lady a-kissing of each other in the
railway coach,” says Hannah, jerking up with her finger to the ceiling,
as much as to say, “There she is! Lar, she be a pretty young creature,
that she be! and so I told Miss Martha.” Thus differently had the news
which had come to them on the previous night affected the old lady and
her maid.
The news was that Miss Newcome’s maid (a giddy thing from the country,
who had not even learned as yet to hold her tongue) had announced with
giggling delight to Lady Ann’s maid that Mr. Clive had given Miss Ethel
a kiss in the tunnel, and she supposed it was a match.
Clive, we are told, did not know whether to laugh or to be in a rage over
this report. He evidently felt called upon, however, to swear that he was
as innocent of all intention of kissing Miss Ethel as of embracing Queen
Elizabeth.
AN AMOROUS WESTERN YOUTH.
A young Montana chap upon stepping aboard of a sleeping-car thus
addressed the conductor:
“See here, captain, I want one of your best bunks for this young woman,
and one for myself individually. _One_ will do for us when we get to
the Bluff,—hey, Mariar?” (Here he gave a playful poke at “Mariar,” to
which she replied, “Now, John, quit.”) “For, you see, we’re goin’ to git
married at Mariar’s uncle’s. We might ’a bin married at Montanny, but
we took a habit to wait till we got to the Bluff, bein’ Mariar’s uncle
is a minister, and they charge a goshfired price for hitchin’ folks at
Montanny.”
“Mariar” was assigned to one of the best “bunks.” During a stoppage of
the train at a station, the voice of John was heard in pleading accents,
unconscious that the train had stopped, and that his tones could be heard
throughout the car:
“Now, Mariar, you might give a feller jes one.”
“John, you quit, or I’ll git out right here, and hoof it back to Montanny
in the snow-storm.”
“Only one little kiss, Mariar, and I hope to die if I don’t——”
“John——!”
At this moment an old gray-beard poked his head out of his berth, at the
other end of the car, and cried out,
“Maria, for pity’s sake, _give_ John one kiss, so that we can go to sleep
sometime to-night!”
Thereupon John subsided, and retired to his berth to dream of the
distinction between the hesitancy of the kiss of courtship and the
freedom of the kiss connubial.
LOVE IN A STREET-CAR.
A Baltimore writer narrates the following amusing incident:
Having business that required my attention in the northwestern section of
the city until a late hour, I, at half-past eleven o’clock, found myself
seated in a Madison Avenue car. At the crossing of Franklin and Eutaw
Streets a young couple entered the car, and occupied a seat in the corner
opposite myself. Being a great admirer of the fair sex, I stole a glance
at the lady, and was recompensed by beholding a very handsome young miss,
with black hair and eyes,—the latter appearing as if Cupid had rented the
premises and was determined to dispute the sway of man. Her companion was
a biped attired in a new suit of Harrison Street store clothes, as gay as
a peacock. The first thing he did after seating himself was to encircle
the neck of the lady with his left arm, while his right hand lovingly
grasped her left. Not being used to such scenes (being a bachelor), I
kept my t’other eye open, and noted down the proceedings in my mind.
“Clara,” began the passionate lover, “ain’t this nice? I swon, it’s a
good deal better’n ridin’ in the old wagin!”
“Yes, Josh,” feebly articulated Clara. “But don’t hug me so; the folks
are lookin’ at us.”
“Well, let ’em look!” retorted Josh. “Guess they’d like tu be in my place
a spell, ennyhow!” (I, for one, did most heartily envy him the position.)
“Yes; but, Josh, you know they will laugh at us,” meekly rejoined his
companion.
“Let ’em laugh!” exclaimed the irate lover. “Don’t I love you, and don’t
you love me, and ain’t we a-goin’ to git married to-morrer?”
Josh at this moment appeared as though a brilliant idea had struck him,
for he suddenly bent over and kissed his fair companion squarely in the
mouth.
“There!” said he, exultingly; “ain’t that nice? You don’t allers git
them sort!” Then, turning to the occupants of the car, he exclaimed,
“Strangers, me and this young woman have come down from the country to
git married. She is a nice gal, and I’m a-goin’ to do the right thing by
her!”
During the delivery of this concise speech, Clara’s face was suffused
with blushes; noticing which, her ardent lover remarked, “Don’t git so
all-fired red about the gills, Clara. You know that we are a-goin’ to be
married; and what’s the use to fluster up so?”
This last speech settled the business of the passengers. They gave one
shout, and relieved themselves of a charge of laughter that had almost
strangled them. At the next corner I vacated the car, leaving the happy
couple as contented as if the future denoted nothing but sunshine.
TAKING TOLL.
A gentleman of an autobiographic turn relates how he was instructed in
the custom of taking toll, by a sprightly widow, during a moonlight
sleigh-ride with a merry party. He says:
The lively widow L. sat in the same sleigh, under the same buffalo-robe,
with me.
“Oh! oh! don’t, don’t!” she exclaimed, as we came to the first bridge,
at the same time catching me by the arm and turning her veiled face
towards me, while her little eyes twinkled through the moonlight.
“Don’t what?” I asked. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Well, but I thought you were going to take toll,” replied the widow.
“_Toll!_” I rejoined. “What’s that?”
“Well, I declare!” cried the widow, her clear laugh ringing out above the
music of the bells, “you pretend you don’t know what toll is!”
“Indeed I don’t, then,” I said, laughing; “explain, if you please.”
“You never heard, then,” said the widow, most provokingly,—“you never
heard that when we are on a sleigh-ride the gentlemen always,—that is,
sometimes,—when they cross a bridge, claim a kiss, and call it toll. But
I never pay it.”
I said that I had never heard of it before; but when we came to the next
bridge I claimed the toll, and the widow’s struggles to hold the veil
over her face were not enough to tear it. At last the veil was removed,
her round, rosy face was turned directly towards mine, and in the clear
light of a frosty moon the toll was taken, for the first time in my
experience. Soon we came to a long bridge, with several arches; the widow
said it was of no use to resist a man who would have his own way, so she
paid the toll without a murmur.
“But you won’t take toll for every arch, _will_ you?” she said, so archly
that I could not fail to exact all my dues; and that was the beginning of
my courtship.
SUDDEN ATTACHMENT.
It is related of Curran, the famous Irish orator and wit, that he was
one evening sitting in a box at the French Opera, between an Irish
noblewoman, whom he had accompanied there, and a very young French lady.
The ladies soon manifested a strong desire to converse, but neither of
them knew a word of the other’s language. Curran, of course, volunteered
to interpret, or, in his own words, “to be the carrier of their thoughts,
and accountable for their safe delivery.” They went at it at once, with
all the ardor and zest of the Irish and French nature combined; but
their interpreter took the liberty of substituting his own thoughts
for theirs, and instead of remarks upon the dresses and the play he
introduced so many finely-turned compliments that the two ladies soon
became completely fascinated with each other. At last, their enthusiasm
becoming sufficiently great, the wily interpreter, in conveying some very
innocent questions from his countrywoman, asked the French lady “if she
would favor her with a kiss.” Instantly springing across the orator, she
imprinted a kiss on each cheek of the Irish lady, who was amazed at her
sudden attack, and often afterwards asked Mr. Curran, “What in the world
could that French girl have meant by such conduct in such a place?” He
never revealed the secret, and the Irish lady always thought French girls
were very ardent and sudden in their attachments.
EARLY DISCRIMINATION.
A judicious mother told her little girls they must not be hanging around
and kissing the young gentlemen who visited the house; it was not
becoming in them, and it might be troublesome. A few days afterwards an
old gentleman, a friend of the family, called, and, while noticing the
children, drew one of them to him and offered to kiss the little thing.
But no, she would have nothing of the sort; and when the gentleman was
gone, the mother said,—
“My dear, when a nice old gentleman like that offers to kiss a little
girl like you, you shouldn’t put on such airs and refuse him. I was quite
ashamed of your conduct.”
“But, mother, you told us we mustn’t kiss the gentlemen,” said Maggie.
“Maggie, there is a great difference between letting young men kiss you,
and such old people as Mr. Venable who just went out. When such persons
offer to kiss you, it is to show their kind feelings, and you should take
it as a compliment, and not act foolishly.”
Maggie put on a very serious face, and, after thinking upon it awhile,
replied, “Well, mother, if I _have_ to kiss the gentlemen, I would a
great deal rather kiss the young ones.”
Children and fools speak the truth.
THE BAFFLED COURTIER.
The “Book of Merrie Jests” relates in the quaintness of a century or two
ago how that the wonderful Sir Digby Somerville did keep constantly a
houseful of grand company at his seat in Suffolk. At one time among his
guests did happen a young gentleman from the court, whose apparel was
more garnished with lacings and gold than his brain with modesty or wit.
One time, going into the fields with his host, they did espy a comely
milkmaiden with her pail.
“Pr’ythee, Phyllis,” quoth the courtier, leering the while at the girl,
“an I give thee a kiss, wilt thou give me a draught of thy ware?”
“In the meadow,” quoth she, “thou wilt find one ready to give thee milk,
and glad of thy kiss, for she is of thy kind.”
The court-gallant looked in the meadow, and espied a she-ass.
“So sharp, fair rustic!” quoth he, angrily: “thou lookest as if thou
couldst barely say boo to a goose.”
“Yea, and that I can, and to a gander also.” Whereat she cried out
lustily, “Boo!”
The young man hastened away, and the worshipful Sir Digby did laugh
heartily, and entertained his guests with the tale.
A THANKFUL SPIRIT.
The chronicles of the time of John Brown of Haddington, author of the
“Marrow of Divinity,” describe his first osculatory experience. He had
reached the mature age of five-and-forty without ever having taken part
in labial exercises. One of his deacons had a very charming daughter,
and for six years the dominie had found it very pleasant to call upon
her three or four times a week. In fact, all the neighbors said he was
courting her; and very likely he was, though he had not the remotest
suspicion of it himself.
One evening he was sitting as usual by her side, when a sudden idea
popped into his head.
“Janet, my woman,” said he, “we’ve known each other a long time,
an’—an’—I’ve never got a kiss yet. D’ye, think I may take one, my bonnie
lass?”
“Well, Mr. Brown,” replied she, arching her lips in a tempting way, “jist
as ye like; only be becomin’ and proper wi’ it.”
“Let us ask a blessing first,” said the good man, closing his eyes and
folding his hands. “For what we are about to receive, the Lord make us
thankful.”
The chaste salute was then given and warmly returned.
“Oh, Janet, that _was_ good!” cried the dominie, electrified by the new
sensation. “Let us have another, and then return thanks.”
Janet did not refuse, and when the operation had been repeated, the
enraptured dominie ejaculated, in a transport of joy, “For the creature
comforts which we have now enjoyed, the Lord be praised, and may they be
sanctified to our temporal and eternal good!”
History says that the fervent petition of the honest dominie was duly
answered; for in less than a month Janet became Mrs. Brown.
A CLERGYMAN’S JOKE.
A gentleman who was travelling in the West a few years ago relates this
amusing incident:
I was spending the night in a hotel in Freeport, Illinois. After
breakfast I came into the sitting-room, where I met a pleasant, chatty,
good-humored traveller, who, like myself, was waiting for the morning
train from Galena. We conversed freely and pleasantly on several topics,
until, seeing two young ladies meet and kiss each other in the street,
the conversation turned on _kissing_, just about the time the train was
approaching.
“Come,” said he, taking up his carpet-bag, “since we are on so sweet a
subject, let us have a practical application. I’ll make a proposition to
you. I’ll agree to kiss the most beautiful lady in the cars from Galena,
you being the judge, if you will kiss the next prettiest, I being the
judge.”
The proposition staggered me a little, and I could hardly tell whether he
was in earnest or in fun; but, as he would be as deep in it as I could
possibly be, I agreed, provided he would do the first kissing, though my
heart failed somewhat as I saw his black eye fairly sparkle with daring.
“Yes,” said he, “I’ll try it first. You take the back car, and go in from
the front end, where you can see the faces of the ladies, and you stand
by the one you think the handsomest, and I’ll come in from behind and
kiss her.”
I had hardly stepped inside the car when I saw at the first glance one of
the loveliest-looking women my eye ever fell upon,—a beautiful blonde,
with auburn hair, and a bright, sunny face, full of love and sweetness,
and as radiant and glowing as the morning. Any further search was totally
unnecessary. I immediately took my stand in the aisle of the car by her
side. She was looking out of the window earnestly, as if expecting some
one. The back door of the car opened, and in stepped my hotel friend.
I pointed my finger slyly to her, never dreaming that he would dare to
carry out his pledge; and you may imagine my horror and amazement when
he stepped up quickly behind her, and, stooping over, kissed her with a
relish that made my mouth water from end to end.
I expected of course a shriek of terror, and then a row generally, and a
knock-down; but astonishment succeeded astonishment when I saw her return
the kisses with compound interest.
Quick as a flash he turned to me, and said, “Now, sir, it is your turn;”
pointing to a hideously ugly, wrinkled old woman who sat in the seat
behind.
“Oh, you must excuse me! you must excuse me!” I exclaimed. “I’m sold this
time. I give up. Do tell me whom you have been kissing.”
“Well,” said he, “since you are a man of so much taste and such quick
perception, I’ll let you off.” And we all burst into a general peal of
laughter, as he said, “This is my wife! I have been waiting here for her.
I knew that was a safe proposition.” He told the story to his wife, who
looked tenfold sweeter as she heard it.
Before we reached Chicago, we exchanged cards, and I discovered that my
genial companion was a popular Episcopalian preacher whose name I had
frequently heard.
“LET ME KISS HIM FOR HIS MOTHER.”[28]
Among the funny incidents that took place during the late sectional
conflict between the States is one that is thus recorded:
A young lady of the gushing sort, while passing through one of the
military hospitals, overheard the remark that a young lieutenant had died
that morning.
“Oh, where is he? Let me see him! Let me kiss him for his mother!”
exclaimed the maiden.
The attendant led her into an adjoining ward, when, discovering
Lieutenant H., of the Fifth Kansas, lying fast asleep on his hospital
couch, and thinking to have a little fun, he pointed him out to the girl.
She sprang forward, and, bending over him, said:
“Oh, you dear lieutenant, let me kiss you for your mother!”
What was her surprise when the awakened “corpse” ardently clasped her in
his arms, returned the salute with interest, and exclaimed:
“Never mind the old lady, miss; go it on your own account. I haven’t the
slightest objection.”
From the lyrics perpetrated by the “satirical wags” during the popularity
of the above well-known phrase, we cite the following:
Let me kiss her for her mother—
The bewitching Polly Ann—
Let me kiss her for her mother,
Or any other man.
Let me kiss her for some body,
Any body in the world;
With her hair so sweetly auburn,
And so gloriously curled.
Let me kiss her for her “feller,”
And I do not care a red
If he taps me on the smeller
With a “billy made of lead.”
Let me kiss her for her daddy,—
The pretty, pouting elf,—
Or, if that don’t suit the family,
Let me kiss her for myself.
THE AWAKENING.
An adventure befell a Tennessee poet, which he narrates in very moving
verse, but which we transmute into plain prose. He had been hunting, one
sultry day, and, being very tired, lay down under a shady tree, with his
faithful dog by his side. He there fell asleep, and dreamed the orthodox
dream of all young poets. A maiden “beautiful exceedingly” approached
him, and, after a very brief wooing, expressed a perfect willingness to
bless the poet with her affections. Hereupon,—but plain prose cannot do
justice to the _dénouement_, so we must give it in the poet’s own verse:
I kissed her, but,—oh, shocking!
I kissed a beard so rough!
Surprised, half choked, awaking,—
Ah, broken was the charm;
There lay—will you believe it?—
_My pointer on my arm._
JEAN PAUL’S SCHOOL-BOY EXPERIENCE.
When Jean Paul was first sent to school, a mischievous boy, taking
advantage of his inexperience, told him that it was an established custom
for each pupil, when he first entered, to kiss the hand of the master.
This seemed to Paul but a suitable custom, and by no means extraordinary,
as in his own family it was an established expression of reverence from
the young to the old, and Paul, whenever he went to his grandfather’s,
kissed his hand behind the loom. When he entered the French school,
therefore, he bashfully approached the master, and, with honest faith,
carried the brawny hand to his lips.
The poor Frenchman,—an indifferent and poorly-paid instructor, who had
been a tapestry-worker,—suspecting some mystification or insult, broke
out into the most violent anger, and Paul barely escaped a blow from the
hand on which he had imprinted his loyal homage. The mirth of the class
was expressed in a jubilant manner, and, between them both, Paul stood
confused, ashamed, and in the highest degree mortified.
In this instance, we are told, he was taken by surprise, and betrayed
by his loyal nature; but in another attempt to impose upon him he
asserted his rank as a scholar with a degree of firmness and dignity that
compelled respect ever after.
THE FIRST KISS.
Who has forgotten the emotions inspired by the first kiss? Pierce
Pungent has exhausted himself in a vain attempt to describe what may be
remembered, but cannot and should not be told. He says:
“We never believed Pope’s line,
‘Die of a rose in aromatic pain,’
till we once accidentally got a kiss awarded to us at a game of forfeits,
some fifty years ago. _Eheu! fugaces!_ The fair one in question was the
secret idol of our soul. Oh, those cerulean eyes! those flowing silken
tresses! those ruby lips! that exquisite form!
‘Her presence was as lofty as her state;
Her beauty of that overpowering kind
Whose force description only would abate:
I’d rather leave it much to your own mind
Than lessen it by what I could relate
Of form and feature.’
“But we must tear ourself away from these charms and return to our
mutton, or, rather, our lamb, for our heart’s worship was only eighteen
cents a pound,—confound the butchers! the high price of meat has confused
our notions,—we mean she was only eighteen years of age. When we found
ourself entitled to a kiss by the sacred game of forfeits, the keenness
of the rapture almost grew into a toothache. A kiss seemed more than we
could manage; it grew into Titanic dimensions. We had a vague notion of
asking the company to help us out by sharing our bliss, as the school-boy
who, when he hears of his two-hundred-pound cake being on the road,
promises all his comrades a slice, but when it arrives he keeps it all to
himself!
“A kiss from Mary! and all to our own cheek! Oh! and then the blushing
shame of a first love, vulgarly called calf, came over us, and we stood
looking at our Mary’s lips as a thief does at the gallows! Oh! those
sunny eyes! Oh, those luxuriant tresses! as she shook them off her
radiant face, as a dove shakes her feathers and a dog his hide, in order
to leave more cheek to kiss! Oh, those provoking lips, pursed up ready,
like the peak of Teneriffe, to catch the first kiss of love, that rosy
light from heaven! Oh, that circling dimple, couched in her cheek like
laughing wile! And oh! that moment when she said, ‘Well, if Cousin Pierce
won’t kiss me, I’ll kiss him!’ She stooped down,—my sight grew dim,—my
heart beat fast, as though I had swallowed a dose of prussic acid; her
lips touched mine; the world slid away, as it does when we soar in a
balloon; and we were carried away into a calm delirium, which has never
altogether left us.”
KISSING THE FEET.
Seneca tells us that Caius Cæsar gave wine to Pompey Pennus, whom he had
pardoned, and then, on his returning thanks, presented his left foot
for him to kiss. This custom is still practised in Oriental countries,
where it is regarded as a mark of the deepest reverence and most profound
humility. Don Juan, in his feminine disguise, disdainfully refused such
subjection, even to the Sultana:
“Baba, when all the damsels were withdrawn,
Motioned to Juan to approach, and then
A second time desired him to kneel down,
And kiss the lady’s foot; which maxim when