We do not think there is in the whole history of letters anything more
beautiful than the two following specimens. Any one acquainted with the
vegetable vocabulary cannot fail to be touched deeply by them.
The first was addressed to Sigismond by his devoted wife
Toot-sichfootsich, when he was imprisoned by Kalbskopf II. in the
impregnable fortress of Dummerkerl, in the Spitzbübe mountains, in
Moldavia.
The originals, and the monuments of Sigismond's wonderful escape, are
still preserved, with the greatest reverence, by the proud descendants
of his wife's noble family. Admirers of conjugal affection have been
known to journey to the Spitzbübe Mountains purposely to look at them.
The first letter was scratched with a pin on a large cabbage leaf, and
sent into the castle wrapped round a pound of butter:—
"Beloved Greens!—Dry thy Onions. There is Cabbage in the horizon.
Suppress thy Spinage, there's a darling Bean. Support thy Haricots with
Beetroot, and never let young Radish leave thy dear Asparagus. May
Pickled Gherkins watch over thee, and Early Peas strew Mashed Potatoes,
with Blessed Chickweed, over thy suffering Turniptop! Where is thy
boastod Sourkrout? Have a little Brocoli, my own sweet Bean; and put thy
Chickweed in Parsley. There is Tomata yet for both of us, so pray hide
thy Cauliflower for a few short Sprouts, and Capers must soon be ours!
Confide in Mangel-würzel. I enclose thee a hundred Greens from the
bottom of my Green Stuff, and remain, my fondest Beetroot,
"THY OWN DEAR MARROWFAT."
The answer, though in a humbler strain, was not less eloquent. It was
rolled up in little crumbs of bread, which were made into the shape of
pills, and thrown out of the prisoner's window:—
"My sweetest Marrowfat!—My Asparagus is well nigh bursting. My Salad is
overflowing, and I cannot rest at night from too much Mustard seed. Send
me, an thou hopest hereafter for Asparagus, a Scarlet-Runner, and a
small Cow Cabbage. Trust in Sage, and throw thyself fondly on
Watercress.
"THY UNFORTUNATE GREENS."
[Illustration]
The Scarlet-Runner, which is the vegetable emblem for a file, was hidden
in the heel of a boot, and the Cow Cabbage, which is the beautiful
synonym for a rope, smuggled in to the poor prisoner through a large
German sausage, of which he was passionately fond. He escaped that very
night, and repaid with the affection of a whole life the devotion of his
attached "Marrowfat," that is to say his wife; we do not give a
translation of these memorable letters, as we wish our readers to refer
to the Language of Vegetables itself; for we feel it is so fascinating a
science that when once they go into it, they will not leave a single
vegetable unturned till they have got to the root of every word.
IF,
!!!AND???
If marriages are made in heaven, what a pity the happy pair should leave
the place directly, upon a mere matter of ceremony!
If thou stoodest outside the door, thy hand upon the handle, hast thou
ever paused to arrange thy curls, and to pull up thy collar, and to
inspect first thy wristbands, and then thy boots? If so, thou hast
loved, ay, and madly too.
If a good name were purchasable, how few would avail themselves of the
luxury if they had to pay ready money for it!
If there is really "luck in odd numbers," we can account for the curious
fact of so many ladies stopping half of their lives at the age of
thirty-nine.
If two is company, and three is none, what a very melancholy time old
Cerberus must have of it!
If "distance lends enchantment to the view," then the British Drama
ought to hold out to speculators the most enchanting views in the world,
for never were its prospects so distant as at the present moment.
If Napoleon had won the battle of Waterloo, Gomersal must have died
comparatively unknown.
If man and wife had a plate glass to their hearts, how long would they
remain together?
If soda-water had only been known in the time of Alexander, it is but
fair to conclude that the murder of Clytus never would have taken place.
If England were to be divided to-morrow morning equally among all its
inhabitants, we should not like to be the man whose dismal lot for life
turned out to be Trafalgar Square!
If Janus really had two faces, we deeply pity him, if he ever drank a
tumbler of Vauxhall punch, for he must have had the following morning
two headaches instead of one!
If animals could speak, we can imagine the first words a donkey would
address to man would be "_Et tu brute_."
If there were no "if's" in the world, there would be no arguments; no
rules of three; no political economy; no more ingenious speculations
about the fate of Europe _if_ England had lost the battle of Waterloo
(_if_ it had, several shareholders would never have lost their money on
Waterloo Bridge, by-the-bye); no more letters from Joseph Ady about
certain valuable information _if_ a sovereign is sent by return of post;
no more liberal promises from fathers as to what they will do if their
sons will only improve, and keep good hours; no more financial
experiments (Sir Robert Peel's scheme for the income-tax was only one
elongated "if," and its repeal is a still more extended one); and
lastly, this clever little article upon "if's" never would have been
written, _if_ there had been no such word in the language as "if."
THE LITERARY SCARCITY.
A LETTER FROM A LONDON PENNY-A-LINER TO A PROVINCIAL DITTO.
[Illustration: Well] TOM, my boy, how are you? Precious slack here, I
can tell you; business never was so dull. I haven't had an Atrocious
Murder on my hands these three months. If this panic continues I shall
be so much out of practice that I'm blessed if I shall know how to do a
Murder when a good opportunity occurs. Unless some good lady has the
kindness to kill her husband—(how fashions change! I can recollect the
time when husbands used to kill their wives: however, it's all the
same)—I must starve, without having the chance either of making a penny
by my own death. By-the-bye, I have had serious ideas lately of
committing an "Awful Suicide"—don't be startled, I mean only in the
papers. I have reckoned it up, and find that I should make nearly a
sovereign by it—a temptation, my tulip, in these times, and well worth
an imaginary duck in the Thames.