Chapter XLVI: A domestic picture is given, an interior, with the (10)

She was not taken out of his head,
To rule and triumph over man;
Nor was she taken out of his heel,
To be ruled and trampled upon.

But she was taken out of his side,
His equal companion to be;
And thus they both were united,
And man is the top of the tree.

Then let not the fair be despiséd
By man, for she’s part of himself;
Since woman by Adam was prizéd
More than the whole world full of wealth.

For man without woman’s a beggar,
Although the whole world he possessed;
And the beggar who has a good wife,
With more than this world he is blest.

PARALLEL OF THE SEXES.

There is an admirable partition of qualities between the sexes, which the great Author of being has distributed to each with a wisdom which calls for our admiration. Man is strong,—woman is beautiful. Man is daring and confident,—woman is diffident and unassuming. Man is great in action,—woman, in suffering. Man shines abroad,—woman, at home. Man talks to convince,—woman, to persuade and please. Man has a rugged heart,—woman, a soft and tender one. Man prevents misery,—woman relieves it. Man has science,—woman, taste. Man has judgment,—woman, sensibility. Man is a being of justice,—woman, of mercy.

FEMALE SOCIETY.

The following remarks come with peculiar force from one of such querulous and unconnubial habits as John Randolph:—

You know my opinion of female society: without it we should degenerate into brutes. This observation applies with tenfold force to young men, and those who are in the prime of manhood. For, after a certain time of life, the literary man makes a shift (a poor one, I grant) to do without the society of ladies. To a young man nothing is so important as a spirit of devotion (next to his Creator) to some amiable woman, whose image may occupy his heart and guard it from the pollution that besets it on all sides. A man ought to choose his wife as Mrs. Primrose did her wedding-gown,—for qualities that will “wear well.” One thing at least is true, that, if matrimony has its cares, celibacy has no pleasures. A Newton, or a mere scholar, may find enjoyment in study; a man of literary taste can receive in books a powerful auxiliary; but a man must have a bosom friend, and children around him, to cherish and support the dreariness of old age.

WIFE—MISTRESS—LADY.

Who marries for love takes a wife; who marries for convenience takes a mistress; who marries from consideration takes a lady. You are loved by your wife, regarded by your mistress, tolerated by your lady. You have a wife for yourself, a mistress for your house and its friends, a lady for the world. Your wife will agree with you, your mistress will accommodate you, your lady will manage you. Your wife will take care of your household, your mistress of your house, your lady of appearances. If you are sick, your wife will nurse you, your mistress will visit you, your lady will inquire after your health. You take a walk with your wife, a ride with your mistress, and join parties with your lady. Your wife will share your grief, your mistress your money, and your lady your debts. If you are dead, your wife will shed tears, your mistress lament, and your lady wear mourning.—_From the German._

MY MOTHER.

That was a thrilling scene in the old chivalric time—the wine circling around the board, and the banquet-hall ringing with sentiment and song—when, the lady of each knightly heart having been pledged by name, St. Leon arose in his turn, and, lifting the sparkling cup on high, said,—

“I drink to one
Whose image never may depart,
Deep graven on this grateful heart,
Till memory is dead;
To one whose love for me shall last
When lighter passions long have passed,
So holy ’tis, and true;
To one whose love hath longer dwelt,
More deeply fixed, more keenly felt,
Than any pledge to you.”
Each guest upstarted at the word,
And laid his hand upon his sword,
With fury-flashing eye;
And Stanley said, “We crave the name,
Proud knight, of this most peerless dame,
Whose love you count so high.”
St. Leon paused, as if he would
Not breathe her name in careless mood
Thus lightly to another,—
Then bent his noble head, as though
To give that word the reverence due,
And gently said, “§My Mother§!”

LETTER TO A BRIDE.

The following letter was written by an old friend to a young lady on the eve of her wedding day:—

I have sent you a few flowers to adorn the dying moments of your single life. They are the gentlest types of delicate and durable friendship. They spring up by our side when others have deserted it; and they will be found watching over our graves when those who should cherish have forgotten us. It seems that a past, so calm and pure as yours, should expire with a kindred sweetness about it,—that flowers and music, kind friends and earnest words, should consecrate the hour when a sentiment is passing into a sacrament.

The three great stages of our being are the birth, the bridal, and the burial. To the first we bring only weakness—for the last we have nothing but dust! But here at the altar, when life joins life, the pair come throbbing up to the holy man, whispering the deep promise that arms each other’s heart, to help on in the life-struggle of care and duty. The beautiful will be there, borrowing new beauty from the scene. The gay and thoughtless, with their flounces and frivolities, will look solemn for once. Youth will come to gaze upon the object of its secret yearnings; and age will totter up to hear the words repeated that to their own lives had given the charm. Some will weep over it as if it were a tomb, and some laugh over it as if it were a joke; but two must stand by it, for it is fate, not fun, this everlasting locking of their lives.

And now, can you, who have queened it over so many bending forms, can you come down at last to the frugal diet of a single heart? Hitherto you have been a clock, giving your time to all the world. Now you are a watch, buried in one particular bosom, warming only his breast, marking only his hours, and ticking only to the beat of his heart—where time and feeling shall be in unison, until those lower ties are lost in that higher wedlock, where all hearts are united.

Hoping that calm and sunshine may hallow your clasped hands, I sink silently into a signature.

* * *

Moslem Wisdom.

SHREWD DECISION OF ALI, CALIPH OF BAGDAD.

In the Preliminary Dissertation to Dr. Richardson’s Arabic Dictionary the following curious anecdote is recorded:—

Two Arabians sat down to dinner: one had five loaves, the other three. A stranger passing by desired permission to eat with them, which they agreed to. The stranger dined, laid down eight pieces of money, and departed. The proprietor of the five loaves took up five pieces and left three for the other, who objected, and insisted on having one-half. The cause came before Ali, who gave the following judgment:—“Let the owner of the five loaves have seven pieces of money, and the owner of the three loaves one; for, if we divide the eight loaves by three, they make twenty-four parts; of which he who laid down the five loaves had fifteen, while he who laid down three had only nine. As all fared alike, and eight shares was each man’s proportion, the stranger ate seven parts of the first man’s property, and only one belonging to the other. The money, in justice, must be divided accordingly.”

THE WISDOM OF ALI.

The Prophet once, sitting in calm debate,
Said, “I am Wisdom’s fortress; but the gate
Thereof is Ali.” Wherefore, some who heard,
With unbelieving jealousy were stirred;
And, that they might on him confusion bring,
Ten of the boldest joined to prove the thing.
“Let us in turn to Ali go,” they said,
“And ask if Wisdom should be sought instead
Of earthly riches; then, if he reply
To each of us, in thought, accordantly,
And yet to none in speech or phrase the same,
His shall the honor be, and ours the shame.”
Now, when the first his bold demand did make,
These were the words which Ali straightway spake:—
“Wisdom is the inheritance of those
Whom Allah favors; riches, of his foes.”
Unto the second he said:—“Thyself must be
Guard to thy riches; but Wisdom guardeth thee.”
Unto the third:—“By Wisdom wealth is won;
But riches purchased Wisdom yet for none.”
Unto the fourth:—“Thy goods the thief may take;
But into Wisdom’s house he cannot break.”
Unto the fifth:—“Thy goods decrease the more
Thou givest; but woe enlarges Wisdom’s store.”
Unto the sixth:—“Wealth tempts to evil ways;
But the desire of Wisdom is God’s praise.”
Unto the seventh:—“Divide thy wealth, each part
Becomes a pittance. Give with open heart
Thy wisdom, and each separate gift shall be
All that thou hast, yet not impoverish thee.”
Unto the eighth:—“Wealth cannot keep itself;
But Wisdom is the steward even of pelf.”
Unto the ninth:—“The camels slowly bring
Thy goods; but Wisdom has the swallow’s wing.”
And lastly, when the tenth did question make,
These were the ready words which Ali spake:—
“Wealth is a darkness which the soul should fear;
But Wisdom is the lamp that makes it clear.”
Crimson with shame, the questioners withdrew,
And they declared, “The Prophet’s words were true:
The mouth of Ali is the golden door
Of Wisdom.”
When his friends to Ali bore
These words, he smiled, and said, “And should they ask
The same until my dying day, the task
Were easy; for the stream from Wisdom’s well,
Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.”

MOHAMMEDAN LOGIC.

The laws of Cos discountenance in a very singular manner any cruelty on the part of females towards their admirers. An instance occurred while Dr. Clarke and his companions were on the island, in which the unhappy termination of a love-affair occasioned a trial for what the Mohammedan lawyers casuistically describe as “homicide by an intermediate cause.” The following was the case: a young man desperately in love with a girl of Stanchis eagerly sought to marry her, but his proposals were rejected. In consequence, he destroyed himself by poison. The Turkish police arrested the father of the obdurate fair, and tried him for culpable homicide. “If the accused,” argued they, with much gravity, “had not had a daughter, the deceased would not have fallen in love; consequently he would not have been disappointed; consequently he would not have swallowed poison; consequently he would not have died;—but the accused had a daughter, the deceased had fallen in love,” &c. Upon all these counts he was called upon to pay the price of the young man’s life; and this, being fixed at the sum of eighty piastres, was accordingly exacted.

THE ALEXANDRIAN LIBRARY.

Said Omar, “Either these books are in conformity with the Koran, or they are not. If they are, they are useless, and if not, they are evil: in either event, therefore, let them be destroyed.”

Such was the logic that led to the destruction of seven hundred thousand manuscript volumes.

TURKISH EXPEDIENTS.

A Turkish testator left to his eldest son one-half of his seventeen horses, to his second son one-third, to his third son one-ninth of his horses. The executor did not know what to do, as seventeen will neither divide by two, nor by three, nor by nine. A dervise came up on horseback, and the executor consulted him. The dervise said, “Take my horse, and add him to the others.” There were then eighteen horses. The executor then gave to the eldest son one-half,—nine; to the second son one-third,—six; to the third son one-ninth,—two: total, seventeen. The dervise then said, “You don’t want my horse now; I will take him back again.”

Excerpta from Persian Poetry.

EARTH AN ILLUSION.

From the mists of the Ocean of Truth in the skies
A Mirage in deluding reflections doth rise,
There is naught but reality there to be seen;
We have here but the lie of its vapory sheen.—§Hafiz.§

HEAVEN AN ECHO OF EARTH.

’Tis but a shadow of the earth’s familiar bliss,
Bright mirrored on the sky’s ethereal fonts,
That fills our breasts with longings nothing can dismiss,
In tremulous and glimmering response.

A MORAL ATMOSPHERE.

It is as hard for one whom sinners still prevent
From prayer, to keep his virtue, yet with them to dwell,
As it would be for a lotus of sweetest scent
To blossom forth in beauty ’mid the flames of hell.

FORTUNE AND WORTH.

That haughty rich man see, a merely gilded clod;
This poor man see, pure gold with common dust besmeared.
Start not: in needy garb was Moses girt and shod,
When waved and shone before him Pharaoh’s golden beard!

BROKEN HEARTS.

When other things are broken they are nothing worth,
Unless it be to some old Jew or some repairer;
But hearts, the more they’re bruised and broken here on earth,
In heaven are so much the costlier and the fairer.

TO A GENEROUS MAN.

To cloud of rain refreshing all the land,
It is not fit to liken thy free hand;
For as that gives it weeps meanwhile,
But thou still givest with a smile.

BEAUTY’S PREROGATIVE.

Thy beauty pales all sublunary things,
And man to vassalage eternal dooms:
The road before thee should be swept with brooms
Made of the eye-lashes of peerless kings.

PROUD HUMILITY.

In proud humility a pious man went through the field;
The ears of corn were bowing in the wind, as if they kneeled;
He struck them on the head, and modestly began to say,
“Unto the Lord, not unto me, such honors should you pay.”

FOLLY FOR ONE’S SELF.

He who is only for his neighbors wise,
While his own soul in sad confusion lies,
Is like those men who builded Noah’s ark,
But sank, themselves, beneath the waters dark.

THE IMPOSSIBILITY.

When I shall see, though clad in gold or silk,
In peace and joy a wicked man or maid,
I then shall drink a bowl of pigeon’s milk,
And eat the yellow eggs the ox has laid.

THE SOBER DRUNKENNESS.

Beware the deadly fumes of that insane elation
Which rises from the cup of mad impiety,
And go get drunk with that divine intoxication
Which is more sober far than all sobriety.

A WINE-DRINKER’S METAPHORS.

As the nightingale oft from a rose’s dew sips,
So I wet with fresh wine my belanguishing lips.

As the soul of perfume through a flower’s petals slips,
So pure wine passes through the rose-door of my lips.

As to port from afar float the full-loaded ships,
So this wine-beaker drifts to the strand of my lips.

As the white-driven sea o’er a cliff’s edges drips,
So the red-tinted wine breaks in foam on my lips.

FROM MIRTSA SCHAFFY.

Better stars without shine,
Than the shine without stars.
Better wine without jars,
Than the jars without wine.
Better honey without bees,
Than the bees without honey.
Better please without money,
Than have money but not please.

THE DOUBLE PLOT.

Three hungry travellers found a bag of gold;
One ran into the town where bread was sold.

He thought, I will poison the bread I buy,
And seize the treasure when my comrades die.

But they too thought, When back his feet have hied,
We will destroy him and the gold divide.

They killed him; and, partaking of the bread,
In a few moments all were lying dead.

O world I behold what ill thy goods have done;
Thy gold thus poisoned two, and murdered one.

THE WORLD’S UNAPPRECIATION.

The lyrical poems of the East called _Ghazels_, of which the following, from Trench, is a brief specimen, have this peculiarity,—that the first two lines rhyme, and for this rhyme recurs a new one in the second line of each succeeding couplet, the alternate lines being free:—

What is the good man and the wise?
Ofttimes a pearl which none doth prize;
Or jewel rare, which men account
A common pebble, and despise.
Set forth upon the world’s bazaar,
It mildly gleams, but no one buys,
Till it in anger Heaven withdraws
From the world’s undiscerning eyes,
And in its shell the pearl again,
And in its mine the jewel, lies.

THE CALIPH AND SATAN.

In heavy sleep the Caliph lay,
When some one called, “Arise and pray!”

The angry Caliph cried, “Who dare
Rebuke his king for slighted prayer?”

Then, from the corner of the room,
A voice cut sharply through the gloom:—

“My name is Satan. Rise! obey
Mohammed’s law: Awake and pray.”

“Thy _words_ are good,” the Caliph said,
“But their intent I somewhat dread;

For matters cannot well be worse
Than when the thief says, ‘Guard your purse.’

I cannot trust your counsel, friend:
It surely hides some wicked end.”

Said Satan, “Near the throne of God,
In ages past, we devils trod;

Angels of light, to us ’twas given
To guide each wandering foot to Heaven;

Not wholly lost is that first love,
Nor those pure tastes we knew above.

Roaming across a continent,
The Tartar moves his shifting tent,

But never quite forgets the day
When in his father’s arms he lay;

So we, once bathed in love divine,
Recall the taste of that rich wine.

God’s finger rested on my brow,—
That magic touch, I feel it now!

I fell, ’tis true,—Oh, ask not why!
For still to God I turn my eye;

It was a chance by which I fell:
Another takes me back to hell.

’Twas but my envy of mankind,
The envy of a loving mind.

Jealous of men, I could not bear
God’s love with this new race to share.

But yet God’s tables open stand,
His guests flock in from every land.

Some kind act toward the race of men
May toss us into heaven again.

A game of chess is all we see,—
And God the player, pieces we.

White, black,—queen, pawn,—’tis all the same;
For on both sides he plays the game.

Moved to and fro, from good to ill,
We rise and fall as suits his will.”

The Caliph said, “If this be so
I know not; but thy guile I know;

For how can I thy words believe,
When even §God§ thou didst deceive?

A sea of lies art thou,—our sin,
Only a drop that sea within.”

“Not so,” said Satan: “I serve God,
His angel now, and now his rod.

In tempting, I both bless and curse,
Make good men better, bad men worse.

Good coin is mixed with bad, my brother,
I but distinguish one from th’ other.”

“Granted,” the Caliph said; “but still
You never tempt to good, but ill.

Tell, then, the truth; for well I know
You come as my most deadly foe.”

Loud laughed the fiend. “You know me well;
Therefore my purpose will I tell:

If you had missed your prayer, I knew
A swift repentance would ensue;

And such repentance would have been
A good, outweighing far the sin.

I chose this humbleness divine,
Born out of fault, should not be thine;

Preferring prayers elate with pride,
To sin with penitence allied.”

Epigrams.

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAM ON EPIGRAMS.

Omnis epigramma, sit instar apis; sit aculeus illi,
Sint sua mella, sit et corporis exigui.
[Three things must epigrams, like bees, have all,—
A sting, and honey, and a body small.]

MIDAS AND MODERN STATESMEN.

Midas, they say, possessed the art, of old,
Of turning whatsoe’er he touched to gold.
This, modern statesmen can reverse with case;
Touch them with gold, they’ll turn to what you please.

INSCRIBED ON A STATUE TO SLEEP.

Somne levis, quanquam certissima mortis imago,
Consortem cupio te tamen esse tori,
Alma quies, optata, veni, nam sic sine vita
Vivere quam suave est, sic sine morte mori.—§Warton.§

[Light sleep, though death’s strong image, prythee give
Thy fellowship while in my couch I lie;
O gentle, wished-for rest, how sweet to _live_
Thus without _life_, and without _death_ to _die_!][18]

Footnote 18:

Come, gentle sleep! attend thy votary’s prayer,
And, though death’s image, to my couch repair;
How sweet, though lifeless, yet with life to lie,
And, without dying, oh, how sweet to die!—_Wolcot’s Trans._

TO DR. ROBERT FREIND, WHO WROTE LONG EPITAPHS.

Freind, for your epitaphs I’m grieved,
Where still so much is said:
One half will never be believed,
The other never read.—§Pope.§

THE FOOL AND THE POET.

Sir, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool;
But you yourself may serve to show it
That every fool is not a poet.—§Pope.§

DUM VIVIMUS VIVAMUS.

Live while you live, the _epicure_ would say,
And seize the pleasures of the present day.
Live while you live, the sacred _preacher_ cries,
And give to God each moment as it flies.
Lord, in my view let both united be;
I live in pleasure while I live to thee.—§Doddridge.§

TO “MOLLY ASTON,”

_A celebrated “beauty, scholar, and wit,” who spoke in praise of
liberty._

Liber ut esse velim, suasisti, pulchra Maria:
Ut maneam liber, pulchra Maria, vale!—§Dr. Johnson.§

[Freedom you teach, fair Mary. To be free,
Farewell, lest I should be enslaved by thee!]

ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT.

Thou mayst of double ignorance boast,
Who knowst not that thou nothing knowst.—§Owen§, _Trans. by Cowper_.

TO OUR BED.

In bed we laugh, in bed we cry;
And born in bed, in bed we die:
The near approach the bed may show
Of human bliss to human woe.—§Benserade.§

LATE REPENTANCE.

Pravus, that aged debauchee,
Proclaimed a vow his sins to quit;
But is he yet from any free,
Except what now he _can’t_ commit?

ON A PALE LADY WITH A RED-NOSED HUSBAND.

Whence comes it that in Clara’s face
The lily only has its place?
Is it because the absent rose
Has gone to paint her husband’s nose?

ON SOME SNOW THAT MELTED ON A LADY’S BREAST.

Those envious flakes came down in haste,
To prove her breast less fair,
But, grieved to find themselves surpassed,[19]
Dissolved into a tear.

Footnote 19:

The following madrigal was addressed to a Lancastrian lady, and
accompanied with a white rose, during the opposition of the “White
Rose” and “Red Rose” adherents of the houses of York and Lancaster:—

If this fair rose offend thy sight,
It in thy bosom wear;
’Twill blush to find itself less white,
And turn Lancastrian there.

SELYAGGI’S DISTICH ADDRESSED TO JOHN MILTON.

_While at Rome._

Græcia Mœonidem, jactet sibi Roma Maronem,
Anglia Miltonum jactat utrique parem.

DRYDEN’S AMPLIFICATION.

Three poets in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed;
The next, in majesty; in both, the last.
The force of nature could no further go:
To make a third, she joined the former two.

ON BUTLER’S MONUMENT.

While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive,
No generous patron would a dinner give.
See him, when starved to death and turned to dust,
Presented with a monumental bust.
The poet’s fate is hero in emblem shown:
He asked for bread, and he received a _stone_.—§S. Wesley.§

OVERDRAWN COMPLIMENT.

So much, dear Pope, thy English Homer charms,
As pity melts us, or as passion warms,
That after-ages will with wonder seek
Who ’twas translated Homer into Greek.

SUGGESTED BY A GERMAN TOURIST.

_Who accompanied Prince Albert into Scotland._

Charmed with the drink which Highlanders compose,
A German traveller exclaimed, with glee,
“Potztausend! sare, if this be Athol _Brose_,[20]
How good the Athol _Boetry_ must be!”—§Tom Hood.§

Footnote 20:

Athol brose is a favorite Highland drink, composed of honey, whiskey,
and water, although the proportion of the latter is usually so
homœopathically minute as to be difficult of detection except by
chemical or microscopical analysis. Possibly the Scotch aversion to
injuring the flavor of their whiskey by dilution arises from a fact
noted by N. P. Willis, that the water has tasted so strongly of
sinners ever since the Flood.

ETERNITY.

Reason does but one quaint solution lend
To nature’s deepest yet divinest riddle;
Time is a _beginning_ and an _end_,
Eternity is nothing but a _middle_.

OCCASIONED BY THE LOSS OF A CLERGYMAN’S PORTMANTEAU,

_Containing his Sermons._

I’ve lost my portmanteau.
“I pity your grief.”
It contained all my sermons.
“I pity the thief!”

TO A LIVING AUTHOR.

Your comedy I’ve read, my friend,
And like the half you pilfered, best;
But sure the piece you yet may mend:
Take courage, man! and steal the rest.

THE FRUGAL QUEEN.

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell,
When deprived of her husband she lovéd so well,
In respect for the love and affection he showed her,
She reduced him to dust, and she drank off the powder.
But Queen Netherplace, of a different complexion,
When called on to order the funeral direction,
Would have ate her dead lord, on a slender pretence,
Not to show her respect, but—to save the expense!—§Burns.§

ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE’S BRAINS.

Lord, to account who dares thee call,
Or e’er dispute thy pleasure?
Else why within so thick a wall
Enclose so poor a treasure?—§Burns.§

GIVING AND TAKING.

“I never give a kiss,” says Prue,
“To naughty man, for I abhor it.”
She will not _give_ a kiss, ’tis true:
She’ll _take_ one, though, and thank you for it.—§Moore.§

TO ——.

“Moria pur quando vuol non è bisogna mutar ni faccia ni voce per esser
un Angelo.”

Die when you will, you need not wear
At Heaven’s court a form more fair
Than beauty here on earth has given;
Keep but the lovely looks we see,—
The voice we hear,—and you will be
An angel _ready-made_ for heaven!—§Moore.§

THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS, WITH A PRESENT OF A MIRROR.

This mirror my object of love will unfold
Whensoe’er your regard it allures:
Oh, would, when I’m gazing, that I might behold
On its surface the object of yours!

TO A CAPRICIOUS FRIEND.

Difficilis, facilis, jucundus, acerbus es idem,
Nec tecum possum vivere, nec sine te.—§Martial.§

[In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow,
Thou’rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow,
Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee,
There is no living with thee, nor without thee.—§Addison.§]

MENDAX.

See! yonder goes old Mendax, telling lies
To that good, easy man with whom he’s walking.
How know I that? you ask, with some surprise;
Why, don’t you see, my friend, the fellow’s talking!—§Lessing.§

ON FELL.

While Fell was reposing himself on the hay,
A reptile, concealed, bit his leg as he lay;
But, all venom himself, of the wound he made light,
And got well, while the scorpion died of the bite.—§Lessing.§

ON AN ILL-READ LAWYER.

An idle attorney besought a brother
For “something to read,—some novel or other,
That was really fresh and new.”
“Take Chitty!” replies his legal friend:
“There isn’t a book that I could lend,
That would prove more ‘novel’ to you!”—§Saxe.§

WOMAN’S WILL.

Men dying make their wills; but wives
Escape a work so sad:
Why should they make what all their lives
The gentle dames have had?—§Saxe.§

WELLINGTON’S NOSE.

“Pray, why does the great Captain’s nose
Resemble Venice?” Duncomb cries.
“Why,” quoth Sam Rogers, “I suppose
Because it has a bridge of size (sighs).”

ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER.

A poor man went to hang himself
But treasure chanced to find:
He pocketed the miser’s pelf,
And left the rope behind.

His money gone, the miser hung
Himself in sheer despair:
Thus each the other’s wants supplied,
And that was surely fair.

BAD SONGSTERS.

Swans sing before they die: ’twere no bad thing
Did certain persons die before they sing.—§Coleridge.§

ON A BAD FIDDLER.

Old Orpheus played so well, he moved Old Nick;
But thou mov’st nothing but thy fiddle-stick.

ON A CERTAIN D.D.

_Who, from a peculiarity in his walk, had acquired the sobriquet of Dr.
Toe, being jilted by Miss H., who eloped with her father’s footman._

’Twixt footman Sam and Doctor Toe
A controversy fell,
Which should prevail against his foe,
And bear away the belle.
The lady chose the footman’s heart.
Say, who can wonder? no man:
The whole prevailed above the part:
’Twas _Foot_-man _versus Toe_-man.

ON AN OLD LADY WHO MARRIED HER FOOTMAN.

Old Lady Lovejoy, aged just threescore,
Whose lusty footboy rode behind, before,
Is, in a fit of fondness, grown so kind,
He rides within, who rode before, behind.

“HOT CORN.”

“How much corn may a gentleman eat?” whispered P,
While the cobs on his plate lay in tiers.
“As to that,” answered Q, as he glanced at the heap,
“’Twill depend on the length of his ears.”

BONNETS.

In 1817, when straw bonnets first came into general use, it was common to trim them with artificial wheat or barley, in ears; whence the following:—

Who now of threatening famine dare complain,
When every female forehead teems with grain?
See how the wheat-sheaves nod amid the plumes:
Our barns are now transferred to drawing-rooms,
And husbands who indulge in active lives,
To fill their granaries, may thresh their wives!

Campbell, the poet, was asked by a lady to write something original in her album. He wrote,—

An original something, dear maid, you would win me
To write; but how shall I begin?
For I’m sure I have nothing original in me,
Excepting _original sin_.
“How very easy ’tis,” cries Tom, “to write!
I find ’t no hardship verses to indite.”
“To credit that,” quoth Dick, “no oaths we need:
The hardship is for _those who have to read_.”

Thy verses are eternal, O my friend!
For he who reads them, reads them to no end.

Unfortunate lady, how sad is your lot!
Your ringlets are _red_, and your poems are not.

PRUDENT SIMPLICITY.

That thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be;
And serpent-like, that none may injure thee!—§Cowper.§

TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS.

I wish thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend;
For when at worst, they say, things always mend.—§Cowper.§

HOG _vs._ BACON.

Judge Bacon once trying a man, Hog by name,
Who made with his lordship of kindred a claim;
“Hold,” said the judge,—“you’re a little mistaken
Hog must be _hung_ first before ’tis good Bacon.”

A WARM RECEPTION.

Rusticus wrote a letter to his love,
And filled it full of warm and keen desire;
He hoped to raise a flame, and so he did:
The lady put his nonsense in the fire.

MEDICAL ADVICE.

“I’m very ill,” said Skinflint, once essaying
To get a doctor’s counsel without paying.
“I see it,” quoth the wily old physician;
“You’re in a most deplorable condition.”
“But tell me,” cried the miser, “for God’s sake,
Tell me, dear doctor, what I ought to take.”
“Take! as to that—why, take, at any price,”
Replied the leech, “_take medical advice_!”

DEFINITION OF A DENTIST.

A dentist fashions teeth of bone
For those whom fate has left without,
And finds provision for his _own_
By pulling other people’s out.

Dr. Samuel Goodenough, Bishop of Carlisle, preached on one occasion before the House of Commons. The event gave rise to the following:—

’Tis well-enough that Goodenough
Before the House should preach;
For sure-enough full bad-enough
Are those he has to teach.

WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

As two divines their ambling steeds bestriding,
In merry mood o’er Boston Neck were riding,
Sudden a simple structure met their sight,
From which the convict takes his hempen flight;
When sailor-like he bids adieu to hope,
His all depending on a single rope.
“Say, brother,” cried the one, “pray where were you
Had yonder gallows been allowed its due?”
“Where?” cried the other, in sarcastic tone,
“Why, where but riding into town alone.”

A REFLECTION.

Says the Earth to the Moon “You’re a pilfering jade;
What you steal from the Sun is beyond all belief.”
Fair Cynthia replies, “Madam Earth, hold your prate;
The receiver is always as bad as the thief.”

“THE WOMAN GAVE ME OF THE TREE.”

When Eve upon the first of men
The apple pressed with specious cant,
Oh, what a thousand pities, then,
That Adam was not Adamant.

THE BLADES OF THE SHEARS.

Two lawyers when a knotty case was o’er,
Shook hands, and were as friendly as before;
“Zounds!” said the client, “I would fain know how
You can be friends, who were such foes just now?”
“Thou fool!” said one, “We lawyers, though so keen,
Like shears, ne’er cut ourselves, but what’s between.”

The following was written by Southey on Queen Elizabeth’s dining on board Sir Francis Drake’s ship, on his return from circumnavigating the globe:—

Oh, Nature! to old England still
Continue these mistakes;
Give us for all our _Kings_ such _Queens_,
And for our _Dux_ such _Drakes_.

INVISIBLE.

I cannot praise your parson’s eyes;
I never _see_ his eyes divine,
For when he prays he shuts _his_ eyes,
And when he preaches he shuts mine.

IMPERSONAL.

Quoth Madam Bas Bleu, “I hear you have said,
Intellectual women are always your dread;
Now tell me, dear sir, is it true?”
“Why, yes,” said the wag, “Very likely I may
Have made the remark in a jocular way;
But then, on my honor, I didn’t mean you.”

AFFINITIES.

“A lady, once, whose love was sold,
Asked if a reason could be told,
Why wedding rings were made of gold:
I ventured thus to instruct her:—
Love and lightning are the same;
On earth they glance, from Heaven they came:
Love is the soul’s electric flame—
And gold its best conductor.”

THE CRIER WHO COULD NOT CRY.

I heard a judge his tipstaff call
And say, “Sir, I desire
You go forthwith and search the Hall,
And send to me the crier.”
“And search, my Lord, in vain, I may”—
The tipstaff gravely said—
“The Crier cannot _cry_ to-day,
Because his wife is dead.”

THE PARSON AND BUTCHER.

A parson and a butcher chanced, they say,
To meet and moralize one Sabbath day.
“Ah!” cries the parson, “all things good and fair,
All that is virtuous, wise, belovéd, rare,
Is sure the first to feel the stroke of fate;
While vice and folly have a longer date.”
“True,” cries the butcher, “for it is decreed,
The fattest pig, alas! must soonest bleed.”

THE CLOCK.

A mechanic his labor will often discard,
If the rate of his pay he dislikes;
But a clock—and its _case_ is uncommonly hard—
Will continue to _work_ though it _strikes_.—§Hood.§

MASCULINE.

“What pity ’tis,” said John, the sage,
“That women should, for hire,
Expose themselves upon the stage,
By wearing men’s attire!”

“_Expose!_” cries Ned, who loves a jeer;
“In sense you surely fail:
What do the darlings have to fear
When clad in coats-of-_male_?”

IN RETURN FOR A LADY’S SKETCH OF THE APOLLO.

If fair Apollo drew his bow
As well as you have drawn it here,
No wonder that he carries woe
To many a maiden far and near.

One difference, though, I understand,
Between this picture and the giver:
Apollo keeps his bow in hand—
You keep your beaux upon the quiver.

WIDOWS.

As in India, one day, an Englishman sat
With a smart native lass at the window,
“Do your widows burn themselves? pray tell me that?”
Said the pretty, inquisitive Hindoo.

“Do they burn? ah, yes,” the gentleman said,
“With a flame not so easy to smother:
Our widows, the moment one husband is dead,
Immediately burn for another!”—§Canning.§

The following epigram by Samuel Rogers, on Lord Dudley’s studied speeches in Parliament, was pronounced by Byron, in conversation with Lady Blessington, “one of the best in the English language, with the true Greek talent of expressing, by implication, what is wished to be conveyed:”—

Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it:
He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.

On the marriage of Dr. Webb with Miss Gould, a classical friend sent him the following:—

Tela fuit simplex statuens decus addere telæ,
Fecit hymen geminam puroque intexuit auro.
[Single no more, a double Webb behold;
Hymen embroidered it with virgin Gould.]

AFTER GOING TO LAW.

This law, they say, great nature’s chain connects,
That _causes_ ever must produce _effects_.
In me behold reversed great nature’s laws,—
All my _effects_ lost by a single _cause_.

SAME JAWBONE.

Jack eating rotten cheese did say,
“Like Samson I my thousands slay.”
“I vow,” says Roger, “so you do,
And with the selfsame weapon too.”

A FUNNY DETERMINATION.

Queenly Miss Quaint, the aim of whose life
Is to die an old maid or a minister’s wife,
Grotesquely averred, after hearing young Spread,
“I’ll hear him all day, _if I walk on my head_!”
“Good!” said old Hunx, with a comical smile;
“But please, if you’re late, don’t come up the broad aisle!”

MARRIAGE À LA MODE.

“Tom, you should take a wife.” “Nay, God forbid!”
“I found you one last night.” “The deuce you did!”
“Softly! perhaps she’ll please you.” “Oh, of course!”
“Eighteen.” “Alarming!” “Witty.” “Nay, that’s worse!”
“Discreet.” “All show!” “Handsome.” “To lure the fellows!”
“High-born.” “Ay, haughty!” “Tender-hearted.” “Jealous!”
“Talents o’erflowing.” “Ay, enough to sluice me!”
“And then, Tom, such a fortune!” “Introduce me!”

QUID PRO QUO.

“Marriage, not mirage, Jane, here in your letter:
With your education, you surely know better.”
Quickly spoke my young wife, while I sat in confusion,
“’Tis quite correct, Thomas: they’re each an illusion.”

WOMAN—CONTRA.

When Adam, waking, first his lids unfolds
In Eden’s groves, beside him he beholds
Bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, and knows
His earliest sleep has proved his last repose.

WOMAN—PRO.

Not she with traitorous kiss her Saviour stung,
Not she denied him with unholy tongue:
She, when apostles shrunk, could danger brave;
Last at the cross, and earliest at the grave.—§Barrett.§

ABUNDANCE OF FOOLS.

The world of fools has such a store,
That he who would not see an ass
Must bide at home, and bolt his door,
And break his looking-glass.—§La Monnoye.§

THE WORLD.

’Tis an excellent world that we live in
To lend, to spend, or to give in;
But to borrow, or beg, or get a man’s own,
’Tis just the worst world that ever was known.

TERMINER SANS OYER.

“Call silence!” the judge to the officer cries;
“This hubbub and talk, will it never be done?
Those people this morning have made such a noise,
We’ve decided ten causes without hearing one.”

DOUBLE VISION UTILIZED.

An incipient toper was checked t’other day,
In his downward career, in a very strange way.
The effect of indulgence, he found to his trouble,
Was that after two bottles he came to see double;
When with staggering steps to his home he betook him,
He saw always _two wives_, sitting up to rebuke him.
_One_ wife in her wrath makes a pretty strong case;
But a _couple_ thus scolding, what courage could face?

Impromptus.

One day, as Dr. Young was walking in his garden at Welwyn in company with two ladies, (one of whom he afterwards married,) the servant came to acquaint him that a gentleman wished to speak with him. “Tell him,” said the doctor, “I am too happily engaged to change my situation.” The ladies insisted that he should go, as his visitor was a man of rank, his patron, and his friend. But, as persuasion had no effect, one took him by the right arm, the other by the left, and led him to the garden-gate; when, finding resistance in vain, he bowed, laid his hand upon his heart, and, in that expressive manner for which he was so remarkable, spoke the following lines:—

Thus Adam looked when from the garden driven,
And thus disputed orders sent from heaven.
Like him I go, but yet to go I’m loath;
Like him I go, for angels drove us both.
Hard was his fate, but mine still more unkind:
His Eve went with him, but mine stays behind.

Ben Jonson having been invited to dine at the Falcon Tavern, where he was already deeply in debt, the landlord promised to wipe out the score if he would tell him what God, and the devil, and the world, and the landlord himself, would be best pleased with. To which the ready poet promptly replied:—

God is best pleased when men forsake their sin;
The devil is best pleased when they persist therein;
The world’s best pleased when thou dost sell good wine;
And you’re best pleased when I do pay for mine.

A well-known instance of self-extrication from a dilemma is thus rendered in rhyme:—

When Queen Elizabeth desired
That Melville would acknowledge fairly
Whether herself he most admired,
Or his own sovereign, Lady Mary?
The puzzled knight his answer thus expressed:—
“In her own country each is handsomest.”

Burns, going into church one Sunday and finding it difficult to procure a seat, was kindly invited by a young lady into her pew. The sermon being upon the terrors of the law, and the preacher being particularly severe in his denunciation of sinners, the lady, who was very attentive, became much agitated. Burns, on perceiving it, wrote with his pencil, on a blank leaf of her Bible, the following:—

Fair maid, you need not take the hint,
Nor idle texts pursue:
’Twas only sinners that he meant,
Not angels such as you.

One evening at the King’s Arms, Dumfries, Burns was called from a party of friends to see an impertinent coxcomb in the form of an English commercial traveller, who patronizingly invited the _Ayrshire Ploughman_ to a glass of wine at his table. Entering into conversation with the _condescending_ stranger, Burns soon saw what sort of person he had to deal with. About to leave the room, the poet was urged to give a specimen of his facility in impromptu versifying, when, having asked the name and age of the conceited traveller, he instantly penned and handed him the following stanza,—after which he abruptly departed:—

In seventeen hundred forty-nine,
Satan took stuff to make a swine,
And cuist it in a corner;
But wilily he changed his plan,
Shaped it to something like a man,
And ca’d it Andrew Horner.

After Burke had finished his extraordinary speech against Warren Hastings, the latter (according to the testimony of his private secretary, Mr. Evans) wrote the following sarcastic impromptu:—

Oft have we wondered that on Irish ground
No poisonous reptile ever yet was found;
The secret stands revealed in Nature’s work:
She saved her venom to create a _Burke_!

Dr. Johnson’s definition of a note of admiration (!), made on the moment, is very neat:—

I see—I see—I know not what:
I see a dash above a dot,
Presenting to my contemplation
A perfect point of admiration!

An old gentleman named Gould, having married a young lady of nineteen, thus addressed his friend Dr. G. at the wedding festival:—

So you see, my dear sir, though eighty years old,
A girl of nineteen falls in love with _old Gould_.

To which the doctor replied,—

A girl of nineteen may love _Gould_, it is true,
But believe me, dear sir, it is _Gold_ without _U_.

When Percy first published his collection of Ancient English Ballads, he was rather lavish in commendation of their beautiful simplicity. This provoked Dr. Johnson to say one evening, at the tea-table of Miss Reynolds, that he could rhyme as well and as elegantly in common narrative and conversation. “For instance,” said he,—

“As, with my hat upon my head,
I walked along the strand,
I there did meet another man
With his hat in his hand.

Or, to render such poetry subservient to my own immediate use,—

I therefore pray thee, Renny dear
That thou wilt give to me,
With cream and sugar softened well,
Another cup of tea.

Nor fear that I, my gentle maid,
Shall long detain the cup,
When once unto the bottom I
Have drank the liquor up.

Yet hear, alas! this mournful truth,
Nor hear it with a frown;
Thou canst not make the tea as fast
As I can gulp it down.”

Mr. Fox, the great orator, was on one occasion told by a lady that she “_did not care three skips of a louse for him_.” He immediately took out his pencil and wrote the following:—

A lady has told me, and in her own house,
That she cares not for me “three skips of a louse.”
I forgive the dear creature for what she has said,
Since women will talk of what _runs in their head_.

Barty Willard, who formerly lived in the northern part of Vermont, was noted for his careless, vagabond habits, ready wit, and remarkable facility at extempore rhyming. Sitting one day in a village store, among a crowd of idlers who always gathered about him on his arrival, the merchant asked Barty “why he always wore that shocking bad hat.” Barty replied that it was simply because he was unable to purchase a new one.

“Come,” said the merchant; “make me a good rhyme on the old hat immediately, without stopping to think, and I’ll give you the best castor in the store.” Whereupon Barty threw his old tile on the floor, and began:—

Here lies my old hat,
And, pray, what of that?
’Tis as good as the rest of my raiment:
If I buy me a better,
You’ll make me your debtor
And send me to jail for the payment.

The new hat was adjudged, by the “unanimous vote of the house,” to belong to Barty, who wore it off in triumph, saying, “it was a poor head that couldn’t take care of itself.”

* * * * *

An Oxford and Cambridge man, who had had frequent disputes concerning the divinity of Christ, chancing to meet in company, the former, with a serio-comical air, wrote the following lines and handed them to the latter:—

Tu Judæ similis Dominumque Deumque negasti;
Dissimilis Judas est tibi—pœnituit.
[You, Judas like, your Lord and God denied;
Judas, unlike to you, repentant sighed.]

Whereupon the “heretic” retorted,—

Tu simul et similis Judæ, tu dissimilisque;
Judæ iterum similis sis, laqueumque petas.
[You are like Judas, yet unlike that elf;
Once more like Judas be, and hang yourself.]

The common phrase _Give the Devil his due_, was turned very wittily by a member of the bar in North Carolina, some years ago, on three of his legal brethren. During the trial of a case, Hillman, Dews, and Swain (all distinguished lawyers, and the last-named President of the State University) handed James Dodge, the Clerk of the Supreme Court, the following epitaph:—

Here lies James Dodge, who dodged all good,
And never dodged an evil:
And, after dodging all he could,
He could not dodge the Devil!

Mr. Dodge sent back to the gentlemen the annexed impromptu reply, which may be considered equal to any thing ever expressed in the best days of Queens Anne or Bess:—

Here lies a Hillman and a Swain;
Their lot let no man choose:
They lived in sin, and died in pain,
And the Devil got his dues! (Dews.)

A lady wrote with a diamond on a pane of glass,—

God did at first make man upright; but he—

To which a gentleman added,—

Most surely had continued so; but _she_—

A lady wrote upon a window some verses, intimating her design of never marrying. A gentleman wrote the following lines underneath:—

The lady whose resolve these words betoken,
Wrote them on glass, to show it may be broken.

Sir Walter Raleigh having written on a window,—

Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall,—

Queen Elizabeth, the instant she saw it, wrote under it,—

If thy heart fail thee, climb not at all.

Perhaps the most delicate flattery ever uttered was that of the ambassador, who, being asked by a beautiful queen, upon his introduction to her court, whether a celebrated beauty in his own country was the handsomest woman he had ever seen, replied, “I thought so yesterday.”

A party of gentlemen at Lord Macclesfield’s, one evening, agreed to amuse themselves by drawing tickets on which various uncomplimentary devices were written. These were extemporaneously turned into compliments by Cowper as follows:—

_Vanity._—Drawn by Lord Macclesfield.
Be vain, my lord, you have a right;
For who, like you, can boast this night,
A group assembled in one place
Fraught with such beauty, wit and grace?

_Insensibility._—Mr. Marsham.
Insensible can Marsham be?
Yes and no fault you must agree;
His heart his virtue only warms,
Insensible to vice’s charms.

_Inconstancy._—Mr. Adams.
Inconstancy there is no harm in,
In Adams where it looks so charming:
Who wavers as, he well may boast,
Which virtue he shall follow most.

_Impudence._—Mr. St. John.
St. John, your vice you can’t disown:
For in this age ’tis too well known,
That impudent that man must be
Who dares from folly to be free.

_Intemperance._—Mr. Gerard.
Intemperance implies excess:
Changed though the name, the fault’s not less;
Yet, blush not, Gerard, there’s no need,—
In all that’s worthy you exceed.

A _Blank_ was drawn by Mr. Legge.
If she a blank for Legge designed,
Sure Fortune is no longer blind;
For we shall fill the paper given
With every virtue under heaven.

_Cowardice._—Gen. Caillard.
Most soldiers cowardice disclaim,
But Caillard owns it without shame;
Bold in whate’er to arms belong,
He wants the courage to do wrong.

A traveller, upon reading the inscription affixed to the gates of Bandon, (a town in Ireland originally peopled by English Protestants,)—

Jew, Turk or Atheist enter here;
But let no Papist dare appear,—

wrote the following smart reply underneath:—

He who wrote this wrote it well;
The same is written on the gates of hell.

At one of Burns’ convivial dinners he was requested to say grace; whereupon he gave the following impromptu:—

Lord, we do thee humbly thank
For that we little merit.—
Now Jean may take the flesh away,
And Will bring in the spirit.

Refractory Rhyming.

When Canning was challenged to find a rhyme for _Julianna_, he immediately wrote,—

Walking in the shady grove
With my Julianna,
For lozenges I gave my love
Ipecacuanha.

Ipecacuanha lozenges, though a myth when the stanza was written, are now commonly sold by apothecaries.

* * * * *

Three or four wits, while dining together, discussed the difficulty of finding rhymes for certain names. General Morris challenged any of the party to find a happy rhyme for his name; and the challenge was instantly taken up by John Brougham, whose facility at extempore rhyming is proverbial:—

All hail to thee, thou gifted son!
The warrior-poet Morris!
’Tis seldom that we see in one
A Cæsar and a Horace.

Some years ago a French speculator found himself ruined by a sudden collapse in the stock-market. He resolved to commit suicide, but, as he was a connoisseur in monumental literature, he decided first to compose his own epitaph. The first line—a very fine one—terminated with the word _triomphe_. To this, search as he might, he could find no rhyme, and he could not bring himself to sacrifice his beloved line. Time passed, finding him still in search of his rhyme, assisted by a number of benevolent friends, but all in vain. One day a promising speculation presented itself: he seized the opportunity and regained his fortune.

The rhyme so zealously sought has at length been found, and the epitaph completed. Here it is:—

Attendre que de soi la vétusté triomphe,
C’est absurde! Je vais au devant de la mort.
Mourir a plus d’attraits quand on est jeune encore:
A quoi bon devenir un vieillard monogomphe?

_Monogomphe_; a brilliant Hellenism signifying “who has but a single tooth.”

* * * * *

To get a rhyme in English for the word _month_ was quite a matter of interest with curious people years ago, and somebody made it out or forced it by making a quatrain, in which a lisping little girl is described as saying:—

——I can get a rhyme for a month.
I can thay it now, I thed it wunth!

Another plan was to twist the numeral _one_ into an ordinal. For instance:—

Search through the works of Thackeray—you’ll find a rhyme to month;
He tells us of Phil Fogarty, of the fighting onety-oneth!

A parallel lisp is as follows:—

“You can’t,” says Tom to lisping Bill,
“Find any rhyme for month.”
“A great mithtake,” was Bill’s reply;
“I’ll find a rhyme at _onth_.”

And

Among our numerous English rhymes,
They say there’s none to month;
I tried and failed a hundred times,
But succeeded the hundred and _onth_.

But these are hardly fair. The rhyme is good, but the English is bad. Christina Rosetti has done better in the admirable book of nursery rhymes which she has published under the title of _Sing-Song_:—

How many weeks in a month?
Four, as the swift moon runn’th—

In both of these instances, however, the rhymes are evasions of the real issue. The problem is not to make a word by compounding two, or distorting one, but to find a word ready-made, in our unabridged dictionaries that will rhyme properly to month. We believe there is none. Nor is there a fair rhyme to the word _silver_, nor to _spirit_, nor to _chimney_. Horace Smith, one of the authors of the _Rejected Addresses_, once attempted to make one for chimney on a bet, and he did it in this way:—

Standing on roof and by chimney
Are master and ’prentice with slim knee.

Another dissyllabic poser is _liquid_. Mr. C. A. Bristed attempts to meet it as follows:—