Chapter IV: Introduction (3)

—I cannot be satisfied, my dearest friend!
blest as I am in the matrimonial state,
—unless I pour into your friendly bosom,
which has ever been in unison with mine,
—the various sensations which swell
with the liveliest emotion of pleasure,
—my almost bursting heart. I tell you my dear
husband is the most amiable of men,
—I have now been married seven weeks, and
never have found the least reason to
—repent the day that joined us. My husband is
both in person and manners far from resembling
—ugly, cross, old, disagreeable, and jealous
monsters, who think by confining to secure—
—a wife, it is his maxim to treat as a
bosom friend and confidant, and not as a
—plaything, or menial slave, the woman
chosen to be his companion. Neither party
—he says, should always obey implicitly;
but each yield to the other by turns.
—An ancient maiden aunt, near seventy,
a cheerful, venerable, and pleasant old lady,
—lives in the house with us; she is the de-
light of both young and old; she is ci-
—vil to all the neighborhood round,
generous and charitable to the poor.
—I am convinced my husband loves nothing more
than he does me; he flatters me more
—than a glass; and his intoxication
(for so I must call the excess of his love)
—often makes me blush for the unworthiness
of its object, and wish I could be more deserving
—of the man whose name I bear. To
say all in one word, my dear, and to
—crown the whole—my former gallant lover
is now my indulgent husband; my husband
—is returned, and I might have had
a prince without the felicity I find in
—him. Adieu! may you be blest as I am un-
able to wish that I could be more
—happy.

DOUBLE-FACED CREED.

The following cross-reading from a history of Popery, published in 1679, and formerly called in New England _The Jesuits’ Creed_, will suit either Catholic or Protestant accordingly as the lines are read downward in single columns or across the double columns:—

Pro fide teneo sana Quæ docet Anglicana,
Affirmat quæ Romana Videntur mihi vana.
Supremus quando rex est Tum plebs est fortunata,
Erraticus tum Grex est Cum caput fiat papa.
Altari cum ornatur Communio fit inanis,
Populus tum beatur Cum mensa vina panis.
Asini nomen meruit Hunc morem qui non capit,
Missam qui deseruit Catholicus est et sapit.

I hold for faith What England’s church allows,
What Rome’s church saith, My conscience disavows.
Where the king is head The flock can take no shame,
The flock’s misled, Who hold the pope supreme.
Where the altar’s drest The worship’s scarce divine,
The people’s blest, Whose table’s bread and wine.
He’s but an ass Who their communion flies,
Who shuns the mass, Is Catholic and wise.

REVOLUTIONARY VERSES.

The author of the following Revolutionary double entendre, which originally appeared in a Philadelphia newspaper, is unknown. It may be read in three different ways,—1st. Let the whole be read in the order in which it is written; 2d. Then the lines downward on the left of each comma in every line; and 3d. In the same manner on the right of each comma. By the first reading it will be observed that the Revolutionary cause is condemned, and by the others, it is encouraged and lauded:—

Hark! hark! the trumpet sounds, the din of war’s alarms,
O’er seas and solid grounds, doth call us all to arms;
Who for King George doth stand, their honors soon shall shine;
Their ruin is at hand, who with the Congress join.
The acts of Parliament, in them I much delight,
I hate their cursed intent, who for the Congress fight,
The Tories of the day, they are my daily toast,
They soon will sneak away, who Independence boast;
Who non-resistance hold, they have my hand and heart.
May they for slaves be sold, who act a Whiggish part;
On Mansfield, North, and Bute, may daily blessings pour,
Confusion and dispute, on Congress evermore;
To North and British lord, may honors still be done,
I wish a block or cord, to General Washington.

THE HOUSES OF STUART AND HANOVER.

I love with all my heart The Tory party here
The Hanoverian part Most hateful do appear
And for that settlement I ever have denied
My conscience gives consent To be on James’s side
Most righteous is the cause To fight for such a king
To fight for George’s laws Will England’s ruin bring
It is my mind and heart In this opinion I
Though none will take my part Resolve to live and die.
_Lansdowme MSS. 852_

THE NEW REGIME.

The following equivoque was addressed to a republican at the commencement of the French Revolution, in reply to the question, “What do you think of the new constitution?”

A la nouvelle loi Je veux être fidèle
Je renonce dans l’âme Au régime ancien,
Comme épreuve de ma foi Je crois la loi nouvelle
Je crois celle qu’on blâme Opposée à tout bien;
Dieu vous donne la paix Messieurs les démocrats
Noblesse désolée Au diable allez-vous en;
Qu’il confonde à jamais Tous les Aristocrats
Messieurs de l’Assemblée Ont eux seuls le bon sens.

The newly made law ’Tis my wish to esteem
From my soul I abhor The ancient regime
My faith to prove good, I maintain the new code
I maintain the old code Is opposed to all good.
May God give you peace, Messieurs Democrats,
Forsaken Noblesse, To the devil go hence.
May He ever confound All the Aristocrats
The Assembly all round Are the sole men of sense.

FATAL DOUBLE MEANING.

Count Valavoir, a general in the French service under Turenne, while encamped before the enemy, attempted one night to pass a sentinel. The sentinel challenged him, and the count answered “_Va-la-voir_,” which literally signifies “Go and see.” The soldier, who took the words in this sense, indignantly repeated the challenge, and was answered in the same manner, when he fired; and the unfortunate Count fell dead upon the spot,—a victim to the whimsicality of his surname.

A TRIPLE PLATFORM.

Among the memorials of the sectional conflict of 1861–5, is an American platform arranged to suit all parties. The first column is the _Secession_; the second, the _Abolition_ platform; and the whole, read together, is the Democratic platform:—

Hurrah for The Old Union
Secession Is a curse
We fight for The Constitution
The Confederacy Is a league with hell
We love Free speech
The rebellion Is treason
We glory in A Free Press
Separation Will not be tolerated
We fight not for The negro’s freedom
Reconstruction Must be obtained
We must succeed At every hazard
The Union We love
We love not The negro
We never said Let the Union slide
We want The Union as it was
Foreign intervention Is played out
We cherish The old flag
The stars and bars Is a flaunting lie
We venerate The _heabus corpus_
Southern chivalry Is hateful
Death to Jeff Davis
Abe Lincoln Isn’t the Government
Down with Mob law
Law and order Shall triumph.

LOYALTY, OR JACOBINISM?

This piece of amphibology was circulated among the United Irishmen, previous to the Rebellion of 1798. First, read the lines as they stand, then according to the numerals prefixed:—

1. I love my country—but the king,
3. Above all men his praise I sing,
2. Destruction to his odious reign,
4. That plague of princes, Thomas Paine;
5. The royal bankers are displayed,
7. And may success the standard aid
6. Defeat and ruin seize the cause
8. Of France her liberty and laws.

NON COMMITTAL.

NEAT EVASION.

Bishop Egerton, of Durham, avoided three impertinent questions by replying as follows:—

1. What inheritance he received from his father?
“Not so much as he expected.”
2. What was his lady’s fortune?
“Less than was reported.”
3. What was the value of his living of Ross?
“More than he made of it.”

A PATRIOTIC TOAST.

Most readers will remember the story of a non-committal editor who, during the Presidential canvass of 1872, desiring to propitiate subscribers of both parties, hoisted the ticket of “Gr—— and ——n” at the top of his column, thus giving those who took the paper their choice of interpretations between “Grant and Wilson” and “Greeley and Brown.” A story turning on the same style of point—and probably quite as apocryphal—though the author labels it “_historique_”—is told of an army officers’ mess in France. A brother-soldier from a neighboring detachment having come in, and a _champenoise_ having been uncorked in his honor, “Gentlemen,” said the guest, raising his glass, “I am about to propose a toast at once patriotic and political.” A chorus of hasty ejaculations and of murmurs at once greeted him. “Yes, gentlemen,” coolly proceeded the orator, “I drink to a thing which—an object that—Bah! I will out with it at once. It begins with an _R_ and ends with an _e_.”

“Capital!” whispers a young lieutenant of Bordeaux promotion. “He proposes the _République_, without offending the old fogies by saying the word,”

“Nonsense! He means the _Radicale_,” replies the other, an old Captain Cassel.

“Upon my word,” says a third, as he lifts his glass, “our friend must mean _la Royauté_.”

“I see!” cries a one-legged veteran of Froschweiler: “we drink to _la Revanche_.”

In fact the whole party drank the toast heartily, each interpreting it to his liking.

In the hands of a Swift, even so trivial an instance might be made to point a moral on the facility with which, alike in theology and politics—from Athanasian creed to Cincinnati or Philadelphia platform—men comfortably interpret to their own diverse likings some doctrine that “begins with an _R_ and ends with an _e_,” and swallow it with great unanimity and enthusiasm.

THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL.

During the war of the Rebellion, a merchant of Milwaukee, who is an excellent hand at sketching, drew most admirably on the wall of his store a negro’s head, and underneath it wrote, in a manner worthy of the Delphic oracle, “Dis-Union for eber.” Whether the sentence meant loyalty to the Union or not, was the puzzling question which the gentleman himself never answered, invariably stating to the inquirers, “Read it for yourselves, gentlemen.” So from that day to this, as the saying goes, “no one knows how dat darkey stood on de war question.”

Another question is puzzling the young ladies who attend a Western Female College. It seems that one of them discovered that some person had written on the outer wall of the college, “Young women should set good examples; for young men _will_ follow them.” The question that is now perplexing the heads of several of the young ladies of the college is, whether the writer meant what he or she (the handwriting was rather masculine) wrote, in a moral sense or in an ironical one.

HOW FRENCH ACTRESSES AVOID GIVING THEIR AGE.

A servant robbed Mlle. Mars of her diamonds one evening while she was at the theatre. Arrested, he was put upon trial, and witnesses were summoned to bear testimony to his guilt. Among these was Mlle. Mars. She was greatly annoyed at this, as, according to the rules of French practice, the witness, after being sworn, gives his age. Now the age of Mlle. Mars was an impenetrable mystery, for it was a theme she never alluded to, and she possessed the art of arresting time’s flight, or at least of repairing its ravages so effectually that her face never revealed acquaintance with more than twenty years. She was for some days evidently depressed; then, all at once, her spirits rose as buoyant as ever. This puzzled the court—for people in her eminent position always have a court; parasites are plenty in Paris—they did not know whether she had determined frankly to confess her age, or whether she had hit upon some means of eluding this thorny point of practice.

The day of trial came, and she was at her place. The court-room was filled, and when she was put in the witness-box every ear was bent towards her to catch the age she would give as her own. “Your name?” said the presiding judge. “Anne Francoise Hippolyte Mars.” “What is your profession?” “An actress of the French Comedy.” “What is your age?” “——ty years.” “What?” inquired the presiding judge, leaning forward. “I have just told your honor!” replied the actress, giving one of those irresistible smiles which won the most hostile pit. The judge smiled in turn, and when he asked, as he did immediately, “Where do you live?” hearty applause long prevented Mlle. Mars from replying.

Mlle. Cico was summoned before a court to bear witness in favor of some cosmetic assailed as a poison by victims and their physicians. All the youngest actresses of Paris were there, and they reckoned upon a good deal of merriment and profit when Mlle. Cico came to disclose her age. She was called to the stand—sworn—gave her name and profession. When the judge said “How old are you?” she quitted the stand, went up to the bench, stood on tip-toe, and whispered in the judge’s ear the malicious mystery. The bench smiled, and kept her secret.

The Cento.

A cento primarily signifies a cloak made of patches. In poetry it denotes a work wholly composed of verses, or passages promiscuously taken from other authors and disposed in a new form or order, so as to compose a new work and a new meaning. According to the rules laid down by Ausonius, the author of the celebrated _Nuptial Cento_, the pieces may be taken from the same poet, or from several; and the verses may be either taken entire, or divided into two, one half to be connected with another half taken elsewhere; but two verses are never to be taken together.

The Empress Eudoxia wrote the life of Jesus Christ in centos taken from Homer. Proba Falconia, and, long after him, Alexander Ross, both composed a life of the Saviour, in the same manner, from Virgil. The title of Ross’ work, which was republished in 1769, was _Virgilius Evangelizans, sive historia Domini et Salvatoris nostri Jesu Christi Virgilianis verbis et versibus descripta_.

Subjoined are some modern specimens of this literary confectionery, called in modern parlance

MOSAIC POETRY.

I only knew she came and went _Lowell._
Like troutlets in a pool; _Hood._
She was a phantom of delight, _Wordsworth._
And I was like a fool. _Eastman._

“One kiss, dear maid,” I said and sighed, _Coleridge._
“Out of those lips unshorn.” _Longfellow._
She shook her ringlets round her head, _Stoddard._
And laughed in merry scorn. _Tennyson._

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky! _Tennyson._
You hear them, oh my heart? _Alice Cary._
’Tis twelve at night by the castle clock, _Coleridge._
Beloved, we must part! _Alice Cary._

“Come back! come back!” she cried in grief, _Campbell._
“My eyes are dim with tears— _Bayard Taylor._
How shall I live through all the days, _Mrs. Osgood._
All through a hundred years?” _T. S. Perry._

’Twas in the prime of summer time, _Hood._
She blessed me with her hand; _Hoyt._
We strayed together, deeply blest, _Mrs. Edwards._
Into the Dreaming Land. _Cornwall._

The laughing bridal roses blow, _Patmore._
To dress her dark brown hair; _Bayard Taylor._
No maiden may with her compare, _Brailsford._
Most beautiful, most rare! _Read._

I clasped it on her sweet cold hand, _Browning._
The precious golden link; _Smith._
I calmed her fears, and she was calm, _Coleridge._
“Drink, pretty creature, drink!” _Wordsworth._

And so I won my Genevieve, _Coleridge._
And walked in Paradise; _Hervey._
The fairest thing that ever grew _Wordsworth._
Atween me and the skies. _Osgood._

* * * * *

Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
Shoot folly as it flies?
Ah, more than tears of blood can tell,
Are in that word farewell, farewell;
’Tis folly to be wise.

And what is Friendship but a name
That burns on Etna’s breast of flame?
Thus runs the world away.
Sweet is the ship that’s under sail
To where yon taper points the vale
With hospitable ray.

Drink to me only with thine eyes
Through cloudless climes and starry skies,
My native land, good-night.
Adieu, adieu, my native shore;
’Tis Greece, but living Greece no more.
Whatever is is right.

Oh, ever thus from childhood’s hour,
Daughter of Jove, relentless power,
In russet mantle clad.
The rocks and hollow mountains rung
While yet in early Greece she sung,
I’m pleased, and yet I’m sad.

In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
O, thou, the nymph with placid eye,
By Philip’s warlike son;
And on the light fantastic toe
Thus hand-in-hand through life we’ll go;
Good-night to Marmion.

LIFE.

1.—Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour?
2.—Life’s a short summer, man a flower.

3.—By turns we catch the vital breath and die—
4.—The cradle and the tomb, alas! so nigh.

5.—To be is better far than not to be,
6.—Though all man’s life may seem a tragedy.

7.—But light cares speak when mighty griefs are dumb;
8.—The bottom is but shallow whence they come.

9.—Your fate is but the common fate of all,
10.—Unmingled joys, here, to no man befall.

11.—Nature to each allots his proper sphere,
12.—Fortune makes folly her peculiar care.

13.—Custom does not often reason overrule
14.—And throw a cruel sunshine on a fool.

15.—Live well, how long or short permit, to heaven;
16.—They who forgive most, shall be most forgiven.

17.—Sin may be clasped so close we cannot see its face—
18.—Vile intercourse where virtue has not place.

19.—Then keep each passion down, however dear,
20.—Thou pendulum, betwixt a smile and tear;

21.—Her sensual snares let faithless pleasure lay,
22.—With craft and skill, to ruin and betray.

23.—Soar not too high to fall, but stop to rise;
24.—We masters grow of all that we despise.

25.—Oh then renounce that impious self-esteem;
26.—Riches have wings and grandeur is a dream.

27.—Think not ambition wise, because ’tis brave,
28.—The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

29.—What is ambition? ’Tis a glorious cheat,
30.—Only destructive to the brave and great.

31.—What’s all the gaudy glitter of a crown?
32.—The way to bliss lies not on beds of down.

33.—How long we live, not years but actions tell;
34.—That man lives twice who lives the first life well.

35.—Make then, while yet ye may, your God your friend,
36.—Whom Christians worship, yet not comprehend.

37.—The trust that’s given guard, and to yourself be just;
38.—For, live we how we can, yet die we must.

1. Young. 2. Dr. Johnson. 3. Pope. 4. Prior. 5. Sewell. 6. Spenser. 7.
Daniel. 8. Sir Walter Raleigh. 9. Longfellow. 10. Southwell. 11.
Congreve. 12. Churchill. 13. Rochester. 14. Armstrong. 15. Milton. 16.
Baily. 17. Trench. 18. Somerville. 19. Thompson. 20. Byron. 21.
Smollet. 22. Crabbe. 23. Massinger. 24. Crowley. 25. Beattie. 26.
Cowper. 27. Sir Walter Davenant. 28. Grey. 29. Willis. 30. Addison.
31. Dryden. 32. Francis Quarles. 33. Watkins. 34. Herrick. 35. William
Mason. 36. Hill. 37. Dana. 38. Shakespeare.

CENTO FROM POPE.

’Tis education forms the common mind; _Moral Essays._
A mighty maze! but not without a plan. _Essay on Man._
Ask of the learned the way? The learned are blind; _Essay on Man._
The proper study of mankind is man. _Essay on Man._

A little learning is a dangerous thing; _Essay on Criticism._
Some have at first for wits, then poets passed— _Essay on Criticism._
See from each clime the learned their incense bring, _Essay on Criticism._
For rising merit will buoy up at last. _Essay on Criticism._

Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise.— _Essay on Man._
Virtue alone is happiness below; _Essay on Man._
Honor and shame from no condition rise, _Essay on Man._
And all our knowledge is ourselves to know. _Essay on Man._

Who shall decide when doctors disagree? _Moral Essay._
One truth is clear, whatever is, is right. _Essay on Man._
Since men interpret texts, why should not we _January and May._
Read them by day and meditate by night? _Essay on Criticism._

BIBLICAL CENTO.

Cling to the Mighty One, Ps. lxxxix. 19.
Cling in thy grief; Heb. xii. 11.
Cling to the Holy One, Ps. xxxix. 18.
He gives relief; Ps. lxxxvi. 7.
Cling to the Gracious One, Ps. cxvi. 5.
Cling in thy pain; Ps. lv. 4.
Cling to the Faithful One, 1 Thess. v. 24.
He will sustain. Ps. xxviii. 8.

Cling to the Living One, Heb. vii. 25.
Cling in thy woe; Ps. lxxxvi. 7.
Cling to the Loving One, 1 John iv. 16.
Through all below; Rom. viii. 38, 39.
Cling to the Pardoning One, Isa. lv. 7.
He speaketh peace; John xiv. 27.
Cling to the Healing One, Exod. xv. 26.
Anguish shall cease. Ps. cxlvii. 3.

Cling to the Bleeding One, 1 John i. 7.
Cling to His side; John xx. 27.
Cling to the Risen One, Rom. vi. 9.
In Him abide; John xv. 4.
Cling to the Coming One, Rev. xxii. 20.
Hope shall arise; Titus ii. 13.
Cling to the Reigning One, Ps. xcvii. 1.
Joy lights thine eyes. Ps. xvi. 11.

THE RETURN OF ISRAEL.

I will surely gather the remnant of Israel.—§Micah§ ii. 12.

And the Temple again shall be built,
And filled as it was of yore;
And the burden be lift from the heart of the world,
And the nations all adore;
Prayers to the throne of Heaven,
Morning and eve shall rise,
And unto and not of the Lamb
Shall be the sacrifice.—§Festus.§

In many strange and Gentile lands Micah v. 8.
Where Jacob’s scattered sons are driven, Jer. xxiii. 8.
With longing eyes and lifted hands, Lam. i. 17.
They wait Messiah’s sign from heaven. Matth. xxiv. 30

The cup of fury they have quaffed, Isa. li. 17.
Till fainted like a weary flock; Isa. li. 20.
But Heaven will soon withdraw the draught, Isa. li. 22.
And give them waters from the rock. Exod. xvii. 6.

What though their bodies, as the ground, Isa. li. 23.
Th’ Assyrian long has trodden o’er! Isa. lii. 4.
Zion, a captive daughter bound, Isa. lii. 2.
Shall rise to know her wrong no more. Isa. liv. 3, 4.

The veil is passing from her eyes, 2 Cor. iii. 16.
The King of Nations she shall see; Zech. xiv. 9.
Judea! from the dust arise! Isa. lii. 2.
Thy ransomed sons return to thee! Jer. xxxi. 17.

How gorgeous shall thy land appear, Isa. liv. 12.
When, like the jewels of a bride, Isa. xlix. 18.
Thy broken bands, all gathered there, Zech. xi. 14.
Shall clothe thy hills on every side! Isa. xlix. 18.

When on thy mount, as prophets taught, Isa. xxiv. 23.
Shall shine the throne of David’s Son; Ezek. xxxvii. 22.
The Gospel’s latest triumphs brought Micah iv. 2.
Where first its glorious course begun. Luke xxiv. 47.

Gentiles and Kings, who thee oppressed, Isa. lx. 14.
Shall to thy gates with praise repair; Isa. lx. 11.
A fold of flocks shall Sharon rest, Isa. lxv. 10.
And clustered fruits its vineyard bear. Joel ii. 22.

Then shall an Eden morn illume Isa. li. 3.
Earth’s fruitful vales, without a thorn: Isa. lv. 13.
The wilderness rejoice and bloom, Isa. xxxv. 1.
And nations in a day be born. Zech. ii. 11.

The §Lord§ his holy arm makes bare; Isa. lii. 10.
Zion! thy cheerful songs employ! Zeph. iii. 14.
Thy robes of bridal beauty wear, Isa. lii. 1.
And shout, ye ransomed race, for joy! Isa. lii. 9.

Macaronic Verse.

“A TREATISE OF WINE.”

The following specimen of macaronic verse, from the commonplace book of Richard Hilles, who died in 1535, is probably the best of its kind extant. The scriptural allusions and the large intermixture of Latin evidently point to the refectory of some genial monastery as its source:—

The best tree if ye take intent,
Inter ligna fructifer,
Is the vine tree by good argument,
Dulcia ferens pondera.

Saint Luke saith in his Gospel,
Arbor fructu noscitu,
The vine beareth wine as I you tell,
Hinc aliis præponitur.

The first that planted the vineyard,
Manet in cœli gaudi,
His name was Noe, as I am learned,
Genesis testimonio.

God gave unto him knowledge and wit,
A quo procedunt omni,
First of the grape wine for to get,
Propter magna mysteria.

The first miracle that Jesus did,
Erat in vino rube,
In Cana of Galilee it betide,
Testante Evangelio.

He changed water into wine,
Aquæ rubescunt hydri,
And bade give it to Archetcline,
Ut gustet tunc primarie.

Like as the rose exceedeth all flowers,
Inter cuncta floriger,
So doth wine all other liquors,
Dans multa salutifera.

David, the prophet, saith that wine
Lætificat cor homini,
It maketh men merry if it be fine,
Est ergo digni nominis.

It nourisheth age if it be good,
Facit ut esset juveni,
It gendereth in us gentle blood,
Nam venas purgat sanguinis.

By all these causes ye should think
Quæ sunt rationabile,
That good wine should be best of all drink
Inter potus potabiles.

Wine drinkers all, with great honor,
Semper laudate Dominu,
The which sendeth the good liquor
Propter salutem hominum.

Plenty to all that love good wine,
Donet Deus largiu,
And bring them some when they go hence,
Ubi non sitient amplius.

THE SUITOR WITH NINE TONGUES.

Τι σοι λεγω, μειρακιον,
Now that this fickle heart is won?
Me semper amaturam te
And never, never, never stray?
Herzschätzchen, Du verlangst zu viel
When you demand so strict a seal.
N’est-ce pas assez que je t’aime
Without remaining still the same?
Gij daarom geeft u liefde niet
If others may not have a treat.
Muy largo es mi corazon,
And fifty holds as well as one.
Non far nell’ acqua buco che
I am resolved to have my way;
Im lo boteach atta bi,
I’m willing quite to set you free:
Be you content with half my time,
As half in English is my rhyme.

MAGINN’S ALTERNATIONS—HORACE, EPODE II.

Blest man, who far from busy hum,
Ut prisca gens mortalium,
Whistles his team afield with glee
Solutus omni fenore:
He lives in peace, from battles free,
Nec horret iratum mare;
And shuns the forum, and the gay
Potentiorum limina.
Therefore to vines of purple gloss
Altas maritat populos,
Or pruning off the boughs unfit
Feliciores inserit.

* * * * *

Alphius the usurer, babbled thus,
Jam jam futurus rusticus,
Called in his cast on th’Ides—but he
Quærit Kalendis ponere.

CONTENTI ABEAMUS.

Come, jocund friends, a bottle bring,
And push around the jorum;
We’ll talk and laugh, and quaff and sing,
Nunc suavium amorum.

While we are in a merry mood,
Come, sit down ad bibendum;
And if dull care should dare intrude,
We’ll to the devil send him.

A moping elf I can’t endure
While I have ready rhino;
And all life’s pleasures centre still
In venere ac vino.

Be merry then, my friends, I pray,
And pass your time in joco,
For it is pleasant, as they say,
Desipere in loco.

He that loves not a young lass
Is sure an arrant stultus,
And he that will not take a glass
Deserves to be sepultus.

Pleasure, music, love and wine
Res valde sunt jucundæ,
And pretty maidens look divine,
Provided ut sunt mundæ.

I hate a snarling, surly fool,
Qui latrat sicut canis,
Who mopes and ever eats by rule,
Drinks water and eats panis.

Give me the man that’s always free,
Qui finit molli more,
The cares of life, what’er they be;
Whose motto still is “Spero.”

Death will turn us soon from hence,
Nigerrimas ad sedes;
And all our lands and all our pence
Ditabunt tune heredes.

Why should we then forbear to sport?
Dum vivamus, vivamus,
And when the Fates shall cut us down
Contenti abeamus.

FLY-LEAF SCRIBBLING.

Iste liber pertinet,
And bear it well in mind,
Ad me, Johannem Rixbrum,
So courteous and so kind.
Quem si ego perdam,
And by you it shall be found,
Redde mihi iterum,
Your fame I then will sound.
Sed si mihi redeas,
Then blessed thou shalt be,
Et ago tibi gratias
Whenever I thee see.

THE CAT AND THE RATS.

Felis sedit by a hole,
Intentus he, cum omni soul,
Prendere rats
Mice cucurrerunt trans the floor,
In numero duo, tres, or more—
Obliti cats.

Felis saw them, oculis;
“I’ll have them,” inquit he, “I guess,
Dum ludunt.”
Tunc ille crept toward the group,
“Habeam,” dixit, “good rat soup—
Pingues sunt.”

Mice continued all ludere,
Intenti they in ludum vere,
Gaudenter.
Tunc rushed the felis into them,
Et tore them omnes limb from limb,
Violenter.

MORAL.

Mures omnes, nunc be shy,
Et aurem præbe mihi,
Benigne.
Sit hoc satis—“verbum sat,”
Avoid a whopping big tom-cat
Studiose.

POLYGLOT INSCRIPTION.

The following advertisement in five languages, is inscribed on the window of a public house in Germany:—

In questa casa trovarete
Toutes les choses que vous souhaitez;
Vinum bonum, costas, carnes,
Neat post-chaise, and horse and harness.
Βους, ὄρνιθές, ἴχθυς, ἄρνες.

PARTING ADDRESS TO A FRIEND,

Written by a German gentleman on the termination of a very agreeable, but brief acquaintance.

I often wished I had a friend,
Dem ich mich anvertrauen könnt’,
A friend in whom I could confide,
Der mit mir theilte Freud und Leid;
Had I the riches of Girard—
Ich theilte mit ihm Haus und Heerd;
For what is gold? ’tis but a passing metal,
Der Henker hol’ für mich den ganzen Bettel.
Could I purchase the world to live in it alone,
Ich gäb’ dafür nicht eine hohle Bohn’;
I thought one time in you I’d find that friend,
Und glaubte schon mein Sehnen hät ein End;
Alas! your friendship lasted but in sight,
Doch meine grenzet an die Ewigkeit.

AM RHEIN.

Oh, the Rhine—the Rhine—the Rhine—
Comme c’est beau! wie schön! che bello!
He who quaffs thy Luft und Wein,
Morbleu! is a lucky fellow.

How I love thy rushing streams,
Groves of ash and birch and hazel,
From Schaffhausen’s rainbow beams
Jusqu’à l’écho d’Oberwesel!

Oh, que j’aime thy Brüchen when
The crammed Dampfschiff gayly passes!—
Love the bronzed pipes of thy men,
And the bronzed cheeks of thy lasses!

Oh, que j’aime the “oui,” the “bah,”
From thy motley crowds that flow,
With the universal “ja,”
And the allgemeine “so”!

THE DEATH OF THE SEA SERPENT.

Arma virumque cano, qui first in Monongahela Tarnally squampushed the sarpent, mittens horrentia tella. Musa, look sharp with your Banjo! I guess to relate this event, I Shall need all the aid you can give; so nunc aspirate canenti. Mighty slick were the vessels progressing, Jactata per æquora ventis, But the brow of the skipper was sad, cum solicitudine mentis; For whales had been scarce in those parts, and the skipper, so long as he’d known her, Ne’er had gathered less oil in a cruise to gladden the heart of her owner. “Darn the whales,” cries the skipper at length, “with a telescope forte videbo Aut pisces, aut terras.” While speaking, just two or three points on the lea bow, He saw coming towards them as fast as though to a combat ’twould tempt ’em, A monstrum horrendum informe (qui lumen was shortly ademptum). On the taffrail up jumps in a hurry, dux fortis, and seizing a trumpet, Blows a blast that would waken the dead, mare turbat et aera rumpit— “Tumble up all you lubbers,” he cries, “tumble up, for careering before us Is the real old sea sarpent himself, cristis maculisque decorus.” “Consarn it,” cried one of the sailors, “if e’er we provoke him he’ll kill us, He’ll certainly chaw up hos morsu, et longis, implexibus illos.” Loud laughs the bold skipper, and quick premit alto corde dolorem; (If he does feel like running, he knows it won’t do to betray it before ’em). “O socii”, inquit. “I’m sartin you’re not the fellers to funk, or Shrink from the durem certamen, whose fathers fit bravely at Bunker You, who have waged with the bears, and the buffalo, prœlia dura, Down to the freshets, and licks of our own free enlightened Missourer; You could whip your own weight, catulus sævis sine telo, Get your eyes skinned in a twinkling, et ponite tela phæsello!” Talia voce refert, curisque ingentibus æger, Marshals his cute little band, now panting their foes to beleaguer Swiftly they lower the boats, and swiftly each man at the oar is, Excipe Britanni timidi duo, virque coloris.

(Blackskin, you know, never feels, how sweet, ’tis pro patria mori; Ovid had him in view when he said, “Nimium ne crede colori.”) Now swiftly they pull towards the monster, who seeing the cutter and gig nigh, Glares at them with terrible eyes, suffectis sanguine et igni, And, never conceiving their chief will so quickly deal him a floorer, Opens wide to receive them at once, his linguis vibrantibis ora; But just as he’s licking his lips, and gladly preparing to taste ’em, Straight into his eyeball the skipper stridentem conjicit hastam. Straight as he feels in his eyeball the lance, growing mightly sulky, At ’em he comes in a rage, ora minax, lingua trusulca. “Starn all,” cry the sailors at once, for they think he has certainly caught ’em, Præsentemque viris intentant omnia mortem. But the bold skipper exclaims, “O terque quaterque beati! Now with a will dare viam, when I want you, be only parati; This hoss feels like raising his hair, and in spite of his scaly old cortex, Full soon you shall see that his corpse rapidus vorat æquore vortex.” Hoc ait, and choosing a lance: “With this one I think I shall hit it, He cries, and straight into his mouth, ad intima viscera mittit.” Screeches the creature in pain, and writhes till the sea is commotum, As if all its waves had been lashed in a tempest por Eurum et Notum. Interea terrible shindy Neptunus sensit, et alto Prospiciens sadly around, wiped his eye with the cuff of his paletôt; And, mad at his favorite’s fate, of oaths uttered one or two thousand, Such as “Corpo di Bacco! Mehercle! Sacre! Mille Tonnerres! Potztausend!” But the skipper, who thought it was time to this terrible fight dare finem, With a scalping-knife jumps on the neck of the snake secat et dextrâ crinem, And hurling the scalp in the air, half mad with delight to possess it, Shouts “Darn it—I’ve fixed up his flint, for in ventos vita recessit!”

Concatenation or Chain Verse.

LASPHRISE’S NOVELTIES.

Lasphrise, a French poet of considerable merit, claims the invention of several singularities in verse, and among them the following, in which it will be found that the last word of every line is the first word of the following line:—

Falloit-il que le ciel me rendit amoureux,
Amoureaux, jouissant d’une beauté craintive,
Craintive à recevoir douceur excessive,
Excessive au plaisir qui rend l’amant heureux?
Heureux si nous avions quelques paisibles lieux,
Lieux où plus surement l’ami fidèle arrive,
Arrive sans soupçon de quelque ami attentive,
Attentive à vouloir nous surprendre tous deux.

Subjoined are examples in our own vernacular:—

TO DEATH.

The longer life, the more offence;
The more offence, the greater pain;
The greater pain, the less defence;
The less defence, the lesser gain—
The loss of gain long ill doth try,
Wherefore, come, death, and let me die.

The shorter life, less count I find;
The less account, the sooner made;
The count soon made, the merrier mind;
The merrier mind doth thought invade—
Short life, in truth, this thing doth try,
Wherefore, come, death, and let me die.

Come, gentle death, the ebb of care;
The ebb of care the flood of life;
The flood of life, the joyful fare;
The joyful fare, the end of strife—
The end of strife that thing wish I,
Wherefore, come, death and let me die.

TRUTH.

Nerve thy soul with doctrines noble,
Noble in the walks of Time,
Time that leads to an eternal,
An eternal life sublime;
Life sublime in moral beauty,
Beauty that shall ever be,
Ever be to lure thee onward,
Onward to the fountain free;
Free to every earnest seeker,
Seeker at the Fount of Youth,
Youth exultant in its beauty,
Beauty found in the quest of Truth.

TRYING SKYING.

Long I looked into the sky,
Sky aglow with gleaming stars,
Stars that stream their courses high,
High and grand, those golden cars,
Cars that ever keep their track,
Track untraced by human ray,
Ray that zones the zodiac,
Zodiac with milky-way,
Milky-way where worlds are sown,
Sown like sands along the sea,
Sea whose tide and tone e’er own,
Own a feeling to be free,
Free to leave its lowly place,
Place to prove with yonder spheres,
Spheres that trace athrough all space,
Space and years—unspoken years.

A RINGING SONG.

The following gem is from an old play of Shakspeare’s time, called _The True Trojans_:—

The sky is glad that stars above
Do give a brighter splendor;
The stars unfold their flaming gold,
To make the ground more tender:
The ground doth send a fragrant smell,
That air may be the sweeter;
The air doth charm the swelling seas
With pretty chirping metre;
The sea with rivers’ water doth
Feed plants and flowers so dainty;
The plants do yield their fruitful seed,
That beasts may live in plenty;
The beasts do give both food and cloth,
That men high Jove may honor;
And so the World runs merrily round,
When Peace doth smile upon her!
Oh, then, then oh! oh then, then oh!
This jubilee last forever;
That foreign spite, or civil fight,
Our quiet trouble never!

Bouts Rimés.

Bouts Rimés, or Rhyming Ends, afford considerable amusement. They are said by Goujet to have been invented by Dulot, a French poet, who had a custom of preparing the rhymes of sonnets, leaving them to be filled up at leisure. Having been robbed of his papers, he was regretting the loss of three hundred sonnets. His friends were astonished that he had written so many of which they had never heard. “They were blank sonnets,” said he, and then explained the mystery by describing his “Bouts Rimés.” The idea appeared ridiculously amusing, and it soon became a fashionable pastime to collect some of the most difficult rhymes, and fill up the lines. An example is appended:—

nettle,
pains.
mettle.
remains.
natures.
rebel.
graters.
well.

The rhymes may be thus completed:—

Tender-handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk remains.
’Tis the same with common natures,
Use them kindly, they rebel;
But be rough as nutmeg-graters,
And the rogues obey you well.

A sprightly young belle, who was an admirer of poetry, would often tease her beau, who had made some acquaintance with the muses, to write verses for her. One day, becoming quite importunate, she would take no denial. “Come, pray, do now write some poetry for me—won’t you? I’ll help you out. I’ll furnish you with rhymes if you will make lines for them. Here now:—

please, moan,
tease, bone.”

He at length good-humoredly complied, and filled up the measure as follows:—

To a form that is faultless, a face that must—please,
Is added a restless desire to—tease;
O, how my hard fate I should ever be—moan,
Could I but believe she’d be bone of my—bone!

Mr. Bogart, a young man of Albany, who died in 1826, at the age of twenty-one, displayed astonishing facility in impromptu writing.

It was good-naturedly hinted on one occasion that his “impromptus” were prepared beforehand, and he was asked if he would submit to the application of a test of his poetic abilities. He promptly acceded, and a most difficult one was immediately proposed.

Among his intimate friends were Col. J. B. Van Schaick and Charles Fenno Hoffman, both of whom were present. Said Van Schaick, taking up a copy of Byron, “The name of Lydia Kane” (a lady distinguished for her beauty and cleverness, who died a few years ago, but who was then just blushing into womanhood) “has in it the same number of letters as a stanza of Childe Harold has lines: write them down in a column.” They were so written by Bogart, Hoffman, and himself. “Now,” he continued, “I will open the poem at random; and for the ends of the lines in Miss Lydia’s _Acrostic_ shall be used the words ending those of the verse on which my finger may rest.” The stanza thus selected was this:—

And must they fall, the young, the proud, the brave,
To swell one bloated chief’s unwholesome reign?
No step between submission and a grave?
The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain?
And doth the Power that man adores ordain
Their doom, nor heed the suppliant’s appeal?
Is all that desperate valor acts in vain?
And counsel sage, and patriotic zeal,
The veteran’s skill, youth’s fire, and manhood’s heart of steel?

The following stanza was composed by Bogart within the succeeding ten minutes,—the period fixed in a wager,—finished before his companions had reached a fourth line, and read to them as here presented:[6]—

L ovely and loved, o’er the unconquered brave
Y our charms resistless, matchless girl, shall reign!
D ear as the mother holds her infant’s grave
I n Love’s own region, warm, romantic Spain!
A nd should your fate to court your steps ordain,
K ings would in vain to regal pomp appeal,
A nd lordly bishops kneel to you in vain,
N or valor’s fire, law’s power, nor churchman’s zeal
E ndure ’gainst love’s (time’s up!) untarnished steel.

Footnote 6:

The truth of this circumstance was confirmed by Mr. Hoffman in the
course of a conversation upon that and similar topics several years
afterward.

The French also amuse themselves with _bouts rimés retournés_, in which the rhymes are taken from some piece of poetry, but the order in which they occur is reversed. The following example is from the album of a Parisian lady of literary celebrity, the widow of one of the Crimean heroes. The original poem is by Alfred de Musset, the _retournés_ by Marshal Pelissier, who improvised it at the lady’s request. In the translation which ensues, the reversed rhymes are carefully preserved.

BY DE MUSSET.

Quand la fugitive espérance
Nous pousse le coude en passant,
Puis à tire d’ailes s’élance
Et se retourne en souriant,
Où va l’homme? où son cœur l’appelle;
L’hirondelle suit le zéphir,
Et moins légère est l’hirondelle
Que l’homme qui suit son désir.
Ah! fugitive enchanteresse,
Sais-tu seulement ton chemin?
Faut-il donc que le vieux destin
Ait une si jeune maîtresse!

BY PELISSIER, DUC DE MALAKOFF.

Pour chanter la jeune maîtresse
Que Musset donne au vieux destin,
J’ai trop parcouru de chemin
Sans atteindre l’enchanteresse;
Toujours vers cet ancien désir
J’ai tendu comme l’hirondelle,
Mais sans le secours du zéphir
Qui la porte où son cœur l’appelle.
Adieu, fantôme souriant,
Vers qui la jeunesse s’élance,
La raison me crie en passant;
Le souvenir vaut l’espérance.

TRANSLATION.

When Hope, a fugitive, retreating
Elbows us, as away she flies,
Then swift returns, another greeting
To offer us with laughing eyes.
Man goeth when his heart is speaking,
The swallows through the zephyrs dart,
And man, who’s every fancy seeking,
Hath yet a more inconstant heart.
Enchantress, fugitive, coquetting!
Know’st thou then true, alone, thy way?
Hath then stern Fate, so old and gray,
So young a mistress never fretting?

REVERSED RHYMES.

To sing the mistress, never fretting,
Musset gives Fate, so old and gray,
Too long I’ve travelled on my way,
And ne’er attained her dear coquetting.
To find that longing of the heart,
I’ve been, like yonder swallow, seeking,
Yet could not through the zephyrs dart,
Nor reach the wish the heart is speaking.
Adieu then, shade, with laughing eyes,
Towards whom youth ever sends its greeting;
Better, cries Reason, as she flies,
Remembrance now, than Hope retreating.

* * * * *

Among the eccentricities of literature may be classed _Rhopalic verses_, which begin with a monosyllable and gradually increase the length of each successive word. The name was suggested by the shape of Hercules’ club, ῥόπαλον. Sometimes they run from the butt to the handle of the club. Take as an example of each,—

Rem tibi confeci, doctissime, dulcisonoram.
Vectigalibus armamenta referre jubet Rex.

Emblematic Poetry.

A pair of scissors and a comb in verse.—§Ben Jonson.§

On their fair standards by the wind displayed,
Eggs, altars, wings, pipes, axes, were portrayed.—_Scribleriad._

The quaint conceit of making verses assume grotesque shapes and devices, expressive of the theme selected by the writer, appears to have been most fashionable during the seventeenth century. Writers tortured their brains in order to torture their verses into all sorts of fantastic forms, from a flowerpot to an obelisk, from a pin to a pyramid. Hearts and fans and knots were chosen for love-songs; wineglasses, bottles, and casks for Bacchanalian songs; pulpits, altars, and monuments for religious verses and epitaphs. Tom Nash, according to Disraeli, says of Gabriel Harvey, that “he had writ verses in all kinds: in form of a pair of gloves, a pair of spectacles, a pair of pot-hooks, &c.” Puttenham, in his _Art of Poesie_, gives several odd specimens of poems in the form of lozenges, pillars, triangles, &c. Butler says of Benlowes, “the excellently learned,” who was much renowned for his literary freaks, “As for temples and pyramids in poetry, he has outdone all men that way; for he has made a _grid-iron_ and a _frying-pan_ in verse, that, besides the likeness in shape, the very tone and sound of the words did perfectly represent the noise made by these utensils! When he was a captain, he made all the furniture of his horse, from the bit to the crupper, the beaten poetry, every verse being fitted to the proportion of the thing, with a moral allusion to the sense of the thing: as the _bridle of moderation_, the _saddle of content_, and the _crupper of constancy_; so that the same thing was the epigram and emblem, even as a mule is both horse and ass.” Mr. Alger tells us that the Oriental poets are fond of arranging their poems in the form of drums, swords, circles, crescents, trees, &c., and that the Alexandrian rhetoricians used to amuse themselves by writing their satires and invectives in the shape of an axe or a spear. He gives the following erotic triplet, composed by a Hindu poet, the first line representing a bow, the second its string, the third an arrow aimed at the heart of the object of his passion:—

O lovely maid, thou art the fairest slave in all God’s mart!
Those charms to win, with all my empire I would gladly part.
One kiss I send, to pierce, like fire, thy too reluctant heart.
]

THE WINE GLASS.

Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow?
Who hath contentions? Who
hath wounds without cause?
Who hath redness of eyes?
They that tarry long at the
wine! They that go to
seek mixed wine. Look
not thou upon the
wine when it is red,
when it giveth its
color in the
CUP;
when it
moveth itself
aright.
At
the last
it biteth like a
serpent, and stingeth like an adder.

The following specimen of this affectation was written by George Wither, who lived from 1588 to 1677. It is called by Mr. Ellis a

RHOMBOIDAL DIRGE.

Farewell,
Sweet groves, to you!
You hills that highest dwell,
And all you humble vales, adieu!
You wanton brooks and solitary rocks,
My dear companions all, and you my tender flocks!
Farewell, my pipe! and all those pleasing songs whose moving strains
Delighted once the fairest nymphs that dance upon the plains.
You discontents, whose deep and over-deadly smart
Have without pity broke the truest heart,
Sighs, tears, and every sad annoy,
That erst did with me dwell,
And others joy,
Farewell!

The Christian monks of the Middle Ages, who amused themselves similarly, preferred for their hymns the form of

THE CROSS.

Blest they who seek,
While in their youth,
With spirit meek,
The way of truth.
To them the Sacred Scriptures now display,
Christ as the only true and living way:
His precious blood on Calvary was given
To make them heirs of endless bliss in heaven.
And e’en on earth the child of God can trace
The glorious blessings of his Saviour’s face.
For them He bore
His Father’s frown,
For them He wore
The thorny crown;
Nailed to the cross,
Endured its pain,
That his life’s loss
Might be their gain.
Then haste to choose
That better part—
Nor dare refuse
The Lord your heart,
Lest He declare,—
“I know you not;”
And deep despair
Shall be your lot.
Now look to Jesus who on Calvary died,
And trust on Him alone who there was crucified.

A CURIOUS PIECE OF ANTIQUITY, ON THE CRUCIFIXION OF OUR SAVIOUR AND THE
TWO THIEVES.

◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊ INRI ◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊ My God! My God! vers of my tears ◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ I come to Thee; ◊ ◊ bow down thy blessed ears To hear me wretch, oh, ◊ ◊ let thine eyes, which sleep Did never close, ◊ ◊ behold a sinner weep. Let not, O God! ◊ ◊ my God! my faults, though great And numberless, bet ◊ w ◊ een thy mercy-seat And my poor soul be t ◊ h ◊ rown, since we are taught, ◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊ ◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊ ◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ Thou, ◊ Lord! remember ◊ est th ◊ y ◊ ne, ◊ if thou beest ◊ sought. ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊ ◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ I co ◊ me ◊ not, Lord wit ◊ h ◊ any o ◊ the ◊ r merit Then ◊ wh ◊ at I by my S ◊ a ◊ viour ◊ Ch ◊ rist inherit; Be th ◊ en ◊ his wound ◊ s ◊ my balm, his st ◊ ri ◊ pes my bliss, My crown his ◊ th ◊ orns, my dea ◊ t ◊ h be lo ◊ st ◊ in his, And th ◊ ou ◊ my bles ◊ t ◊ Redeemer, ◊ Sa ◊ viour God! Quit my ac ◊ co ◊ unts, with ◊ h ◊ old thy ◊ v ◊ engeful rod; O beg for ◊ me ◊ my h ◊ o ◊ pes on the ◊ e ◊ are set, Thou Chri ◊ st ◊ forgi ◊ v ◊ e, as well as pay ◊ th ◊ e debt. The liv ◊ in ◊ g fount, the li ◊ f ◊ e, the wa ◊ y ◊ I know; And but ◊ to ◊ thee ◊ o ◊ whither ◊ s ◊ hould I go? All o ◊ th ◊ er helps a ◊ r ◊ e vain, giv ◊ e ◊ thine to me; For by th ◊ y ◊ cross my ◊ s ◊ aving hea ◊ l ◊ th must be. Oh hear ◊ k ◊ en then, wh ◊ a ◊ t I with ◊ f ◊ aith implore, Lest s ◊ in ◊ and death sin ◊ k ◊ me forev ◊ e ◊ r more. Oh Lord! my ◊ G ◊ od! my way ◊ e ◊ s direct ◊ a ◊ nd keep, In ◊ d ◊ eath defe ◊ n ◊ d that from thee I ◊ n ◊ e’er slip; And at the do ◊ om ◊ let ◊ m ◊ e be raise ◊ d ◊ then, To liv ◊ e ◊ with the ◊ e. ◊ Sweet Jes ◊ us ◊ say, Amen! ◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊ ◊◊◊◊◊◊◊

EXPLANATION.

The middle cross represents our Saviour; those on either side, the two thieves. On the top and down the middle cross are our Saviour’s expression, “My God! My God! why hast thou forsaken me?” and on the top of the cross is the Latin inscription, “INRI”—Jesus Nazarenus Rex Judæorum, _i.e._ Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. Upon the cross on the right-hand is the prayer of one of the thieves:—“Lord! remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.” On the left-hand cross is the saying, or reproach, of the other:—“If thou beest the Christ, save thyself and us.” The whole, comprised together, makes a piece of excellent poetry, which is to be read across all the columns, and makes as many lines as there are letters in the alphabet. It is perhaps one of the most curious pieces of composition to be found on record.

INGENIOUS CYPHER

The following was written by Prof. Whewell at the request of a young lady:—

U 0 a 0 but I 0 U,
O 0 no 0 but O 0 me;
O let not my 0 a 0 go.
But give 0 0 I 0 U so.

_Thus de-cyphered_:

(You _sigh for_ a _cypher_, but I _sigh for_ you;
O _sigh for_ no _cypher_, but O _sigh for_ me:
O let not my _sigh for_ a _cypher_ go,
But give _sigh for sigh, for_ I _sigh for_ you so.)

TYPOGRAPHICAL.

We once saw a young man gazing at the *ry heavens, with a † in 1 ☞ and a ︷ of pistols in the other. We endeavored to attract his attention by .ing to a ¶ in a paper we held in our ☞, relating 2 a young man in that § of the country, who had left home in a state of mental derangement. He dropped the † and pistols from his ☞☜ with the !