  Hard is the job to launch the desperate pun; A pun-job dangerous as the Indian one.—Holmes. Life and language are alike sacred. Homicide and verbicide—that is, violent treatment of a word with fatal results to its legitimate meaning, which is its life—are alike forbidden. Manslaughter, which is the meaning of the one, is the same as man’s laughter, which is the end of the other.—Ibid. The quaint Cardan thus defineth:—“Punning is an art of harmonious jingling upon words, which, passing in at the ears and falling upon the diaphragma, excites a titillary motion in those parts; and this, being conveyed by the animal spirits into the muscles of the face, raises the cockles of the heart.” “He who would make a pun would pick a pocket,” is the stereotyped dogma fulminated by laugh-lynchers from time immemorial; or, as the Autocrat hath it, “To trifle with the vocabulary which is the vehicle of social intercourse is to tamper with the currency of human intelligence. He who would violate the sanctities of his mother tongue would invade the recesses of the paternal till without remorse, and repeat the banquet of Saturn without an indigestion.” The “inanities of this If this definition be true, there is truth as well as wit in the punster’s reply to the taunt of the rhetorician that “punning is the lowest species of wit.” “Yes,” said he, “for it is the foundation of all wit.” But, whatever may be said of the practice by those who affect to despise it, it has been much in vogue in all ages. Horne, in his Introduction to the Critical Many of the Greek authors exhibit a fondness for this rhetorical figure, and some of the most excellent puns extant are to be found in the Greek Anthologies. As a specimen, the following is given from Wesseling’s Diodorus Siculus:— Dioscurus, an Egyptian bishop, before he began the service, had the common custom of saying e????? pas??, (irene pasin,) peace be to all. It was notorious that the pious churchman had at home a favorite mistress, whose name was Irene, which incident produced the following smart epigram:— ?????? pa?tess?? ep?s??p?? e?pe? e?e???? ??? d??ata? pas??, ?? ???? e?d?? e?e?; (The good bishop wishes peace—Irene—to all; But how can he give that to all, which he keeps to himself at home?) A PUN-GENT CHAPTER.At one time there was a general strike among the workingmen of Paris, and Theodore Hook gave the following amusing account of the affair:—“The bakers, being ambitious to extend their do-mains, declared that a revolution was needed, and, though not exactly bred up to arms, soon reduced their crusty masters to terms. The tailors called a council of the board, to see what measures should be taken, and, looking upon the bakers as the flower of chivalry, decided to follow suit; the consequence of which was, that a cereous insurrection was lighted up among the candle-makers, which, however wick-ed it might appear in the eyes of some persons, developed traits of character not unworthy of ancient Greece.” Because of the sand which is there. How came the sandwiches there? The tribe of Ham was bred there, and mustered. A clergyman who had united in marriage a couple whose Christian names were Benjamin and Annie, on being asked by a mutual friend how they appeared during the ceremony, replied that they appeared both annie-mated and bene-fitted. Mr. Manners, who had but lately been created Earl of Rutland, said to Sir Thomas More, just made Lord Chancellor,— “You are so much elated with your preferment that you verify the old proverb,— Honores mutant Mores.” “No, my lord,” said Sir Thomas: “the pun will do much better in English:— Honors change Manners.” An old writer said that when cannons were introduced as negotiators, the canons of the church were useless; that the world was governed first by mitrum, and then by nitrum,—first by St. Peter, and then by saltpetre. Column, the dramatist, on being asked whether he knew Theodore Hook, replied, “Oh, yes: Hook and Eye are old associates.” Punch says, “the milk of human kindness is not to be found in the pail of society.” If so, we think it is time for all hands to “kick the bucket.” Judge Peters, formerly of the Philadelphia Bench, observed to a friend, during a trial that was going on, that one of the witnesses had a vegetable head. “How so?” was the inquiry. “He has carroty hair, reddish cheeks, a turnup nose, and a sage look.” Tom Hood, seeing over the shop-door of a beer-vendor,— Bear Sold Here, said it was spelled right, because it was his own Bruin. Sheridan, being dunned by a tailor to pay at least the interest on his bill, answered that it was not his interest to pay the principal, nor his principle to pay the interest. In the “Old India House” may still be seen a quarto volume of Interest Tables, on the fly-leaf of which is written, in Charles Lamb’s round, clerkly hand,— “A book of much interest.”—Edinburgh Review. “A work in which the interest never flags.”—Quarterly Review. “We may say of this volume, that the interest increases from the beginning to the end.”—Monthly Review. Turner, the painter, was at a dinner where several artists, amateurs, and literary men were convened. A poet, by way of being facetious, proposed as a toast, “The Painters and Glaziers of England.” The toast was drunk; and Turner, after returning thanks for it, proposed “Success to the Paper-Stainers,” and called on the poet to respond. SHORT ROAD TO WEALTH.I’ll tell you a plan for gaining wealth, Better than banking, trade, or leases; Take a bank-note and fold it across, And then you will find your money IN-CREASES! This wonderful plan, without danger or loss, Keeps your cash in your hands, and with nothing to trouble it; And every time that you fold it across, ’Tis plain as the light of the day that you DOUBLE IT! “I cannot move,” the plaintive invalid cries, “Nor sit, nor stand.”—If he says true, he lies. Sydney Smith—so Lord Houghton in his Monographs tells us—has written depreciatingly of all playing upon words; but his rapid apprehension could not altogether exclude a kind of wit which, in its best forms, takes fast hold of the memory, besides the momentary amusement it excites. His objection to the superiority of a city feast: “I cannot wholly value a dinner by the test you do (testudo);”—his proposal to settle the question of the wood pavement around St. Paul’s: “Let the Canons once lay their heads together and the thing will be done;”—his pretty compliment to his friends, Mrs. Tighe and Mrs. Cuffe: “Ah! there you are: the cuff that every one would wear, the tie that no one would loose”—may be cited as perfect in their way. Admiral Duncan’s address to the officers who came on board his ship for instructions, previous to the engagement with Admiral de Winter, was laconic and humorous: “Gentlemen, you see a severe Winter approaching; I have only to advise you to keep up a good fire.” Theodore Hook plays thus on the same name:— Here comes Mr. Winter, inspector of taxes; I advise you to give him whatever he axes; I advise you to give him without any flummery, For though his name’s Winter his actions are summary. Henry Erskine’s toast to the mine-owners of Lancashire:— Sink your pits, blast your mines, dam your rivers, consume your manufactures, disperse your commerce, and may your labors be in vein. TOM MOORE.When Limerick, in idle whim, Moore as her member lately courted, ’The boys,’ for form’s sake, asked of him To state what party he supported. When thus his answer promptly ran, (Now give the wit his meed of glory:) “I’m of no party as a man, But as a poet am-a-tory.” TOP AND BOTTOM.The following playful colloquy in verse took place at a dinner-table, between Sir George Rose and James Smith, in allusion to Craven street, Strand, where the latter resided:— J. S.—At the top of my street the attorneys abound, And down at the bottom the barges are found: Fly, honesty, fly to some safer retreat, For there’s craft in the river, and craft in the street. Sir G. R.—Why should honesty fly to some safer retreat, From attorneys, and barges, od-rot ’em? For the lawyers are just at the top of the street, And the barges are just at the bottom. OLD JOKE VERSIFIED.Says Tom to Bill, pray tell me, sir, Why is it that the devil, In spite of all his naughty ways, Can never be uncivil? Says Bill to Tom, the answer’s plain To any mind that’s bright: Because the imp of darkness, sir, Can ne’er be imp o’ light. A PRINTER’S EPITAPH.Here lies a form—place no imposing stone To mark the head, where weary it is lain; ’Tis matter dead!—its mission being done, To be distributed to dust again. The body’s but the type, at best, of man, Whose impress is the spirit’s deathless page; Worn out, the type is thrown to pi again, The impression lives through an eternal age. STICKY.I want to seal a letter, Dick, Some wax pray give to me.— I have not got a single stick, Or whacks I’d give to thee. WOMEN.When Eve brought woe to all mankind, Old Adam called her wo-man; But when she woo’d with love so kind, He then pronounced her woo-man. But now with folly and with pride, Their husbands’ pockets trimming, The ladies are so full of whims, The people call them whim-men. BEN, THE SAILOR.His death, which happened in his berth, At forty odd befell: They went and told the sexton, and The sexton tolled the bell.—Hood’s Faithless Sally Brown. WHISKERS VERSUS RAZOR.With whiskers thick upon my face I went my fair to see; She told me she could never love A bear-faced chap like me. I shaved then clean, and called again, And thought my troubles o’er; She laughed outright, and said I was More bare-faced than before! COMPLIMENT OF SHERIDAN TO MISS PAYNE.’Tis true I am ill; but I cannot complain, For he never knew pleasure who never knew Payne. FROM DR. HOLMES’ “MODEST REQUEST.”Thus great Achilles, who had shown his zeal In HEALING WOUNDS, died of a WOUNDED HEEL; Unhappy chief, who, when in childhood doused, Had saved his BACON had his feet been SOUSED! Accursed heel, that killed a hero stout! Oh, had your mother known that you were out, That still defies the small chirurgeon’s art With corn and BUNIONS,—not the glorious John Who wrote the book we all have pondered on,— But other BUNIONS, bound in fleecy hose, To “Pilgrim’s Progress” unrelenting foes! PLAINT OF THE OLD PAUPER.Some boast of their FORE-fathers—I— I have not ONE! I am, I think, like Joshua, The son of NONE! Heedless in youth, we little note How quick time passes, For then flows ruby wine, not sand, In OUR glasses! Rich friends (most pure in honor) all have fled Sooner or later; Pshaw! had they India’s spices, they’d not be A nutmeg-GRATER! I’ve neither chick nor child; as I have nothing, Why, ’tis lucky rather; Yet who that hears a squalling baby wishes Not to be FATHER? Some few years back my spirits and my youth Were quite amazin’; Brisk as a pony, or a lawyer’s clerk, Just fresh from Gray’s Inn! What am I now? weak, old, and poor, and by The parish found; Their PENCE keeps me, while many an ass Enjoys the parish POUND! TO MY NOSE.Knows he that never took a pinch, Nosey! the pleasure thence which flows? Knows he the titillating joy Which my nose knows? Oh, nose! I am as fond of thee As any mountain of its snows! I gaze on thee, and feel that pride A Roman knows! BOOK-LARCENY.Sir Walter Scott said that some of his friends were bad accountants, but excellent book-keepers. How hard, when those who do not wish To lend—that’s lose—their books, Are snared by anglers—folks that fish With literary hooks; Who call and take some favorite tome, But never read it through; They thus complete their sett at home, By making one of you. I, of my Spenser quite bereft, Last winter sore was shaken; Of Lamb I’ve but a quarter left, Nor could I save my Bacon. They picked my Locke, to me far more Than Bramah’s patent worth; And now my losses I deplore, Without a Home on earth. Even Glover’s works I cannot put My frozen hands upon; Though ever since I lost my Foote, My Bunyan has been gone. My life is wasting fast away; I suffer from these shocks; And though I’ve fixed a lock on Gray, There’s gray upon my locks. They still have made me slight returns, And thus my grief divide; For oh! they’ve cured me of my Burns, And eased my Akenside. But all I think I shall not say, Nor let my anger burn; For as they have not found me Gay, They have not left me Sterne. THE VEGETABLE GIRL.Behind a market stall installed, I mark it every day, Stands at her stand the fairest girl I’ve met with in the bay; Her hands a pretty pair, With such a pretty turn-up nose, And lovely reddish hair. ’Tis there she stands from morn till night Her customers to please, And to appease their appetite She sells them beans and peas. Attracted by the glances from The apple of her eye, And by her Chili apples, too, Each passer-by will buy. She stands upon her little feet, Throughout the livelong day, And sells her celery and things,— A big feat, by the way. She changes off her stock for change, Attending to each call; And when she has but one beet left, She says, “Now that beats all.” EPITAPH ON AN OLD HORSE.Here lies a faithful steed, A stanch, uncompromising “silver gray;” Who ran the race of life with sprightly speed, Yet never ran—away. Wild oats he never sowed, Yet masticated tame ones with much zest: Cheerful he bore each light allotted load, As cheerfully took rest. Bright were his eyes, yet soft, And in the main his tail was white and flowing; And though he never sketched a single draught, He showed great taste for drawing. Lithe were his limbs, and clean, Fitted alike for buggy or for dray, And like Napoleon the Great, I ween, He had a martial neigh. Oft have I watched him grace His favorite stall, well littered, warm, and fair, With such contentment shining from his face, And such a stable air! Of roan diversifying his broad back, And, martyr-like, a halter round his neck, Which bound him to the rack. Mors omnibus! at length The hay-day of his life was damped by death; So, summoning all his late remaining strength, He drew his—final breath. GRAND SCHEME OF EMIGRATION.The Brewers should to Malt-a go, The Loggerheads to Scilly, The Quakers to the Friendly Isles, The Furriers all to Chili. The little squalling, brawling brats, That break our nightly rest, Should be packed off to Baby-lon, To Lap-land, or to Brest. From Spit-head Cooks go o’er to Greece; And while the Miser waits His passage to the Guinea coast, Spendthrifts are in the Straits. Spinsters should to the Needles go, Wine-bibbers to Burgundy; Gourmands should lunch at Sandwich Isles, Wags in the Bay of Fun-dy. Musicians hasten to the Sound, The surpliced Priest to Rome; While still the race of Hypocrites At Cant-on are at home. Lovers should hasten to Good Hope; To some Cape Horn is pain; Debtors should go to Oh-i-o, And Sailors to the Main-e. Hie, Bachelors, to the United States! Maids, to the Isle of Man; Let Gardeners go to Botany Bay, And Shoeblacks to Japan. Thus, emigrants and misplaced men Will then no longer vex us; And all that a’n’t provided for Had better go to Texas. THE PERILOUS PRACTICE OF PUNNING.Theodore Hook thus cautions young people to resist provocation to the habit of punning:— My little dears, who learn to read, pray early learn to shun That very silly thing indeed which people call a pun. Read Entick’s rules, and ’twill be found how simple an offence It is to make the self-same sound afford a double sense. For instance, ale may make you ail, your aunt an ant may kill, You in a vale may buy a vail, and Bill may pay the bill, Or if to France your bark you steer, at Dover it may be, A peer appears upon the pier, who, blind, still goes to sea. Thus one might say when to a treat good friends accept our greeting, ’Tis meet that men who meet to eat, should eat their meat when meeting. Brawn on the board’s no bore indeed, although from boar prepared; Nor can the fowl on which we feed foul feeding be declared. Thus one ripe fruit may be a pear, and yet be pared again, And still be one, which seemeth rare, until we do explain. It therefore should be all your aim to speak with ample care; For who, however fond of game, would choose to swallow hair? A fat man’s gait may make us smile, who has no gate to close; The farmer sitting on his stile no stylish person knows; Perfumers men of scents must be; some Scilly men are bright; A brown man oft deep read we see—a black a wicked wight. Most wealthy men good manners have, however vulgar they, And actors still the harder slave the oftener they play; So poets can’t the baize obtain unless their tailors choose, While grooms and coachmen not in vain each evening seek the mews. The dyer who by dying lives, a dire life maintains; The glazier, it is known, receives his profits from his panes; By gardeners thyme is tied, ’tis true, when Spring is in its prime, But time or tide won’t wait for you, if you are tied for time. There now you see, my little dears, the way to make a pun; A trick which you, through coming years, should sedulously shun. The fault admits of no defense, for wheresoe’er ’tis found, You sacrifice the sound for sense, the sense is never sound. So let your words and actions too, one single meaning prove, And, just in all you say or do, you’ll gain esteem and love: In mirth and play no harm you’ll know, when duty’s task is done; But parents ne’er should let you go unpunished for a pun. The motto of the Pilotage Commission of the river Tyne:— In portu salus. In port you sail us. SONNETOn a youth who died from a surfeit of fruit. Currants have checked the current of my blood, And berries brought me to be buried here; Pears have pared off my body’s hardihood, And plums and plumbers spare not one so spare: Fain would I feign my fall; so fair a fare Lessens not fate, but ’tis a lesson good: Gilt will not long hide guilt; such thin-washed ware Wears quickly, and its rude touch soon is rued. Grave on my grave some sentence grave and terse, That lies not, as it lies upon my clay; But, in a gentle strain of unstrained verse, Prays all to pity a poor patty’s prey; Rehearses I was fruit-full to my hearse, Tells that my days are told, and soon I’m toll’d away! Previous to the battle of Culloden, when Marshal Wade and Generals Cope and Hawley were prevented by the severity of the weather from advancing as far into Scotland as they intended, the following lines were circulated among their opposers:— Cope could not cope, nor Wade wade through the snow, Nor Hawley haul his cannon to the foe. When Mrs. Norton was called on to subscribe to a fund for the relief of Thomas Hood’s widow, which had been headed by Sir Robert Peel, she sent a liberal donation with these lines:— To cheer the widow’s heart in her distress, To make provision for the fatherless, Is but a Christian’s duty, and none should Resist the heart-appeal of widow-Hood. M. Mario’s visit to this country recalls to mind the sharpest witticism of Madame Grisi, at the time his wife, and one of the best bits of repartee on record. Louis Phillippe, passing through a room where Grisi stood, holding two of her young children by the hand, said gaily: “Ah! Madame, are those, then, some of your little Grisettes?” “No, Sire,” was the quick reply, perfect in every requirement of the pun, “No, Sire, these are my little Marionettes.” SWIFT’S LATIN PUNS.Among the nugÆ of Dean Swift are his celebrated Latin puns, some of which are well known, having been frequently copied, and having never been excelled. The following selections will serve as specimens. They consist entirely of Latin words; but, by allowing for false spelling, and running the words into each other, the sentences make good sense in English:—
In a subsequent epistolary allusion to this, he says:— I ritu a verse o na molli o mi ne, Asta lassa me pole, a lÆdis o fine; I ne ver neu a niso ne at in mi ni is; A manat a glans ora sito fer diis. De armo lis abuti hos face an hos nos is, As fer a sal illi, as reddas aro sis; Ac is o mi molli is almi de lite; Illo verbi de, an illo verbi nite. (I writ you a verse on a Molly o’ mine, As tall as a may pole, a lady so fine; I never knew any so neat in mine eyes; A man, at a glance or a sight of her, dies. Dear Molly’s a beauty, whose face and whose nose is As fair as a lily, as red as a rose is; A kiss o’ my Molly is all my delight; I love her by day, and I love her by night.) Extract from the consultation of four physicians on a lord that was dying1st Doctor. Is his honor sic? PrÆ lÆtus felis pulse. It do es beat veris loto de. 3d Doctor. It is veri hei! 4th Doctor. Noto contra dictu in my juge mentitis veri loto de. It is as orto maladi, sum callet. [Here e ver id octo reti resto a par lori na mel an coli post ure.] 1st D. It is a me gri mas I opi ne. 2d D. No docto rite quit fora quin si. Heris a plane sim tomo fit. Sorites Paracelsus. PrÆ re adit. 1st D. Nono, Doctor, I ne ver quo te aqua casu do. 2d D. Sum arso; mi autoris no ne. 3d D. No quare lingat prÆ senti de si re. His honor is sic offa colli casure as I sit here. 4th D. It is Æther an atro phi ora colli casu sed: Ire membri re ad it in Doctor me ades esse, here it is. 3d D. I ne ver re ad apage in it, no re ver in tendit. 2d D. Fer ne is offa qui te di ferent noti o nas i here. 1st D. It me bea pluri si; avo metis veri pro perfor a man at his age. 1st D. Is his honor sick? Pray let us feel his pulse. It does beat very slow to-day. 2d D. No, no, ’tis as quick as ever I felt; you may try it. Indeed, it is as fast as an alarum, or a fire-bell at night. 3d D. It is very high. 4th D. Not to contradict you, in my judgment it is very slow to day. It is a sort of malady, some call it. (Here every doctor retires to a parlor in a melancholy posture.) 1st D. It is a megrim, as I opine. 2d D. No, doctor, I take it for a quinsy. Here is a plain symptom of it. So writes Paracelsus. Pray read it. 1st D. No, no, doctor, I never quote a quack as you do. 2d D. Some are so; my author is none. 3d D. No quarrelling at present, I desire. His honor is sick of a colic as sure as I sit here. 4th D. It is either an atrophy, or a colic, as you said. I remember I read it in Dr. Mead’s Essay: here it is. 3d D. I never read a page in it, nor ever intend it. 2d D. Ferne is of a quite different notion, as I hear. 1st D. It may be a pleurisy; a vomit is very proper for a man at his age. 3d D. Atlas tume findit as tone in his quid ni es. 4th D. Itis ale pro si fora uti se. Ab lis ter me bene cessa risum de cens. Itis as ure medi in manicas es. 3d D. I findit isto late tot hinc offa reme di; fori here his honor is de ad. 2d D. His ti meis cum. 1st D. Is it trudo ut hinc? 4th D. It is veri certa in. His Paris his belli sto ringo ut foris de partu re. 3d D. NÆ i fis ecce lens is de ad lÆtus en dum apri esto prÆ foris sole. 2d D. Your pardon at present I desire. His disease is a catarrh, I declare it. 3d D. At last you may find it a stone in his kidneys. 4th D. It is a leprosy for aught I see. A blister may be necessary some days hence. It is a sure remedy in many cases. 3d D. I find it is too late to think of a remedy; for I hear his honor is dead. 2d D. His time is come. 1st D. Is it true, do you think? 4th D. It is very certain. His parish bell is to ring out for his departure. 3d D. Nay, if his excellency’s dead, let us send ’em a priest to pray for his soul. UNCONSCIOUS OR UNINTENTIONAL PUNS.Elizabeth’s sylvan dress was therefore well suited at once to her height and to the dignity of her mein, which her conscious rank and long habits of authority had rendered in some degree too masculine to be seen to the best advantage in ordinary female weeds.—Kenilworth, iii. 9. The following message was sent to the Emperor Nicholas by one of his generals:— Volia Vascha, a Varschavoo vsi’at nemogoo. { ‘Volia is } but Warsaw I cannot take. CLASSICAL PUNS AND MOTTOES.Sydney Smith proposed as a motto for Bishop Burgess, brother to the well-known fish-sauce purveyor, the following Virgilian pun (Æn. iv. 1),— Gravi jamdudum saucia curÂ. A London tobacconist, who had become wealthy, and determined to set up his carriage, applied to a learned gentleman for a motto. The scholar gave him the Horatian question,— QUID RIDES? (Why do you laugh?—Sat. I. 69)— which was accordingly adopted, and painted on the panel. A pedantic bachelor had the following inscription on his tea-caddy:— TU DOCES. (Thou Tea-chest.) Epitaph on a Cat, ascribed to Dr. Johnson (Hor. lib. i., c. 12):— MI-CAT INTER OMNES. Two gentlemen about to enter an unoccupied pew in a church, the foremost found it locked. His companion, not perceiving it at the moment, inquired why he retreated. “Pudor vetat” said he. (Modesty forbids.) A gentleman at dinner requested a friend to help him to a potato, which he did, saying, “I think you will find that a good mealy one.” “Thank you,” quoth the other: “it could not be melior” (better). A student of Latin, being confined to his room by illness, was called upon by a friend. “What, John,” said the visitor, “sick, eh?” “Yes,” replied John, “sic sum” (so I am). In King’s College were two delinquents named respectively Payne and Culpepper. Payne was expelled, but Culpepper escaped punishment. Upon this, a wit wrote the following apt line:— Poena perire potest; Culpa perennis est. Joseph II., Emperor of Germany, during a visit to Rome, went to see the princess Santacroce, a young lady of singular beauty, who had an evening conversazione. Next morning appeared the following pasquinade. “Pasquin asks, ‘What is the Emperor Joseph come to Rome for?’ Marforio answers, ‘Abaciar la Santa Croce’”—to kiss the Holy Cross. On the trial of Garnett, the Superior of the Jesuits, for his participation in the Gunpowder Plot, Coke, then Attorney-General, concluded his speech thus:—Qui cum Jesu itis, non itis cum Jesuitis. A few years ago, several Jesuits came into the lecture-room of an Italian professor in the University of Pisa, believing he was about to assail a favorite dogma of theirs. He commenced his lecture with the following words,— “Quanti Gesuiti sono all’ inferno!” (How many Jesuits there are in hell!) When remonstrated with, he said that his words were— “Quanti—Gesu!—iti sono all’ inferno!” (How many people, O Jesus! there are in hell!) D’Israeli says that Bossuet would not join his young companions, and flew to his solitary tasks, while the classical boys avenged themselves by a schoolboy’s pun; applying to Bossuet Virgil’s bos suet-us aratro—the ox daily toiling in the plough. John Randolph of Virginia, and Mr. Dana of Connecticut, while fellow-members of Congress, belonged to different political parties. On one occasion Mr. Dana paid some handsome compliments to Mr. Randolph. When the latter spoke in reply, he quoted from Virgil (Æn. ii.):— Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes. “Mantua vÆ miserÆ nimium vicina CremonÆ.” Ah, Mantua, too near the wretched Cremona. (Virg. Ecl. ix. 28.) To an old gentleman who had lost his spectacles one rainy evening, the Dean said, “If this rain continues all night, you will certainly recover them in the morning betimes: “Nocte pluit tota—redeunt spectacula mane.” (Virgil.) Quid facies facies veneris si veneris ante? Ne pereas pereas, ne sedeas, sedeas. (What will you do if you shall come before the face of Venus? Lest you should perish through them, do not sit down, but go away.) Sir William Dawes, Archbishop of York, was very fond of a pun. His clergy dining with him for the first time after he had lost his wife, he told them he feared they did not find things in so good order as they used to be in the time of poor Mary; and, looking extremely sorrowful, added with a deep sigh, “she was indeed mare pacificum.” A curate who knew pretty well what her temper had been, said, “Yes, my lord, but she was mare mortuum first.” That Homer should a bankrupt be, Is not so very ODD D’YE SEE, If it be true as I’m instructed, So ILL HE HAD his books conducted. PUNNING MOTTOES OF THE ENGLISH PEERAGE.Ne vile Fano—Disgrace not the altar. Motto of the Fanes. Ne vile velis—Form no mean wish. The Nevilles. Cavendo tutus—Secure by caution. The Cavendishes. Forte scutum, salus ducum—A strong shield the safety of leaders. Lord Fortescue. Ver non semper viret—The spring is not always green. Lord Vernon. Vero nihil verius—Nothing truer than truth. Lord Vere. Templa quam delecta—Temples how beloved. Lord Temple. JEUX-DE-MOTS.SPIRITUAL.A wag decides— That whiskey is the key by which many gain an entrance into our prisons and almshouses. That brandy brands the noses of all who cannot govern their appetites. That wine causes many a man to take a winding way home. That punch is the cause of many unfriendly punches. That ale causes many ailings, while beer brings many to the bier. That champagne is the source of many a real pain. That gin-slings have “slewed” more than the slings of old. That the reputation of being fond of cock-tails is not a feather in any man’s cap. That the money spent for port that is supplied by portly gents would support many a poor family. That porter is a weak supporter for those who are weak in body. ANAGRAMMATIC.The following sentence is said to be taken from a volume of sermons published during the reign of James I.:— This dial shows that we must die all; yet notwithstanding, all houses are turned into ale houses; our cares into cates; our paradise into a pair o’ dice; matrimony into a matter of money, and marriage into a merry age; our divines have become dry vines: it was not so in the days of Noah,—ah! no. ITERATIVE.A clerical gentleman of Hartford, who once attended the House of Representatives to read prayers, being politely requested to remain seated near the speaker during the debate, found himself the spectator of an unmarrying process, so alien to his own vocation, and so characteristic of the readiness of For cut-ting all connect-ions famed, Connect-i-cut is fairly named; I twain connect in one, but you Cut those whom I connect in two. Each legislator seems to say, What you Connect I cut away. Finn, the comedian, issued the following morceau upon the announcement of his benefit at the Tremont Theatre, Boston:— Like a grate full of coals I burn, A great, full house to see; And if I should not grateful prove, A great fool I should be. A FAIR LETTER.The following letter was received by a young lady at the post-office of a Fair held for the benefit of a church:— Fairest of the Fair. When such fair beings as you have the fair-ness to honor our Fair with your fair presence, it is perfectly fair that you should receive good fare from the fair conductors of this Fair, and indeed it would be very un-fair if you should not fare well, since it is the endeavor of those whose wel-fare depends upon the success of this Fair, to treat all who come fair-ly, but to treat with especial fair-ness those who are as fair as yourself. We are engaged in a fair cause, a sacred war-fare; that is, to speak without un-fair-ness, a war-fare, not against the fair sex, but against the pockets of their beaux. We therefore hope, gentle reader, “still fairest found where all is fair,” that you will use all fair exertions in behalf of the praiseworthy af-fair which we have fair-ly undertaken. If you take sufficient interest in our wel-fare to lend your fair aid, you will appear fair-er than ever in our sight; we will never treat you un-fair-ly, and when you withdraw the light of your fair countenance from our Fair, we will bid you a kind Fare-well. Schott and Willing did engage In duel fierce and hot; Schott shot Willing willingly, And Willing he shot Schott. The shot Schott shot made Willing quite A spectacle to see; While Willing’s willing shot went right Through Schott’s anatomy. WRITE WRITTEN RIGHT.Write we know is written right, When we see it written write; But when we see it written wright, We know it is not written right: For write, to have it written right, Must not be written right or wright, Nor yet should it be written rite; But write, for so ’tis written right. TURN TO THE LEFT AS THE (ENGLISH) LAW DIRECTS.The laws of the Road are a paradox quite: For when you are travelling along, If you keep to the LEFT you’re sure to be RIGHT, If you keep to the RIGHT you’ll be WRONG. I cannot bear to see a bear, bear down upon a hare, When bare of hair he strips the hare, for hare I cry, “forbear!” ON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF KILDARE.Who killed Kildare? Who dared Kildare to kill? Death answers,— I killed Kildare, and dare kill whom I will. A CatALECTIC MONODY.A cat I sing of famous memory, Though catachrestical my song may be: In a small garden catacomb she lies, And cataclysms fill her comrades’ eyes; Borne on the air, the catacoustic song Swells with her virtues’ catalogue along; No cataplasm could lengthen out her years, Though mourning friends shed cataracts of tears. It dwindled to a catcall’s squeaking noise; Most categorical her virtues shone, By catenation joined each one to one;— But a vile catchpoll dog, with cruel bite, Like catling’s cut, her strength disabled quite; Her caterwauling pierced the heavy air, As cataphracts their arms through legions bear; ’Tis vain! as caterpillars drag away Their lengths, like cattle after busy day, She lingering died, nor left in kit kat the Embodiment of this catastrophe. NOVEMBER.(The humorous lines of Hood are only applicable to the English climate, where the closing month of autumn is synonymous with fogs, long visages, and suicides.) No sun—no moon! No morn—no noon— No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day— No sky—no earthly view— No distance looking blue— No roads—no streets—no t’other side the way— No end to any row— No indication where the crescents go— No tops to any steeple— No recognition of familiar people— No courtesies for showing ’em— No knowing ’em— No travellers at all—no locomotion— No inkling of the way—no motion— ‘No go’ by land or ocean— No mail—no post— No news from any foreign coast— No park—no ring—no afternoon gentility— No company—no nobility— No warmth—no cheerfulness—no healthful ease— No comfortable feel in any member— No shade—no shine—no butterflies—no bees— No fruits—no flowers—no leaves—no birds— No-vember! The name of that monster of brutality, Caliban, in Shakspeare’s Tempest, is supposed to be anagrammatic of Canibal, the old mode of spelling Cannibal. A SWARM OF BEES.B patient, B prayerful, B humble, B mild, B wise as a Solon, B meek as a child; B studious, B thoughtful, B loving, B kind; B sure you make matter subservient to mind. B cautious, B prudent, B trustful, B true, B courteous to all men, B friendly with few. B temperate in argument, pleasure, and wine, B careful of conduct, of money, of time. B cheerful, B grateful, B hopeful, B firm, B peaceful, benevolent, willing to learn; B courageous, B gentle, B liberal, B just, B aspiring, B humble, because thou art dust; B penitent, circumspect, sound in the faith, B active, devoted; B faithful till death. B honest, B holy, transparent, and pure; B dependent, B Christ-like, and you’ll B secure. THE BEES OF THE BIBLE.Be kindly affectioned one to another. Be sober, and watch unto prayer. Be content with such things as ye have. Be strong in the Lord. Be courteous. Be not wise in your own conceits. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers. Be not children in understanding. Be followers of God, as dear children. Be not weary in well-doing. Be holy in all manner of conversation. Be patient unto the coming of the Lord. Be clothed with humility. FRANKLIN’S “RE’S.”Dr. Franklin, in England in the year 1775, was asked by a nobleman what would satisfy the Americans. He answered that it might easily be comprised in a few “Re’s,” which he immediately wrote on a piece of paper, thus:— Re-call your forces. Re-store Castle William. Re-pair the damage done to Boston. Re-peal your unconstitutional acts. Re-nounce your pretensions to taxes. Re-fund the duties you have extorted. Re-quire, and Re-ceive payment for the destroyed tea, with the voluntary grants of the Colonies; and then Re-joice in a happy Re-conciliation. THE MISS-NOMERS.After the manner of Horace Smith’s “Surnames ever go by contraries.” Miss Brown is exceedingly fair, Miss White is as brown as a berry; Miss Black has a gray head of hair, Miss Graves is a flirt ever merry; Miss Lightbody weighs sixteen stone, Miss Rich scarce can muster a guinea; Miss Hare wears a wig, and has none, And Miss Solomon is a sad ninny! Miss Mildmay’s a terrible scold, Miss Dove’s ever cross and contrary; Miss Young is now grown very old, And Miss Heavyside’s light as a fairy! Miss Short is at least five feet ten, Miss Noble’s of humble extraction; Miss Love has a hatred towards men, Whilst Miss Still is forever in action. Miss Green is a regular blue, Miss Scarlet looks pale as a lily; Miss Violet ne’er shrinks from our view, And Miss Wiseman thinks all the men silly! Miss Goodchild’s a naughty young elf, Miss Lyon’s from terror a fool; Miss Mee’s not at all like myself, Miss Carpenter no one can rule. Miss Sadler ne’er mounted a horse, While Miss Groom from the stable will run; Miss Kilmore can’t look on a corse, And Miss Aimwell ne’er levelled a gun; Miss Greathead has no brains at all, Miss Heartwell is ever complaining; Miss Dance has ne’er been at a ball, Over hearts Miss Fairweather likes reigning! Miss Wright, she is constantly wrong, Miss Tickell, alas! is not funny; Miss Singer ne’er warbled a song, And alas! poor Miss Cash has no money; To purchase a man to her liking; Miss Merry is shocked at all mirth, Miss Boxer the men don’t find striking! Miss Bliss does with sorrow o’erflow, Miss Hope in despair seeks the tomb; Miss Joy still anticipates wo, And Miss Charity’s never “at home!” Miss Hamlet resides in the city, The nerves of Miss Standfast are shaken; Miss Prettyman’s beau is not pretty, And Miss Faithful her love has forsaken! Miss Porter despises all froth, Miss Scales they’ll make wait, I am thinking; Miss Meekly is apt to be wroth, Miss Lofty to meanness is sinking; Miss Seymore’s as blind as a bat, Miss Last at a party is first; Miss Brindle dislikes a striped cat, And Miss Waters has always a thirst! Miss Knight is now changed into Day, Miss Day wants to marry a Knight; Miss Prudence has just run away, And Miss Steady assisted her flight; But success to the fair,—one and all! No miss-apprehensions be making;— Though wrong the dear sex to miss-call, There’s no harm, I should hope, in MISS-TAKING. CROOKED COINCIDENCES.A pamphlet published in the year 1703 has the following strange title: “The Deformity of Sin cured; a Sermon preached at St. Michael’s, Crooked-lane, before the Prince of Orange, by the Rev. J. Crookshanks. Sold by Matthew Denton, at the Crooked Billet near Cripple-gate, and by all other booksellers.” The words of the text are, “Every crooked path shall be made straight;” and the prince before whom it was preached was deformed in person. THE COURT-FOOL’S PUN ON ARCHBISHOP LAUD.Great praise to God, and little Laud to the devil. |
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