Different kinds of kisses: The long, long kiss, the paroxysmal, the icy, the Western, the life-teeming kiss—How college girls kiss—The kiss of a female cornetist—Platonic kisses—Roman osculation—Characteristics of kisses—The kiss as a punishment—The king of baby-kissers—The kiss after marriage—Stolen kisses, sometimes called “dainty bits of plunder”—The story of a Circassian girl. There are a great many kinds of kisses. There is Byron’s “long, long kiss of youth and love.” A rural suitor kissed his girl repeatedly after this fashion. When he finally ceased, the tears came into her eyes, and she said, in sad tones: “Ah, Rufus! I fear you have ceased to love me!” “Oh, no, I haven’t,” he replied, with a wearied air, “but I must breathe!” The “paroxysmal kiss” has been described as a kiss “buttered with soul-lightning.” Very different from the kiss of a certain prominent actress: Hail! kiss of Mary Anderson, all hail! All hail, we sing, for hail is ice in chunks, And Mary’s kisses are but chunks of ice. Brittle and snappy, with no sign of thaw, Or warmth that meets and pins two souls Together at the touch of lips. There is a story told of a light, free-hearted Western girl—probably auburn-haired—who, while engaged in the osculatory performance with her lover, swooped down upon him like a summer fog upon a millstone and scooped him in. She sat in his lap and kissed him with a kissness which an emotional actress would have given ten years of her life to imitate upon the stage. It was an earthquake of love, a simoon of affection. She kissed him until his back hair smoked. It is said that in nearly all the famous colleges for women there is a special teacher or doctress in physiology, and in the so-called oral recitations the pernicious effects of osculation are considered at great length. By way of tolerating what seems to be a necessary evil, various theories are advanced and various provisions advocated. The girl who comes from Smith College, Northampton, kisses on the oblique lines that fall from the left corner of your mouth, but when kissed, is so adroit in the way she jerks her head, that the point of salutation may be found on a radius from the right of her demure little mouth. The Vassar graduate kisses more than her Smith College friend, but the chin is her choice, as you will observe in an attempt to salute her. The seniors from Wellesley press their kisses high up on the face, almost under the sweep of the eyelash, and the Lake Forest and Harvard Annex maidens kiss at a point equally distant from the nose and ear. Very peculiar is the kiss of the female cornetist. A young man who had attended a concert gives his experience. “I had known her in childhood, when we together hunted the same schoolmaster with bean-blowers, and at the conclusion of her cornet solo I greeted her for the first time in several years. Of course we kissed each other impulsively. Good heavens! That was my mental exclamation. I felt as though I had been hit with brass knuckles or smacked by a cast-iron image. I instinctively pressed my handkerchief to my benumbed mouth, and looked for the weapon with which I had been assaulted. It was the girl’s kiss, however, that I had felt. Good playing on the cornet depends upon the amount of inflexibility which can be imparted to the upper lip. Hers had become fairly adamantine.” There is the “life-teeming kiss,” and, on the other hand, there is the Platonic kiss. But what Platonic kisses were I doubt if Plato ever knew— Not like, my birdie, I infer, The long, sweet kisses I give you, And those you give me back again, Repeated oft, and never done; Not thus, I fancy, could it be Platonic brides were ever won. As for the gallant Frenchman, he said: Kiss me with some slow, heavy kiss, That plucks the heart out at the lips. The Romans had different words to distinguish the different kinds of kisses. A kiss between two friends was called osculum; basium, a kiss of politeness; and suavium, a kiss of love. The Roman emperors saluted their principal officers by a kiss. Kissing the mouth or the eyes was the usual compliment upon any happy event. Soldiers kissed the hand of the general when he quitted his office. Fathers amongst the Romans had so much delicacy that they never embraced their wives in the presence of their daughters. Near relatives were allowed to kiss their female kindred on the mouth, but this was done in order to know whether they smelt of wine or not. Kisses are forced, unwilling, cold, comfortless, frigid and frozen, chaste, timid, rosy, balmy, humid, dewy, trembling, soft, gentle, tender, tempting, fragrant, sacred, hallowed, divine, soothing, joyful, affectionate, delicious, rapturous, deep-drawn and inebriating, ardent, flaming and akin to fire, ravishing, lingering and long. One also hears of parting, tear-dewed, savory, loathsome, poisonous, treacherous, false, rude, stolen, and great fat noisy kisses. There is the proud kiss, a pledge of eternal hatred, which strikes the recipient like a falling avalanche of Alpine snow. There is the icy kiss, which sends your heart into your boots and almost stifles the ebb and flow of one’s life-blood. There is the frothy kiss, which means nothing, and is common between relations and friends. There is the hypocritical, or Judas kiss, which gives you a convulsive bang of pretended affection on both cheeks—lips saying, “I am so glad to see you,” etc., and the heart saying, “I dislike you, and if I could show it, I would.” There is the spiteful kiss, which, whilst it seems teeming with sweetness, would like to impart venom with the embrace. There is the leather kiss, which gives back to the kisser no more feeling response than the orifice of a gutta-percha speaking-tube, and as comfortless as frozen water to a starved snake; and there is the noisy kiss. There’s a formal kiss of fashion, And a burning kiss of passion, A father’s kiss, A mother’s kiss, And a sister’s kiss to move; There’s a traitor’s kiss of gold, Like a serpent’s clammy fold, A first kiss, A stolen kiss, And the thrilling kiss of love; A meeting kiss, A maiden kiss, A kiss when fond hearts sever, But the saddest kiss On earth is this— A kiss to part forever. There is the first kiss of love: When a youth and maid of demeanor gay, But still unversed in impassioned speech, Are seen to return from their stroll some day With a glorified look in the face of each— A look as of mingled life-tides set Hence evermore to a common goal— You may be sure that their lips have met In that kiss which compasseth soul with soul. Moore sings of a lover who taught his sweetheart how to kiss in the dark, and chides her afterwards for her dullness in learning the lesson. “Cease, cease,” the blushing girl replied, And in her milky arms she caught me; “How can you thus your pupil chide? You know ’twas in the dark you taught me!” During the late rebellion, so much kissing had to be done on the part of the soldiers in bidding adieu to their female friends that an ingenious officer reduced the operation to three motions. First motion: Bend the right knee, straighten the left, bring the head on a line with the piece; at the same time extend the arms and clasp the cheeks of the piece firmly in both hands. Second motion: Bend the body slightly forward, pucker the mouth slightly, and apply the lips smartly to the muzzle mouldings. Third motion: Break off promptly in both legs to escape the jarring or injury should the piece recoil. There is the pleasing punishment of a kiss. In an anonymous poem, a lover tells what he would do to his sweetheart if she offended him; he would whip her with a feather, give her a cross of pearl, and smother her with roses. And if she dared her lips to pout, Like many pert young misses, I’d wind my arm her waist about And punish her with kisses. One of the sweetest poems on the subject of a kiss is after Catullus, the Roman poet: Kiss me softly, and speak to me low, Malice has ever a vigilant ear; What if Malice were lurking near? Kiss me, dear! Kiss me softly, and speak to me low. Kiss me softly, and speak to me low, Envy, too, has a watchful ear; What if Envy should chance to hear? Kiss me dear! Kiss me softly, and speak to me low. Kiss me softly, and speak to me low; Trust me, darling, the time is near, When we may love with never a fear. Kiss me, dear! Kiss me softly, and speak to me low. In the spring of 1888 it was asserted of Congressman Lewis E. McComas, of Maryland, that he was the king of baby-kissers, having reduced baby-kissing to a fine art. The proceeding was something like this: First of all, Mr. McComas stands over the baby, and beams on it with his large, tender, hazel eyes. Then, as if moved by a sudden and irresistible impulse of affection, he snatches the little one to his bosom with all the fervor of the deserted stage mother. After pressing it for a moment with head bowed in emotion, he holds it in front of him in a horizontal position, beams once more on the little face; then his head slowly descends, there is an agonizing pause before the big moustache reaches the little lips, the angels hovering about suspend the flapping of their wings, a long-drawn sigh of joy proceeds from the Congressman’s breast, a low, sweet, lingering, honey-suggesting smack is heard—and the deed is done. There used to be a minstrel ballad describing the wedding of our simian ancestor. It was said: The monkey married the baboon’s sister, Smacked his lips, and then he kissed her— Kissed so hard he raised a blister— After which, the chronicler asserts: She set up a howl. There is the kiss after marriage. A story is told of a wife who was scolding her husband because he had found fault with certain conduct of their daughter. The old gentleman lost all patience, finally. “Now, see here, old woman,” said he, kindly, but firmly; “if you don’t hush your nonsense and dry up, I’ll tell Matilda’s beaux not to be caught swinging on the gate with her at night, and I’ll tell ’em why.” “You will, hey?” “Yes, I will; because when I was a courting young man, I was swinging on the gate with a young woman, one night, and Sam Solomon happened to pass by just as she gave me a good-night kiss.” She commenced feeling around for something. “It was the most unlucky kiss I ever got, for Sam gave up trying after that, and as soon as he got out of the way, it was me or nobody.” It was lucky he got over the fence and around the corner as quick as he did, or the surgeon wouldn’t have had such an easy job of it. You will find, my dear boy, that the dearly-prized kiss, Which with rapture you snatched from the half willing miss, Is sweeter by far than the legalized kisses You give the same girl when you’ve made her a Mrs. It might be well to memorize one or two proverbs on this subject: “To kiss a man’s wife, or wipe his knife, is but a thankless office.” “He that kisseth his wife in the market-place shall have enough to teach him.” Finally, there is the stolen kiss. The bold lover says: Kiss her gently, but be sly, Kiss her when there’s no one by, Steal your kiss, for then ’tis meetest, Stolen kisses are the sweetest. The more backward swain argues the matter to himself: If I should steal a little kiss, Oh! would she weep, I wonder? I tremble at the thought of bliss— If I should steal a little kiss: Such pouting lips would never miss The dainty bit of plunder; If I should steal a little kiss, Oh! would she weep, I wonder? He longs to steal a kiss of mine— He may, if he’ll return it! If I can read the tender sign, He longs to steal a kiss of mine; “In love and war”—you know the line. Why cannot he discern it? He longs to steal a kiss of mine, He may, if he’ll return it. And the man of observation has given his experience in the matter: Beneath a shady tree they sat; He held her hand, she held his hat, I held my breath and lay right flat— They kissed—I saw them do it. He held that kissing was no crime; She held her head up every time; I held my peace, and wrote this rhyme, While they thought no one knew it. The prudent Scotch girl has expressed the views of many of her sex in regard, not to the impropriety of kissing, but of kissing “before folk”: Behave yourself before folk, And dinna be sae rude to me, As kiss me sae before folk. It’s no through hatred o’ a kiss, That I sae plainly tell you this, But, ah! I tak’ it sae amiss To be sae teased before folk. Behave yoursel’ before folk, When we’re alone, ye may tak’ one, But nent a ane before folk. A Circassian was walking along one road, and a woman along another. The roads finally united, and reaching the point of junction at the same time, they walked on together. The man was carrying a large iron kettle on his back; in one hand he held the legs of a live chicken, in the other a cane, and he was leading a goat. They neared a dark ravine. Said the woman: “I am afraid to go through that ravine with you; it is a lonely place, and you might overpower me and kiss me by force.” Said the man: “How can I possibly overpower you and kiss you by force, when I have this iron kettle on my back, a cane in one hand, a live chicken in the other, and am leading this goat? I might as well be tied hand and foot.” “Yes,” replied the woman; “but if you should stick your cane in the ground and tie your goat to it, and turn the kettle bottom upward and put the chicken under, then you might wickedly kiss me in spite of my resistance.” “Success to thy ingenuity, O woman!” said the rejoicing man to himself; “I should never have thought of this or similar expedients.” And when they came to the ravine, he stuck his cane into the ground, and tied the goat to it, and gave the chicken to the woman, saying: “Hold it while I cut some grass for the goat,” and then—so runs the legend—lowering the kettle from his shoulders, he put the fowl under it, and wickedly kissed the woman, as she was afraid he would. |