How can she lay her glasses down, Her father-grandpapa! forgive Vow'd she should make the finest girl He sent her to a stylish school; They braced my aunt against a board, They laced her up, they starved her down, They pinch'd her feet, they singed her hair, In penance for her sins. So, when my precious aunt was done, "Ah!" said my grandsire, as he shook "What could this lovely creature do Alas! nor chariot, nor barouche, Tore from the trembling father's arms For her how happy had it been! THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS. I wrote some lines once on a time In wondrous merry mood, And thought, as usual, men would say They were so queer, so very queer, I laugh'd as I would die; Albeit, in the general way, A sober man am I. I call'd my servant, and he came : To mind a slender man like me, "These to the printer," I exclaim'd, And, in my humorous way, He took the paper, and I watch'd, He read the next; the grin grew broad, He read the third; a chuckling noise The fourth; he broke into a roar; Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, And since, I never dare to write THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wreck'd is the ship of pearl! And every chamber'd cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, Its iris'd ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unseal'd! Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretch'd in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! THE TWO ARMIES. As life's unending column pours, One marches to the drum-beat's roll, One moves in silence by the stream, Along its front no sabres shine, For those no death-bed's lingering shade; At Honor's trumpet-call, With knitted brow and lifted blade, In Glory's arms they fall. For these no clashing falchions bright, The bloodless stabber calls by night,- For those the sculptor's laurell'd bust, The anthems pealing o'er their dust For these the blossom-sprinkled turf Two paths lead upward from below, Who count each burning life-drop's flow, Though from the Hero's bleeding breast Though the white lilies in her crest While Valor's haughty champions wait Love walks unchallenged through the gate, THE FRONT AND SIDE DOORS. but Every person's feelings have a front-door and a side-door by which they may be entered. The front-door is on the street. Some keep it always open; some keep it latched; some, locked; some, bolted,-with a chain that will let you peep in, not get in; and some nail it up, so that nothing can pass its threshold. This front-door leads into a passage which opens into an ante-room, and this into the interior apartments. The sidedoor opens at once into the sacred chambers. There is almost always at least one key to this side-door. This is carried for years hidden in a mother's bosom. Fathers, brothers, sisters, and friends, often, but by no means so universally, have duplicates of it. The wedding-ring conveys a right to one; alas, if none is given with it! Be very careful to whom you trust one of these keys of the sidedoor. The fact of possessing one renders those even who are dear to you very terrible at times. You can keep the world out from your front-door, or receive visitors only when you are ready for them; but those of your own flesh and blood, or of certain grades of intimacy, can come in at the side-door, if they will, at any hour and in any mood. Some of them have a scale of your whole nervous system, and can play all the gamut of your sensibilities in semitones,-touching the naked nerve-pulps as a pianist strikes the keys of his instrument. I am satisfied that there are as great masters of this nerve-playing as Vieuxtemps or Thalberg in their lines of performance. Married life is the school in which the most accomplished artists in this department are found. A delicate woman is the best instrument; she has such a magnificent compass of sensibilities! From the deep inward moan which follows pressure on the great nerves of right, to the sharp cry as the filaments of taste are struck with a crashing sweep, is a range which no other instrument possesses. A few exercises on it daily at home fit a man wonderfully for his habitual labors, and refresh him immensely as he returns from them. No stranger can get a great many notes of torture out of a human soul: it takes one that knows it well,-parent, child, brother, sister, intimate. Be very careful to whom you give a side-door key; too many have them already. OLD AGE AND THE PROFESSOR. Old Age, this is Mr. Professor; Mr. Professor, this is Old Age. Old Age.-Mr. Professor, I hope to see you well. I have known you for some time, though I think you did not know me. Shall we walk down the street together? Professor, (drawing back a little.)-We can talk more quietly, perhaps, in my study. Will you tell me how it is you seem to be acquainted with everybody you are introduced to, though he evidently considers you an entire stranger? Old Age.-I make it a rule never to force myself upon a person's recognition until I have known him at least five years. Professor.-Do you mean to say that you have known me so long as that? Öld Age. I do. I left my card on you longer ago than that, but I am afraid you never read it; yet I see you have it with you. Professor.-Where? Old Age. There, between your eyebrows,-three straight lines running up and down; all the probate courts know that token," Old Age, his mark." Put your forefinger on the inner end of one eyebrow, and your middle finger on the inner end of the other eyebrow; now separate the fingers, and you will smooth out my sign manual; that's the way you used to look before I left my card on you. Professor.-What message do people generally send back when you first call on them? Next So for Old Age.-Not at home. Then I leave a card and go. year I call; get the same answer; leave another card. five or six-sometimes ten-years or more. At last, if they don't let me in, I break in through the front door or the windows. We talked together in this way some time. Then Old Age said again,-Come, let us walk down the street together,-and offered me a cane, an eye-glass, a tippet, and a pair of over-shoes. -No, much obliged to you, said I. I don't want those things, and I had a little rather talk with you here, privately, in my study. So I dressed myself up in a jaunty way and walked out alone ;got a fall, caught a cold, was laid up with a lumbago, and had time to think over this whole matter. THE BRAIN. Our brains are seventy-year clocks. The Angel of Life winds them up once for all, then closes the case, and gives the key into the hands of the Angel of the Resurrection. |