words, "John Donne, Anne Donne, undone!" It is believed the pathetic pleasantry of the pun softened the old man's heart, and led to a reconciliation. Coming down to the times of Popehaving, in our way, seen Chancellor Hyde, in the time of Charles II., pelted by a shower of puns in his disgrace— we perceive that, in spite of his fastidiousness, the poet of Twickenham could be seduced by a pun. In the Dunciad, he says: "Where Bentley, late tempestuous, wont to sport In troubled waters, but now sleeps in port." And again "See still thy own, the heavy canon roll, And metaphysic smoke involve the pole." Dean Swift-a man who touched the thoughts of the people, and drew strength from them-made puns, of course. In "Stella's Journal," he says to her: "Must you ask after roguish puns, and Latin ones, too?" Stella loved a pun, as much as himself, apparently. Again, he tells her how he went to see Lord Pembroke, had some pleasant conversation, and "hit him with one pun." The pun on the fiddle thrown down by a lady's mantle, is a good one -though far-fetched and prepense in appearance: "Mantua, væ miseræ, nimium vicina cre monx.' Virgil never dreamed of the meaning hid in this line; any more than of the sortes which it was once the fashion to find in his hexameters. It was said of Swift, by Dean Percival, who wrote a lampoon against him, that he would trudge the town, "to eat a meal with punster base." Percival himself was not of the order of those who would seek the company of a poor man, having nothing but his puns and his pleasantry to recommend him. Lord Chesterfield was a punster, at times, especially when, being Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, he felt called on to exhibit all his festive and witty accomplishments. In a letter, written in 1760, to his friend Falkener, the Dublin bookseller, he dissuades him from publishing Swift in quarto, as too uncertain a speculation-unless, indeed, he observes, the name, quarto, should be considered as a recommendation among the bibulous literati of the Green Isle. Junius, that grand master of satiric literature, was naturally disposed to a pun. When his long war against the Tory ministries of George III.-the deadly foes of Lord Chatham-resulted in his defeat, and the ascendancy of Lord North, he expressed his disappointment in a bitter play on words, addressed to Woodfall: "In the present state of things, if I were to write again, I must be as silly as any of the horned cattle that run mad through the city.” In this he alludes to the divisions among the city Whigs, produced by the conduct of the Rev. John Horne, afterwards J. Horne Tooke. And Junius, doubtless, greatly enjoyed-if he did not suggest the flagrant practical pun which expressed the Whig sentiment of the period :-the burning of a boot and a petticoat together, in various parts of the kingdom-the boot representing the Earl of Bute, and the petticoat the Princess of Wales, mother of George III. Talking of politics-we may here observe that Jereiny Bentham once went to the trouble of finding Greek counterparts for the names of Parr and Fox, in Homer's allusions to Paris and to Thersites. But Jeremy's puns were as bad as his constitutions. That era of the Georges was not at all fertile in paranomasia; and everybody knows it was a dull, feeble age, in which classic thoughts and formulas were all the intellectual fashion, and what they called wit kept genius in awe and order. The French revolution and the succeeding hurly-burly brought a change, and along with philosophy, poetry, and a great many other things, the pun shook off its lethargy, so to speak, and felt something of its older period of power. There is no need of alluding to the punsters who, on the bench, in the drawing-room, in the study, then and thenceforward practiced their jocose double entendres. Âs for these are they not found in all the jestbooks? But we must record the pun of the era the curious interpreter of the change that had astonished the world. This paranomasia has been set forth in mere prose; but it is worthy of a poetical version; and we hereby try to give one-on the model of Beranger's famous lyric, "Le Convoy de David." We shall call our anapæstic pun THE CONVOY OF M. DE SAINT CYR. "Stand back," says the guard; "ye pass not here!" To chairmen with a sedan chair. Who cried," Here's Monsieur de Saint Cyr, Asking to enter the barrière !" "No, no!" said the guard; "since the year One Monsieur is obsolete; d'ye hear!" "Be it so, guard; let us pass on, We'll only take in de Saint Cyr!" "No go," says the guard," your de's no go. Since that warm hour and gushing vote When the peers stript themselves, and so Hugged the Tiers Etat, sans culotte; 'Tis Citoyen and Citoyenne, Jacques Bonhomme and his wife, my dear!" "Well, if you say so, guard, why then Open your barrier for Saint Cyr!" "Don't talk," says the guard: "you must not pass. We've quashed the calendar of late; Saints are abolished with the mass None of their sort shall pass my gate. We're in our age of reason, now, And superstition quakes for fear." "Well, guard, we'll try it, anyhow Let the rest go, but let in Cyr!" "Be off," shouts the guard; "that's worse and worse! In Sire the others all combine. Take them away; your better course Would be for Coblentz on the Rhine!" "Well, guard, good-by; the day may come, When you shall change your watchword here, And open barriers welcome home This same old Monsieur de Saint Cyr!" The chairman was a true prophet. He knew the character of his countrymen, apparently. The great poets, Byron and Beranger, used the pun with good effect. They punned against the Duke of Wellington, said by Madame de Staël to be the greatest man ever made of such little materials. Byron says :—• "Glory like yours should any dare gainsay, Humanity would rise, and thunder: Nay!" And in the "Complainte de ces Demoiselles," written in 1815, Beranger sings: "Faut qu' Lord Villainton ait tout pris, Gn'a plus d'argent dans c'gueux d'Paris." In "Les infinement petits," also, he has a pun againt the régime of the Bourbons; the refrain of the song being: "mais les barbons regnent toujours ;"-barbons, meaning "gray beards," and also "Bourbons" by grace of euphony. Sir Walter Scott was neither afraid nor ashamed to use a pun; and he always does so happily, as may be perceived in the introduction to the "Fortunes of Nigel," the description of Goffe, in the "Pirate," and in other parts of his works. But here we are reminded that we have nearly overlooked a loftier intellect which could also recognize the claims of the pun-John Milton. This great poet made puns in "Paradise Lost." During the fierce prolonged battle in Heaven, he makes his hero, Lucifer, and the gamesome Belial discharge a volley of puns against the angels of the Lord, who have been already thrown into confusion by the discharges of artillery. This and the ironical speech of the Almighty have been considered to exhibit too much levity and irreverence in Milton; but the poet did not mean any irreverence-a charge which people at all times are in the habit of flinging too thoughtlessly. In connection with this phase of our subject, we are reminded of the greatest paranomasia or pun extant in any language; a pun which is in the daily memory of millions, yet not recognized as such a formula having a historic interest surpassing that of any other recorded sentencee-a thing which has shaken thrones, and caused terrible wars and revolutions, and is still as much a sentence and a principle as ever it was since it first began to operate in the world. The curious and amiable reader, who, perhaps, was never sent to look for such a thing in such a place before, will find it at the 16th chapter of Matthew and the 18th and 19th verses. This is the strong-hold and main-stay of the pope; and, if ever we should be called on to argue the matter with the man of the tiara, we are not without a missile to hit him with-we shall hit him with one pun. No doubt he will stand on his Rock and excommunicate us for irreverence. But, as we have said, that charge is easily made. There is old Fuller-a more pious man than any of us-who calls God the first shipwright -with reference to the ark; and says he may also be said to be free of a company of soldiers-in that he styles himself a man of war! That saying we have referred to, which is recorded in its full sense by Matthew alone, is another instance of the grave meaning which the ancients were wont to attach to names bearing a double sense. Coming to our own nation, we find the pun in very general use; though, for the most part, somewhat rudely set forth, and hooted at a good deal by the affected part of the community. Something spry and striking is congenial to a people with vivacious and rather preoccupied minds. The pun flourishes among the toasts and sentiments of the land, as in a parterre. There is scarcely a festive gathering on which that cheerful equivocation will not be found sparkling amidst the regulated or volunteer senAt a pubtentiousness of the occasion. 66 lic dinner, Judge Story's toast is: "Genius is sure to be welcome wherever it goes;" and the requital from Mr. Everett is: Law, Equity, and Jurisprudence; no efforts can raise them above a Story;" both of which are very good things, and worthy of general acceptation. Every reader, of course, remembers scores of such witticisms. And there is very good reason for all this. Almost all the conceivable toasts and sentiments in the world-social, political, warlike, agrarian, commercial, chivalrous, and so forth-are worn threadbare with frequent use; and it asks a vast deal of ingenuity well expended, to find some new, neat way of saying what has been often said already. Here the pun comes in very well, throwing a genial flash of hilarity over scenes that, between ourselves, often stand in need of it. Our puns are protests against the trite and the prolix, and a wholesome recognition of the popular taste. one. Puns were pretty much in vogue among our precursors, the Yankee portion of them, though, no doubt, the Knickerbockers had them as well. The reader of Boston history will remember Capt. Stone and his pun. He grew enraged once with Mr. Ludlow, the magistrate, and called him "Just-ass," in an evil hour, heedless of the retribution which soon overtook him in the shape of a £100 fine. No more of the Captain's puns have been recorded! Then, Cotton Mather would make puns; and we remember one of them, a very good It is on the name of the Rev. Ralph Partridge, of whom the punster writes: "Mr. Partridge was, notwithstanding the paucity and poverty of his congregation, so afraid of being anything that looked like a bird wandering from its nest, that he remained with his poor people till he took wing to become a bird of Paradise, along with the Seraphim of Heaven. Epitaphium: Advolavit!" This Latinity reminds the reader of the punning motto of Decatur's attack on Algiers-Carpe Diem! Punch, some years ago, had just such another, referring to the conquest of Scinde, by Sir Charles James Napier, a member of the most original and heroic family in England, whose bluntness and soldierly simplicity so offended the regu- We Having, thus far, vindicated the prestige of the pun, we feel ourselves at liberty to admit that, though a good sort of thing, it is only so when judiciously brought forth, and favored by circumstances and the manner. can understand the slight with which puns are often treated. People produce them in a violent and conscious way; a man presents his pun, and demands your laugh. This is outrageous; and we will not laugh. In writing, people will underline puns after the style of the painter, who, having drawn a cock on a sign-board, wrote underneath : "This is a cock." That italicizing is a gross offense, and punishable. There be certain flavors in cookery, which, used with judgment, are pleasant and appetizing onions, garlic, and such pungents-but which, brought up in gross plenty, are disgusting enough. It is the same with puns. They must be uttered in a peculiar way, so as to come on us with something of a surprise, and without any impertinent airs of con sciousness. Dickens, who likes the pun flavor, shows he understands all thiswhere Toots says he is advised to take bark for the tone of his stomach; and in several other parts of his works, the double meaning coming with such ease and unaffectedness, that nothing can be better. And, talking of "bark," we are reminded of the saying of Arcesilaus, the Athenian, who, alluding to a certain actor, and taking the similitude from a Greek forest (we bar any of the reader's italics here!), said the man had a roughhewn voice-it was all over bark. The translation of this is a very fair sort of pun; while the original, being only a simile, is, of course, unconscious of it. In the foregoing list of puns, gathered in places mostly out of the way, where few would go to look for them, we think we have shown that paranomasia, which has occupied the gravest, the brightest, and the strongest minds of men, is not such an ignoble employment after all, and from the verses of Hood and some of our own authors, we could also show that, among the sportive efforts of the intellect, ranked under the headings of wit and humor, the pun is not the least brilliant and effective. Hood has, on the whole, we believe, been the happiest hand at punning-if you can call him happy who had to write monthly double entendres for his bread-to eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor-like Edmund Burke, before that splendid genius sold his literature for a fine estate. Hood never italicized, and that was in his favor-keeping curiosity on the qur vive, and making the puns come as discoveries, "with unexpected light surprising," like the looks of Nora Creina; which, being interpreted, means old Nora!" And thereby hangs a parenthesis. We cannot avoid observing how that lyric of Tom Moore's instances his occasional inaptitude to interpret the old Celtic airs in all their native raciness. The original air of Nora Creina is comic, as the movement at once indicates and refers to a randy old wife, who takes snuff, has not the slightest objection to a thimbleful of whisky, and then, her arms akimbo, capers a jig with the youngest on the floor. Moore gives us a mild maiden-charmingly enough, to be sure; but then he has ridiculously retained the word creina -ripe or old-making a queer jumble of the idea, except to the ignorant Saxons. The song jars on every Gaelic ear. Jam satis! In ending this gossip of puns, we should do so with great satisfaction-the satisfaction of Mrs. Blimber, could she but see the Tusculan villa !— if we could have ranked two names with the great punsters enumerated-Dante and George Washington. We have a dim idea that a Dantean pun may be found somewhere; but, respecting Washington, we have our fears. Perhaps Professor Sparks could resolve the question whether the Pater Patria did ever make a pun, or not. LIVING IN THE COUNTRY. The Children are sent to School-Old Soldiers-An Invitation, and Cruel Disappointment-Our Eldest begins to show Symptoms of the Tender Passion-Poetry-The Melodies of Mother Goose-Little Posterity by the Wayside-A Casualty-The Drowning of Poor Little Tommy. E have sent the children to school. WE Under the protecting wing of Mrs. Sparrowgrass, our two eldest boys passed in safety through the narrow channel of orthography, and were fairly launched upon the great ocean of reading before a teacher was thought of. But when boys get into definitions, and words more than an inch long, it is time to put them out, and pay their bills once a quarter. Our little maid, five years old, must go with them, too. The boys stipulated that she should go, although she had never gone beyond E in the alphabet before. When I came home from the city in the evening, I found them with their new carpet-satchels all ready for the morning. There was quite a hurrah! when I came in, and they swung their book-knapsacks over each little shoulder by a strap, and stepped out with great pride, when I said, “Well done, my old soldiers." Next morning we saw the old soldiers marching up the garden-path to the gate, and then the little procession halted; and the boys waved their caps, and one dear little toad kissed her mitten at us-and then away they went with such cheerful faces. Poor old soldiers! what a long, long siege you have before you! Thank Heaven for this great privilege, that our little ones go to school in the country. Not in the narrow streets of the city; not over the flinty pavements; not amid the crush of crowds, and the din of wheels: but out in the sweet woodlands and meadows; out in the open air, and under the blue sky-cheered on by the birds of spring and summer, or braced by the stormy winds of ruder seasons. Learning a thousand lessons city children never learn; getting nature by heart-and treasuring up in their little souls the beautiful stories written in God's great picture-book. We have great times now when the old soldiers come home from school in the afternoon. The whole household is put under martial law until the old 1856.] Living in the Country. Bless their soldiers get their rations. white heads, how hungry they are. Once in a while they get pudding, by Then what chuckling way of a treat. and rubbing of little fists, and cheers, as the three white heads touch each other over the pan. I think an artist could make a charming picture of that group of urchins, especially if he painted them in their school-knapsacks. Sometimes we get glimpses of their minor world—its half-fledged ambitions, its puny cares, its hopes and its disapThe first afternoon they pointments. returned from school, open flew every satchel, and out came a little book. A conduct-book! There was G. for good boy, and R. for reading, and S. for spelling, and so on; and opposite every letter a good mark. From the early records in the conduct-books, the schoolmistress must have had an elegant time of it for the first few days, with the old soldiers. Then there came a dark day; and on that afternoon, from the force of circumstances, the old soldiers did not seem to care about showing up. Every little reluctant hand, however, went into its satchel upon requisition, and out came the records. It was evident, from a tiny legion of crosses in the books, that the mistress's duties had been rather irksome that morning. So the small column was ordered to deploy in line of battle and, after a short address, dismissed, without pudding. In consequence, the old soldiers now get some good marks every day. We begin to observe the first indica- the little world that is allowed to go into note. There was much chuckling over We begin to think our eldest is nourbuttons. He has been seen brushing ishing a secret passion, under his bellhis hair more than once, lately; and, not long since, the two youngest came home crying, without him. Upon investigation, we found our eldest had gone off with a school-girl twice his size; and, when he returned, he said he had only gone home with her, because she promised to put some bay rum on his hair. He has even had the audacity to ask me to write a piece of poetry about her, and of course I complied. TO MY BIG SWEETHEART. And blue forget-me-not eyes; Or venture her lips to taste; Chocolate-drop of my heart! I dare not breathe thy name; And the tassel atop of my cap, I feel as if something had got in my throat, I passed your garden and there, Reminded me, love, of you; |