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Love me, love my dog, an old saw found in exactly this form in Hey. wood's "Proverbs," but long before Heywood's time quoted by St. Bernard (1091–1153) as a proverb common among the vulgar: "Dicitur certo vulgari quodam proverbio: Qui me amat, amat et canem meum." (In Festo S. Michaelis, Sermo Primus, sect. iii., p. 1026, vol. i., Parisiis, 1719, fol.)

Love sought and unsought. In "Twelfth Night," Act iii., Sc. 1, Olivia says to the disguised Viola,—

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

Love is sweet

Given or returned. Common as light is love,
And its familiar voice wearies not ever;

They who inspire it most are fortunate,

As I am now; but those who feel it most

Are happier still.-SHELLEY: Prometheus Unbound.

It makes us proud when our love of a mistress is returned; it ought to make us prouder still when we can love her for herself alone, without the aid of any such selfish reflection. This is the religion of love.--HAZLITT: Characteristics.

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Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,

Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

The last line is taken from Colley Cibber:

We shall find no fiend in hell can match the fury of a disappointed woman,-scorned, slighted, dismissed without a parting pang-Love's Last Shift, Act iv.

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Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
Heights which appear as lovers who have parted
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted;
Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted,
Love was the very root of the fond rage

Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed:
Itself expired, but leaving them an age

Of years all winters,-war within themselves to wage.

Childe Harold, Canto iii., Stanza 94.

Yet lovers' quarrels have from a very early period been looked upon as very trivial matters and easily patched up:

The anger of lovers renews the strength of love.-PUBLIUS SYRUS: Maxim 24.

Amantium ira amoris integratiost ("The quarrels of lovers are the renewal of love”).— TERENCE: Andria, Act iii., Sc. 5.

Let the falling out of friends be a renewing of affection.-LYLY: Euphues.

The falling out of lovers is the renewing of love.-BURTON: Anatomy of Melancholy, Part III., sec. 2.

Love, To make. This phrase seems to have come into fashion in the early Elizabethan period, as indicated by the extract,―

If you meane either to make an Arte or an Occupation of Loue, I doubt not but you shal finde worke in the Court sufficient: but you shal not know the lengthe of my foote, vntill by your cunning you get commendation. A Phrase now there is which belongeth to your shop boorde, that is, to make loue, and when I shall heare of what fashion it is made, if I like the pattorn, you shall cut me a partiet: so as you cut not with a paire of left-handed sheares.— Euphues and his England (1581).

No stanza of Tennyson's "In Memoriam" is better

Loved and lost. known than stanza xxvii. :

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

The thought is one that finds many parallels in literature, ancient and modern. A few examples are subjoined :

Magis gauderes quod habueras [amicum], quam moreres quod amiseras ("Rejoice more greatly over the fact that you have a friend than sorrow because he dies').-Seneca: Epistle CXIX.

Better to love amiss than nothing to have loved.

CRABBE: Tale XIV.: The Struggles of Conscience.

Methinks it is better that I should have pined away seven of my goldenest years, when I was thrall to the fair hair and fairer eyes of Alice W- -n, than that so passionate a loveventure should be lost.-LAMB: Essays of Elia: New Year's Eve.

He who for love hath undergone

The worst that can befall

Is happier thousandfold than one
Who never loved at all.


It is better to love wisely, no doubt; but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all.-THACKERAY: Pendennis, vol. i. ch. vi.

As the gambler said of his dice, to love and win is the best thing, to love and lose is the next best.-Ibid., vol. ii. ch. i.

Lord Lytton carries the thought a step further when he says, in "Ernest Maltravers,"

There is in the affections themselves so much to purify and exalt, that even an erring love, conceived without a cold design,-and (when its nature is fully understood) wrestled against with a noble spirit, leaves the heart more tolerant and tender, and the mind more settled and enlarged.

Luce ex lucellum, the motto adopted by Mr. Lowe, Chancellor of the Exchequer, in April, 1871, for his proposed match-box stamp. The stamp had been designed and the whole necessary apparatus for carrying the law into effect prepared, when the measure imposing the tax was abandoned, to the universal merriment of the press. The motto especially was riddled by the shafts of ridicule. It was suggested, by way of solace to the Chancellor of the Exchequer's wounded feelings, that he should levy a tax upon photographs, and adopt the motto, "Ex sole solatium." The Chancellor's motto, however, is at most a re-invented one, and made its first appearance in connection with a satire on the long-discarded window tax.

Lucus a non lucendo, a Latin locution which might be roughly Englished "It is, because it isn't." Literally, it would mean "A grove because it does not shine,"-which calls for an explanation. The grammarian Servius,


in a fit of fine philological frenzy, derived lucus, a 'grove," "from lucere, to "shine," because a grove is dark and gloomy and does not shine. The ety mology became famous. It was received rapturously by some, derisively by most. Many parallel etymologies were suggested. Thus, ludus, “a school," was imagined to come from ludere, to "play,"- —a non ludere, because no play was allowed in it; bellum, "war," a nulla re bella, because it has nothing pleasing in it. Varro seems seriously inclined to derive cœlum, “heaven,' from celare, to "conceal," because it is open. The phrase is now applied to any absurd non sequitur or contradiction in terms.

Yet, though Servius was doubtless wrong in this special instance, he was not wrong in principle. All grammarians recognize the rhetorical figure antiphrasis, by which words are used in a sense directly opposite to their original meaning. Thus, the Greeks called the Furies the Eumenides, the benign ones, instead of by their real name, Erinnyes. And in etymology the same principle turns belle dame, a beautiful woman, into beldame, a hag. Nay, some authorities even insist that in this special instance Servius was right. The lucus, they explain, was a dark gloomy grove, sacred to some deity in whose honor mysterious and often obscene rites were performed. Hence it was called by a name euphemistic but wholly inappropriate,-a dark place being designated by a term signifying light.

This article [" Ranke's History of the Popes," by Macaulay] is called a review,--possibly because it is anything else,-as lucus is lucus a non lucendo. In fact, it is nothing more than a beautifully written treatise on the main theme of Ranke himself; the whole matter of the treatise being deduced from the history.-E. A. Poɛ.

Imagine Lindsay at the bar,

He's much the same his brethren are;
Well taught by practice to imbibe
The fundamentals of his tribe;
And in his client's just defence

Must deviate oft from common sense,
And make his ignorance discerned
To get the name of counsel learned
(As lucus comes from non lucendo),
And wisely do as other men do:
But shift him to a better scene
Among his crew of rogues in grain.

SWIFT: Answer to an Epigram by Mr. Lindsay.

Luxuries and necessaries. Holmes, in his "Autocrat of the BreakfastTable," refers enthusiastically to "that glorious Epicurean paradox uttered by my friend the historian in one of his flashing moments: 'Give us the luxuries of life, and we will dispense with its necessaries.'" The historian was John Lothrop Motley. But, after all, the phrase was a reminiscence, and not an inspiration. It is the old saying of Scopas of Thessaly, quoted by Plutarch in his "Love of Wealth :" "We rich men count our felicity and happiness to lie in these superfluities, and not in those necessary things." And Voltaire, in "Le Mondain," has substantially the same thought: "Le superflu, chose très nécessaire" ("The superfluous, a very necessary thing").

Luxury of woe.


Thomas Moore in one of his anacreontics has the

Weep on, and as thy sorrows flow,

I'll taste the luxury of woe.

He cannot be said to have been the originator of the phrase. William Mason uses a very similar expression,―

There is a solemn luxury in grief,

The English Garden (1772-82),—

and J. H. Scott, in "The Perils of Poetry, an Epistle to a Friend” (1766), has the very words: he is speaking of Otway (p. 23), and says,—

And oh, be mine, when evening shades prevail,
Pensive to listen to his tragic tale,

And feed my soul (as tears spontaneous flow)
On all the poignant luxury of woe.

What may have been the prototype of all is to be found probably in Ovid's Est quædam flere voluptas.

Tristia, IV. iii. 37.

Lying by the wall, a phrase which seems to be local to East Anglia, with the import that one is dead but not yet buried. The exact phrase in the mouth of a Suffolk peasant would be, "He lay by the walls," and it has been suggested that the expression is a corrupted form of one in which occurred the Anglo-Saxon word wael, "death" (genitive waeles), so meaning, "He is laid low by death." The earliest instance known of the occurrence of the phrase is,

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In a ballad of the fourteenth century, printed by Ritson in his "Ancient Songs" (p. 46), the same expression is met with:

Whan that ur life his leve hath lauht,

Ur bodi lith bounden bi the wowe,
Ur richesses alle from us ben raft,

In clottes colde ur cors is throwe.

The Dutch phrase "aan de laager wal zyn" ("to be brought to a low ebb") seems to be somewhat akin, and is possibly the original of "going to the wall," unless the latter is a derivation from the Suffolk phrase.

Lying for the whetstone, a phrase used against one who is grossly exaggerating. A favorite Whitsuntide amusement in ancient days was the "lie-wage" or "lie-match :" the victor carried off a whetstone as his prize. The nature of these contests may be illustrated by this well-known extravaganza. One of the contestants would declare he could see a fly on the top of a church spire. The other would reply, "Oh, yes, I saw him wink his eye." To which the first would answer, "And I saw him shed one of his eyelashes as he winked," etc., etc.

Lynch Law, an American colloquialism for summary justice at the hands of a mob, the taking of life by an improvised tribunal without due process of law. The term is said to hark back to Revolutionary times, when Charles Lynch (1726-96), a Virginia planter, in conjunction with Robert Adams and Thomas Calloway, undertook to protect society and support the American cause by punishing outlaws and traitors. Desperadoes were arrested, and when this informal court was satisfied of their guilt were punished with stripes or banishment. Tories were hung up by their thumbs until they cried "Liberty forever!" But the death-penalty was never inflicted. Lynch, during the latter part of the Revolution, became a colonel in General Greene's army. His brother John was the founder of Lynchburg, Virginia. There is nothing in the familiar story which refers the expression to a much earlier origin,-i.e., to one James Fitz-Stephen Lynch, Mayor of Galway, who, in 1493, sentenced his own son to death for murder, and, fearing a rescue, had the culprit brought home and hanged before his own door. The thing may have occurred, it certainly exists as a tradition (Thackeray mentions it in his "Irish Sketch-Book"), but the phrase lynch law is of purely American origin and must seek an American original.

Lyon verses (so called, it is said, as having first been practised by Apollinaris Sidonius, a Gallic bishop and poet of the fifth century, born at Lyons) are verses the words of which are the same whether read backward or forward. Here is a memorable English specimen,—an epitaph, so it is said, from a church in Cornwall:

Shall we all die?
We shall die all
All die shall we;

Die all we shall.


M, the thirteenth letter and tenth consonant in the English alphabet, as in the Latin, and the twelfth letter in the Greek and in the Phoenician. This letter used to be branded on a criminal convicted of manslaughter and admitted to the benefit of the clergy. "To have an M under [or by] the girdle," a now obsolescent phrase, means to address one by the courtesytitles Mr., Mrs., or Miss.

Miss. The devil take you, Neverout! besides all small curses.

Lady A. Marry come up! What, plain Neverout! methinks you might have an M under your girdle, miss.-SWIFT: Polite Conversation, i.

Macaroni, a wheaten paste, prepared in the form of hollow tubes of different diameters, is said to have originated in Sicily. And this is the legend. A wealthy nobleman of Palermo owned a cook of marvellous inventive genius. One day, in a rapture of culinary composition, this great artist devised the farinaceous tubes and served them up, with all the succulent accessories of rich sauce and grated Parmesan, in a mighty china bowl. The first mouthful elicited from the illustrious epicure the ejaculation, “Cari!" or, in idiomatic English, "The darlings!" With the second mouthful he emphasized the statement as "Ma cari!" or, in a very free translation, "Ah, but what darlings!" Presently, as the flavor of the toothsome mess grew upon him, his enthusiasm rose to even higher flights, and he cried out, in a voice tremulous with joyful emotion, "Ma caroni !"-" Ah, but dearest darlings!" In paying this verbal tribute to the merits of his cook's discovery he unwittingly bestowed a name upon that admirable preparation which has stuck to it ever since. This derivation is probably the work of some amateur etymologist (though it may be a mere jest), but, if so, is worth quoting as an excellent specimen of his art of plausible narration.

Macaronic literature (an allusion to the miscellaneous nature of a dish of macaroni), in its larger sense, a name given to any jumble of two or more languages, though experts and purists would differentiate the true from the false macaronic by insisting that the former should be a mixture of Latin (or Greek) with the vernacular, in which the words of the living language are given the inflections of the dead. Thus, "lassas kissare boneas" seems to the initiated an exquisite macaronic metamorphosis of the plain English "to kiss the bonny lasses," and they can hardly contain their joy when they find lendibus rhyming with circumbendibus. But these refinements are of later growth. In its origin macaronic literature was meant as a burlesque on the corrupt Latinity of the monks of the Middle Ages, whose sermons were a strange hodgepodge of Latin and of the vulgar language. The originator of this form of humor, or at least its earliest known professor, was one Odaxius, or Odassi, of Padua, born about 1450. His efforts were bad enough, and on his deathbed he is said to have had the grace to ask that these early effusions should

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