The Bed-Book of Happiness Part 17

BOTH _(with enthusiasm)_ Monsieur, pray!

M. LOYAL "Myrtilla (lest a scandal rise The lady's name I thus disguise), Dying of ennui, once decided-- Much on resource herself she prided-- To choose a hat. Forthwith she flies On that momentous enterprise.

Whether to Pet.i.t or Logros, I know not: only this I know;-- Headdresses then, of any fashion, Bore names of quality, or pa.s.sion.

Myrtilla tried them, almost all: 'Prudence,' she felt, was somewhat small; 'Retirement' seemed the eyes to hide; 'Content,' at once, she cast aside.

'Simplicity,'--'twas out of place; 'Devotion' for an older face; Briefly, selection smaller grew, 'Vexatious! odious!'--none would do!

Then, on a sudden, she espied One that she thought she had not tried: Becoming, rather,--'edged with green,'-- Roses in yellow, thorns between.

'Quick! Bring me that!' 'Tis brought. 'Complete, Superb, enchanting, tasteful, neat,'

In all the tones. 'And this you call--?'

'"Ill-Nature," Madame. It fits all.'"

HORTENSE

A thousand thanks! So naively turned!

ARMANDE

So useful too ... to those concerned!

'Tis yours?

M. LOYAL Ah no,--some cynic wits; And called (I think)-- (_Placing his hat upon his breast_), "The Cap that Fits."

ENIGMA [Sidenote: _Mark Twain_]

Not wishing to be outdone in literary enterprise by those magazines which have attractions especially designed for the pleasing of the fancy and the strengthening of the intellect of youth, we have contrived and builded the following enigma, at great expense of time and labour:

I am a word of 13 letters.

My 7, 9, 4, 4 is a village in Europe.

My 7, 14, 5, 7 is a kind of dog.

My 11, 13, 13, 9, 2, 7, 2, 3, 6, 1, 13 is a peculiar kind of stuff.

My 2, 6, 12, 8, 9, 4 is the name of a great general of ancient times (have spelt it to best of ability, though may have missed the bull's-eye on a letter or two, but not enough to signify).

My 3, 11, 1, 9, 15, 2, 2, 6, 2, 9, 13, 2, 6, 15, 4, 11, 2, 3, 5, 1, 10, 4, 8 is the middle name of a Russian philosopher, up whose full cognomen fame is slowly but surely climbing.

My 7, 11, 4, 12, 3, 1, 1, 9 is an obscure but very proper kind of bug.

My whole is--but perhaps a reasonable amount of diligence and ingenuity will reveal that.

We take a just pride in offering the customary gold pen or cheap sewing-machine for correct solutions of the above.

THE HAPPINESS OF SIR THOMAS BROWNE [Sidenote: _Religio Medici_]

In my solitary and retired imagination (Neque enim c.u.m porticus, aut me lectulus accepit, desum mihi) I remember I am not alone, and therefore forget not to contemplate Him and His Attributes who is ever with me, especially those two mighty ones, His Wisdom and Eternity; with the one I recreate, with the other I confound, my understanding; for who can speak of Eternity without a soloecism, or think thereof without an Extasie? Time we may comprehend; 'tis but five days elder than ourselves, and hath the same Horoscope with the World; but to retire so far back as to apprehend a beginning, to give such an infinite start forwards as to conceive an end in an essence that we affirm hath neither the one nor the other, it puts my Reason to _St. Paul's_ Sanctuary: my Philosophy dares not say the angels can do it; G.o.d hath not made a Creature that can comprehend Him; 'tis a privilege of His own nature....

[Sidenote: _Religio Medici_]

Art is the perfection of Nature: were the World now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a Chaos: Nature hath made one World, and Art another. In brief, all things are artificial; for Nature is the Art of G.o.d.

[Sidenote: _Religio Medici_]

There is surely a piece of divinity in us, something that was before the Elements, and owes no homage unto the Sun. Nature tells me I am the Image of G.o.d, as well as Scripture: he that understands not thus much, hath not his introduction or first lesson, and is yet to begin the Alphabet of man. Let me not injure the felicity of others, if I say I am as happy as any: _Ruat coelum, Fiat voluntas tua_, salveth all; so that whatsoever happens, it is but what our daily prayers desire. In brief, I am content, and what should providence add more? Surely this is it we call Happiness, and this do I enjoy; with this I am happy in a dream, and as content to enjoy a happiness in a fancy, as others in a more apparent truth and reality. There is surely a nearer apprehension of anything that delights us in our dreams, than in our waked senses; without this I were unhappy: for my awaked judgment discontents me, ever whispering unto me, that I am from my friend; but my friendly dreams in night requite me, and make me think I am within his arms. I thank G.o.d for my happy dreams, as I do for my good rest, for there is a satisfaction in them unto reasonable desires, and such as can be content with a fit of happiness. And surely it is not a melancholy conceit to think we are all asleep in this World, and that the conceits of this life are as near dreams to those of the next, as the Phantasms of the night, to the conceits of the day. There is an equal delusion in both, and the one doth but seem to be the emblem or picture of the other; we are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleeps, and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul. It is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of reason, and our waking conceptions do not match the Fancies of our sleeps. At my Nativity, my Ascendant was the watery sign of _Scorpius_; I was born in the Planetary hour of _Saturn_, and I think I have a piece of that Leaden Planet in me. I am no way facetious, nor disposed for the mirth and galliardize of company; yet in one dream I can compose a whole Comedy, behold the action, apprehend the jests, and laugh myself awake at the conceits thereof: were my memory as faithful as my reason is then fruitful, I would never study but in my dreams; and this time also would I chuse for my devotions: but our grosser memories have then so little hold of our abstracted understandings that they forget the story, and can only relate to our awaked souls, a confused and broken tale of that that hath pa.s.sed.

[Sidenote: _Religio Medici_]

He is rich, who hath enough to be charitable; and it is hard to be so poor that a n.o.ble mind may not find a way to this piece of goodness. _He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord;_ there is more Rhetorick in that one sentence, than in a Library of Sermons; and indeed if those Sentences were understood by the Reader, with the same Emphasis as they are delivered by the Author, we needed not those Volumes of instructions, but might be honest by an Epitome. Upon this motive only I cannot behold a Beggar without relieving his Necessities with my Purse, or his Soul with my Prayers; those _scenical_ and accidental _differences_ between us, cannot make me forget that common and untoucht part of us both; there is under these _Cantoes_ and miserable outsides, these mutilate and semi-bodies, a soul of the same alloy with our own, whose Genealogy is G.o.d as well as ours, and in as fair a way to Salvation as our selves.

"PLEASE TO RING THE BELLE"

[Sidenote: _Hood_]

I'll tell you a story that's not in Tom Moore:-- Young Love likes to knock at a pretty girl's door: So he call'd upon Lucy--'twas just ten o'clock-- Like a spruce single man, with a smart double knock.

Now, a handmaid, whatever her fingers be at, Will run like a puss when she hears a _rat_-tat: So Lucy ran up--and in two seconds more Had questioned the stranger and answered the door.

The meeting was bliss; but the parting was woe; For the moment will come when such comers must go: So she kissed him, and whispered--poor innocent thing!-- "The next time you come, love, pray come with a ring."

THE HAPPY DEAN [Sidenote: _Dean Hole_]

My dear Hall,--I don't like the writing of this letter. I feel as I felt in childhood when they were measuring out the castor-oil in a spoon; or when, in boyhood, it was suggested "that kind Mr. Crackjaw should _just look_ at my teeth."

But the gulp and the "scrawnsh" must come.

My Master, the Archbishop, wishes me to speak at the Annual Meeting of the Church Defence Society in London, on the 9th of July, and as this is his first invitation to duty since I became his Chaplain, I cannot plead pleasure as an excuse.

Regarding the Fete des Roses at Larchwood, as the _most joyful holiday_ of my year, from my first entrance into that pleasant home until you chaperon me to the Omnibus at the gate of the Show-ground, I need not enlarge on my disappointment. The less said the better.

When Dido found aeneas did not come, She mourned in silence, and was Di do dum.

Roses are improving here, but they will be very late. May you add to the victories which your zeal and care have so well deserved. Shall you be at Sheffield? If so, you might return with me and have a quiet day's talk and ramble. With kindest regards and most obnoxious regrets, I remain yours most sincerely,

When the Church Conference was held at Newcastle, Hole told a story of a young curate who was preaching in a strange church from which the rector was away. He preached a very short sermon, and in the vestry afterwards the churchwarden remarked upon its shortness, and the curate told him that a pup at his lodgings got into his room and ate half his sermon, whereupon the churchwarden said: "I should be much obliged if you could get our rector one of the breed." Reading this story, Mr. Boultbee wrote to ask Hole if he could say what happened to the dog after eating the sermon, and the reply was:

Dear Sir,--You will be pleased to hear that when the dog had inwardly digested the sermon which he had torn, he turned over a new leaf. He had been sullen and morose; he became "a very jolly dog." He had been selfish and exclusive in his manger; he generously gave it up to an aged poodle. He had been noisy and vulgar; he became a quiet, gentlemanly dog; he never growled again; and when he was bitten he always requested the cur who had torn his flesh to be so good, as a particular favour, to bite him again. He has established a Reformatory in the Isle of Dogs for perverse puppies, and an Infirmary for Mangy Mastiffs in Houndsditch.

He has won twenty-six medals from the Humane Society for rescuing children who have fallen into the ca.n.a.l. He spends six days of the week in conducting his brothers and sisters, who have lost their ways, to the Dog's Home, and it is a most touching sight to see him leading the blind to church from morning to night on Sundays.

[Sidenote: _Dean Hole_]