There's many a plea made out of time, And thus we often see The silly lover makes too sure Before he makes his plea. But these two words, when well combined 8. Oh happiest theme for Grub Street bards; But 'tis thy skill and splendour showing. When Thomas takes fair Ann to church, And vows he never will forsake her, Silk-worm, for thee is all the gaze, For thou hast been the mantua-maker. But if the bridal's thine, no bride Wilt thou be follow'd to the minster, 9. The Sea is cross'd all o'er and o'er by help of needle fine, The yellow, red, and black, and white-and ere you cross the line You see its waters blue and green.- The second is a Son, Which all men are of woman born-yet so unborn was one, For Adam was ere woman was;-thus every man on earth, Beggar and king, a mother had to whom he owed his birth. Join Sea and Son-you Season make, which varies everywhere, As climate or as weather makes, and is or foul or fair; 'Tis hot, 'tis cold, 'tis wet, 'tis dry, fish, flesh, fowl, love, and treason, Even prose and rhyme are sometimes in and sometimes out of Season. 10. See Petrarch's sonnet ere you solve this riddle. Two letters from beginning, end, and middle, Ta'en from Verona-Ve-Ro-Na-denote Three famous cities; but I rather quote Το Verona's fame from age to age pass Those her "Two Gentlemen " for every stage, Above all heroes as Verona's stay, Who make the title of our Shakespeare's play. 11. Both sun and moon a shadow make, Which does of neither nature take; For darkest 'tis, the nearest light And moon-made shadows oft affright. But shadow might be thought begun When yet was neither moon nor sun. Akin to chaos-newly born Tis biggest at mid-day 'tis shorn; Longest at evening, as in the morn All length it reaches-seldom still; 12. Your first alone would give no guide The word's veiled meaning to divine; For what fair lady could decide That such would be the effect of wine? The next affords a better clue, To female hearts is more akin, The word's full sense will clearly shine, Although the vaunt is somewhat bold, Round maiden's heart so sure to twine. 13. What bolder, louder than a gun? 14. Is not a glove handsome, and ought it not to be matched? for it is one, and should be a pair. It has the offer of every lady's hand; and has it not received all the love-letters, L. O. V. E.? and yet one letter too many, G., overpowers the proper emphasis of love. So that as glove, it is doubtless off and on with many. Is no bride itself, but cast off at the altar at the moment of to have and to hold. No priest will put on a ring over a glove. As a glove, all desire to see it matched; yet as long as it is a glove it must be single, though so many hold out their arms to receive it. 15. Remove the letter s from space, Of all the suits within the pack, 16. Fairest is the morning dawn, Making mourning sorrow. Paints the dawn's adorning; Saddening weeds are bridal flowers, Mourning is bright morning. 17. All peoples, languages, and nations, Far as north, south, east, west, can reach, 18. Of Bourbon the last syllable, It little boots-say, how, or where A net is cast in sea, or air? It catches game, preserves your peaches; A bonnet is, as fashion teaches VOL. LXXVI.-NO. CCCCLXV. And Fashions' purtenance is French, She had not caught the heart of Dis. Were not o'erburthen'd much with stays, Or vests to keep a floweret in. 19. A shoe and string denote the thing For either are as given to pair, For use and show the string's a beau, For wear and tear, for foul and fair, Both are undone, since both make one, String saw their plans, forbad the banns, "Twixt him and shoe-henceforth the two United are for ever. Long may they reign, a happy train, And by the foot, the rival boot 20. A thing must be something; It bids you ignore it; And nothing can't make anything. C But nothing must be For nothing and something Either in this our age, or any after history. 21. A negative is no, Blessing beyond price, Making thee more than man. Less than man art thou. Art thou the whole? Thou hast a vow Unmans thee, heart and soul; For, pardon'd be the pun, A novice will be nun (none.) 22. Nap little was, yet none stood higher; 23. The letter I if you pursue, You'll thank your stars it is not U; And which you say is found in no man, But, sir, suppose your charge was true, Ill-furnish'd garrets often fit, In modern phrase you may have learn'd, How sad the Room where misery lies, 25. I wonder much you waste your wit 26. Three epithets belong to top, The peg, the whipping, and the humming, It boils and broils, and stews and fries, THE "long results of time" bring about strange combinations. Meeting and crossing each other here and there on their living way, there yet could be no less likely union in the thoughts of posterity, or in the history of their time, than that of the two names which head this page. The most frank and unreserved of autobiographers, knowing many compunctions, but no shame; and the most courtly and polished of antique gentlemen, perpetually holding himself erect on the poise of natural self-respect and formal dignity, Samuel Pepys and John Evelyn, of all men most unlike each other, come down to us, side by side. The one unfolds his brisk panorama, the other solemnly exhibits his stately picture. Wicked human nature, always least alive to propriety, looks respectfully, but with a yawn, upon the one, and chuckles aloud, shaking its head for decorum's sake, with infinite amusement and unrestrained laughter, over the other. How the two chroniclers might esteem their different degrees of popularity, or if the disclosure of all his wicked ways would shame Mr Secretary Pepys at last, the curiosity which he satisfies so frankly has no means of ascertaining now; but it requires no great penetration to perceive with what stately disgust his patrician companion, who leaves behind him nothing to be ashamed of, would turn from this wicked little impersonation of bustle, vanity, and spirit, who smuggles along the solemn highway of history by the Lord of Wotton's side. In spite of all the vices of the time, the very climax and culmination as it was of public riot and license, of universal depravity and fashionable vileness, it keeps its hold strangely upon the imagination, perhaps, as the close of the picturesque in English history. It was hard to believe in domestic peace after so long an interval of broil and battle; and the unmitigated disaster of the civil war, and the rugged heroical sway of the Commonwealth, if they braced the kingdom and its people for all imaginable hardships, left them shiftless and undefended against the enervating influences of luxury. No sooner had the iron gripe of Cromwell faltered from the reins of state which he alone could hold-no sooner had the sunny light of holiday burst forth again over a land so long held fast by the stern claims of duty and necessity-than all England yielded itself up, flushed and languid, to the unaccustomed pleasure. With song and story in his train-with misfortune and exile past to endear him to the human heart of the nation-with fluttering imps, gay in the stolen robes of Loves and Graces, scattering flowers upon his way, the banished Charles, a youthful gallant, burst gay upon the fascinated sight which for many a day had forgotten pageants. The traditionary splendours of Elizabeth, the meaner merrymakings of James, the austere magnificence of that melancholy Charles whom many honoured as a martyr, and all knew in the majesty of fate and sorrow, had links of association with this new period which the Commonwealth altogether lacked. The hereditary monarchy resumed its place with triumph, and the king who could speak of his royal ancestors through many a previous generation, grasped to the instincts of the people, in a way which the kingliest man on earth, being the son of his own deeds alone, must always fail to do. The kingdom flashed into a sudden uproar of unreasoning enjoyment. No one asked if it was, after all, so mighty a felicity for England that the king should enjoy his own again. The country blindfolded itself with hearty purpose and goodwill, and, breaking forth of all its late restraints, gave itself up heart and soul to the frolic, glad to forget what went before, and unthinking of all that should follow when its pranks were done. Youth and high spirits masked with a natural and graceful illusion the license of the Court; and so long as the crowned head was new in its dominion, no intrusive familiarity stepped in to draw aside the veil. The country, which enjoyed so thoroughly its own riotous festival, was perfectly pleased to look on with indulgent complacency on the more prolonged rejoicings of the king; a brisk activity of pleasure stirred the universal pulses. Long ago one must be idle if one would be gay; but now there was none of all your sober craftsmen so constantly occupied as your man of pleasure. Where great affairs of state were deliberatedwhere vast projects were put forth by one imperial will, and executed by many stout and valorous hands in comparative silence-every corner was alive now with some device of entertainment-something to beguile and cheat the time which Cromwell found so short and fleeting for all he had to do; and when sober men began to resume their common life once more, they turned still a smiling glance upon those gardens of Armida, those fabulous bowers of youth and luxury and royal pleasure, which enclosed the king. But, after all, there is no such wearisome thing in the world as a prolonged unnatural holiday. Capricious England grew tired of its play-the dusty heated afternoon eclipsed the fresh glories of the morning. The revels that looked so bright at first, began to pall. It was no longer the exuberance of youth, but the coarse mirth of custom that rang in shouts as loud as ever from the high places; and the astonished nation, stopping short in its own dance, looked with disenchanted eyes upon the whirl of careless gaiety, which hid from royal sight and observation the life of the country and the wellbeing of the world. No virtuous man, were he ever so great a votary of the royal Martyr, could contrast the clear daylight of the great usurper's rule, and this hectic illumination, without an involuntary sigh for the sovereign power which was no longer an honour and a defence to England. The sober sense of the nation sickened at this heedless tumult of gaiety; all that was pure and honourable shrank back in horror from the undisguised debauchery of these polluted palaces; the national pride was at once offended and humiliated by defenceless coasts, and a presuming and unpunished enemy, while rumours of French influence meanly submitted to of French bribes still more meanly accepted-sank the once worshipped king into the depths of popular contempt. But there is seldom so great an evil in present existence as to shut out fear of a greater, and the Duke of York, the unwise and unprosperous James, was his brother's |