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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
Both as to time and measure,
Will seldom fail to gain their end
And solve your riddle Pleasure.

8.

Oh happiest theme for Grub Street bards;
O little worm, to thee 'tis owing
That beauty walks in silk array,

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, For 'tis thy fate to furnish brides And be thyself a noted spinster.

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All length it reaches-seldom still;
And though a point on mountain tops
Into the deepest valleys drops,

And spreads the curtain of the hills.
The silent shadow 'midst the roar
Of cannon flies from shore to shore,
Follows the smoke its pall to spread
Over the dying and the dead;
Before, behind, it takes its part,
Shows every head, but not one heart,
No substance having, falsely view'd
With loss of substance oft pursued,
Yet never grasped-so small, the shell
Of hazel-nut might hold it well;
So large, by mightiest hand 'tis hurled
Beyond the confines of the world.

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,
Maternal love, both strong and true,
Will ever fondly bless a twin.
To arts and arms, to toil and skill,
Too true, it is not always in
The power of those who have the skill
Success in their pursuit to win.

But now its parts restore, behold,

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?
Change u to i-beware-oh, shun
That sly soft path-and see therein
The metamorphosis to gin.

Spring, gun, and gin, are sometimes one;
You're caught by gin, and shot by gun;
Yet gun and gin, in general view,
Two ways of doing work pursue.
For gun goes off, if there be danger-
But gin is not so wide a ranger,
But close and secret lurks, for such is
His art to catch you in his clutches.
This riddle may a trap imply,
Which may not at first reading strike.
That as the letters-You and I-
Whate'er we seem, are not alike;
Small difference in our moral sight
Makes right seem wrong, and wrong seem
right.

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,
You find the measure of a pace;
Then banish p, you have the ace.
Within a palm is space confined,
And is unlimited as mind.

Of all the suits within the pack,
Whether they be the red or black,
By far most potent is the Ace,
The sovereign stamp is on his face.
Whatever honours others claim,
He is the very trump of fame;
Highest or lowest, all he braves,
Kings, queens, and baffles e'en the knaves,
As lowest cut, new strength reveals,
And takes precedence in the deals;
In life, as cards, the game is won,
By taking care of number one.
But your Etcæteras to answer,
Although most easily I can, sir,
And notice all their nice conditions,
Would be but idle repetitions.
Suffice, though I shall not recite 'em,
That space is found in every item.

16.
Fairest is the morning dawn,
Fair will be its morrow;
Interfere not fatal U,

Making mourning sorrow.
U enchantress-roseate tints-
Can you never spare them?
Bidding bridal flowers be weeds,
Weeping widows wear them.
U depart-how sweet a dew

Paints the dawn's adorning; Saddening weeds are bridal flowers, Mourning is bright morning.

17.

All peoples, languages, and nations,
Of whatsoe'er pronunciations,

Far as north, south, east, west, can reach,
Sound a, the letter in their speech.
Alike the savage and polite,
In this at least agreeing quite,
A surely stood in front of Adam
As second, and as fourth in madam.
Adam prefixed it to the name
Of creatures all that to him came;
All who confounded were at Babel,
To utter this one sound were able.
Utter'd by rudest Hottentot,
As 'twas by Zeno in his stoa;
And if days were when it was not,
It must have been the days of NoÁh.

18.

Of Bourbon the last syllable,
To net united, rightly spell,

A bonnet is the thing new made,

And without millinery aid

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,
A ground on which none dare to trench.
The real judgment 'tis of Paris,
For which to fight, as if pro aris-
For should an English dame profess
To be of taste the arbitress-
The fatal issue's beyond telling-
They'd put a bonnet on some Helen,
A casus belli shout with joy,
And act another siege of Troy.
Would Pluto ere have been consenting
To quit the pleasure of tormenting,
And keeping satisfactory eye on
Th' eternal treadmill of Ixion,
For Ceres' daughter up in Enna,
With a complexion brown as senna?
Which surely must have been the case
Without protection to her face;
Tho' very certain without this
She had not caught the heart of Dis.
She gather'd flowers, and why ?—with art
To make her bonnet look more smart.

For nicest ladies in those days

Were not o'erburthen'd much with stays,
Nor kerchiefs whereunto to pin,

Or vests to keep a floweret in.
But not to mar with low conclusion
The grand historical allusion,
Nor hurt in bonnet's own behoof
This dignity of classic proof,

Worthy a fourteen power of sonnet,
All meaner thoughts must stand aloof
-Good sir-your riddle means a Bonnet.
Let nothing more be said upon it,
But this-let French or English pin it,
We bless all heads that are within it.

19.

A shoe and string denote the thing
You wish me to discover,
For either are as given to pair,

As mistress and a lover.

For use and show the string's a beau,
And both so tied together,

For wear and tear, for foul and fair,
As up and under leather.

Both are undone, since both make one,
If once the tie be broken-
Shoe sued in fright, of such a plight
To Buckle the fair-spoken.

String saw their plans, forbad the banns,
Then tied his knot so clever

"Twixt him and shoe-henceforth the two United are for ever.

Long may they reign, a happy train,
Each to the other fitted-

And by the foot, the rival boot
Like Buckle be outwitted.

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The letter I if you pursue,
You'll thank your stars it is not U;
'Twas not in Eve, but in her guilt,
In Cain-not him whose blood he spilt;
'Tis not in heaven or in earth,
In sin coeval with its birth;
'Tis not in man nor angel found,
Alas! elsewhere it should abound!-
In man's long life, perplexed with evil,
In maid, wife, widow, and in devil.
I understand your riddle, sir,
But to its sense I must demur;
Maid, wife, and widow, are terms all
Coin'd for man's use conventional.
If man and angel you exempt,
Put not on women your contempt;
For that same letter you bring in
To be the magic sign of sin,

And which you say is found in no man,
Is absent equally in woman.

But, sir, suppose your charge was true,
The evil rather rests with you;
Your argument is but a fib,
Although in language very glib;
For woman was but Adam's rib,
And you admit if, by your leave,
No sign of it was found in Eve;
The evil was in man unwedded,
Transferred to her but when she wedded.

24.

You'd be a wondrous Architect,
Could you an edifice erect,
As cheaply as your Room you make
By riddling lines for Fancy's sake,
And outdo Milton with your chime,

And "build" a "lofty" room, not "rhyme."

Ill-furnish'd garrets often fit,
The upper storey of a wit,
Both empty, noticed oft to quit.
Rooms silent are from wall to floor,
Or set the tables in a roar.

In modern phrase you may have learn'd,
A House is out of windows turn'd,
Whether a rich man's or a poor's,
Ne'er was a room turn'd out of doors.
A sick room, left with scarce a shred,
Is better, if it keeps its bed.

How sad the Room where misery lies,
How gorgeous where the rich man dies-
Where jewels shine in nightly blaze,
Where lovers up to windows gaze;
Where in despite some day-blind covers
The scrutinies of sun and lovers,
Giving their good look-out chagrin,
By not allowing looking in;
And tho' it furnish'd be with glasses,
No spectacles can see what passes,
For windows are but eyes disposed
To let in the most light when closed.

25.

I wonder much you waste your wit
A parish seaton's head to hit,
Who with his pick, or soon or late,
Will be revenged upon your pate.
For grave things, with your riddles, must
By him be riddled into dust.
Then, tho' he may not understand
Your riddles, with his spade in hand,
Ding-dong will have the upper hand.
Now turn your room about-both sound
And letters. How enlarged the bound,
For room, as Coleman says, read back,
"Like every other moor is black."
If Earth, it little profit yields
Except the rental of Moorfields.
The Moor Othello's jealous rage
Is often acted on the stage.
Bright sunshine and blue skies attest
Fair weather on the moorland's breast,
Yet sportsmen rather love moorfowl,
But when the wintry tempests howl
Along the moor and snow-drifts toss it,
There may be danger if you cross it.

26.

Three epithets belong to top,
Which for generic term we drop;
The peg, the whipping, and the humming,
With each its proper place to come in.
The huming top in nurseries reigns,
The whipping in by-courts and lanes;
The manly peg all these disdains,
And with his challenges is found
Within the schoolboy's proper ground.
Thus far in unpoetic diction
The topographical description.-
The schoolboy given up to play,
Finds whipping-tops in learning's way,
Not thinking that, to serve good stead,
The better top should be the head;
Tasks idly learnt, from memory slipt,
Are top's revenge by bottom whipt.
Reverse the top-you go to pot-
Its irony-cool fits and hot;

It boils and broils, and stews and fries,
Its uses, ends, and properties,

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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

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