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THE WINE-GLASS.

Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow?
Who hath contentions ? Who
hath wounds without cause ?
Who hath redness of eyes?
They that tarry long at the
wine! They that go to
seek mixed wine! Look
not thou upon the
wine when it is red,
when it giveth its
colour in the

CUP;

when it

moveth itself

aright.
At

the last

it biteth like a

serpent, and stingeth like an adder.

The reader will pardon our indulging an extract or two from poems which, for their exquisite melody or ideal beauty, strike us as eminently poetic: Sir I. Suckling's beautiful ode,

"Pr'ythee why so pale fond lover,
Pr'ythee why so pale ?" &c.,

has been quoted by Congreve as one of the most excellent in our tongue. The following, given in Lord Oxford's works by an old English writer, is unquestionably one of the most exquisite and regular odes extant :

"Only tell her that I love,

Leave the rest to her and fate,
Some kind planet from above,
May perhaps her pity move;
Lovers on their stars must wait,
Only tell her that I love.

"Why, oh why should I despair,
Mercy's pictured in her eye;
If she once vouchsafe to hear,
Welcome hope and welcome fear;
She's too good to let me die,
Why, oh why should I despair."

The subjoined stanzas also speak for themselves in this delicate feeling and refined taste; the author is Samuel Daniel, who lived in the year of grace 1590:

"Love is a sicknesse full of woes,

All remedies refusing;

A plant that most with cutting grows,
Most barren with best using,
Why so?

More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
Heigh ho!

"Love is a torment of the minde,
A tempest everlasting;

And Jove hath made it of a kinde,
Not well, nor full, nor fasting,
Why so?

More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
Heigh ho!"

Coleridge pronounced the following sonnet on Night, by the late Rev. I. Blanco White, the finest and most grandly conceived in our language:

"Mysterious Night! when our first parents knew
Thee, from report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame-
This glorious canopy of light and blue?
Yet 'neath a current of translucent dew,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus with the hosts of heaven came,

And, lo! Creation widened in man's view.
Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed,
Within thy beams, O sun? or who could find,
Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed,

That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind?
Why do we, then, shun death with anxious strife-
If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?"

A few lines from the delicious tones of Coleridge himself, on
Age," cannot fail to be read with pleasure :-

"Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
Where hope clung feeding like a bee-
Both were mine! Life went a maying
With Nature, Hope and Poesy,
When I was young!

When I was young! ah, woeful when!
Ah for the change 'twixt now and then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands,

How lightly then it flashed along-
Like those trim skiffs unknown of yore,
On winding lakes, and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,

That fear no spite of wind or tide."

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66 Youth and

Of the echo-poems, D'Israeli has presented us with some amusing specimens: the wit of these performances consisting in the construction of the last syllables, so that on being repeated, as if by an echo, it should convey a separate and pointed meaning. At times, this fancied repetition had an effect corresponding with that of the Irishman's echo, which not merely repeated his sentences, but varied them to make more fun, and even answered them for when he said

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Another species of literary diversion may be noticed in the curious combinations of words, mostly in Latin, by some of the early writers, in which, however, their wit is less discernible than their patient ingenuity. One of these has calculated that the following verses might be changed in their order, and re-combined in thirty-nine million nine hundred and sixteen thousand eight hundred different ways; and that to complete the writing

out of this series of combinations, it would occupy a man ninety-one years and forty-nine days, if he wrote at the rate of twelve hundred verses daily. This is the wondrous distich:

Lex, grex, rex, spes, res, jus, thus, sal, sol bona lux, laus!

Mars, mors, sors, fraus, fox, styx, nox, crux, pus, mala cis, lis!

This singular jumble in poetry has been thus rendered into English:

Law, flocks, king, hopes, riches, right, incense, salt, sun good torch, praise to you, Mars, death, destiny, fraud, impurity, Styx, night, the cross, bad humors, and evil power, may you be condemned.

Among the ingenious pastimes of poets, we must notice the following, which is unique in its way-each word reads the same backwards and forwards:

"Odo tenet mulum,

Madidam mappam tenet anna."

This couplet cost the author, says an old book, a world of foolish labor.
The following Latin verse, which is composed with much ingenuity,
affords two very opposite meanings, by merely transposing the order of the
words:-

"Prospicimus modo, quod durabunt tempore longo,
Fœdera, nec patriæ pax cito diffugiet."

"Diffugiet cito pax patriæ, nec fœdera longo,

Tempore durabunt, quod modo prospicimus."

Before leaving this class of literary performances, we may also cite a comical Latin-English love ditty, given by Coleridge, as followeth. It is an artful combination of Latin, so as to produce sensible English sounds, as one of the most witty productions of Dean Swift:

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We give, as a specimen of alliteration, what we regard as a literary curiosity-whoever has attempted an acrostic, will fully appreciate the ingenuity evinced in the following:

"SIEGE OF BELGRADE.

"An Austrian army awfully arrayed,
Boldly by battery besieged Belgrade;
Cossack commanders cannonading come,
Dealing destruction's devastating doom:
Every endeavor engineers essay,

For fame, for fortune-fighting furious fray;

Generals 'gainst generals grapple-gracious God!

How honors Heaven heroic hardihood!

Infuriate-indiscriminate in ill,

Kinsmen kill kinsmen-kinsmen kindred kill!

Labor low levels loftiest, longest lines

Men march 'mid mounds, 'mid moles, 'mid murd'rous mines:

Now noisy noxious numbers notice naught

Of outward obstacles opposing ought:

Poor patriots, partly purchased, partly pressed,

Quite quaking, quickly quarter, quarter 'quest:

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A very learned Frenchman, in conversation with Dr. Wallace, professor of geometry in the University of Oxford about the year 1650, and author of a grammar on the English language written in Latin, after expatiating with the Doctor on the copiousness of the French language, and its richness in derivations and synonymes, produced, by way of illustration, the following four lines on rope-making:

"Quand un cordier, cordant, veult corder un corde;
Pour sa corde corder, trois cordons ill accord;
Mais, si un des cordons de la corde decorde,

Le cordon decordand fait decorder la corde."

To show that the English language was at least equally rich and copious, Dr. Wallace immediately translated the French into as many lines of English, word for word, using the word twist to express the French corde:

"When a twister a twisting, will twist him a twist;

For the twisting of his twist, he three twines doth intwist;

But if one of the twines of the twist do untwist,

The twine that untwisteth untwisteth the twist."

Here were verbs, nouns, participles and synonymes to match the French. To show farther the power and versatility of the English, Dr. W. added the four following lines, which continue the subject:

"Untwisting the twine that untwisted between,
He twirls with his twister the two in a twine;
Then twice having twisted the twines of the twine,
He twisteth the twine he had twined in twain."

The French funds had been exhausted at the outset. Not so with the English; for Dr. Wallace, pushing his triumph, added yet four other lines, which follow:

"The twain that in twining before in the twine,
As twins were intwisted, he now doth entwine;
'Twixt the twain intertwisting a twine more between,
He, twirling his twister, makes a twist of the twine."

Dr. Adam Clarke, to whom we are indebted for the record of the preceding trial of skill between the two philologists, adds in conclusion, that "he questions whether there is another language in the universe capable of such a variety of flections, or which can afford so many terms and derivatives, all legitimate, coming from the same radix, without borrowing a single term from another tongue, or coining one for the sake of the sound; for there is not a word used by Dr. Wallace in these lines which is not purely Anglo-Saxon, not one exotic being entertained."

D'Israeli has garnered many curious particulars respecting the peculiar fancies and vagaries indulged by the lovers of the "gentle craft;" it will not be expected, however, that we cite from so well-known a chronicler : nor is it necessary that we refer to the passionate love of the muse, and her

inspired numbers, by some of her votaries. Southey, it will be remembered, so highly esteemed Cowper's beautiful Lines to his Mother's Portrait, that he is reported to have said, he would willingly barter all he had written for their authorship. This is high tribute to the amiable yet melancholy muse of Cowper; but we are digressing. We therefore return to our anomalous and curious selections; and first, beg to present an ingenious piece of literary Mosaic:

"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
In every clime, from Lapland to Japan;
To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray,
The proper study of mankind is man."

"Tell! for you can, what is it to be wise,

Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain?
The man of Ross!' each lisping babe replies,
And drags, at each remove, a length'ning chain.

"Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
Far as the solar walk or milky-way?
Procrastination is the thief of time,

Let Hercules himself do what he may.

"'Tis education forms the common mind,
The feast of reason and the flow of soul;
I must be cruel only to be kind,

And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole.

"Syphax! I joy to meet thee thus alone,
Where'er I roam, whatever lands I see;
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown,
In maiden meditation fancy free.

"Farewell! and wheresoe'er thy voice be tried,
Why to yon mountain turns the gazing eye,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

"Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,

Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
Laugh where we must, be candid where we can,

Man never is, but always to be blest."

Two more, and our quotations close; first, a sonnet on-Nothing-curious from its comprehensiveness, and singular, from the fact, that all other writers have chosen something for the exercise of their pen:

"Mysterious Nothing! how shall I define

Thy shapeless, baseless, placeless emptiness;
Nor form, nor color, sound, nor size are thine,
Nor words, nor fingers, can thy voice express;
But though we canuot thee to aught compare,
A thousand things to thee may likened be,
And though thou art with nobody nowhere,

Yet half mankind devote themselves to thee.
How many books thy history contain,

How many heads thy mighty plans pursue,
What lab'ring hands thy portion only gain,
What busy-bodies thy doings only do.

To thee, the great, the proud, the giddy bend,
And-like my sonnet-all in nothing end."

Our last will not be deemed the least in wit, point, or power. It is from the pen of the well-known, and lamented Thomas Hood; and it is worthy

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