Enigmas.
143. In my first my second sat; my third and fourth I ate.
144.
Cut off my head, and singular I seem;
Cut off my tail, and plural I appear;
Cut off both head and tail, and—wondrous to relate!—
Although my middle’s left, there’s nothing there.
What is my first? It is a sounding sea,
What is my last? It is a noble river,
And in their mingling depths I sportive play,
Parent of sweetest sounds, though mute for ever.
145.
Cato and Chloe, combined well together,
Make a drink not amiss in very cold weather.
146.
My first’s the joy of every cozy dame,
And in my second o’er to England came.
My whole of every household forms a part.
Thou art not Science, but thou teachest art.
147.
My first is won, and never lost,
Reversed, it’s now before ye;
My next, reversed, is red as blood
In veins of Whig or Tory.
My whole’s so wond’rous strange, that I
Must candidly confess it,
Though you’re ingenious, it will be
A wonder if you guess it.
148.
If I had been in Stanley’s place,
When Marmion urged him to the chase,
A thing you quickly would espy
Would bring a tear to many an eye.
149.
You eat me, you drink me, deny it who can,
I’m sometimes a woman and sometimes a man.
150.
The beginning of eternity, the end of time and space,
The beginning of every end, and the end of every place.
151. My first I hope you are; my second I see you are; my whole I know you are.
152. My first is French, my second English, and my whole Latin.
153.
My first the fair Ophelia gave the Queen;
My next a steed, as ancient legends make it;
If fair Ophelia’s gift my whole had been,
Pray, would her majesty do right to take it?
The following fine example of the charade is from the facile pen of W. M. Praed:
154.
“The canvas rattled on the mast
As rose the swelling sail,
And gallantly the vessel passed
Before the cheering gale.
And on my first Sir Florice stood,
As the far shore faded now,
And looked upon the lengthening flood
With a pale and pensive brow.
‘When I shall bear thy silken glove
Where the proudest Moslems flee,
My ladye-love, my ladye-love,
Oh, waste one thought on me!’
“Sir Florice lay in a dungeon-cell,
With none to soothe or save,
And high above his chamber fell
The echo of the wave;
But still he struck my second there,
And bade its tones renew
Those hours when every hue was fair,
And every hope was true.
‘If still your angel footsteps move
Where mine may never be,
My ladye-love, my ladye-love,
“Not long the Christian captive pined,
My whole was round his neck,
A sadder necklace ne’er was twined
So white a skin to deck.
Queen Folly ne’er was yet content
With gems or golden store;
But he who wears this ornament
Will rarely sigh for more.
‘My spirit to the heaven above,
My body to the sea,
My heart to thee, my ladye-love,
Oh, weep one tear for me!’”
We cannot better conclude than with the beautiful, though hackneyed, enigma on the letter H, one of the most perfect ever written. The honor of its authorship belongs to Miss Ferrier.
155.
“’Twas whispered in Heaven, ’twas muttered in Hell,
And Echo caught faintly the sound as it fell;
On the confines of Earth ’twas permitted to rest,
And the depths of the Ocean its presence confessed.
’Twill be found in the sphere when ’tis riven asunder,
Be seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder;
’Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath,
Attends at his birth, and awaits him in death;
Presides o’er his happiness, honor and health,
Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth.
In the heaps of the miser ’tis hoarded with care,
But is sure to be lost by his prodigal heir.
It begins every hope, every wish it must bound;
With the husbandman toils, with the monarch is crowned;
Without it the soldier, the sailor may roam,
But woe to the wretch who expels it from home!
In the whisper of conscience its voice will be found,
Nor e’en in the whirlwind of passion be drowned.
’Twill not soften the heart; but, though deaf to the ear,
’Twill make it acutely and instantly hear.
In shade let it rest—like a delicate flower,
Or breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour!”