[BY A FATHER AND DAUGHTER RESIDING ON THE PLANET VENUS.]
No. IV.
D. Oh, Pa, if we only had a Moon! What is life without one?
F. Well, my child, we've w'iggled along, so far. It is true, our Telluric friends may be said to have the advantage of us; but then, there's no lunacy here! Everything is on the square on this planet!
D. I don't care; I want a Moon, square or no square! There's no excuse for being sentimental here. Who is ever imaginative, right after supper? And yet Twilight is all the time we have.
F. But still, HELENE, I think our young folks are not really deficient in sentiment. What they would be, with six or seven moons, like those of SATURN or URANUS, is frightful to think of! Heavens! what poetry would spring up, like asparagus, in the genial spring-time! We should see Raptures, I warrant you! And oh, the frensies, the homicidal energies, the child-roastings! Yes, Moonshine would make it livelier here, no doubt. A fine time, truly, for Ogres, with their discriminating scent!—And what a moony sky! How odd, if one had a parlor with six windows.
D. Seven would be odder.
F. Well, seven, and a moon looking into each one of 'em! An artist would perhaps object to the cross-lights, but he needn't paint by them.
D. What kind of "lights" were you speaking of?
F. Satellites.
D. Oh, pshaw! don't tantalize me!
F. Well, cross-lights.
D. Now, pray, what may a cross-light be? An unamiable and inhospitable light, like that which gleams from the eyes of an astronomer when he is interrupted in the midst of a calculation?
F. No, nor yet the sarcastic sparkle in the eyes of a witty but selfish and unfilial young lady! Cross-lights are lights whose rays, coming from opposite quarters, cross each other.
D. (Then yours and mine are cross-lights, I guess!) If two American twenty-five cent pieces were to be placed at a distance from each other, and you stood between them——
F. My child, I could never come between friends who would gladly see each other after so long an absence!
D. I was only trying to realize your idea of "light from opposite quarters."
F. The most of 'em must be far too rusty to reflect light.
D. Oh, I dare say their reflections are heavy enough.
F. And so will mine be, soon, if you go on in that style.
D. Well, pa, I do drivel—that's a fact! Let us turn to something of more importance.
F. Suppose we now attend the Celestial Bull Fight always going on over there in the sky. On one side you perceive that gamey matador, ORION (not the "Gold Beater,") with his club and his lion's skin, a la Hercules. You observe how "unreservedly and unconditionally" he pitches into the Bull, and how superb is the attitude and ardor of his opponent. It is a splendid set-to, full of alarming possibilities. Every moment you expect to see those enormous horns engaged with the bowels of ORION, or, in default of this, to behold that truculent Club come down, Whack! on that curly pate!
D. And yet, they don't!
F. True enough,—they don't. It reminds me of one JOHN BULL, and his familiar vis-a-vis, O'RYAN the Fenian. As the celestial parties have maintained their portentous attitudes for ages, and nothing has come of it, so we may look placidly for a similar suspension in the earthly copy.
D. But their very attitudes are startling! Wasn't ORION something of a boaster?
F. Oh, yes; he was in the habit of declaring that there wasn't an animal on earth that he couldn't whip. He got come up with, however. By the way, ORION was the original Homoeopathist. His proposed father-in-law, DON OEROPION, having unfortunately put out his eyes, in a little operation for misplaced affection, he hit on the now famous principle, which, if fit for HAHNE-MAN, was fit for ORION. He went to gazing at the sun. What would have destroyed his vision if he had had any, now restored it when he didn't have any, and his sight became so keen that he was able to see through OEROPION—though, I believe, he reinforced his powers of ocular penetration with a pod-auger.
D. (Drivelling again! More Bitters, I guess!) Father, why were the Pleiades placed in the Head of TAURUS?
F. Well, my child, there are various explanations. On the Earth, they pretend to say it was meant to signify that the English women are the finest in the universe—the most sensible, the most charming, the most virtuous. No wonder, if this is so, we find their sign up there! What said MAGNUS APOLLO to young IULUS,—"Proceed, youngster, you'll get there eventually!" And MAG. was right.
D. Pa, why do they say, "the Seven Pleiades," when there are only six?
F. Well, dear, [kissing her,] perhaps there's a vacancy for you! I expect the Universe will be called in, one of these nights, to admire a new winking, blinking, and saucy little violet star—the neatest thing going! But not, I hope, just yet.
D. Boo—hoo—hoo—hoo!
F. Well, hang the Pleiades! Boo—hoo—hoo—too!