'Why,' said the minstrel, 'we poets are permitted a peculiar latitude of language, which enables us to tell Homeric falsehoods, without fear of the society for discountenancing vice. Thus, when we speak of
The lightning of her angel smile,
we do not expect one to believe that fire comes out of her mouth, whenever it laughs.'
'Not unless her teeth were flints,' said Jerry. 'But if you said that fire came out of her eyes, one would believe you sooner; for this I know, that many and many a time Molly has struck fire out of mine.'
'A heroine's eye,' said I, 'gives a greater scope to the poet than any thing in the world. It is all fire and water. If it is not beaming, or sparkling, it is sure to be drowned or swimming——'
'In the Pacific Ocean, I hope,' cried Jerry.
'No, but in tears,' said the minstrel. 'And of these there is an infinite variety. There is the big tear, and the bitter tear, and the salt tear, and the scalding tear.'
'And, ah!' cried I, 'how delightful, when two lovers lay cheek to cheek, and mingle these tears; or when the tender youth kisses them from his mistress's cheek!'
'Troth, then, that must be no small compliment,' said Jerry, 'since they are so brackish and scalding as you say. Water itself is maukish at any time, but salt water is the devil. Well, if I took such a dose of a snivelling chit's tears, I would season it with a dram, or my name is not Jerry.'
'And, by the by, I wish Jerry were not your name,' said I. ''Tis so vulgar for a warden. Indeed, I have often thought of altering it to Jeronymo; which, I fancy, is the Italian of Jerry. For, in my opinion, nothing can equal Italian names ending in O.'