We know not why the privilege of education, if granted to them without question, should have been withheld from their gray spouses, who certainly would have preferred so sociable an industry to whetting the knives of the hunters, or tending watch-fires by night. But no one of us ever heard of a grandfather sucking eggs. The gentle art was apparently sacred to the gentle sex, and withheld from the shaggy lords of creation, until the fierce creatures, ignorant of the innutritious properties of the shell, took to devouring them whole.
By what means was the race of hens, for instance, preserved? Statistics might be proffered concerning the ante-natal consumption of fledglings, which would edify students of natural history. One bitterly disputed point the noble adage under consideration permanently settles; a quibble which ought to have
——"staggered that stout Stagyrite,"
and which has come even to the notice of grave, inductive theologians: videlicet, that the bird, and not the egg, may claim the priority of existence. For had it been otherwise, one's grandmother would have been early acquainted with the very article which her posterity recommended to her as a novelty, and which, with respectful care, they taught her to utilize after a fashion best adapted to her time of life.
Fallen into desuetude is this judicious and salutary custom. There must have been a time when a yellowish stain about the mouth denoted an age, a vocation, a limitation, effectually as the bulla of the youth, the maiden's girdle, "the marshal's truncheon, or the judge's robe," or any of the picturesque distinctions now crushed out of the social code. Let a cynic add, who does not fear to chase a trope beyond bounds, that though certain misguided ancient ladies may lapse, contemporaneously, into the burlesque and parody of suction, and draw towards themselves some yet coveted fooleries, compliments, gallantries,—alas! anachronisms both; yet the orthodox sucking of eggs, the innocent, austere, philosophic pastime, is no more, and that the glory of grandams is extinguished forever.
The dreadful civility of our Western woodsmen, the popular dissentient voice alike of the theatre and of the political meeting: the casting of eggs wherefrom the elements of youth and jucundity are wholly eliminated, affords a speculation on heredity, and appears as a faint echo of some traditional squabble in the morning of the world, among disagreeing kinswomen, the very primordial Battle of Eggs! where reloading was superfluous, where every shell told; whose blackest spite was spent in a golden rain and hail! What havoc over the face of young creation; what coloring of pools, and of errant butterflies! What distress amid the cleanly pixies and dryads, whose shady haunts trickled unwelcome moisture! terror not unshared even in the recesses of the coast:—
"Intus aquae dulcis, vivoque sedilia saxo,
Nympharum domus!"
One can fancy the younglings of the vast human family, the success of whose lesson to their elders was thus over-well demonstrated, marking the ebb and flow of hostilities, like the spirits of Richelieu and of the superb fourteenth Louis eying the great Revolution. What marvel if, struck with remorse at the senile strife of them whom old Fuller would name "she-citizens," they vowed never, never, to teach another grandmother to suck eggs. So was it, maybe, that the abused art was lost from the earth.
Nay, more, its remembrance is perverted into a taunt more scorching than lightning, more silencing than the bolt of Jove. "Teach your grandmother to suck eggs!" Is not the phrase the "scorn of scorn," the catchword of insubordination, the blazing defiance of tongues unbroken as a two-years' colt? It grated strangely on our ear. We grieved over the transformation of a favorite saw, innocuous once, and conveying a meek educational suggestion. We came to admit that the Academe where the old sat at the feet of their descendants, to be ingratiated into the most amiable of professions, was nothing better in memory than an impertinence. And we sadly avowed, in the underground chamber of our private heart, that, as for worldly prospects, it would be fairly suicidal, all things considered, to aspire to the chair of that professorship.