“But as in the whole course of my reading I have met with no allusion to any notorious character of the name of Warrens,” continued the little man, “it is quite as probable that some obscure individual made the inscription as a sort of memento to attract the attention of his mistress, expressive of his love and fidelity—he wished her to try Warrens. In the English anthology, from a very ancient poem, I met with these lines, addressed by a lover to his mistress—
“Try me, try me,
Prove ere you deny me”—
which proves that lovers were desirous of being tried; and as so many inscriptions exist in which the ancients showed their attachment to their females by inscriptions on wood and stone, declaring their wishes, there can be but little doubt that these words were placed here by some enamoured youth who was desirous that a particular female, whose name has not come down to us, should ‘Try Warrens.’”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” cried the delighted Posthumous, and without waiting for an answer hurried his companions to another room. “How do you do, Bluey?” he exclaimed, addressing a tall thin lady with a bilious complexion, who appeared to be examining some minerals.
“Rather say, how does my will do,” replied the lady, very gravely; “for it is my will that does every thing. I must have the will to do, before the action can be done. If you mean merely to inquire into the state of the mere animal machine, I must reply, that of the chemical combinations now in process, the acids overpower the alkalis, and produce an acetous fermentation in the natural laboratory, that disturbs the sanatory functions of my particular system, and tends to create new combinations injurious in their action upon the animal fibre; but as I know that as a sufficient proportion of the earthy salts, either in carbonates or sulphates, held in solution, or in any other form that may be most convenient, operating upon the acids, will counteract their unhealthy tendency and render them inert, I do not care for the disorder of my organic substances. It is not of sufficient importance to distract my attention from the interesting study of chemical affinities.”
“Well, I’m sorry you’re so bad,” remarked the inquirer, in a tone of regret.
“Bad is the antagonist of good,” said the lady, sharply; “and I beg to say that I am not bad. Bad is evil—I am not evil—therefore I am not bad. Bad is base—I am not base—therefore I am not bad. In fact, bad is a very unphilosophical term to apply upon such an occasion. You should have said that you regretted that there should exist any chemical combinations in my system of natural processes that support life, which are not characteristic of a state of health.”
“At any rate, I hope you will soon get better,” responded her host.
“Better is worse than bad,” replied his guest with additional severity. “To be better, implies an antecedent state of badness, and I tell you again I am not bad, I have not been bad, and I do not intend to be bad.”
“Well, good bye—good bye,” he exclaimed, attempting to hurry away.