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counterpart: • There may be her parallel upon the earth, but surely I never saw it. I take her to be lineally descended from the maid's aunt of Brainford, who caused Master Ford such uneasiness. She hath Atlantean shoulders; and, as she stoopeth in her gait with as few offences to answer for in her own particular as any of Eve's daughters — her back seems broad enough to bear the blame of all the peccadillos that have been committed since Adam. She girdeth her waist — or what she is pleased to esteem as such – nearly up to her shoulders, from beneath which, that huge dorsal expanse, in mountainous declivity, emergeth. Respect for her alone preventeth the idle boys, who follow her about in shoals, whenever she cometh abroad, from getting up and riding. But her presence infallibly commands a reverence. She is indeed, as the Americans would express it, something awful. Her person is a burthen to herself, no less than the ground which bears her. To her mighty bone, she hath a pinguitude withal, which makes the depth of winter to her the most desirable season. Her distress in the warmer solstice is pitiable. During the months of July and August, she usually renteth a cool cellar, where ices are kept, whereinto she descendeth when Sirius rageth. She dates from a hot Thursday — some twenty-five years ago. Her apartment in summer is pervious to the four winds. Two doors in north and south direction, and two windows fronting the rising and the setting sun, never closed, from every cardinal point catch the contributory breezes. She loves to enjoy what she calls a quadruple draught. That must be a shrewd zephyr, that can escape her. I owe a painful face-ache, which oppresses me at this moment, to a cold caught, sitting by her, one day in last July, at this receipt of coolness. Her fan, in ordinary, resembleth a banner spread, which she keepeth continually on the alert to detect the least breeze. She possesseth an active and gadding mind, totally incommensurate with
No one delighteth more than herself in country exercises and pastimes. I have passed many an agreeable holiday with her in her favorite park at Woodstock. She performs her part in these delightful ambulatory excursions by the aid of a portable garden chair. She setteth out with you at a fair foot gallop, which she keepeth up till you are both well breathed, and then she reposeth for a few seconds. Then she is up again for a hundred paces or so, and again resteth — her movement, on these sprightly occasions, being something between walking and flying. Her great weight seemeth to propel her forward, ostrich-fashion. In this kind of relieved marching, I have traversed with her many scores of acres on those well-wooded and well-watered domains. Her delight at Oxford is in the public walks and gardens, where, when the weather is not too oppressive, she passeth much of her valuable time. There is a bench at Maudlin, or rather, situated between the frontiers of that and Christ's college--some litigation, latterly, about repairs, has vested the property of it finally in Christ's - - where at the hour of noon she is ordinarily to be found sitting - so she calls it by courtesy — but in fact, pressing and breaking of it down with her enormous settlement; as both of those foundations, who, however, are goodnatured enough to wink at it, have found, I believe, to their cost. Here she taketh the fresh air, principally at vacation times, when the
walks are freest from interruption of the younger fry of students. Here she passeth her idle hours, not idly, but generally accompanied with a book — blest if she can but intercept some resident Fellow, (as usually there are some of that brood left behind at these periods,) or stray Master of Arts, (to most of whom she is better known than their dinner bell,) with whom she may confer upon any curious topic of literature.'
Yet the burden of love and song, after all, hallows every thing it bends withal. Poetry is your true dignifier of the work-day world. In amber, your fly may go down balmy to other ages, that without that sweet consistence for an overcoat, shall smell to heaven from the shambles, or be passed with a buzz of contempt by surviving friends of his race, of either gender, as they disport themselves, in impassioned union, on a warm summer pane. Even servitude may thus be embellished by song, and the humblest stations win the highest flights. Here followeth a strain to a waiter's memory, well known to the denizens of Brotherly Love, in other hours, - but now laid i' the earth, with all odors and honor. Some lines therein shall be seen italicized. 'Tis a work of mine, for which I crave the pardon of the friend from whose rare harp the numbers come:
DEDICATED, WITH PERMISSION, AND A PIECE OF MINT-STICK, TO META B
AGED FOUR YEARS.
Restituit rem cunctando.' - Eux. AP. CICERO.
BOGLE! not he whose shadow flies
See him erect, with lofty tread,
Let widows, anxious to fulfil,
Nor less, stupendous man! thy power,
So, sadly social, when we flee
On Johnson's smooth and placid mien
Thou social Fabius! since the day,
Yet, (not till Providence bestowed
But never – never such a Bogle! One word in your ear, reader, before we part. The writer of the foregoing is a 'Monster.' If you would see his like, (in some men's opinion,) consult Homer, Milton, and Dante, passim. You shall not find, in all their pages, a monster of more note, or one that less deserves the name. He is a summer's morning monster,
and wears the brighter as the calmness of the mid-day hours plays full upon him. I have given you a clue— resolve me my Riddle.