The Project Gutenberg eBook of At the Sign of the Sphinx. Second series
Title: At the Sign of the Sphinx. Second series
Author: Carolyn Wells
Release date: June 3, 2015 [eBook #49124]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Rachael Schultz, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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AT THE SIGN OF THE SPHINX
At the
Sign of the SPHINX
BY CAROLYN WELLS
King Richard III. iv. 4.
SECOND SERIES
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1906
Copyright, 1906, by
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
———
Published August, 1906
TO
WILLIAM BELLAMY
CONTENTS
| PAGE | |
| AT THE SIGN OF THE SPHINX | 1 |
| ANSWERS | 126 |
At the Sign of the Sphinx
Second Series
[Clicking on the number of the riddle will link to the
answer.
(note of etext
transcriber.)]
1
Breathlessly watch him as he slowly mounts
The scaffold. Though his timid, trembling steps
Betoken fear, with calm and steady gaze
He sees my whole above his head. So bright!
So glittering! On that his eyes are fixed.
Garbed all in white, a rope about his waist,
My first upon his feet; silent, although
He suffers agonies untold. But hark!
He calls for drink. By some kind hand is passed
To him a brimming tumbler, and within
He sees my last and he is glad. He drinks,
Then once again turns to my whole. Brave man!
He fears not death, but murmurs to himself:
“This only I desire, that when I die
Men say I did my work and did it well.”
2
As I came to my first one day.
Beside my last I saw a lass
Dispense refreshment in a glass.
She was my first. “My last,” said I,
“I ’ll take a drink, for I am dry.”
Smiling, as she the goblet passed,
She said, “Here you my first my last.”
“My whole,” said I, “ere I depart,
I ’ll say that there is in my heart
(Just here the word must be reversed—)
A wish for your my last my first.”
3
My whole is now here also,—and yet that ’s not quite true.
My first is,—no, what is it? That is for you to say;
And where ’s my second, tell me, yes, tell me that, I pray,
And I will tell you truly, that though you look around,
You cannot see my whole because it ’s nowhere to be found.
4
A weary maiden watched my dying first, so nearly gone;
She mused awhile in silence, then to herself she spake,
“Ah, me, but when to-morrow dawns I know my first will break.”
He lingered not, nor faltered, but pressed onward hard and fast.
Alas! he took the downward course with many dangers rife;
But just in time he used my last and so he saved his life.
Thou hast across the Orient thy royal banners flung.
Thy wonders and thy glories we travel miles to see,
And the benighted wanderer oft sighs in vain for thee.
5
Thy curving mouth, and straight and classic nose,
All, all are dear to me. And though thou hast
But scanty raiment, though both arms are gone,
And though some toes are missing, even thus,
To those who know thee and who love thee well,
Thou art a thing of beauty and a joy.
With death was threatened by some wicked rogues.
Courageously escaping from their clutch,
He rode triumphantly upon my whole,
Swiftly propelled and balanced by my last.
6
To us ’tis by experience shown;
It has a prominent position
Wherever there ’s an Exhibition.
Perhaps possessing but one eye;
Are of small value, people say,
And pass them carelessly each day.
D stands for them, and I have found
Them often in the common pound.
And with my last they meet my whole.
7
Is scarcely worth a stiver;
But when a twin, it cannot then
Be managed by a driver.
A thread is wound around it;
I lost it once, and on my word,
’T was by my whole I found it.
8
My second ’s a letter in Syro-Phœnician;
My third is a letter in fanfaronade;
My fourth is a letter in rhodomontade;
My fifth is a letter in comicalness;
My whole combines gain and desirableness.
9
Who died one day in Spring;
My first might stand before an Earl
But never before a King.
The end of all success;
My third is a Scandinavian god
Who succoured those in distress.
About the immortal soul;
But Evolution seems to prove
We ’re descended from my whole.
10
An angel made my first my last.
My first was hanged; with silent tread
The mourners came to view the dead.
Fair Enid, so the legends say,
Upon my total rode away.
11
Many a man is held beneath thy thrall;
And men for thee will fortunes gladly spend,
And yet by man thou ’rt bound and boxed and penned.
He stamps upon thee, puts thee on the rack,
And markest thee with stripes across thy back.
Gladly we take thy round from day to day;
Made of coarse clay, and often underbred,
Dear to the heir, yet buried with the dead.
Designed for use, thou also dost adorn;
Allowed to roam, yet kept within the bound,
By thine assistance oft the lost is found.
12
My first of the people went to my first.
And one in each town is given to God.
Of which in History we may read.
13
14
Mine host brought out some rare old wine,
It was a bottle of his best,
My first and second it possessed,
In peace I ate and drank my fill,
Then asked the waiter for my bill,
My whole was charged! I looked quite blank,
My whole I neither ate nor drank.
15
But straightway to my first I sent them both.
Such lazy fellows! Yet I must admit
A lazier one could be,—my second ’s it.
The ancients’ art my whole doth represent,
A perfect figure softly curved and bent.
16
With Catherine, his lawful wife.
But for divorce he ’d no decree;
Enraged, the King cried, “One, two, three!”
Her body was no more my whole.
17
Offered my first, and called it herb of grace.
He ’s liked extremely by his fellow-men.
I take my prayer-book down and read my whole.
18
And by my first he won the race.
And often follows after Jack.
My whole was served by Ganymede.
19
And his wife was my first in the distant past.
Lay them with care and precision great,
One north and south, one east and west,
They are my whole, it must be confessed.
20
My first was presented by Sheba’s fair queen.
According to science, the earth was my last.
A danger encountered by sailors at sea.
21
To catch my last if my first should fall.
A poet, who with genius glowed,
Wrote to my whole a famous ode.
22
Some will not come for years, and some are gone—
Ah, never to return. And only one
We may with truthfulness assert, exists.
And yet my first can buy them, eat them too,
And set them if he choose; and upon one
Of them he may perhaps send forth my whole;
Or on it may perhaps inscribe my whole;
Or on my whole he may inscribe my last.
23
My lady trails my first along the street.
One of a celebrated Roman line.
Makes music,—but it never has been heard.
And on my whole is room enough for all.
24
And holds a growing palm;
My second brings a day
When all the air seems balm;
My whole is quite a clever feat
Performed by many a young athlete.
25
By houses, churches, books and hats and coats.
Entrusted to a guardian’s watchful care.
Read my whole backward and it spells the same.
26
Is found above all human imperfections.
I hold it in my hand,—yet though polite,
’T is of no use to me while in my sight.
But still ’tis felt, and in my secret soul
Upon reflection, I commend my whole.
Now nothing can describe my second better
Than the last part of a well-written letter.
My whole cannot escape his fate so sad,
Tradition tells us all his race goes mad.
27
Though I have earned it often and spent it too, I ween.
My second is a pretty sight, although it ’s rather wet.
It makes much trouble in my first, and goes against the grain.
28
Was sent a fiery storm of brimstone rain;
One was destroyed, the other was my first.
And on it we ’ll be carried to our grave.
But soon it will possess another name.
29
Yet willingly present it to their wives.
But lives his life contented with my last.
And Lot’s wife was my whole on Scripture’s page.
30
Although perhaps it ’s risky;
My first goes round on wheels,
Though not exactly frisky.
And puzzles may distress them,
But still they must admit
It takes my last to guess them.
Is useless in the telling,
Unless you take the word
According to its spelling.
A varied information,
We ’ll now divide it up
By its pronunciation.
A horned beast, and hairy;
Or else a lovely lace,
Fit to bedeck a fairy.
And Christmas joys returning,
In the old hall we ’ll sit,
And watch my total burning.
31
Who wished to get himself a wife, we ’re told.
He started off to London, one, two, three.
Because soon after they returned my whole.
32
Offered my whole for my last beast;
Or Shakespeare tells us so at least.
33
You may buy it at the station, get it gratis on the train;
You may find it in a puppet-booth or in a banquet-hall,
And I think perhaps the Roman is the noblest of them all.
And at a garden-fête I saw my second flowing free;
And I leaned against my second of strong and solid oak,
But as I grasped my second, alas, it dropped and broke.
Upon the old Whig taverns ’t was painted as a sign;
But in its depths lurk dangers, from its floating cakes of ice
To its balmy breath of sugar-cane, its tropic fruits and spice.
34
’T was like a fairy-land, so gay, so glad,
So free from care and sorrow. For a time
I staid. Yet eagerly desired the day
When I might leave its simple joys. Ah me,
If but I might return to them again!
My first is always in my whole. Sometimes
My first is in my last. When, long ago,
Red Ridinghood on kindly errand bent,
Walked to her grandam’s cot across the wood,
My last was on my first.
35
It was my first, who, when alive, put savage hordes to flight.
And for my total, years had filled the Romans with my last,
And at his grim and ghastly blade the conquerors looked aghast.
36
His wooden effigy is sold for youth of tender age.
My second ’s very wicked, and Holy Writ declares
Of those who made my second and the punishing she bears.
My whole hangs from the branching trees,
Swayed lightly by a passing breeze.
37
My second reigned in Afric’s sunny clime;
A slave provoked his monarch’s royal ire,
And stood before him under sentence dire.
“My first, my last,” he stammered, “pity me!
Must I obey thy horrible decree?
Oh, thou who over millions hast control—”
One word the magnate uttered, ’t was my whole.
38
He left my first. By loving hands his clay
Was laid my second in the tomb. And now
His tombstone to the traveler seems to speak,
And say, “My second! here ’s my first!”
The fair Ophelia, gentle, hapless soul,
Sank to a watery grave beneath my whole.
39
Discourses and essays he learnedly wrote,
My second was found in the post, such a scrawl!
That letter never was opened at all.
My third ’s made of flesh and sinew and bone,
My first, I suppose had two of his own;
My whole is a man delightful to folks
Who enjoy reading jocular jingles and jokes.
40
We went for my last;
I ’d a half-hour to spend,
At my first was my friend;
As we went round the bend
O’er my total we passed.
At my first was my friend,
We went for my last.
41
’T was my first and not December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor,
Vainly I had sought to borrow
In my last, surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore.
Whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here forevermore.
42
I sat by my whole so bright and warm,
When the cry of my first I plainly heard.
My last sprang up without a word;
And panic-stricken, in sudden fright,
We rushed out into the winter night.
43
By strength or skill, by speed or worth;
It causes deepest woe and pain,
It causes also joy and mirth.
And through the air the ball whizzed fast,
But took an unexpected curve;
The umpire said it was my last.
It is my whole you ’re reading now.
44
Great Cæsar, famed in song and story,
Triumphant banners floating o’er him,
Carried my Roman first before him.
When lads and lassies dance together,
Around the May-pole gaily flying,
They are my last, there ’s no denying.
Were sauntering down a pathway shady;
He offered her, with words beguiling,
My whole, which she accepted, smiling.
45
A brave but sturdy fighter, he could fall but could not yield.
But a comrade stood beside him while his life-blood trickled fast,
And bent, with pitying glances, to wrap him in my last,
Seeking his country’s glory, e’en in the cannon’s mouth.
Though in the midst of bloodshed, my first stood for the South.
The dying soldier faltered as he took his comrade’s hand,
Saying, “Make my whole, my brother, it is my last command.”
46
The suppliant prays on bended knee.
Like Little Billee, “young and tender,”
We all desire my last shall be.
So that she might become my whole
God breathed in Eve a living soul.