“Ten what?” we blandly asked her
  For the knowledge we did lack,
“Ah! that I can not tell you,
  But the name is on the back.

“There it stands in printed letters,—­
  Come to-morrow, gentlemen,—­
Come and see our splendid painting,
  Our fine Jupiter and Ten!”

When Mrs. Chub departed,
  Our brains began to rack,—­
She could not be mistaken
  For the name was on the back.

So we begged a great Professor
  To lay aside his pen,
And give some information
  Touching “Jupiter and Ten.”

And we pondered well the subject,
  And our Lempriere we turned,
To find out who the Ten were;
  But we could not, though we burned.

But when we saw the picture,—­
  O Mrs. Chub!  Oh, fie!  O! 
We perused the printed label,
  And ’t was Jupiter and Io!

Notes.—­John Lempriere, an Englishman, was the author of a “Classical Dictionary” which until the middle of the present century was the chief book of reference on ancient mythology.

Io is a mythical heroine of Greece, with whom Jupiter was enamored.

LXXXIII.  SCENE FROM “THE POOR GENTLEMAN.”

George Colman, 1762-1836, was the son of George Colman, a writer of dramas, who in 1777 purchased the “Haymarket Theater,” in London.  Owing to the illness of the father, Colman the younger assumed the management of the theater in 1785, which post he held for a long time.  He was highly distinguished as a dramatic author and wit.  “The Poor Gentleman,” from which the following selection is adapted, is perhaps the best known of his works. ###

Sir Robert Bramble and Humphrey Dobbins.

Sir R. I’ll tell you what, Humphrey Dobbins, there is not a syllable of sense in all you have been saying.  But I suppose you will maintain there is.

Hum.  Yes.

Sir R. Yes!  Is that the way you talk to me, you old boor?  What’s my name?

Hum.  Robert Bramble.

Sir R. An’t I a baronet?  Sir Robert Bramble, of Blackberry Hall, in the county of Kent?  ’T is time you should know it, for you have been my clumsy, two-fisted valet these thirty years:  can you deny that?

Hum.  Hem!

Sir R. Hem?  What do you mean by hem?  Open that rusty door of your mouth, and make your ugly voice walk out of it.  Why don’t you answer my question?

Hum.  Because, if I contradict you, I shall tell you a lie, and whenever I agree with you, you are sure to fall out.

Sir R. Humphrey Dobbins.  I have been so long endeavoring to beat a few brains into your pate that all your hair has tumbled off before my point is carried.

Hum.  What then?  Our parson says my head is an emblem of both our honors.

Sir R. Ay; because honors, like your head, are apt to be empty.