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But isn't the jug just as good for the sperits, yer honers?" "Well, well; boiling mutton broth over a turf fire, in my cut decanter! 'optat ephippia bos piger. That'll do, Judy, that'll do." And the old woman retreated with a look of injured innocence. Father John sniffed the whiskey. "'Fumum bibere institutæ; it's the right smell of the smoke.
Qui non dat quod amat, non accipit ille quod optat, was an inscription on an old chequer-board of the times of Henry II. And what did Poe love? Truth shrugs her shoulders, but forbears to answer, Himself.
Et tamen dux ille Graeciae nusquam optat ut Aiacis similis habeat decem, sed ut Nestoris, quod si sibi acciderit, non dubitat quin brevi sit Troia peritura. 32 Sed redeo ad me.
Saint Optat, replied the sacristan, was a bishop I thought so, by heaven! cried my father, interrupting him Saint Optat! how should Saint Optat fail? so snatching out his pocket-book, and the young Benedictine holding him the torch as he wrote, he set it down as a new prop to his system of Christian names, and I will be bold to say, so disinterested was he in the search of truth, that had he found a treasure in Saint Optat's tomb, it would not have made him half so rich: 'Twas as successful a short visit as ever was paid to the dead; and so highly was his fancy pleas'd with all that had passed in it, that he determined at once to stay another day in Auxerre.
This wit-craft was the rebus. Florio's rebus or device, then, was a Flower. We have specimens of his fondness for this nomenclative punning subscribed to his portrait: "Floret adhue, et adhue florebit: floreat ultra Florius hae specie floridus, optat amans."
Maxima! said my uncle Toby low to himself, as we turn'd from her tomb: She was one of the fairest and most beautiful ladies either of Italy or France, continued the sacristan But who the duce has got lain down here, besides her? quoth my father, pointing with his cane to a large tomb as we walked on It is Saint Optat, Sir, answered the sacristan And properly is Saint Optat plac'd! said my father: And what is Saint Optat's story? continued he.
In all the various paths of human existence, that appear to have something in them splendid and alluring, there are perpetual instances of daring adventures, unattended with the smallest rational hope of success. Optat ephippia bos piger. All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies.
"Spumantemque dari, pecora inter inertia, votis Optat aprum, aut fulvum descendere monte leonem:" who but must conclude that these are wild sallies pushed on by a courage that has broken loose from its place?
"Optat ephippia bos piger, optat arare caballus." By this course a man shall never improve himself, nor arrive at any perfection in anything. He must, therefore, make it his business always to put the architect, the painter, the statuary, every mechanic artisan, upon discourse of their own capacities.
Morhange was in the library, intently reading a manuscript. "A lost treatise of Saint Optat," he said. "Oh, if only Dom Granger were here. See, it is written in semi-uncial characters." I did not reply. My eyes were fixed on an object which lay on the table beside the manuscript.
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