Anigma by Mr. Canning:
There is a word of Plural number,
Foe to peace, and tranquil slumber;
[From], any word you chance to take,
By adding S. You plural make;
But if to this <
word>, You add an S,
Strange is the metamorphosis;
Plural is plural, then no more,
And Sweet, what bitter was before.
Though bitter cares soft slumbers seldom meet;
Yet, by some loved caress, they’re rendered sweet.
One Morn from the Town éloignée
I wandered in the Bois de Soigneés;
Gallanted by Columbia’s+ pride;
Who moved attentive by my side;
Discussing, criticising, scanning,
The Lines above of Premier Canning;
He said to me, in walk thus rural,
“Cut cares & cultivate its Plural.”
N.B. The last is the versification, of a Billet doux, by Col. Rushbrooke; The Father of a Young Lady; to whom, I sent, at her request, the above Relics, from one of my English papers; in my Billet, I counselled Miss Augusta, to “Cut cares & cultivate its plural.”—
I hope Mrs. Adams will find some relief & refreshment, by the perusal of this harmless trifle, after sending me decent newspapers.
Mrs: Hughes if she were here, would unite with me, in expressions of the truest esteem & respect, with which, I have the Honour to be, &c, &c, c.
MHi: Adams Papers.