The Devil’s Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce (children's ebooks free online txt) 📕

were surrounded by a kind of baleful lumination or nimbus⁠—hag being the popular name of that peculiar electrical light sometimes observed in the hair. At one time hag was not a word of reproach: Drayton speaks of a “beautiful hag, all smiles,” much as Shakespeare said, “sweet wench.” It would not now be proper to call your sweetheart a hag⁠—that compliment is reserved for the use of her grandchildren. Half

One of two equal parts into which a thing may be divided, or considered as divided. In the fourteenth century a heated discussion arose among theologists and philosophers as to whether Omniscience could part an object into three halves; and the pious Father Aldrovinus publicly prayed in the cathedral at Rouen that God would demonstrate the affirmative of the proposition in some signal and unmistakable way, and particularly (if it should please Him) upon the body of that hardy blasphemer, Manutius Procinus, who maintained the negative. Procinus, however, was spared to die of the bite of a viper.

Halo

Properly, a luminous ring encircling an astronomical body, but not infrequently confounded with “aureola,” or “nimbus,” a somewhat similar phenomenon worn as a headdress by divinities and saints. The halo is a purely optical illusion, produced by moisture in the air, in the manner of a rainbow; but the aureola is conferred as a sign of superior sanctity, in the same way as a bishop’s mitre, or the Pope’s tiara. In the painting of the Nativity, by Szedgkin, a pious artist of Pesth, not only do the Virgin and the Child wear the nimbus, but an ass nibbling hay from the sacred manger is similarly decorated and, to his lasting honor be it said, appears to bear his unaccustomed dignity with a truly saintly grace.

Hand

A singular instrument worn at the end of the human arm and commonly thrust into somebody’s pocket.

Handkerchief

A small square of silk or linen, used in various ignoble offices about the face and especially serviceable at funerals to conceal the lack of tears. The handkerchief is of recent invention; our ancestors knew nothing of it and entrusted its duties to the sleeve. Shakespeare’s introducing it into the play of “Othello” is an anachronism: Desdemona dried her nose with her skirt, as Dr. Mary Walker and other reformers have done with their coattails in our own day⁠—an evidence that revolutions sometimes go backward.

Hangman

An officer of the law charged with duties of the highest dignity and utmost gravity, and held in hereditary disesteem by a populace having a criminal ancestry. In some of the American States his functions are now performed by an electrician, as in New Jersey, where executions by electricity have recently been ordered⁠—the first instance known to this lexicographer of anybody questioning the expediency of hanging Jerseymen.

Happiness

An agreeable sensation arising from contemplating the misery of another.

Harangue

A speech by an opponent, who is known as an harangue-outang.

Harbor

A place where ships taking shelter from storms are exposed to the fury of the customs.

Harmonists

A sect of Protestants, now extinct, who came from Europe in the beginning of the last century and were distinguished for the bitterness of their internal controversies and dissensions.

Hash

There is no definition for this word⁠—nobody knows what hash is.

Hatchet

A young axe, known among Indians as a Thomashawk.

“O bury the hatchet, irascible Red,
For peace is a blessing,” the White Man said.
The Savage concurred, and that weapon interred,
With imposing rites, in the White Man’s head.

—⁠John Lukkus Hatred

A sentiment appropriate to the occasion of another’s superiority.

Head-Money

A capitation tax, or poll-tax.

In ancient times there lived a king
Whose tax-collectors could not wring
From all his subjects gold enough
To make the royal way less rough.
For pleasure’s highway, like the dames
Whose premises adjoin it, claims
Perpetual repairing. So
The tax-collectors in a row
Appeared before the throne to pray
Their master to devise some way
To swell the revenue. “So great,”
Said they, “are the demands of state
A tithe of all that we collect
Will scarcely meet them. Pray reflect:
How, if one-tenth we must resign,
Can we exist on t’other nine?”
The monarch asked them in reply:
“Has it occurred to you to try
The advantage of economy?”
“It has,” the spokesman said: “we sold
All of our gay garrotes of gold;
With plated-ware we now compress
The necks of those whom we assess.
Plain iron forceps we employ
To mitigate the miser’s joy
Who hoards, with greed that never tires,
That which your Majesty requires.”
Deep lines of thought were seen to plow
Their way across the royal brow.
“Your state is desperate, no question;
Pray favor me with a suggestion.”
“O King of Men,” the spokesman said,
“If you’ll impose upon each head
A tax, the augmented revenue
We’ll cheerfully divide with you.”
As flashes of the sun illume
The parted storm-cloud’s sullen gloom,
The king smiled grimly. “I decree
That it be so⁠—and, not to be
In generosity outdone,
Declare you, each and every one,
Exempted from the operation
Of this new law of capitation.
But lest the people censure me
Because they’re bound and you are free,
’Twere well some clever scheme were laid
By you this poll-tax to evade.
I’ll leave you now while you confer
With my most trusted minister.”
The monarch from the throne-room walked
And straightway in among them stalked
A silent man, with brow concealed,
Bare-armed⁠—his gleaming axe revealed!

—⁠G. J. Hearse

Death’s baby-carriage.

Heart

An automatic, muscular blood-pump. Figuratively, this useful organ is said to be the seat of emotions and sentiments⁠—a very pretty fancy which, however, is nothing but a survival of a once universal belief. It is now known that the sentiments and emotions reside in the stomach, being evolved from food by chemical action of the gastric fluid. The exact process by which a beefsteak becomes a feeling⁠—tender or not, according to the age of the animal from which it was cut; the successive stages of elaboration through which a caviar sandwich is transmuted to a quaint fancy and reappears as a pungent epigram; the marvelous functional methods of converting a hard-boiled egg into religious contrition, or a cream-puff into a sigh of sensibility⁠—these things have been patiently ascertained by M. Pasteur, and by him expounded with convincing lucidity. (See, also, my monograph, The Essential Identity of