We give the following curious old ballad a place here, not only on account of the iteration of rhyme, but also as the original of the macaronic verses on p. 95:

The Wig and the Hat.

“The elderly gentleman’s here,
With his cane, his wig, and his hat;
A good-humoured man all declare,
But then he’s o’erloaded with fat.
By the side of a murmuring stream
This elderly gentleman sat
On the top of his head was his wig,
And a-top of his wig was his hat.
The wind it blew high and blew strong,
As this elderly gentleman sat,
And bore front his head in a trice
And plunged in the river his hat.

The gentleman then took his cane,
Which lay on his lap as he sat,
And dropped in the river his wig
In attempting to get out his hat.
Cool reflection at length came across,
While this elderly gentleman sat;
So he thought he would follow the stream,
And look for his fine wig and hat.
His breast it grew cold with despair,
And full in his eye madness sat;
So he flung in the river his cane,
To swim with his wig and his hat.
His head, being thicker than common,
O’er-balanced the rest of his fat,
And in plunged this son of a woman
To follow his wig, cane, and hat.
A Newfoundland dog was at hand—
No circumstance could be more pat—
The old man he brought safe to land,
Then fetched out his wig, cane, and hat.
The gentleman, dripping and cold,
Seem’d much like a half-drowned rat,
But praised his deliverer so bold,
Then adjusted his cane, wig, and hat.
Now homeward the gentleman hied,
But neither could wear wig or hat;
The dog followed close at his side,
Fawn’d, waggled his tail, and all that.
The gentleman, filled with delight,
The dog’s master hastily sought;
Two guineas set all things to right,
For that sum his true friend he bought.
From him the dog never would part,
But lived much caressed for some years;
Till levelled by Death’s fatal dart,
When the gentleman shed many tears.
Then buried poor Tray in the Green.
And placed o’er the grave a small stone,
Whereon a few lines may be seen,
Expressive of what he had done.”

ANAGRAMS.

nagrams are curious and frequently clever examples of formal literary trifling. Camden, in his “Remains,” gave to the world a treatise showing that in his day anagrams were endowed with an undue and superstitious importance, being regarded as nothing less than the occult and mysterious finger of Fate, revealed in the names of men.

“The only quintessence,” says this old writer, “that hitherto the alchemy of wit could draw out of names, is anagrammatisme or metagrammatisme, which is the dissolution of a name, truly written, into the letters as its elements, and a new connection of it by artificial transposition, without addition, subtraction, or change of any letter, into different words, making some perfect sense applicable to the person named.” Precise anagrammatists adhere strictly to these rules, with the exception of omitting or retaining the letter h according to their convenience, alleging that h cannot claim the rights of a letter; others, again, think it no injury sometimes to use e for æ, v for w, s for z, c for k, and contrariwise, and several of the instances which follow will be found variously imperfect. Camden calls the charming difficulty of making an anagram, “the whetstone of patience to them that shall practise it; for some have been seen to bite their pen, scratch their head, bend their brows, bite their lips, beat the board, tear their paper, when the names were fair for somewhat, and caught nothing therein,—yet, notwithstanding the sour sort of critics, good anagrams yield a delightful comfort and pleasant motion to honest minds.”

Camden places the origin of the anagram as far back as the time of Moses, and conjectures that it may have had some share in the mystical traditions, afterwards called the “Cabala,” communicated by the Jewish lawgiver. One part of the art of the cabalists lay in what they called themuru—that is, changing—or finding the hidden and mystical meaning in names, which they did by transposing and fantastically combining the letters in those names. Thus of the letters of Noah’s name in Hebrew they made Grace, and of the Messiah’s He shall rejoice. Whether the above origin be theoretical or not, the anagram can be traced to the age of Lycophron, a Greek writer, who flourished about 300 B.C.