KYAN'S PATENT—
THE NINE MUSES,—AND THE DRY-ROT.
"That which is most elaborate in nature is that which soonest runs to decay." Faraday.
The Muses, to their infinite disgrace as useful members of society, have for centuries been devoting their time to the sun, the moon, the stars, flowers, lips, hair, love, "kisses, tears, and smiles;" in short, to objects of mere enjoyment and beauty; greatly to the delight, it must be confessed, of the young and the romantic, but tending to no wise and useful purpose, and contributing to no profitable end. The long luxurious indolence of these nine inestimable young ladies for so many, many years, does appear to us to cast no slight shade upon their characters; and Parnassus itself does not "hold its own" as a place of any considerable repute, when the habits of its female frequenters are taken into account. It is, indeed, high time that the Muses should get into places of all work,—that they should earn their bread through habits of honest industry and integrity, and not be idling about the rose-trees, and wasting their powers on a sigh, an eyebrow, or a trumpery star. The time for useful exertion is come; and the days of dalliance, dreaming, and ethereal delight are passing away. Flora gives way to Cocker, and Apollo is whipped off the top of his own Grecian mount by the schoolmaster abroad. If the Muses do not now patronise statistical reports, poor-law estimates, and fat-cattle meetings, they will as surely "sink in their repute," ay, as surely as the name of their firm is "Clio, Tighe, Thalia, Hemans, Euterpe, Landon, Polyhymnia, Jenkinson, and Co." Imagination is all very well in its way; but does it know how "things are in the City?" Is it in the direction—it certainly ought to be—of the Great Northern Railway, or the Public Safety British Patent Axletree Conveyance Company? Can imagination "set a leg or an arm?" if not, why imagination may imagine itself carrying out its own shutters in these enlightened times, and shutting up its own shop at mid-day.
We are happy to see, and to be able to say, that the Muses, like the ladies in "the Invincibles," are marching with the times. They are setting imagination to work on various well-sounding schemes for public companies and joint-stockeries. Apollo is preparing a prospectus for a New British Co-operative Joint Stock Music Society, into which, of course, nothing foreign will be allowed to creep, unless it is altered and dressed anew, and "wears a livery like its fellows." Melpomene is to take the Queen's Theatre for a serious bazaar, and Thalia is to turn Astley's into an agreeable chapel for the Jumpers. Urania goes to the Astronomical Society as housekeeper, and Terpsichore is to be the lessee of the dancing-rooms in Brewer-street, Golden-square, for gymnastic purposes. Indeed, there will not be an idle body in the lovely firm; and, in future, it is more than probable that vessels will be propelled by means of airy verse, and balloons inflated by fancy, or elevated and guided by the application of high-flown figures. There is no knowing or foretelling to what extent of usefulness poetry may be carried!
It has fallen to our lot to be able to record one of the scientific turns which poetry has taken. The Muses having of late years observed that the palm-tree, the laurel, and all their sacred trees, had, like the trees in all gardens open to the public, suffered much from ill-usage,—premature symptoms of dry-rot having presented themselves,—the Nine were all at sixes and sevens about the matter, until they were recommended by a humane neighbour (as one of Morrison's pill victims says in a grateful advertisement) to "try Kyan." "Try Kyan!" exclaimed Calliope. "What, in the name of music, can Kyan be?" On turning to the columns of the Morning Chronicle, however, Erato (who could read) discovered the advertisement explanatory of the great patent antidote to dry-rot in timber; and a deputation of three of the daughters of Mnemosyne waited on Messrs. Faraday, Pine, Kyan, Memel, Mills, Oakley, Terry, and Woodison, gentlemen interested in the progress of this invaluable discovery,—and finally at the office in Lime-street-square the Muses bargained for a steeping of their undying, dying, decaying timber in the wondrous tank at Red Lion wharf, Poplar. The process, notwithstanding the mischief done to the wood by the poets of this scratching age, was most triumphantly successful; all symptoms of decay, except where certain initials were carved, at once disappeared, and the immortal plants began to put on "all their original brightness!" Apollo gave an awful shriek of delight as he saw the wanton cuttings and witherings disappear, and the grand leaves of beauty starting into life afresh, at the inspiring touch of the immortal Kyan. The Muses, with a few select friends, dined together afterwards, at the Macclesfield Arms in the New-road, and a song upon Kyan's patent was impromptued on the occasion, and was very favourably received, when the mortal waiters were out of the room. We are enabled to lay a copy of it before our readers; and we are sure they will, with us, receive with pleasure this proof of the interest which the Muses are taking in matters of science and useful art. It is reported that the Nine are about to become members of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
THE ANTI-DRY-ROT COMPANY'S SONG.
Air—"Well, well, now—no more;—sure you've told me before." Love in a Village.
1. Have you heard,—have you heard,— Anti-dry-rot's the word? Wood will never wear out, thanks to Kyan, to Kyan! He dips in a tank, Any rafter or plank,— And makes it immortal as Dian, as Dian! If you steep but a thread, It will hang by the head, For ever, the largest old lion, old lion; Or will cord up the trunk Of an elephant drunk;— If you doubt it,—yourself go and try 'un, and try 'un.