POETICAL INGENUITIES
AND ECCENTRICITIES.

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THE NEW REPUBLIC. By W. H. Mallock.

THE NEW PAUL AND VIRGINIA. By W. H. Mallock.

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JEUX D’ESPRIT. Collected and Edited by Henry S. Leigh.

GASTRONOMY AS A FINE ART. By Brillat-Savarin.

THE MUSES OF MAYFAIR. Edited by H. Cholmondeley Pennel.

PUCK ON PEGASUS. By H. Cholmondeley Pennel.

ORIGINAL PLAYS by W. S. Gilbert. First Series. Containing—The Wicked World, Pygmalion and Galatea, Charity, The Princess, The Palace of Truth, Trial by Jury.

ORIGINAL PLAYS by W. S. Gilbert. Second Series. Containing—Broken Hearts, Engaged, Sweethearts, Dan’l Druce, Gretchen, Tom Cobb, The Sorcerer, H.M.S. Pinafore, The Pirates of Penzance.

CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. By Henry S. Leigh.

LITERARY FRIVOLITIES, FANCIES, FOLLIES, AND FROLICS. By W. T. Dobson.

PENCIL AND PALETTE. By Robert Kempt.

THE BOOK OF CLERICAL ANECDOTES. By Jacob Larwood.

THE SPEECHES OF CHARLES DICKENS.

THE CUPBOARD PAPERS. By Fin-Bec.

QUIPS AND QUIDDITIES. Selected by W. Davenport Adams.

MELANCHOLY ANATOMISED: a Popular Abridgment of “Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy.”

THE AGONY COLUMN OF “THE TIMES,” FROM 1800 TO 1870. Edited by Alice Clay.

PASTIMES AND PLAYERS. By Robert MacGregor.

CURIOSITIES OF CRITICISM. By Henry J. Jennings.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF HANDWRITING. By Don Felix de Salamanca.

LATTER-DAY LYRICS. Edited by W. Davenport Adams.

BALZAC’S COMÉDIE HUMAINE AND ITS AUTHOR. With Translations by H. H. Walker.

LEAVES FROM A NATURALIST’S NOTE-BOOK. By Andrew Wilson, F.R.S.E.

THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. By Oliver Wendell Holmes. Illustrated by J. G. Thomson.

⁂ Other Volumes are in preparation.

CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY, W.

POETICAL INGENUITIES

AND

ECCENTRICITIES

SELECTED AND EDITED BY
WILLIAM T. DOBSON
AUTHOR OF “LITERARY FRIVOLITIES,” ETC.

London
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1882
[All rights reserved]

PREFACE.

The favourable reception of “Literary Frivolities” by the Press has led to the preparation of this work as a Sequel, in which the only sin so far charged against the “Frivolities”—that of omission—will be found fully atoned for.

Those curious in regard to the historical and literary accounts of several of the various phases of composition exemplified in this work, will find these fully enough noticed in “Literary Frivolities,” in which none of the examples were strictly original, and had been gathered from many outlying corners of the world of literature. In the present work, however, will be found a number of pieces which have not hitherto been “glorified in type,” and these have been furnished by various literary gentlemen, among whom may be named Professor E. H. Palmer and J. Appleton Morgan, LL.D., of New York. Assistance in “things both new and old” has also been given by Charles G. Leland, Esq. (Hans Breitmann), W. Bence Jones, Esq., J. F. Huntingdon, Esq. (Cambridge, U.S.); whilst particular thanks are due to Mr. Lewis Carroll for a kindly and courteous permission to quote from his works.

With regard to a few of the extracts, the difficulty of finding their authors has been a bar to requesting permission to use them; but in every case endeavour has been made to acknowledge the source whence they are derived.

CONTENTS.

POETICAL INGENUITIES
AND
ECCENTRICITIES.

THE PARODY.

arody is the name generally given to a humorous or burlesque imitation of a serious poem or song, of which it so far preserves the style and words of the original as that the latter may be easily recognised; it also may be said to consist in the application of high-sounding poetry to familiar objects, should be confined within narrow limits, and only adapted to light and momentary occasions. Though by no means the highest kind of literary composition, and generally used to ridicule the poets, still many might think their reputation increased rather than diminished by the involuntary applause of imitators and parodists, and have no objection that their works afford the public double amusement—first in the original, and afterwards in the travesty, though the parodist may not always be intellectually up to the level of his prototype. Parodies are best, however, when short and striking—when they produce mirth by the happy imitation of some popular passage, or when they mix instruction with amusement, by showing up some latent absurdity or developing the disguises of bad taste.

The invention of this humoristic style of composition has been attributed to the Greeks, from whose language the name itself is derived (para, beside; ode, a song); the first to use it being supposed to be Hegemon of Thasos, who flourished during the Peloponnesian War; by others the credit of the invention is given to Hipponax, who in his picture of a glutton, parodies Homer’s description of the feats of Achilles in fighting with his hero in eating. This work begins as follows:

The Battle of the Frogs and Mice (The “Batrachomyomachia”), also a happy specimen of the parody is said to be a travesty of Homer’s “Iliad,” and numerous examples will be found in the comedies of Aristophanes. Among the Romans this form of literary composition made its appearance at the period of the Decline, and all the power of Nero could not prevent Persius from parodying his verses. The French among modern nations have been much given to it, whilst in the English language there are many examples, one of the earliest being the parodying of Milton by John Philips, one of the most artificial poets of his age (1676-1708). He was an avowed imitator of Milton, and certainly evinced considerable talent in his peculiar line. Philips wrote in blank verse a poem on the victory of Blenheim, and another on Cider, the latter in imitation of the Georgics. His best work, however, is that from which there follows a quotation, a parody on “Paradise Lost,” considered by Steele to be the best burlesque poem extant.

The Splendid Shilling.

Perhaps the best English examples of the true parody—the above being more of an imitation—are to be found in the “Rejected Addresses” of the brothers James and Horace Smith. This work owed its origin to the reopening of Drury Lane Theatre in 1812, after its destruction by fire. The managers, in the true spirit of tradesmen, issued an advertisement calling for Addresses, one of which should be spoken on the opening night. Forty-three were sent in for competition. Overwhelmed by the amount of talent thus placed at their disposal, the managers summarily rejected the whole, and placed themselves under the care of Lord Byron, whose composition, after all, was thought by some to be, if not unworthy, at least ill-suited for the occasion. Mr. Ward, the secretary of the Theatre, having casually started the idea of publishing a series of “Rejected Addresses,” composed by the most popular authors of the day, the brothers Smith eagerly adopted the suggestion, and in six weeks the volume was published, and received by the public with enthusiastic delight. They were principally humorous imitations of eminent authors, and Lord Jeffrey said of them in the Edinburgh Review: “I take them indeed to be the very best imitations (and often of difficult originals) that ever were made; and, considering their great extent and variety, to indicate a talent to which I do not know where to look for a parallel. Some few of them descend to the level of parodies; but by far the greater part are of a much higher description.” The one which follows is in imitation of Crabbe, and was written by James Smith, and Jeffrey thought it “the best piece in the collection. It is an exquisite and masterly imitation, not only of the peculiar style, but of the taste, temper, and manner of description of that most original author.” Crabbe himself said regarding it, that it “was admirably done.”

The Theatre.

From the same work is taken this parody on a beautiful passage in Southey’s “Kehama:”

The brothers Smith reproduced Byron in the familiar “Childe Harold” stanza, both in style and thought:

Moore, also, was imitated in the same way, as in these verses:

From the parody on Sir Walter Scott, it is difficult to select, being all good; calling from Scott himself the remark, “I must have done this myself, though I forget on what occasion.”

A Tale of Drury Lane.

BY W. S.

Canning and Frere, the two chief writers in the “Anti-Jacobin,” had great merit as writers of parody. There is hardly a better one to be found than the following on Southey’s verses regarding Henry Martin the Regicide, the fun of which is readily apparent even to those who do not know the original:

Inscription

(For the door of the cell in Newgate where Mrs. Brownrigg,
the Prentice-cide, was confined previous to her execution).

The following felicitous parody on Wolfe’s “Lines on the Burial of Sir John Moore” is taken from Thomas Hood:

Mr. Barham has also left us a parody on the same lines:

In the examples which follow, the selection has been made on the principle of giving only those of which the prototypes are well known and will be easily recognised, and here is another of Hood’s, written on a popular ballad:

Here is another upon an old favourite song:

The Bandit’s Fate.

Goldsmith’s “When lovely woman stoops to folly,” has been thus parodied by Shirley Brooks:

Examples like these are numerous, and may be found in the “Bon Gaultier Ballads” of Theodore Martin and Professor Aytoun; “The Ingoldsby Legends” of Barham; and the works of Lewis Carroll.

One of the “Bon Gaultier” travesties was on Macaulay, and was called “The Laureate’s Journey;” of which these two verses are part:

It is necessary, however, to confine our quotations within reasonable limits, and a few from the modern writers must suffice. The next is by Henry S. Leigh, one of the best living writers of burlesque verse.

Only Seven.[2]

(A PASTORAL STORY, AFTER WORDSWORTH.)

Mr. Swinburne’s alliterative style lays him particularly open to the skilful parodist, and he has been well imitated by Mr. Mortimer Collins, who, perhaps, is as well known as novelist as poet. The following example is entitled

“If.”

The next instance, by the same author, is another good imitation of Mr. Swinburne’s style. It is a recipe for

Salad.

The “Shootover Papers,” by members of the Oxford University, contains this parody, written upon the “Procuratores,” a kind of university police:

In the same book a certain school of poets has been hit at in the following lines:

The “Diversions of the Echo Club,” by Bayard Taylor, contains many parodies, principally upon American poets, and gives this admirable rendering of Edgar A. Poe’s style:

The Promissory Note.

Bret Harte also has given a good imitation of Poe’s style in “The Willows,” from which there follows an extract:

Mr. Calverley is perhaps one of the best of the later parodists, and he hits off Tennyson, Mrs. Browning, Coventry Patmore, and others most inimitably. We give a couple of verses from one, a parody of his upon a well-known lyric of Tennyson’s, and few we think after perusing it would be able to read “The Brook” without its murmur being associated with the wandering tinker:

Mr. Tennyson’s “Home they brought her warrior dead,” has likewise been differently travestied by various writers. One of these by Mr. Sawyer is given here:

The Recognition.

“The May-Queen” has also suffered in some verses called “The Biter Bit,” of which these are the last four lines:

Mr. Calverley has imitated well also the old ballad style, as in this one, of which we give the opening verses:

The following imitation of the old ballad form is by Mr. Lewis Carroll, who has written many capital versions of different poems:

Ye Carpette Knyghte.

In “Alice in Wonderland,”[4] by the same gentleman, there is this new version of an old nursery ditty:

Mr. Carroll’s adaptation of “You are old, Father William,” is one of the best of its class, and here are two verses:

Mr. H. Cholmondeley-Pennell in “Puck on Pegasus” gives some good examples, such as that on the “Hiawatha” of Longfellow, the “Song of In-the-Water,” and also that on Southey’s “How the Waters come down at Lodore,” the parody being called “How the Daughters come down at Dunoon,” of which these are the concluding lines:

“Twas ever thus,” the well-known lines of Moore, has also been travestied by Mr. H. C. Pennell:

Moore’s lines have evidently been tempting to the parodists, for Mr. Calverley and Mr. H. S. Leigh have also written versions: Mr. Leigh’s begins thus—

Shakespeare’s soliloquy in Hamlet has been frequently selected as a subject for parody; the first we give being the work of Mr. F. C. Burnand in “Happy Thoughts”:

Cremation.

The next, on the same subject, is from an American source, where it is introduced by the remark:

“I suppose they’ll be wanting us to change our language as well as our habits. Our years will have to be dated A.C., in the year of cremation; and ‘from creation to cremation’ will serve instead of ‘from the cradle to the grave.’ We may expect also some lovely elegies in the future—something in the following style perhaps, for, of course, when gravediggers are succeeded by pyre-lighters, the grave laments of yore will be replaced by lighter melodies”:

The well-known lady traveller, Mrs. Burton, in one of her volumes gives the following amusing verses:

To give specimens of all the kinds of parody were impossible, and we can only refer to the prose parodies of Thackeray’s “Novels by Eminent Hands,” and Bret Harte’s “Condensed Novels.”[6] Renderings of popular ballads in this way are common enough in our comic periodicals, as Punch, Fun, &c. Indeed, one appeared in Punch a number of years ago, called “Ozokerit,” a travesty of Tennyson’s “In Memoriam,” which has been considered one of the finest ever written. They are to be found, too, in many of those Burlesques and Extravaganzas which are put upon the stage now, and these the late Mr. Planchè had a delightful faculty of writing, the happiness and ring of which have rarely been equalled. Take, for instance, one verse of a parody in “Jason” on a well-known air in the “Waterman:”

And here is the opening verse of another song by the same author:

Another very popular song has been parodied in this way by Mr. Carroll:

American papers put in circulation many little verses, such as this—

And this, in reference to the Centennial Exhibition:

A number of periodicals nowadays make parody and other out-of-the-way styles of literary composition a feature in their issues by way of competition for prizes, and one of these is given here. The author signs himself “Hermon,” and the poem was selected by the editor of “Truth” (November 25, 1880) for a prize in a competition of parodies upon “Excelsior.” It is called “That Thirty-four!” having reference, it is perhaps hardly necessary to state, to the American puzzle of that name which has proved so perplexing an affair to some people.

That Thirty-four.

CHAIN VERSE.

his ingenious style of versification, where the last word or phrase in each line is taken for the beginning of the next, is sometimes also called “Concatenation” verse. The invention of this mode of composition is claimed by M. Lasphrise, a French poet, who wrote the following:

The poem which follows is from a manuscript furnished by an American gentleman, who states that he has never seen it in print, and knows not the author’s name. The “rhythm somewhat resembles the ticking of a clock,” from whence the poem derives its name of

The Musical Clock.

The following two pieces are similar in style to some of our seventeenth-century poets:

Ad Mortem.

Truth.

The following hymn appears in the Irish Church Hymnal, and is by Mr. J. Byrom:

Dr., as he was commonly called, Byrom, seems to have been an amiable and excellent man, and his friends after his death in September 1763 collected and published all the verses of his they could lay hands on, in 2 vols. 12mo, at Manchester in 1773. A more complete edition was issued in 1814. Many of Byrom’s poems evince talent, but a great part are only calculated for private perusal: his “Diary” and “Remains” were published by the Chetham Society (1854-57). Byrom was the inventor of a successful system of shorthand. He was a decided Jacobite, and his mode of defending his sentiments on this point are still remembered and quoted:

MACARONIC VERSE.

acaronic verse is properly a system of Latin inflections joined to words of a modern vernacular, such as English, French, German, &c.; some writers, however, choose to disregard the strictness of this definition, and consider everything macaronic which is written with the aid of more than one language or dialect. Dr. Geddes (born 1737; died 1802), considered one of the greatest of English macaronic writers, says: “It is the characteristic of a Macaronic poem to be written in Latin hexameters; but so as to admit occasionally vernacular words, either in their native form, or with a Latin inflection—other licenses, too, are allowed in the measure of the lines, contrary to the strict rules of prosody.” Broad enough reservations these, of which Dr. Geddes in his own works was not slow in availing himself, and as will be seen in the specimens given, his example has been well followed, for the strict rule that an English macaronic should consist of the vernacular made classical with Latin terminations has been as much honoured in the breach as in the observance. Another characteristic in macaronics is that these poems recognise no law in orthography, etymology, syntax, or prosody. The examples which here follow are confined exclusively to those which have their basis, so to speak, in the English language, and, with the exception of a few of the earlier ones, the majority of the selections in this volume have their origin in our own times.

“The earliest collection of English Christmas carols supposed to have been published,” says Hone’s “Every Day Book,” “is only known from the last leaf of a volume printed by Wynkyn Worde in 1521. There are two carols upon it: ‘A Carol of Huntynge’ is reprinted in the last edition of Juliana Berners’ ‘Boke of St. Alban’s;’ the other, ‘A carol of bringing in the Bore’s Head,’ is in Dibdin’s edition of ‘Ames,’ with a copy of the carol as it is now sung in Queen’s College, Oxford, every Christmas Day.” Dr. Bliss of Oxford printed a few copies of this for private circulation, together with Anthony Wood’s version of it. The version subjoined is from a collection imprinted at London, “in the Poultry, by Richard Kele, dwelling at the long shop vnder Saynt Myldrede’s Chyrche,” about 1546:

A Carol Bringing in the Bore’s Head.

Another version of the last verse is:

Skelton, who was the poet-laureate about the end of the fifteenth century, has in his “Boke of Colin Clout,” and also in that of “Philip Sparrow,” much macaronic verse, as in “Colin Clout,” when he is speaking of the priests of those days, he says:

In Harsnett’s “Detection” are some curious lines, being a curse for “the miller’s eeles that were stolne”:

In “Literary Frivolities” there was a notice of and quotation from Ruggles’ jeu d’esprit of “Ignoramus,” and here follows a short scene from this play, containing a humorous burlesque of the old Norman Law-Latin, in which the elder brethren of the legal profession used to plead, and in which the old Reporters come down to the Bar of to-day—if, indeed, that venerable absurdity can be caricatured. It would be rather difficult to burlesque a system that provided for a writ de pipâ vini carriandâ—that is, “for negligently carrying a pipe of wine!”

IGNORAMUS.

Actus I.—Scena III.

Argumentum.

Ignoramus, clericis suis vocatis Dulman & Pecus, amorem suum erga Rosabellam narrat, irredetque Musæum quasi hominem academicum.

Intrant Ignoramus, Dulman, Pecus, Musæus.

Igno. Phi, phi: tanta pressa, tantum croudum, ut fui pene trusus ad mortem. Habebo actionem de intrusione contra omnes et singulos. Aha Mounsieurs, voulez voz intruder par joint tenant? il est playne case, il est point droite de le bien seance. O valde caleor: O chaud, chaud, chaud: precor Deum non meltavi meum pingue. Phi, phi. In nomine Dei, ubi sunt clerici mei jam? Dulman, Dulman.

Dul. Hìc, Magister Ignoramus, vous avez Dulman.

Igno. Meltor, Dulman, meltor. Rubba me cum towallio, rubba. Ubi est Pecus?

Pec. Hìc, Sir.

Igno. Fac ventum, Pecus. Ita, sic, sic. Ubi est Fledwit?

Dul. Non est inventus.

Igno. Ponite nunc chlamydes vestras super me, ne capiam frigus. Sic, sic. Ainsi, bien faict. Inter omnes pœnas meas, valde lætor, et gaudeo nunc, quod feci bonum aggreamentum, inter Anglos nostros: aggreamentum, quasi aggregatio mentium. Super inde cras hoysabimus vela, et retornabimus iterum erga Londinum: tempus est, nam huc venimus Octabis Hillarii, et nunc fere est Quindena Pasche.

Dul. Juro, magister, titillasti punctum legis hodie.

Igno. Ha, ha, he! Puto titillabam. Si le nom del granteur, ou granté soit rased, ou interlined en faict pol, le faict est grandement suspicious.

Dul. Et nient obstant, si faict pol, &c., &c. Oh illud etiam in Covin.

Igno. Ha, ha, he!

Pec. At id, de un faict pendu en le smoak, nunquam audivi titillatum melius.

Igno. Ha, ha, he! Quid tu dicis, Musæe?

Mus. Equidem ego parum intellexi.

Igno. Tu es gallicrista, vocatus a coxcomb; nunquam faciam te Legistam.

Dul. Nunquam, nunquam; nam ille fuit Universitans.

Igno. Sunt magni idiotæ, et clerici nihilorum, isti Universitantes: miror quomodo spendisti tuum tempus inter eos.

Mus. Ut plurimum versatus sum in Logicâ.

Igno. Logica? Quæ villa, quod burgum est Logica?

Mus. Est una artium liberalium.

Igno. Liberalium? Sic putabam. In nomine Dei, stude artes parcas et lucrosas: non est mundus pro artibus liberalibus jam.

Mus. Deditus etiam fui amori Philosophiæ.

Igno. Amori? Quid! Es pro bagaschiis et strumpetis? Si custodis malam regulam, non es pro me, sursum reddam te in manus parentum iterum.

Mus. Dii faxint.

Igno. Quota est clocka nunc?

Dul. Est inter octo et nina.

Igno. Inter octo et nina? Ite igitur ad mansorium nostrum cum baggis et rotulis.—Quid id est? videam hoc instrumentum; mane petit, dum calceo spectacula super nasum. O ho, ho, scio jam. Hæc indentura, facta, &c., inter Rogerum Rattledoke de Caxton in comitatu Brecknocke, &c. O ho, Richard Fen, John Den. O ho, Proud Buzzard, plaintiff, adversus Peakegoose, defendant. O ho, vide hic est defalta literæ; emenda, emenda; nam in nostra lege una comma evertit totum Placitum. Ite jam, copiato tu hoc, tu hoc ingrossa, tu Universitans trussato sumptoriam pro jorneâ.

[Exeunt Clerici.

Ignoramus solus.

Hi, ho! Rosabella, hi ho! Ego nunc eo ad Veneris curiam letam, tentam hic apud Torcol: Vicecomes ejus Cupido nunquam cessavit, donec invenit me in balivâ suâ: Primum cum amabam Rosabellam nisi parvum, misit parvum Cape, tum magnum Cape, et post, alias Capias et pluries Capias, & Capias infinitas; & sic misit tot Capias, ut tandem capavit me ut legatum ex omni sensu et ratione meâ. Ita sum sicut musca sine caput; buzzo & turno circumcirca, et nescio quid facio. Cum scribo instrumentum, si femina nominatur, scribo Rosabellam; pro Corpus cum causâ, corpus cum caudâ; pro Noverint universi, Amaverint universi; pro habere ad rectum, habere ad lectum; et sic vasto totum instrumentum. Hei, ho! ho, hei, ho!

The following song by O’Keefe, is a mixture of English, Latin, and nonsense:

Of the many specimens written by the witty and versatile Dr. Maginn we select this one

The Second Epode of Horace.

There is a little bit by Barham (“Ingoldsby Legends”) which is worthy of insertion:

The following bright carmen Macaronicum appeared in an American periodical in 1873:

Rex Midas.

The following well-known lines are from the “Comic Latin Grammar,” a remarkably clever and curious work, full of quaint illustrations:

A Treatise on Wine.

The two which follow are identical in theme, and show that the wags and wits of about thirty years ago were busy poking their fun at what was then their latest sensation, much as they do now. They both treat of the Sea-serpent; the first being from an American source:

The Sea-Serpent.

The Death of the Sea-Serpent.

BY PUBLIUS JONATHAN VIRGILIUS JEFFERSON SMITH.

St. George et His Dragon.

The Polka.

Clubbis Noster.

Little Red Riding Hood.

“Ich bin Dein.”

Contenti Abeamus.

De Leguleio.

Chanson without Music.

BY THE PROFESSOR EMERITUS OF DEAD AND LIVING LANGUAGES.

During the late American Civil War, Slidell and Mason, two of the Confederate Commissioners, were taken by an admiral of the U.S. navy from a British ship, and this came near causing an issue between the two countries. Seward was the American premier at the time. This is that affair done up in a macaronic:

Slidell and Mason.

A Valentine.

Very Felis-itous.

Ce Meme Vieux Coon.

Malum Opus.

Carmen ad Terry.

(WRITTEN WHILE GENERAL TERRY, U.S.A., WITH HIS BLACK SOLDIERS, WAS IN COMMAND
AT RICHMOND, VIRGINIA, AFTER ITS EVACUATION BY THE CONFEDERATE TROOPS.)

Lydia Green.

Am Rhein.

“Serve-um-Right.”

To a Friend at Parting.

Ad Professorem Linguæ Germanicæ.

Pome of a Possum.

The following “Society Verses” of Mortimer Collins are given here by way of introducing an imitation of them in macaronic verse:

Ad Chloen, M.A.

(FRESH FROM HER CAMBRIDGE EXAMINATION.)

To the Fair “Come-Outer.”

Here are a few juvenile specimens, the first being a little-known old nursery ballad:

The Four Brothers.

Little Bo-peep.

Jack and Jill.

The Teetotum.

Schoolboys and college youths not unfrequently adorn their books with some such macaronic as this:

Inscriptions and epitaphs are often the vehicles of quaint and curious diction, and of these we give some instances:

The Sign of the “Gentle Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.”

(On the road from Cape Town to Simon’s Bay, Cape of Good Hope.)

In the Visitors’ Book at Niagara Falls.

In the Visitors’ Book of Mount Kearsarge House.

(Summit of Mount Kearsarge, North Conway, N.H.)

The following epitaph is to be found in Northallerton Churchyard:

There are no macaronic authors nowadays, though poems of this class are still to be had in colleges and universities; but everything pertaining to college life is ephemeral, coming in with Freshman and going out with Senior. College students are the prolific fathers of a kind of punning Latin composition, such as:

“O unum sculls. You damnum sculls. Sic transit drove a tu pone tandem temo ver from the north.”

“He is visiting his ante, Mrs. Dido Etdux, and intends stopping here till ortum.”

“He et super with us last evening, and is a terrible fellow. He lambda man almost to death the other evening, but he got his match—the other man cutis nos off for him and noctem flat urna flounder.”

“Doctores! Ducum nex mundi nitu Panes; tritucum at ait. Expecto meta fumen, and eta beta pi. Super attente one—Dux, hamor clam pati; sum parates, homine, ices, jam, etc. Sideror hoc.”

In a similar dialect to this, Dean Swift and Dr. Sheridan used to correspond. In this way:

The Dean once wrote to the Doctor:

To which the Doctor responded:

At this the Dean settles the whole affair by—

Sydney Smith proposed as a motto for a well-known fish-sauce purveyor the following line from Virgil (Æn. iv. I):

When two students named Payne and Culpepper were expelled from college, a classmate wrote:

And Dr. Johnson wrote the following epitaph on his cat:

“Mi-cat inter omnes.”

A gentleman at dinner helped his friend to a potato, saying—“I think that is a good mealy one.” “Thank you,” was the reply, “it could not be melior.”

Another gentleman while driving one day was asked by a lady if some fowls they passed were ducks or geese. One of the latter at the moment lifting up its voice, the gentleman said, “That’s your anser!”

“Well, Tom, are you sick again?” asked a student of his friend, and was answered in English and in Latin, “Sic sum.”

Victor Hugo was once asked if he could write English poetry. “Certainement,” was the reply, and he sat down and wrote this verse:

In the “Innocents Abroad” of Mark Twain he gives a letter written by his friend Mr. Blucher to a Parisian hotel-keeper, which was as follows:

“‘Monsieur le Landlord: Sir—Pourquoi don’t you mettez some savon in your bed-chambers? Est-ce-que-vous pensez I will steal it? Le nuit passeé you charged me pour deux chandelles when I only had one; hier vous avez charged me avec glace when I had none at all; tout les jours you are coming some fresh game or other upon me, mais vous ne pouvez pas play this savon dodge on me twice. Savon is a necessary de la vie to anybody but a Frenchman, et je l’aurai hors de cette hotel or make trouble. You hear me.—Allons.

Blucher.’”

“I remonstrated,” says Mr. Twain, “against the sending of this note, because it was so mixed up that the landlord would never be able to make head or tail of it; but Blucher said he guessed the old man could read the French of it, and average the rest.”

Productions like the preceding, and like that with which we conclude are continually finding their way into print, and are always readable, curious, and fresh for an idle hour.

Pocahontas and Captain Smith.

(Jamestown, a.d. 1607.)

“Johannes Smithus, walking up a streetus, met two ingentes Ingins et parvulus Ingin. Ingins non capti sunt ab Johanne, sed Johannes captus est ab ingentibus Inginibus. Parvulus Ingin run off hollerin, et terrifficatus est most to death. Big Ingin removit Johannem ad tentem, ad campum, ad marshy placem, papoosem, pipe of peacem, bogibus, squawque. Quum Johannes examinatus est ab Inginibus, they condemnati sunt eum to be cracked on capitem ab clubbibus. Et a big Ingin was going to strikaturus esse Smithum with a clubbe, quum Pocahontas came trembling down, et hollerin, ‘Don’t ye duit, don’t ye duit!’ Sic Johannes non periit, sed grew fat on corn bread et hominy.”

LINGUISTIC VERSE.

ne of the most curious efforts in the way of teaching a language was that attempted by a work published originally in Paris, in 1862, entitled “O Novo Guia em Portuguez e Inglez. Par Jose de Fonseca e Pedro Carolina,” or the New Guide to Conversation in Portuguese and English. Mr. G. C. Leland writes us that Fonseca “manufactured” this work by procuring a book of French dialogues, which he put word by word into English—(by the aid of a dictionary)—“of which he knew not a word, and what is strangest, did not learn a word, even while writing his Guide. That he really humbugged his bookseller appears from this that he induced the poor victim to publish a large English dictionary!” This book has been reprinted, as a literary curiosity, and may be had at Quaritch’s, 15 Piccadilly, London, under the title of “A New Guide to the English,” by Pedro Carolina; Fonseca having taken his name out, and dating the book from “Pekin,”—this being a mere joke. However, the original was a serious work, and by way of introduction to a poem in the Fonseca English, kindly given us by Professor E. H. Palmer, we give a few particulars of and extracts from the work itself, and here is the Preface:

“A choice of familiar dialogues, clean of gallicisms and despoiled phrases, it was missing yet to studious portuguese and brazilian Youth; and also to persons of other nations that wish to know the portuguese language. We sought all we may do, to correct that want, composing and divising the present little work in two parts. The first includes a greatest vocabulary proper names by alphabetical order; and the second forty-three Dialogues adapted to the usual precisions of the life. For that reason we did put, with a scrupulous exactness, a great variety own expressions to english and portugues idioms; without to attach us selves (as make some others) almost at a literal translation; translation what only will be for to accustom the portuguese pupils, or foreign, to speak very bad any of the mentioned idioms. We were increasing this second edition with a phraseology, in the first part, and some familiar letters, anecdotes, idiotisms, proverbs, and to second a coin’s index.

“The Works which we were confering for this labour, find use us for nothing; but those what were publishing to Portugal, or out. They were almost all composed for some foreign, or for some national little acquainted in the spirit of both languages. It was resulting from that corelessness to rest these Works fill of imperfections and anomalies of style; in spite of the infinite typographical faults which sometimes invert the sense of the periods. It increase not to contain any of those Works the figured pronunciation of the english words, nor the prosodical accent in the portugese: indispensable object whom wish to speak the english and portuguese languages correctly.

“We expect then who the little book (for the care what we wrote him, and for her typographical correction) that may be worth the acceptance of the studious persons, and especially of the Youth, at which we dedicate him particularly.”

The “greatest vocabulary proper names” is in three columns—the first giving the Portuguese, the second the English words, and the third the English pronunciation:

The vocabulary fills about fifty pages, and is followed by a series of “familiar phrases,” of which a few are here given:

“Do which is that book? Do is so kind to tell me it. Let us go on ours feet. Having take my leave, i was going. This trees make a beauty shade. This wood is full of thief’s. These apricots make me & to come water in mouth. I have not stricken the clock. The storm is go over, the sun begin to dissape it. I am stronger which him. That place is too much gracious. That are the dishes whose you must be and to abstain.”

Then come the dialogues, and one we give is supposed to take place at a morning call, which commences first with the visitor and the servant:

“‘Is your master at home?’—‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Is it up?’—‘No, sir, he sleep yet. I go make that he get up.’ ‘It come in one’s? How is it you are in bed yet?’—‘Yesterday at evening I was to bed so late that i may not rising me soon that morning.’”

This is followed by a description of the dissipation which led to these late hours—“singing, dancing, laughing, and playing”—

“‘What game?’—‘To the picket.’ ‘Who have prevailed upon?’—‘I have gained ten lewis.’ ‘Till at what o’clock its had play one?’—‘Untill two o’clock after midnight.’”

But these conversations or dialogues, however amusing, are as nothing when compared with the anecdotes which are given by Fonseca, of which we transcribe a few:

“John II., Portugal King, had taken his party immediately. He had in her court castillians ambassadors coming for treat of the pease. As they had keeped in leng the negotiation he did them two papers in one from which he had wrote peace and on the other war—telling them ‘Choice you!’”

“Philip, King’s Macedonia, being fall, and seeing the extension of her body drawed upon the dust was cry—‘Greats Gods! that we may have little part in this Univers!’”

“One eyed was laied against a man which had good eyes that he saw better than him. The party was accepted. ‘I had gain over,’ said the one eyed; ‘why i see you two eyes, and you not look me who one!’”

“The most vertious of the pagans, Socrates, was accused from impiety, and immolated to the fury of the envy and the fanaticism. When relates one’s him self that he has been condemned to death for the Athenians—‘And then told him, they are it for the nature,—But it is an unjustly,’ cried her woman ‘would thy replied-him that might be justify?’”

“Cæsar seeing one day to Roma, some strangers, very riches, which bore between her arms little dogs and little monkeies and who was carressign them too tenderly was ask, with so many great deal reason, whether the women of her country don’t had some children?”

“Two friends who from long they not were seen meet one’s selves for hazard. ‘How do is there?’ told one of the two. ‘No very well, told the other, and i am married from that I saw thee.’ ‘Good news.’ ‘Not quit, because I had married with a bad woman.’ ‘So much worse.’ ‘Not so much great deal worse; because her dower was from two thousand lewis.’ ‘Well, that confort.’ ‘Not absolutely, why i had emplored this sum for to buy some muttons which are all deads of the rot.’ ‘That is indeed very sorry.’ ‘Not so sorry, because the selling of hers hide have bring me above the price of the muttons.’ ‘So you are indemnified.’ ‘Not quit, because my house where i was disposed my money, finish to be consumed by the flames.’ ‘Oh, here is a great misfortune!’ ‘Not so great nor i either, because my wife and my house are burned together!’”

The concluding portion of this Guide is devoted to “Idiotisms and Proverbs,” of some of which it is rather difficult to recognise the original, as “To take time by the forelock,” is rendered “It want to take the occasion for the hairs!” Here are a few others:

“The walls have hearsay.”

“Four eyes does see better than two.”

“There is not any ruler without a exception.”

“The mountain in work put out a mouse.”

“He is like the fish into the water.”

“To buy a cat in a pocket.”

“To come back at their muttons.”

“He is not so devil as he is black.”

“Keep the chestnut of the fire with the hand of the cat.”

“What come in to me for an ear yet out for another.”

“Take out the live coals with the hand of the cat.”

“These roses do button at the eyesight.”

Enough perhaps has been given about this amusing Guide, and we here introduce Professor E. H. Palmer’s verses:

The Parterre.

A POETRY AS THE FONSECA.

Pidgin English is the name given to the dialect extensively used in the seaport towns of China as a means of communication between the natives and English and Americans, and is a very rude jargon in which English words are very strangely distorted. It is very limited, the Chinese learning Pidgin with only the acquirement of a few hundred words, the pronunciation and grammar of which have been modified to suit those of their own language. The word Pidgin itself is derived through a series of changes in the word Business. Early traders made constant use of this word, and the Chinaman contracted it first to Busin, and then through the change to Pishin it at length assumed the form of Pidgin, still retaining its original meaning. This at once shows the difficulty which a Chinaman has in mastering the pronunciation of English words, and as business or commerce is the great bond of union between the Chinese and the foreign residents, it is not to be wondered at that this word should give name to the jargon formed in its service. The Chinese have great difficulty in using the letter r, pronouncing it almost always like l, as loom for room, cly for cry; and for the sake of euphony often add ee or lo to the end of words. Galaw or galow is a word of no meaning, being used as a kind of interjection; chop, chop, means quick, quick; maskee, don’t mind; chop b’long, of a kind; topside galow, excelsior, or “hurrah for topside”; chin chin, good-bye; welly culio, very curious; Joss-pidgin-man, priest. With these few hints the reader may understand better the following version of “Excelsior,” which originally appeared in Harpers’ Magazine in 1869,—the moral, however, belongs solely to the Chinese translator:

Topside-Galow.

In connection with these linguistic curiosities we take the following from an old number of Harpers’ Magazine: “A practical parent objects to the silliness of our nursery rhymes, for the reason that the doggerel is rendered pernicious by the absence of a practical moral purpose, and as introducing infants to the realities of life through an utterly erroneous medium. They are taught to believe in a world peopled by Little Bo-peeps and Goosey, Goosey Ganders, instead of a world of New York Central, Erie, North-Western Preferred, &c. &c. It is proposed, therefore, to accommodate the teaching of the nursery to the requirements of the age, to invest children’s rhymes with a moral purpose. Instead, for example, of the blind wonderment as to the nature of astronomical bodies inculcated in that feeble poem commencing ‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star,’ let the child be indoctrinated into the recent investigations of science, thus:

“Then, again, there is the gastronomic career of Little Jack Homer, which inculcates gluttony. It is practicable that this fictitious hero should familiarise the child with the principles of the Delectus:

“The episode of Jack and Jill is valueless as an educational medium. But it might be made to illustrate the arguments of a certain school of political economists:

“Even the pleasures of life have their duties, and the child needs to be instructed in the polite relaxation of society. The unmeaning jingle of ‘Hey diddle diddle,’ might be invested with some utility of a social kind:

“And the importance of securing a good parti, of rejecting ineligible candidates, and of modifying flirtations by a strict regard to the future, might be impressed upon the female mind at an early age in the following moral:

The preceding is all very well, but there are others which have been travestied and changed also—“Mary’s little Lamb,” for instance, will never be allowed to rest in its true Saxon garb, but is being constantly dressed in every tongue and dialect. But recently one has arisen bold enough to doubt the story altogether, and throw discredit on the song. Mr. Baring Gould, and iconoclasts like him, strive to show that William Tell and other ancient heroes never did live, but we never expected to doubt the existence of “Mary’s little Lamb,” yet a correspondent to a magazine sent not long ago what he says is the “true story of Mary and her lamb,” hoping it will take the place of the garbled version hitherto received as authentic:

We have still another way of it, in what may be termed an exaggerated synonymic adherence to the central idea of the ballad:

Linguistic renderings of many of these ancient songs may be found in the works of the Rev. Francis Mahoney (Father Prout), Dr. Maginn, &c., as well as in the “Arundines Cami” of the Rev. H. Drury. Of these here follow a few:

Little Bo-peep.

Ba, Ba, Black Sheep.

Here is a song of Mahoney’s, which is given complete:

Which, put into English, is:

The last of these we give is from the “Arundines Cami”:

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

This familiar nursery rhyme has also been “revised” by a committee of eminent preceptors and scholars, with this result:

Dr. Lang, in his book on “Queensland,” &c., is wroth against the colonists for the system of nomenclature they have pursued, in so far as introducing such names as Deptford, Codrington, Greenwich, and so on. Conceding that there may be some confusion by the duplication in this way of names from the old country, they are surely better than the jaw-breaking native names which are strung together in the following lines:

The following jeu d’esprit, in which many of the absurd and unpronounceable names of American towns and villages are happily hit off, is from the Orpheus C. Kerr (office-seeker) Papers, by R. H. Newell, a work containing many of those humorous, semi-political effusions, which were so common in the United States during the Civil War:

The American Traveller.

A Rhyme for Musicians.

Surnames.

BY JAMES SMITH, ONE OF THE AUTHORS OF “REJECTED ADDRESSES.”

The next verses are somewhat similar, and are taken from an old number of the European Magazine:

Coincidences and Contrarieties.

The English Language.

Spelling Reform.

Owed To My Creditors.

An Original Love Story.

Prevalent Poetry.

A Temperance Sermon.

TECHNICAL VERSE.

Anticipatory Dirge on Professor Buckland, the Geologist.

BY BISHOP SHUTTLEWORTH.

When Professor Buckland’s grave was being dug in Islip churchyard, in August 1856, the men came unexpectedly upon the solid limestone rock, which they were obliged to blast with gunpowder. The coincidence of this fact with some of the verses in the above anticipatory dirge is somewhat remarkable.

The following is by Jacob F. Henrici, and appeared originally in Scribner’ s Magazine for November 1879:

A Microscopic Serenade.

The epitaph following was written by the learned and witty Dr. Charles Smith, author of the histories of Cork and Waterford. It was read at a meeting of the Dublin Medico-Philosophical Society on July 1, 1756, and is a very curious specimen of the “terminology of chemistry:”

“Boyle Godfrey, Chymist and Doctor of Medicine.

EPITAPHIUM CHEMICUM.

To Clara Morchella Deliciosa.

(A MYCOLOGICAL SERENADE.)

By Mr. A. Stephen Wilson, North Kinmundy, Aberdeenshire, and
read at a meeting of the Cryptogamic Society at Glasgow in 1880.

To the Pliocene Skull.

(A GEOLOGICAL ADDRESS.)

The following verses are from “Notes and Queries,” and evidently refer to a case of “breach of promise”:

Knox Ward, King-at-Arms, disarmed at Law.

Lament of an Unfortunate Druggist,

A Member of the Pharmaceutical Society, whose matrimonial
speculations have been disappointed.

Ode to “Davies’ Analytical”

Man and the Ascidian.

A MORALITY IN THE QUEEN ANNE MANNER.

A Geological Madrigal.

The Husband’s Complaint.

“Will she thy linen wash and hosen darn?”—Gay.

Homœopathic Soup.

A Billet-Doux.

BY A COUNTRY SCHOOLMASTER, CHIDDINGLY, SUSSEX.

Cumulative verse—in which one newspaper gives a few lines, and other papers follow it up—like that which follows, is very common in American newspapers, which, however profound or dense, invariably have a corner for this kind of thing. It has been said that the reason why no purely comic paper, like Punch or Fun, succeeds in the United States, is because all their papers have a “funny” department.

The Arab and his Donkey.

An Ohio poet thus sings of the beginning of man:

Evolution.

SINGLE-RHYMED VERSE.

he following lines are from a book written by M. Halpine, under the sobriquet of “Private Miles O’Reilly,” during the Civil War in the United States. They have some merit apart from their peculiar versification, and the idea of comparing the “march past” of veteran troops in war time with the parade of the old gladiators is a happy one.

Morituri te Salutant.

“About the year 1775 there was a performer named Cervetti in the orchestra of Drury Lane Theatre, to whom, the gods had given the appropriate name of Nosey, from his enormous staysail, that helped to carry him before the wind. ‘Nosey!’ shouted from the galleries, was the signal, or word of command, for the fiddlers to strike up. This man was originally an Italian merchant of good repute; but failing in business, he came over to England, and adopted music for a profession. He had a notable knack of loud yawning, with which he sometimes unluckily filled up Garrick’s expressive pauses, to the infinite annoyance of Garrick and the laughter of the audience. In the summer of 1777 he played at Vauxhall, at the age of ninety-eight.” Upon such another nose was the following lines written:

The Roman Nose.

Mrs. Thrale, on her thirty-fifth birthday, remarked to Dr. Johnson, that no one would send her verses now that she had attained that age, upon which the Doctor, without the least hesitation, recited the following lines:

Thirty-Five.

Moore, in his “Life of Sheridan,” says that he (Sheridan) “had a sort of hereditary fancy for difficult trifling in poetry; particularly to that sort which consists in rhyming to the same word through a long string of couplets, till every rhyme that the language supplies for it is exhausted,” a task which must have required great patience and perseverance. Moore quotes some dozen lines entitled “To Anne,” wherein a lady is made to bewail the loss of her trunk, and she thus rhymes her lamentations:

From another of these trifles of Sheridan, Moore gives the following extracts:

John Skelton, a poet of the fifteenth century, in great repute as a wit and satirist, was inordinately fond of writing in lines of three or four syllables, and also of iteration of rhyme. This perhaps was the cause of his writing much that was mere doggerel, as this style scarcely admits of the conveyance of serious sentiment. Occasionally, however, his miniature lines are interesting, as in this address to Mrs. Margaret Hussey:

The following national pasquinade we find in Egerton Brydges’ “Censura Literaria Restituta,” written in commemoration of the failure of Spain by her Invincible Armada to invade Britain. The iteration of metre is all that approaches in it to the style of Skelton, of whose verse it is an imitation:

Epitaph on Dr. William Maginn.

The Musical Ass.

The above is a translation from the “Fabulas Litterarias” of Tomaso de Yriarte (1750-1790). Yriarte conceived the idea of making moral truths the themes for fables in the style of Æsop, and these he composed in every variety of verse which seemed at all suitable. Even when the leading idea presents no remarkable incident, Yriarte’s fables please by their simplicity.

Boxiana.

The Ruling Power.

Nahum Fay on the Loss of his Wife.

The Radenovitch.

A SONG OF A NEW DANCE.

Footman Joe.

To a Lady

WHO ASKED FOR A POEM OF NINETY LINES.

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.

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.

Among the moderns, the French have most cultivated the anagram. Camden says: “They exceedingly admire the anagram, for the deep and far-fetched antiquity and mystical meaning therein. In the reign of Francis the First (when learning began to revive), they began to distil their wits therein.” There is a curious anecdote of an anagrammatist who presented a king of France with the two following upon his name of Bourbon:

That is, “Bourbon good to the world;” or “Bourbon destitute of good;” while on another celebrated Frenchman we have—

Southey, in his “Doctor,” says that “anagrams are not likely ever again to hold so high a place among the prevalent pursuits of literature as they did in the seventeenth century. But no person,” he continues, “will ever hit upon an apt one without feeling that degree of pleasure with which any odd coincidence is remarked.” In that century, indeed, the artifice appears to have become the fashionable literary passion of the day—the amusement of the learned and the wise, who sought

While Andreas Rudiger was yet a student at college, and intending to become a physician, he one day pulled the Latinised form of his name to pieces, Andreas Rudigeras, and borrowing an i, transposed it into Arare Rus Dei Dignus (“Worthy to cultivate the land of God”). He fancied from this that he had a divine call to become an ecclesiastic, and thereupon gave up the study of medicine for theology. Soon after, Rudiger became tutor in the family of the philosopher Thomasius, who one day told him “that he would greatly benefit the journey of his life by turning it towards physic.” Rudiger confessed that his tastes lay rather in that direction than to theology, but having looked upon the anagram of his name as an indication of a divine call, he had not dared to turn away from theology. “How simple you have been,” replied Thomasius; “it is just that very anagram which calls you towards medicine—‘Rus Dei,’ the land of God (God’s acre), what is that but the cemetery—and who labours so bravely for the cemetery as a physician does?” Rudiger could not resist this, returned to medicine, and became famous as a physician.

An anagram on Monk, afterwards Duke of Albemarle on the restoration of Charles II., forms also a chronogram, including the date of the event it records—

In this anagram the c takes the place of the k.

The old Puritan biographer, Cotton Mather, claims for John Wilson—the subject of one of his lives—the kingship of anagrammatising. “Of all the anagrammatisers,” he says in the third book of his “Magnalia Christi Americana,” “that have been trying their fancies for the 2000 years that have run out since the days of Lycophron, or the more than 5000 since the days of our first father, I believe there never was a man that made so many, or so nimbly, as our Mr. Wilson; who, together with his quick turns upon the names of his friends, would ordinarily fetch, and rather than lose, would even force, devout instructions out of his anagrams. As one, upon hearing my father (Increase Mather) preach, Mr. Wilson immediately gave him that anagram upon his name ‘Crescentius Matherus,’ Eu! Christus Merces Tua (Lo! Christ is thy reward). There would scarcely occur the name of any remarkable person without an anagram raised thereupon.”

This said John Wilson “forced instruction” out of his own name—first rendering it into Latin, Johannes Wilsonus, he found this anagram in it, “In uno Jesu nos salvi” (We are saved in one Jesus). This mode of Latinising names was common enough among those who liked this literary folly; thus we have Sir Robert Viner, or Robertus Vinerus, rendered “Vir Bonus et Rarus” (a good and rare man). The disciples of Descartes made a perfect anagram upon the Latinised name of their master, “Renatus Cartesius,” one which not only takes up every letter, but which also expresses their opinion of that master’s speciality—“Tu scis res naturæ” (Thou knowest the things of nature).

Pierre de St. Louis became a Carmelite monk on discovering that his name yielded a direction to that effect:

And, in the seventeenth century, André Pujom, finding that his name spelled Pendu à Riom, fulfilled his destiny by cutting somebody’s throat in Auvergne, and was actually hung at Riom, the seat of justice in that province.

Occasionally when the anagram of a name did not make sense, there was added a rhyme to bring out a meaning. Thus, in a sermon preached by Dr. Edward Reynolds upon Peter Whalley, and entitled “Death’s Advantage,” every letter of the name is to be found in the first line of this verse:

In this sermon Peter Whalley is also anagrammatised into A Whyte Perle—this would not be a bad one, if orthography were of as little consequence as many of the old triflers in this way used to account it.

We read that when Alexander the Great was baffled before the walls of Tyre, and was about to raise the siege, he had a dream wherein he saw a satyr leaping about and trying to seize him. He consulted his sages, who read in the word Satyrus (the Greek for satyr), “Sa Tyrus”—“Tyre is thine!” Encouraged by this interpretation, Alexander made another assault and carried the city.

In a “New Help to Discourse” (London, 1684), there is one with a very quaint exposition:

Toast—A Sott.

It will be seen, however, that anagrams have chiefly been made upon proper names, and a reversing of their letters may sometimes pay the owner a compliment; as of the poet Waller:

George Thompson, the well-known anti-slavery advocate, was at one time solicited to go into parliament for the more efficient serving of the cause he had so much at heart. The question whether he would comply with this request or not was submitted to his friends, and one of them gave the following for answer:

This clever instance was given in “Notes and Queries” a short time ago:

The following are additional instances.

When, at the General Peace of 1814, Prussia absorbed a portion of Saxony, the king issued a new coinage of rix dollars, with their German name, Ein Reichstahler, impressed on them. The Saxons, by dividing the word, Ein Reich stahl er, made a sentence of which the meaning is, “He stole a kingdom!”

A good one is—

If we take from the words, La Revolution Française, the word veto, known as the first prerogative of Louis XIV., the remaining letters will form “Un Corse la finira”—A Corsican shall end it, and this may be regarded as an extraordinary coincidence, if nothing more. Many anagrams were made upon the name of Napoleon by superstitious persons, as—

A very apt anagram is the one founded upon—Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, I find murdered by rogues.

Evil.

The following are very apposite—

THE ACROSTIC.

crostic is the Greek name given to a poem the first letters of the lines in which taken together form a complete word or sentence, but most frequently a name. The invention of this kind of composition cannot be traced to any particular individual, but it is believed to have originated on the decline of pure classic literature. The early French poets, from the time of Francis I. to that of Louis XIV., practised it, but it was carried to its greatest perfection by the Elizabethan poets. Sir John Davies has no fewer than twenty-six poems entitled “Hymns to Astræa,” every one of which is an acrostic on the words, “Elizabetha Regina.” Traces of something akin are to be found in the poetry of the Jews,—for example, the 119th Psalm,—and also in the Greek “Anthology.” Here it may be noted that in Greek the word Adam is compounded of the initial letters of the four cardinal points:

and that the Hebrew word, ADM forms the acrostic of A[dam], D[avid], M[essiah].

It is hardly necessary to give many specimens of this kind of literary composition in these days, since there are so many periodicals continually giving acrostics and relative verses, and a very few instances may suffice. The following old verses were originally written in a copy of Parkhurst’s poems presented by the author to Thomas Buttes, who himself wrote this acrostic on his own name:

A Song of Rejoysing for the Prosperous Reigne of our most Gratious Soveraigne Lady, Queene Elizabeth.

The next is from Planché’s “Songs and Poems:”

To Beatrice.

Mdlle. Rachel was the recipient of the most delicate compliment the acrostic has ever been employed to convey. A diadem was presented to her, so arranged that the initial of the name of each stone was also the initial of one of her principal rôles, and in their order formed her name—

The following is an ingenious combination of acrostic and telestic combined:

Edgar A. Poe was the author of a complicated poem of this class, in which the first letter in the lady’s name is the first in the first line; the second, second in the second line; the third, third in the third line, and so on—

A Valentine.

(Frances Sargent Osgood.)

ALLITERATIVE AND ALPHABETIC VERSE.

here are some clever lines which illustrate this style on the Bunker Hill Monument celebration:

Prince Charles after Culloden.

An Animal Alphabet.

Of affected alliteration as used by modern poets, there is a very good imitation of Swinburne’s style in Bayard Taylor’s “Diversions of the Echo Club,”[9] where Galahad chants “in rare and rhythmic redundancy, the viciousness of virtue:”

The Lay of Macaroni.

The above reminds of the anecdote told of Mrs. Crawford, who is said to have written one line of her “Kathleen Mavourneen,” on purpose to confound the Cockney warblers, who would sing it—

and again, in Moore’s “Ballad Stanzas”:

Or—

In the number of “Society” for April 23, 1881, there appeared several excellent specimens of alliterative verse, in compliance with a competition instituted by that paper for certain prizes—the selected verses all begin with the letter b:

Mr. Swinburne, of whose style there has been given an imitation, is not the only poet who is prone to alliteration—in fact, all poets are given more or less to it, though not to the same extent. When used excessively it is as disagreeable as any other excess, yet its occasional use unquestionably adds to grace and style.

Pope says on this point in the following lines, which are also alliterative—

We find this example in Tennyson:

Crabbe also used this ornament profusely, as:

Take also this from Shelley’s “Ode to a Skylark:”

In the numbers of “Truth” for November 1881, there appeared a variety of excellent examples of alphabetic verses in the course of a competition, and of these there follows one:

A Yacht Alphabet.

NONSENSE VERSE.

he following lines have been kindly sent us by Professor E. H. Palmer, who wrote them after a cruise on a friend’s yacht, and are an abortive attempt to get up a knowledge of nautical terms.

The Shipwreck.

Mr. Charles G. Leland sends the following, with the remark that he thinks the lines “the finest and daintiest nonsense” he ever read:

A short time ago in the new series of Household Words, a prize was offered for the writing of Nonsense Verses of eight lines. Of the lines sent in by the competitors we give three specimens:

The curious style of some versifiers has been well imitated in the following

Ballad of the Period.

W. S. Gilbert has some verses which are true nonsense, of which this is one:

Mr. Lewis Carroll’s “Hunting of the Snark”[10] is a very curious little book, full of the most delicate fun and queer nonsense, with delightful illustrations. It gives an account of how a Bellman, Boots, Barrister, Broker, Billiard-marker, Banker, Beaver, Baker, and Butcher go a-hunting after a mythical Beast called a “Snark.” It is difficult to detach a passage for quotation, but the following few lines will show how the “Quest of the Snark” was purposed to be carried on:

The verses which follow are from the “Comic Latin Grammar,” and if they are not nonsense they show at least how thin the partition line is between true nonsense verse and many of those pieces which were wont to be known by the name of Album Verses:

Lines by a Fond Lover.

LIPOGRAMS.

The reading of Lope de Vega’s five novels, in each of which a different vowel is omitted, led to Lord Holland writing the following curious production, in which no vowel is used but e:

Eve’s Legend.

“Men were never perfect; yet the three brethren Veres were ever esteemed, respected, revered, even when the rest, whether the select few, whether the mere herd, were left neglected.

“The eldest’s vessels seek the deep, stem the element, get pence; the keen Peter when free, wedded Hester Green,—the slender, stern, severe, erect Hester Green. The next, clever Ned, less dependent, wedded sweet Ellen Heber. Stephen, ere he met the gentle Eve, never felt tenderness: he kept kennels, bred steeds, rested where the deer fed, went where green trees, where fresh breezes greeted sleep. There he met the meek, the gentle Eve; she tended her sheep, she ever neglected self; she never heeded pelf, yet she heeded the shepherds even less. Nevertheless, her cheek reddened when she met Stephen; yet decent reserve, meek respect, tempered her speech, even when she showed tenderness. Stephen felt the sweet effect: he felt he erred when he fled the sex, yet felt he defenceless when Eve seemed tender. She, he reflects, never deserved neglect; she never vented spleen; he esteems her gentleness, her endless deserts; he reverences her steps; he greets her:

“Tell me whence these meek, these gentle sheep,—whence the yet meeker, the gentler shepherdess?”

“‘Well bred, we were eke better fed, ere we went where reckless men seek fleeces. There we were fleeced. Need then rendered me shepherdess, need renders me sempstress. See me tend the sheep, see me sew the wretched shreds. Eve’s need preserves the steers, preserves the sheep; Eve’s needle mends her dresses, hems her sheets; Eve feeds the geese; Eve preserves the cheese.’

“Her speech melted Stephen, yet he nevertheless esteems, reveres her. He bent the knee where her feet pressed the green; he blessed, he begged, he pressed her.

“‘Sweet, sweet Eve, let me wed thee; be led where Hester Green, where Ellen Heber, where the brethren Vere dwell. Free cheer greets thee there; Ellen’s glees sweeten the refreshments; there severer Hester’s decent reserve checks heedless jests. Be led there, sweet Eve.’

“‘Never! we well remember the Seer. We went where he dwells—we entered the cell—we begged the decree,—

“‘He rendered the decree; see here the sentence decreed!’ Then she presented Stephen the Seer’s decree. The verses were these:

“The terms perplexed Stephen, yet he jeered them. He resented the senseless credence, ‘Seers never err.’ Then he repented, knelt, wheedled, wept. Eve sees Stephen kneel, she relents, yet frets when she remembers the Seer’s decree. Her dress redeems her. These were the events:

“Her well-kempt tresses fell: sedges, reeds beckoned them. The reeds fell, the edges met her cheeks; her cheeks bled. She presses the green sedge where her cheek bleeds. Red then bedewed the green reed, the green reed then speckled her red cheek. The red cheek seems green, the green reed seems red. These were the terms the Eld Seer decreed Stephen Vere.

HERE ENDETH THE LEGEND.”

The following curious lines run in quite an opposite way to the preceding, for each verse has been written so as to include every letter in the alphabet but the vowel e:

The Fate of Nassan.

Here follows a fugitive verse, written with ease without e’s:

CENTONES OR MOSAICS.

f this formerly favourite amusement of the learned we give several examples, only noting here that the word “Cento” primarily signified a cloak made of patches.

1. Powell; 2. Hood; 3. Wordsworth; 4. Eastman; 5. Coleridge; 6. Longfellow; 7. Stoddard; 8. Tennyson; 9. Tennyson; 10. Alice Cary; 11. Coleridge; 12. Alice Cary; 13. Campbell; 14. Bayard Taylor; 15. Osgood; 16. T. S. Perry; 17. Hood; 18. Hoyt; 19. Edwards; 20. Cornwall; 21. Patmore; 22. Bayard Taylor; 23. Tennyson; 24. Read; 25. Browning; 26. Smith; 27. Coleridge; 28. Wordsworth; 29. Coleridge; 30. Hervey; 31. Wordsworth; 32. Osgood.

The next appeared a short time ago in one of the Edinburgh newspapers, signed R. Fleming, and is a mosaic compilation from poems written to the memory of Robert Burns:

1. Bennoch; 2. Campbell; 3. Imlach; 4. Gray; 5. Glen; 6. Paul; 7. M’Laggan; 8. Tannahill; 9. Glen; 10. Allan; 11. Gilfillan; 12. Park; 13. Wallace; 14. Roscoe; 15. Vedder; 16. Wordsworth; 17. Reid; 18. Glass; 19. Paul; 20. Halleck; 21. Macindoe; 22. Ainslie; 23. Halleck; 24. Kelly; 25. Gray; 26. Mercer; 27. Vedder; 28. Imlach; 29. Montgomery; 30. Gray; 31. Rushton; 32. Gilfillan.

The three following verses are very good:

1. Moore; 2. Morris; 3. Norton; 4. Milton; 5. Percival; 6. M’Naughton; 7. Rogers; 8. Patmore; 9. Scott; 10. Pope; 11. Procter; 12. Byron.

The following is copied from “Fireside Amusements,” published by the Messrs. Chambers, every line being taken from a different poet:

ECHO VERSES.

A Gentle Echo on Woman.

(IN THE DORIC MANNER.)

Echo and the Lover.

The latest good verses of this class are attributed to an echo that haunts the Sultan’s palace at Constantinople. Abdul Hamid is supposed to question it as to the intentions of the European powers and his own resources:

WATCH-CASE VERSES.

hen thick watches with removable cases were in fashion, and before the introduction of the present compact form, the outer case of the old-fashioned “turnip” was frequently the repository of verses and sundry devices, generally placed there by the watchmaker. Others, again, consisted of the maker’s name and address, with some appropriate maxim, and were printed on satin or worked with the needle, and occasionally so devised as to appear in a circle without a break, as in the following:

A watch-paper described by a writer in “Notes and Queries” gave the address of Bowen, 2 Tichborne Street, Piccadilly, on a pedestal surmounted by an urn. On the other side of the label was a winged figure, holding in one hand a watch at arm’s length, and in the other a book. At her feet lay a sickle and a serpent with his tail in his mouth—the emblems of Time and Eternity. Round the circumference of the label were these lines—

The bottom of the case was lined with rose-coloured satin, on which was a device in lace-paper—the central portion representing two hearts transfixed by arrows, and surmounted by a dove holding a wreath in its bill. A circular band enclosed the device, and bore the motto—

The lines next given are by Mr. J. Byrom, common called Dr. Byrom, whom we have previously referred to:

The last lines of this watch-paper have been occasionally varied to—

A watchmaker named Adams, who practised his craft many years ago in Church Street, Hackney, was fond of putting scraps of poetry in the outer case of watches sent him for repair. One of his effusions follow:

Another old engraved specimen contained this verse:

The following lines by Pope, occurring in his Epistle to the Earl of Oxford, have been used in this way:

Milman’s poems have furnished a verse for this purpose:

Various other examples of watch-case verses follow:

The Watch’s Moments.

To a Lady with the Present of a Watch.

The following lines have a sand-glass engraved between the first four and the last four lines:

On a sun-dial the following verse has been found engraved:

This was found under an hour-glass in a grotto near water:

PROSE POEMS.

everal pages of this kind appeared at the end of an early volume of “Cornhill Magazine,” of which this is the beginning:

To Correspondents.

“’Tis in the middle of the night; and as with weary hand we write, ‘Here endeth C. M. volume seven,’ we turn our grateful eyes to heaven. The fainting soul, oppressèd long, expands and blossoms into song; but why ’twere difficult to state, for here commenceth volume eight.

“And ah! what mischiefs him environ who claps the editorial tiar on! ’Tis but a paper thing, no doubt; but those who don it soon find out the weight of lead—ah me, how weary!—one little foolscap sheet may carry. Pleasing, we hear, to gods and man was Mr. William Gladstone when he calmed the paper duty fuss; but oh, ’twas very hard on Us. Before he took the impost off, one gentleman was found enough (he was Herculean, but still!—) to bear the letters from Cornhill: two men are needed now, and these are clearly going at the knees. Yet happy hearts had we to-day if one in fifteen hundred, say, of all the packets, white and blue, which we diurnally go through, yielded an ounce of sterling brains, or ought but headache for our pains. Ah, could the Correspondent see the Editor in his misery, no more injurious ink he’d shed, but tears of sympathy instead. What is this tale of straws and bricks? A hen with fifty thousand chicks clapt in Sahara’s sandy plain to peck the wilderness for grain—in that unhappy fowl is seen the despot of a magazine. Only one difference we find; but that is most important, mind. Instinct compels her patient beak; ours—in all modesty we speak—is kept by Conscience (sternly chaste) pegging the literary waste. Our barns are stored, our garners—well, the stock in them’s considerable; yet when we’re to the desert brought, again comes back the welcome thought that somewhere in its depths may hide one little seed, which, multiplied in our half-acre on Cornhill, might all the land with gladness fill. Experience then no more we heed; but, though we seldom find the seed, we read, and read, and read, and read.” &c. &c.

This is also an instance of this hidden verse in the beginning of one of Macaulay’s letters to his sister Hannah:

“My Darling,—Why am I such a fool as to write to a gipsy at Liverpool, who fancies that none is so good as she if she sends one letter for my three? A lazy chit, whose fingers tire in penning a page in reply to a quire! There, miss, you read all the first sentence of my epistle, and never knew that you were reading verse.”

When Mr. Coventry Patmore’s “Angel in the House” was first published, the “Athenæum” furnished the following unique criticism:

“The gentle reader we apprise, That this new Angel in the House Contains a tale not very wise, About a person and a spouse. The author, gentle as a lamb, Has managèd his rhymes to fit, And haply fancies he has writ Another ‘In Memoriam.’ How his intended gathered flowers, And took her tea and after sung, Is told in style somewhat like ours, For delectation of the young. But, reader, lest you say we quiz The poet’s record of his she, Some little pictures you shall see, Not in our language but in his:

Fear not this saline Cousin Fred; He gives no tragic mischief birth; There are no tears for you to shed, Unless they may be tears of mirth. From ball to bed, from field to farm, The tale flows nicely purling on; With much conceit there is no harm, In the love-legend here begun. The rest will come another day, If public sympathy allows; And this is all we have to say About the ‘Angel in the House.’”

The Printer.

“The printer-man had just set up a ‘stickful’ of brevier, filled with italic, fractions, signs, and other things most queer; the type he lifted from the stick, nor dreamt of coming woes, when lo! a wretched wasp thought fit to sting him on the nose: the printer-man the type let fall, as quick as quick could be, and gently murmured a naughty word beginning with a D.”

My Love.

“I seen her out a-walking in her habit de la rue, and it ain’t no use a-talking, but she’s pumpkins and a few. She glides along in glory like a duck upon a lake, and I’d be all love and duty, if I only were her drake!”

The Solo.

“He drew his breath with a gasping sob, with a quivering voice he sang, but his voice leaked out and could not drown the accompanist’s clamorous bang. He lost his pitch on the middle A, he faltered on the lower D, and foundered at length like a battered wreck adrift on the wild high C.”

Pony Lost.

On Feb. 21st, 1822, this devil bade me adieu.

“Lost, stolen, or astray, not the least doubt but run away, a mare pony that is all bay,—if I judge pretty nigh, it is about eleven hands high; full tail and mane, a pretty head and frame; cut on both shoulders by the collar, not being soft nor hollow; it is about five years old, which may be easily told; for spirit and for speed, the devil cannot her exceed.”

An excellent specimen of this kind of literary work is to be found in J. Russell Lowell’s “Fable for Critics,” of which the title-page and preface are written in this fashion, and there is here given an extract from the latter:

“Having scrawled at full gallop (as far as that goes) in a style that is neither good verse nor bad prose, and being a person whom nobody knows, some people will say I am rather more free with my readers than it is becoming to be, that I seem to expect them to wait on my leisure in following wherever I wander at pleasure,—that, in short, I take more than a young author’s lawful ease, and laugh in a queer way so like Mephistopheles, that the public will doubt, as they grope through my rhythm, if in truth I am making fun at them or with them.

“So the excellent Public is hereby assured that the sale of my book is already secured. For there is not a poet throughout the whole land, but will purchase a copy or two out of hand, in the fond expectation of being amused in it, by seeing his betters cut up and abused in it. Now, I find, by a pretty exact calculation, there are something like ten thousand bards in the nation, of that special variety whom the Review and Magazine critics call lofty and true, and about thirty thousand (this tribe is increasing) of the kinds who are termed full of promise and pleasing. The public will see by a glance at this schedule, that they cannot expect me to be over-sedulous about courting them, since it seems I have got enough fuel made sure of for boiling my pot.

“As for such of our poets as find not their names mentioned once in my pages, with praises or blames, let them send in their cards, without further delay, to my friend G. P. Putnam, Esquire, in Broadway, where a list will be kept with the strictest regard to the day and the hour of receiving the card. Then, taking them up as I chance to have time (that is, if their names can be twisted in rhyme), I will honestly give each his proper position, at the rate of one author to each new edition. Thus, a premium is offered sufficiently high (as the Magazines say when they tell their best lie) to induce bards to club their resources and buy the balance of every edition, until they have all of them fairly been run through the mill.” &c. &c.

That which is considered, however, one of the best of Prose Poems is the following, which appeared originally in Fraser’s Magazine, and will also be found in Maclise and Maginn’s “Gallery of Illustrious Literary Characters,”[11] being part of the introductory portion of a notice of the late Earl of Beaconsfield, then Mr. Disraeli, and known at the time as an aspirant to literary and political fame:

“O Reader dear! do pray look here, and you will spy the curly hair, and forehead fair, and nose so high, and gleaming eye, of Benjamin D’Is-ra-e-li, the wondrous boy who wrote Alroy in rhyme and prose, only to show how long ago victorious Judah’s lion-banner rose. In an earlier day he wrote Vivian Grey—a smart enough story, we must say, until he took his hero abroad, and trundled him over the German road; and taught him there not to drink beer, and swallow schnapps, and pull mädschen’s caps, and smoke the cigar and the meersham true, in alehouse and lusthaus all Fatherland through, until all was blue, but talk secondhand that which, at the first, was never many degrees from the worst,—namely, German cant and High Dutch sentimentality, maudlin metaphysics, and rubbishing reality. But those who would find how Vivian wined with the Marchioness of Puddledock, and other great grandees of the kind, and how he talked æsthetic, and waxed eloquent and pathetic, and kissed his Italian puppies of the greyhound breed, they have only to read—if the work be still alive—Vivian Grey, in volumes five.

“As for his tentative upon the Representative, which he and John Murray got up in a very great hurry, we shall say nothing at all, either great or small; and all the wars that thence ensued, and the Moravian’s deadly feud; nor much of that fine book, which is called ‘the Young Duke,’ with his slippers of velvet blue, with clasps of snowy-white hue, made out of the pearl’s mother, or some equally fine thing or other; and ‘Fleming’ (Contarini), which will cost ye but a guinea; and ‘Gallomania’ (get through it, can you?) in which he made war on (assisted by a whiskered baron—his name was Von Haber, whose Germanical jabber, Master Ben, with ready pen, put into English smart and jinglish), King Philippe and his court; and many other great works of the same sort—why, we leave them to the reader to peruse; that is to say, if he should choose.

“He lately stood for Wycombe, but there Colonel Grey did lick him, he being parcel Tory and parcel Radical—which is what in general mad we call; and the latest affair of his we chanced to see, is ‘What is he?’ a question which, by this time, we have somewhat answered in this our pedestrian rhyme. As for the rest,—but writing rhyme is, after all, a pest; and therefore”——

MISCELLANEOUS ODDS AND ENDS.

Some years ago Punch gave “revised versions” of a few of the old popular songs, and, referring to the one we have chosen as a specimen, says that “its simplicity, its truthfulness, and, above all, its high moral, have recommended it to him for selection. It is well known to the million—of whose singing, indeed, it forms a part. Perhaps it will be recognised; perhaps not.”

A Polished Poem.

Cumulative Parodying.

Blank Verse in Rhyme.

(A NOCTURNAL SKETCH.)

The following excellent specimen of mono-syllabic verse comes from an old play in the Garrick Collection:

Song.

Elessdé.

Earth.

INDEX.

Acrostics, [198]
Ad Chloen, M.A., [105]
Addresses, the Rejected, [15]
Ad Mortem, [56]
Ad Professorem Linguæ Germanicæ, [101]
“Alice in Wonderland,” verses from, [42], [43]
Alliterative verses from “Society,” [210]
American Traveller, the, [132]
Am Rhein, [99]
Analytical, Ode to Davies’, [159]
Angel in the House, the, [239]
Animal Alphabet, an, [206]
Anticipatory Dirge, an, [146]
Arab and his Donkey, the, [167]
Arundines Cami, the, [129], [130]
Ba, ba, Black Sheep, [129]
Ballad of the Period, a, [217]
Ballads, the Bon Gualtier, [31]
Bandit’s Fate, the, [30]
Barham, Mr., parody by, [28];
macaronic by, [70]
Battle of Frogs and Mice, the, [10]
Bayard Taylor, lines by, [36]
Billet-Doux, a, [166]
Biter Bit, the, [40]
Blank Verse in Rhyme, [248]
Boke of Colin Clout, [62]
Bonaparte, anagram on, [196], [197]
Bon Gaultier Ballads, the, [31]
Bore’s Head, Bringing in the, [61]
Boxiana, [177]
Boyle Godfrey, Epitaph on, [150]
Breach of Promise, lines on a, [156]
Bret Harte, verses by, [38], [154], [162]
Brook, the, parody on, [39]
Brooks, Shirley, lines by, [30]
Brownrigg, Mrs., lines on, [26]
Buckland, Professor, Dirge on, [146]
Bunker Hill, alliterative lines on, [204]
Burial of Sir John Moore, parodies on, [27], [28]
Burnand, F. C., parody by, [46]
Burns, mosaic poem on, [225]
Burton, Mrs., parody by, [49]
Buttes, Thomas, acrostic by, [199]
Byrom, Mr., hymn by, [57];
lines by, [234]
Byron, parody on style of, [21]
Calverly, Mr., [39], [41]
Camden on Anagrams, [188]
Canning and Frere, [26]
Captain Smith and Pocahontas, [113]
Carlyle, Thomas, anagram on, [196]
Carmen ad Terry, [96]
Carol, Christmas, [61]
Carpette, Knyghte, ye, [42]
Carroll, Lewis, parodies by, [42], [43], [50];
lines by, [218]
Ce Meme Vieux Coon, [94]
Centennial Exhibition, the, lines on, [51]
Chain Verses, [53]
Chanson without music, [89]
Chinese English, [122]
Clara Morchella Deliciosa, To, [152]
Clock, the Musical, [54]
Clubbis Noster, [81]
Coincidences and Contrarieties, [138]
Colin Clout, Boke of, [62]
College macaronics, [110], [112]
Collins, Mortimer, lines by, [33], [34], [105]
Comic Latin Grammar, lines from, [73]
Concatenation Verse, [53]
Contenti Abeamus, [86]
Correspondents, To, [238]
Cotton Mather, [192]
Crabbe, parody on, [16]
Crawford, Mrs., [209]
Cremation, [47], [48]
Cumulative Parodying, [247]
Davies’ Analytical, Ode to, [159]
Dean Swift, [111]
Death of the Sea-Serpent, [77]
De Leguleo, [88]
“Detection,” Harsnett’s, [62]
Dirge on Professor Buckland, [146]
Disraeli, Benjamin, [243]
Diversions of the Echo Club, [36]
Doctor, Southey’s, [190]
Druggist, Lament of an unfortunate, [157]
Drury Lane, a tale of, [22]
Drury Rev. H., [229]

Earth, [251]
Echo Club, Diversions of the, [36]
Echo and the Lover, [230]
Echo on Woman, a Gentle, [229]
Elessdè, [250]
Elizabeth, Queen, acrostic on, [200]
English Language, the, [139]
Epitaph, macaronic, [110]
Epitaph on Dr. Maginn, [175]
Epode of Horace, the Second, [67]
Eve’s Legend, [220]
Evil, anagram on, [197]
Evolution, [168]
Fable for Critics, the, [242]
Fair “Come-Outer,” the, [106]
Fate of Nassan, the, [223]
Felis-itous, Very, [93]
Fireside Amusements, poem from, [227]
Fonseca’s Guide to English, [115]
Footman Joe, [181]
Four Brothers, the, [107]
Friend at Parting, to a, [100]
Geddes, Dr., [59]
Gentle Echo on Woman, [229]
“Gentle Shepherd,” the sign of the, [109]
Geological Address, a, [154]
Geological Madrigal, a, [162]
Gilbert, W. S., lines by, [218]
Goldsmith, parody on lines by, [30]
Guide to English, a New, [115]
Harte, Bret, verses by, [38], [154], [162]
Hegemon of Thasos, [10]
Henry Martin the Regicide, [26]
Hey diddle diddle, new version of, [127]
Holland, Lord, [220]
Holmes, Dr., macaronic by, [89]
Homœopathic Soup, [165]
Hone’s Every-Day Book, [60]
Hood, Thomas, parody by, [27], [29];
verses by, [248]
Horace, Second Epode of, [67]
Household Words, lines from, [216]
How the Daughters come down at Dunoon, [45]
Hunting of the Snark, [218]
Husband’s Complaint, the, [164]
Hussey, Mrs. Margaret, [174]
Hymn, by Mr. Byrom, [57]
Ich bin Dein, [85]
“If,” by Mortimer Collins, [33]
Ignoramus, Scene from play of, [63]
Inscription on Mrs. Brownrigg’s cell, [26]
Jack and Jill, [108];
new version of, [126]
Jack Horner, new version of, [126]
Jeffrey, Lord, [16]
Johnson, Dr., [112], [171]
Kehama, parody on Southey’s, [20]
Knox Ward, [156]
Lady, To a, [182]
Lament of an Unfortunate Druggist, [157]
Lang, Dr., [131]
Lasphrise, M., [53]
Laureate’s Journey, the, [31]
Lay of Macaroni, the, [207]
Leguleo, De, [88]
Leigh, Henry S., [31], [46]
Leland, Mr. Charles G., [115], [216].
Lines by a Fond Lover, [219]
Little Bo-peep, [108];
new rendering of, [129]
Little Miss Muffit, new version of, [127]
Little Red Riding Hood, [83]
Love Story, an original, [143]
Lowell, J. Russell, [242]
Lydia Green, [97]
Macaulay, travesty on, [31];
a letter of, [239]
Maginn, Dr., [67];
epitaph on, [175]
Mahony, Rev. Francis, [129]
Malum Opus, [95]
Man and the Ascidian, [161]
Mark Twain, [112]
“Mary’s Little Lamb,” new versions of, [127], [128]
Microscopic Serenade, [148]
Milman, lines from, [235]
Milton, Parody on, [11]
Moments, the Watch’s, [235]
Monk, Duke of Albemarle, [192]
Monosyllabic Song, [249]
Moore, parodies on, [21], [22], [45], [46]
Morituri te Salutant, [169]
Mosaic poems, [224]
Musical Ass, the, [176]
Musical Clock, the, [54]
Mycological Serenade, a, [152]
My Love, [241]
Nahum Fay on the loss of his wife, [179]
Native names, [132]
New Versions of Nursery Rhymes, [125-128]
Nursery Rhymes, new versions of, [125-127]
Ode to Davies’ Analytical, [159]
Ode to a Skylark, Shelley’s, [212]
O’Keefe, Song by, [66]
Only Seven, [32]
Original Love Story, [143]
Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, the, [132]
Owed to my Creditors, [142]
Palmer, Professor E. H., verses by, [121], [214]

Palmerston, Lord, anagram on, [196]
Parterre, the, [121]
Patmore, Mr. Coventry, [239]
Pennell, H. C., parody by, [44], [45]
Philips, John, [11]
Pidgin English, [122]
Planché, Mr., songs by, [50];
acrostic by, [201]
Pliocene Skull, to the, [154]
Pocahontas and Captain Smith, [113]
Poe, Edgar A., parodies on, [36], [38];
acrostic by, [202]
Polished Poem, a, [245]
Polka, the, [81]
Pome of a Possum, [102]
Pony Lost, [241]
Pope, alliterative lines by, [211]
Prevalent Poetry, [144]
Prince Charles after Culloden, [205]
Printer, the, [241]
Procuratores, lines on the, [35]
Promissory Note, the, [36]
Radenovitch, the, [180]
Recipe for Salad, a, [34]
Recognition, the, [40]
Red Riding Hood, Little, [83]
Rejected Addresses, the, [15]
Rex Midas, [70]
Rhyme for Musicians, a, [135]
Rhymes, nursery, new versions of, [125-128]
Robert Burns, mosaic poem on, [225]
Roman Nose, the, [170]
Rudiger, Andreas, [191]
Ruggles’ Ignoramus, [63]
Ruling Power, the, [178]
St. George et his Dragon, [79]
Salad, recipe for, [34]
Scott, Sir Walter, parody on, [22]
Sea-Serpent, the, [76]
Serenade, microscopic, [148]
Serenade, mycological, [152]
Sermon, a Temperance, [145]
“Serve-um-Right,” [99]
Sheridan, Dr., [111];
lines by, [172], [173]
Shipwreck, the, [214]
Shootover Papers, the, [35]
Skelton, poet-laureate, [62], [174]
Slidell and Mason, [92]
Smith, Dr. Charles, epitaph by, [149]
Smith, James and Horace, [15]
Smith, Sydney, [111]
Soliloquy in Hamlet, parodies on, [46], [47]
Solo, the, [241]
Song from Garrick Collection, [249]
Southey’s Kehama, parody on, [20]
Spelling Reform, [141]
Splendid Shilling, the, [11]
Sun-dial, lines on a, [237]
Surnames, [136]
Swift, Dean, [111]
Tale of Drury Lane, a, [22]
Taylor, Bayard, lines by, [36]
Teetotum, the, [108]
Temperance Sermon, a, [145]
Tennyson, parodies on, [39], [40]
That Thirty-four! [52]
Theatre, the, [16]
Thirty-Five, [171]
Thompson, George, anagram on, [195]
To a Friend at Parting, [100]
To a Lady with a Watch, [236]
Toast—a Sott, [195]
Topside-Galow, [123]
Treatise on Wine, a, [73]
Truth, chain verse on, [57]
“Truth,” parody from, [51]
Twinkle, twinkle, little star, new versions of, [125], [131]
Unfortunate Druggist, lament of an, [157]
Valentine, a, [92]
Very Felis-itous, [93]
Victor Hugo, lines by, [112]
Viner, Sir Robert, [193]
Visitors’ Books, lines from, [109]
Watch-case verses, [232]
“We met,” &c., [29]
Whalley, Peter, anagram on, [194]
Wig and the Hat, the, [95], [183]
Wilson, John, [193]
Wine, a Treatise on, [73]
Wordsworth, parody on, [32]
Yacht Alphabet, a, [213]
“You are old, Father William,” [43]
Yriarte, Tomaso de, [177]

Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co. Edinburgh and London.

EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES OF
“LITERARY FRIVOLITIES, FANCIES, FOLLIES, AND FROLICS.”

(Uniform with the present volume, post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.)

“This is a new volume of the popular Mayfair Library, and it well deserves its place. In such a book selection and arrangement are everything.... Mr. Dobson really knows what to choose and what to reject; he has also a feeling for good arrangement, and has made a most attractive volume.... For an odd half-hour or for a long journey we could hardly imagine anything better, and we trust the book may find the encouragement it so well deserves.”—British Quarterly Review.

“‘Literary Frivolities’ is an absolutely delightful companion for an unoccupied half-hour. It is a book which may with equal pleasure be read all through or dipped into at any point, and the collection of literary triflings it supplies is admirably ample.”—Gentleman’s Magazine.

“This is a pleasant and amusing little volume. It contains a great deal of curious information, and shows a very creditable amount of research.... We may end as we began, by commending ‘Literary Frivolities’ as a capital book of its sort.”—Athenæum.

“This latest volume of the bright little ‘Mayfair Library’ is an entertaining contribution to the literature of ‘inert hours,’ and will sufficiently initiate its readers into all the mysteries of bouts-rimés, palindromes, lipograms, centones and figurate poems.”—Notes and Queries.

“A more delightful little work it has seldom been our lot to take in hand. Mr. Dobson has made a study of all the eccentricities and frivolities which have from time to time been perpetrated by writers in prose and verse.... Mr. Dobson had gone into his work in a catholic spirit, and has done it with great neatness and ability. It would be difficult to commend the book too highly. It is a volume alike for holiday purposes, and for other purposes more serious in connection with literature.”—Scotsman.

“Mr. Dobson has done his work well.... The book is very interesting and entertaining, and has a still higher claim to our regard as a curious chapter in the history of literature.”—Examiner.

“Not a few of the pages will raise a hearty laugh, and this fact alone disposes us to regard the book with marked favour. A good index has not been forgotten, and the volume in all ways reflects high credit on its author.”—Brief.

“This is a queer collection of interesting nothings, a record of some of the literary playthings wherewith men have sought at one time and another to beguile the road towards the darkness. Here are quips and cranks, strange forms of prose and verse; monstrosities of rhythms. It is all very interesting, and shows a heavy amount of research on the part of the compiler.”—Vanity Fair.

“Great fun is shown in almost every page of ‘Literary Frivolities.’... The ‘Mayfair Library’ will do well if it gives us many books like Mr. Dobson’s.”—Graphic.

“It is quite certain that there have been thousands of not only intelligent, but grave and learned persons who have taken pride as well as pleasure in the accomplishment of such exploits, and that there are tens of thousands who will be greatly entertained, if not roused to emulation, by the pretty little volume consecrated to the commemoration and to illustrative samples of those exploits.... It is provided with an index, a very useful addition, and it is undoubtedly a bright, amusing, and not altogether uninstructive publication.”—Illustrated London News.

“Mr. Dobson deserves credit for the pains he has taken.”—Spectator.

“A miscellaneous and highly amusing collection of literary curiosities.”—Bookseller.

“An amusing volume.... An account of a great many of those curious puzzles and tasks in which the literary mind delights.”—Teacher.

“A collection, a most exhaustive one, of the vagaries indulged in from remote ages down to the present day by literary triflers.”—Whitehall Review.

“A very entertaining little book.... Exceedingly interesting, and may be heartily recommended.”—Nottingham Guardian.

“A capital little book.... A cheap and neat volume which no editor or printer should be without.”—Printing Times and Lithograther.

“One of the most quaintly amusing books we have seen for a long time.”—Edinburgh Evening Express.

“For a man or woman endowed with literary tastes, and who, for want of regular work to do, sometimes longs for new methods of ‘killing time,’ this collection of frivolities and oddities might prove a fruitful source of amusement. Its author is a scholarly and well-read man; and in preparing this book he must have put himself to an infinitude of pains.”—Edinburgh Daily Review.

“The little volume is pleasantly and learnedly written.”—One and All.

CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY, W.

Footnotes:

[1] Two well-known alehouses in Oxford, about 1700.

[2] From the “Carols of Cockayne.”

[3] “‘What do you mean by the reference to Greeley?’

“‘I thought everybody had heard that Greeley’s only autograph of Poe was a signature to a promissory note for fifty dollars. He offers to sell it for half the money.’”—Diversions of the Echo Club.

[4] Macmillan & Co., London.

[5] See “Alice in Wonderland.”

[6] Reference may also be made here to a recent work, “The Heptalogia; or the Seven against Sense,” a book wholly devoted to parody, the merits of which could not be shown by extracts, but requires to be read at length to be properly estimated.

[7] “Ladles”—i.e., very spooney.

[8] Maginn died at Walton-on-Thames, 21st August 1842. He was one of the gayest, brightest, and wittiest of those reckless litterateurs who half a century ago worshipped with equal devotion at the shrines of Apollo and Bacchus.

[9] Chatto and Windus, London.

[10] Macmillan & Co., London.

[11] London: Chatto & Windus.