IV.
Here shall my tongue in other wise be soured Than fretful men’s in parched and palsied days; And, by the mid-May’s dusky leaves embowered, Forget the fruitful blame, the scanty praise. No sweets to them who sweet themselves were born, Whose natures ooze with lucent saccharine; Who, with sad repetition soothly cloyed, The lemon-tinted morn Enjoy, and find acetic twilight fine: Wake I, or sleep? The pickle-jar is void.
――――
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.
Oh, what can ail thee, seedy swell, Alone, and idly loitering? The season’s o’er――at operas No “stars” now sing.
Oh, what can ail thee, seedy swell, So moody! in the dumps so down? Why linger here when all the world Is “out of town?”
I see black care upon thy brow, Tell me, are I.O.U.’s now due? And in thy pouch, I fear thy purse Is empty, too.
“I met a lady at a ball, Full beautiful――a fairy bright; Her hair was golden (dyed, I find!) Struck by the sight――
“I gazed, and long’d to know her then: So I entreated the M.C. To introduce me――and he did! Sad hour for me.
“We paced the mazy dance, and too, We talked thro’ that sweet evening long, And to her――it came to pass, I breathed Love’s song.
“She promised me her lily hand, She seemed particularly cool: No warning voice then whispered low, ‘Thou art a fool!’
“Next day I found I lov’d her not, And then she wept and sigh’d full sore, Went to her lawyer, on the spot, And talked it o’er.
“She brought an action, too, for breach Of promise――’tis the fashion――zounds! The jury brought in damages Five thousand pounds!
“And this is why I sojourn here Alone, and idly loitering, Tho’ all the season’s through and tho’ No ‘stars’ now sing!”
_The Figaro._ September 15, 1875.
BEAUTY.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and oer’darkened ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils, With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make ’Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms; And such too is the grandeur of the domes We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read.
JOHN KEATS.
――――
KEATS IMPROVED.
“In his opinion, a railway was in itself a beautiful object.”――_Mr. Labouchere in the Debate on the Ambleside Railway Bill._
A Locomotive is a joy for ever: It’s loveliness enchants us; it shall never Be blamed for noisiness, but still will keep The country quiet for us, and our sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and easy breathing. Therefore in every Railway Bill we’re wreathing, An iron band to bind us to the earth, Spite of the sentimental, who to mirth, More manly natures, spite of foggy days, Of all the unhealthy and smoke-darkened ways, Made for our travelling: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty makes the whistle’s squall, Sweet to our spirits. Such the bellman’s tune, Roofs, old and rotten, leaking, a shady boon For passengers; and such Excursion bills, With the waste walls they cling to; and loud shrills, With which the drivers nightly shindy make, Sharp shunting shocks, the grinding of the brake, The rich soot-sprinkling that befouls our homes; And such too is the grandeur of the domes, Art hath imagined for the Engine shed. All lovely tales that ever we have read, Of Attic temples on the river’s brink, Before that roof at Cannon Street must shrink!
[Illustration]
COVENTRY PATMORE.
The best known work of this poet “The Angel in the House,” published in 1855, was the subject of the following parody written by Shirley Brooks in 1860:
THE BABY IN THE HOUSE.
_By Poventry Catmore, author of the “Angel in the House,” etc._
_The Doctor._
“A finer than your newborn child,” The Doctor said, “I never saw,” And I, but half believing, smiled To think he thought me jolly raw. And then I viewed the crimson thing, And listened to its doleful squeal, And rather wished the nurse would bring The pap-boat with its earliest meal. My wife remarked, “I fear, a snub,” The Doctor, “Madam, never fear,” “’Tis hard, Ma’am, in so young a cub To say.” Then Nurse, “A cub! a Dear!”
_The Glove._
“’Twere meet you tied the knocker up,” The Doctor laughed, and said, “Good-bye. And till you drown that yelping pup Your lady will not close an eye.” Then round I sauntered to the mews, And Ponto heard his fate was near,―― Here few of coachmen will refuse A crown to spend in beastly beer! And then I bought a white kid glove, Lucina’s last and favourite sign, Wound it the knocker’s brass above, And tied it with a piece of twine.
_The Advertisement._
“But, Love,” she said, in gentle voice, (’Twas ever delicate and low,) “The fact which makes our hearts rejoice So many folks would like to know. My Scottish cousins on the Clyde, Your uncle at Northavering Gap, The Adams’s at Morningside, And Jane, who sent me up the cap. So do.” The new commencing life The _Times_ announced, “May 31, At 16, Blackstone Place, the wife Of Samuel Bobchick, of a son.”
_The Godfathers._
“Of course your father must be one,” Jemima said, in thoughtful tones; “But what’s the use of needy Gunn, And I detest that miser Jones.” I hinted Brown. “Well, Brown would do, But then his wife’s a horrid Guy.” De Blobbins? “Herds with such a crew.” Well love, whom have you in your eye? “Dear Mr. Burbot.” Yes, he’d stand, And as you say, he’s seventy-three, Rich, childless, hates that red-nosed band Of nephews――Burbot let it be.
_The Godmother._
“We ought to ask your sister Kate,” “Indeed, I shan’t,” Jemima cried, “She’s given herself such airs of late, I’m out of patience with her pride. Proud that her squinting husband (Sam, You know I hate that little sneak) Has got a post at Amsterdam, Where luckily he goes next week. No, never ask of kin and kith. We’ll have that wife of George Bethune’s, Her husband is a silver-smith, And she’ll be sure to give some spoons.”
_The Christening._
“I sign him,” said the Curate, Howe, O’er Samuel Burbot George Bethune, Then baby kicked up such a row, As terrified that Reverend coon. The breakfast was a stunning spread, As e’er confectioner sent in, And playfully my darling said, “Sam costs papa no end of tin.” We laughed, made speeches, drank for joy: Champagne hath stereoscopic charms; For when Nurse brought our little boy, I saw two Babies in her arms.
――――
THE SPOONS. By _Coventry Flatmore_.
’Tis six o’clock: at Jones’s house, That stands in Russell Square, And in his dining room there sit The guests, while on a chair That’s placed at top sits Jones himself; Near him a loving pair.
His daughter Bertha and her swain Young Chintip, who’s a clerk In the War-Office, and who’s got Good interest: Reader, mark How snowy-white his shirt front is; Not like his hair――that’s dark.
How happy looks the festive board! The dishes too invite Those present to begin; these do As bid, with all their might; Meanwhile the wine smiles and the cloth Looks comfortably bright.
* * * * *
And so the Tailor goes to Jones And says “I know that he In six weeks’ time your loving childs’ Liege lord forsooth will be And therefore p’rhaps you’ll pay the bill Its all the same to me.”
“Such may have been the case,” says Jones. “But now since he has spent So much, he ne’er shall have my child; I only willed consent When all who did not dance stood still, And Gent knew less of Gent.
“And as for your request, I pray You list, sir: no one cares To pay another person’s debts Who gives himself such airs, And so depart _instanter_, if You’d not be kicked downstairs.”
* * * * *
When Chintip learned that Bertha was Another’s bride, he swore He should do some rash action in His grief, that he no more Could call her his――nor else her wealth, Which last perplexed him sore.
For creditors now dunned alway Each day without respite; And he could ne’er meet their demands, For he was cleared out-quite; And they refused to be put off Which on their part was right.
And so unto a Coffee-house He went to take some tea; And looking in the next box p’rhaps, Saw spoons in number three Therein his pocket with hands red With guilt perhaps put he.
And when the white tied waiter came, He talked about the skies In low and silent tones perhaps, That drown’d all the cries Bawled in the street; the waiter though Said “Sir I keep my eyes
Full-orbed about me and I saw You take them spoons and so You’ll perhaps be kind enough unto The station house to go.”
* * * * *
And on the day on which his fate In Newgate-list appears, The lovely Bertha takes the _Times_ And reads “for seven years――” Her rosy shoulders weep with grief, Her tongue speaks only tears――
It was a very violent cold That made her sight grow dim, And o’er her shady eyes p’rhaps cast A disagreeable film―― For Chintip figured as “Smith” And so ’twas not for him.
From _The Puppet Showman’s Album_. Illustrated by Gavarni. No date.
[Illustration]
MISS JEAN INGELOW.
THE APPLE-WOMAN’S SONG.
The marten flew to the finch’s nest, Feathers, and moss, and a wisp of hay: The arrow it sped to thy brown mate’s breast; Low in the broom is thy mate to-day!
“Liest thou low, love! low in the broom? Feathers, and moss, and a wisp of hay, Warm the white eggs till I learn his doom.” She beateth her wings, and away, away.
“Ah, my sweet singer, thy days are told, (Feathers, and moss, and a wisp of hay,) O mournful morrow! O dark to-day!”
The finch flew back to her cold, cold nest, Feathers, and moss, and a wisp of hay. Mine is the trouble that rent her breast, And home is silent, and love is clay.
This little ballad, which is taken from _Mopsa the Fairy_, by Jean Ingelow (London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1869) is supposed to have been the original which C. S. Calverley had in his mind when he composed the amusing parody commencing:――
The auld wife sat at her ivied door, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) A thing she had frequently done before; And her spectacles lay on her apron’d knees.
This ballad has already been alluded to, and some imitations of it given on p. 71 of this volume.
It will be found in _Fly Leaves_, by C. S. Calverley (London: George Bell & Sons, 1878), in which there is another burlesque imitation of Miss Jean Ingelow’s poetry, entitled――
LOVERS, AND A REFLECTION.
In moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter (And heaven it knoweth what that may mean; Meaning, however, is no great matter), Where woods are a-tremble, with rifts atween;
Thro’ God’s own heather we wonn’d together, I and my Willie (O love my love): I need hardly remark it was glorious weather, And flitterbats wavered alow, above:
Boats were curtseying, rising, bowing (Boats in that climate are so polite), And sands were a ribbon of green endowing, And O the sundazzle on bark and bight!
Thro’ the rare red heather we danced together, (O love my Willie!) and smelt for flowers: I must mention again it was glorious weather, Rhymes are so scarce in this world of ours;――
By rises that flushed with their purple favours, Thro’ becks that brattled o’er grasses sheen, We walked and waded, we two young shavers; Thanking our stars we were both so green.
We journeyed in parallels, I and Willie, In fortunate parallels! Butterflies, Hid in weltering shadows of daffodilly Or marjoram, kept making peacock eyes:――
Songbirds darted about, some inky As coal, some snowy (I ween) as curds; Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky―― They reck of no eerie To-come, those birds!
But they skim over bents which the millstream washes, Or hang in the lift ’neath a white cloud’s hem; They need no parasols, no goloshes; And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth them.
Then we thrid God’s cowslips (as erst His heather) That endowed the wan grass with their golden blooms; And snapt――(it was perfectly charming weather)―― Our fingers at fate and her goddess-glooms.
And Willie ’gan sing (oh, his notes were fluty; Wafts fluttered them out to the white-wing’d sea)―― Something made up of rhymes that have done much duty, Rhymes (better to put it) of “ancientry.”
Bowers of flowers encounter’d showers In William’s carol――(O love my Willie!) When he bade sorrow borrow from blithe to-morrow I quite forgot what――say a daffodilly:
A nest in a hollow, “with buds to follow,” I think occurred next in his nimble strain; And clay that was “kneaden” of course in Eden―― A rhyme most novel, I do maintain:
* * * * *
O if billows and pillows and hours and flowers, And all the brave rhymes of an elder day, Could be furled together, this genial weather, And carted, or carried on “wafts” away, Nor ever again trotted out――ah me! How much fewer volumes of verse there’d be.
Admirers of Miss Ingelow’s fiction may be interested in knowing the history of those funny little bits of verse with which she enlivened the later chapters of “Fated to be Free.” There can be no doubt that they were intended as a delicate kind of retaliation to Mr. Calverley. As he, who was a cunning master of every kind of metre, had thought fit to directly parody Miss Ingelow’s most popular pieces, by exposing and exaggerating all her worst faults, it was only natural that she should seek to be revenged in kind. But it is clear that the lady cannot cope with Calverley in parody. Her verses read more like deliberate nonsense, and lack the faculty of imitation of style in which he excelled. The following satirical lines, from “Fated to be Free” illustrate this point, “Crayshaw” having been substituted for “Calverley,” doubtless for the sake of the rhyme:――
That maiden’s nose, that puppy’s eyes, Which I this happy day saw, They’ve touched the manliest chords that rise I’ the breast of Clifford Crayshaw.
* * * * *
All day she worked, no lover lent His aid; and yet with glee At dusk she sought her home, content, That beauteous Bumble Bee.
A cell it was, nor more nor less, But oh! all’s one to me, Whether you write it with an S, Dear girl, or with a C.
* * * * *
Then doth Tuck-man smile, “Them there (Ho and Hi and futile Hum) Jellies three-and-sixpence air, Use of spoons an equal sum.”
Trees are rich. Sweet task, ’tis o’er, “Tuck-man, you’re a brick,” they cry. Wildly then, shake hands, all four (Hum and Ho, the end is Hi).
――――
THE SHRIMP-GATHERERS.
Scarlet spaces of sand and ocean. Gulls that circle and winds that blow; Baskets and boats and men in motion, Sailing and scattering to and fro.
Girls are waiting, their wimples adorning With crimson sprinkles the broad gray flood; And down the beach the blush of the morning, Shines reflected from moisture and mud.
Broad from the yard the sails hang limpy, Lightly the steersman whistles a lay; Pull with a will, for the nets are shrimpy, Pull with a whistle, our hearts are gay!
Tuppence a quart; there are more than fifty, Coffee is certain, and beer galore: Coats are corduroy, and minds are thrifty, Won’t we go it on sea and shore?
See, behind, how the hills are freckled With low white huts, where the lasses bide! See, before, how the sea is speckled With sloops and schooners that wait the tide!
Yarmouth fishers may rail and roister, Tyne-side boys may shout “Give way!” Let them dredge for the lobster and oyster, Pink and sweet are our shrimps to-day!
Shrimps and the delicate periwinkle, Such are the sea-fruits lasses love: Ho! to your nets till the blue stars twinkle, And the shutterless cottages gleam above!
From _Diversions of the Echo Club_, by Bayard Taylor.
――――
In a volume of poems by Miss Jean Ingelow, published in 1880, there was a long one entitled _The Letter L_, which gave rise to the following parody, printed in “The Daily News” of December 4, 1885.
THE LETTER L. _By a Despairing Tory._
Oh, letter L, Miss Ingelow Once wrote a poem all about you, And what she meant I do not know, I know I never thought to doubt you! But now I fairly tell you this―― I wish I’d never learnt to spell, You come between me and my bliss, Oh, hated, hated letter L!
As daily to the Club I go, My heart with honest ardour burns, I hope for Gladstone’s overthrow, Expect Conservative returns; But where I long to see a C, Of Tory victory to tell, I only meet the face of _thee_, Oh hated, hateful letter L!
The Labour and the Crofter vote, I do not greatly dread them now, Rather the influence I note Of that once sacred beast, the Cow. I mark a lot of N’s and P’s That brand the people of Parnell; I’m quite prepared to swallow _these_, But not, oh _not_ the letter L!
This was at the time of the general election, when the returns were daily being scanned with great interest, and the C’s and L’s and P’s were eagerly counted up by all politicians.
[Illustration]
HORACE.
Messrs. George Bell & Sons have recently published an interesting collection entitled, “_Horace’s Odes_, Englished and Imitated” selected and arranged by Charles W. G. Cooper. This contains several burlesque imitations of Horace’s Odes, but not the following, which are certainly also worthy of preservation.
_“Persicos odi, puer, apparatus.”_
Buttons, you booby, I wish you would learn; I don’t want the big lamp, nor yet the épergne When I sit down to dine by myself. I’ll have no made-dishes in future; tell cook She may keep her receipts shut up close in her book, Her stock in tureen, and her game on her hook, And her Bang-Mary bright on her shelf.
And you lay the table-cloth neatly and straight (You’re a stupid young owl, and you won’t learn to wait, You’re always too slow, or too fast); I’ll just have two chops, underdone, if you please, Some stout in the pewter, a tin of stewed cheese, Then some port, wherein flutter the wings of the bees, Will make up my modest repast.
SHIRLEY BROOKS, 1859.
Mr. Shirley Brooks wrote many other humorous translations of Horace, which will be found in his _Wit and Humour_. London, Bradbury & Co. 1883.
――――
ON THE COMMENCEMENT OF TERM. (_See Horace. Book 1. Ode IV._)
Vacation’s o’er,――in every street We soon shall many a Cantab meet; For hither numbers daily hie, Or by the Tele,[47] or the Fly.[47] Once more the halls, so desert late, With smoking cheer, our senses greet; Freshmen and Sophs with one intent Haste to the scene of merriment. O’er _Alma Mater’s_ sacred head, Who widely late her banner spread, Fell solitude,――to jocund song, Now yields her reign usurp’d too long: While Bacchus, rosy god of wine! } And Venus, with her joys divine, } Dispute the Empire with the Nine.} But would you reach the heights of fame, And glory from Apollo’s claim; Now, now, the Chaplet ’gin to weave, Now, vows to favouring heaven give. For Death, whose unrelenting hand, No mortal prowess can withstand, Strikes surely, with impartial dart, Masters’ and under-graduates’ heart And the short space that here we tarry, At least “_in statu pupillari_,” Forbids our growing hopes to germ Alas! beyond the appointed term. Nay, even now our time is o’er, And January threatening lower,[48] And warn us quickly to resign The jovial monarchy of wine; To freshmen yield the boasted claim, As from the boards we take our name.
From _Gradus ad Cantabrigiam_ by a Brace of Cantabs. London, 1824.
――――
NOVEMBER 1858.
_Derby._ While Peel’s old ministry could twine Thy lot political with mine; Ere yet on corn were disagreed, As colleagues we were blest indeed.
_Gladdy._ Whilst thou didst feel no rival flame, Nor Gladdy next to Dizzy came, O then thy Gladdy’s echoing name Excelled its since Homeric fame.
_Derby._ My heart from Peelite loves outworn By Dizzy’s corkscrew curls is drawn; My forfeit life I’ll freely give. So Diz――my better life――may live.
_Gladdy._ My bosom burns to yield possession, Of all my charms to Bright next session; I’ll face two several deaths with joy, So fate but spare my broad-brimm’d boy.
_Derby._ What if our ancient love awoke And bound us with its golden yoke; If Diz were sent some Indian venture, And Gladdy his old place re-enter?
_Gladdy._ Bright as the Morning Star is B., Thou rougher than the Adrian Sea, And fickle as light bark; yet I With thee would live――with thee would die.
ANONYMOUS.
Thackeray also wrote some humourous versions of Horace, which are familiar to everyone. In 1862 a small volume entitled _Railway Horace_, by G. Chichester Oxenden, was published by Upham and Beet, London; the translations were not destitute of merit, but are now rather out of date.
――――:o:――――
JOHN GAY.
THE BEGGAR’S OPERA.
_Macheath’s Song._
How happy could I be with either, Were t’other dear charmer away! But while ye thus teaze me together, To neither a word will I say But _toll de roll_, etc.
――――
How happy could I be with ether, Were mesmeric charmers away; But whilst they perplex me together, I’ll cut, and no longer will stay. Sing Robinson, Thomson, and Cooper, Tol lol de rol, lol de rol lay, There’s nothing like ether and stupor For making an hospital gay.
From _The Man in the Moon_, Vol. I.
In the same volume there was another parody, dealing with a similar topic, entitled――
A LAY OF GUTHRIE. AIR――“_Maiden, I will ne’er deceive thee._”
Patient, I will ne’er deceive thee, Never pain thee, never grieve thee: Take this tube, inhale it so, Out carbonic acid blow. From your lips the mouthpiece move, Only when you senseless prove. Patient I’ll before we part, Amputate without a smart. Patient, I will ne’er deceive thee, &c.
“The Beggar’s Opera,” written by Mr. John Gay, was first produced at the theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, in 1728, and was so successful that it made “Gay rich and Rich (the lessee) gay.” This encouraged Gay to write a sequel to it, entitled “Polly,” which was produced in 1729, but met with far less approbation.
An anonymous play was produced in 1773, called “The Bow Street Opera,” on the plan of “The Beggar’s Opera,” in which the most celebrated songs were parodied.
John Gay was the author of the well-known song _Black-eyed Susan_, “All in the Downs the fleet was moor’d,” of which an excellent Latin translation will be found in the Poetical Works of Vincent Bourne.
[Illustration]
Dr. ERASMUS DARWIN.
1731-1802.
The fame of this once popular poet has been so utterly eclipsed by the philosophical and scientific writings of his grandson, that there is some danger that the author of “The Loves of the Plants” and “The Botanic Garden” may soon be quite forgotten. Fifty years ago the Death of Eliza at the Battle of Minden, taken from “The Loves of the Plants” was a favourite recitation, and was included in every book of Elegant Extracts.
This detached passage is quoted below, together with a modern parody upon it:――
Now stood Eliza on the wood-crown’d height, O’er Minden’s plains spectatress of the fight; Sought with bold eye amid the bloody strife Her dearer self, the partner of her life; From hill to hill the rushing host pursued, And view’d his banner, or believed she view’d. Pleased with the distant roar, with quicker tread, Fast by his hand one lisping boy she led; And one fair girl amid the loud alarm Slept on her kerchief, cradled on her arm: While round her brows bright beams of honour dart, And love’s warm eddies circle round her heart. ――Near and more near the intrepid beauty press’d, Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest, Heard the exulting shout――“They run!――they run!” “He’s safe!” she cried, “he’s safe! the battle’s won!”
――A ball now hisses through the airy tides, (Some Fury wings it, and some Demon guides,) Parts the fine locks her graceful head that deck, Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck; The red stream issuing from her azure veins, Dyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains. ――“Ah me!” she cried, and sinking on the ground, Kiss’d her dear babes, regardless of the wound: “Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn, Wait, gushing life, oh! wait my love’s return!”―― Hoarse barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far, The angel, Pity, shuns the walks of war;―― “Oh spare, ye war-hounds, spare their tender age! On me, on me,” she cried, “exhaust your rage!” Then with weak arms, her weeping babes caress’d, And sighing, hid them in her blood-stain’d vest.
From tent to tent, the impatient warrior flies, Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes: Eliza’s name along the camp he calls, Eliza echoes through the canvas walls; Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread, O’er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead, Vault o’er the plain,――and in the tangled wood,―― Lo! dead Eliza――weltering in her blood! Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds, With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds, “Speak low,” he cries, and gives his little hand, “Mamma’s asleep upon the dew-cold sand; Alas! we both with cold and hunger quake―― Why do you weep! Mamma will soon awake.” ――“She’ll wake no more!” the hopeless mourner cried, Upturn’d his eyes, and clasp’d his hands, and sigh’d; Stretch’d on the ground, awhile entranced he lay, And press’d warm kisses on the lifeless clay; And then upsprung with wild convulsive start, And all the father kindled in his heart; “Oh, Heaven!” he cried, “my first rash vow forgive! These bind to earth, for these I pray to live.” Round his chill babes he wrapp’d his crimson vest, And clasp’d them sobbing, to his aching breast.
From _The Loves of the Plants_, by Dr. Erasmus Darwin.
ELIZA.
Now stood Eliza on the wood-crown’d height O’er Chobham’s plain, spectatress of the fight; Sought with proud eye, amid the noisy strife, Her own John Jenkins, private in the Life Guards Blue. This day a holyday she’d got, Telling her Missus (whether true or not, Who knows?) her grandmother in danger lay Of death, and might she go out for the day? From hill to hill the Guards the foe pursued; She viewed her Jenkins, or believed she viewed; And in full uniform what female heart Could look on Jenkins, and not feel Love’s dart? Near and more near th’ exulting Housemaid press’d. ’Twas Jenkins! What emotions fill’d her breast! She caught his eye,――then heard a shout, “They run!” “Now, then,” she cried, “he’ll come――the fight is done!” One Sergeant Jones approaches now her side, (Some demon pow’r it is his steps doth guide.) He smoothes the locks her graceful head that deck,―― Kisses her,――puts his arm about her neck, And whispers softly in her ear a vow, Swearing that he will love her then as now. “Heigho!” she sighs,――then in half-smother’d tones Consents, and so,――goes off with Sergeant Jones.
* * * * *
From tent to tent the impatient Jenkins flies;―― “Where is Eliza?” he despairing cries. Eliza’s name through all the camp he calls,―― “Eliza!” echoes through the canvas walls. Swift gains he the canteen. What horror’s here, Eliza with the Sergeant drinking beer! “Eliza false!” the hopeless Jenkins cried, Upturn’d his eyes, and clasp’d his hands, and sigh’d. “Have you, then, for a Sergeant, false one, scorn’d The ‘private’ station I so well adorn’d? I’ll be revenged.” The false Eliza smiles,―― “There’s not an area to be seen for miles.” Hopeless, despairing, Jenkins dropp’d one tear; And then upsprung, and wildly call’d for beer.
* * * * *
That night a whisper through the encampment went, Jenkins was carried, drunk, unto his tent.
_Diogenes_, 1853.
――――
But one of the most humorous parodies in the language, which was also founded upon Darwin’s poem, appeared in _The Anti-Jacobin_, it was entitled
THE LOVES OF THE TRIANGLES.
_A Mathematical and Philosophical Poem, Inscribed to Dr. Darwin._
Stay your rude steps, or e’er your feet invade The Muses’ haunts, ye sons of War and Trade! Nor you, ye legion fiends of Church and Law, Pollute these pages with unhallow’d paw! Debas’d, corrupted, grovelling, and confined, No _Definitions_ touch your senseless mind; To you no _Postulates_ prefer their claim, No ardent _Axioms_ your dull souls inflame; For you, no _Tangents_ touch, no _Angles_ meet, No _Circles_ join in osculation sweet! For me, ye _Cissoids_, round my temples bend Your wandering curves; ye _Conchoids_ extend; Let playful _Pendules_ quick vibration feel, While silent _Cyclois_ rests upon her wheel; Let _Hydrostatics_, simpering as they go, Lead the light Naiads on fantastic toe; Let shrill _Acoustics_ tune the tiny lyre; With _Euclid_ sage fair _Algebra_ conspire; The obedient pulley strong _Mechanics_ ply, And wanton _Optics_ roll the melting eye!
But chief, thou Nurse of the Didactic Muse, Divine _Nonsensia_, all thy soul infuse; The charms of _Secants_ and of _Tangents_ tell, How Loves and Graces in an _Angle_ dwell; How slow progressive _Points_ protract the Line, As pendant spiders spin the filmy twine; How lengthened _Lines_, impetuous sweeping round, Spread the wide _Plane_, and mark its circling bound; How _Planes_, their substance, with their motion grown, Form the huge _Cube_, the _Cylinder_, the _Cone_.
* * * * *
This parody has two drawbacks, in the first place it is much too long to be inserted here in full, in the second place, much of its humour depends on an acquaintance with the original poem, which comparatively few modern readers have. It will be found complete in _The Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin_.
There were several other parodies of Darwin’s _Loves of the Plants_, such as _The Loves of the Colours_, and _The Loves of the Lowlier Plants_, both of which were published about 1824.
――――:o:――――
NATURAL SELECTION. _A Skit on the Darwinian Theory._
I have found out a gift for my fair, I have found where the cave men are Laid, Skull femur and pelvis are there, And spears that of silex they made.
But he ne’er could be true, she averred, Who would dig up an ancestor’s grave; And I loved her the more when I heard Such filial regard for the Cave.
My shelves they are furnished with stones, All sorted and labelled with care, And a splendid collection of bones, Each one of them ancient and rare.
One would think she might like to retire To my study――she calls it a “hole,” Not a fossil I heard her admire, But I begged it, or borrowed,――or stole.
But there comes an idea-less lad, With a strut, and a stare, and a smirk; And I watch, scientific though sad, The Law of Selection at work.
Of Science he hasn’t a trace, _He_ seeks not the How or the Why. But he sings with an amateur’s grace, And dances much better than I.
And we know the more modified males By dance and by song win their wives, ’Tis a law that in “Aves” prevails And that even in “Homo” survives.
Shall I rage as they twirl in the valse? Shall I sneer as they carol and coo? Oh, no! for since Chloe is false I’m certain that Darwin is true.
From _The Modern Apostle_, by C. C. W. Naden.
――――
TO MY BELOVED.
Miss, I’m a Pensive Protoplasm, Born in some pre-historic chasm. I, and my humble fellow-men Are hydrogen, and oxygen, And nitrogen and carbon too, And so is Jane, and so are you. In stagnant water swarm our brothers And sisters, but we’ve many others, Among them animalculæ, And lizard’s eggs――and so, you see, My darling Vesta, show no pride, Nor turn coquettish head aside, Our pedigrees, as thus made out, Are no great things to boast about. The only comfort seems to be In this――philosophers agree That how a Protoplasm’s made Is mystery outside their trade. And we are parts, so say the sages, Of life come down from Long Past Ages. So let us haste in Hymen’s bands To join our protoplastic hands, And spend our gay organic life As happy man and happy wife.
SHIRLEY BROOKS. 1869.
――――
PARODY EPITAPH ON DARWIN.
What needs my Darwin for his honoured bones, The labour of an age in pilèd stones? He, to our wonder and astonishment, Was hid beneath a grander monument, And in such pomp doth here sepulchrèd lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die!
From _Travels_, by “Umbra.” 1865.
[Illustration]
MATTHEW ARNOLD.
In the second volume of this collection (p. 236) will be found several parodies of Matthew Arnold’s _Sonnet to George Cruikshank_, and _The Forsaken Merman_, which had been printed some years before. Yet a writer in the _Saturday Review_, in a notice of Arnold’s poems, made the following confession of his ignorance:――
“Tennyson, Browning, Swinburne, and most of our lesser poets besides, have been parodied again and again; we do not remember to have seen a single parody of Mr. Arnold.… There is a subtlety about the structure of his verse and the harmony of his lines which defies imitation.”
_The Superfine Review_ makes such claims to omniscience that it is refreshing to find a writer on its staff not only stating his belief that Arnold had not been parodied, but that his poetry _defied parody_, and this soon after the reading world had been delighted with the following successful burlesque, in Mr. W. H. Mallock’s _The New Republic_, published in London by Messrs. Chatto & Windus:――
“Softly the evening descends, Violet and soft. The sea Adds to the silence, below Pleasant and cool on the beach Breaking; yes, and a breeze Calm as the twilight itself Furtively sighs through the dusk, Listlessly lifting my hair, Fanning my thought-wearied brow, Thus I stand in the gloom Watching the moon-track begin Quivering to die like a dream Over the far sea-line To the unknown region beyond.
“So for ages hath man Gazed on the ocean of time From the shores of his birth, and, turning His eyes from the quays, the thronged Marts, the noise and the din To the far horizon, hath dreamed Of a timeless country beyond. Vainly: for how should he pass, Being on foot, o’er the wet Ways of the unplumbed waves? How, without ship, should he pass Over the shipless sea To the timeless country beyond?
“Ah, but once――once long ago, There came a ship white-sailed From the country beyond, with bright Oarsmen, and men that sang; Came to Humanity’s coasts, Called to the men on the shore, Joyously touched at the port. Then did time-weary man Climb the bulwarks, the deck Eagerly crowding. Anon With jubilant voices raised, And singing, “When Israel came Out of Egypt,” and whatso else In the psalm is written, they passed Out of the ken of the land, Over the far sea-line, To the unknown region beyond.
“Where are they now, then――they That were borne out of sight by the ship―― Our brothers, of times gone by? Why have they left us here, Solemn, dejected, alone, Gathered in groups on the shore? Why? For we, too, have gazed O’er the waste of waters, and watched For a sail as keenly as they. Ah, wretched men that we are! On our haggard faces and brows Aching, a wild breeze fawns Full of the scents of the sea, Redolent of regions beyond. Why, then, tarries the ship? When will her white sail rise Like a star on the sea-line? When?
“When?――And the answer comes From the sailless face of the sea, “Ah, vain watchers, what boots The calm of the evening? Have ye not watched through the day Turbulent waves, the expanse Endless, shaken with storm, And ask ye where is the ship? Deeper than plummet can dive She is bedded deep in the ooze, And over her tall mast floats The purple plain of the calm.”
“Yes――and never a ship Since this is sunken, will come Ever again o’er the waves―― Nay, not even the craft with the fierce Steersman, him of the marsh Livid, with wheels of flame Circling his eyes, to smite The lingering soul with his oar. ――Not that even. But we Drop where we stand one by one On the shingles and sands of time, And cover in taciturn gloom, With only perhaps some tear, Each for his brother the hushed Heart and the limitless dreams With a little gift of sand.”
――――
CHRISTMAS THOUGHTS. _By a Modern Thinker._
’Tis Christmas-eve; a low wind breathes: The windows of the church are bright, And girls with happy eyes to-night Are hanging up the Christmas wreaths; And village voices by and by Will reach my windows through the trees With wild sweet music: “Praise on high To God, on earth good will and peace!”
O happy girls that hang the wreaths O village fiddlers, happy ye! Christmas to you still truly breathes Good-will and peace, but not to me!
Yes, gladness is your simple rôle Ye foolish girls, ye labouring poor; But ill would joy beseem my soul, To sigh, my past is, and endure. For as once Rousseau stood, I stand Apart, made picturesque by grief One of a small world-weary band, The orphans of a dead belief Through graveyards lone we love to stray, And sadly the sad tombs explore, And contradict the texts which say That we shall rise again once more. Our faith is dead, of course, and grief Fills up its room; and Christmas pie And turkey cannot bring relief To such as Obermann and I.
Ah, Obermann! and might I pass This English Christmastide with thee Far by those inland waves whose glass Brightens and breaks by Meillerie! Or else amidst the loveliest dells Alp-crags with pine we’d mix our sighs; Mourn at the sound of Christmas bells Sniff at the smells of Christmas pies; But thou art dead, and long dank grass And wet mould cools thy tired hot brain; Thou art lain down and now, alas, Of course you won’t get up again
Yet Obermann, ’tis better so; For if, sad slumberer, after all We were to re-arise you know ’Twould make us feel so very small. Best bear our grief this manlier way, And make our grief be balm to grief For if in faith sweet comfort lay There lurks sweet pride in unbelief.
Wherefore remembering this once more, Unto my childhood’s church I’ll go And bow my head to that low door I passed through standing long ago. I’ll sit in the accustomed place And make, whilst all the unlearned stare A mournful atheistic face At their vain noise of unheard prayer. Then whilst they hymn the heavenly birth And angel-voices from the skies, My thoughts shall go where Weimar’s earth For ever darkens Goethe’s eyes; Till sweet girls’ glances from their books Shall steal towards me as they sigh, “How intellectual he looks And yet how wistful! and his eye Has that vain look of baffled prayer.” And then when church is o’er, I’ll run Comb misery into my hair, And go and get my portrait done!
W. H. M.
This parody of Matthew Arnold appeared in _The World_ some years ago, so that the _Saturday Reviewer_ before alluded to must either have been Rip Van Winkle, or very fresh from school.
――――
GUIDO AND LITA.
For the son of a Duke, and the husband of a Princess, to write and to publish a poem was a pretty piece of condescension, which was not properly appreciated. But, alas! we live in a busy age, and two thousand lines of verse have a deterring effect on the average modern mind. To overcome the difficulty, _Funny Folks_ condensed the Marquis of Lorne’s dismal poem _Guido and Lita_ into half a dozen stanzas, faithfully preserving the pith of the original.
Guido on the Riviera Talketh verse unto his dad, Brusquely says the father, “Bother! Where is shelter to be had?” For a storm is fiercely rising, And the old man hath the blues―― Here a fisherman’s small cottage Sentimental Guido views.
Guido there beheld his Lita Frying fish――she turned to grin; Guido, fired with sudden passion, “Chucked” her underneath the chin, Saying, “Sweetest maid, I love thee!” Said the maiden unto him, “Get out with your stuff and nonsense! See, your parent’s looking grim.”
Soon the Paynim host came fiercely, Slaughtering with fire and sword; Aid was sought from Guido’s father, But that crusty knight was bored. Off they carried beauteous Lita―― Guido could not bring relief; Sirad, Saracenic leader, Made her of his Harem chief.
There a victim of that Paynim A goblet of “cold pizen” brings. “When the Saracenic chieftain At the banquet drinks and sings,” Says this personage vindictive, “Give this gruel, dear, to _he_―― It will cure him of his tantrums, Straightway then arise and flee.”
Escaping thus, the dauntless Lita, Emulating Joan of Arc, Dons bright armour, sword, and buckler, And in battle makes her mark. This the “Elder Knight” perceiving (Guido’s father), though a churl, Said, “I never more will hinder Guido’s _penchant_ for the girl.”
Meanwhile, screwing up his courage, Guido, maundering no more, Has again put on his armour, Plunged into the battle’s roar, Deeds of daring without number, Paynims driven from the walls, Dying father, “Bless ye children!” _Tableau!_――and the curtain falls.
_Funny Folks_, November 27, 1875.
――――:o:――――
NUTSHELL NOVELS.
VOL. I.
A winning wile, A sunny smile, A feather; A tiny walk, A pleasant talk, Together!
VOL. II.
A little doubt, A playful pout. Capricious; A merry miss, A stolen kiss, Delicious!
VOL. III.
You ask mamma, Consult papa, With pleasure! And both repent This rash event At leisure!
MARRIAGE A LA MODE.
A hat, a cane, A nobby beau! A narrow lane, A whisper low.
A smile, a bow, A little flirt! An ardent vow―― That’s cheap as dirt!
A hand to squeeze, A girl to kiss Quite at one’s ease Must needs be bliss.
A ring, a date, A honeymoon, To find too late It was too soon!
――――
ONE SLEIGH RIDE.
A sleigh―― A day Of glorious weather; A girl―― A whirl Of man and maid together.
A freeze―― A squeeze―― A touching of cold noses; A crash―― A blush―― And cheeks as red as roses.
A yearn―― A turn, And homeward they go flying; A sigh―― Good-bye, And then some more good by’ing.
* * * * *
A span―― A man The livery stable trusted; A youth, In truth, Demented, quite, and busted.
――――
NO DOUBT OF IT.
Carpets rise, Dust flies, Confusion reigns supreme; Mouth dries, Aching eyes, Almost makes me scream. Floors wet, House upset, I think you catch my meaning. If not yet, Soon I bet You’ll see it is house-cleaning.
G. L. HARRISON.
――――
The four following examples originally appeared in _Truth_, February, 3, 1887, together with many others of a less amusing character:――
“Hansom quick! Waterloo. First-class tick- ets for two.”
Wretched train; Bray as last! Will it rain? Sky o’ercast.
Sudden shock! Boat upset! Brand new frock Soaking wet.
Back to town Feeling small, Parents frown, That is all!
CHARON.
THE OLD MAID.
Seventeen Fairy Queen! Rich and rare, Golden hair!
Wilful maid Youths upbraid: Twenty-one, Will have none!
Twenty-eight, Getting late: Rather vexed, Unannexed!
Years advance, Lost her chance; Thirty-six, Cross as sticks!
SCHLEMIL.
Celandine, Violet; Shower and shine, Baby Pet.
Sunny days, Roses rare; Woodland ways, Maiden fair.
Changing leaves, Busy feet; Golden sheaves, Mother sweet.
Snowflakes white, Angel cheer; Hope grows bright, Granny dear!
DELIA.
DRINKS.
Some like tea Or cocoa; Not for me―― Thank you, no!
B. and S. After sup.? Thank you, yes! Finish up.
Sparkling “boy,” If the best, Bringeth joy, Wit and jest.
But of the Drinks that cheer Give to me Bitter beer!
H.M.D.
A COUNTRY QUARTER SESSION.
Three or four parsons, three or four squires, Three or four lawyers, three or four liars; Three or four parishes bringing appeals, Three or four hands, and three or four seals; Three or four bastards, three or four w――――s, Tag rag and bobtail three or four scores; Three or four bulls, and three or four cows, Three or four orders, three or four bows. Three or four statutes not understood, Three or four paupers paying for food; Three or four roads that never were mended, Three or four scolds, and the session is ended.
ANONYMOUS.
――――
RECIPE FOR LORD CASTLEREAGH’S SPEECHES.
Two or three facts without any foundation; Two or three charges of party vexation; Two or three metaphors warring on sense; Two or three sentences ditto on tense; Two or three knocks the table to hammer; Two or three rants in defiance of grammar; Two or three vows on economy’s plan; Two or three hours ending but where you began; Two or three novels in eulogium of tax; Two or three hints about turning your backs; Two or three boasts of venal majorities; Two or three groans on dismal minorities; Two or three cheers from two or three creatures; Two or three fundaments, two or three features; Two or three meanings which nobody reaches, Will be certain to make _one_ of Castlereagh’s speeches.
From _The New Tory Guide_. London, 1819.
――――
A RECEIPT FOR COURTSHIP.
Two or three dears, and two or three sweets; Two or three balls, and two or three treats; Two or three serenades, given as a lure; Two or three oaths, how much they endure! Two or three messages sent in one day; Two or three times led out to the play; Two or three soft speeches made by the way; Two or three tickets for two or three times; Two or three love-letters writ all in rhymes; Two or three months keeping strict to these rules Can never fail making a couple of fools.
[Illustration]
A STOCK EXCHANGE BALLAD. _The Grand Promotion Army._
I am Colonel North of the Horse Marines, I began promoting when in my teens, And I rather think I’m behind the scenes In the Grand Promotion Army.
’Tis said to the early bird is due The worm, and I’ve collared of worms a few; For I came from Leeds, and “I’m Yorkshire too,” In the Grand Promotion Army.
With Chili for long I cast my lot, And made some money in that far spot; And Chilies are strong and I make it hot For the Grand Promotion Army.
The City imagination fails To realise how the Nitrate Rails Were boomed so high; but we tell no tales In the Grand Promotion Army.
Two hundred and eighty from fourteen! Why, what could a rise so tremendous mean? ’Twas simply that I was upon the scene With the Grand Promotion Army.
What great financial soul confines Itself to a pitiful few designs? There’s a smaller crop of Nitrate lines For the Grand Promotion Army.
So we run them up, and the rig succeeds, And if some day there’s somebody bleeds, You bet it isn’t the tyke from Leeds, Of the Grand Promotion Army.
Of Tarapaca I might be dumb; For the waterworks have only come To a trumpery thirty premium For the Grand Promotion Army.
In promoting schemes I still persist: There are lines that pay, yet don’t exist. Egad! I’m quite the philanthropist Of the Grand Promotion Army.
As all my friends and admirers know, I’ve mixed myself up with Whitley’s show, That the organ-grinder’s tin might flow To the Grand Promotion Army.
Although I am bald, with whiskers red, There’s Ouless, R.A., who paints one, said He thought I had a wonderful head For the Grand Promotion Army.
Then _vive le jeu!_ and the game for me Is starting a merry companèe And waltzing away with the £ s. d. For the Grand Promotion Army.
For “some has brains and some has tin,” As Orton remarked; and if you’d win, Why, stick to the Colonel, and all stand in With the Grand Promotion Army.
OWLET.
_The Financial News_, May 26, 1888.
For reasons which can be easily understood by those interested in public companies it has suited the Editor of _The Financial News_ to cry down the ventures in which Mr. John Thomas North is interested. It is easy enough to sneer at him as the “Nitrate King,” and to laugh at his Volunteer Colonelcy, but we do not hear that the Editor of _The Financial News_ is either so successful in business, or so hospitable in private life, as “Colonel North of the Horse Marines.”
[Illustration]
LINES ON A DEAD DOG, _Seen floating in the Canal_. (NOT by A. C. Swinburne.)
In the stir and the tumult of nations, ’Mid the wrestlings of right and of power, It is good to lay hold upon Patience And sit by her side for an hour; Apart from the world and her wonders, In a garden of poppies to wait, And list to the tremulous thunders Of the chariot of Fate.
O carcase not fragrant but fetid! O wave whither all things are shot! O dogs not in honour, but treated As of brutes the most rotten that rot! O moment not gladsome but gloomy, When the threads of our Fates intertwined; O sepulchre, spacious and roomy For thee and thy kind!
Thou wert fair ere the doleful disaster, Firm thy muscles, thy bones featly set, And they moved at the voice of thy master Though obedience were tinged with regret. What moved him, old dog, to thy slaughter, To cast to the pike and the eel? When o’er thy bright form closed the water No remorse did he feel?
Dost thou dream in the night of existence ’Mong the things that have been and but seem, Of thy passionate pulseful resistance To the cad that consigned to the stream? Dost thou dream, when of terriers the gamest Thou didst leap from the leash to be freed, And the blood of the rats thou o’ercamest Besprinkled the mead?
By the maidens who love us and flatter, By the maidens who flout us and jeer, By the friends who but bore with their chatter, By the others whose chatting can cheer, By the tutors who woefully work us, By the tutors who don’t in the least, We adjure thee, respond out of Orcus, Unfortunate beast.
The desire of an aimless flirtation Is more than the wisdom of years, Though we’ve tasted its utter nugation, Light laughter and fugitive fears. For the lords of terrestrial treasures Afflict us and rack us with pains, And we fly to the palace of pleasures Forgetting their chains.
And we smile pressing hands in the dances, And we feign what we give not nor take, And indulge in the gleaming of glances Though the heart is as cold as a snake. As lovers, though loving not truly, We are filled with the fire of the eyes And with langours and laughs that unduly Depress and surprise.
We are tender and warm in the twilight, But the day finds us tuneless and old; Till equally low light and high light Have faded from field and from fold. For the world hath in humbug abounded Since the fiends bade the game to begin, And the motto hath ever resounded,―― ‘Let those laugh that win.’
Like Lady Macbeth or like Pontius, We wash us, of these to be rid; For sadly the soul is subconscious That the fitness of things doth forbid. But the water of Lethè were powerless To cleanse from the rust of the years, And the heavens are sultry and showerless And the eye hath no tears.
Shall we e’er know what Atè intended, Libitina and Clotho to boot, When on Sunday three ’varsity men did Encounter the corse, of the brute? Oh why, as they walked in their wisdom, And cramped with conventional togs, Were they brought into contact with his doom, Defunctest of dogs?
From the sides of the dogs of the Dorians Fur has fallen, but fur is on thine? Ah, where shall we find the historians, In their pages to give thee a line? Where are they――Macaulay or Lingard―― Thy tale and thy troubles to write? Would they touch and cry “faugh!” as they fingered? Would they turn from the sight?
Thou shalt change, and the rot and the canker Make mock of thy beauty and bloom; Thou shalt swell with thy gases, and ranker And ranker shall grow thy perfume. _We_ shall fade, and diminish, and perish, As the Hours and the Fates shall decree, But till then in our bosoms we cherish Remembrance of thee!
EREMUS.
From _College Rhymes_. Volume XI. 1870.
――――
The following are extracts from an imitation of A. C. Swinburne which appeared in _The Century Magazine_, February, 1883. As to any meaning to be attached to the lines each reader is perfectly at liberty to make what sense out of them he can.
THE SONG OF SIR PALAMEDE.
_“Came Palamede, upon a secret quest, To high Tintagel, and abode as guest In likeness of a minstrel with the king. Nor was there man could sound so sweet a string._
* * * * *
_To that strange minstrel strongly swore King Mark, By all that makes a knight’s faith firm and strong, That he, as guerdon of his harp and song, Might crave and have his liking. * * * ‘O King, I crave No gift of man that king may give to slave, But this thy crowned queen only, this thy wife.’”_
SWINBURNE. _Tristram of Lyonesse._
With flow exhaustless of alliterate words, And rhymes that mate in music glad as birds That feel the spring’s sweet life among light leaves That ardent breath of amorous May upheaves And kindles fluctuant to an emerald fire Bright as the imperious seas that all men’s souls desire: With long strong swell of alexandrine lines, And with passion of anapæsts, like winds in pines That moan and mutter in great gusts suddenly, With whirl of wild wet wings of storms set free: In mirth of might and very joy to sing, Uplifting voice untired, I sound one sole sweet string.
* * * * *
And many a theme I choose in wayfaring, As one who passing plucks the sunflower And ponders on her looks for love of her. Yea, her flower-named whose fate was like a flower, Being bright and brief and broken in an hour And whirled of winds: and her whose awless hand Held flickering flame to fawn against the brand, Till Meleager splendid as the sun Shrank to a star and set, and all her day was done: And her who lent her slight white virgin light For death to dim, that Athens’ mastering might Above all seas should shine, supernal sphere of night: And her who kept the high knight amorous Pent in her hollow hill-house marvellous, And flame of flowers brake beauteous where she trod, Her who hath wine and honey and a rod, And crowneth man a king and maketh man a slave, Her who rose rose-red from the rose-white wave: And her who ruled with sword-blue blade-bright eyes The helpless hearts of men in queenly wise, And all were bowed and broken as on a wheel, Yet no soft love-cloud long could sheath that stainless steel, Her tiger-hearted and false and glorious, With flower-sweet throat and float of warm hair odorous: These sing I, and whatso else that burns and glows, And is as fire and foam-flowers and the rose And sun and stars and wan warm moon and snows. Who hath said that I have not made my song to shine With such bright words as seal a song to be divine? Who hath said that I have not sweetness thereon spread As gold of peerless honey is poured on bread? Who hath said that I make not all men’s brains to ring, And swim with imminent madness while I sing, And fall as feeble dykes before strong tides of spring? And now as guerdon of my great song I claim The swan-white pearl of singers, yea Queen Fame, Who shall be wed no more to languid lips and tame, But clasp me and kiss and call me by my name, And be all my days about me as a flame, Though sane vain lame tame cranes sans shame make game and blame!
HELEN GRAY CONE.
――――
MR. SWINBURNE’S PROSE.
As a critic and a scholar Mr. Swinburne ranks among the first of the day, yet his style has its defects, as was clearly pointed out by a correspondent of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ in November 1886.
If one of Mr. Swinburne’s long and involved sentences is printed side by side with one selected from Mrs. Gamp’s _repertoire_, the comparison is not altogether to the advantage of the poet:
MR. SWINBURNE.
We may even, and not unreasonably, suspect and fear that it must be through some defect or default in ourselves if we cannot feel, as they do, the force or charm of that which touches others, and these our betters as often as our equals, so nearly; if we cannot, for example――as I may regretfully confess that I never could――feel adequately, or in full, the bitter sweetness that so many thousands, and most notably among them all a better man by far and a far worthier judge than I, have tasted in these pages of Dickens which hold the story of Little Nell, a story in which all the elaborate accumulation of pathetic incident and interest, so tenderly and studiously built up, has never, to speak truth, given me one passing thrill――in the exquisitely fit and faithful phrase of a great living poet, “one sweet, possessive pang” of the tender delight and pity requickened well nigh to tears at every fresh perusal or chance recollection of that one simple passage in “Bleak House” which describes the baby household tended by the little sister, who leaves her lesser charges locked up while she goes charing; a page which I can imagine that many a man unused to the melting mood would not undertake to read out aloud without a break.――_Note on Charlotte Brontë_, pp. 64-65.
NOW for MRS. GAMP.
To think as I should see beneath this blessed ouse which well I know it Miss Pecksniff my sweet young lady to be a ouse as there is not a many like――and worse luck, and wishin’ it were not so, which then this tearful walley would be changed into a flowerin’ guardian Mrs. Chuffy; to think as I should see identically comin’ Mrs. Pinch――I take the liberty though almost unbeknown――and so assure you of it Sir, the smilinest and sweetest face as ever Mrs. Chuzzlewit, I see exceptin’ your own, my dear good lady, and your good lady’s too Sir Mrs. Moddle, if I may make so bold as speak so plain of what is plain enough to them as need’nt look through millstones Mrs. Todgers to find out what is wrote upon the wall behind: which no offence is meant ladies and gentlemen none being took I hope: to think as I should see that smilinest and sweetest face which me and another friend of mine took notice of among the packages down London Bridge in this promiscuous place is a surprise indeed!
[Illustration]
SIX OF ONE AND HALF-A-DOZEN OF THE OTHER. (_Some little way after the late Mortimer Collins._)
Oh, Summer said to Winter, “Earth lovers love me best; For I flush the mead, and I fill the rill, And the violet and the daffodil, And the red, red rose o’er the world I spill; And my dawns are cool, and my eves are chill; And don’t I run up the doctor’s bill For bronchitis and all the rest!”
But Winter said to Summer: “Earth-lovers best love _me_: For I now bring slop instead of snow, (Which comes in June, or mostly so;) And roses and noses at Christmas blow, And the birds their nesting-time don’t know, But lay in December――a pretty go! And _your_ azure skies, and your sunny glow Are silly legends of long ago; Whilst as to the Doctor’s Bills, oho! We are equally good at _them_ I trow. Fact is, the difference ’twixt us two Is the purest fiddle-de-dee!”
_Punch._ December 15, 1888.
Several humorous parodies written by the late Mr. Mortimer Collins have already appeared in this collection, but his lines to Chloe, with her supposed burlesque reply to them, deserve to be quoted:――
AD CHLOEN M.A. (_Fresh from her Cambridge Examination._)
Lady, very fair are you, And your eyes are very blue, And your hose; And your brow is like the snow, And the various things you know, Goodness knows.
And the rose-flush on your cheek, And your Algebra and Greek Perfect are: And that loving lustrous eye Recognises in the sky Every Star.
You have pouting piquant lips, You can doubtless an eclipse Calculate; But for your cerulean hue, I had certainly from you Met my fate.
If by some arrangement dual I were Adams minced with Whewell, Then some day I, as wooer, perhaps might come, To so sweet an Artium Magistra.
CHLOE. M.A. _Ad Amantem Suam._
Careless rhymer, it is true, That my favourite colour’s blue: But am I To be made a victim, Sir; If to puddings I prefer Cambridge pie?
If with giddier girls I play Croquet through the summer day On the turf, Then at night (’tis no great boon) Let me study how the moon Sways the turf.
Tennyson’s idyllic verse Surely suits me none the worse If I seek Old Sicilian birds and bees―― Music of sweet Sophocles―― Golden Greek.
You have said my eyes are blue: There may be a fairer hue, Perhaps――and yet It is surely not a sin If I keep my Secrets in Violet.
MORTIMER COLLINS.
――――:o:――――
THE COMIC HISTORY OF ENGLAND.
The following song was written by Mr. Collins in the days when George the Third was King. It was published, with music, by T. Broome, 15 Holborn Bars, London.
The Romans in England they once did sway, And the Saxons they after them led the way, And they tugg’d with the Danes ’till an Overthrow, They both of them got by the Norman Bow, Yet barring all Pother, the one and the other, Were all of them Kings in their turn.
Little Willy the Conqueror long did reign, But Billy his Son by an Arrow was slain: And Harry the first was a scholar bright, But Stephy was forc’d for his Crown to fight. Yet barring &c.
Second Harry, Plantagenet’s name did bear, And Cœur de Lion was his Son and Heir; But Magna Charta we gain’d from John, Which Harry the Third put his Seal upon. Yet barring &c.
There was Teddy the first like a Tyger bold, But the Second by Rebels was bought and sold And Teddy the third was his Subject’s pride, Tho his Grandson Dicky was popp’d aside. Yet barring &c.
There was Harry the fourth a warlike wight, And Harry the Fifth like a cock would fight Tho Henry his son like a chick did pout, When Teddy his Cousin had kick’d him out. Yet barring &c.
Poor Teddy the fifth he was kill’d in bed, By butchering Dick who was knock’d in head; Then Harry the Seventh in fame grew big; And Harry the Eighth was as fat as a Pig. Yet barring &c.
With Teddy the Sixth we had tranquil days, Tho’ Mary made Fire and Faggot blaze; But good Queen Bess was a glorious Dame, And bonnie King Jamie from Scotland came. Yet barring &c.
Poor Charley the First was a Martyr made, But Charley his Son was a comicle blade; And Jemmy the Second when hotly spurr’d, Run away, do ye see me, from Willy the Third. Yet barring &c.
Queen Ann was victorious by Land and Sea, And Georgey the First did with glory sway, And as Georgey the Second has long been dead, Long life to the Georgey we have in his stead, And may his son’s sons to the end of the Chapter All come to be Kings in their turn.
[Illustration]
Prose Parodies.
In the following pages a selection, as nearly representative as it can be made, will be given from the parodies of the works of our greatest prose writers. Although the axiom _le style c’est l’homme_ does not apply to prose with quite the same force as to poetry, yet there are many amusing prose burlesques, the originals of which will at once be recognised.
Unfortunately most prose parodies are very long, in dealing with these merely brief extracts can be given, and in some cases it will only be necessary to indicate the names of the works in which they occur.
A PREFATORY PAPER.
_By the shade of Mr. Joseph Addison._
Lest my readers, and more especially the fair part of them, be startled to find themselves thus accosted from another world, I take the freedom in the first place, to assure them that I am a peaceable and altogether inoffensive ghost. In the many private transactions whereat I have been present unseen, I have ever observed a strict discretion.
The secrets of the rouge pot are as safe with me as with my lady’s own woman: and when I have found a lover in the closet of a dame of quality, I have taken no more notice, than her husband himself would have done of a like accident. Our Queen, Proserpine, being, as everybody knows, obliged entirely to the poets for her throne and title, and taking likewise, in her capacity of moon, no little share in their inspiration, hath ever distinguished the whole brotherhood of us with her singular grace: and from time to time, by her intercession with her grim spouse, one or other of us hath the liberty of paying a visit to the upper sphere.
All the condition set upon us is only this; that on our return, we shall make such corrections in our most popular works, as modern men and things may appear to need.
For the sake of mutual help in these our reforms, a few of us have united of late into a Society, of which I have been appointed (together with Dr. Samuel Johnson) to be the joint secretary, or Recorder. And it may be convenient, if, by way of introduction to the pieces now revised and put forth, I prefix a short catalogue of their authors, persons who, though born in different ages, do nevertheless marvellously harmonise and agree, insomuch, that a sincerer friendship is hardly to be met with at Court, or even among beauties themselves.
(_Here follow descriptions of the principal authors whose works are imitated in “Posthumous Parodies.”_)
However, it were almost too much to expect in either of us the perfection of later judges, who have carried the art of criticism to such a pitch of excellence, as that no mixture whatsoever of commendation is any longer let in, to weaken its spirit and effect.
For my own part, I am wonderfully pleased with this improvement; for it helps the main end of criticism, to wit, to make the public laugh.
And what author can be so blind to his own real interests, as not to discern, how much more truly those are his friends who point out his errors, than who puff up his vanity?
I know not how it hath happened, that in an assembly so notable for ingenious persons as ours is, there is yet no mixture of the fairer sort. Their absence is always a subject of regret with me, the most unworthy of their admirers: and it is so now in a more especial manner, forasmuch as I foresee that many small wags will take occasion to draw therefrom a conclusion not a little disparaging to the sex’s wit, and so make themselves mighty merry, as little people are ever willing, at their better’s expence. C.
From _Posthumous Parodies_. London. J. Miller. 1814.
――――:o:――――
DR. JOHNSON’S GHOST. _On the re-opening of Drury Lane Theatre._
That which was organised by the moral ability of one has been executed by the physical efforts of many, and DRURY LANE THEATRE is now complete. Of that part behind the curtain, which has not yet been destined to glow beneath the brush of the varnisher, or vibrate to the hammer of the carpenter, little is thought by the public, and little need be said by the committee. Truth, however, is not lo be sacrificed for the accommodation of either; and he who should pronounce that our edifice has received its final embellishment would be disseminating falsehood without incurring favour, and risking the disgrace of detection without participating the advantage of success.
Professions lavishly effused and parsimoniously verified are alike inconsistent with the precepts of innate rectitude and the practice of external policy: let it not then be conjectured, that because we are unassuming, we are imbecile; that forbearance is any indication of despondency, or humility of demerit. He that is the most assured of success will make the fewest appeals to favour, and where nothing is claimed that is undue, nothing that is due will be withheld. A swelling opening is too often succeeded by an insignificant conclusion. Parturient mountains have ere now produced muscipular abortions; and the auditor who compares incipient grandeur with final vulgarity is reminded of the pious hawkers of Constantinople, who solemnly perambulate her streets, exclaiming, “In the name of the Prophet――figs!”
Of many who think themselves wise, and of some who are thought wise by others, the exertions are directed to the revival of mouldering and obscure dramas; to endeavours to exalt that which is now rare only because it was always worthless, and whose deterioration, while it condemned it to living obscurity, by a strange obliquity of moral perception, constitutes its title to posthumous renown. To embody the flying colours of folly, to arrest evanescence, to give to bubbles the globular consistency as well as form, to exhibit on the stage the piebald denizen of the stable, and the half-reasoning parent of combs, to display the brisk locomotion of Columbine, or the tortuous attitudinising of Punch;――these are the occupations of others, whose ambition, limited to the applause of unintellectual fatuity, is too innocuous for the application of satire, and too humble for the incitement of jealousy.
Our refectory will be found to contain every species of fruit, from the cooling nectarine and luscious peach to the puny pippin and the noxious nut. There Indolence may repose, and Inebriety revel; and the spruce apprentice, rushing in at second account, may there chatter with impunity; debarred, by a barrier of brick and mortar, from marring that scenic interest in others, which nature and education have disqualified him from comprehending himself.
Permanent stage-doors we have none. That which is permanent cannot be removed, for, if removed, it soon ceases to be permanent. What stationary absurdity can vie with that ligneous barricado, which, decorated with frappant and tintinnabulant appendages, now serves as the entrance of the lowly cottage, and now as the exit of a lady’s bed-chamber; at one time, insinuating plastic Harlequin into a butcher’s shop, and, at another, yawning, as a floodgate, to precipitate the Cyprians of St. Giles’s into the embraces of Macheath. To elude this glaring absurdity, to give to each respective mansion the door which the carpenter would doubtless have given, we vary our portal with the varying scene, passing from deal to mahogany, and from mahogany to oak, as the opposite claims of cottage, palace, or castle, may appear to require.
Amid the general hum of gratulation which flatters us in front, it is fit that some regard should be paid to the murmurs of despondence that assail us in the rear. They, as I have elsewhere expressed it, “who live to please,” should not have their own pleasures entirely overlooked. The children of Thespis are general in their censures of the architect, in having placed the locality of exit at such a distance from the oily irradiators which now dazzle the eyes of him who addresses you, I am, cries the Queen of Terrors, robbed of my fair proportions. When the king-killing Thane hints to the breathless auditory the murders he means to perpetrate in the castle of Macduff, “ere his purpose cool,” so vast is the interval he has to travel before he can escape from the stage, that his purpose has even time to freeze. Your condition, cries the Muse of Smiles, is hard, but it is cygnet’s down in comparison with mine. The peerless peer of capers and congees[49] has laid it down as a rule, that the best good thing uttered by the morning visitor should conduct him rapidly to the doorway, last impressions vying in durability with first. But when, on this boarded elongation, it falls to my lot to say a good thing, to ejaculate “keep moving,” or to chant “_hic hoc horum genitivo_,” many are the moments that must elapse ere I can hide myself from public vision in the recesses of O. P. or P. S.
To objections like these, captiously urged and querulously maintained, it is time that equity should conclusively reply. Deviation from scenic propriety has only to vituperate itself for the consequences it generates. Let the actor consider the line of exit as that line beyond which he should not soar in quest of spurious applause: let him reflect, that in proportion as he advances to the lamps, he recedes from nature; that the truncheon of Hotspur acquires no additional charm from encountering the cheek of beauty in the stage-box, and that the bravura of Madame may produce effect, although the throat of her who warbles it should not overhang the orchestra. The Jove of the modern critical Olympus, Lord Mayor of the theatric sky[50] has, _ex cathedrâ_, asserted, that a natural actor looks upon the audience part of the theatre as the third side of the chamber he inhabits. Surely, of the third wall thus fancifully erected, our actors should, by ridicule or reason, be withheld from knocking their heads against the stucco.
Time forcibly reminds me, that all things which have a limit must be brought to a conclusion. Let me, ere that conclusion arrives, recall to your recollection that the pillars which rise on either side of me, blooming in virid antiquity, like two massy evergreens, had yet slumbered in their native quarry, but for the ardent exertions of the individual who called them into life: to his never-slumbering talents you are indebted for whatever pleasure this haunt of the Muses is calculated to afford. If, in defiance of chaotic malevolence, the destroyer of the temple of Diana yet survives in the name of Erostratus, surely we may confidently predict that the rebuilder of the temple of Apollo will stand recorded to distant posterity in that of――SAMUEL WHITBREAD.
From _The Rejected Addresses_, by James and Horace Smith. London, 1812.
There is a _Prefatory Paper_, in the style of Dr. Johnson, in “Posthumous Parodies,” published by John Miller, London, 1814, but it is greatly inferior to that contained in “Rejected Addresses.”
――――
ON BOOKBINDERS. (_After Rasselas._)
Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of noodles, and pursue with eagerness the phantom “collection,” who believe that binder’s promises are――binding, and that an inch of margin to-day matters not on the morrow, attend to the wisdom of Bonnardot, Prince of Book-Restorers. “The greatest merit of a rare book is indisputably a margin uncut, or at least, little and regularly cut in every way.” No hesitating words these; no room for doubt here. An uncut margin is the greatest merit a rare book can possess, and it is a merit which has a well ascertained commercial value. An eighth of an inch more or less of margin often makes a difference in value of hundreds of dollars. Now let the botcher-binder cut and slash as you will.
ANONYMOUS.
――――
ANONYMOUS JOURNALISM. (_From an unpublished Essay by Dr. Johnson._)
He that asserts the annexation of a correct cognomen to each production to be imperative upon every author, either strays from veracity for the sake of disseminating falsehood, or circulates error through the possession of congenital imbecility. Let it not be surmised that this declaration is expressed through sensitive timidity or supported by vacuous generalizations, for a further perusal will speedily discover a clinching dialectic. The individual that appends his hereditary appellation to a composition of transcendant ability, does but seek to enervate his intellect by encomiastic excess, and whilst he panders to his ambition, exaggerates his energies. Such a course indeed, is too ephemeral for the attainment by an author of immortality, because too invidious for the approbation of his colleagues. Of the many who consider their cerebral progeny worthy of attentive investigation, but few have the right to predicate correctness of their hopeful conviction; and he that inscribes his signature on a piece of somniferous fatuity, involves his relatives in unmerited obloquy, whilst he exposes himself to dedecorating derision. Amid the multitude of periodical productions it is but reasonable that some should be devoted to the analysis of individual idiosyncracies, and the maxims previously unfolded may to these be pertinently applied.
An anonymous panegyric by an unknown friend is more acceptable than the cringing adulation of a patent parasite, whilst unsigned reproofs are more meritorious than personal vituperations.
He that panders to an inflamed irascibility by affording it an opportunity of illicit flagellation, does but incite an infuriated man to rebel against the legal institutions of his country.
To the contemptible criticisms of those whose opinions are in contrariety with the superscribed, we merely reply, that, whilst the procrastination of judgment is essential to the perfectibility of Truth, their future ratiocinations will still be treated with dignified derision by their magnanimous admonishers.
From _The Shotover Papers_, Oxford, 1874.
――――
“_Lexiphanes_, a Dialogue, imitated from Lucian, and suited to the present times,” (1767), was a malicious piece of drollery directed against Dr. Johnson; this has been attributed to Sir John Hawkins, the real author, however, was Archibald Campbell, the Purser of a Man-of-War.
A continuation of Rasselas, entitled _Dinarbas_, was published in 1793, it had little merit.
[Illustration]
Rev. LAURENCE STERNE.
BORN 1713. DIED March, 18, 1768.
A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY. _By a Sterne Shade._
## CHAPTER I.
“I’ll be hanged if I do!”
I was standing at the verge of the pavement at the bottom of Ludgate-hill, with one foot on the kerb and the other in the kennel.
’Tis an attitude of irresolution and uncertainty, and throws a man off his level. And when a man is thrown off his level there’s no telling what may be the end of it. I took my foot out of the kennel, and as I set it down beside its companion on the granite I repeated my exclamation――
“I’ll be hanged if I do!”
Now, ’tis an undertaking no man in the possession of his senses would make if he was not quite sure of avoiding the penalty. There are many inconveniences connected with being hanged, which would incline us to hesitate. A man of sentiment and refinement would shrink from it. The idea of engrossing the attention of so many people, from the Sheriff and the Ordinary down to the most ragged beggar in the crowd, is a shock to delicacy.
Besides, hanging entails early rising, and early rising is bad. Oh! great Sun! for what dost thou quit thy roseate couch at so unearthly an hour, but to air the world for us poor mortals?
Whip me the man who would rise before eleven, if he could help it. If he couldn’t――well, ’tis different, and there’s an end on’t.
But early rising is a thing I never cared for or practised; and indeed I can think of no worse way of beginning a day than getting up at eight to be hanged.
And this brings me back to my first proposition. “I’ll be hanged if I do!” said I.
As I uttered the words I brought down my cane with a smart rap on the stones――for if the intention and the deed be the same thing, as learned legists tell us, it was on the stones that I brought it down. But between the deed and the intention a plaguy fellow must needs thrust the foot on which he wore his largest and tenderest corn.
Mine is a sensitive heart, and of a truth tenderness is a failing that is always leading me into difficulties.
I could not support the sight of his anguish; and as soon as he found the use of his voice――which was pretty soon――I thought it best to move away.
## CHAPTER II.
I had not gone many steps ere I fell in with a donkey. Now an ass is an animal I can never pass without giving him the time of day. There is a gentle patience with which he listens to my discourses that wins my heart in spite of myself.
He was harnessed to a sort of barrow, laden with mackerel, and he was standing in Farringdon-street to allow the stream of traffic to pass up Ludgate-hill.
“’Tis ever so, Honesty!” said I; “thou and I must e’en wait to let our betters go by. See how yon ‘Bow and Stratford’ rolls by――mark that _Pickford’s_ van――and thou’rt obliged to wait with thy fish, though they be perishable goods at best.”
As I said this I had taken up one of the mackerel, and was moralizing over it.
“Come, I say, jest drop that ’ere?” said a voice. I looked up. It was Jack’s master. “And this is thy tyrant, then!” I thought to myself. “Thine must be a hard lot, with one so suspicious of his kind――so devoid of sentiment.” But I said nothing, and replaced the fish.
Just at this moment the tide of traffic was broken for an instant, and the ass’s master hastened to take advantage of it. “Kim up!” said he to Jack; and before the poor animal could obey him, he seized him by the head and dragged him along, dealing him at the same time a score of heavy blows with a thick stick that he carried in his right hand.
I could have found it in my heart to have given the rascal a sound drubbing for his pains. But I refrained. I protest I am too soft-hearted. I feared I might by chance hurt him, or he me.
“Farewell, Honesty!” said I, as Jack shambled off with his load. And then I knew not what tender emotion stirred me, but I felt a tear trickling down my cheek. “Farewell, Honesty!” said I again, as I put my hand into my pocket for my kerchief.
It was gone!――――
## CHAPTER III.
I have come to the conclusion that ’tis not the best way to get through a story to begin at the end.
’Tis an unprofitable way at best, and tends to lead one into digressions.
Now, digressions will be the ruin of me in this world and the next. I shall be so beset with digressions I shall never reach my destination.
’Tis a very butterfly-like temptation. Here was I set down to write you out my journey, and I’ve not got three steps from the bottom of Ludgate-hill.
And this because of my fatal failing for digression. I had proposed to write a chapter on _Pickford’s_ vans, and another on Public Executions; but here’s the end of my letter, and I am still standing with one foot on the kerbstone and the other in the kennel.
* * * * *
As I was writing that last sentence, I felt I could bear it no longer. It had rung in my ears all day. I had looked out of windows, and out of doors, and upstairs, and downstairs, but I could not discover whence it came.
“I can’t get on! I can’t get on!”
’Twas a little plaintive voice like a child’s.
“I can’t get on!” This time I traced it to its source. ’Twas nothing but a little squirrel in a revolving cage. As he ran, so his prison turned, and he still kept crying, “I can’t get on!”
Oh! great principle of Liberty! was I wrong to make the instant determination to set that poor little captive free? My heart assures me I was not. I fumbled at the wire-fastening. It resisted my efforts; but the squirrel bit my fingers all the same.
* * * * *
Another digression. But it shall be the last. I have sworn it, and so there’s an end of the matter. And ’tis no much matter either, for after all ’tis no more than this:――
As I stood on the pavement at the bottom of Ludgate-hill, with one foot on the kerb and the other in the kennel, I suddenly remembered that it was _Lord Mayors Day_.
“Shall I go and see the show?” said I to myself. And myself answered――
“I’ll be hanged if I do!” And I didn’t.
ANONYMOUS.
――――
AFFECTING APPEAL.
Linton, a musician belonging to the orchestra of Covent Garden Theatre, was murdered by street robbers, who were afterwards discovered and executed. A play was given for the benefit of his widow and children; and the day preceding the performance the following appeared in one of the public prints.
“THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN. _“For the Benefit of Mrs. Linton, &c.”_
“The Widow,” said Charity, whispering me in the ear. “must have your mite; wait upon her with a guinea, and purchase a box-ticket.”
“You may have one for five shillings,” observed Avarice, pulling me by the elbow.
My hand was in my pocket, and the guinea, which was between my finger and thumb, slipped out.
“Yes,” said I, “she shall have my five shillings,”
“Good heaven!” exclaimed Justice, “what are you about! Five shillings? If you pay but five shillings for going into the Theatre, then you get value received for your money.”
“And I shall owe him no thanks,” added Charity, laying her hand upon my heart, and leading me on the way to the Widow’s house.
Taking the knocker in my left hand, my whole frame trembled. Looking round, I saw Avarice turn the corner of the street, and I found all the money in my pocket grasped in my hand.
“Is your mother at home, my dear?” said I, to a child who conducted me into a parlour.
“Yes,” answered the infant; “but my father has not been at home for a great while; that is his harpsichord, and that is his violin.――He used to play on them for me.”
“Shall I play you a tune, my boy?” said I.
“No, sir,” answered the boy, “My mother will not let them be touched; for since my father went abroad, music makes her cry, and then we all cry.”
I looked on the violin――it was unstrung. I touched the harpsichord――it was out of tune. Had the lyre of Orpheus sounded in my ear, it could not have insinuated to my heart thrills of sensibility equal to what I felt. It was the spirit in unison with the flesh.
“I hear my mother on the stairs,” said the boy.
I shook him by the hand――“Give her this, my lad,” said I, and left the house.――It rained――I called a coach――drove to a coffee-house, but not having a farthing in my pocket, borrowed a shilling at the bar.
――――
THE CITIZEN.
I took a fat citizen, and having first shut him up in his little sitting-room, I proceeded to take his picture. I beheld his body gorged with long gratification and confinement to the house, and I felt what kind of sickness of the stomach it is that arises from having eaten too much. On looking nearer, I beheld him bloated and feverish. In sixty years the country breeze had not once fanned his blood, and he had seen the sun and moon but indistinctly in all that time. He was seated, or rather buried in a large arm-chair, which stood in front of the fire-place, and which might have served either for a chair or a bed. A bundle of promissory notes lay on the table, scrawled all over, the fruits of the dark and dismal days and nights he had spent there. He had one of these small slips of paper in his hand, and with a pen he was etching his own signature and the day of the month, to add it to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up an eye, swimming in fat, towards the door, bent his head forward earnestly to listen, and then went on with his work of delight.
I heard the rubbing of his hands when he had with difficulty turned his body round to place the note on the bundle――he gave a sigh of joy. I saw the ecstasy that entered into his soul――I burst into a laugh――I could not contain myself at the picture which my fancy had drawn.
TOGATUS.
From _The Gownsman_, Cambridge, 1830.
_Fragments in the Manner of Sterne_, by Isaac Brandon. Published in 1797, with fine plates, by Kirk, contained the following chapters:――Address to the Shade of Yorick――War――Prosperity――and Humanity――A Shandean Minister――Justice――Necessity――Anna and an “Apostrophe to the Genius of Yorick Redivivus.”
A second edition was published in 1798, with some additional matter.
_The Rambles of Mr. Frankly, published by his Sister_, 1772, was written in imitation of Sterne’s _Sentimental Journey_.
_A Sentimental Journey_ (intended as a sequel to Mr. Sterne’s) through Italy, Switzerland, and France. By Mr. Shandy. 2 vols. 1793.
_Yorick’s Sentimental Journey, continued._
_The Sentimental Journey_, a continuation by Eugenius.
_Maria_, or a Shandean journey of a young Lady through Flanders and France, in 1822, by my Uncle Oddy. 1823.
These are the titles of a few only of the principal imitations of Sterne, in which his maudlin sentiment is easily burlesqued, but in which little of his wit can be found.
[Illustration]
THOMAS CARLYLE.
BORN Dec. 4, 1795. DIED Feb. 5, 1881.
A LATTER-DAY FRAGMENT, 1851. (_Carlyle on Bloomerism._)
“A mad world this, my friends, a World in its lunes, petty and other; in lunes other than petty now for sometime; in petty lunes, pettilettes or pantalettes, about these six weeks, ever since when this rampant androgynous Bloomerism first came over from Yankee land. A sort of shemale dress you call Bloomerism; a fashion of SISTER JONATHAN’S.
Trowsers tight at ankles, and for most part frilled; tunic descending with some degree of brevity, perhaps to knees, ascending to throat and open at chemisette front, or buttoned there; collar down-turned over neckerchief; and crowning all, broad brimmed hat; said garments generally feathered, trimmed, ribboned, variegated, according to the fancies and the vanities: these, chiefly, are the outward differences between Bloomer dress and customary feminine Old Clothes. Not much unlike nursery-uniforms, you think this description of costume, but rather considerably like it, I compute. Invisible are the merits of the Bloomer dress, such as it has. A praiseworthy point in Bloomerism the emancipation of the ribs; an exceeding good riddance, the deliverance from corset, trammelling genteel thorax with springs of steel and whalebone, screwing in waist to Death’s hour glass contraction, and squeezing lungs, liver, and midriff into unutterable cram. Commendable, too, the renouncement of sous-jupe bouffante, or ineffable wadding, invented, I suppose, by some Hottentot to improve female contour after the type of _Venus_, his fatherland’s, and not Cythera’s. Wholesome, moreover, and convenient, the abbreviation of trains, serving in customary female old clothes the purpose of besom, and no other: real improvements, doubtless, these abandonments of ruinous shams, ridiculous unveracities, and idolatries of indescribable mud-Pythons.… Disputes about surplices in pulpit, and also elsewhere, give place to controversies in theatres and lecture-halls concerning petty lunes and frilled trowsers; paraphernalia, however, not less important than canonicals, as I judge for one.… But here are we, my friends in this mad world, amid the hallooings and bawlings, and guffaws, and imbecile simperings, and titterings, blinded by the November smoke fog of coxcombries and vanities, stunted by the perpetual hallelujahs of flunkeys, beset by maniacs and simpletons in the great lunes and the petty lunes; here, I say, do we, with Bloomerism beneath us bubbling uppermost, stand, hopelessly upturning our eyes for the daylight of heaven, upon the brink of a vexed unfathomable gulf of apehood and asshood simmering for ever.”
ANONYMOUS.
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THE TICHBORNE TRIAL. _By Thomas Carr Lisle._
The Tichborne Trial is ended! Yea, my brother and _other_ things are ended of which that is but a type, Looming Portentous; verily, a sort of Fire-balloon of paper, or of _papers_ rather, _Standard_, _Telegraph_, and what not.
Men say “The truth is out at last.” The Truth out! my poor brothers-nay, was the Truth ever _in_. Surely there was _no_ Truth, rather other than that.
And yet doth it not _mean_ something, think you, this Tichborne Trial, its Solicitor-Generals, Tichborne bonds, and legal Inanities? Says it not “Is there Truth in the land, O Israel?” “What is Truth?” said jesting Pilate, or rather _where_ is it? Cry the question into the bottomless Inane of this our world, and what answer? Nothing but an inarticulate response of Tichborne bonds, Solicitor-Generals, and such.
Yea, they mean something, these Solicitor-Generals and Tichborne bonds:――a Partridge-shooting, Salmon-preserving, Dilettante Aristocracy have said so much, have said so with lifting of hands and Reverence――we fear somewhat of the Rotatory Calabash kind. They mean this much, which is perhaps somewhat other than Double-barrelled Dilettantisms would have them mean. They mean _this_ much. This England of ours believes no longer in Truth, believes rather in a kind of _Sham_ Truth, a stucco business, much to be lamented; at least, by all such as hold their soul for a purpose other than to save salt, to keep them from Rottenness, Stinking, and utter Unsavouryness. “They say unto us ‘make brick,’ and no straw is given unto thy servants.” So might cry our men of law, lacking Truth to work upon; but for straw they cry _not_, thinking to make brick _without_ straw; and they make _no_ brick, rather Falsity, Puffery, and Unnature.
O, great Roger! these matters of thine call with a tolerably audible voice of Proclamation, and a universal “_oyez_,” and we English Microcosms may know that it was verily meant in earnest that same Phenomenon, and had its reasons for appearing there――Just and Unjust cause――_Dikaios_ and _Adikos Logos_――trying to settle or _get_ themselves settled, incessantly protesting against each being the other, and with it may be another kind of _Logos_ from the great Universe with silent continual Beckonings trying to revenge itself, _revancher_ itself, make itself good again.
For does not the Universe hold an inarticulate Sympathy with Justice, yearning that _meum_ be mine _tuum_ thine. That _meum_ be mine! There is surely something Respectable in that.
And what is the outcome, ask Practical men, of all this? What is the import of the matter to us who are _not_ Rogers? Verily, my friends, this――that England is in a state of Chronic Atropos, hath made her a covering of Asses-ears, Midas-leavings, Sermons, parchment and what not, hoping to sleep through it in such caloric apparel in this Glass house of hers, knowing that glass is no _conductor_――to Heaven’s lightning at least.
The Outcome of ninety-one days’ sittings, Red-tape Philosophies, Club-room jaw-clackings, and Infernal Babel of _Telegraphs_ and _Morning Stars_ is little other than――for Rogers _Newgate_ and the Blackness of Darkness, for those who are not Rogers, discovery of Chronic Atropos in a Rampant state, wholly Insuppressible, Irrepressible, and Mad.
After all, is not _Insanity_ just what is the matter with this English Bull just now? Is there Sanity at all among us butchers, bakers and candlestick-makers, red tape dummies, black crape ludicrousnesses, Puseyisms, Benthamee Radicalisms, Church and Statisms, Dilettantisms, Mammonisms, double-barelled Aristocracies, and inane Chimæras generally? Literature is, perhaps, the Sanest thing we have just at present, at least tolerabler, impressibler, beneficenter than mere Chaos, articulate or inarticulate. Writers, at least, have a _Meaning_, must have a Meaning; state some Fact or Facts, or what they take for Fact or Facts, intelligibly, so that men may say “Thus thinks a Man, whether he think wrong or right.”
And the Tichborne Trial was mad, utterly mad, with no Truth, hardly even _Un_truth in it, but Confusion and Roaring as of the Pit and Abyss of stupidity.
Did the Insanity thereof dawn upon many, think you? One might have hoped so, have hoped that such had been the _Outcome_ which Practical Men require. One might have hoped that the sense of the World, Judicial, Social, and Otherwise, would have got itself resuscitated from Asphyxia, or proved for ever irresuscitable. But, instead thereof, we have _Times_ Subscription-list actually now present, and Impending Ominous Perjury-trials, fresh Chaotic Incongruities, diabolic Floppings and Caterwaulings hitherto thought moribund, scattering incalculable Contagion.
Thus clearly doth this Roger matter preach its lesson to mankind, teaching and preaching clearly as these Words writ down here the Unveracity of Demiurgurships, of Solicitor-Generals, and such Parchment Kings.
But, my friends, such things will not _last_, at least not longer than Doomsday in the afternoon. It is very notable, Demiurgurship of Judges, that loud Inane Actuality with justice in its pocket, which rolls along there with trumpeters blaring round it, and all the world escorting it as mute or vocal Flunkey――go thy way. Escort it not thou, my brother. Say unto it rather, “Loud blaring Nonentity, no force of wigs, spectacles, and trumpets can make thee an Entity. Thou art a _Non_entity and deceptive Simulacrum.” Storm-clothed Caverns Cheese and Earwigs! French and Phrygians, Zero. Ba! Moo! Hee Haw! Hee Haw.
From _The Light Green_, Cambridge, 1872.
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The Editor of _The World_ offered two prizes for compositions (in the style of Thomas Carlyle) describing Mr. Gladstone’s portrait by Millais, and on August 6, 1879, it published the two following parodies:――
FIRST PRIZE.
Turn we, therefore, from this jaunting, jostling, pestering Piccadilly into the Academy――whether really Royal this year I know not, or whether it be no more than the grandest _Graphic_ we have had this many months, the most illustrious _Illustrated_ of the year. Pause not to catch glamorous glancing glimpses of the besodden (with rain only, think you?) Season’s Beauties――drawn verily, each of them, by most Special Correspondents――but step sternly on, and stop face to face with this William――the People’s William, as the mob hath not dubiously dubbed him. Is it the Portrait merely or the Man himself that ye have come out for to see? Be you friend or foe to him, is there not in this counterfeit presentment of him――this wild, much-suffering, much-inflicting (not on trees only) man――something which almost attaches you? Is it not the attitude and face of a man who hath said to Cant, ‘Begone!’ to Dilettantism, ‘Here canst thou not be!’ and to Truth, ‘Be thou in place of all――ay, of ‘place’ itself to me!’――a man who hath manfully defied the ‘Time-Prince’ or Devil to his face, by all weapons, in all places, at all times? See you not, in the earnestly, sternly eagle-eyed look of him the ground of the enthusiasm,――The _Schwärmerei_,――for him? Contrast him not odiously, but in sober, sensible silence, with the dazzling Dizzy, the bright Beaconsfield. Which of them, both great, is really great_est_? Which the grandest Thing and thoughtfullest we have done lately? Which will we send to the next Exhibition, Paris or otherwise? Which of them will we show for our Honour, with Peace or without it, amongst foreign nations, and for our Peace with Honour surely amongst ourselves? Which? Consider now, if they asked us, “Choose ye not this time, like ill-starred princess ’twixt axe and crown,’ but twixt the man who sways the axe, and him who rejects (rightly doubtless) the crown; ’twixt the lopper of laurels, and the creator of crowns, Imperial and other, that fade.” Consider now, if they asked us, “Will you give up your William or your Benjamin,――not little truly, and just now your Ruler――O ye lost Tribes of Israel? Never have had any William, or never have had any Benjamin?” Consider now both of them, all of you, as MEN of State, of Letters, ay, of Post-cards also if you will! Really it were a grave question. Official persons would doubtless answer in official language; but we, for our part, should not we also be forced to answer, ‘Benjamin or no Benjamin, we cannot do without William’? He is verily ours,――not with us here and there only, in Oriental mystery amongst us; but ours always,――_Fortnightly_, our own _Contemporary_ (or a large part of it), our best _Nineteenth Century_ Man.
CONSERVATIVE.
SECOND PRIZE.
Here, O belated wayfarer, in thy weary march in search of the Beautiful, after painful journeying through a Realm of æsthetic Unrealities, pause! Thou art verily at last in presence of a _Man_. No mere clothes-bundle of humanity this, presented before thee, smirking, pomatumed, garnered from the Dustbin of the Ages――marvelling by what blundering Miracle of the Destinies he finds himself there. Wandering in this bewildering waste of ruined canvas, that by _wise_ guidance might have evolved itself into practical _Breeches_ for the Breechless in this howling naked world――this many-tinted appalling array of painted, but, alas, soulless Flesh――of bewigged Pomposity, of empty Dead-Sea faces with no Souls behind them, children of the Inane begotten in Vanity and brought forth in Vexation of Spirit, acres of æsthetic Upholstery, Sugar-loaf Confectionary, perpetuated Blockheadism, respectable _Giggery_, and other like phenomena,――all jumbled together, gibbeted in veneer and gold;――here, at last, I say, amid this motley throng, come we on a glimpse of the Ideal, a Giant among pigmies, a _Man_ surrounded by Tailor-puppets, a human Soul gazing out from an earnest human face intent upon things other than mere cultivation of the Digestive faculty. Yea, look upon him! An earnest, passionate, restless, lean, but withal noble face. An eager eye, but pathetic in its eagerness, looking out compassionately on this sad oppressed world. Stern compressed lips, an undaunted brow, with a Stormy Force hidden under the calm exterior. Straight he looks into the Shams and Chicanery of our insincere Charlatan age,――the keen lightnings of his eye, and fierce thunderbolts of his tongue, cleaving, piercing, exploding the Windbags and inflated Bladders that in our noodle, jabbering, screech-owl Parliament try to pass themselves as Verities and Realities. O my brothers, look on this, a fragment of the Real flung by some miracle amid the Unreal, of the Invisible made Visible, embodying for us, and for those who come after us, a picture, a semblance, an apparition, a Verisimilitude of Greatness that will survive the cacklings and hissings and venom-squirting propensities of a purblind Age!
TEUFELSDRÖCKH JUNIOR.
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On March 5th, 1882, _The Weekly Dispatch_ published the result of a Prize competition for parodies on Carlyle’s style. Four imitations were printed, but the prize was awarded to the following:
ON THE PARLIAMENTARY “CLOSURE.”
Business in these latter days the national palaver has mostly ceased to do; talk in every variety, perorations, objurations clamorously vehement have inundated the poor palaver, well-nigh swamping what of sense and work remained to it. Strange have been the sights of late, honourable members struggling all day, all night, stormful, impetuously rampant, found still by saffron Phœbus motioning, dividing, weary, and reckless of everything, wishful only to make an end. Sacred truly are the rights of minorities, sacred too are other rights, for one the right to work and to progress; but this right of the not honourable member, shameless, unreasonable, treasonable to drone, and adjourn, and divide, senselessly and hopelessly seems not sacred; not to me, nor to the Eternal Reason. For from of old was it not given to the strong to rule, and rule _well_, at peril of their souls; and is not strength with the many and not the few, shriek and expostulate though they may, passionate, hysterical, futile――now to be overborne by the “evident sense of the majority” arresting the inane jabberings with true Puritan earnestness and vigour, rejoiced in by the Empyreans, enemies of froth and the Pit. The sense of the majority cannot too often be “evident.”
J. W. HALE.
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PEOPLE OF THE PRESENT. _Omitted from Carlyle’s “Reminiscences.”_
BROWN, THE POET.
Went last night in wet, bad weather to Dash’s to meet Brown. A lean, long, clothes-prop of a man, with a bilious complexion-spectral, hideous, discordant, almost infernal. Much common-coloured hair streaming over narrow shoulders. Asked leave to present me with his new volume of poems, the result being that I got to talking in the Annandale accent, and communicated large masses of my views on weak verse to all within hearing. Tuneful Brown shaken as with a passing earthquake. A very questionable impression of myself left in _that_ quarter, I imagine.
ROBINSON, THE PAINTER.
In the evening an Oscarian rout. Dauber Robinson was the only novelty, for I have never noticed him before――a man with huge bush of beard, spectacled, staring, owlish. For the rest, a podgy man with loose mouth (spout mouth), cock nose, and shallowest brow. A sandy, barren character, dissonant speaking, dogmatic, trivial, with a singular exasperation on a question of perspective. Let him go on spoiling good canvas with his pictures――save the mark!――in the name of Beelzebub, the God of Ekron, who seems to be his god: but don’t let him flatter himself that he will ever get an order from me――_ach Gott_!
_Funny Folks_, November 1884.
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THE GHOST OF CARLYLE AT THE INVENTORIES.
His observations on the equestrian statue of the Prince of Wales in the Entrance Hall.
Beyond doubt a horse――breed questionable――a horse nevertheless. A horse, charging like an unbottled whirlwind, kicking up behind and before; dash, plash! Symptoms unmistakable. Too much other charging for the equine-imity of this full-bodied charger from the stables of Gulliver Swift’s Brobdingnag. Wo, intrepedest! carriest thou not a prince astride; he that is of Wales, yet no Welshman, no Taffy-stick; man of Three Feathers simply! He is the great chum-chum of the sociabilities, knowest thou not? not to be sneezed at like everyday clay. This clay that thou upbearest on that square back of thine is of the Pottery-Royal, good steed; hall-marked from Plantagenet to Guelph with despisable and undespisable Saxon-Norman-Dutch-German interweavings; yet a sound clay, and transparent withal, not mere bric-a-brac. All other sons of Adam bow to him; throw him, therefore, at thy peril. See, the Inanities are coming, with them the Lack-lustres, the Sham-aristocrats, the Brass-brains, the Tittle-tattlers, and the Bubble-mongers. What! still kicking! Do not these High Mightinesses affright thee? What sayest thou to the feminine new clothes-screens that come lilting in, puffy, protuberant, patchy? piquancy personified; all that. Burlesques of anatomy notwithstanding. _Nunquam non paratus_.
Oh, Bucephalus, I am ashamed of thee; all the fineries are here, and thou shouldst be of the inaudibles. Else, better wert thou with thy commemorative counterpart, in distant, hot-as-Hades Bombay. Dost thou not, like the Heine-immortalised palm, have internal yearnings towards the other self out there in the land of the palanquin――that other self-made gift of to the Bombayliffs by Sir Albert Sassoon, C.S.I.? Ridden by an H.R.H., K.G., G.C.S.I., and presented by a C.S.I. Kt., thou shouldst, with thy O B C T, abide by the letter of thy compact. Look around thee; the show is now going on; the asinines are upon us; “Walk up! walk up!” See how they stream through the turn-stiles; pay here, pay there, pay everywhere; halt cabs, halt carriages; crush; press. Whoogh! Hotter work this than shelling peas in the back kitchen with Gretchen. Why, the very mural panels blush for thee in all their Doulton red-hotness. Yes, they have panelled all the inventions on these walls, from Agricola to Bessemer, from Caxton to Walter, from Jost Amman to Arkwright. These panels empanel thee, kicker. _Ach Gott!_ an’ thou dost not stop thy cursed racket, thou shalt seek the Evermore with a walking-stick betwixt thy ribs! A full score peelers (well I remember Robert o’ that ilk) stand sentry, Right over Wrong, or _vice versa_, in this Hall of no entrance _sans_ the cash, and yet thou art not mollified.
See, the crowds come in by the Subway also――Subwayters they, with a vengeance, and mix and muddle. Mark, too, the seats for the Demi-semi Flirts and their victims. Followers allowed there, Bucephalus, I surmise. See, how the crowd streams down the broad steps that lead to the great South Gallery in the West. A sunny south it is, methinks, this day of autumn. Wo, wo; gently, gently; thou wilt be _Hors de combat_ of a verity one of these days; and this entrancing Hall of Entrance will be disinvented for its entrance upon the chaos of Do-Nothingness, which will surely come with the Inevitable that lies round the corner of Time’s next street, waiting for the ding of doom. Ah, here comes another tribe of the Monetaries, with parboiled visages, and permeations of fashion――starch all over them, head to foot. Boy, bring me a mushroom!
_Gaiety_, October 17, 1885.
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FROM THE “WORLD-HARMONIC-ÆOLIAN-ATTACHMENT.” _A burlesque notice of “The Biglow Papers.”_
Speech is silver: silence is golden. No utterance more Orphic than this. While, therefore, as highest author, we reverence him whose works continue heroically unwritten, we have also our hopeful word for those who with pen (from wing of goose loud-cackling, or seraph God-commissioned) record the thing that is revealed.… Under mask of quaintest irony, we detect here the deep, storm-tost (nigh shipwracked) soul, thunder-scarred, semi-articulate but ever climbing hopefully toward the peaceful summits of an Infinite Sorrow.… Yes, thou poor, forlorn Hosea, with Hebrew fire-flaming soul in thee, for thee also this life of ours has not been without its aspects of heavenliest pity and laughingest mirth. Conceivable enough! Through coarse Thersites cloak, we have revelation of the heart, wild glowing, world-clasping, that is in him. Bravely he grapples with the life-problem as it presents itself to him, uncombed, shaggy, careless of the “nicer proprieties,” inexpert of “elegant diction,” yet with voice audible enough to whoso hath ears up there on the gravelly side-hills, or down on the splashy, Indiarubber-like salt-marshes of native Jaalam. To this soul also the _Necessity of Creating_ somewhat has unveiled its awful front. If not Œipuses and Electras and Alcestises, then in God’s name Birdofredum Sawins. These also shall get born into the world, and filch (if so need) a Zingali subsistence therein, these lank, omnivorous Yankees of his. He shall paint the Seen, since the Unseen will not sit to him. Yet in him also are Nibelungen-lays and Iliads, and Ulysses-wanderings, and Divine Comedies――if only once he could come at them! Therein lies much, nay all; for what truly is this which we name _All_, but that which we do _not_ possess?... Glimpses also are given us of an old father Ezekiel, not without paternal pride, as is the wont of such. A brown, parchment-hided old man of the geoponic or bucolic species, gray-eyed, we fancy, _queued_ perhaps, with much weather-cunning and plentiful September-gale memories, bidding fair in good time to become the Oldest Inhabitant. After such hasty apparition, he vanishes and is seen no more.… Of “Rev. Homer Wilbur, A.M., Pastor of the First Church in Jaalam,” we have small care to speak here. Spare touch in him of his Melesigenes namesake, save, haply, the――blindness! A tolerably caliginose, nephelegeretous elderly gentleman, with infinite faculty of sermonizing, muscularized by long practice, and excellent digestive apparatus, and, for the rest, well-meaning enough, and with small private illuminations (somewhat tallowy, it is to be feared) of his own. To him, there, “Pastor of the First Church in Jaalam,” our Hosea presents himself as a quite inexplicable Sphinx-riddle. A rich poverty of Latin and Greek,――so far is clear enough, even to eyes peering myopic through horn-lensed editorial spectacles,――but naught farther? O purblind, well-meaning, altogether fuscous Melesigenes-Wilbur, there are things in him incommunicable by stroke of birch! Did it ever enter that old bewildered head of thine that there was the _Possibility of the Infinite_ in him? To thee, quite wingless (and even featherless) biped, has not so much even as a dream of wings ever come? “Talented young parishioner”? Among the Arts whereof thou art _Magister_, does that of _seeing_ happen to be one? Unhappy _Artium Magister_! Somehow a Nemean lion, fulvous, torrid-eyed, dry-nursed in broad-howling sand-wildernesses of a sufficiently rare spirit――Libya (it may be supposed) has got whelped among the sheep. Already he stands wild-glaring, with feet clutching the ground as with oak-roots, gathering for a Remus-spring over the walls of thy little fold. In Heaven’s name, go not near him with that fly-bite crook of thine! In good time, thou painful preacher, thou wilt go to the appointed place of departed Artillery-Election Sermons, Right-Hands of Fellowship, and Results of Councils, gathered to thy spiritual fathers with much Latin of the Epitaphial sort; thou, too, shalt have thy reward; but on him the Eumenides have looked, not Xantippes of the pit, snake-tressed, finger-threatening, but radiantly calm as on antique gems; for him paws impatient the winged courser of the gods, champing unwelcome bit; him the starry deeps, the empyrean glooms, and far-flashing splendors await.
――――:o:――――
In _Banter_ (Edited by G. A. Sala) for November 11, 1867, there is a parody on Carlyle entitled _Shows and Shams_, dealing with the Lord Mayor’s Show for that year. But the topic is exhausted, and the parody is exhausting.
In the _Christmas Number_ of the _World_ for 1879 there is an imitation of Carlyle, descriptive of a picture called _Music in the Drawing Room_, this parody is of no interest apart from the illustration.
“_Carlyle Redivivus_, being an occasional discourse on Sauerteig” by Smellfungus, Edited by P. P. Alexander, M. A., was a pamphlet published in Glasgow by Mr. James Maclehose. It was first published during Mr. Carlyle’s lifetime, and ran through several editions. It not only parodied Carlyle’s style, but criticised his theories.
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Here then, by way of conclusion, is a piece of real genuine Carlyleism, printed in _The Times_ as long ago as 1877, and not now so generally remembered as it deserves to be.
MR. CARLYLE ON THE CRISIS. (To the Editor.)
SIR,――A rumour everywhere prevails that our miraculous Premier, in spite of his Queen’s Proclamation of Neutrality, intends, under cover of “care for British interests,” to send the English Fleet to the Baltic, or do some other feat which shall compel Russia to declare war against England. Latterly the rumour has shifted from the Baltic and become still more sinister, on the eastern side of the scene, where a feat is contemplated that will force not Russia only, but all Europe, to declare war against us. This latter I have come to know as an indisputable fact; in our present affairs and outlooks surely a grave one.
As to “British interests,” there is none visible or conceivable to me, except taking strict charge of our route to India by Suez and Egypt; and, for the rest, resolutely steering altogether clear of any copartnery with the Turk in regard to this or any other “British interest” whatever. It should be felt by England as a real ignominy to be connected with such a Turk at all. Nay, if we still had, as, in fact, all ought to have, a wish to save him from perdition and annihilation in God’s world, the one future for him that has any hope in it is even now that of being conquered by the Russians and gradually schooled and drilled into peaceable attempt at learning to be himself governed. The newspaper outcry against Russia is no more respectable to me than the howling of Bedlam, proceeding, as it does, from the deepest ignorant egotism, and paltry national jealousy.
These things I write not on hearsay, but on accurate knowledge, and to all friends of their country will recommend immediate attention to them while there is yet time lest in a few weeks the maddest and most criminal thing that a British Government could do should be done, and all Europe kindle into flames of war. I am, &c.,
T. CARLYLE.
5, Cheyne-row, Chelsea, May 4.
[Illustration]
CHARLES DICKENS.
BORN, February 7, 1812. DIED, June 9, 1870.
On the second of August, 1879, there was a severe storm in London, and the Editor of _The World_ offered prizes for the two best descriptions of it to be written in imitation of the style of the fifteenth chapter of _Martin Chuzzlewit_. This, it will be remembered, recounts the experiences of Martin and Mark Tapley, on their voyage to the States. The following were the successful compositions, which appeared in _The World_, August 27, 1879.
FIRST PRIZE.
A bright warm close to a dull dripping week; Labour, just paid his weekly wages by Capital, taking a friendly cup in the alehouse porch; Capital giving a last look to his horses and wagons, as he saunters across the Home-meadow to his evening meal; youth of the village disporting itself on the village green; fishers’ boats coming in, booty-laden, from the open-sea; coastguardmen looking anxiously out for what neither village youth, nor Labour, nor keen-eyed Capital himself can see――a thin dark cloud-line upon the horizon, with grey curling fringes that point upwards and move slowly on, just as the advance guard of a mighty army crests with its bayonets the distant hill.
An hour passes. The sun sets, the cloud-bank rising over him, and his struggling beams throwing a wan unearthly glare across the western heavens. Ever and anon as the wind rises, the tall poplars shake their heads and whisper to the oaks and shrubs beneath them; then the breeze as suddenly dies away, and again over all Nature is spread the sable pall and deathlike silence of an impenetrable night; or a few heavy drops patter down on the still pool, and then cease――all again is hushed, all restful, but yet pregnant with the rest and hush that precedes the hurricane.
Ten, eleven, twelve! Does some relentless demon of the storm, from the old church-tower, give the signal for the war of the elements? Scarce has the midnight chime died away when the tempest wakes. First one vivid flash, then, before the crash reverberates from hill to hill, another succeeds it, and another――not the ordinary fitful change from gleam to gloom, from darkness to light, but the mad meeting of storms from every quarter of the heavens, in all the fulness of rage and strife, and never ceasing turmoil.
Again, again! The rain seems to crash down rather than to fall, streaming with a torrent’s force from the hillside, foaming, rushing, seething in a thousand eddies down to the swollen river, till the banks no longer endure the awful pressure, and the wild flashes laugh out, fiend-like, at trees and flocks and newly-stacked hay, all swept adrift, all whirled oceanwards.
Again, again! What further ruin can the storm-demon work? Gradually, unwillingly, the tempest departs; only the gray scattered clouds remain, hanging on the hill slope. Yet, as the daylight dawns, one sad cry is heard from all, “God’s house!”
The chimes are for ever silent, for God’s house has fallen! Just before the storm passed away a vivid flash struck the topmost pinnacle and caught the oaken rafters in the belfry――and now the roof has fallen in; the pillars crumble beneath the still-consuming flame; the bells crash down from the steeple one by one, a smoking mass of blackened walls and arches alone bears witness to the past, alone tells of anthems raised to heaven by the white-robed choir, and earnest words of God’s chosen messengers, and the all-pervading incense of hushed and solemn prayer.
NEW SARUM.
SECOND PRIZE.
Murk midnight. Some in their beds for a moment waking only to hear the buffeting of the elements. Policemen, wetter than Ramsgate bathing-men, seeking the shelter of doorways. The bells of St. Paul’s unwillingly giving utterance to their dissatisfaction with their position by twelve muttering growls. The town, dry in the early spring, now ankle-deep in mud; the wind is no longer still, but, stealthily following the unwary foot-passenger, whirls off his hat, and, stopping for a moment in glee at his discomfiture, rushes on, eager for more mischief.
Now crowds, freed from their cramped postures in the playhouse, rush out upon the wild waste of the dripping Strand.
Here, roaring, fighting, pushing, elbowing each other into the howling fury of the night. Hither come chattering voices from the stalls, pit, and recesses of the theatre, where the chairs remain sole occupants of the place, and seem to say, “Ah, ha, here we are, snug for the night!”
Here in the eagerness of regained liberty, they storm and push each other, while the tempest falls in sheets of water, and howls above them. On and on in countless crowds they rush, like human billows. Men and women, hats, bonnets, and umbrellas, draggled dresses in one rushing wet mass. Pursuit of cabs, and fruitless return to the shelter of the passage; savage struggle of humanity enlivening the black night; little forbearance, but eternal fighting. On and on they surge, backwards and forwards, and darker grows the night, fiercer falls the hail, louder roars the thunder, more clamorous and angry the numberless voices in the street, when a wild cry goes forth, “A cab!” Onward it comes, fighting its way through the elements, the crazy door rattling; onward it comes, now free as the surging crowd falls back, now overwhelmed in a sea of human forms. And every voice in the multitude, answered by storm-voices in the air, shrieks more loudly, “A cab!”
Still he comes driving on, and at the boldness and determination of one man the angry crowd rise up, peering over each other’s heads, and round about the cab they press upon him, forcing each other down, and starting up and rushing forward in reckless eagerness.
Round it they surge and roar, and, giving way to others, moodily depart, still this one fights on bravely.….
At last the eager multitude fall back, and dawn of day discovers the happy occupant within, with the elements still pouring their fury upon the devoted driver in an eternity of hail and rain, as on and on he goes into the far suburbs, with his dim lamps burning, and the fare inside asleep and snoring, as if there were no tempest trying every chink and cranny of the shaky vehicle, and no half-drowned cabby outside with only a moist billycock on his head, and sleepily yawning so wide that the spirits of the air, if they could exist on such a night, might look into the unfathomable depths below.
ROBERT LE DIABLE.
――――
THE AGE OF LAWN-TENNIS. (_After Charles Dickens’s “Pickwick.” A fragment._)
## CHAPTER I.
The first record we have of the Hitquick Club, which has since assumed a position of proud eminence in the ball-playing world, is embodied in the following resolution, which appears in an old minute book, lately disinterred from the cloisters of Wymbledoune Priory.
“It is proposed by Mr. Pleycynge, and seconded by Mr. de Vorley,――
“That this Association has heard read, with feelings of unmingled satisfaction, the paper communicated by Verdant Hardcourt Hitquick, Esq., A.E.L.T.C.,[51] P.H.C.,[52] etc., etc., entitled, ‘Speculations on the origin of ball-playing, with some observations on the theory of the back-hander, and the parabola of the lob;’ and that this Association returns its warmest thanks for the same.”
It further appears that an amendment was suggested by Will. O’Bye Wisp, Esq., who had failed as a ball-player, and was better known as an enthusiastic Pyramidalist,――
“That the study of the triangular must inevitably result in greater benefits to the human race than the consideration of the sphere;” but, as this was unsupported by any further argument than that the triangle had more point than the ball, the original resolution was carried, Mr. Will. O’Bye Wisp alone dissenting.
It was further agreed, that V. H. Hitquick, Esq., should be President; that he, with Mr. Cutman, Mr. Shortgrass, and Mr. de Vorley, should be the Committee; and that Mr. Pleycynge should be the Secretary.
“A casual observer,” adds the Secretary, to whose notes we are indebted for the following interesting remarks, “A casual observer might have remarked nothing extraordinary in the appearance of V. H. Hitquick, Esq., during the reading of these resolutions; but to those who knew that there sat the man who had traced the origin of the ball into the early ages, when globular masses had been created by the introduction of the laws of gravity among shapeless matter; who had detected how, true to the model of the planetary system, the earliest balls had been ellipsoidal; how prehistoric men, in their primæval pastimes, had been driven nigh to frenzy by the false bounds arising out of this apparently heaven-directed shape; how, in such times, the advantages of service had been all preponderating; how certain crafty Chaldean astrologers in their studies had discovered the shape of the true sphere, and how, having backed themselves with wagers of corn and oil and wine, they had cheated in their international games by substituting the true spheres when they were being served to, and by using the ellipsoids when serving; to those, I say, who knew that there sat the man who had traced out all this and much else, by the research of half a lifetime, the sight, indeed, was an interesting one. Mr. Hitquick’s oration in response was remarkable;” but the damp of the Wymbledoune cloisters had here much obliterated the Secretary’s notes. It was gathered, however, that he was comparing the life of man to that of a tennis-ball, and was congratulating them “that the philanthropists and the ball-makers were rapidly, in both cases, eliminating the seamy side, though he was fain to acknowledge that some hollowness still remained in both.” Here the entry becomes illegible, and we have had to fall back upon tradition, and other sources, for what we are about to record further of the doings of the Hitquick Club.
## CHAPTER II.
Mr. Hitquick, who had been delivering over-night, amidst much applause, an impressive lecture to the members of the Hitquick Club on various phases of Lawn-tennis dynamics, was with some difficulty roused from his slumbers on the particular morning of which it now becomes our duty to write.
“What’s that, Samuel?” he proceeded to say to his servant, as he sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes,――“a letter?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply.
“Then bring me my spectacles,” said Mr. Hitquick.
“If you please, sir, a boy have walked over with this from Little Mugborough, and he’s a-vaiting below for a hanswer.”
“Very well, Samuel,” said Mr. Hitquick, as he adjusted his spectacles and opened the letter. “Why! dear me! What’s this?”
‘The Secretary of the Little Mugborough Lawn-Tennis Club presents his compliments to Mr. Hitquick, and begs to inform him that two members of his Club will be glad to play any two members of the Hitquick Association at four o’clock this afternoon.’
“Why! a challenge,” said Mr. Hitquick. “Of course, we will meet them. Let me see there’s Shortgrass and Cutman, two active men in the prime of life, who tell me they generally offer half-thirty in mixed country society; the very thing. Here, take this, Samuel.”
“It strikes me wery forcibly,” said Samuel to himself with a wink, “that, if those two gents don’t look a bit more spry this afternoon than I have ever seen them ven I have had the extreme privilege of vatching their performances, the Hitquick Club will have a very considerable wopping,”――and, whistling to himself, he went off with the letter.
Now, it must be confessed that neither Mr. Shortgrass nor Mr. Cutman were such performers on the Tennis-lawn as they had led their worthy President, Mr. Hitquick, to believe, nor as they had described themselves in their after-dinner conversations, as they sipped the soft claret for which the Hitquick Club was so deservedly famous; though certain papers which they had read before the members of the Association had, no doubt, stamped them as theoretical professors of no mean order.
Notably, a paper by Mr. Cutman on “Atmospheric resistance to the Cutman service in the latitude of Greenwich” (a lecture suggested by certain accurate memoranda, prepared by the statist of the Club, to the effect that only ’17 of these services so far overcame it as to pass over the net), had placed him in the front ranks of Lawn-tennis theorists; while a lecture by Mr. Shortgrass, on “Suspected tidal attraction on the Shortgrass lob” (accounting for the discovery by the same scientific observer that it almost always completed its parabola on Mr. Shortgrass’s side of the net), had brought him, too, into a leading position amongst spheric scientists.
At four o’clock, however, Mr. Shortgrass and Mr. Cutman stepped upon the lawn, prepared to do battle for the Hitquickians, and were soon confronted by the team from Little Mugborough.
The game began, A sharp service was sent to Mr. Shortgrass, who shut his eyes, hit wildly, and returned it accidentally. No one’s astonishment was greater than his own; he felt he had done enough; he shouted “yours” to balls which kept striking him on head, stomach, and legs, and did not appear to recover from his intense surprise till the umpire called, “Set the first, six games to love, Little Mugborough wins.”
“Call that placing, Samivel, my boy,” said a stout elderly gentleman, of horsey dress, to his son, who was no other than Mr. Hitquick’s servant; “call that placing? Vy! I should like to see one of these ere ball-placers as could _flick_ a fly off a leader’s ear! That’s wot I calls placing, Samivel.”
Mr. Hitquick’s face had now begun to lengthen to such an extent as to cause a bystander to inform him that a curious compound of brandy and soda-water was to be obtained in the marquee close by, whither Mr. Hitquick, taking such bystander’s advice now adjourned.
“Capital game――smart sport――rare exercise――very,” were the words that fell upon Mr. Hitquick’s ear as he entered the marquee.
“What! Jangle?” said he, recognising an old acquaintance, “What brings you here?”
“ Me here――Wymbledoune Arms――met a party――capital fellows――gin and water――Lawn-tennis――great match――Little Mugborough――came on here――and here we are. What name? Know your face.”
“My name, sir, is Hitquick, author of a ‘Treatise on Balls;’ at your service, sir.”
“Ah! Hitquick――much pleasure――great man――good book――read it myself―― Spheric lore――Sun, Saturn――Earth――Jupiter――pumpkins――balls――inter- threaded――human race――round games――round robins――general idea――deuced clever.”
“And do you――er――join, Mr. Jangle, in this――er――healthgiving pastime?”
“Play, Sir,” said Jangle――“I think I did――never heard?――queer thing――deuced strange――great traveller――round the world――visited Madagascar――met a stranger――said he could play――offered to play him――gave fifteen――thermometer 110 degrees in the shade――threw in a bisque――beat him hollow――no umpire――stranger riled――disputed scoring――they always do――ex-champion――name Shadow――all love- sets――play? rather.”
As Jangle and Mr. Hitquick reapproached the game, it had just become the duty of the umpire to cry: “Three sets to love, Little Mugborough wins,” thus deciding the match adversely to the Hitquickians. Mr. Hitquick retired a few paces from the bystanders, and, beckoning Shortgrass to approach, fixed a keen and searching glance upon him, and uttered in a low tone these remarkable words:――
“Sir, you’re a humbug.”
Turning to Cutman, who was trying to conceal himself behind his late partner, he added,――
“And you, too, sir.”
“What?” they both exclaimed, starting.
“Humbugs, sir. I will speak more plainly, if you desire it. Imposters, sir. Yes; imposters.”
And with these words Mr. Hitquick turned slowly on his heel, and proceeded to rejoin his friends.
This Parody originally appeared in _Pastime_, July 20, 1883. It was afterwards reprinted in _Tennis Cuts and Quips_, an amusing volume ably edited by Mr. Julian Marshall, and published by Field and Tuer, London.
――――
The late Mr. Charles Stuart Calverley, the author of many clever parodies, was a diligent student of the works of Dickens, and when he entered at Christ’s College, Cambridge, in October 1852, it was generally admitted that he was more familiar with the Pickwick Papers than any other man in the University. Hence arose the jocular notion of having a competitive examination on that work, and Calverley drew up an ingenious syllabus of questions, from which it may be gathered how accurate and minute was his acquaintance with Pickwick. The examination was open to all members of Christ’s College, the first prize was taken by Mr. Walter Besant, and the second by Mr. (now Professor) Skeat, two gentlemen whose names have since become familiar in the literary world. The Pickwick Examination Paper will be found in _Fly Leaves_, by C. S. Calverley, published by G. Bell & Sons, a few specimen questions will show the humour of the thing:――
1. Mention any occasions on which it is specified that the Fat Boy was _not_ asleep; and that (1) Mr. Pickwick and (2) Mr. Weller, senr., ran. Deduce from expressions used on one occasion Mr. Pickwick’s maximum of speed.
2. Translate into coherent English, adding a note wherever a word, a construction, or an allusion requires it:
“Go on, Jemmy――like black-eyed Susan――all in the Downs”――“Smart chap that cabman――handled his fives well――but if I’d been your friend in the green jemmy――punch his head――pig’s whisper――pieman, too.”
3. Elucidate the expression, “the Spanish Traveller,” and the “narcotic bedstead.”
4. What operation was performed on Tom Smart’s chair? Who little thinks that in which pocket, of what garment, in where, he has left what, entreating him to return to whom, with how many what, and all how big?
5. Give, approximately, the height of Mr. Dubbley; and, accurately, the Christian names of Mr. Grummer, Mrs. Raddle, and the Fat Boy; also the surname of the Zephyr.
8. Give in full Samuel Weller’s first compliment to Mary, and his father’s critique upon the same young lady. What church was on the valentine that first attracted Mr. Samuel’s eye in the shop?
11. On finding his principal in the pound, Mr. Weller and the town-beadle varied directly. Show that the latter was ultimately eliminated, and state the number of rounds in the square which is not described.
12. “Any think for air and exercise; as the wery old donkey observed ven they voke him up from his deathbed to carry ten gen’lmen to Greenwich in a tax-cart.” Illustrate this by stating any remark recorded in the Pickwick Papers to have been made by a (previously) dumb animal, with the circumstances under which he made it.
15. Describe Weller’s Method of “gently indicating his presence” to the young lady in the garden; and the Form of Salutation usual among the coachmen of the period.
20. Write down the chorus to each verse of Mr. S. Weller’s song, and a sketch of the mottle-faced man’s excursus on it. Is there any ground for conjecturing that he (Sam) had more brothers than one?
23. “She’s a swelling visibly.” When did the same phenomenon occur again, and what fluid caused the pressure on the body in the latter case?
24. How did Mr. Weller, senior, define the Funds, and what view did he take of Reduced Consols? in what terms is his elastic force described, when he assaulted Mr. Stiggins at the meeting? Write down the name of the meeting?
30. Who, besides Mr. Pickwick, is recorded to have worn gaiters?
In connection with this examination reference may be made to the “Death of Mr. Pickwick,” by Messrs. W. Besant and J. Rice in “The Case of Mr. Lucraft, and other Tales.”
――――
THE BATTLE WON BY THE WIND.
_By the author of the “Picnic Papers,” “Barnaby Fudge,” &c._
Night! Night and a thick darkness on the dreaming city. It was o’er all――that pitchy veil――o’er lone deserted streets and broad suburban roads, along which wagons with their great clamped wheels jolt forward to the early market――o’er square and terrace, and stately dome and carved pinnacle――a deep dense obscurity, into which tower and steeple rose and were lost to the eyes of the gazer from below!
Night! black, stormy, dreary night. Driving in long dim lines athwart the starless sky――lashing the sloping roofs of dripping houses――flooding kennel and gutter and choked-up drain――pattering like a loud chorus of rolling spectre drums at rattling windows and on streaming sky-lights――down――in one steady, uninterrupted, continuous pour――drove the wild storm of lashing hail and rain! A dismal night! A night for the well-housed to snoozle themselves up beneath the bed-clothes, and listen all crouchingly to the roaring of the tempest! A night for the homeless pauper to lie down on the lee side of hedge and stack――and stretching his stiffening limbs in the icy sludge, wait patiently until Death came by and touched him with its sceptre!
Night――a dreary, dismal, rainy, windy night! A night of unchained gale and unbridled hurricane! How the fierce wind roared, to be sure! How it roared in its wrath, and muttered in its sulkiness, and sung in its glee, and howled and shrieked and whistled and raved in the full swing of its fury. It was a jubilee――be certain of it――a time of jubilee with the Wind!――a night when it had full license and authority, and power and sanction, to do its best and its worst――by sea and by land――above and below. And did not the fierce wind avail itself of the opportunity? Did it not muster its forces, and its energies, and its powers, far up amongst the dim-driving clouds, preparing for the onset――preparing for its night of empire and of pillage and of mischief? And then, when its time of liberty came, did it not burst out with a roar, and a shout, and a clang, as of victorious trumpets――did it not career all madly over land and sea, beating down the weak and broken corn, and roaring over the stark brown moors, and catching the big leafy limbs of gnarled trees――gnarled old mighty trees which had stood there for centuries――and wrenching them all torn and riven and splintered from the groaning trunks, and then grappling and wrestling with them as strong men fight, until the victorious wind, with a loud shriek of triumph, would drag the huge branch out, and toss it contemptuously away!
Who――o――o――op! for the Battle won by the Wind!
But that was not all. No, no. It attacked the city too, as well as the country. It did. The wind! Coming with a sweep and a pounce and a roar and a whistle-shrieking up through empty streets――groaning with a hollow sound in dim big archways――catching as with a muscular grasp, vanes and weathercocks――coming to the outside of windows――laying hold of the glazed sashes――shaking and rattling them and shouting hoarse mad greeting to the people within――lingering, I say, an instant at such places, and then departing with a burst of uproarious joy to lay siege to some high old tottering ricketty gable, which it would so shake, and push, and pull, and cause to waver and quake――that the whole crazy old tenement to which it belonged would wheeze and creak and groan in sympathy, until the old men and the old women, who dwelt there for long years, would be terrified and frightened, and would cower down upon the hot hearths or in their beds, crying――“Woe is me, but this is a wild night!”
And it was――it was――a wild night.――Who――o――o――op for the Battle won by the Wind!
On a bridge which spans a black, swollen, mightily rushing river. Dim lights twinkle along its great massive, girding, granite parapets. The wind sweeps over it, and roars in the arches below, and catches up the bright foam from the water, and rushes along with it, scattering the spray in white handfuls aloft, so that the passenger who looks into the gulf from between the balustrades of carven stone which fence the footpath, shrinks to see the driving masses of blurred whiteness――the vexed surface of the waters torn up and carried along by the strong broad hands of the blast!
Where a flickering lamp flashed and paled, and rose and fell within the streaming and storm-lashed crystal of its dripping prison, stood a woman――a woman, beautiful and alone. Black clusters of rain-drenched hair waved and streamed from her pale cheeks. Her garments were mean and sodden, and saturated with the storm; but her eye was bright and fierce, and burning with a fire not of this world――with a fire which once――when the western heaven opened, and the forked lightning leaped out into the darkness――confronted the fierce blaze――and gave it back glare for glare!
She stood beneath the flickering lamp. For a moment only. The next she was erect upon the parapet――her arms extended――her drapery streaming free――like a bird that preens its plumage for a new flight――a flight into another world?
Ha!――a voice! Yes――the woman’s――hark!
What says it? The words――the last words――have gone forth; and as the dark form disappears from its granite resting-place――disappears into the black, howling, lashing gulf beneath――these words ring up and away into the air――being carried on the wings of the tempest whithersoever it will――these awful words――
“Who――o――o――op for the Battle won by the Wind!”
Yes, yes――the wind of Passion――the breath of hopeless, homeless, heartless, Despair!
From _The Puppet-Showman’s Album_. Illustrated by Gavarni. London, no date.
――――
Amongst the _Sensation Novels_, so skilfully condensed by Bret Harte, is a humourous parody of the most popular of Charles Dickens’s Christmas books. In it the leading characteristics and failings are admirably hit off, not only of Dickens, but also of Scott, Charles Lever, Marryat, Fennimore Cooper, Hawthorne, and Thackeray, as will be seen from the following extracts:――
THE HAUNTED MAN. _A Christmas Story._
## PART I.
THE FIRST PHANTOM.
Don’t tell me that it wasn’t a knocker. I had seen it often enough, and I ought to know. So ought the three o’clock beer, in dirty highlows, swinging himself over the railing, or executing a demoniacal jig upon the doorstep; so ought the butcher, although butchers as a general thing are scornful of such trifles; so ought the postman, to whom knockers of the most extravagant description were merely human weaknesses, that were to be pitied and used. And so ought, for the matter of that, etc., etc., etc.
But then it was _such_, a knocker. A wild, extravagant, and utterly incomprehensible knocker. A knocker so mysterious and suspicious that Policeman X 37, first coming upon it, felt inclined to take it instantly in custody, but compromised with his professional instincts by sharply and sternly noting it with an eye that admitted of no nonsense, but confidently expected to detect its secret yet. An ugly knocker; a knocker with a hard, human face, that was a type of the harder human face within. A human face that held between its teeth a brazen rod. So hereafter in the mysterious future should be held, etc., etc.
But if the knocker had a fierce human aspect in the glare of day, you should have seen it at night, when it peered out of the gathering shadows and suggested an ambushed figure; when the light of the street lamps fell upon it, and wrought a play of sinister expression in its hard outlines; when it seemed to wink meaningly at a shrouded figure who, as the night fell darkly, crept up the steps and passed into the mysterious house; when the swinging door disclosed a black passage into which the figure seemed to lose itself and become a part of the mysterious gloom; when the night grew boisterous and the fierce wind made furious charges at the knocker, as if to wrench it off and carry it away in triumph. Such a night as this.
It was a wild and pitiless wind. A wind that had commenced life as a gentle country zephyr, but wandering through manufacturing towns had become demoralised, and reaching the city had plunged into extravagant dissipation and wild excesses. A roystering wind that indulged in Bacchanalian shouts on the street corners, that knocked off the hats from the heads of helpless passengers, and then fulfilled its duties by speeding away, like all young prodigals――to sea.
He sat alone in a gloomy library listening to the wind that roared in the chimney. Around him novels and storybooks were strewn thickly; in his lap he held one with its pages freshly cut, and turned the leaves wearily until his eyes rested upon a portrait in its frontispiece. And as the wind howled the more fiercely, and the darkness without fell blacker, a strange and fateful likeness to that portrait appeared above his chair and leaned upon his shoulder. The Haunted Man gazed at the portrait and sighed. The figure gazed at the portrait and sighed too.
“Here again?” said the Haunted Man.
“Here again,” it repeated in a low voice.
“Another novel?”
“Another novel.”
“The old story?”
“The old story.”
“I see a child,” said the Haunted Man, gazing from the pages of the
## book into the fire――“a most unnatural child, a model infant. It is
prematurely old and philosophic. It dies in poverty to slow music. It dies surrounded by luxury to slow music. It dies with an accompaniment of golden water and rattling carts to slow music. Previous to its decease it makes a will; it repeats the Lord’s Prayer, it kisses the ‘boofer lady.’ That child――――”
“Is mine,” said the phantom.
“I see a good woman, undersized. I see several charming women, but they are all undersized. They are more or less imbecile and idiotic, but always fascinating and undersized. They wear coquettish caps and aprons. I observe that feminine virtue is invariably below the medium height, and that it is always babyish and infantine. These women――――”
“Are mine.”
“I see a haughty, proud, and wicked lady. She is tall and queenly. I remark that all proud and wicked women are tall and queenly. That woman――――”
“Is mine,” said the phantom, wringing his hands.
“I see several things continually impending. I observe that whenever an accident, a murder, or death is about to happen, there is something in the furniture, in the locality, in the atmosphere that foreshadows and suggests it years in advance. I cannot say that in real life I have noticed it――the perception of this surprising fact belongs――――”
“To me!” said the phantom. The Haunted Man continued, in a despairing tone:
“I see the influence of this in the magazines and daily papers: I see weak imitators rise up and enfeeble the world with senseless formula. I am getting tired of it. It won’t do, Charles! it won’t do!” and the Haunted Man buried his head in his hands and groaned. The figure looked down upon him sternly: the portrait in the frontispiece frowned as he gazed.
“Wretched man,” said the phantom, “and how have these things affected you?”
“Once I laughed and cried, but then I was younger. Now, I would forget them if I could.”
“Have then your wish. And take this with you, man whom I renounce. From this day henceforth you shall live with those whom I displace. Without forgetting me, ’twill be your lot to walk through life as if we had not met. But first you shall survey these scenes that henceforth must be yours. At one to-night prepare to meet the phantom I have raised. Farewell!”
The sound of its voice seemed to fade away with the dying wind, and the Haunted Man was alone. But the firelight flickered gaily, and the light danced on the walls, making grotesque figures of the furniture.
“Ha, ha!” said the Haunted Man, rubbing his hands gleefully; “now for a whiskey punch and a cigar.”
## BOOK II.
THE SECOND PHANTOM.
One! The stroke of the far-off bell had hardly died before the front door closed with a reverberating clang. Steps were heard along the passage; the library door swung open of itself, and the Knocker――yes, the Knocker――slowly strode into the room. The Haunted Man rubbed his eyes――no! there could be no mistake about it――it was the Knocker’s face, mounted on a misty, almost imperceptible body. The brazen rod was transferred from its mouth to its right hand, where it was held like a ghostly truncheon.
“It’s a cold evening,” said the Haunted Man.
“It is,” said the Goblin, in a hard, metallic voice.
“It must be pretty cold out there,” said the Haunted Man, with vague politeness. “Do you ever――will you――take some hot water and brandy?”
“No,” said the Goblin.
“Perhaps you’d like it cold, by way of change?” continued the Haunted Man, correcting himself, as he remembered the peculiar temperature with which the Goblin was probably familiar.
“Time flies,” said the Goblin coldly. “We have no leisure for idle talk. Come!” He moved his ghostly truncheon towards the window, and laid his hand upon the other’s arm. At his touch the body of the Haunted Man seemed to become as thin and incorporeal as that of the Goblin himself, and together they glided out of the window into the black and blowy night.
In the rapidity of their flight the senses of the Haunted Man seemed to leave him. At length they stopped suddenly.
“What do you see?” asked the Goblin.
“I see a battlemented medieval castle. Gallant men in mail ride over the drawbridge, and kiss their gauntletted fingers to fair ladies, who wave their lily hands in return. I see fight and fray and tournament. I hear roaring heralds bawling the charms of delicate women, and shamelessly proclaiming their lovers. Stay. I see a Jewess about to leap from a battlement. I see knightly deeds, violence, rapine, and a good deal of blood. I’ve seen pretty much the same at Astley’s.”
“Look again.”
“I see purple moors, glens, masculine women, barelegged men, priggish bookworms, more violence, physical excellence, and blood. Always blood――and the superiority of physical attainments.”
“And how do you feel now?” said the Goblin.
The Haunted Man shrugged his shoulders.
“None the better for being carried back and asked to sympathise with a barbarous age.”
The Goblin smiled and clutched his arm; they again sped rapidly through the black night and again halted.
“What do you see?” said the Goblin.
“I see a barrack room, with a mess table, and a group of intoxicated Celtic officers telling funny stories, and giving challenges to duel. I see a young Irish gentleman capable of performing prodigies of valour. I learn incidentally that the acme of all heroism is the cornetcy of a dragoon regiment. I hear a good deal of French! No, thank you,” said the Haunted Man hurriedly, as he stayed the waving hand of the Goblin, “I would rather _not_ go to the Peninsular, and don’t care to have a private interview with Napoleon.”
Again the Goblin flew away with the unfortunate man, and from a strange roaring below them, he judged they were above the ocean. A ship hove in sight, and the Goblin stayed its flight, “Look,” he said, squeezing his companion’s arm.
The Haunted Man yawned. “Don’t you think, Charles, you’re rather running this thing into the ground? Of course, it’s very moral and instructive, and all that. But aint there a little too much pantomime about it! Come now!”
“Look!” repeated the Goblin, pinching his arm malevolently. The Haunted Man groaned.
“Oh, of course, I see Her Majesty’s ship Arethusa. Of course I am familiar with her stern First Lieutenant, her eccentric Captain, her one fascinating, and several mischievous midshipmen. Of course, I know it’s a splendid thing to see all this, and not to be sea-sick. Oh, there the young gentlemen are going to play a trick on the purser. For God’s sake let us go,” and the unhappy man absolutely dragged the Goblin away with him.
* * * * *
The Haunted Man started, and――woke. The bright sunshine streamed into the room. The air was sparkling with frost. He ran joyously to the window and opened it. A small boy saluted him with “Merry Christmas.” The Haunted Man instantly gave him a Bank of England note. “How much like Tiny Tim, Tom and Bobby that boy looked――bless my soul, what a genius this Dickens has!”
A knock at the door, and Boots entered.
“Consider your salary doubled instantly. Have you read _David Copperfield_?”
“Yezzur.”
“Your salary is quadrupled. What do you think of the _Old Curiosity Shop_?”
The man instantly burst into a torrent of tears, and then into a roar of laughter.
“Enough. Here are five thousand pounds. Open a porter-house, and call it ‘Our Mutual Friend.’ Huzza! I feel so happy!” And the Haunted Man danced about the room.
And so, bathed in the light of that blessed sun, and yet glowing with the warmth of a good action, the Haunted Man, haunted no longer, save by those shapes which make the dreams of children beautiful, reseated himself in his chair, and finished _Our Mutual Friend_.
“Sensation Novels,” first introduced to the British public by the late John Camden Hotten in 1871, has been since republished by Ward, Lock & Co., London.
“DOMBEY AND SON” FINISHED. _Part the Best and Last._
## CHAPTER I.
It was ten o’clock! In the morning! The Easterly sun came down bright upon busy streets and grimy thoroughfares, and quiet places in the far off country. It was eleven o’clock! In the morning! The sun lighted up city churches and the broad river, and shone into death chambers, in houses at the doors of which stood mutes. It was twelve o’clock! Noon! Broad, bright, unwinking noon! The sun gleamed on many roofs――and on market gardens in the suburbs, and on potato cans in the streets, and into the counting house of Dombey and Son.
The clerks worked noiselessly that day――almost breathlessly. Many pens scratched on the paper, and yet no word was spoken. For Carker was there! Carker the smooth, the oily――the velvetty――the sly.
The sun gleamed through the window panes――it fell on Carker――and on Carker’s teeth. And still it gleamed――still it sparkled after the glass door had noiselessly opened, and before Carker was seen standing the form――the stately――cold――wifeless――childless form of Mr. Dombey!
There was a long pause. You could have heard all the pens going in the outer office. A long pause――long――very――very long. Carker spoke first, and when he spoke he seemed all teeth――white glistening teeth――like a shark of smooth tongue and oily address――accustomed to good society.
“Mr. Dombey――I delight to see you――I feel honoured――much honoured――deeply honoured――by this visit.”
There was another pause――longer than the first――Oh, yes! much longer! Eight minutes longer!
And Mr. Dombey drew himself up――up! High! higher! like the Genie in the Arabian Tales, till it appeared (to the eye of Perch which eye happened to be accidentally applied at the keyhole)――that the top of Mr. Dombey’s hat had touched――nay lifted off the roof of the counting house of Dombey and Son.
“Ha!” said Mr. Dombey, and Perch being frightened fell backwards upon a nail, and the pens in the outer office stopped.
“Ha! ha!” said Mr. Dombey――“here――come here――all of you,――and learn how to crush a viper.”
The clerks came accordingly――thronging about the door――with white faces and clenched hands――excepting Robinson, who was of a merry turn of mind, and who said audibly “here’s a lark.”
“Thus”――said Mr. Dombey, “thus it is I crush a viper.” His wild, big, grey eyes were fixed, yet flashing,――his long gaunt form worked and quivered like a galvanized corpse,――his face was as the face of a roasting demon!
Nobody saw anything of Carker but his teeth: yet from these teeth issued a hissing sound of “now.”
Could it be? It could! It was! Four policemen sprung from under the table and held four staffs up to Mr. Dombey’s nose!
“Now,” said the Teeth, “remove that man.”
Dombey stood like a statue carved out of Parian marble, but dressed in a hat, coat, pantaloons, wellingtons, and other minor articles of costume. He waved his hand and the constables fell back.
“Remove me――remove Dombey from the counting house of Dombey and Son?”
These were the only words he spoke; then his tongue clave unto the roof or ceiling of his mouth.
The Teeth spoke not――but they held up a board, a white painted board, such as may be seen at the doors of merchants’ offices. All started. For on the board was painted:――
CARKER. LATE DOMBEY AND SON.
“Mine”――hissed the Teeth――“mine――all is mine Dombey! Dombey! you have fallen! Dombey――you’re a beggar! Dombey――here’s a penny for you! Dombey――move on!”
A pause. Dombey as motionless as the figure-head of a stranded ship.
“You left me to manage your business――you did.――I managed it――ha! ha! ha!――till I made it mine! mine! ha! ha! Take the penny, Dombey! take it, that’s a good man, and go! go! go!”
“No!”
“No”――was it an echo? More actors on the scene? Aye. More! more!
The old woman――the old woman and the handsome daughter!――Edith’s counterpart――Edith in rags――Edith an outcast――Edith――Edith―― Still――Still, Edith.
Oh! how the Teeth chattered――the Teeth――they did――as the lightening of that outcast’s eye flashed――and the cataract of that outcast’s hair streamed, and the trumpet of that outcast’s voice rang and re-echoed in God’s sunshine!
“Forger――Felon――Murderer! Ha! ha! ha! The hour is come――it is!”
And the old crone screamed in chorus “Felon!――it is!”
And where was Carker?
On the floor in a strong fit. Smitten――smitten――in his pride and his power. Smitten by the voice of the woman he had ruined――the woman he had tried to hang.――Now it was her turn! It was!
The policemen were gentle and not rough. They lifted the fallen man and took him away. Perch saw handcuffs on the manager’s wrists.
Then the counting house was locked up and seals put upon the doors. A great crowd stood long opposite to it. In the midst, Mr. Perch found Dombey with Carker’s penny still in his hand, and so led him away gently and gave him shelter at Ball’s-pond.
## CHAPTER II.
“Ding-a-dong――a-ding-dong――ding-dong-boum.” Joy-bells――joy――for the wedding! the wedding! Ha! And at the Wooden Midshipman’s! Cap’en Cuttle was magnificent. He had had his hook polished with black lead, and looked himself as radiant as his hook――aye as radiant as he did, when, undressing the night before old Sol Gills tumbled into the garret through the skylight. Where had that old man been! Where――indeed where?
It was the question Cap’en Cuttle put――and in these terms.
“Whereby and awast――keep her head to the wind, and when kitched make a note on. Therefore――if so――say so――what’s in the log? Let dogs delight to bark and fight――for which see Dibdin――therefore――stand by it is――and that steady.”
Thus solemnly adjured Gills spoke――
“Where I have been――and what I have been doing” the old man said “is nothink to nobody.”
Ding-dong-bell――ding-a-dong――a-ding-dong! The wedding at the Wooden Midshipman! It was on the very day, almost at the very hour that the house of Dombey and Son was shut up, that the wedding party left the Wooden Midshipman. And did he not look happy――that Wooden Midshipman? A credible person, a Beadle, avers that the timber face smiled and the timber lips shouted a loud “Hooray” in cadence with those joy-bells which still rung merrily from the grey towers of St. Koweld-without. Aye, and so they rang when, before the altar, stood Old Gills with a radiant countenance and flowing tears――and Captain Cuttle with a prayer-book in his hand (in order to check the parson and keep him right) and his silver chronometer hung on his hook “whereby to see fair play to all――awast and belay”――and Susan Nipper shedding tears indefatigably――and Wall’r and Florence.
The sun was in the heavens! But lo! through the stained glass, amid the saints and angels――gorgeous on that chancel window――fell its blessing light! Walter Gay and his bride stood hoping in the sun-shine!
“Wilt thou take this woman to be thy wedded wife?”
“Of course――no――that is――oh dear――dear――I beg pardon――its of no consequence――none in the least――don’t mind me,” ejaculated a voice from a dimly seen pew beneath the organ.
Thither repaired the Beadle full of wrath――and found the unhappy Toots fainting on a hassock. But the Game Chicken advancing, doubled the Beadle up――carried off Mr. Toots――deposited him in a patent safety, and conducted him――for the improvement and development of his mind, to see three hundred rats killed in five minutes, by a terrier much famed in Whitechapel.
So the sun had not begun to descend towards the west――ere the marriage party left the church, and――Wall’r and Florence, now Mr. and Mrs. Gay leading them on――took their way towards London-bridge.
## CHAPTER III.
In a spacious room――sat Edith! In a spacious room――richly furnished――but dim――dim――as her aching soul. Gorgeous curtains shut out the light――the blessed light! It fell on all alike――that day――on the infant in his cradle――on the dead man in his coffin. On the kennel――on the palace――on Dombey straying away from Ball’s-pond――on Perch looking after him fruitlessly (in public houses). On Mr. and Mrs. Gay, and the Captain and Gills――all on the steamer’s deck going to eat the marriage feast at a pleasant suburban tavern called the Red House, Battersea――on Toots in the patent safety――on Carker with the teeth, in a cell of Newgate. On all――on all! But on Mrs. Dombey. There, there was darkness――darkness in the air――darkness in the soul――darkness in the light! Dim――aching――lonely――alone! Alone! but for her fearful thoughts! Which haunted her! Spectres――looming ghastly gray in the gloom! Spectres with rods and serpents! Gnawing in her soul――like unblessed things potent for evil and foul thoughts, and things accursed of man! Out――out――awful shadows!
But she sat there――rigid――unmoved. The mortal and the immortal. Edith and the shadows!
Suddenly a voice arose――cleaving the darkness――She listened――mechanically.
“A full, true, and particular account of the harrest of Mister Carker of the ’ouse of Dombey and Son in the City on three distinct charges hof forgery, perjury, and murder all for the small charge of one halfpenny.”
She fell on her knees, That erring woman――on her knees and her hands were uplifted, and on the bright face――tense and passion strung――played strange awful thoughts!
The shadows gathered round her!
Her head drooped――dropped until with a sudden clash the marble forehead smote the floor.
Still the shadows gathered round her! There was silence――but the low deep roar of humanity――the surges of the million-peopled city――spoke voiceless things in the summer air.
Listen to the music?
The shadows listened!
Edith lay on the floor beneath the music and the shadows! When the people of the house came, they found her――――asleep!
“Ding-a-dong-a-ding-dong.” The echoes of the joy bells rung in the ears of the wedding party, even after they had got by steamer――as far as Hungerford. They were still there――lying close to the wooden pier――when there was a great outcry and a confusion, and many shouts of “He’s in――he’s in――a man in the river.” But the Cap’en was all presence of mind.――He saw the struggling form! and clambering down to the water by the paddle-wheel――with his hook――hooked it out. It was Dombey!
## CHAPTER IV.
Walter Gay is now the head of the old city house of Dombey and Son.
Carker was hanged; and the Charitable Grinder was transported for picking Joey Bagstock’s pocket on that melancholy occasion.
Mr. Toots, under the tuition of the Game Chicken, set up for a sporting character――took in twelve dozen copies of _Bell’s Life_ every week, and read them all one after the other.
The old woman and the handsome daughter are frequent guests at the Mansion House――where they are usually charged with breaking from 35 to 89 panes of glass in the West London Union.
The Game Chicken espoused Mrs. Pipchin, and the young couple set up a public-house called the “Peruvian Mines,” where Miss Tox is barmaid.
The Cap’en got a medal from the Humane Society for saving Dombey. He always carries it on his hook. Captain Bunsby married Mrs. Macstinger.
As for Dombey, he took to drinking at first――and then to being a church-rate martyr. He has since, however, become a reformed character, and is now a clerk in a saving’s bank at 18s. a-week. Occasionally, however, he and Perch have something comfortable together.
And what of Edith――erring, beauteous, haughty, impassioned Edith. She, too, was repentant. At first she officiated as a pew-opener at a very fashionable chapel. But here she was persecuted by Major Bagstock and Cousin Feenix――both of whom used to squeeze her hand when she showed them into pews. At length she retired from the world, and now gets up fine linen at Tooting.
As for Joey B. and Cousin Feenix they challenged each other with respect to Mrs. Dombey. Neither of them, however, appeared at the place of mortal combat, and neither has been seen, nor heard of since.
From _The Man in the Moon_, Edited by Angus B. Reach. Volume III. London, no date, but about 1848-9.
――――
OUR MISCELLANY (_which ought to have come out, but didn’t_); edited by E. H. Yates and R. B. Brough, and published by G. Routledge & Co., London, in 1856, contained several prose parodies, and amongst them one upon Charles Dickens. This was written by Brough, and consisted of three chapters, of which it will suffice to quote the first:
HARD TIMES.[53] (_Refinished._)
_By Charles Diggins._
## CHAPTER XXXV.
They coovered poor Stephen Blackpool’s face!
The crowd from the Old Hell Shaft pressed around him. Mr. Gradgrind ran to look at the sufferer’s face, but in doing so, he trod on a daisy. He wept: and a hundred and sixty more of his hairs turned gray. He would tread on no more daisies!
He was not, however, to be baulked in his humble, honest purpose of self-reform. As he passed over the common, a donkey kicked him. It reminded him that facts were stubborn things: and he had done with facts and stubbornness. He wept again.
“Rachel, beloved lass, art thou by me?”
“Ay, Stephen; how dost thou feel?”
“Hoomble and happy, lass. I be grateful and thankful. I be obliged to them as have brought charges o’ robbery agin me; an’ I hope as them as did it will be happy an’ enjoy the fruits. I do only look on my being pitched down that theer shaft, and having all my bones broke, as a mercy and a providence, and God bless ev’rybody!”
“Stephen, your head be a wandering.”
“Ay, lass; awlus a muddle.”
“Will you take anything, Stephen?”
“I do hoombly thank thee for a good and trew lass thou hast awlus been to me; and I dunnot care if I do take a little soomut warm――wi’ a little sugar.”
The sobered man had still credit at the neighbouring tavern. In two seconds he appeared with a steaming glass of rum-and-water, scarcely stopping to sip it by the way.
“Can thou drink rum, Stephen?” asked Rachel, taking the tumbler from the hands of the sobered man for fear of accidents.
“I do hoombly and kindly thank thee, lass,” said poor Stephen; “I can drink anything.”
Rachel placed the goblet to his parched and quivering lips.
There was a moment of breathless silence. Mr. Bounderby rattled three-and-sixpence in his breeches pocket, and finding that his ostentation was unnoticed, kicked a little boy down the Old Hell Shaft. Mr. Gradgrind purchased a pennyworth of violets from a blue-eyed flower-girl, and true to his new and trusting creed, accepted two counterfeit farthings as change for a sovereign without looking at them. The Whelp glared fiercely at the rum-and-water, and barked.
Stephen drank it, every drop. Finished. Down to the dregs. No heel-taps.
“I do hoombly thank thee, Rachel, good and trew lass as thou hast been to me; but I do feel much better.”
“Oh, here!” Mr. Bounderby blustered forward: “I’m not going to stand this. If a man suspected of robbing Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown’s Bank, is to feel ‘much better,’ I should like to know what’s the use of Old Hell Shafts. There’s a touch of the gold-spoon game in that; and I’m up to the gold-spoon game――rather! And it wont go down with Josiah Bounderby. Of Coketown. Not exactly. Here! Where’s a constable?”
There was none. Of course not. There never is, when wanted.
Mrs. Sparsit and Bitzer pressed officiously forward, and volunteered to take Stephen into custody.
“Shame!” cried the populace.
“Oh, I daresay,” said Mr. Bounderby; “I’m a self-made man, and, having made myself, am not likely to be ashamed of anything. There, take him along.”
There was a movement, as if for a rescue. The sobered man had been sober quite long enough without a fight, and tucked up his sleeves.
Stephen prevented this explosion.
“Noa, lads,” he said, in his meek broken voice; “dunnot try to resky me. I be fond o’ constables. I like going to prison. As for hard labour, I ha’ been used to that long enough. Wi’ regard to law――it’s awlus a muddle.”
“Off with him!” said Mr. Bounderby. “When I used to commit robberies, I never had any rum-and-water given to me. No, nor didn’t talk about muddles. And I’m worth sixty thousand pounds, and have got ladies of family――ladies of family;”――he raised his voice to call attention to Mrs. Sparsit, who was ambling gently along with the submissive Stephen on her august shoulders――“acting as beasts of burden for me. Come up, madam!” and he gave Mrs. Sparsit a gentle touch of his whip, causing that high-nosed lady to prance a little.
They moved on, towards Coketown. The lights were beginning to blink through the fog. Like winking. The seven o’clock bells were ringing. Like one o’clock. Suddenly the tramp of horses and the fierce barking of a dog were heard.
With a wild cry, Sissy recognised Sleary’s company galloping towards them――all mounted; Mr. Sleary himself, grown much stouter, on his wonderful trained Arab steed, Bolivar; J. W. B. Childers, who had apparently not had time to change his dress, as the Indian warrior on the celebrated spotted Pegasus of the Caucasus; Kidderminster following, on the comic performing donkey, Jerusalem.
A dog, far in advance of the horse-riders, dashed amongst the astonished crowd, and singling out Mr. Bounderby, seized him by the scruff of the neck.
“Thath wight, Mewwylegth,” cried Mr. S., coming up panting (in addition to his former lisp, advancing age had afflicted him with a difficulty in pronouncing his _r’s_). “Thath the vewy identical cove: pin him! Good dog!”
“Help! murder!” cried the bully of humility, struggling with the animal. “Will you see a man worth sixty thousand pounds devoured by a dog?”
The prospect seemed to afford the bystanders considerable satisfaction.
“Ith no uthe, Thquire,” said Sleary, calmly; “the dog wont let go hith hold of you;” and he added, in a hissing voice, “_ith Jupeth dog_!”
“It’s a lie,” Bounderby faltered; “I didn’t murder him――he did it himself. I never saw the man. He hit me first. I never spoke to a clown in my life. Tear this hound off.”
“Quite enough, Thquire,” said Sleary. “I call on everybody in the Queenth name to athitht me in arethting thith man, Jothiah Bounderby, for the murder of my clown, Jupe, thickthteen yearth ago.”
Sissy fainted into the Whelp’s arms. From that moment the latter quadruped resolved to lead a virtuous life.
Mrs. Sparsit and Bitzer, with the alacrity of timeservers, released Stephen, and seized on their former patron. Stephen slipped quietly away in the confusion of the moment, remarking, with a wink of satisfaction to Rachel, “Awlus a muddle!”
Merrylegs retained his hold on his victim’s throat. Like a vice.
“Murder!” cried Bounderby! “release me from this dog, or demon, and I will confess all.”
“Mewwylegth, come here, thir!”
Merrylegs released his victim.
“Well, then,” said the detected miscreant, desperately――“sixteen years ago I murdered the man, Jupe, to obtain possession of eighteen-pence, with which I entered Coketown, and set up in business. And now, do your worst.”
The crowd recoiled in horror. The sobered man picked up Mr. Bounderby’s hat, that had dropped off in the scuffle, and immediately pawned it.
“Off with him!” cried Sleary, in a tone of theatrical authority,――“to jail!”
To jail! to jail! to jail!
* * * * *
――――:o:――――
THE POLITICAL “MRS. GUMMIDGE.” _A “Dickens” of a Situation._
Mrs. Gummidge-Gladstone had been in a low state for some time, and had almost burst into tears when a chill gust from the North, coming suddenly, and――to her――unexpectedly down the chimney, had blown the lid off the bubbling saucepan, and the soot into the stew therein.
“I am a much-crossed cretur’,” were Mrs. Gummidge’s words, when that unpleasant occurrence took place, “and everythink goes contrairy with me.”
“Oh, it’ll soon leave off,” said Mr. Peggotty-Bull――meaning the North wind,――“and besides, you know, it’s not more disagreeable to you than it is to us.”
“I feel it more,” said Mrs. Gummidge-Gladstone.
It was indeed a very cold, cheerless day, with cutting blasts of wind, which seemed to blow from every quarter at once, but from the North and East for choice, Mrs. Gummidge’s peculiar corner of the fireside seemed――to her at least――to be the chilliest and most uncomfortable, as her seat was certainly the hardest. She complained of the North-Easter, and of its visitation just at this time and _at her back_, which she said gave her the “creeps.”
“It is certainly very uncomfortable,” said Mr. Peggotty-Bull. “Everybody must feel it so.”
“I feel it more than other people,” said Mrs. Gummidge.
So at dinner. The fish――from which she had expected great things――were small and bony, and the stew was smoky and burnt. All acknowledged that they felt this something of a disappointment, but Mrs. Gummidge said she felt it more than they did, and again made that former declaration with great bitterness――“I’m a much-crossed cretur’, and every think goes contrairy with me.”
Later, when Mr. Peggotty-Bull came home to tea, this unfortunate Mrs. Gummidge-Gladstone was knitting in her corner, in a very wretched and miserable condition. Her knitting――a nondescript piece of work――seemed to be a regular Egyptian labyrinth for complicated tangle, and a very Penelope’s web for inconclusiveness and power of alternate weaving and unweaving. “Cheer up, Grand Mawther!” cried Mr. Peggotty-Bull. (Mr. Peggotty meant Grand Old Girl.)
Mrs. Gummidge did not appear to be able to cheer up. She dropped her knitting with a gesture of despair.
“What’s amiss, Dame?” said Mr. Peggotty-Bull.
“Everythink!” returned Mrs. Gummidge. “Including _you_,” she continued, dolefully. “You’ve a willing mind to face the troubles before you, but you ain’t ready. I’m sorry it should be along o’ me that you’re so unready.”
“Along o’ you? It ain’t along o’ you!” said Mr. Peggotty, good naturedly, and perhaps without _quite_ meaning it. “Don’t ye believe a bit on it,”
“Yes, yes, it is!” cried Mrs. Gummidge-Gladstone. “I know what I am. I know that I am a much-crossed cretur’, and not only that everythink goes contrairy with me, but that I go contrairy with everybody. Yes, yes. I feel more than other people do, and I show it more. It’s my misfortun.”
One really couldn’t help thinking that the misfortune extended to some other Members of that House, besides Mrs. Gummidge.
“I ain’t what I could wish myself to be,” said Mrs. Gummidge. “I am far from it. I know what I am. My troubles has made me contrairy. I feel my troubles, and they makes me contrairy. I wish I didn’t feel them, but I do. I wish I could be harden’d to ’em, but I ain’t. If I felt less, I could do more. I make the House uncomfortable. I don’t wonder at it. It’s far from right that I should do it. I’d better leave the House. I’m a much-crossed cretur’, and had better not make myself contrairy here. If thinks must go contrairy with me, and I must go contrairy myself, let me go contrairy alone at my own place. I’d better leave the House, and retire and be a riddance.”
Mr. Peggotty-Bull, whose countenance had exhibited the mixed traces of many feelings, including puzzlement, impatience, and profound sympathy, looked upward at a portrait of an ancient, but buck-like and somewhat Hebraic personage upon the wall, and, shaking his head, with a lively expression of those mixed sentiments still animating his face, said, in a solemn whisper,
“She’s been thinking of the Old ’Un!”
This parody of “David Copperfield” appeared in _Punch_ May 2, 1885, it was illustrated by an excellent cartoon of Mr. Gladstone as “Mrs. Gummidge.”
――――:o:――――
Space will not permit of the insertion of further extracts from the parodies on Dickens, it remains, therefore, to enumerate his principal works in chronological order, followed by a list of the parodies, imitations, and plays founded upon them:――
A CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF THE WORKS OF CHARLES DICKENS.
Sketches by Boz 1836-37 Sunday under Three Heads 1836 Pickwick Papers 1837 Oliver Twist 1838 Sketches of Young Gentlemen 1838 Nicholas Nickleby 1839 Sketches of Young Couples 1840 Master Humphrey’s Clock (The Old Curiosity Shop & Barnaby Rudge) 1840-1 American Notes 1842 Christmas Carol 1843 Martin Chuzzlewit 1844 The Chimes 1845 Cricket on the Hearth 1846 Pictures from Italy 1846 Battle of Life 1846 Dombey and Son 1848 Haunted Man 1848 David Copperfield 1850 Mr. Nightingale’s Diary 1851 Child’s History of England 1852-4 Bleak House 1853 Hard Times 1854 Little Dorrit 1857 Hunted Down 1859 Tale of Two Cities 1859 Great Expectations 1861 Uncommercial Traveller 1861 Our Mutual Friend 1865 Mystery of Edwin Drood 1870
_Sam Weller_, a Journal of Wit and Humour. Edited by Sam Slick, with illustrations. 1837.
_Posthumous Papers of the Cadgers’ Club._ With sixteen engravings. London. E. Lloyd, about 1837.
_Posthumous Papers of the Wonderful Discovery Club_, formerly of Camden Town. Established by Sir Peter Patron. Edited by “Poz.” With eleven illustrations, designed by Squib, and engraved by Point. London. 1838.
_The Post-humourous Notes of the Pickwickian Club._ Edited by “Bos.” 2 vols, with numerous illustrations. London.
_Pickwick in America_, detailing all the adventures of that individual in the United States. Edited by “Bos.” Illustrated with forty-six engravings by “Phis.” London. E. Lloyd, about 1837.
_Pickwick Abroad_, or a Tour in France, by G. W. M. Reynolds. This is a thick octavo volume, published in 1839, with numerous illustrations. The first edition is rather scarce, but reprints (published by Willoughby & Co., London) are not difficult to procure. The woodcuts, in the body of the book, are curious, as showing the architecture and appearance of the principal streets of Paris fifty years ago.
_The Adventures of Marmaduke Midge_, the Pickwickian Legatee. (Particulars of this work are wanting.)
Amongst the many piracies and imitations of _The Pickwick Papers_, was “The Penny Pickwick,” edited by “Bos,” with illustrations. The preface is signed “Bos,” Rose Cottage, St. John’s Wood. Printed and published by E. Lloyd, Bloomsbury. 1838.
There were also numerous song and jest books named after either Mr. Pickwick or Sam Weller, but these scarcely come within the scope of this list.
_The Life and Adventures of Oliver Twiss_, the Workhouse Boy. Edited by “Bos.” London. No date, about 1840.
_Scenes from the Life of Nickleby Married_, containing certain Remarkable Passages, Strange Adventures, and Extraordinary Occurrences that befel the Nickleby Family in their further Career, being a Sequel to “Nicholas Nickleby.” Edited by “Guess.” With twenty-one illustrations by “Quiz.” London. John Williams, Paternoster Row. 1840.
_Nickelas Nickelbery._ Containing the Adventures, Misadventures, Chances, Mis-Chances, Fortunes, Mis-fortunes, Mysteries, Mis-eries, and Miscellaneous manœuvres of the Family of Nickelbery. By “Bos.” With forty-three woodcut illustrations. London. E. Lloyd, about 1838. An impudent piracy upon _Nicholas Nickleby_, published in penny weekly numbers, and parodying the whole of the story and characters, under very slightly altered names. This has been ascribed to Mr. J. P. Prest.
_The Nickleby Papers_, by “Poz.” In penny numbers.
_Mister Humfries’ Clock._ “Bos,” maker. A Miscellany of striking interest. Illustrated. London, 1840.
_Master Timothy’s Bookcase_; or, the Magic Lanthorn of the World. By G. W. M. Reynolds. London, 1842.
_A Girl at a Railway Junction’s Reply_ [to an article in the Christmas number for 1866 of “All the Year Round,” entitled “Mugby Junction.”] London.
_Parley’s Penny Library._ Containing piratical versions of Barnaby Rudge, the Old Curiosity Shop, and the Picnic Papers. About 1841.
_Change for the American Notes_; or, Letters from London to New York. By an American Lady. London. Wiley and Putnam. 1843. (This was written by a Yorkshireman, Mr. Henry Wood.)
_Current American Notes._ By “Buz.” London. No date.
_Christmas Eve with the Spirits_, with some further tidings of the Lives of Scrooge and Tiny Tim. London, 1870.
_A Christmas Carol._ Being a few scattered staves from a familiar composition, re-arranged for performance by a Distinguished Musical Amateur, during the Holiday season, at Hawarden.――_Punch._ December 26, 1885. This is a political skit, the only present interest of which consists in the four very humourous illustrations by Harry Furniss, which are exquisite parodies of those by John Leech, in the original book.
_The Faces in the Fire_; a Story for the Season. By Redgap. With illustrations by T. H. Nicholson: London. Willoughby & Co., Warwick Lane. No date. Dedicated to the Earl of Carlisle. Pp. 165. (Written in imitation of Dickens’s Christmas Books, and published about 1845.) In a second edition, published by James Blackwood, in 1856, the name of George Frederick Pardon is given on the title page as the author.
_January Eve._ A Tale of the Times. By George Soane, B.A. London: E. Churton, 1847: pp. 180. Dedicated to Lord John Russell. In his preface the author not only admits that a similarity exists between his writings and those of Dickens, but is bold enough to assert that he, and not Dickens, is the original “Simon Pure.” “A little tale of mine, the _Three Spirits_, was thought by many to be exceedingly like Boz’s ‘Christmas Carol,’ yet the Carol was not published till some years after it. If then, there be any imitation in the case at all, it is Boz――glorious Boz――who has taken a hint from my writings.”
_The Battle of London Life_; or, “Boz” and his Secretary. By Morna. With a portrait and illustrations by G. A. Sala. This is a scarce little volume of 106 pages, which was published by George Peirce, of 310, Strand, London, in 1849. It was written by Thomas M. O’Keefe, although it is generally attributed to Mr. George Augustus Sala; he certainly furnished several illustrations, which are signed G. Sala, and on the cover there is an advertisement of “The April Fool Book,” written by the author of “The Battle of London Life,” also illustrated by George Sala.
_Old Jolliffe_: Not a Goblin Story. By the Spirit of a little Bell, awakened by “The Chimes.” London: W. N. Wright, 1845. Dedicated to Queen Adelaide. Pp. 56.
_The Wedding Bells_, an Echo of “The Chimes,” with coloured illustrations by the Author, who states that the work was suggested by “The Chimes” of Charles Dickens.
_Facts and Figures from Italy._ Addressed during the last two winters to C. Dickens, being an appendix to his “Pictures.” By Don Jeremy Savonarola. London, R. Bentley, 1847. This was written by Francis Mahony. (“Father Prout.”)
_The Sketch Book._ By “Bos.” Containing tales, sketches, etc. With seventeen woodcut illustrations. London.
_Dombey and Daughter_: A Moral Fiction. By Renton Nicholson, Lord Chief Baron of the celebrated Judge and Jury Society, held at the Garrick’s Head Hotel, Bow Street. London. Thomas Farris. No date, about 1847. With illustrations. Pp. 94. At the end of the story Baron Nicholson bids his readers _Farewell_, and remarks, “I think I may, without arrogance, predict that these pages will be read with pleasure by those whose tastes are not vitiated, and who prefer a simple story, representing scenes of real life, to the monstrous productions of a feverish imagination, which of late have been received with unmerited though almost universal applause.” This was published in monthly parts.
Renton Nicholson also wrote _Cockney Adventures_, and Tales of London Life, in imitation of the Pickwick Papers.
_Dombey and Father_, by Buz. A Satire on Charles Dickens. New York, 1868.
_Micawber Redivivus_; or, How to make a fortune as a Middleman, etc. By Jonathan Coalfield [_i.e._ W. Graham Simpson?].
_Bleak House_; a Narrative of Real Life. Being a faithful detail of facts connected with a suit in the Irish Court of Chancery, from the year 1826 to 1851. London, H. Elliott. 1856.
_Characteristic Sketches of Young Gentlemen._ By Quiz Junior. With Illustrations. London. W. Kidd.
_A Child’s History of Germany._ By H. W. Friedlaender. A pendant to a “Child’s History of England,” by Charles Dickens. Celle, 1861.
_No Thoroughfare_; the Book in Eight Acts. This parody appeared in “The Mask,” No. 1, February, 1868.
_No Thoroughfare._ A parody upon Dickens’s N.T. By C――s D――s, B. Brownjohn and Domby. Boston U.S.
_The Mystery of Mr. E. Drood._ Specimen of an Adaptation. By Orpheus C. Kerr. (Three and a half pages.) Published in _The Piccadilly Annual_. London. John Camden Hotten. December, 1870. This very scarce little work contains _Hunted Down_, by Charles Dickens, which is not generally included amongst his collected writings. It was originally written for an American publisher.
_The Mystery of Edwin Drood_, Complete. Part the Second by the Spirit Pen of Charles Dickens, through a medium; embodying also that Part of the Work which was published prior to the Termination of the Author’s Earth-Life. 1873. The medium was Mr. J. P. James, of Brattleborough, Vermont, U. S.
_John Jasper’s Secret_, being a Narrative of Certain Events following and Explaining “The Mystery of Edwin Drood,” with illustrations. Philadelphia, about 1871. Also published in London in 1872.
_The Cloven Foot_; being an adaptation of the English novel, “The Mystery of Edwin Drood” to American scenes, characters, customs, and nomenclature. By Orpheus C. Kerr. New York, 1870.
_A Great Mystery Solved_: Being a Sequel to “The Mystery of Edwin Drood.” By Gillan Vase. In three vols. London, Remington and Co, 1878. Preface dated Hanover, July 12, 1878.
_Rifts in the Veil_, a Collection of Inspirational Poems and Essays, given through Various Forms of Mediumship. London, W. H. Harrison. 1878. This work on Spiritualism contains particulars of a continuation of “Edwin Drood,” which is said to have been dictated through a medium. The article occupies 30 closely printed pages, and is entitled “An alleged _Postmortem_ work by Charles Dickens.”
Plays founded upon the Novels of Charles Dickens.
As is well known Charles Dickens strongly objected to his Novels being adapted for the Stage, yet scarcely one of his better known works escaped that penalty of popularity. As most of these stage adaptations are little better than parodies, or imitations, a catalogue of them may be fitly inserted here.
In this compilation some assistance has been derived from the life of Dickens, by Mr. F. T. Marzials, (London, Walter Scott, 1887), but the following list contains more entries, and fuller details than he gave. It is, in fact, the only approximately complete list of plays founded on Dickens’s Works, giving the date and place where first performed, and the names of the publishers, where they could be ascertained.
_Sam Weller_, or the Pickwickians, a Drama in three acts, first performed at the Strand New Theatre, London, July 17, 1837. By W. T. Moncrieff. (Dicks 541.) This has a long preface, in which the author defends himself against the charge of having merely transferred Dickens’s characters and incidents from the story to a play. He says, indeed, that he thinks Dickens ought to be grateful to him, for the popularity of the play had greatly extended the fame of the story.
_The Pickwickians_; or, the Peregrinations of Sam Weller. Arranged from Mr. W. T. Moncrieff’s adaptation by T. H. Lacy. London. 1837. (Lacy 315.)
_The Pickwick Club._ A Burletta in three acts, by E. Stirling. City of London Theatre, April 27, 1837. (Duncombe.)
_The Peregrinations of Pickwick_, an acting Drama. By William Leman Rede. London, W. Strange. 1837.
_Bardell v. Pickwick_: versified and diversified. Songs and choruses. Words by T. H. Gem. Leamington, 1881.
_The Great Pickwick Case_, arranged as a Comic Operetta. The words of the songs by Robert Pollitt. Manchester, Abel Heywood & Son, 1884.
_Bardell v. Pickwick._ (Dicks 636.)
Last of the Pickwickiana comes Mr. F. C. Burnand’s dramatic Cantata, _Pickwick_, with music by Mr. Edward Solomon, which was produced at the Comedy Theatre, London, early in 1889. The parts were thus distributed, Pickwick by Mr. Arthur Cecil, Mrs. Bardell by Miss Lottie Venne, and “The Baker” by Mr. Rutland Barrington.
This Cantata has not yet been published.
There can be no doubt but that the character of Sam Weller made the fortune of _The Pickwick Papers_ when they first appeared in monthly parts, and sent the circulation up from a poor 400 to 40,000. The germ of this character has been traced back to a play, written by Mr. Samuel Beazley, entitled “The Boarding House,” and produced at what is now called the Lyceum Theatre, in 1811. That there is a slight resemblance in Simon Spatterdash in this play to Sam Weller cannot be denied, and Dickens may have seen or read the play, and have been struck with the possibility of converting the character of Spatterdash into that of his own immortal Sam.
_Oliver Twist_; or the Parish Boy’s Progress. A Drama in three acts. By C. Z. Barnett. First performed at the Pavilion Theatre, May 21, 1838. (S. French.)
_Oliver Twist._ A serio-comic Burletta, in three acts, by George Almar. Performed at the Royal Surrey Theatre, London, November 19, 1838. (Dicks 293.)
A similar adaptation, but in four acts, was published in New York.
_Bumble’s Courtship._ From Dickens’s “Oliver Twist.” A Comic Interlude, in one act. By Frank E. Emson. London. (Lacy.)
_Nicholas Nickleby_, a Farce in Two Acts. By Edward Stirling. Produced at the Adelphi Theatre, London 1838. (S. French 264.)
_Nicholas Nickleby_, a Drama in Four Acts. Adapted by H. Simms. First performed at the Theatre Royal, Brighton, 1875. (Dicks 469.)
_The Infant Phenomenon_; or, a Rehearsal Rehearsed. A Dramatic Piece in one Act. Being an episode in the adventures of Nicholas Nickleby. Adapted by H. Horncastle, and originally produced at the Strand Theatre, London, July 8, 1842. (Dicks 572.)
_The Fortunes of Smike_, or, a Sequel to Nicholas Nickleby; a Drama in Two Acts. By Edward Stirling, London. Adelphi Theatre. London, March 2, 1840. (Webster’s Acting Drama 94.)
_Nicholas Nickleby_; an Episodic Sketch; in three tableaux, based upon an incident in “Nicholas Nickleby.” _Not published._ Strand Theatre, Sept. 10, 1885.
_Barnaby Rudge._ A Domestic Drama, in Three Acts. By Charles Selby and Charles Melville. First performed at the English Opera House, June 28, 1841. (Dicks 393.)
_Barnaby Rudge_; or, the Murder at the Warren, a Drama in Three Acts, by Thomas Higgie. No date. (Lacy.)
_Barnaby Rudge._ A Burlesque upon the Version now being played at the Princess’s Theatre, London. _Fun._ November 24, 1866.
_Master Humphrey’s Clock_; a Domestic Drama, in Two Acts. By Frederick Fox Cooper. Victoria Theatre, London, May 26, 1840. (Lacy.)
_The Old Curiosity Shop._ A Drama in Four Acts. Adapted by George Lander. First produced at the Theatre Royal, York, May 14, 1877. (Dicks 398.)
_The Old Curiosity Shop_; a Drama in Two Acts. By Edward Stirling. Adelphi Theatre, November 9, 1840. (French 1147.)
_The Old Curiosity Shop_; a Drama, in Four Acts. Adapted by Mr. Charles Dickens, Junr., from his Father’s Novel. _Not published._ Opera Comique Theatre. 1884.
_Mrs. Jarley’s Far-Famed Collection of Wax-Works_, as arranged by G. B. Bartlett. In Two Parts. London.
_Yankee Notes for English Circulation._ A Farce in One Act, by Edward Stirling. Adelphi Theatre. London. 1843. (Duncombe’s Theatre.)
_Martin Chuzzlewit_, a Drama in Three Acts by Charles Webb. London. (Barth.)
_Martin Chuzzlewit_; or, his wills and his ways, what he did, and what he didn’t. A Domestic Drama, in Three Acts, by Thomas Higgie and T. H. Lacy. Lyceum Theatre, London, July 8, 1844. (S. French 330.)
_So says the acting copy, but see next entry_:
_Martin Chuzzlewit_; a Drama in Three Acts. By Edward Stirling. This, it is stated on the acting copy, was produced at the Lyceum Theatre July 8, 1844. The two versions are unlike, and it is clearly impossible that both could have been produced on the same night at the same theatre. It is probable that Higgie and Lacy’s version was that which was produced at the Strand Theatre July 15, 1844. (Duncombe’s plays.)
_Tom Pinch._ Domestic Comedy in Three Acts By Joseph J. Dilley and Lewis Clifton. Vaudeville Theatre, London, March 10, 1881. (S. French 1803.)
_Mrs. Sarah Gamp’s Tea and Turn Out_; a Bozzian Sketch, in One Act, by B. Webster. Adelphi Theatre, London, October 26, 1846. (Webster’s Drama 136.)
_Tartuffe Junior_, Von H. C. L. Klein. Neuwied, 1864. (A Play in Five Acts after “Martin Chuzzlewit.”)
_Mrs. Gamp’s Party._ An adaptation in One Act. Manchester. Abel Heywood & Son.
_Mrs. Harris._ A Farce in One Act, by Edward Stirling. Lyceum Theatre, October, 1846. (Duncombe.)
_The Cricket on the Hearth_, a Fairy Tale of Home, in two acts. By Edward Stirling. Adelphi Theatre, London, December 31, 1845. (Webster’s Drama 124.)
_The Cricket on the Hearth_; or, a Fairy Tale of Home. A Drama, in three acts. Dramatised by Albert Smith, by the express permission of the Author. First produced at the Lyceum Theatre, 1845, and at the Winter Garden, New York, September 14, 1859. (Dicks 394.)
_The Cricket on the Hearth_, a Fairy Tale of Home in Three Chirps. By W. T. Townsend. London. (Lacy 649.)
This was another version which was produced at the City of London Theatre, January 7, 1846.
_A Christmas Carol_; or, the Miser’s Warning, by C. Z. Barnett. Produced at the Surrey Theatre, February 5, 1844. This adaptation was published with a note stating that “the extreme necessity (the consequence of its high and deserved popularity) that so imperatively called for its representation on the stage, has also demanded its publication as a Drama, which it is the Adapter’s sincere wish, as it is his conviction, will considerably augment the sale of the original lovely and humanizing creation upon which it is founded.” (Lacy 1410. Dicks 722.)
_Dot_, a Fairy Tale of Home. A Drama in Three Acts, from “The Cricket on the Hearth.” Dramatised by Dion Boucicault. _Not published._
_The Haunted Man_, a Drama. Adapted from Charles Dickens’s Christmas Story. _Not published._
_The Chimes_, a Goblin Story, of some Bells that rang an Old Year out, and a New Year in; a Drama, in Four Quarters, by Mark Lemon and Gilbert Abbott à Beckett. Adelphi Theatre, London, December 19, 1844. (Webster’s Drama 115.)
_La Bataille de la Vie._ Pièce en Trois Actes, par M. M. Mèlesville et André de Goy. Vaudeville Theatre, Paris, 1853.
_The Battle of Life_, founded on the Christmas Annual of Charles Dickens, dramatised by Albert Smith. In Three Acts and in Verse. Lyceum Theatre, London, December 21, 1846. (W. S. Johnson.)
_The Battle of Life_, a Drama in Three Acts, by Edward Stirling. Surrey Theatre, London. January, 1847. (Duncombe’s Theatre 456.)
_Dombey and Son._ In three acts. Dramatized by John Brougham, and produced at Burton’s Theatre, New York, 1850. (Dicks 375. French 126.)
_Dombey and Son_; or, Good Mrs. Brown, the Child Stealer. A Drama, in two acts. “From the pen of the inimitable Charles Dickens, Esq. As performed at the Royal Strand Theatre.” No date.
An impudent theft, in which many liberties are taken with Dickens’s plot. This was published whilst the novel was in progress, and is now very scarce.
_Captain Cuttle_; a Comic Drama, in one act. By John Brougham. Burton’s Theatre, New York, January 14, 1850. (Dicks 572.)
_David Copperfield_, a Drama in two acts. Adapted by John Brougham, and first performed at Brougham’s Lyceum, January 6, 1851. New York. (French 133. Dicks 374.)
_David Copperfield_, a Drama in three acts, by John Brougham. Brougham’s Lyceum Theatre, January 6, 1851. (French.)
_Little Emily_, a Drama in four acts. Adapted from Dickens’s “David Copperfield,” by Andrew Halliday.
_Lady Dedlock’s Secret_, a Drama in Four Acts. Founded on an episode in “Bleak House,” by J. Palgrave Simpson. Opera Comique Theatre, London, March 26, 1884. (French.)
“_Move on_,” or Jo, the Outcast, a Drama in Three Acts. Adapted by James Mortimer. _Not published._
_Poor Jo_, a Drama in Three Acts. Adapted by Terry Hurst. _Not published._
_Jo_, a Drama in Three Acts, by J. P. Burnett. _Not published._
_Bleak House_; or Poor “Jo.” A Drama, in Four Acts. Adapted by George Lander. Pavilion Theatre, London, March 27, 1876. (Dicks 388.)
_Hard Times._ A Domestic Drama, in Three Acts, by T. Fox Cooper. Strand Theatre, London, August 14, 1854. (Dicks.)
_No Thorough Fare_; a Drama in Five Acts, and a Prologue. By Charles Dickens and W. Wilkie Collins. Adelphi Theatre, London, December 26, 1867, and afterwards in Paris. Printed in New York.
_Identity_; or, No Thoroughfare. A Drama in Four Acts. By Louis Lequel. New York. (French.)
_L’Abime_, drame en cinq actes. (Founded on “No Thoroughfare.”) Paris, 1868.
_The Tale of Two Cities_; or, the Incarcerated Victim of the Bastille. An Historical Drama, in a Prologue and four acts. Adapted by T. Fox Cooper. First performed at the Victoria Theatre, London, July 7, 1860. (Dicks.)
_A Tale of Two Cities_; a Drama in two acts and a Prologue. By Tom Taylor. Lyceum Theatre, London, January 30, 1860. (Lacy 661.)
_The Tale of Two Cities_; a Drama in three acts and a Prologue. Adapted by H. J. Rivers. London.
_A Message from the Sea_, a Drama in Four Acts. Founded on Charles Dickens’s tale of that name, by John Brougham. Britannia Theatre, London, 1861. (Dicks 459.)
_A Message from the Sea_; a Drama in Three Acts. By Charles Dickens and W. Wilkie Collins. London, 1861.
_The Dead Witness_; or Sin and its Shadow. A Drama in Three Acts, by Wybert Reeve, founded on “The Widow’s Story” of The Seven Poor Travellers, by C. Dickens. First produced at the Sheffield Theatre. (S. French 1472.)
_Great Expectations_, a Drama in Three Acts, and a Prologue. By W. S. Gilbert. _Not published._
Dickens himself did not often attempt parody, but his Reports of the Meetings of the “Mudfog Association” are admirable prose burlesques of the early proceedings of the British Association. These originally appeared in “Bentley’s Miscellany,” but have recently been republished.
――――
SAM WELLER’S ADVENTURES. _A Song of the Pickwickians._
Who caused the smiles of rich and poor? Who made a hit so slow, but sure? And rose the worth of literature? _Sam Weller._
I’m pretty well known about town, For to gain a repute is my pride, Though no vun can doubt my renown, I’m a _covey of polish_ beside! I renovates _cases_ for feet, Whether high-lows or tops is the same, I turns ’em off hand werry neat, And Samivel Veller’s my name!
In the Borough my trade I dragged on, Vith no vun to envy my sphere; I polish’d the _soles_ of each don, From the cadger bang up to the peer. Their _understandings_ I greatly improved, Vot happen’d to fall in the vay; And many a gen’leman mov’d To me in the course of the day.
Vun gen’leman――Pickwick, Esquire, The head of the noted P. C. Vun day tumbled in to enquire, If I’d had the _fortin_ to see A cove vearing Vellington _kicks_, And a Miss Rachel Vardle beside, Vot the gent had lugged off by the _nicks_, And promis’d to make her his bride.
I knowed by the cut of his boot, As the cove had put up at our inn, So Pickwick, without a dispute, Comes tumbling down with the _tin_! And me arter that he engages, To follow him in his career―― Good _togs_ and twelve _shiners_ for vages, Paid every _annual_ year.
Some coves when they rises you know, They stick to vulgarity will; But that vos my notice below, ’Cos as how I’m a gen’leman still, “For riches is nothing to me, If ever them I vos among――” As the gen’leman said, d’ye see, At the time he vos goin’ to be hung!
(For remainder of this old street ballad see p. 276 of _The Life and Times of James Catnach_, by Charles Hindley. London. Reeves & Turner, 1878.)
――――
It should have been stated that the Parodies on Dickens, quoted from _The World_ on p. 215, were written by the Rev. W. H. A. Emra, of Salisbury (“New Sarum”) and by Mr. Walter Fletcher, of Hornsey. (“Robert le Diable.”)
[Illustration]
COVENTRY PATMORE.
Amongst the parodies of Coventry Patmore which appeared on p. 194, mention should have been made of one which will be found in Mr. A. C. Swinburne’s _Heptalogia_, published by Chatto & Windus. It is called _The Person of the House_, and is in four Idyls, “The Monthly Nurse,” “The Caudle,” “The Sentences,” and “The Kid.”
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:
‘While thus I grieved and kissed her glove, My man brought in her note to say Papa had bid her send his love, And hoped I dine with them next day; They had learned and practised Purcell’s glee, To sing it by to-morrow night: The postscript was――her sisters and she Inclosed some violets blue and white.
* * * * *
‘Restless and sick of long exile, From those sweet friends I rode, to see The church repairs, and after a while Waylaying the Dean, was asked to tea. They introduced the Cousin Fred I’d heard of, Honor’s favourite; grave, Dark, handsome, bluff, but gently bred, And with an air of the salt wave.’
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.’”
――――:o:――――
OXFORD COMMEMORATION.
“The Encænia,” or Commemoration of Founders and Benefactors which took place in June last, was marked by all the customary boisterous merriment on the part of the undergraduates. The ladies were cheered as usual, whilst marks of disapprobation were addressed at all persons whose attire presented any features of singularity. The Vice-Chancellor’s Latin address was inaudible on account of the interruptions, many of which were in excessively bad taste. The Proctors were loudly hissed, and called upon to retire, and as they did not attempt to do so, they were requested to sing a duet.
It is only perhaps in Oxford that such conduct on the part of educated men, presumably gentlemen, would be tolerated; as it was described (in imitation of Carlyle) fifteen years ago, so it remains:――
“What is Commemoration? Wherefore? Whereunto? Why? Is it a mere vacuous Inanition, or speck cut out of this little world, or has it not rather contrariwise some Meaning, apart from that which is wrapt up in meness and youness and every-one-else-ness, and two or three more beside?
Nay, is it not Portentous, Big with Signs, with its show Sunday, its Dances, its Encænia and what not?
Is it not a time when it is permitted to Man to wriggle out of the inextricable snares of the Fowler with his Attorney-logic, and the frothy effervescences of defunct and buried-in-dusty tomes Antiquity which are nomen-clated Lectures? And to be Oblivious of these Gehenna-Bailiffs emissaried by professors in Tailor-craft, Wine-craft, and the innumerable other crafts and mysteries ranking under the genus Productive Industry. Aye, and those gaily apparelled young ladies (Madchen) who confluctuate hither as to a Focus, or centre of Attraction, though they themselves are also an Attraction, which is an inextricable mystery of Involvedness; do not these too teach a lesson to the gawks, in whose heads is nothing but the Roots of their World restored Hair, and who imagine that the whole Furniture of that digesting mechanism, Man, is but a Lay-figure, gifted indeed, with struttableness and swagger, on which to hang their Peacock-plumes, fringes, cobwebs, and such.
And there is the Encænia too, with its Chaotic Hubbub of Tympanum-splitting Noise, Undergraduates Noise, Ticket admitted Noise, as it were a sort of Tenfold Bedlam smitten with Interjectional Rabies, of groanings and yelpings, Approbation, Depreciation, and the like.”
* * * * *
From _The Shotover Papers_. Oxford. 1874.
――――
“_The Irish Revolution_, a history in three books.” By Thomas Snarlyle. Such is the title of a parody, to be found in _The Puppet-Showman’s Album_, published about 1848, which concludes with a sentence curiously appropriate to these times:――
“Ireland, Ireland, thy leaders are in jail. But be not a Rachel weeping for these children, be comforted!”
――――:o:――――
JOHN RUSKIN.
Let us take a small extract from his notes on Samuel Prout and William Hunt’s loan collection of pictures:――
“That little brown-red butterfly [142] … is a piece of real painting; and it is as good as Titian or anybody else ever did, and if you can enjoy it you can enjoy Titian and all other good painters; and if you can’t see anything in _it_ you can’t see anything in _them_, and its all affectation and pretence to say that you care about them. And with this butterfly in the drawing I put first, please look at the mug and loaf in the one I have put last of the Hunt series, No. 171. The whole art of painting is in that mug――as the fisherman’s genius was in the bottle. If you can feel how beautiful it is, how ethereal, how heathery, and heavenly, as well as to the uttermost muggy, you have an eye for colour and can enjoy heather, heaven, and everything else below and above. If not, you must enjoy what you can contentedly, but it won’t be painting; and in mugs it will be more the beer than the crockery, and on the moors rather grouse than heather.”
For those who have neglected the opportunity of testing their taste for art on this butterfly, and on this mug, I would advise a visit to Venice, to learn whether they can appreciate Bassano’s hair trunk, as shown in his grand picture of the Pope Alexander and the Doge of Venice. It is _not_ Ruskin, but Mark Twain who thus describes it:
“The hair of this trunk is _real_ hair, so to speak, white in patches, brown in patches. The details are finely worked out; the repose proper to hair in a recumbent and inactive condition, is charmingly expressed. There is a feeling about this part of the work, which lifts it to the highest altitudes of art; the sense of sordid realism vanishes away――one recognizes that there is _soul_ here. View this trunk as you will, it is a gem, it is a marvel, it is a miracle. Some of the effects are very daring, approaching even to the boldest flights of the rococo, the sirocco, and the Byzantine schools. Yet the master’s hand never falters――it moves on, calm, majestic, confident; and, with that art which conceals art, it finally casts over the _tout ensemble_, by mysterious methods of its own, a subtle something which refines, subdues, etherealizes the arid components, and endues them with the deep charm and gracious witchery of poesy. Among the art-treasures of Europe there are pictures which approach the hair trunk――there are two which may be said to equal it, possibly――but there is none that surpasses it.”
――――
ON ALL FOURS CLAVIGERA; OR, _Right at Last_.
It may be remembered that Professor Buskin during the Spring addressed a letter to a provincial paper, respecting the projected new railway for Derbyshire. As he therein expressed some very strong opinions against the scheme, as one likely to give the miserable, melancholy, and toiling millions who dwell in smoke-stifling and unwholesome towns, an occasional chance of letting a little bright fresh air and sunlight in upon the gloom of their darkened lives, it is satisfactory to know that the letter in question is now believed to have been a clever hoax. At any rate, the zenith of that boon to millions, the summer excursion season has produced a second communication to the same journal: and, as it not only bears the Professor’s signature, but breathes with the spirit of his larger philanthropy, there can be little doubt as to its authenticity.
In the course of this second letter, Professor BUSKIN says:――
“I do not know how this mental revolution has come about within me, nor, were you to ask me, could I tell you. I only recognise the stupendous fact that I feel, and am not ashamed to avow, that I no longer regard the wild witchery of the Derbyshire glens as a precious and special property held by Providence in trust for me and a few exclusive well-to-do Sybarites for our sole select and selfish delectation.
* * * * *
Here it is, this Derbyshire Garden of Eden, with its magic-lantern-slide effects, lost for ever and for ever to everyone save to you and to me and the lucky Stall-sitters who hold, out of the overflowing fulness of their purses, the front places in the world’s glittering show, to the shifting and shutting out of the humbler and poorer from the sight and sense of it.”
“Follow, if you can, without wetted feet, the floretted banks and foam-crisped wavelets of the slyly wilful stream. Into the very heart and depth of this, and politely bending with the bends of it, your railway introduces its close-clinging attention. The rocks are not big enough to be tunnelled, they are cheerily blasted away; the brook is not wide enough to be bridged, it is comfortably covered in, and is thence-forward no physical obstacle to an enterprising Railway Company. I have not said, I leave the clergyman and physician to say, what moral and sanitary changes follow a free access to the gifts of Nature. But I may, at least, advise your correspondent that envenomed air is deadlier to the young than the old, and that the sooner a completed line of railway enables the pent-up thousands of pestiferous cities to figure as three-and-sixpenny excursionists, if only for a few hours, amidst these hitherto inaccessible fairy haunts, the sooner will English children who have been reared in mephitic fume instead of mountain breeze, who have had for playground heaps of ashes instead of banks of flowers, whose Christmas holidays brought them no memory, whose Easter sun no hope, enjoy some of the blessed delight of breezy hillside and sunlit glen hitherto claimed as the special and peculiar heirloom of that unreasoning and wrong-headed class who, singing the sweet song of Nature’s praise, defame that priceless metal line which, like some mighty wizard, alone has borne their welcome echo to a myriad aching city hearts.”
_Punch._ August 23, 1884.
――――
ON TOOTHPICKS. _By Professor Buskin._
I came the other day quite by chance on this piece of news in my _Daily Telegraph_:――“It is said that no less than 25 millions of Toothpicks are annually made in England. This is just one to each person.” “Just one?” No, there is no justice here, it is all injustice. Think of this――25 millions, and think further of the 25 millions of Englishmen who can use them. Yes, this is what England has come to be――a nation of Toothpickers; for mark this, each man _can_ use a toothpick if he will; if he can by fair means or foul (too often, alas, by foul!) obtain the paltry coin to purchase the Tooth-pick with.
But then these dilettanti-scribblers, these writers in the newspapers who are paid for their scribbling, these folk (forsooth!) say, “what have you to do with this――this Toothpicking?” I answer we have all to do with it. For hear, yea, and forbear with me a minute while I speak to you of this same Toothpicking.
Friends, it comes to this. Picking is a natural attribute of man. He must throughout life be a picker. But now comes the momentous question, a picker of what? A picker of knowledge, a dabbler in all the ’ologies, an admirable Crichton, veriest of prigs, or a picker of locks, a red-handed burglar, a hero of penny novels, or will he be a picker of teeth, a drawling vacuity weary of himself, weary of every thing, an inane hanger on to the skirts of the Universe? Will not the brave man, the wise man, the man of resolve, of energy, of endurance, a picker of roads, will he not go forth to beautify Hincksey, to plant the new Utopia, to commence the Era of Æstheticism, and of the Fors?
Now, turning his picking propensities to some real use, he will learn to do hard work, to blister his hands, to wheel barrows, to preach Buskinism.
From _The Shotover Papers_. Oxford, 1874.
――――
Mr. Ruskin is a depressing pessimist, according to whom nearly everything that was done in England three centuries or so ago was lovely and true, whilst all nineteenth century progress is in the wrong direction. “I know of nothing” he writes “that has been taught the youth of our time except that their fathers were apes, and their mothers winkles; that the world began in accident, and will end in darkness; that honour is a folly, ambition a virtue, charity a vice, poverty a crime, and rascality the means of all wealth and the sum of all wisdom.” Now these sweeping assertions are false, and Mr. Ruskin knows they are false, he could not advance a tittle of proof that any professor in modern times had inculcated any such doctrines. Those who want an antidote to Mr. Ruskin’s views should read “_Pre-Raffaelitism_; or a Popular enquiry into some newly-asserted Principles connected with the Philosophy, Poetry, Religion and Revolution of Art” by the Rev. Edward Young, M.A. London: Longmans & Co., 1857.
[Illustration]
OUIDA.
MOLL MARINE: (BY “_Weeder_.”)
Moll Marine! A simple, touching name! It had been bestowed upon her by the rude country hinds among whom she dwelt. It was all she received at their hands besides blows and curses. Moll was a common name in those parts, but none knew what it meant, none discerned the hidden poetry in that brief monosyllable. Moll Marine they called her, because she came among them as a waif from the wild waves, as a white foam fleck that the winds toss on to the cold rocks to gleam a moment in the setting sun, and then dissolve for ever into the dews of night.
She was only fifteen, tall and graceful as a young poplar, with a warm brown skin and a scented wealth of amber hair. Everybody hated her. “It was natural,” she thought. They beat her, but she cared not. She was like a lucifer; they struck her, and she blazed forth resplendent; beautiful as the spotted panther of the forest, as the shapely thistle that the ass crops unheeding, as the beaming comet that shakes out her golden tresses in the soft hush of summer nights.
And she loved. Loved madly, passionately, hopelessly.
He knew it. He knew that he had but to say, “Come!” and she would follow him to disgrace or death, to polar snows or deserts arid as Gehenna. To him she was nothing. No more than the painted fly he pinned in sport, than the yellow meadow flowers that he crushed beneath his heel, than the soft tender doves whose downy necks he wrung and whose bodies he eat with cruel relish.
[We regret to say that the rest of this contribution is improper, and unfit for publication.――ED.]
From _The Light Green_. Cambridge, 1872.
――――
_The World_ prize competition, for parodies on Ouida’s _Under Two Flags_, subject “The Cambridgshire Stakes.”
FIRST PRIZE.
‘Seven to 5 on Leoville; 9 to 3 on Lartington; 10 to 2 on Falmouth; 13 to 4 Flotsam; 17 to 9 Exeter; the Field bar one; 22 to 8 Lord Clive; 33 to 12 Discord! Take the Field bar one; take the Field!’ yelled a burly bookmaker, as an elegant young patrician redolent of Jockey Club sauntered past him.
‘I do take it in; also the _Life_,’ said the noble, as he flicked some dust from his spotless boots, and then he blew his nose gracefully.
‘O, stow yer larks!’ said the other; but the next moment he repented using such language; for the apparently delicate nobleman had carelessly taken him by the seat of his trousers and thrown him over the rails, as though he had been a feather, instead of weighing at least 15 stone.
‘Curse him!’ he muttered, as he came back trying to look pleased. ‘What d’yer want to do, my lord?’ he said, with a ghastly smile.
Mentioning a horse, the haughty young aristocrat asked what he would lay against it.
‘Against it?’ said the welcher. ‘Well, it ain’t usual for us to lay against ’em; but I’ll give yer 4 to 2.’
‘Very well,’ wearily replied the marquis; ‘in half millions. I also want to back it for a lady, in gloves.’
‘Wery good, my lord; dogskin or kid?’
This of course could only be meant for insult. The peer looked at him half amused, half disgusted, and walked listlessly away.
The welcher scowled after him with bitter hatred; but just then the bell rang, and he hurried off to see the horses and jockeys weighed. When he arrived at the shed he found all ready but one, the jockey who was to ride the horse he had laid against. He was just sitting down to dinner.
‘They’re waiting for you,’ said a steward, rushing into the room.
‘Ask them to wait a little longer; I shall be ready in forty minutes,’ said the jockey, taking a spoonful of potage à la Tortue.
The steward rushed out somewhat excitedly.
‘Now’s my time,’ said the welcher, and creeping behind the light weight he gently unfastened one of his spurs, and put another in its place. He had scarcely finished when the referee came in to say that the starter would wait no longer. Quaffing a large goblet of champagne, the jockey murmured, ‘Che, sara, sara,’ and staggered out. Why did the welcher look so fiendish. _He had fastened on the jockey’s boot a spur with painted rowels._
Following him out, he could just see him galloping down the course, and hear the people cheer as their favourite went by in his crimson jacket, with scarlet sash, green hoops, pink sleeves, and yellow cap. Before he could get to the starting-box the horses were off; but disdaining to join them in the middle of the race, and wishing also to exchange a few compliments with the starter, he rode up to him, and after relieving his mind, dashed after the others. By the time he got to the ‘Corner’ he was only two furlongs behind; at the distance a hundred yards; at the Red House fifty; and as they passed the Stand he was but a length from the leaders. He touched his gallant steed with the spur for a final effort; but instead of leaving the others behind as usual, it staggered, stopped, and went to sleep. _The laudanum had done its work._ Just then his rider heard a great shout, and looking up saw thousands of arms carrying the victorious jockey back to the scales. La Merveille had won the Cambridgeshire.
ORACLE. (_E. E. D. Davis._)
SECOND PRIZE.
‘Four to none against Hartington!’ ‘8 to none against Sarserperiller!’ ‘25 to none against Stylites!’ (pronounced by the ‘welchers’ as a dissyllable, like Skylights). ‘20 to none against Lar Mervilly!’ (La Merveille). ‘2 to none bar none!’ These and a hundred other cries rose high above the roar of the Ring on the bright October afternoon that shone for the nonce over the wide windy fens and sandy loams of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk on the day of the last great scrambling handicap of the year.
Maunderers muttering to their moustaches, layers, takers, ‘ossy’ cards, tiptop swells, who had ‘put the pot on’ to any extent, ladies of rank and ladies of pleasure (the latter in sealskin and velvet, and gracefully puffing the daintiest of _papilitos_)――all, with an instinct of stupidity, came down eager for a ‘go in’ on the scratching Cambridgeshire.
The bell was throbbing and sobbing spasmodically; and, as that cynosure of all eyes, Hartington, whose magnificently-desiccated veins bulged out black as the bloody cords of an injected ‘subject,’ strode grandly forth, a roar, deep as the voice of forests or the moan of the sea, went suddenly up――‘the crack!’
La Merveille, the blue filly, whose neck had the Arch of Marble, was a thick, short, long-barrelled horse, with superb Watteau eyes, and an I’ll-take-the-conceit-out-of-a good-many-of-you-if-I-choose-looking head. She belonged to the Lord of the Durdans, Earl Elderberry, whose colours were Hebrew lily inclining to Primrose.
See! Twice ten thousand starters are hoisted in admirable time; the competitors muster at the post, and the _coup d’œil_, as they glimmer and shimmer there in the sunlight, is as that of an early Turner sunset gone ineffably mad.
Three breaks; the flag falls; a glorious start, and away they go like no end of a line of eager harlequins before their creditors. ‘Off!’ and Out of Pounds, after taking up the running, ‘compounded;’ Adamite fell; Sunburn cooled down; Caxtonian ‘pressed’ onward; Fitz-Pluto ‘warmed’ to his work. ‘_Now_!’ Blood lashes to fury. The Ring roars――‘It’s a skinner!’ And Breadloser, Lord Strive, Hartington, and Lar Mervilly dash like fiends through the cold, fresh, wild winter wind, blowing as it might have done in Stuart times, when Mistress Nell Gwynn, the fat King’s ‘fancy,’ was here to inhale it.
Hark! ‘The foremost wins!’ ‘Rob Boy’s a “teaser”!’ ‘Mervilly’s lost!’ ‘Flash Man’s a brilliant failure!’
Lost? A palpitating lie!
’Send me a cropper!’ exclaimed Constable, a ‘clipping’ jock who had landed many a mount. ‘Send me a cropper, if you like, but “plant” me a winner!’
The blue filly answered with lightning spontaneity. Game to the last, Constable, a great Pickwick in his mouth, coaxed a final effort out of her. The delirium of pace was upon him. ‘Go in a perisher!’
On came the trio――on, until one last convulsive impulse of the outstretched limbs, and――hark! The cry has changed. ‘Mervilly wins!’
A thousand jewelled hands hold forth bouquets of hissing _eau de Cologne_. And Constable, true to the canons of his Order, ‘runs her in.’
A cry as of the disappointed, the desperate, or the d――d, went out over the ghastly fens; seemed to reel from many a gallant ‘plunger’ in anticipation of an approaching ‘weigh-in.’ Next to first was Second; Better Last than Never, whose dominant instinct it was to lose, third.
There was much wisdom after the event. Two minutes eight seconds! A man on a bicycle might have done it in less time!
CYRIL. (_James Silvester._)
_The World_ November 12, 1879.
――――
A parody of Ouida’s _Ariadne_ was published in _The Weekly Dispatch_ parody competition, September 13, 1885, but owing to the enforced brevity of the compositions, this one consisted of little more than a catalogue of names and facts, without any fun, or humour.
Of course Mr. F. C. Burnand wrote a parody on “Ouida,” it appeared in _Punch_ in 1878, and was entitled “_Strapmore!_ A Romance by _Weeder_, author of Folly and Farini, Under Two Rags, Arryadn’ty, Chuck, Two Little Wooden Jews, Nicotine, A Horse with Glanders, In Somers Town, Shamdross, &c., &c.” This wild weird story of blood and crime was republished in book form by Bradbury, Agnew & Co.
_Judy_ also published a parody, entitled “_Bluebottles_. A Novel of Queer Society” Idylised à la Ouida. This was commenced July 7, 1880.
――――:o:――――
The following very happy burlesque of the nautical tales in the style of Captain Marryat and Captain Chamier, was written in 1842 by the late Professor W. E. Aytoun, who, in conjunction with Sir Theodore Martin, wrote the _Bon Gaultier Ballads_.
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. _A Tale of the Sea._
We were in the midst of the storm-tossed Atlantic. A heavy simoom, blowing N.E. by S., brought in the huge tropical billows mast-high from the Gulf of Labrador, and awoke old ocean, roaring in its fury, from its unfathomable depths. No moon was visible among the hurricane rack of the sky――even the pole-star, sole magnet of the mariner’s path, was buried in the murky obscurity of the tempest; nor was it possible to see which way the ship was steering, except by the long track of livid flames which followed in the wake of the bow, or when, at times, some huge leviathan leapt up from the water beside us, and descending with the vehemence of a rock hurled from heaven, drove up a shower of aquatic splinters, like a burst of liquid lava from the sea. All the sails which usually decorated the majestic masts of H.M.S. Syncope (a real seventy-nine of the old Trafalgar build, teak-built and copper fastened) were reefed tightly up, with the exception of the mainsail, the spritsail, the mizzen-boom sail, and a few others of minor consequence. Everything was cleared away――halyards, hencoop, and binnacle had been taken down below, to prevent accidents; and the whole of the crew, along with the marines and boarders, piped to their hammocks. No one remained upon deck except the steersman, as usual lashed to the helm; Josh Junk, the first bos’un; and the author of this narrative, who was then a midshipman on board the vessel, commanded by his uncle, Commodore Sir Peregrine Pendant.
“Skewer my timbers!” exclaimed Mr. Junk, staggering from one side of the deck to the other as an enormous wave struck us on the leeside, and very nearly unshipped the capstan――“Skewer my timbers, if this a’n’t enough to put an admiral’s pipe out! Why, Master Tom, d’ye see, it’s growing altogether more and more darkerer; and if it a’n’t clearer by twelve bells, we’ll be obligated to drop anchor, which a’n’t by no means so pleasant, with a heavy swell like this, running at nineteen knots an hour in the middle of the wide Atlantic. How’s her head, boy?”
“North by south it is, sir,” replied the steersman.
“Keep her seven points more to the west, you lubber! Always get an offing when there’s a wet sheet and a flowing sea. That’s right, Jem! Hold her hard abaft, and she’ll go slick before the wind, like a hot knife through a pound of butter. Halloo, Master Tom, are you holding on by the seat-railings already――you a’n’t sick, are you? Shall I tell the steward to fetch a basin?”
“No, no, Josh,” I replied, “’tis nothing――merely a temporary qualm. But tell me――do you really apprehend any danger? If so, would it not be prudent to call up the commodore, and hang out the dead-lights?”
“Why, Master Tom,” replied the bos’un, turning his quid, “them ere’s kevestions as I can’t answer. ’Cos, first――there’s no knowing what danger is till it comes; secondly, it’s as much as my place is worth to disturb old Fire-and-Faggots――axing your pardon for the liberty――afore he’s finished his grog with the mates below; and, thirdly, it’s no use hanging out the dead-lights, ’cos we’re entirely out of oil.”
“Gracious heavens!” cried I, “and suppose any other ship should be in the same latitude?”
“Then,” said the bos’un with all imaginable coolness, “I reckon it would be a case of bump. Oak varsus teak, as the law-wers say, and Davy Jones take the weakest.――But hitch my trousers! what’s that?”
As the non-commissioned officer spoke, a bright flash was seen to the seaward immediately ahead of our vessel. It was too bright, too intense to proceed from any meteoric phenomena, such as sometimes are witnessed in those tropical climate, and the sullen report which immediately followed, indicated too clearly that it proceeded from some vessel in the vicinity.
“A first-rater, by jingo!” said Mr. Junk, “and in distress. Hold my telescope, Master Tom, till I go below and turn out the watch,”――――but that instant his course was arrested.
Scarce a second had elapsed after the sound of the discharge reverberated through our rigging, when, only a hawser’s distance from our bowsprit, a phosphoric light seemed to rise from the bosom of the shadowy deep. It hung upon the hull, the binnacle, the masts, the yards of a prodigious ship, pierced apparently for three tier of guns, which, with every sail set, bore down direct upon us. One moment more and collision was inevitable; but Junk, with prodigious presence of mind, sprang to the helm, snatched the wheel from the hands of the petrified steersman, and luffed with almost supernatural force. Like a well-trained courser who obeys the rein, our noble ship instantly yielded to the impulse, and bore up a-lee, whilst the stranger came hissing up, and shot past us so close that I could distinctly mark each lineament of the pale countenances of the crew as they stood clustered upon the rigging, and even read――so powerful was that strange, mysterious light――the words painted within her sides,――“THOSE WHO GO ABAFT THE BINNACLE PAY CABIN FARE!” On, on she drove――a lambent coruscation, cleaving the black billows of the Atlantic main, about to vanish amidst the deep darkness of the night.
“That was a near shave, anyhow,” said Mr. Junk, relinquishing the wheel, “but we must know something more of that saucy clipper,” and catching up a speaking trumpet, he hailed,――
“Ship ahoy!”
“Ship yourself!” was the response.
“What’s your name?”
“What’s yours!”
“Syncope――Britannic Majesty’s seventy-nine――for Trinidad.”
“Yung Fraw――merchant ship, for Rotterdam.”
“What cargo?”
“Soap!” was the reply. “How are YOU off for it? Ha! ha! ha!”
A peal of diabolic laughter rolled across the deep, mingled with the rushing of the waves and the whistling of the winds. Another flash――another report――and the meteor light sunk as noiselessly as it had arisen into the bosom of the watery surge. At that moment the moon burst out from behind a cloud, clear and queenlike, illuminating the ocean for miles. We rushed to the stern and looked back. In vain! no vestige of a ship was there――we were alone upon the warring waters!
“By the Lord Harry!” said the bos’un, dropping the trumpet――“as sure as my name’s Josh Junk, that ’ere was the FLYING DUTCHMAN!” - - - - -
That night we were SWAMPED AT SEA!
――――:o:――――
OUR NEW ACTORS.
Three imitations of Charles Lamb’s essay on “_Some of our Old Actors_” were published in a Parody Competition in _The World_, October, 15, 1879. The first prize was awarded to the following:――
Taking up a to-days _Standard_――I know not by what freak of fancy I came to purchase one――I glanced at a few of the theatrical advertisements, which occupy no inconsiderable space in its columns. One of these presented the cast of parts in the _Iron Chest_ at the Lyceum Theatre――Sir Edward Mortimer, by Henry Irving. What an ambitious sound it has! How clearly it brings before me the comely sad face――thoughtful and therefore sad――and the almost painfully-intense manner of the modern actor!
Of all the ‘Sir Edwards’ who have flourished in my time――a dismal phrase if taken aright, reader――that mad genius, the great little man with the fine Italian face and flashing eyes, Edmund Kean, is the most unforgetable. That of Irving comes next. He, since Kean, most fully realises the author’s idea of the style of man best suited to fill the part――‘a man of sable hue, and one in whose soul there’s something o’er which his melancholy sits and broods.’ But the secret of Irving’s success lies in his fine annihilation of self――a rare quality among players――combined with an originality which triumphs over tradition. There is a marked naturalness about his acting of this character, bottomed on enthusiasm. Like genius, he seems at times to have the power of kindling his own fire into any degree of intensity.
Kean, of whom Mrs. Siddons said, ‘There is too little of him to do anything;’ but of whom his landlady said, ‘There is something about Mr. Kean, ma’am, that tells me he will be a great man;’ Kean, whose exclamation, ‘My God, if I should succeed now, I think it will drive me mad!’ was prophetic, and who, _when_ successful, cried, ‘D―― Lord Essex, Mary; the pit rose at me!’――Kean tore the passion of the play to tatters.
Irving’s recenter style does not go to work so grossly. Seemingly convinced of the facts that whatever is done for effect will be seen to be done for effect, and that Nature for ever puts a premium on reality, he interests, as all may, by being persistently and intensely human. There is a consonancy, so to speak, which the green probationer in tragedy spoils by failing to exercise that repression which is an index of power.
In Hamlet, Mathias, in the remorseful rant of Eugene Aram, and the rest, Irving has proved himself histrionic to a degree that will always command intelligent recognition.
All have seen Sothern! What a Dundreary the world has in him! What witty conceits that pleasant creature has to trifle an hour or two away!――he whose ineffable fooling, if done by another, would partake of the essentially ludicrous. Then there is my beloved Toole, whose quirks never left a sting, who drolls inimitably, and whose quality is so irresistible that like a sunbeam, he exists but to cheer――a touching function, reader. My beloved Toole is, in his walk, in no way inferior.
Shakespeare foresaw the existence of Miss Ellen Terry when he created Portia, as Sir Walter might that of Miss Neilson when he spake in _Kenilworth_.
There are who say that Barry Sullivan is the leading legitimate actor of the British stage――a big distinction, which few will, perhaps, be disposed to deny him. But the difference between Sullivan and Irving is, I take it, this: Sullivan has the _toga virilis_, and the old and obvious canons of his art; Irving is an actor less by tradition than instinct. Sullivan’s rich baritone, with its harmonious and not-without-skill-delivered periods, stirs the whole house like the sound of a trumpet: Irving’s shriller pipe is fuller of Nature’s own rhetoric for a finer few. Sullivan may fill the theatre; Irving may find an empty seat or two in the gallery.
CYRIL. (_James Silvester._)
[Illustration]
LORD MACAULAY.
_The Quarterly Review_, for April 1868, contained a review of Lady Trevelyan’s edition of the works of Lord Macaulay, in which the following passage was quoted as a specimen of his style:――
“The misgovernment of Charles and James, gross as it had been, had not prevented the common business of life from going steadily and prosperously on. While the honour and independence of the State were sold to a foreign Power, while chartered rights were invaded, while fundamental laws were violated, hundreds of thousands of quiet, honest, and industrious families laboured and traded, ate their meals and lay down to rest, in comfort and security. Whether Whig or Tories, Protestants or Jesuits were uppermost, the grazier drove his beasts to market; the grocer weighed out his currants; the draper measured out his broadcloth; the hum of buyers and sellers was as loud as ever in the towns; the harvest-home was celebrated as joyously as ever in the hamlets; the cream overflowed the pails of Cheshire; the apple juice foamed in the presses of Herefordshire; the piles of crockery glowed in the furnaces of the Trent; and the barrows of coal rolled fast along the timber railways of the Tyne.”――(Vol. iv. p. 189.)
There is no reason why this rhetorical diarrhœa should ever stop so long as there was a trade, calling, or occupation to be particularised: the pith of the proposition (which required no proof) being contained in the first sentence. Why not continue thus:――
“The apothecary vended his drugs as usual; the poulterer crammed his turkeys; the fishmonger skinned his eels: the wine-merchant adulterated his port; as many hot-cross buns as ever were eaten on Good Friday, as many pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, as many Christmas-pies on Christmas-day; on area steps the domestic drudge took in her daily pennyworth of the chalky mixture which Londoners call milk; through area bars the feline tribe, vigilant as ever, watched the arrival of the cats’-meat man; the painted courtesan flaunted in the Haymarket; the cabs rattled through the Strand; and from the suburban regions of Fulham and Putney the cart of the market-gardener wended its slow and midnight way along Piccadilly to deposit its load of cabbages and turnips in Covent Garden.”
――――:o:――――
A PAGE BY MACAULAY. (_From the History of the Beadleship of Brown._)
When Brown grasped the staff of office, he was in need of the staff of life. Raised at once from want to wealth, from obscurity to renown, from the practice of submission to the habit of command, he did his work sternly; but not too sternly to do it well. The unexpectedly chosen Beadle became a correspondingly energetic Beadle. The new broom swept clean. A week had not passed ere abuses were remedied――the indolence of one portion of the parish officers pricked into
## action――the disaffection of another crushed into obedience. A
benevolent despotism is the best form of government――Brown was despotic, benevolent, and a Beadle.
Let us review the state of affairs as they existed when he first assumed the cocked hat of office as Beadle of St. Tomkins. Apple-women usurped the pavement. Piemen obstructed the roadway. Professed beggars demanded alms at every door――impostors exhibited artificial sores at every corner. What the parish of St. Giles is to the parish of St. James, the parish of St. Tomkins was to the parish of St. Giles. Nuisances of another nature throve also and waxed great from day to day. The pew opener grumbled; the turncock muttered to himself; the churchwardens squabbled, and the rate-payers complained. There was murmured disaffection in the vestry――open revolt amongst the charity boys. It was a time of mutual recrimination――of mutual dissatisfaction. Jones abused Smith, Smith retorted upon Jones. Robinson hated Thomson, Thomson repaid the compliment with interest to Robinson. There was an unruly license of tongue, a general saturnalia of speech. Whispered scandals grew into outspoken charges, and the malicious reports hatched from the tea and muffins of old maidish parties were repeated with envenomed aggravations over the port and sherry of parish dinners. Then it was that short weights were publicly attributed to Smith, and a false steelyard confidently asserted to belong to Jones. Johnson, heated with gin, said that Jackson beat his wife――Jackson, inflamed with rum, said that Mrs. Johnson beat her husband. Charges, counter-charges, insinuations, inuendos, ran riot. No man looked with complacency on his neighbour; no husband looked with confidence upon his wife; no wife looked with respect upon her husband. As yet the band of Reformers who were shortly to arise was unheard of. Thomas Styles was but sixteen; John Nookes but thirteen-and-a-half. The pen of the great Smythe Smithers was yet employed upon half text. No word indicating his future destiny had fallen from Tomkin’s lips――Gubbins had not yet been born――Snooks was in long clothes――and Trother yet unemancipated from parish leathers.
On Brown then it alone devolved to grapple with the task. He was the dauntless pioneer of a dauntless army, a champion destined to show the world that the glitter of a Beadle’s staff may outshine the splendours of a Marichall’s baton, if it did not dim the magnificence of a Monarch’s sceptre.
From _The Man in the Moon_, edited by Angus B. Reach. February, 1849.
――――:o:――――
A BIT OF _WHIG_ HIS-_TORY_. (_From what we “Macaulay” History of our own._)
The King had been thrown from his horse at Hampton Court, and was dead. Great were the rejoicings in Paris and Rome on receipt of the tidings, and the hopes of the Jacobite party rose; however, the accession of the second daughter of the last Stuart monarch to the throne as Anna Regina once more clouded their prospects. Her Court, adorned by Marlborough (who did not sell his pictures), Bolingbroke and Swift, would have been as nothing without the genius of one whose name does not figure in the accepted histories of that reign, but whose influence at Court not even the imperious Sarah Jennings, nor her rival, Lady Masham, nor any of the Whigs or Tories of that distracted period, could afford to ignore. A peaceful citizen, whose Hair Preparations gave that graceful brilliancy and tone to the brown hair of the Sovereign, and whose marvellously manufactured Wigs adorned the heads of the noblest in the land, was not one to be lightly passed by, and thus it was Professor Browne was the ruling spirit at the Court of Queen Anne. No Wigs could equal his in form, graceful folds, and luxuriant masses of hair; they covered the heads of the wisest and best in the land, so that it was no wonder the Professor, who had long studied the heads of the people, was universally consulted on all matters of such vital importance. Unfortunately, however, Prince Eugene of Savoy, who at this time came over on a secret mission from the Emperor to the Queen, foolishly declined to pay a visit to Fenchurch Street, and procured from some opposition hairdresser a short campaigning Wig in which to appear at Court. The same evening, the Prince, smoking his cigar at his hotel, happened to be trying on this new head gear when the Hanoverian Minister, Baron Hoffman, called, and seeing that neither in style, make, nor effect was it equal to BROWNE’S, endeavoured to induce the Prince, but in vain, to discard it and patronize F. B. Bye and bye Bolingbroke, who had a secret partiality for the Jacobites, and mistrusted the Prince’s mission, arrived, and affected such admiration for the periwig that the Prince actually did wear it the next day in the throne-room, to the horror of the Lord Chamberlain and Gentlemen Ushers, while the crafty Bolingbroke took care himself to appear in one of BROWNE’S most artistic and luxuriant head-coverings that could possibly be procured; the result being a perfect triumph for the Professor. The Queen expressed high disapproval of the Prince’s Wig, whose mission thereby failed, and once again the hopes of the Jacobites fluttered. At length the wily Bolingbroke was dismissed from Office, and Her Majesty, who had secured the succession to the Crown of the son of her cousin Sophia, ordered that Professor BROWNE, should henceforth be appointed Wig Maker in ordinary to the British Public.
From _Professor Browne’s Almanack_, 1885.
――――:o:――――
THE NEXT ARMADA.
_A Brief Chapter from the History of Macaulay Junior._
* * * * *
In the City the agitation was fearful. None could doubt that the decisive crisis was approaching. It was known, from the second edition of the _Times_, that the joint Armada, carrying everything before it, was continuing its victorious progress up the Channel. Plymouth had fallen without firing a shot. Portsmouth had speedily followed suit. The former had found itself, at the eleventh hour, unprovided with a single gun. The latter, at the crucial moment, discovered that it was still waiting the arrival of its ammunition. When these facts, mysteriously whispered at first with bated breath, became, later in the day, authenticated by the appearance of succeeding editions of the morning papers, the public excitement knew no bounds. A hideous panic seized the Stock Exchange. “Goschens” went down to sixty at a single leap. Five well-known Stockbrokers went off their heads, and were removed in cabs by the police in violent hysterics. The Lord Mayor appeared on the steps of the Mansion House, and endeavoured to quell the riot. He was at once recognised by the mob, and pelted with Pass-Books.
But things assumed a most threatening aspect at the Admiralty. A vast multitude had assembled at Whitehall, and rendered Parliament Street impassable. There was an angry howl at the “Board.” The Police took the precautionary measure of closing the gates. The First Lord appeared inside the enclosure, and his presence was the signal for an ominous roar. He was deathly pale and trembling, but he managed to scramble up the balustrade, and gazed feebly down on the raving thousands below. He was understood to say that when next Parliament met it would be asked to appoint another Committee to inquire into the naval administration of the country. His speech was cut short by execrations, and he hastily withdrew. Ten minutes later it was understood that he had escaped by the back way over the palings into the Park, and was hiding himself from the fury of the mob in an unfrequented slum in Pimlico.
But while these events were transpiring in the Metropolis of the Empire, still graver issues were being arrived at on that “silver streak,” which, up to now, had popularly, but erroneously, been regarded as its sure defence. What had been left of the British Channel Fleet after its first disastrous encounter with the joint Armada off the Lizard had rallied, and was now awaiting the attack of the again on-pressing and advancing enemy, in what promised to be a decisive encounter for the possession of the Mouth of the Thames, in the immediate neighbourhood of Herne Bay. The Admiral, in his hasty retreat, had collected about the shattered remnant of his forces some auxiliary adjuncts. He had been joined by Her Majesty’s ironclads, _Styx_ and _Megatherium_, and by the belted cruiser, _Daffodil_; but owing to the fact that these vessels, not possessing any guns, had had to put to sea without their armaments, the recent arrivals could scarcely be counted on by him as an addition to his fighting power in any pending action. Nor was he sure of his own ship. Her Majesty’s ironclad _Blunderer_, which carried his flag, was armed with four of the famous 43-ton Collingwood exploding guns, and though hard pressed in the recent engagement, he had not thought it wise to give the order to “fire.”
Such was the position of the British Admiral at the commencement of that fatal afternoon which saw the last blow struck for the preservation of the Empire. The fight commenced by a general attack of the enemy. But it did not last long. In a very few minutes seven of the British ironclads, including that of the Admiral, were blown up by the explosion of their own guns. The rest found that they were supplied with the wrong-sized ammunition, and were rapidly put _hors de combat_. Within a quarter of an hour of the firing of the first shot the action was over, and the last remnant of the British Fleet had practically disappeared. That evening the advance despatch boats of the joint Armada anchored off Gravesend, and 120,000 men were landed on the Kentish coast between Margate and Whitstable.
When the news of the disaster appeared in the evening papers, the panic, which had been gathering strength as the day progressed, culminated in fever-heat. Everybody was in the streets asking, with staring eyeballs, for the latest news.
Gradually it became known that 75,000 of the enemy were advancing on the capital by way of Aldershot, and that the General in command at the camp, who had 1,371 men of all arms under him, all told, had received orders to oppose them, and this announcement seemed to restore in some measure the public confidence.
Meanwhile a quite phenomenal activity prevailed at the War Office, and the horses of the General Omnibus Company were at once requisitioned for the service of the Royal Artillery. The Duke of Cambridge, on hearing of the catastrophe, had applied to the Authorities instantly for the 11,000 men he had recently insisted on. With that force, he said, even at the eleventh hour, he would guarantee the safety of the country. Mr. Whitely forthwith undertook to furnish them within twenty-four hours. His offer was accepted with enthusiasm. It was known too that Lord Wolseley had already started with a miscellaneous force of Volunteers, Guards, and Policemen, hurriedly collected, for Sydenham, with the intention of taking up a defensive position among the antideluvian animals, and there waiting the course of events.
The Authorities were fairly on their mettle. They instantly supplied three Volunteer regiments with rifles of an obsolete and antiquated pattern. Nor was this all. They telegraphed to Woolwich to expedite the selection of a model for the new magazine rifle, and marked their communication “urgent.” Matters, meanwhile, at headquarters were not less vigorously pushed forward. Inquiries were made for Mr. Stanhope’s plan of “defending the Thames.” Every pigeon-hole was examined, but it could not be found. Still, the Department did not despair. They despatched a third-class War Office clerk to Greenwich to report on the situation and say what he thought of it.
When, however, it transpired the next morning that, spite all the efforts to stay their advance, 50,000 of the enemy had taken possession of the Bank of England, seized the Lord Mayor and Aldermen as hostages, and were prepared to treat with the Government, with a view to evacuation, on the cession of Margate, Canada, India, Gibraltar, Malta, Australia, and Madame Tussaud’s Wax-work Collection, together with a preliminary payment of fifteen milliards. Englishmen began soberly to recognise that what they had so long regarded as an impossible vision had really come about, and that the “Next Armada” was an unhappily accomplished fact.
_Punch._ May 19, 1888.
――――:o:――――
THE AGE OF LAWN-TENNIS. (_After Macaulay’s “History of England”_) 1880-81.
## CHAPTER LV.
“But while these stirring events were passing in the East, the mind of England was turned into a very different channel. No faithful historian could pass over this period without touching upon a pastime which was now taking a remarkable hold upon the nation, and pervading with its influence the upper and middle classes of British society.
“Rackets, and the old French game of Tennis, had long been popular with the English youth; but by those who had left the public schools and universities they were generally unattainable. It was left for Major Wingfield, the scion of a Shropshire family, to bring home, I may almost say to every door, a game which, little inferior to the classic games which I have just mentioned, was open, without the paraphernalia of a costly court, to every one at least who possessed a moderate-sized and level lawn. Lawn-Tennis was now rapidly elbowing out Archery, a thoroughly English and deep-rooted institution, and Croquet, its younger sister. Cricket was losing many of its most earnest devotees. In some parts of England there was an almost daily _rendezvous_ at one or other of the great houses of the neighbourhood for the new and popular pastime. In country circles, tournaments were rousing the keenest excitement. Society was being differentiated into the good players and the bad. Crowds flocked annually to Wimbledon to watch the great match for the Championship of the world, to which a silver goblet had been added by _The Country Gentleman’s Newspaper_. Masters of hounds deferred cub-hunting that the Lawn Tennis season might be still further prolonged. A game of Lawn-Tennis was not unfrequently the innocent finish of the Ruridecanal meetings of the clergy. “Will he make a fourth?” was the first question to be asked about the new curate in many a country parish. All-popular among the public schools was Harrow-on-the-Hill, which had now furnished the Lawn-Tennis Champion for four consecutive years. Politics were laid aside in the public press while the rules of the game were discussed. On one side were ranged the net-volleyers: on the other those who thought that net-volleying spoilt all the beauty and elegance of the game. Never, by this latter party, since the time of Guy Fawkes, had man been so intensely hated as he who, standing close to the net with uplifted racket, stifled stroke after stroke as they came to meet him. We shall not enter very fully into the merits of this controversy; to do so would be dull, and possibly, to future generations, unintelligible. It is sufficient to say that while the skilled players defied “the man at the net” to do his worst, another and a larger party, looking, be it supposed, to the greatest happiness of the greatest number, was clamouring for such Lawn-Tennis legislation as would degrade the game to the capabilities of mediocrity, and drive the odious net-player from the courts. So numerous were the grades of dexterity that a leader in the Tennis world, and an author of some repute, had formulated a handicap table by which players of as many degrees as the letters of the alphabet might be brought together on even terms; while Henry Jones, the “Cavendish” of the whist-table, and other mathematicians, had worked out to several places of decimals the advantages of service. * * * * Such was the state of things which was distracting the mind of England while the fleets of Europe patrolled the Mediterranean, and peace and war were trembling in the balance.”
From _Tennis Cuts and Quips_. Edited by Julian Marshall. London, Field and Tuer.
There are numerous other imitations of Lord Macaulay’s prose writings. One, written by the late Dean Hook, is to be found in his “Life and Letters” by W. R. W. Stephens (vol ii., p. 476), it relates only to ecclesiastical affairs.
Another, entitled _The Story of Johnnie Armstrong_, the Scotch outlaw, appeared in the Newcastle Weekly Chronicle, September 22, 1888. It was a prize composition of considerable merit, written by Mr. J. T. Milne, but it is unfortunately too long to be here inserted.
[Illustration]
MRS. BROWN AT CAMBRIDGE. _By Arthur Sketchey._
Of all the railroads as I ever came across that Great’rn is out and out the worst, thro’ bein’ that tejus slow and the carridges a mask of dirt as you might grow cabbidges on, as the sayin’ is, and took all the freshness out of my light blue pollynaise, as I’d thought the kerrect thing at Cambridge, thro’ Mrs. Burgess a-wearin’ the same at the Boat-race, and some young Cambridge gents a-sayin’ “Mum, you’ve ’it the right colour this time and no mistake,” as pleased ’er no end, tho’ all the time larfin’ at ’er, I’ve no doubt, thro’ bein’ a orkard figger from a child and not one to look well in a Joseph’s coat of many colours, as the sayin’ is.
’Ow ever I met Mrs. Vagg on that everlastin’ endless platform I don’t know, but I says to ’er, “a pint of four ale I must ’ave,” as I saw a refreshmint bar ’andy, but of all the stuck-up trollopin’ things that barmaid was the most orful, as ’ad dressed ’er ’air within a hinch of ’er life, as the sayin’ is, in four false plaits, and three young men a-hoglin’ of ’er across the slab, as might ’ave known better, and took cheek from that gal, as I’d ’ave paid ’er back, and let ’er know ’er place.
I never wish to swaller a better cup of tea than Mrs. Vagg gave me that evenin’ thro’ ’er bein’ a Bed-maker and in course tea a perkisite, and is only fair with ’er maid-of-all-work to seven gentlemen and board and lodge ’erself, not but what ’er house wasn’t very nice, as bein’ in Regint Street with Wictor Emmanivel’s Collidge opposight, for all the world like Clerkenwell jail, with bars to the winders and all, mayhap thro’ fear of burglars a-breakin’ in, and a-carryin’ off the Uniwersity chest, as I’m told would only be poor pickins, and not worth the trouble.
Whether it was that cup of tea, or whether it was talkin’ over old times with Mrs. Vagg, as ’ad been in service with me as a gal, but nine o’clock struck and took me all of a ’eap, thro’ ’avin’ promised Brown as I’d send ’im a ’a-penny card just to say I was all right. So I says “What time do the Post go out?”
“Ten o’clock,” says she, “but you’re never goin’ out there to-night, and a Town and Gown row on too, as is what no decent woman would face.”
“Beggin’ your parding, mum,” says I, “their aint no Town nor Gown neither as shall stand in the way of my duty to my lawful ’usband.”
So seen’ I was in earnest, she ’eld ’er tongue, and ’elped me on with my shawl, and says “Turn to the left and foller your nose, and that’ll bring you straight to the Post Office.”
Well up the hairy steps I went, thro’ ’er a-occypying the ground floor, and a-lettin’ the first, and the very first thing as I sees were a roamin’ candle goin’ off on Parky Peace as they call it, tho’ a poorish Park to me as knows Grinnidge, and as for Peace, it’s a-callin’ peace where there’s no peace, thro’ bein’ a mask of folk all a-’ustling and a-jeerin’, and a-lettin’ off fireworks, as is things I don’t ’old with, thro’ John Biggen as was my first cousin on the mother’s side bein’ blinded with a rocket at Vaux ’all, as were a piece of luck for Mrs. Biggin, as no one would ’ave married with ’is eyes open thro’ ’er face bein’ a puffect cullender from the smallpox.
What the rumpus was all about I don’t know, but the streets was full of young men as would ’ave been better in their beds, some on ’em a-walkin’ two and two and a-smokin’ pipes, and some jinin’ arms, and marchin’ up the streets singin’ for all the world like as if they was tipsy, and the pavemint that narrer as I was shoved off the kerb, and into a gutter, as was a foot deep and wetted me up to my knees, and clean spilte a new petticut, as such things should’nt be allowed in the public streets,――and where’s their Board of ’Ealth?
There was two young fellers a-walkin’ be’ind me, and says one, a-larfin’, and a-pintin’, “That’s a good make up,” meanin’ me, as turned round sharp on ’im, and told ’im to mind ’is own business and not talk about makin’ up to me as were old enough to be ’is mother, let alone ’avin’ twice ’is wits, as were not much better than a fool, and looked only three days in the week, as the sayin’ is. But law bless you, my lord only larfed, and just then I saw a great rampagious mob a-tearin’ up the street as looked the scum of the earth, and gave me that turn as I thought swound away I must, and ketched ’old of ’is arm, and says, “’Elp a lady in distress, and conduc me past them willains.”
Says he, a-takin’ off ’is ’at quite perlite, “With pleasure, mum,” and off he walked with me a-’angin’ on to ’is arm, and my ’eart a-thumpin’ with pannikin’ fear as might ’ave been ’eard ’arf a mile away.
Well I was just a-slippin’ my ’a-penny card into the Post, when up comes an elderly gent a-stridin’ along and a-lookin’ very big, with a gownd a-trailin’ in the mud, and the banns of marridge round ’is neck for all the world like a parson, as no doubt was, and says to the young gent, “Which I must trouble you for six and eightpence for not a-wearin’ of your hacademic dress,” and pulls out a sort of bettin’-book for to enter ’is name and Collidge.
Says the young gent, quite cool and brazen-like, “Excuse me, sir, but I was a-escortin’ of my mother ’ome, and didn’t put on my gownd for fear of the cads.”
This put my blood up, as never could abear anything deceitful or under’and, and I lets go of ’im, and says, “You hartful young ’ypocrate, and me never ’avin’ set my eyes on you before this evenin’, as must ’ave took ’im aback like and serve ’im right, but he didn’t wait for no more, but ran off like a harrer from a bow, as the sayin’ is, and the old chap sets a long legged feller to run after ’im, as I ’ope didn’t ketch ’im, thro’ bein’ a kind-’earted young man spite of ’is owdacious fibbin’.”
By this time there was a reglar Punch and Judy crowd round us, but I grabbed tight on to my umbreller, and thinks I “’it me any of you who dare,” when the elderly gent says, “If so be as you’re a decent woman, you’ll go ’ome.”
Says I, “who says as Martha Brown aint a decent woman, you old waggerbone! I aint a goin’ to stand ’ere to be hinsulted,” and was bouncin’ off feelin’ quite ’urt like, and the crowd a cheerin’ and a sayin’, “Go it, old Fatchops,” when if that old fool didn’t take and say as it were ’is duty to see me ’ome.
Says I, “Thank you for nothin’, as would prefer you did no such thing, thro’ me not bein known ’ere and people might make remarks,” but, law bless you, words wasn’t no good with ’im, as walked along side of me all the way with the crowd a-follerin’ and a-hollerin’ and a-pokin’ their fun at ’im and me.
Right glad I was to stand on Mrs. Vagg’s door-step, and fainted clean away as soon as hever I got down to the kitchen, and you don’t ketch me a-goin’ down that street after dark again, and, tho’ boys will be boys, yet I don’t ’old with all their squibbin’ and fibbin’, nor yet with helderly gents as is paid to hinsult respectable fieldmales, as I wish my ’usband ’ad been there, as would ’ave broke hevery bone in ’is skin and serve ’im right.
From _The Light Green_. Cambridge, W. Metcalfe and Sons, 1873.
[Illustration]
BENJAMIN DISRAELI, Lord Beaconsfield.
It must be confessed that the burlesques of the novels of Disraeli are not, as a rule, very amusing, but there is one brilliant exception, namely, that written by Bret Harte.
It is entitled “_Lothaw_, or the Adventures of a Young Gentleman in Search of a Religion,” by Mr. Benjamins. This was first printed in England by the late Mr. J. C. Hotten in 1871. It consists of nine short chapters.
LOTHAW.
_Chapter_ I.
“I remember him a little boy,” said the Duchess. “His mother was a dear friend of mine: you know, she was one of my bridesmaids.”
“And you have never seen him since, mamma?” asked the oldest married daughter, who did not look a day older than her mother.
“Never; he was an orphan shortly after. I have often reproached myself, but it is so difficult to see boys.”
This simple yet first-class conversation existed in the morning-room of Plusham, where the mistress of the palatial mansion sat involved in the sacred privacy of a circle of her married daughters.
One dexterously applied golden knitting-needles to the fabrication of a purse of floss silk of the rarest texture, which none who knew the almost fabulous wealth of the Duke would believe was ever destined to hold in its silken meshes a less sum than £1,000,000 sterling; another adorned a slipper exclusively with seed pearls; a third emblazoned a page with rare pigments and the finest quality of gold-leaf.
Beautiful forms leaned over frames glowing with embroidery, and beautiful frames leaned over forms inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Others, more remote, occasionally burst into melody as they tried the passages of a new and exclusive air given to them in MS. by some titled and devoted friend, for the private use of the aristocracy alone, and absolutely prohibited for publication.
The Duchess, herself the superlative of beauty, wealth, and position, was married to the highest noble in the Three Kingdoms.
Those who talked about such matters said that their progeny were exactly like their parents――a peculiarity of the aristocratic and wealthy.
They all looked like brothers and sisters, except their parents, who, such was their purity of blood, the perfection of their manners, and the opulence of their condition, might have been taken for their own children’s elder son and daughter.
The daughters, with one exception, were all married to the highest nobles in the land.
That exception was the Lady Coriander, who――there being no vacancy above a marquis and a rental of £1,000,000――waited.
Gathered around the refined and sacred circle of their breakfast-table, with their glittering coronets, which, in filial respect to their father’s Tory instinct and their mother’s Ritualistic tastes, they always wore on their regal brows, the effect was dazzling as it was refined.
It was this peculiarity and their strong family resemblance which led their brother-in-law, the good-humoured St. Addlegourd, to say that, “’Pon my soul, you know, the whole precious mob looked like a ghastly pack of court cards――don’t you know?”
St. Addlegourd was a radical.
Having a rent-roll of £15,000,000, and belonging to one of the oldest families in Britain, he could afford to be.
“Mamma, I’ve just dropped a pearl,” said the Lady Coriander, bending over the Persian hearth-rug.
“From your lips, sweet friend,” said Lothaw, who came of age and entered the room at the same moment.
“No, from my work. It was a very valuable pearl, mamma; papa gave Isaacs and Sons £50,000 for the two.”
“Ah, indeed,” said the Duchess, languidly rising; “let us go to luncheon.”
“But your Grace,” interposed Lothaw, who was still quite young, and had dropped on all-fours on the carpet in search of the missing gem, “consider the value――――”
“Dear friend,” interposed the Duchess, with infinite tact, gently lifting him by the tails of his dress-coat, “I am waiting for your arm.”
_Chapter_ II.
Lothaw was immensely rich.
The possessor of seventeen castles, fifteen villas, nine shooting-boxes, and seven town houses, he had other estates of which he had not even heard.
Everybody at Plusham played croquet, and none badly.
Next to their purity of blood and great wealth, the family were famous for this accomplishment.
Yet Lothaw soon tired of the game, and after seriously damaging his aristocratically large foot in an attempt to “tight croquet” the Lady Aniseed’s ball, he limped away to join the Duchess.
“I’m going to the hennery,” she said.
“Let me go with you. I dearly love fowls―――― … broiled,” he added, thoughtfully.
“The Duke gave Lady Montairy some large Cochins the other day,” continued the Duchess, changing the subject with delicate tact.
“Lady Montairy, Quite contrairy, How do your cochins grow?”
sang Lothaw gaily.
The Duchess looked shocked. After a prolonged silence, Lothaw abruptly and gravely said――
“If you please, ma’am, when I come into my property I should like to build some improved dwellings for the poor, and marry Lady Coriander.”
“You amaze me, dear friend, and yet both your aspirations are noble and eminently proper,” said the Duchess; “Coriander is but a child――and yet,” she added, looking graciously upon her companion, “for the matter of that, so are you.”
_Chapter_ III.
Mr. Putney Padwick’s was Lothaw’s first grand dinner-party.
Yet, by carefully watching the others, he managed to acquit himself creditably, and avoided drinking out of the finger-bowl by first secretly testing its contents with a spoon.
The conversation was peculiar, and singularly interesting.
“Then you think that monogamy is simply a question of the thermometer?” said Mrs. Putney Padwick to her companion.
“I certainly think that polygamy should be limited by isothermal lines,” replied Lothaw.
“I should say it was a matter of latitude,” observed a loud, talkative man opposite.
He was an Oxford Professor, with a taste for satire, and had made himself very obnoxious to the company, during dinner, by speaking disparagingly of a former well-known Chancellor of the Exchequer――a great statesman, and brilliant novelist,――whom he feared and hated.
Suddenly there was a sensation in the room; among the females it absolutely amounted to a nervous thrill.
His Eminence, the Cardinal, was announced.
He entered with great suavity of manner, and after shaking hands with everybody, asking after their relatives, and chucking the more delicate females under the chin with a high-bred grace peculiar to his profession, he sat down, saying――
“And how do we all find ourselves this evening, my dears?” in several different languages, which he spoke fluently.
Lothaw’s heart was touched.
His deeply religious convictions were impressed.
He instantly went up to this gifted being, confessed, and received absolution.
“To-morrow,” he said to himself, “I will partake of the Communion, and endow the Church with my vast estates. For the present I’ll let the improved cottages go.”
* * * * *
_Novels by Eminent Hands_, a series of burlesques upon the works of Bulwer Lytton, Harry Lorrequer, G. P. R. James, and B. Disraeli, which first appeared in _Punch_ were written by W. M. Thackeray. That upon Disraeli came out in 1847, it commenced thus:――
CODLINGSBY. _By B. De Shrewsbury._
The noise in the old town was terrific; Great Tom was booming sullenly over the uproar; the bell of Saint Mary’s was clanging with alarm; St. Giles’s tocsin chimed furiously; howls, curses, flights of brickbats, stones shivering windows, groans of wounded men, cries of frightened females, cheers of either contending party as it charged the enemy from Carfax to Trumpington Street, proclaimed that the battle was at its height.
In Berlin they would have said it was a revolution, and the cuirassiers would have been charging, sabre in hand, amidst that infuriate mob. In France they would have brought down artillery, and played on it with twenty-four-pounders. In Cambridge nobody heeded the disturbance――it was a Town and Gown row.
The row arose at a boat-race. The Town boat (manned by eight stout bargees, with the redoubted Rullock for stroke) had bumped the Brazennose light oar, usually at the head of the river. High words arose regarding the dispute. After returning from Granchester, when the boats pulled back to Christchurch meadows, the disturbance between the Townsmen and the University youths――their invariable opponents――grew louder and more violent, until it broke out in open battle. Sparring and skirmishing took place along the pleasant fields that lead from the University gate down to the broad and shining waters of the Cam, and under the walls of Baliol and Sidney Sussex. The Duke of Bellamont (then a dashing young sizar at Exeter) had a couple of rounds with Billy Butt, the bow oar of the Bargee boat. Vavasour of Brazennose was engaged with a powerful butcher, a well-known champion of the Town party, when, the great University bells ringing to dinner, truce was called between the combatants, and they retired to their several colleges for refection.
During the boat-race, a gentleman pulling in a canoe, and smoking a Nargilly, had attracted no ordinary attention. He rowed about a hundred yards ahead of the boats in the race, so that he could have a good view of that curious pastime. If the eight-oars neared him, with a few rapid strokes of his flashing paddles his boat shot a furlong ahead; then he would wait, surveying the race, and sending up volumes of odour from his cool Nargilly.
“Who is he?” asked the crowds who panted along the shore, encouraging, according to Cambridge wont, the efforts of the oarsmen in the race. Town and Gown, alike asked who it was, who, with an ease so provoking, in a barque so singular, with a form seemingly so slight, but a skill so prodigious, beat their best men. No answer could be given to the query, save that a gentleman in a dark travelling-chariot, preceded by six fourgons and a courier, had arrived the day before at the Hoop Inn, opposite Brazennose, and that the stranger of the canoe seemed to be the individual in question.
No wonder the boat, that all admired so, could compete with any that ever was wrought by Cambridge artificer or Putney workmen. That boat――slim, shining, and shooting through the water like a pike after a small fish――was a caique from Tophana; it had distanced the Sultan’s oarsmen, and the best crews of the Capitan Pasha in the Bosphorus; it was the workmanship of Togrul-Beg, Caikjee Bashee of his Highness. The Bashee had refused fifty thousand tomauns from Count Boutenieff, the Russian Ambassador, for that little marvel. When his head was taken off, the Father of Believers presented the boat to Rafael Mendoza.
* * * * *
――――:o:――――
NIHILISM IN RUSSIA. (In imitation of Disraeli’s _Sybil_.)
For there opposed each other but two elements in this society at once strange and simple. Around the throne of the Great Peter, and in the marble city which is his monument, the gay circles of the Aristocracy frittered away a frivolous existence amid the blaze of diamonds, the strains of music, and all those Circean enchantments that dull the energy and bid care repose. Here was wealth to make life easy, and here luxury to give it splendour; here was beauty to stir the pulse of youth, and here wit to waken even the most thoughtless to a sense that for them too there were pleasures of the intellect. So lived the lords of those vast plains, whose immensity made aptly significant the proud title of “All the Russias.” And the tiller of those plains, what of him? Surrounded by the sad and sombre Steppe, that breathed its melancholy over him from the cradle, broken by toil and of untutored mind, his life was suffering without interval of enjoyment, degradation without hope of change. Too brutish for the aspirations of Religion, he was well-nigh bereft of that supreme solace wherewith the ingenuity of the sophistical rhetorician may seek to sooth even the aged pauper of St. Pancras. And yet Revolution was as impossible for him as content. For Revolution is the explosion of an Idea, that overturns Society in its struggle to the light. To the Scythian serf was altogether wanting the initial force of the fulminating Idea. Steeped in ignorance, he was also isolated. Through his dreary continent had never permeated the Secret Societies of other lands, and for him there was no magic potency in the mysterious name of “Mary-Anne.” So he thought not of overturning Society, but of effacing it. For the first time in man’s history was seen that portentous birth, an Apostle of Nothing. In a word, he was a Nihilist!
Vainly was it attempted to divert his purposes by the lure of foreign conquest and a fresh Crusade; in vain was dangled before him by the astute Ministers of Muscovy the long-sought guerdon of his efforts――the sacred city of the Sultans. One was on the watch who came of a race not lightly to be beguiled, a race that was ancient thirty centuries before these Scythian hordes had claimed to be a nation. The Great Minister of the West, strong with the might and majesty of England, saw that it was reserved for him to crown that Royal Mistress, on whose brow he had recently set a new and Imperial coronet, with the fresh garland of a bloodless triumph. In the lofty language of the sacred records of his people, ‘Let there be Peace!’ he said; and that which he achieved became known to the world in his own historic phrase of “Peace with Honour!”
BROUGHSHANE.
This imitation won the first prize in a parody competition, in _The World_, September 17, 1879.
――――:o:――――
DE TANKARD. _By Benjamin Dizzyreally, Esq., M.P._
## Chapter XL.
“What majority had they last night, my lord?” asked a fair young man in the Carlton, from a stately personage who was sitting at a table near him, occupied with a bottle of Lafitte.
“Fifty-two,” was the reply.
“How did Peel look when he heard it?”
“Oh, he smiled in his usual quiet triumphant way,” said Lord Mannerley.
“Ah! while Peel is sultan there will be no want of ruined villages for our political owls to make their nests in,” remarked the youth.
“Yes, these cursed free-traders flourish on the ruins of the agriculturalists,” said Lord Mannerly savagely.
“And they will be soon howling like jackals in the ruins of the constitution,” added his young companion, with a sigh.
“This Lafitte is capital,” said the ruined landowner.
At this moment a young man approached the table. His bearing was proud, his eyes dark and luminous, his figure stately as a palm-tree. His aquiline nose betrayed his superb organisation. You saw at once that he was of the purest Caucasian race. Yes! his lineage sprung from the families who peopled the noble mountain which received the Divine Ark, and cherished the snowy dove that spread its white wings over the waters, that had swallowed up the inhabitants of a world! As he passed up the noble room, how insignificant in _his_ presence appeared the children of the semi-civilized barbarians, spawned in a northern swamp!
“May I offer you a glass of claret, De Tankard?” asked Lord Mannerley.
“Thank you, I only drink sherbet, just now,” replied the youth.
“You can get some Persian sherbet at a penny a glass,” said a witty Milesian lord.
De Tankard smiled compassionately on the aristocratic buffoon. “’Tis doubtless worthy of your English civilization,” was his calm scornful reply.
* * * * *
## Chapter XLIV.
De Tankard stood at the window of a small country inn, and watched the storm raging in the forest. Lithely bent the straight poplar with a low wail beneath the breath of the north wind. The oak roared, the beech howled, and the wild leaves, caught in the eddies of the winds, were wreathed by them into chaplets, as though the Spirit of the Storm wished to crown with them the noble gazer on his work.
“’Tis a great spectacle,” remarked De Tankard, to a man who stood beside him, of an air――oh, how grand!
Benonia (for it was indeed he!) sneered. “Have you ever seen a Mediterranean white squall, or a whirlwind in the Desert?” he asked.
“Alas, no!” was the reply. “I must soon visit the glorious East, the parent of religion, civilization, science, and art,” and the dark eyes of De Tankard glowed with Eastern fire.
“Ah, you are young,” exclaimed Benonia, with enthusiasm. “Glorious youth! By youth have all great deeds been accomplished. Ransack the history of ages. The fact is stamped on every line. The Trojan, Paris, was but a youth when he ran away with the fair Grecian, and got his native town destroyed for it ten years after! Cæsar was in the freshness of life when he destroyed the Republic and founded a despotism. Nero developed his villany early, and Heliogabalus was a confirmed glutton before his minority was over! Nay, to come to our own country, what was the age of the Boy Jones when he passed the sacred precincts of a Royal palace, and stood where none but Royal feet had ever trod before?――Barely sixteen! Look at Lord William Lennox――how young he was when he wrote his great works!”
Benonia paused. De Tankard dropped a warm and sparkling tear. “I will start to the East to-morrow!” he exclaimed.
“You had better have a couple of millions,” said Benonia. “I have got about half-a-dozen in my pocket to carry me over the night.”
* * * * *
## Chapter XLVIII.
Silence reigns beneath the brilliant azure of an Oriental sky;――silence, broken only by the silver tinkling of the camel’s bell. A noble creature is the camel. Compared with that Caucasian of beasts, the shapeless quadruped of the Northern, is but an ass!
Ever and anon, through the moist perfumed twilight, steals a delicious breeze. Delicious, but melancholy. For in that breeze floats a prophet’s sigh. The cypress moans as it passes; and the palm-tree bows its proud head in honour to it, as it flies along! On the holy barrenness of the saintly brow of Lebanon, the moon’s rays fall reverently, and Lebanon looks holier under their light.
In the court in front of the counting-house of an Emir, sits De Tankard. From among the round pebbles of the pavement, springs a fresh fountain. On the branches of the trees gleam ripe oranges.
The young man looked sad and solemn. He had that morning seen an angel, as usual! By his side was a lovely female, and near him the lively young Emir Baboo smoked his nargilly.
“Do you often see angels, De Tankard?” he asked, laughing.
“Peace!” was the reply.
“I have a combination!” cried out the Emir, jumping up with a violence which smashed the nargilly. “Let us get the Druses and Maronites to unite, and we’ll go down to Djouni, and seize the English frigate there! What would Palmerston say to that?”
De Tankard laughed. “The East is the cradle of glory,” said he after a pause, with an enthusiastic look.
The Emir stared.
“Ah”! said he, “I had a brave chase yesterday, and ran off with the baggage of a caravan.”
The lady frowned. The Emir fell at her feet, and began to cry.
Next day, De Tankard started off with him on an excursion.
When employed in these ennobling diversions, he learned that his rich maiden aunt had arrived at Jerusalem.
* * * * *
From _The Puppet-Showman’s Album_. London.
――――
Another parody on Tancred, written by “Cuthbert Bede” (the Rev. Edward Bradley), appeared in _The Shilling Book of Beauty_, it was entitled “Tancredi; or, the New Party.” By the Right Hon. B. Bendizzy, M.P.
In 1887, Messrs. Swan Sonnenschein & Co., London, published a shilling volume of prose burlesque novels, written by H. F. Lester. The first, entitled _Ben D’ymion_, was a parody of Lord Beaconsfield’s novel _Endymion_. The other authors imitated in this collection were William Black, George Elliot, Henry James, Thomas Hardy, and J. H. Shorthouse.
_Ben D’ymion_ had originally appeared in _Punch_ in 1880.
――――:o:――――
THE AGE OF LAWN-TENNIS. (_After Lord Beaconsfield’s_ “SYBIL”.)
## CHAPTER I.
“Advantage, we win,” shouted Sphairistikos.
“Never,” replied Retiarius, as he made his favourite stroke, which came speeding, whirling, hissing, the one-thousandth part of an inch over the top of the net, and fell twisting, twirling, shooting, in the extreme left-hand corner of the great twelve-yard court, only to be returned, however, by the flexibility of a wrist which had been famous in Harrow’s playing-fields in days of yore.
“Forty-thirty.”
“Deuce.”
“’Vantage against you!” “Game and set!” Such were the Babel-like cries which greeted our ears, as we approached Tong Castle’s level lawn, one fine autumnal afternoon.
And what was the scene that confronted us?
Ambitious adversaries, on all sides, were hitting to and fro, in alternated strokes, a gyratory ball, and loudly vociferating amœbean numerals as either side became involved in some reticular difficulty.
Here was to be seen, in variegated garb, such a galaxy of beauty as Shropshire seldom sees, assembled to render homage to the great Lawn-Tennis Champion, and to witness the feats of some of England’s doughtiest players.
Here were to be seen the eagle-eyed volleyer, the deft half-volleyer, the swift server, and the nimble net-player; while here, too, the quick cut, the treacherous twister, and the brilliant back-hander were exhibited on all sides in their purest perfection.
“Advantage, we win,” repeated Sphairistikos.
“Deuce,” said Retiarius, as his great stroke passed and shot lightning-like past his adversary’s racket.
And so they played and played on, till the balls began to glance in the golden light of a glorious sunset, and then to grow dimmer and dimmer in the deepening shadows of a rich twilight.
## CHAPTER II.
But to what was all this tending, and to what condition had the Lawn-Tennis players brought the Great Western State which they inhabited?
A monarch on the throne, whose age alone prevented her from casting in her lot with an aristocracy of wealth and learning, who had already commenced to narrow life within the limits of the twelve-yard court!!
A gentler sex, forsaking the sacred duties of domesticity that they might lend grace and elegance to the all-prevailing pastime!!
A degraded peasantry, living but to delineate on level lawns the bounds past which England’s greatest and noblest born must not propel the gyrating sphere!!
A rustic generation, rising but to collect for their oppressors the distant-driven ball, and developing into manhood merely to tend and trim the smooth-shaven Lawn-Tennis ground, which had now become a necessary adjunct alike to glebe and manor!!
It was an age of Lawn-Tennis!!
“My prophetical instincts tell me,” said Retiarius, as he and his friends were waiting for the nets to be arranged,――“My prophetical instincts tell me that the great coming stroke will be the volley.”
“Why, so?” said Sphairistikos.
“It is as yet,” replied he, “only half-developed. A nation young in Lawn-Tennis has much to learn; much to forget. My impression is that the volley, properly understood, will convulse the future.”
“I believe in service for my part,” remarked Sphairistikos,――“Secure your first stroke. Demoralize first, win afterwards; I would borrow from the great nation which gave us Tennis, and say, ‘Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coûte.’”
“But I am looking to a distant future,” continued Retiarius. “We shall see great changes. There will be hereditary volleyers. The theories of Darwin must prevail. Volleyers will play with volleyers. The pastimes of a country lead to its courtships. It has always been so. A generation of volleyers will rise up who will volley from the service-line as accurately as their grandfathers have done from the nets.”
“What news from Afghanistan?” asked a fair player, who was putting on her shoes.
“Fifteen, the Government loses,” replied a Tennis-steeped youth; “they have served two faults,――one into Afghanistan; one into Zululand.”
“Bother Afghanistan,” said another damsel in short petticoats, “I want the scoring question settled.”
But the attendants now announced that the courts were ready.
“Fifteen, I win.”
“Fifteen, all.”
And so on, and on, and on, the adversaries played, with constantly- varying fortunes, till another day was nearly done, and they were once more compelled to surrender before the flickering blaze of a vanishing sun.
From _Tennis Cuts and Quips_. Edited by Julian Marshall. London. Field and Tuer.
――――:o:――――
It was known that Lord Beaconsfield had drawn many of the characters in _Endymion_ from prominent members of society, and much curiosity was felt as to the identification of these individuals. _Notes and Queries_ published a conjectural list of them, but it must be borne in mind that Lord Beaconsfield was sufficiently cautious not to paint his portraits too distinctly like his originals, in fact some of his puppets represent two or three individuals merged into one
Endymion Benjamin Disraeli Zenobia Lady Jersey Berengaria (Lady Montfort) Hon. Mrs. Norton Agrippina Queen Hortense Adriana Neufchatel Lady Burdett Coutts The Neufchatels The Rothschilds Col. Albert (Prince Florestan) Napoleon III Lord Roehampton Lord Palmerston Myra Roehampton Empress Eugenie Enoch Craggs Co-operation. Lord Montfort The late Lord Hertford Lord Rawchester Earl Granville Earl of Beaumaris The late Earl of Derby Mr. Bertie Tremaine Lord Houghton Count of Ferroll Prince Bismarck Nigel Penruddock Cardinal Manning Mr. Ferrars (the grandfather) Rt. Hon. George Rose George Waldershare Mr. George Smythe (afterwards Lord Strangford) Job Thornberry Richard Cobden Mr. Vigo Mr. Poole Mr. Jorrocks Mr. Milner Gibson Hortensius Sir W. Vernon Harcourt Sidney Wilton Sidney Herbert Mr. Sainte Barbe W. M. Thackeray Mr. Gushy Charles Dickens Topsy Turvy _Vanity Fair_ Scaramouch _Punch_
――――:o:――――
A curious story of a plagiarism is related of Disraeli in the Life of Mr. Abraham Hayward, Q.C., who was formerly on the staff of the _Morning Chronicle_.
Early in the “fifties,” Mr. Disraeli made sundry depreciatory remarks on the speeches of military members of Parliament, classing them contemptuously as effusions of “the military mind.” The men of the _Morning Chronicle_ replied to Mr. Disraeli’s attack on the intellect of soldiers by printing a translation of a magnificent eulogium on the Maréchal de St. Cyr by M. Thiers, setting forth the qualities necessary to a military commander. Mr. Disraeli was evidently struck by the brilliancy of the counter hit, for a few years later, when the Duke of Wellington died, he interpolated the translation, _errors and all_, in the oration which as leader of the House of Commons it was his duty to deliver on the death of that great general. The old writers of the _Chronicle_ secured the insertion of the speech and the translated passage in the _Globe_. Mr. Disraeli’s friends made every attempt to explain away the plagiarism till an article in _Fraser’s Magazine_, written by Mr. Hayward, showed clearly that the passage was not even taken from the French original, but directly from the translation which appeared in the _Morning Chronicle_. Mr. Hayward was very proud of this article of his, in which he also handled Mr. Disraeli’s “Revolutionary Epick” very roughly.
――――
THE WOMAN IN TIGHTS.
_By Wilkie Collins._
The narrative commenced by Walter Heartbright, teacher of jig-dancing, of Fulwood’s-rents, Holborn. This is a story of what a woman’s impatience can procure, and what a man’s irresolution can achieve. If the law were not such a blundering battering-ram the events which fill these pages might have merited its attention. I live with my mother, who keeps a general shop. Events alter my life. I go to Cumberland to attend on a gentleman. The story continued by Mr. Bearly, Gummeridge House, Cumberland: I am all self, etchings, and nerves. Why? I know not. Perhaps Laura knows, or Sir Pursefull. I am asked to make a statement. Aided by a galvanic battery I make it. Laura has gone on the stage. I am worried. Why should I be? I give it up. Thank you. Don’t bang. Send Heartbright here. I would see him dance. Statement by Hester Teecloth, cook at Count Bosco’s: I remember a lady being brought to our house last June. She came in a temper and a brougham. She was laid on the sofa. She looked wildlike, and kept shouting “There they go, millions of ’em.” When the doctor saw her he winked at the count and whispered, “Delicious trimmings,” but the poor thing was plainly dressed. That’s all I know. Heartbright finishes the story: We are to be married in a week’s time. Laura’s faculties have returned. Mr. Bearly and his nerves have found Nirvana. Sir Pursefull was drowned while showing off a lifebelt of his own invention. Bosco is in an asylum. His time is occupied in plucking green mice from his beard, and chirruping to pink canaries which he fancies he sees on the wall. My mother, always of a retiring disposition, has given up business. I am heir of Gummeridge House. Thus it ends.
WILLIAM EVISON ROSE.
_The Weekly Dispatch._ February 25, 1883.
In this parody competition the compositions were limited to 300 words, a regulation which sadly hampered the competitors.
In Bret Harte’s _Sensation Novels Condensed_, there is a parody of Wilkie Collins, called “No Title.”
[Illustration]
THE LUCK OF TORY CAMP.
_By Bread Tart._
There was commotion in Tory Camp. Outside a rude cabin waited an excited crowd, headed by Solly, a stalwart digger, with a Raphael face and profusion of dark beard, whose duel with Harden Bill, the Rad-Dog Woodcutter, was still talked of with bated breath. The name of a woman was on every lip, a name familiar in the camp――Poll Icy. The less said of her the better; no better than she should be perhaps; half foreign, half Ingin; but yet the only woman in camp, and now in woman’s direst extremity. Suddenly an excited Celestial joined the group. “Lemme investigate, John,” said he; “me Pal-Mal, me washee-washee dirty linen, me go see her.” “Scoot, you dern skunk!” thundered Solly; “none but a down-east johnny-cake ’ud trust you with any woman nowadays.” At that moment a wail, feeble, yet sufficient to quell the laughter that greeted Solly’s sally, announced a birth in Tory Camp.… Little Randy, or the Luck――for by these names the frolicsome miners had christened the infant (in beer)――grew and throve, and soon became a power in the camp. His childish jokes with Sairey Gamp, his nurse, were the delight of the brawny getters of gold from quartz (s), and even Solly smiled when the Luck “tackled the old ’un,” which he did when Harden Bill visited the camp now and then. “Rastled with Bill’s little finger, the derned little cuss,” roared Solly; “rastled with it, dern my skin.”
The winter of 1885 will long be remembered in California. One night Tea-Pot Gulch and Rad-Dog Fork leaped suddenly over their banks, and descended in ruin upon Tory Camp. When morning dawned the Luck lay lifeless in Solly’s arms, and Harden Bill smiled grimly as he watched the strangely assorted pair floating quietly towards the Sea of Oblivion.
J. C. ROSE.
_The Weekly Dispatch._ September 13, 1885.
There is a parody on Bret Harte’s prose in _The Shotover Papers_ (Oxford, 1874) entitled _His Finger_, but it is not sufficiently characteristic to merit reprinting.
[Illustration]
MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY. A NAVAL OFFICER.
_By Captain Marryat, R.N._
## CHAPTER I.
My father was a north-country surgeon. He had retired, a widower from Her Majesty’s navy many years before, and had a small practice in his native village. When I was seven years old he employed me to carry medicines to his patients. Being of a lively disposition, I sometimes amused myself, during my daily rounds, by mixing the contents of the different phials. Although I had no reason to doubt that the general result of this practice was beneficial, yet, as the death of a consumptive curate followed the addition of a strong mercurial lotion to his expectorant, my father concluded to withdraw me from the profession and send me to school.
Grubbins, the schoolmaster, was a tyrant, and it was not long before my impetuous and self-willed nature rebelled against his authority. I soon began to form plans of revenge. In this I was assisted by Tom Snaffle――a school-fellow. One day Tom suggested:
“Suppose we blow him up. I’ve got two pounds of gun-powder!”
“No, that’s too noisy,” I replied.
Tom was silent for a minute, and again spoke.
“You remember how you flattened out the curate, Pills! Couldn’t you give Grubbins something――something to make him leathery sick――eh?”
A flash of inspiration crossed my mind. I went to the shop of the village apothecary. He knew me; I had often purchased vitriol, which I poured into Grubbins’s inkstand to corrode his pens and burn up his coat-tail, on which he was in the habit of wiping them. I boldly asked for an ounce of chloroform. The young apothecary winked and handed me the bottle.
It was Grubbins’s custom to throw his handkerchief over his head, recline in his chair, and take a short nap during recess. Watching my opportunity, as he dozed, I managed to slip his handkerchief from his face and substitute my own, moistened with chloroform. In a few minutes he was insensible. Tom and I then quickly shaved his head, beard, and eyebrows, blackened his face with a mixture of vitriol and burnt cork, and fled. There was a row and scandal the next day. My father always excused me by asserting that Grubbins had got drunk――but somehow found it convenient to procure me an appointment in Her Majesty’s navy at an early day.
## CHAPTER II.
An official letter, with the Admiralty seal, informed me that I was expected to join H.M. ship Belcher, Captain Boltrope, at Portsmouth, without delay. In a few days I presented myself to a tall, stern-visaged man, who was slowly pacing the leeward side of the quarter-deck. As I touched my hat he eyed me sternly:
“So ho! Another young suckling. The service is going to the devil. Nothing but babes in the cockpit and grannies in the board. Boatswain’s mate, pass the word for Mr. Cheek!”
Mr. Cheek, the steward, appeared and touched his hat.
“Introduce Mr. Breezy to the young gentlemen. Stop! Where’s Mr. Swizzle?”
“At the masthead, sir.”
“Where’s Mr. Lankey?”
“At the masthead, sir.”
“Mr. Briggs?”
“Masthead, too, sir.”
“And the rest of the young gentlemen?” roared the enraged officer.
“All masthead, sir.”
“Ah!” said Captain Boltrope, as he smiled grimly, “under the circumstances, Mr. Breezy, you had better go to the masthead too.”
## CHAPTER III.
At the masthead I made the acquaintance of two youngsters of about my own age, one of whom informed me that he had been there 332 days out of the year.
“In rough weather, when the old cock is out of sorts, you know, we never come down,” added a young gentleman of nine years, with a dirk nearly as long as himself, who had been introduced to me as Mr. Briggs. “By the way, Pills,” he continued, “how did you come to omit giving the captain a naval salute!”
“Why, I touched my hat,” I said, innocently.
“Yes, but that isn’t enough, you know. That will do very well at other times. He expects the naval salute when you first come on board――greeny!”
I began to feel alarmed, and begged him to explain.
“Why, you see, after touching your hat, you should have touched him lightly with your forefinger in his waistcoat, so, and asked, ‘How’s his nibs?’――you see?”
“How’s his nibs?” I repeated.
“Exactly. He would have drawn back a little, and then you should have repeated the salute, remarking ‘How’s his royal nibs?’ asking cautiously after his wife and family, and requesting to be introduced to the gunner’s daughter.”
“The gunner’s daughter?”
“The same; you know she takes care of us young gentlemen; now don’t forget, Pillsy!”
When we were called down to the deck I thought it a good chance to profit by this instruction. I approached Captain Boltrope and repeated the salute without conscientiously omitting a single detail. He remained for a moment livid and speechless. At length he gasped out:
“Boatswain’s mate!”
“If you please, sir,” I asked, tremulously, “I should like to be introduced to the gunner’s daughter!”
“O, very good, sir!” screamed Captain Boltrope, rubbing his hands and absolutely capering about the deck with rage. “O d――n you! Of course you shall! O ho! the gunner’s daughter! O, h――ll! this is too much! Boatswain’s mate!” Before I well knew where I was, I was seized, borne to an eightpounder, tied upon it and flogged!
* * * * *
From _Sensation Novels Condensed_, by Bret Harte. London. Ward, Lock and Co.
[Illustration]
THE PALE-FACED WARRIORS. _By Captain Mayne Reid._
## CHAPTER I.
“I feel kinder dull,” said Tiger Tom to me one day. “Let us go and kill some ‘Injins.’” We soon reached the forest, but not a Redskin was in sight. Tom examined the trail closely, and with an old backwoodsman’s unerring instinct declared we should see no “Injins” that day. As I was complimenting him upon his wonderful sagacity, we were suddenly surprised by a band of the dreaded Chickatoos. With one thought for those at home Tom took to his heels and vanished. The savages bound me to a tree, and told me not to run away. I promised not to.
## CHAPTER II.
An exciting discussion upon cookery, of which I was the central object, followed. One advocated roasting, another baking me! I did not favour either. Between them I got into a stew. At night, whilst the rascals slept, I perceived an Indian maiden by my side. She unbound me, and gave me the full dress of a chief, and some pigment to stain my skin with. To disguise myself was the work of a minute and three-quarters, when the savages awoke, and missing me, set up a terrific yell, and started in pursuit. To avoid observation, I accompanied them.
## CHAPTER III.
The chase was particularly close. I was anxiously awaiting nightfall to escape them, when, horror! something wet touched my cheek. It was raining. The rain fell in torrents, and as it washed my colour off and I gradually became white, the Chickatoos saw through my disguise. Seizing his rifle, the chief told me to stand apart. He fired, but missed me. I feigned to be hit, and springing into the air, turned sixteen distinct somersaults. Before they recovered from their surprise, I disappeared in the forest.
F. P. DELAFOND.
_The Weekly Dispatch Competition._ February 25, 1883.
In this competition, the compositions were limited to 300 words, which prevented the authors from giving more than a very rough caricature of their originals. But in 1867, Mr. Walter Parke contributed a parody of Captain Mayne Reid to _Judy_ free from any such harrassing restriction, and succeeded in producing a most blood-curdling romance. It was entitled “_The Skull Hunters_: A Terrific Tale of the Prairie!!” By Captain Rayne Meade; and consisted of twenty-one chapters of thrilling adventures, and daring exploits with illustrations to match. This was published in book form in 1868, another and revised edition was brought out in 1887, during the excitement about Buffalo Bill’s Wild West. This had a tremendous sale, it was called “_The Skull Hunters_; or, The Warriors of the Wild West.” _Judy_ Office, London.
――――
ANTICIPATIONS OF THE DERBY. BY A FRENCH VISITOR.
I. _L’Homme qui Rit._
“In England, everything is great, even that which is not good, even oligarchy itself!” Thought profound and sublime of the Master; apothegm initiatory and bitter of the Man who Laughs――who laughs, but who can also bite.
For Genius, as for Ambition――for Prometheus who thinks, as for Prometheus who wields the great battalions――seems it not that there is reserved, by the derisive irony of Fate, an expiatory rock, an island exile?
For Victor Hugo, this rock, expiatory but glorious, calls itself Guernsey.
For Napoleon, it had two names; it was Elba, and it was Ste. Hélène.
Patience, Master! Watching the brumous clouds, tainted with Britannic fogs, that roll around the Islands of the Sleeve in the crepusculary sadness of an English spring――listening to the breeze, keen, acute, Arctic, Polar, which groans, which growls, which howls, which whistles menacing but impuissant, around the walls of Hauteville House――remember thyself, Master, that History, as for Ambition, so for Genius, repeats herself, in moments, for the one of remorse, for the other of caprice!
After Elba, the Hundred Days.
After Ste. Hélène, the voyage of the Belle-Poule.
“He laughs best who laughs last,” says the Proverb.
Proverbs are the wisdom of nations.
And thou, oh Master, oh author of the Man who Laughs, thy laugh is as the laugh of Gwynplaine, sombre but not cynical, permanent but full of pity, of compassion――a laughter broken with tears――above all, a laughter which endures!
II. _The Solidarity of the Sportmans._
Yes; in England, everything is great. Even in her sports, she is the Titaness of the Ocean.
There is a solidarity of peoples; above all, there is a solidarity amongst the votaries of Diana, huntress pale, chaste, ferocious, formidable, but ravishing, but divine!
The _sportmans_ of France, the _sportmans_ of England, they are as the brothers of Corsica. What says your Williams? “As we were being washed by nurse, we got completely mixed!”
Touching and tender fantasy of this grand old Swan of Stratford-upon- Thames! Or, what say I――of Corsica? Of Siam――melancholy but affecting type of the rudimentary solidarity of the Orient!
I had long desired to watch you insularies in the sports of the hippodrome, in which I am myself not without skill; but the furious storms of the Sleeve twice detained me at Calais, and once at Boulogne. I consoled myself in the hope that everything comes to him who knows how to wait.
I knew how to wait. I waited.
After Chantilly, Epsom’s courses!
The sea appeared calm; not a wrinkle in the folds of the steel-blue Sleeve.
I embarked myself, with my luggage in my left hand and my “Ruff’s Guide to the Turf” in my right.
I shall see them, then, at last――these courses, sacred in the past by the memory of Eclipse and the Flying Admiral Childers, dear to the patriotic heart of France in the present days by the triumph of Gladiateur!
III. _Ocean less Perfidious than the Aristocracy of Albion._
The sun was shining. The Ocean stirred gently in its sleep. Its ripples were as tender, as voluptuous, as the sighs of pleasure which scarcely derange the diaphanous scarf that lies upon the bosom of beauty. Oh, Phœbus! Oh, Neptunus! Oh, Venus!
I told you the sun was shining. My heart also. That I was gay! Gaiety premature, unreasonable, absurd!
As we cross Calais Bar the vessel rolls. I like it not. Can she be strong enough for the traverse, often fearful and stormy, to Douvres? I begin to marvel whether she is made of iron, or only made of wood.
I address the question, politely, to a young English _sportmans_ by my side――“Pardon, Mister! but what is the vessel made of?”
A spasm of uncertainty, if not of pain, passes across his face as he points to an inscription inside the paddle-boxes.
One can only die one time; nevertheless, it is permitted to exclaim against the perfidy of the Steam-Lords of the Board of Commerce for London and Douvres. I read the inscription. Hope abandons me. The vessel is _not_ made of iron!
She is not even made of wood!!
She is only “Maid of Kent!!!”
IV. _Portentosum Mare._
An agitation which I have never felt before seems to seize upon me.
The further we go, the more it increases.
The young English _sportmans_, with the cynical indifference of the patrician, contemplates my sufferings, and lights his cigar. Is it that he calls _that_ “solidarity”?
Two blonde misses with their papa――oligarch, fat, and without sympathy――sit near me. They talk to each other freely. At times they laugh. I laugh not, I!
Nor would _they_ laugh, spoilt infants of Fashion, if I were to express the ideas that are struggling in my bosom――if I were to show them all that is within me!
V. _After Convulsion, Despair._
I have shown them all that was within me.
They have moved away――it was a prudent step.
Now that they are gone, I could almost wish that I were dead!
VI. _Noblesse Oblige._
The young English _sportmans_ is, after all, a good infant. He brings me a big goblet and a biscuit, which comfort me, and tries to speak to me in French.
Words sympathetic, but mysterious.
“_Ah, Monsieur_,” he says, “_il faut décidément maintenir votre pivert_!”
Enigma! “I must keep up my wood-pecker?” I _have_ no wood-pecker! I tell him so in his own tongue; adding that I am very fond of shooting at the doves.
“Ah,” he rejoins, “we don’t call ’em Doves, we call ’em _les hiboux du coiffeur_――Barbers’ Owls!”
We become more and more friendly, as the pain subsides. When we reach Douvres, I give him my card.
He says that he has forgotten his; but that I shall have no difficulty in finding him at any of the _tambours de la chasse_――Sporting Drums――especially if I ask for Lord William Wiggins, of Wapping.
What a droll of a name! Not facile to pronounce, that! Let us essay, with the help of the dictionary of pronunciation:
“Ouilliam Ouiggins――of Ouapping.”
VII. _The Babylon of Britain._
Yes: in England everything is great. Behold this London, confused and chaotic amalgamation of bourg upon bourg, of city upon city, almost of county upon county――behold its administration, vague, contradictory, without doubt, but immense, but Titanic, but sublime.
To-day London has but one heart, which palpitates――one thought, which engrosses――one dream, which possesses――one hope, which enchants. To the heart, the thought, the dream, the hope, there is one key.
It is the Epsom’s Courses, at Derby!
VIII. _Explications._
Questions to resolve:
“Who is Epsom?”
“And where is Derby?”
Mystery strange and inexplicable, this Epsom! Not one of my interlocutors, of French or English, can give me any particulars of his life. Oh fame, oh renown, oh fickleness of popular affection! We go to the Courses he has founded; and yet the very day of his death is forgotten or unknown!
Another mystery. Derby is a hundred and twenty miles from London; and yet many of my friends assure that they will drive down without a single change of horses! Ah, then, it is no marvel, this predominance of the old England in the hippic arena, when even the ordinary horses of the carriage can travel a hundred and twenty miles――two hundred kilomètres――without fatigue.
These facts were new to me. They were also new to most of my countrymen with whom I conversed.
The Unknown――behold the Redoubtable!
IX. _Vieille Ecole, Bonne Ecole_.
Happily, I encounter Lord Ouiggins.
He is an aristocrat of the old rock――a little mocking, perchance, a little reserved, cold, indifferent, proud, but of an antique probity, a disinterestedness more than Roman.
He takes me under his charge.
_I had been deceived._ They were mocking themselves of me, those who told me the courses were at Derby. They are run on Epsom’s Salt-Downs.
“Derby” is only the title of their founder, one of those English eccentrics of whom the type is so familiar in France――poet, politician, jockey――Premier Minister of Great Britain until he was overthrown by the intrigues of Sir Benjamin Gladstone!
After one thunder-stroke, another:
_Gladiateur is not to run!_
Is _this_, then, the old Britannic chivalry――the love of what the poet has proudly called “Greenwich Fair-Play”? Is _this_ the _entente cordiale_? I survey Lord Ouiggins. He can scarcely meet my eye. He turns aside.
Let us hope it is to blush!
He tries to defend the invidious exclusion. He pretends that in the Derby-Course the horses must not exceed a certain age; also that Gladiateur was at least quite sufficiently near that age when he _did_ run. Puerile evasion! False pride of nationality!
What is to become of the money I have wagered?
Lord Ouiggins tells me to console myself. _He has private information._ He will not see a foreign gentleman wronged.
X. _Les Nuits de Londres._
We are inseparable.
Milord has backed a favourite to win him thousands of sterlings.
Curious, almost cynical nomenclature of the Turf!
The horse is named Ventre-Tambour, Bellydrum!!
He is assured to win; Milord dreamt, last night, that he saw him four lengths ahead at Tattenham-court-road Corner.
I wager freely on Ventre-Tambour.
Lord Ouiggins says we had better not go down to his baronial hall at Ouapping, but “make a night” and start early.
Ah, nights of London, you have not, effectively, stolen your reputation! What contrasts, fascinating but terrible――here, the noblesse, like Ouiggins quaffing champagne with visitors from France; and there the miserables, the Tom-Dick-Harries drinking gin――the blonde misses, casting aside the Puritanic pudor of the saloon, and dancing freely with foreign _gentlemans_ at the Duke of Argyle’s Casino――what contrasts, but also, alas, what jealousies still existing, what internecine hatred still in rage!
That the English should hate the Irish is but natural.
We always hate those whom we have wronged!
It is less reasonable that they should continue to hate the children of Cambria, with whom they have been so long in friendly union.
And yet, more than once during this exciting evening, I have heard Lord Ouiggins spoken of――my patrician _pur sang_――as a Welsher, with evident contempt.
Brutal antipathies unworthy of the century!
They shall have no influence on the mind of a son of France.
“Lord Ouilliam,” I exclaimed, “regard them not! Generous compatriot of Llewellyn, I pledge thee in another bumper to the victory of Ventre-Tambour!”
――――:o:――――
REALITIES OF THE DERBY.
I. _Selters waters, or S. and B?_
After Light, Shadow; after Pleasure, Pain; sad but inevitable oscillations of the pendulum of life!
Alas, to wake――it is to remember, and to remember is to repent.
Last night, I banqueted with the merchant-princes of London and with the ancient nobility of Wales; the leaders of the Fashion World, the Sport, the Turf, the boxers of the most renowned, the comics of the musical saloons――Lord Ouiggins signalised them all to me. Foaming, sparkling, vivacious, the wines of Champagne led the way for the stronger Grogs. A vision, confused indeed, but magnificent in its confusion, will long recall to me the night before the Derby.
I awoke.
Sad and supreme moment of mortality when awakening means isolation!
For some time, I knew not where I found myself. Presently, as the dim light of the dawn penetrated, first through the folds of the fog, and next through the dirt of the windows, I recollected that Lord Ouiggins had advised me to stay with him at a fashionable hotel, adding that his own drag would call for us in the morning.
It was still of a good hour. I turned myself to sleep; but heard, with dreamy ears, the fall――or so it seemed――of cataracts of rain, around me, beside me, overhead. The sound gave me a strange sensation of thirst, which I cannot otherwise explain.
Instinctively, I rang the bell, and shouted “Selters! Selters! Selters!”
A tap at my door; and Lord Ouilliam, in half-toilette, appeared. I saluted him.
“Is it that the rain will make to be deferred the Courses?”
“What rain?”
“Listen, then!”
“_That?_ Why, it’s only the men tubbing!” (Idiom untranslatable.)
“What did you ring for?” pursued Lord Ouilliam.
“But, for Selters then!”
“_Tout droit._” he rejoined. “_Vous etiez horriblement coupé, mon ami; bien roide!_”
Strange and picturesque _argot_ of intoxication: “awfully cut,” “very tight.”
“Listen,” continued Milord, “My carriage is not yet arrived. It has probably been stopped by the Thames Embankment, which is to run outside my park at Ouapping. Look you, I will take places for two, outside an omnibus. It is the usual plan amongst nobility. Admiral Rous will be one of us. You may easily know him by his wearing a white hat, a veil, and a flower in his button-hole. Meanwhile, better not have Selters. Try S. and B!”
Enigma, of which the solution――when it came――was far from disagreeable.
II. _Lux._
The morning at first was dull and brumous. The _spleen_ of Britannia seemed to possess me. I had atrocious pains in my head. Every noise bore upon my nerves. The very sight of food seemed to nauseate me.
Lord Ouiggins, on the contrary, made a breakfast of the most substantial.
I cannot say much in favour of the cuisine at this fashionable hotel, one of the first in London, the well-known “Spotted Dog” in the aristocratic quarter. Route de la Chapelle Blanche (White-Chapel-road), the Faubourg St. Germain of London. Strange: the hotel is not mentioned in any of the ordinary London Guides.
We take our places. The best seat is reserved for the Admiral――that famous old warrior, who turned the fortune of the day at Chillianwallah by his historical charge at the head of the Naval Reserve and the Royal Horse Marines. Combination eccentric, but not without precedent. The horse was sacred to Neptunus. This Rous, see you, this Admiral so passionately equine in his tastes, he is Jean-Bart and he is also Murat; he is Kellermann and he is also La Pérouse! All the great men touch, and recognise one another!
The light still brightens. Behold us then effectively departed!
Hourrah! Hep, hep, hep!
Vive Ventre-Tambour!
III. _Nothing is Certain to Happen but that which is Unforeseen._
We have gone a few miles on our road, still through the streets of the fashionable quarter, to-day as democratic as the Faubourg St. Antoine, and crowded with other Derbyites, before we speak much to each other. Reserve characteristic of the oldest and proudest aristocracy on earth.
At length Lord Ouiggins whispers me――
“I knew I had forgotten _something_. I’ve left my purse on the piano!”
For the moment I wished that I had done the same.
Suspicion dishonouring and ignoble!
IV. _Si Jeunesse Savait._
Fog, obscurity, cold――yes, you will find them all in the climate of Great Britain; in England, in Scotland, in Ireland, and in the mountains of Wales, the cradle of Lord Ouilliam! It is true, but it is not the only verity. Great Britain also has her moments of fine weather. There are no such trees in the world as the tall poplars of my own, my beautiful France――none planted in such mathematical, such symmetrical order, so methodical, logical, and straight. Nevertheless, Nature is infinite. Even the chestnuts, hawthorns, lilacs, and laburnums of the Surrey lanes are not absolutely offensive to the eye. To-day, also, Phœbus pierces. _Lux!_
There are no women in the world like those of Paris; but there is still a pleasant freshness in the faces of the young pensionaries who watch us, at times, over garden walls. To several of these, I kiss my hand. They smile in reply. Laugh, rosy daughters of Albion, laugh; for it is still day, and you are young――too young for reverie.
V. _When Poverty becomes ironical, let Wealth take care._
The old Britannic _humour_, as exhibited in Samuel Benjamin Jonson, in Jonathan Smith, and Dean Sydney Swift, is not absolutely extinct upon the road.
More than one little Arab of the highway shouts out to me, “I’ll have your hat!” Wild caprice of the imagination, playfully misrepresenting the probable eventualities of the future, and yet, at bottom, profound, almost terrible――a mockery, yes, but a menace――a jest, without doubt, but a threat also――the voice, grotesque but strident, of the Miserables.
I impart the reflections to Lord Ouiggins. Alas, to what good? The pride of his class is too strong for him. His natural instincts are noble; but he is spoiled by the mephitic atmosphere of the Upper Chamber. With a laugh cold, sardonic, and glacial, he replies:――
“Throw the little beggar a copper, and let him go!”
He does not even, generous though he is, offer to provide the copper.
Again, ignoble suspicion! I forget that he has left his purse on the piano!
The Arab――delirious with joy――saved, perhaps, from starvation by the casual bounty of a foreign _sportmans_, would fain express his thanks. His emotion overpowers him. He staggers; horror, he falls! No! again! Gallant child of Poverty, the struggle is vain. Once more he wavers, he oscillates, he falls, and turning wildly head over heels, in the convulsion of his death agony, he disappears in a cloud of dust――doubtless to be driven over by the omnibuses of the haughty, and the phaetons of the Stock Exchange!
Shocked, but masking my horror under the veil of a politeness a little cynical I say to Lord Ouiggins.
“And well, then, Milord, did you see what he did? and do you know what will be his fate?”
Question terrible!
He does not even remove the cigar from his mouth, this impassive patrician, as he answers, with a laconism which lacerates, which vibrates on my nerves, which almost makes me bound.
“_Yes; cart-wheel!_”
VI. _London at Epsom._
Dust, heat, emotion――all stimulate thirst.
I soon forget the little Arab. There are plenty of others remaining! There are worse things in the world, too, than bottled stout. Lord Ouilliam tells me that none of the aristocracy now drink champagne in public. It excites a feeling of envy among the lower orders. On Derby’s Day, the populace gives the tone to the peerage.
The crowd; my faith, and what a crowd! There are two things in the world which a man never forgets: his first sight of the sea, and his first sight of the multitude on Epsom Downs!
What a sound, as of ocean! What infinite discords, subdued, by very force of number and of contradiction, into one sublime monotone! What minstrelsy, cosmopolitan and comprehensive――the audible expression of a Colonial System unparalleled in grandeur and extent! The Hindoo may think in his heart of the days when he fought for his country’s municipal freedom under the banner of Rammohun Roy and Nana Sahib; but look! Plaintively submissive, he strikes his _tom-tom_ to amuse the destroyers of his race.
VII. _Messieurs, faites votrejeu! Le jeu est fait!_
“Would you like to see the horses a little nearer?” says Lord Ouiggins. “You had better buy a couple of tickets for the Padwick.” I do so. The Padwick――so called of an eminent British _sportmans_――is an enclosed space in which the true connoisseurs survey the horses before they start. As I gaze at Ventre-Tambour, I can hardly refrain from shouting, amongst all these impassible patricians, “Hourrah! Hep, hep, hep!”
Lord Ouilliam Ouiggins comes to me, hurriedly, and whispers, “Hush, _I have just got the straight tip from the Admiral himself_. It’s a moral; and the horse at twenty-five to one! We must get on every sov. we have. There is barely time before they start. Quick.” I hand him my purse――not without a moment of hesitation――of which I am speedily ashamed.
VIII. _Rien ne va plus._
A minute sometimes seems like hours. Fortune was in my grasp.
The interval of suspense was horrible; and yet its termination, when it _did_ come, seemed abrupt, sudden, incredible.
I was still struggling with the crowd, when a hoarse sound suddenly rose like the roar of a tempest on a rocky coast――it rose, and rose, and grew stronger; I looked; I saw a wonderful white flash of faces as the heads of the multitude turned all, in one instant, one way; and my pulses seemed as though they would kill me with their throbbing as, with one voice, that innumerable assemblage cried――
“THEY’RE OFF!”
IX. _The Word of the Enigma._
They were indeed; and so was Lord Ouilliam Ouiggins of Ouapping!
ANONYMOUS, 1869.
――――:o:――――
ONE-AND-THREE.
In 1874, _Punch_ published a novel under the above title ascribed to “Fictor Nogo,” but which was popularly (and correctly) attributed to Mr. F. C. Burnand. Later on it was published in book form by Bradbury and Co. The fun is rather long drawn out, but Hugo’s style is admirably parodied. The following is an extract from the preface:――
Letter from M. Fictor Nogo (author of “Une-et-trois”) to our eminent translator:――“My Honourable Co-Labourer,――Your noble and glorious translation of my immortal work touches me profoundly. I felicitate London. London, in publishing a work of mine, draws to itself the attention of the civilised world. London swells with pride under the benignant sway of a Lord Mayor. The Lord Mayor crowns poets, glorifies literature. He decks you with turtle, and this does homage to genius. You represent genius, for you represent me. Thus I am shadowed: for this I embrace you in spirit, You have co-mingled your ideas with mine. You and I, the Translator and the Translated, the Adapter and the Adapted, it is grand. More than grand――it is stupendous. More than stupendous――it is colossal.”
――――:o:――――
“THIRTY-ONE.” (_By the Author of “93,” “The History of a Grime,” &c., &c._)
## CHAPTER I.――_Searching._
She was lost! In this world nothing is lost. It is only mislaid. _She_ was Miss Lade: yet she was lost! Where was she? She was in London. London is in England. It is a great city――as large as Paris! It is as hard to discover a person in London as “to find a needle in a bottle of hay.” This is an English phrase. They bottle hay, and rack it, like wine! It is made into chaff. The people are fond of chaff. The Scotchman lives on oats, the Irishman on potatoes, the Englishman on chaff.
Tom Harry sought her. He wanted to marry her! He hoped she also wanted Tom Harry. But he had lost her. He knew she was in London, therefore he was in London. He inquired of many. They gave him chaff. He could not find the needle in it. _She_ was his needle. He was a Pole――an English naturalized Pole. He would stick at nothing to find her. They were true to each other as Needle and Pole! but were now as far apart as two Poles!
## CHAPTER II.――_Cum Grano Salis._
The world is always large. Society is small. But Tom Harry and Miss Lade were in the world. They were not in Society! He had to seek her _out_ of Society. Endeavour to catch a globule of mercury in a drawer. It flies――it escapes――it separates into atoms――it joins again and rolls away――it is lost――it is found――it is never secured! It eludes you――it is a demon――a wild spirit that vanishes as you think you grasp it! So was Miss Lade to Tom Harry! He thought that he saw her――but she became invisible! He could not find her. She found herself――it was in furnished apartments!
## CHAPTER III.――_Arithmetic._
He had a clue! But what was a clue in so wild a maze as the great London? In Paris the police would have found her, In London there were, at that time, no police. They were “reserved forces,” and had been called out in case of war! When so used there are no police. The authorities then make constables of the prisoners. It is a maxim of English law, “Set a thief to catch a thief.” But Miss Lade was not a thief――except that she had stolen the heart of Tom Harry! This was not a legal felony――therefore the police could not catch her! The clue was a piece of paper found in her room in Paris. On it was written the number “31” and “London.” That was all!
## CHAPTER IV.――_Circumambient._
How to find this number 31? That was the problem. Tom Harry had graduated at Oxford――not Cambridge. This was the error! A Cambridge man would have been able to calculate the probabilities, and obtained a result. Tom Harry had to discover her equation. She was X (an unknown quantity). He was A, but he was also――C (that is minus cash)! The postulate was that A - C + B = X. What was the B in the equation?――probably a book. What book?――decidedly a London directory! He bought one. It is a large book――a heavy one! He could not carry it――yet it was a necessary work of reference. Difficulties must be conquered. Man was made to overcome them! Tom Harry succeeded! He purchased a “single” perambulator――not a “double”――one they double up! The leaves of the directory were doubled down. Therefore the perambulator and the book were in accord! He wheel’d about his book. It was his child!――he had bought it! They allow this in England, where they sell wives at Smithfield! He found his way about. This child was his guide! Is not childhood the very best and purest guide to manhood? and does not manhood only lead us into a second childhood? But among all the numbers “thirty-one,” he had not found her! He was in a fog. She was mist. He was in a London fog! It was dark and thick as Erebus! But he could not see e’er a “bus.” They could not run; nor could he. He had lost Miss Lade――he had now lost himself? He asked a sweeper of crossings where was he? He was told that he was at the corner of the Park of Hyde! It was true.
## CHAPTER V.――_What Happens is Always the Unforeseen._
There are dark periods in the history of nations. It is the same with individuals. It was so with Tom Harry. He was at the Park of Hyde――at one corner of it! It was a place to hide in――hence the name. Was _she_ hidden there? It was a natural thought. He would search it, and would find her! But how? He knew not the way! Here steps in Fate, which governs all things. It was a policeman! There were only two left of the reserves――one to guard the Tower, where the Queen resides; the other in charge of Constitution Hill, which is by the corner of Hyde Park. Under ordinary circumstances the police of London are not permitted to talk. They are only allowed to say, “Move on!” This is the Englishman’s watchword! The Americans have the same, in effect; they say, “Go ahead!” The policeman in charge of Constitution Hill was absolved from this rule by an Order in Council. It was an important office. The preservation of the Queen and Constitution (which is kept on the Hill named from it) is of the greatest national consequence. Therefore the policeman was a high official, and allowed to speak. Tom Harry addressed him, explaining his position and quest for Miss Lade. The policeman pointed to his collar and the figures on it, exclaimed――“I am number ‘31’! Miss Lade lodges with my wife!” The clue was right! She was found!
_Finis._
C. H. WARING.
_Fun._ August 14, 1878.
――――:o:――――
In Bret Harte’s _Sensation Novels Condensed_ there is an imitation of Victor Hugo, in ten chapters, entitled “Fantine.” The Prologue is as follows:――
“As long as there shall exist three paradoxes――a moral Frenchman, a religious Atheist, and a believing sceptic――so long, in fact, as booksellers shall wait――say twenty-five years for a new gospel; so long as paper shall remain cheap and ink at three _sous_ a bottle, I have no hesitation in saying that such books as these are not utterly profitless!
_Victor Hugo._”
“_Grinplaine_, or the man who doesn’t laugh.” A serial burlesque of Victor Hugo’s “L’homme qui rit,” by Walter Parke, appeared in _Funny Folks_, 1875.
_The Bat_ of June 2, 1885, contained a parody of Victor Hugo, called _Quel bonheur Marie_ (What Cheer ’Ria?) somewhat coarse in tone, and not very amusing.
――――:o:――――
THE HOUSE THAT VICTOR BUILT.
On January 24, 1885, the following announcement appeared in _Punch_:――
It being reported that Victor Hugo has just purchased for the sum of £13,000 a piece of land in the immediate vicinity of his present abode, with a view of building on it an entirely new house “of his own designing,” the following extract from a preliminary letter of instructions to the contractor who has undertaken the work will be read with interest.
* * * * *
“You will ask me whether I am an Architect; and I reply to you, ‘An Architect is one who constructs.’ Do I construct? Yes. What? Never mind; let us proceed. To construct a house you require a basement. This is the language of the Contractor. But the Poet meets him with a rejoinder. A basement is a prison, and Liberty can not breathe through a grating. This was the case at the Bastille! What has been done at the Bastille does not repeat itself. What then? You will commence the house on the first floor.”
Does this stagger the Architect? Unquestionably! Yet to commence a house on the first-floor is easy enough. To the Contractor? No. To the Poet? Yes. How? By a flight. Two flights will take anyone somewhere. Upstairs? Yes. Downstairs? Certainly! In my lady’s chamber? Why not? This is a phenomenon, and surprises you. Just now you were on the stare. Now you are on the first-floor landing. Therefore, you have taken a rise. Out of whom――the Architect? Possibly. Let us resume.
And now for the drawing-room.
This will be colossal. Why? Because the furniture in it will be stupendous. To talk of stupendous furniture is to suggest the opening scene of a Pantomime. A big head! Whose? No matter. But you will inquire as to this furniture. You will probably say, ‘Will there be chairs?’ No. ‘Arm-chairs?’ Useless. ‘Sofas with six legs?’ A phantom! ‘What then? Canopied thrones for four-and-twenty, with one of a superior make and quality?’ Quite so. ‘Why?’ Because it is here that Genius, after dinner, will meet the Kings and Emperors that aspire to pay it homage. ‘Will there be windows?’ Rather――and there is this convenient thing besides――eight-and-forty balconies. You will say at once, ‘Two a-piece?’ But you will quickly add――‘What of the gardens beneath?’ To this there is only one answer possible――‘Fireworks!’
Roman candles, rockets, and Bengal lights? No.――A set piece? Yes. Representing what? Somebody! Now there is this advantage about a set-piece that represents somebody――if carefully prepared, regardless of expense, and covering an area of 90 feet by 120. It may be permanent. Some one whispers ‘Advertisement.’ To this I make a supreme reply, ‘Fame!’
And now let us pass to another room. Shall we put our foot in it? Yes. Why? Because it is the kitchen.
――――:o:――――
THE SPOILER OF THE SEA. _By Victor Hugo._
## Chapter I. Gaillard was a wrecker, a smuggler. He was an honest man.
Ships are the effect and cause of commerce. Commerce cheats, commerce adulterates, commerce is bad. To wreck ships engaged in knavery is good. Gaillard the smuggler robbed the revenue, you say; so do monarchs. You take off your hat to a king. I raise mine to Gaillard――to a man. You call me crazy. Keep your temper; I keep mine. You are an idiot. I should like to punch your head. Chapter II. Gaillard was considered ugly. He was not. He had a bump. A dromedary has a hump. The dromedary is beautiful. He had a squint――it is better to squint than to be blind. His eyes were green――that is the colour of Nature’s beauteous sylvan dress. His mouth was extremely large――so is that of the hippopotamus. The hippopotamus is a charming fellow. Gaillard had the beauty of the dromedary, the loveliness of Nature in his eyes, the charm of the hippopotamus. Gaillard was sublime. Chapter III. Gaillard sprang into the sea to bathe; this happened once a year. You will admit that once in three hundred and sixty-five days was not too often. An octopus――a devil fish――was watching him. Man and monster, they eyed each other. Gaillard trembled at its glance――he was not brave. I saw it once, and did not tremble; I am brave. It was at the Aquarium. The octopus has eight legs; Gaillard wished for eighty, but his two sufficed. Fear gave them the swiftness of two hundred. He ran. You would have run. Should I have done so? Everything is possible. It is possible I should have run.
F. P. DELAFOND.
_The Weekly Dispatch._ September 13, 1885.
――――:o:――――
THE CAT.
The cat is the concrete symbol of a vacillating politician.
It is always on the fence.
It is the feline embodiment of one of the profoundest human principles wrenched from the circumambience of the Unknown, and hurled into the bosom of consciousness.
Nine tailors make one man. The cat has nine times the life of one man, for it has nine lives. Possession, also, is nine points of the law. Behold a legal possession of existence equal to the span of eighty-one clothiers’ lives.
Let us bow reverently before this august fact.
The wanderer by the midnight seashore, when the moon――that argent cornucopia of heaven――is streaming forth her flowers and fruits of radiance, and the illimitable is illuminated by the ineffable, will have remarked the phosphorescent ridges that scintillate along the billows’ tops, until the breakers seem to curve and snort like horses’ necks with manes of lightning clad.
So, O man, when in the darkness of thine own chamber, thou passeth thine hand along the furry spine of this feline phantom of the back yard, the electric sparks dart forth, and a flash of lightning fuses together the fingers and the fur.
Exquisite antithesis of Nature! The fireside embraces the ocean. The hearthstone is paved with seashells. The monsters of the deep disport, reflected in the glowing embers. The infinite Abroad is brought into amalgamation with the finite at Home.
The ocean roars.
The cat only purrs.
The billows rise and culminate and break.
The cat’s back rises. The feline tide is up, and we have a permanent billow of fur and flesh.
O impossible co-existence of uncontradictory contradictions!
The duke of Wellington _was_ pronounced the greatest captain of his age. Gen. Grant _is_ pronounced the greatest captain of his.
The greatest captain of any age was the captain with his whiskers.
Let us not call this the tergiversation of history. Call it rather the tergiversation of nature.
The whiskers of the captain.
The whiskers of the cat.
The hirsute exponent of martial supremacy. The feline symbolism of the Bearded Lady, crossing her claws before the family fire.
Jealousy has been called the green-eyed monster.
The cat is the green-eyed monster.
Both lie in wait. Neither destroys its victim without toying with it. One is the foe, the other the friend, of the fireside. Either is to be met with in almost every family. Each is of both sexes.
“Old Tom” gin, in excess, is one of man’s bitterest bibulous foes; man is the bitterest bibulous foe of old tom cats.
Osculations between sky and earth! O lips of the Seen touching the lips of the Unseen! O wave of thought careering through the asymptotes of cloudland, crystalizing into angelic foci the tangents of humanity.
The stars are out at night.
So are cats!
――――:o:――――
A MANIFESTO BY HICTOR VUGO
We live and move and have our being. By we I express civilisation, which consists first of Paris, then the world at large. We are born with generous instincts. We are naturally humane. I call upon the French Revolution of ’92-3 to prove this theory. We cannot all be Arabis. That would be too supreme a dream. But we can all admire him at a distance. Those horrible _canaille_ the English have warred against a weak race of striplings, descendants of the glorious mummies. They have fought, and aided by the magnificent single-minded abstinent France have won. _Mon dieu!_ Why was I not there? With one impassioned foot firmly planted on the escarpment of Tel-el-Kebir, I would have kept these British brutes at bay. I would have quoted one of my rhythmic poems, and they would have piled arms, awe-stricken and listened. Or, perhaps, these island savages in their ignorance, would have shot me. They are sufficiently unrefined for that. Ah! the thought is too dreadful. France, my beloved France, would in such a case have died also, for with me will perish all the ideas which go to make a great race――Adolphe, bring me a cigarette and a _café noir_. I would be calm.
[Illustration]
THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN. _By Alexandre Dumas._
This parody, which is to be found in Bret Harte’s _Sensation Novels Condensed_ is an ingenious mixture of “The Three Musqueteers” and “The Vicomte de Bragelonne.”
The second chapter is the best:――
## CHAPTER II.
THE COMBAT.
On leaving Provins the first musketeer proceeded to Nangis, where he was reinforced by thirty-three followers. The second musketeer, arriving at Nangis at the same moment, placed himself at the head of thirty-three more. The third guest of the landlord of Provins arrived at Nangis in time to assemble together thirty-three other musketeers.
The first stranger led the troops of his Eminence.
The second led the troops of the Queen.
The third led the troops of the King.
The fight commenced. It raged terribly for seven hours. The first musketeer killed thirty of the Queen’s troops. The second musketeer killed thirty of the King’s troops. The third musketeer killed thirty of his Eminence’s troops.
By this time it will be perceived the number of musketeers had been narrowed down to four on each side.
Naturally the three principal warriors approached each other.
They simultaneously uttered a cry:
“Aramis!”
“Athos!”
“D’Artagnan!”
They fell into each others arms.
“And it seems that we are fighting against each other, my children,” said the Count de la Fere, mournfully.
“How singular!” exclaimed Aramis and D’Artagnan.
“Let us stop this fratricidal warfare,” said Athos.
“We will!” they exclaimed together.
“But how to disband our followers?” queried D’Artagnan.
Aramis winked. They understood each other. “Let us cut ’em down!”
They cut ’em down. Aramis killed three. D’Artagnan three. Athos three.
The friends again embraced. “How like old times!” said Aramis. “How touching!” exclaimed the serious and philosophic Count de la Fere.
The galloping of hoofs caused them to withdraw from each other’s embraces. A gigantic figure rapidly approached.
“The innkeeper of Provins!” they cried, drawing their swords.
“Perigord, down with him!” shouted D’Artagnan.
“Stay,” said Athos.
The gigantic figure was beside them. He uttered a cry.
“Athos, Aramis, D’Artagnan!”
“Porthos!” exclaimed the astonished trio.
“The same.” They all fell in each other’s arms.
The Count de la Fere slowly raised his hands to Heaven. “Bless you! Bless us, my children! However different our opinions may be in regard to politics, we have but one opinion in regard to our own merits. Where can you find a better man than Aramis?”
“Than Porthos?” said Aramis.
“Than D’Artagnan?” said Porthos.
“Than Athos?” said D’Artagnan.
――――:o:――――
EUGENE SUE.
_Sir Brown_: A mystery of London, by Mons. Dernier Sou. (Illustrated). See _The Shilling Book of Beauty_ by Cuthbert Bede.
_Parodie du Juif Errant_, par Ch. Philipon et Louis Huart. 300 Vignettes par Cham. Bruxelles, 1845. This is a remarkable book, it consists of 291 pages octavo, and the illustrations are very droll.
This was translated, and published in London, 1846, by E. Appleyard, under the title _The Parody of the Wandering Jew_ by Charles Philipon and Louis Huart.
The first four chapters contained some copies of the illustrations of Cham very badly executed, the other half of the book had no illustrations.
[Illustration]
IZAAK WALTON’S COMPLETE(LY) DONE ANGLER.
_Ghost of_ PISCATOR. _Ghost of_ VIATOR.
_Viator._ Whither away, Master? A good morning to you! I have stretched my legs to catch the train to Tottenham and here I find you with rod and basket, as of old.
_Piscator._ Faith, Scholar, I have even been too long an angler with Nero, in the lake of darkness, and would fain take a chub, Tottenham way, and see mine old haunts.
_Viator._ Then have with you, Master; and I do mind me of pretty Maudlin that hereabouts would sing us, “_Come, Shepherds, deck your heads!_”
_Piscator._ Ay, Scholar, methinks Maudlin was the Siren that led thee to the River Lea more than all my wisdom. But here we are got to Tottenham, and to the waterside.
_Viator._ Oh, oh, Master, what place is this, and what smell cometh to my nostrils? See, see, Master, here be no chub, but two dead dogs and one departed cat!
_Piscator._ In sooth, Scholar, the country seemeth strange, and no man may live, nor fish neither, hard by such an open sewer. Can this be the Lea! Nay, Scholars, this is no place for honest anglers more. But hither walks Corydon. Let us ask him what makes this blackness in the water, and the smell that abides here, as they say frankincense and myrrh do cling, more sweetly, to the shores of the blessed Arabia. What ho, Corydon, what cheer?
_Corydon._[54] Sir, the condition of the River Lea is something really fearful. From Tottenham downwards the water is a mere open sewer, emitting the most noxious exhalations. Boating and bathing have ceased, and the River is now only a danger to the neighbourhood.
_Piscator._ Say you so? And what maketh that it should be so?
_Corydon._ Ah, Master, the drainage of Tottenham is turned bodily into the stream, and, in spite of Local Boards, the nuisance continues unaltered.
_Piscator._ And why right they not this wrong; for, marry, the poor folk here will die, and a pestilence be bred, if ye live not more cleanly.
_Corydon._ Sir, no man knows this better than the Tottenham Authorities themselves, who cause a horrible, disgusting nuisance to the dwellers on the Lea. They simply sow disease broadcast among thousands of helpless people, to save the expenditure of a certain sum of money.
_Piscator._ Penny wise, and pound foolish――penny wise, and pound foolish! Soon shall we have the Great Plague here again, and none to blame but the chuckled-headed “Authorities,” my Masters! Come away, Scholars, come away. The silver Lea is bedraggled. ’Tis no place for peaceful ghosts, that would be quiet, and go a-fishing.
[_They vanish._
_Punch._ August, 15, 1885.
_The Incompleat Angler_, after Master Isaak Walton, by F. C. Burnand, also appeared in _Punch_. It was afterwards published in book form by Bradbury Agnew & Co., London, in 1876, and again, with numerous illustrations by Harry Furniss, in 1887.
_Walton’s Angler Imitated_, in several Parts, another parody, appeared in _Punch and Judy_, London, 1869.
――――:o:――――
LORD LYTTON.
In Volume V. of this Collection, (p. 222) parodies upon Lord Lytton’s Poems and Plays were given, burlesques upon his prose works remain to be noted.
Praises of the Ideal, the Beautiful, the True, and the Virtuous, abound in Lord Lytton’s Novels, of which desirable qualities his own life and character were singularly destitute.
Tennyson satirised him as a fop, whilst Thackeray treated him with well-merited ridicule and contempt, both in the “Epistles to the Literati,” and in “Novels by Eminent Hands.” The latter series originally appeared in _Punch_, and the parody of Lytton was entitled “George de Barnwell.” In this, a paltry thief and murderer was elevated into a hero, in much the same manner that Lytton had treated Eugene Aram.
It is quite unnecessary to give any extract from this well-known and accessible burlesque.
In connection with Thackeray’s well-known burlesque criticism on _The Sea Captain_ by Lord Lytton (p. 225. Vol. V.) it should be mentioned that when that play was reproduced at the Lyceum Theatre under the lessee-ship of Mr. E. T. Smith, a continuation of Thackeray’s criticism appeared in _The Mask_, London, November 1868.
In this Thackeray’s style and orthography were mimicked, and Mr. Bandmann, who took the part of the prating hero _Vivyan_, was severely criticised for his stagey acting.
_The Sea Captain_ had been damned in 1839, and _The Rightful Heir_ scarcely merited a better fate, but it gave rise to a splendid burlesque, _The Frightful Hair_, by F. C. Burnand produced at The Haymarket Theatre, in December 1868, with Compton, Kendal, and Miss Ione Burke in the Cast.
THE DIAMOND DEATH.
_By Sir Pelham Little Bulwer, Bart._
Alphonsine Fleury, _modiste_ of Paris, determined that she should die. And, all things considered, it was hardly wonderful that the pretty little girl should come to such a conclusion. Poor child. Fickle woman! Thou hast hardly known Life these eighteen winters, and, yet, would’st be already toying with his brother Death! Die, then, child, if such be thy will. _Facilis descensus Averni._
Everybody must admit that she had reason. She called him her lover, that false and whiskered Jules, hero of the barricades, best polker at the _Chaumière_. And he had sworn to love her, and perhaps he meant it. For between Truth and Falsehood, there lies the Paradise of the Purposeless (shrouded, as the Doric poets sing, in a sapphire cloud), and _there_ are kept the vows which expire on earth for lack of the vivifying presence of the undying Earnest.
Jules was false, and Alphonsine would die. But when one has decided on doing a thing, one has still to decide on the way of doing it. And in regard to dying, one ought really to be careful; because (so far as one sees) there is no way, if one does it awkwardly, of repairing the blunder. The Biggest can die but once. There ran the Seine, and the Pont-Neuf was toll-less, which was a consideration, as Alphonsine’s last _sou_ had gone to purchase her last roll. But the Seine was so muddy, and then the Morgue, and its wet marble. The poor child shuddered at the thought. And the costume, too, for she was French, and, moreover, had instinctive delicacy. Clearly not the Seine.
The towers of Notre Dame. Better, certainly; and she would go rushing into the arms of Death, with a heart full of Victor Hugo, Peer of France. But no! Why, she had been quite ill going down one of the _montagnes Russes_ at the last carnival, even though Jules had held her in the car. She would never be able to look down from the giant tower. Could it shake its grim head and hurl her quivering away, it might be done. But a leap thence! M. D. Lamartine himself never dreamed of such a _Chute d’un ange_.
Poison. But Jules had taken her to see Frederic Lemaitre, poisoned by _la Dame de St. Tropez_. His contortions under the arsenic――_quel horreur_! There would be nobody to see her make faces, certainly, but what of that? Is one to lose all self-respect because one is going to kill oneself? Alphonsine’s mind rejected the poison.
It should be charcoal. Certainly, charcoal. Alphonsine would die like a Countess who had betrayed her husband, gambled away her fortune, and found a pimple on her nose. It was a lady’s death; and Alphonsine, a skilful little milliner, had been among ladies until she had taken measure of their minds as well as of their waists. So she would leave the world gracefully, and _comme il faut_.
Glow, thou ebon incense for the Altar of Doom; glow in thy little censer there beside her, in other days the lid of her saucepan. Glow, for there lies the poor child, Bride of Death, expectant of her Bridegroom. She has arrayed her _mansarde_ so neatly, that, when the rough _Commissaires de Police_ force the door, they will pause upon the threshold――perhaps touch their hats. And she lies with clasped hands, and upon her maiden bosom rests a daguerreotype of her faithless lover. Glow, dark charcoal, glow, and let thy fames waft her spirit from this cold world, to realms where Anteros smiles upon the True and the Beautiful.
She is dying. But, O kindly Mother of the Dead, thou sendest through the Portal of Ivory a gentle Dream. Through the closing eyes of Alphonsine that Dream looks forth, and its look falls upon that glowing censer, which glares like the eye of a Demon. Full into that Demon-eye looks the Dream, unscared, and what sees it there? Alphonsine dreams that a mighty and a pitying Voice hath come forth from the Treasure-house of Fate, and hath said unto that fiery charcoal, BE AS THOU WERT WONT TO BE.
The modest charcoal knows its Lord, and blushes. Then, suddenly paling its fires, they soften into crystal light; and as they subside, the charcoal glitters in its other and more glorious form, the DIAMOND! Countless treasures roll at the feet of the expiring Alphonsine. * * *
Expiring?――Oh, no! The world has rose-joy for her yet. Jules, repentant and terrified, has shattered her door, has dashed her window into air, has kicked her charcoal to earth: and as he restores her to life with cold water and warm kisses, he shows her a ticket for them both for to-night’s _Bal Masqué_.
Clouds and sunrays, ye are Life! But beyond, beyond, whirls and roars the dread Maelstrom of Inexplicability.
_The Puppet Showman’s Album._ London. No date.
THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD. _By Sir Ed-d L-tt-n B-lw-r._
## BOOK I.
_The Promptings of the Ideal._
It was noon, Sir Edward had stepped from his brougham and was proceeding on foot down the Strand. He was dressed with his usual faultless taste, but in alighting from his vehicle his foot had slipped, and a small round disc of conglomerated soil, which instantly appeared on his high arched instep, marred the harmonious glitter of his boots. Sir Edward was fastidious. Casting his eyes around, at a little distance he perceived the stand of a youthful bootblack. Thither he sauntered, and carelessly placing his foot on the low stool, he waited the application of the polisher’s Art. “Tis true,” said Sir Edward to himself, yet half aloud, “the contact of the Foul and the Disgusting mars the general effect of the Shiny and the Beautiful――and yet, why am I here? I repeat it, calmly and deliberately――why am I here? Ha! Boy!”
The Boy looked up――his dark Italian eyes glanced intelligently at the Philosopher, and, as with one hand he tossed back his glossy curls from his marble brow, and with the other he spread the equally glossy Day and Martin over the Baronet’s boot, he answered in deep rich tones: “The Ideal is subjective to the Real. The exercise of apperception gives a distinctiveness to idiocracy, which is, however, subject to the limits of ME. You are an admirer of the Beautiful, sir. You wish your boots blacked. The Beautiful is attainable by means of the Coin.”
“Ah,” said Sir Edward thoughtfully, gazing upon the almost supernal beauty of the Child before him; “you speak well. You have read _Kant_.”
The Boy blushed deeply. He drew a copy of _Kant_ from his bosom, but in his confusion several other volumes dropped from his bosom on the ground. The Baronet picked them up.
“Ah!” said the Philosopher, “what’s this? _Cicero’s De Senectute_, and at your age, too? _Martial’s Epigrams_, _Cæsar’s Commentaries_. What! a classical scholar?”
“E pluribus Unum. Nux vomica. Nil desperandum. Nihil fit!” said the Boy, enthusiastically. The Philosopher gazed at the Child. A strange presence seemed to transfuse and possess him. Over the brow of the Boy glittered the pale nimbus of the Student.
“Ah, and Schiller’s _Robbers_ too?” queried the Philosopher.
“Das ist ausgespielt,” said the Boy modestly.
“Then you have read my translation of _Schiller’s Ballads_?” continued the Baronet, with some show of interest.
“I have, and infinitely prefer them to the original,” said the Boy with intellectual warmth. “You have shown how in Actual life we strive for a Goal we cannot reach; how in the Ideal the Goal is attainable, and there effort is victory. You have given us the Antithesis which is a key to the Remainder, and constantly balances before us the conditions of the Actual and the privileges of the Ideal.”
“My very words,” said the Baronet; “wonderful, wonderful!” and he gazed fondly at the Italian boy, who again resumed his menial employment. Alas! the wings of the Ideal were folded. The Student had been absorbed in the Boy.
But Sir Edward’s boots were blacked, and he turned to depart. Placing his hand upon the clustering tendrils that surrounded the classic nob of the infant Italian, he said softly, like a strain of distant music:
“Boy, you have done well. Love the Good. Protect the Innocent. Provide for The Indigent. Respect the Philosopher.”... “Stay! Can you tell me what _is_ The True, The Beautiful, The Innocent, The Virtuous?”
“They are things that commence with a capital letter,” said the Boy, promptly.
“Enough! Respect everything that commences with a capital letter! Respect ME!” and dropping a halfpenny in the hand of the Boy, he departed.
The Boy gazed fixedly at the coin. A frightful and instantaneous change overspread his features. His noble brow was corrugated with baser lines of calculation. His black eye, serpent-like, glittered with suppressed passion. Dropping upon his hands and feet, he crawled to the curbstone and hissed after the retreating form of the Baronet, the single word:
“Bilk!”
* * * * *
There are three more Chapters of this amusing parody to be found in Bret Harte’s _Sensation Novels Condensed_.
Another imitation of Lytton’s prose was published in _The Individual_ November 8, 1836 (Cambridge), but it is not of sufficient interest to reprint.
――――
ON A TOASTED MUFFIN. _By Sir E. L. B. L. B. L. B. Little, Bart._
Object belov’d! when day to eve gives place, And life’s best nectar thy fond vot’ry sips, How sweet to gaze upon thy shining face, And press thy tender form unto my lips!
Fair as the Naiad of the Grecian stream, And beautiful as Oread of the lawn; Bright-beaming as the iv’ry palac’d dream, And melting as the Dewy Urns of dawn.
For thee I strike the sounding Lyre of song, And hymn the Beautiful, the Good, the True; The dying notes of thankfulness prolong, And light the Beacon-fires of praise for you.
Butter’d Ideal of Life’s coarser food! Thou calm Egeria in a world of strife! Antigone of Crumpets! mild as good, Decent in death, and beautiful in life!
Fairest where all is _fare_! shine on me still, And gild the dark To-Morrow of my days; In public Marts and crowded Senates thrill, My soul, with Tea-time thoughts and Muffin lays.
CUTHBERT BEDE.
_The Shilling Book of Beauty._ London. J. Blackwood & Co.
――――
LORD CHESTERFIELD.
_Chesterfield Travestie_; or School for Modern Manners. Anonymous. Dedicated to George Colman, whose name is incorrectly spelt “Coleman,” on the title page. London, Thomas Tegg, 1808.
This has ten Caricatures drawn by Rowlandson. A later and enlarged edition was published entitled _Chesterfield Burlesqued_.
_Lady Chesterfield’s Letters to her Daughter_, by George Augustus Sala. London, Houlston and Wright, 1860.
The first edition of this humorous, but rather lengthy burlesque (it consists of fourteen chapters), contains many excellent woodcuts by _Phiz_, and is now very scarce.
GOOD MANNERS; OR, THE ART OF BEING AGREEABLE.
(_Being Maxims and Extracts from Lord Jesterfield’s Letters._)[55]
_On Conversation._――The basis of all conversation is Flat Contradiction. The flatter and the stronger the contradiction, the more certain and secure is the basis on which the structure of Conversation is to rise.
Where there is no contradiction, “nothing more need be said,” and consequently there and then is an end of all conversation.
The word conversation in itself expresses and implies an assertion of a fact and a denial. It is compounded of two Latin words, “_verso_” to turn, and “_con_” together, and means, therefore, two people turning together, or having “a turn at one another,” or a “set-to.” Were everybody to agree with everybody else, it is evident that there would be no matter for discussion, and, therefore, no real conversation.
Persons in love, who are, for the time being, in perfect agreement with each other, never converse. They can’t. It is from this universally-observed fact that in every language may be found the significant proverb, “Silence gives consent,” _i.e._, where all agree there is, as we have said, no conversation.
_A knowledge of Human Nature is absolutely necessary for the cultivation of good manners, and for getting oneself generally liked in all sorts and varieties of Society._――This is an extensive subject, but its study will well repay the most attentive perusal:――
_Rules and Advice._――In whatever society you may be, a moderate share of penetration will enable you to find out everybody’s weak points. You may not hit upon them all at once, but make your own private list, and then try them all round. Enter any room as though you were a general practitioner called in to pronounce on everybody’s ailments. You do not want to _see_ their tongues, but only hear how they use them. You can feel the pulse of each one discreetly.
_How to make yourself Agreeable with a Nouveau Riche._――Be playfully familiar. Lower yourself to _his_ level; so as not to appear proud of your superior birth and training. Ascertain how he made his money, what was his origin; and, if unable to discover what he sprang from, you can make a safe guess in supposing him to have been a scavenger, a dustman, or as boy engaged in sweeping out an office (many illustrious men who have discharged the highest offices, may have themselves been discharged from the lowest offices for not having kept them clean and tidy), and on this supposition you can at once address him, and proceed to compare his former state of abject poverty with his present apparently inexhaustible wealth, a subject that must afford him the greatest possible pleasure, especially in a mixed company.
* * * * *
_Punch._ April 26, 1884.
――――:o:――――
THOMAS DE QUINCEY.
His extraordinary work _The Confessions of an English Opium-Eater_ published in 1822, (having originally appeared in the London Magazine), was the subject of an exceedingly clever parody in _Blackwood_ for December, 1856, attributed to the pen of Sir E. G. Hamley.
“A Recent Confession of an Opium-Eater” tells how the O.E., somewhere about the year 1828, found himself in the sixteenth storey of a house in the old town of Edinburgh in company with three most unprepossessing personages, one of the feminine gender. He is at first disposed to entertain a favourable opinion of the intellectual status of his entertainers by the sympathising reception accorded to some appreciative remarks offered by him on the greatness of Burke, but afterwards sees reason to question whether their Burke and his were the same person. By-and-by it becomes apparent that his companions are intent upon drugging him. The idea of anyone presuming to hocus the opium-eater tickles his fancy immensely; he enters into the joke, toasts his hosts in laudanum, and obliges them to respond, and in due time has them all under the table. As he goes down-stairs, a little misadventure occurs with a candle, and by next morning the sixteen storeys and the occupants have entirely disappeared. The style of the parody is excellent, a compound of the Opium-Eater and “Murder considered as one of the Fine Arts.”
――――:o:――――
LADY MORGAN.
As a specimen of her eccentric style take the following passage from “The Wild Irish Girl:” “I was _chez moi_, inhaling the _odeur musquée_ of my scented _boudoir_, when the Prince de Z―――― entered. He found me in my _demi-toilette blasée sur tout_, and pensively engaged in solitary conjugation of the verb _s’ennuyer_, and, though he had never been one of my _habitués_, or by any means _des nôtres_, I was not disinclined, at this moment of _délassement_, to glide with him into the _crocchio ristretto_ of familiar chat.” The above has been done into French by M. H. Cocheris in the following style: “J’etais _at home_, aspirant la _musky smell_ de mon _private room_ lorsque le Prince Z―――― entra. Il me trouva en _simple dress, fatigued with everything_, tristement occupée à conjuguer le verbe _to be weary_, et quoique je ne l’eusse jamais compté au nombre de mes _intimates_, et qu’il n’etait, en aucune façon, _of our set_, j’etais assez disposée à entrer avec lui dans le _crocchio ristretto_ d’une causerie familière.”
――――:o:――――
ARCHIBALD FORBES.
An American paper has the following amusing burlesque of Mr. Archibald Forbes’ style. Mr. Forbes is supposed to be replying to the toast of the English press. “Mr. Chairman――I am Mr. Archibald Forbes. I have been everywhere. I have done everything. I am a very smart fellow. I am not to be out-done. I know the Emperor of China. I know the King of the Cannibal Islands. I am intimately acquainted with the Grand Llama. I have lived with the Shah of Persia. I am the dearest friend of the Emperor of Russia.” The report comes abruptly to an end with the editorial remark. “Here our sorts of I’s gave out.”
――――:o:――――
COOKERY BOOKS.
During the Crimean War, when there was a great outcry about the starving condition of our troops, and the utter breakdown of the Commissariat, the following parody on Mr. A. Soyer’s cookery book appeared in “Our Miscellany,” by Yates and Brough:――
CAMP COOKERY. _By Alicksus Sawder_
_To boil cabbage._――It is necessary to procure a cabbage. Wash in cold water; which, throw down a gutter, or outside a tent if no gutter be procurable. Be careful not to splash trousers, especially in frosty weather. Stick a two-pronged fork boldly into the cabbage (a bayonet will do equally well), and plunge it into a saucepan of water just at boiling point. When it has boiled for eight minutes, twenty-five seconds, throw eleven-fifteenths of a teaspoonful of salt into the water. _Let the cabbage boil till it is thoroughly done._ At that moment be on the watch to take it out of the saucepan (taking care to avert the face from the steam), and place in a vegetable dish. Put the cover on, and serve up with roast beef, ortolans, venison, pickled pork, or whatever may come handiest. An old helmet will supply the place of a saucepan. Cauliflowers may be cooked in the same manner; and, indeed, most things.
_To fry Bacon._――Cut your bacon into long strips, or rashers. Wipe your frying-pan out with a coarse towel, or lining of old dressing-gown. Then place it gently (so as not to knock the bottom out) over a brisk fire. Place the rashers in, one by one. When they are done on one side, turn them over to do on the other. When they have attained a rich brown, take them out and arrange them on a dish, or slice of bread, or anything. Watch your rashers, so that the sentinel outside doesn’t get at them; and eat when you feel inclined. The gravy may be sopped up from the frying-pan with crumbs of bread. If only biscuit is to be obtained, use the fingers, which lick carefully. The rind may be preserved in the waistcoat pocket, for sucking while on duty.
_Roast Potatoes._――Put your potatoes under the stove, and rake hot embers over them. While they are cooking get as much butter as the commissariat will allow you, and put it on a clean dish, or, a dirty one, with half a sheet of writing-paper on it (indeed, in an extreme case, the writing-paper will enable you to dispense with the dish altogether). Taste the butter, but don’t eat it all up till the potatoes are done. Great care will be required for the observance of the latter regulation. Cut the butter into dice of from six to seven-eighths of a cubic inch. When the potatoes are done, cut them open and insert a dice of butter in each, closing the potato rapidly to prevent evaporation. Eat with pepper and salt, or whatever you can get.
_Another Method._――If you can’t get any butter, do without it.
_Potatoes and Point._――This is a very popular dish in Ireland, and one which I have frequently partaken of in that country. The method of preparing it in the Crimea is as follows:――Boil a dish of potatoes, and serve up hot, with a watch-glass full of powdered salt. When they are ready for eating, point, with the fore-finger of the right hand, in a north-westerly direction, where the regions of beef are supposed to exist.
* * * * *
There was also an old parody, by Dr. King, on _The Art of Cookery_.
――――
THE MILITARY COOKERY-BOOK.
_How to make a Recruit._――Take a raw lad from the country (the younger the better) and fill his head with military froth. Add a shilling and as much beer as will be covered by the bounty-money. Let him simmer, and serve him up thick before a Magistrate the next morning. Let him be sworn in, and he then will be nicely done.
_How to make a Soldier._――Take your recruit, and thrust him roughly into a depôt. Mix him up well with recruits from other regiments until he has lost any _esprit de corps_ which may have been floating upon the surface when he enlisted. Now let him lie idle for a few years until his strength is exhausted, and then, at ten minutes’ notice, pack him off to India.
_Another Method._――Take your recruit, and place him at headquarters. Let him mix freely with all the bad characters that have been carefully kept in the regiment, until his nature has become assimilated to theirs. For three years pay him rather less than a ploughboy’s wages, and make him work rather harder than a costermonger’s donkey. Your soldier having now reached perfection, you will turn him out of the Service with Economical Dressing.
_How to make a Deserter._――A very simple and popular dish. Take a soldier, see that he is perfectly free from any mark by which he may be identified, and fill his head with grievances. Now add a little opportunity, and you have, or, rather, you have not, your deserter.
_Another and Simpler Method._――Take a recruit, without inquiring into his antecedents. Give him his kit and bounty-money and close your eyes. The same recruit may be used for this dish (which will be found to be a fine military hash) any number of times.
_How to make an Army._――Take a few scores of Infantry Regiments and carefully proceed to under-man them. Add some troopers without horses, and some batteries without guns. Throw in a number of unattached Generals, and serve up the whole with a plentiful supply of Control Mixture.
_Another and Easier Method._――Get a little ink, a pen, and a sheet of paper. Now dip your pen in the ink, and with it trace figures upon your sheet of paper. The accompaniment to this dish is usually hot water.
_How to make a Panic._――Take one or two influential newspapers in the dead season of the year, and fill them with smartly written letters. Add a few pointed leading articles, and pull your Army into pieces. Let the whole simmer until the opening of Parliament. This once popular mess is now found to be rather insipid, unless it is produced nicely garnished with plenty of Continental sauce, mixed with just an idea of Invasion relish. With these zests, however, it is always found to be toothsome, although extremely expensive.
_Punch._ November 21, 1874.
――――
HENRY LABOUCHERE AND EDMUND YATES.
It is customary for the Editors of _Truth_ and _The World_ to publish the latest _on dits_ of Society, and each delights in contradicting the other on little matters of detail. This sport does not much interest the general public, but it appears to afford great amusement to the two Editors. Some of their paragraphs are scarcely less absurd than the following:――
[“Henry” has promised that he will go and see “Edmund” in Holloway Prison.]
EXTRACT I. (_From “Truth.”_)
“I made a pilgrimage to Holloway Castle one day last week, and was pleased to find poor Edmund in excellent spirits. He was lounging in a handsomely upholstered chair from Gillow’s, while he smoked a capital Manilla. In the course of our conversation, I learnt that it is his intention to publish a volume of ‘Prison Recollections’ when he again emerges into the outer world. Edmund has lost flesh, but is otherwise in his usual health.”
EXTRACT II. (_From “The World.”_)
“Really, Henry, I am getting quite tired of correcting your blunders. The chair in which you found me seated was supplied to me by Maple, whom I much prefer to Gillow. You have also put your foot in it about the cigar, which was an Intimidad and not a Manilla. Thirdly, I _don’t_ intend to publish any ‘Prison Recollections;’ and as for my having lost flesh, that is pure rubbish. How _can_ one lose flesh when one continues to feed as well as usual, and is at the same time obliged to drop one’s horse exercise in the Row?”
EXTRACT III. (_From “Truth.”_)
“I have always maintained that you are far too impetuous, Edmund. Perhaps you are correct about your not having lost flesh, though I could have sworn that I counted one chin less than usual upon your face. I may also have been in error regarding the ‘Recollections’ and the chair, but I cannot for a moment admit that your Manilla was an Intimidad. You are no judge of tobacco. I am, and the illustrated advertisement of Somebody’s cigarettes is sufficient proof of the fact.”
EXTRACT IV. (_From “The World.”_)
“Upon certain subjects, Henry, pig-headed ass is not the name for you. Don’t visit me again, please.”
EXTRACT V. (_From “Truth.”_)
“Catch me at it, my dear Edmund.”
_Funny Folks_, January 31, 1885.
――――:o:――――
THE REAL LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY.
A short parody, having the above title appeared in _Punch_, May 19, 1888, with an illustration by Linley Sambourne, representing Lord Randolph Churchill, and the Duke of Cambridge. At the time it appeared Lord Randolph was posing as an advocate of Retrenchment and Reform. That a member of the Marlborough family of national bloodsuckers should appear as the advocate of economy was a joke that was far too good to last, and Lord Randolph having remained in the cabinet long enough to earn a pension, found it convenient to resign.
(_An imaginary conversation. With apologies to Mrs. F. H. Burnett._)
And then the Duke looked up.
What Little Grandolph saw was a portly old man, with scanty white hair and bushy whiskers, and a nose like a florid bulb between his prominent imperious eyes.
What the Duke saw was a smart, small figure in a jaunt, suit, with a large collar, and with trim, accurately-parted locks curved carefully about the curiously canine little face whose equally protuberant eyes met his with a look of――well, perhaps the Duke would have found it difficult exactly to define the character of that look, but it combined in an emphatic way the interrogative and the ironical.
It was thought that Little Lord Fauntleroy was himself rather like a small copy of a grander and older original, and he himself was supposed to be well aware of the fact. But there was a sudden glow of emotion in the irascible old Duke’s face as he saw what a sturdy, self-confident little fellow Lord Fauntleroy was, and how unhesitatingly he stood to his guns in all circumstances. It moved the grim old nobleman that the youngster should show no shyness or fear, either of the situation or of himself.
“Are you the Duke?” he said. “I’m a Duke’s son, you see, and know something about such things. I’m Lord Grandolph Fauntleroy.”
He nodded affably, because he knew it to be the polite and proper thing to do, even from young and clever Lords to old and (the adjective he mentally used may be suppressed) Dukes. “I hope you――and the Army――are all right,” he continued, with the utmost airiness. “I’m very glad to see you here.”
“Glad to see me, are you?” said the Duke.
“Yes,” answered Lord Fauntleroy, “very.”
There was a chair at the head of the table, and he sat down on it; it was a big chair, and, physically, he hardly filled it perhaps; but he seemed quite at his ease as he sat there, and regarded a Monarch’s august relative intently and confidently.
“I’ve often wondered what a Commander-in-Chief would look like when being cross-examined,” he remarked. “I’ve wondered whether he’d be anything like my great ancestor of the Queen Anne epoch.”
“Am I?” asked the Duke.
“Well,” Grandolph replied, “I’ve only seen pictures of him, of course, and I can’t exactly say how he would have looked in a similar case, but I don’t _think_ you are much like him.”
“You are disappointed, I suppose?” suggested his august interlocutor.
“Oh no!” replied Grandolph, politely. “Of course you would like any great military contemporary to look like your own illustrious ancestor; but of course you _might_ admire the way your great military contemporary looked, even if he wasn’t like your illustrious ancestor. You know how it is yourself, about admiring your contemporaries.”
The Duke stared. He could hardly be said to know how it was about admiring his contemporaries, many of whom he didn’t admire at all, and some of whom did not altogether admire him.
“Well, and how’s our bit of an Army getting on?” asked little Lord Fauntleroy, airily.
“Our――bit――of――an――Army?” repeated the Duke, in a scattered sort of way.
“Yes,” explained Grandolph, “the bit of an Army we pay such a pile of money for?”
“Ha!” ejaculated his Lordship. “That’s it, is it? The money isn’t spent as you like. You’d like to have the spending of it. What would _you_ buy with it? I should like to hear something about that.”
“Doubtless,” replied Lord Fauntleroy, coolly. “Some day you may. At present _I’m_ asking questions, and your business is to answer them.”
“The D――――!” began the Duke, hotly.
“Quite so――the D―――― etails,” interjected Little Lord Fauntleroy, blandly. “As you were doubtless about to say, the details are the things! All very well to say in a general sort of way that the Army is going to――its usual destination, Duke; that Party Spirit and Financial Cheese-paring are the cause of it, and that more men and money are urgently required. That won’t do for me. I want to know――so does the Country――much more than that. How? Why? What? When? How many? How much? These, my dear Duke, are the pertinent questions to which we――the Country and I――demand precise answers. When we get them, instead of vague denunciation and big D’s, we shall know what to do.”
The sensations of his Royal Highness the Duke, could scarcely be described. He was not an old nobleman who was very easily taken aback, because he had seen a great deal of the official world; but here was something he found so novel that it almost took his lordly breath away, and caused him some singular emotions. A civilian had always seemed to him a most objectionable creature――impertinent, parsimonious, and with inadequate conceptions of discipline. But this composed, precise, insolently interrogative little personage was a portent. The Duke’s martinet manner was quite shaken by this startling surprise.
* * * * *
_The Standard_ (London) in 1885 ventured to criticise the political character and conduct of Lord Randolph Churchill, but three years later it contained an article which read like a parody of its former utterances about this Boulanger of the Fourth Party:――
(From the _Standard_, July 31, 1885.)
It is time to speak plainly. Lord Randolph Churchill has been puffed by his friends in the daily and weekly press with admirable assiduity. He has dined with them and they have dined with him, and the well-organised _claque_ are ready to cry “Prodigious!” whenever he opens his mouth. But it is all in vain. We no longer live in days when the public can be gulled by such arts.… The truth is, that Lord Randolph Churchill is a much over-rated man. He is now verging upon middle-age and has reached a time of life when even flighty minds ought to sober down. But this is what he cannot do. His almost incredible ignorance of affairs, his boyish delight in offering the crudest insults to men who have been fifty years in the service of the State, his pranks, his blunders, are ceasing to amuse.… Instead of his being broken in by his colleagues, his colleagues have been broken in by him, and he has been able to make them adopt as the deliberate and well-digested convictions of sagacious and practical Englishmen, the crude conceits of a political neophyte, which his own little Senate labour hard to represent as the language of a new Tory gospel.… We will follow Lord Salisbury, but we will not be governed by a sort of overgrown schoolboy, who thinks he is witty when he is only impudent, and who really does not seem to possess sufficient knowledge even to fathom the depths of his own ignorance of everything worthy of the name of statesmanship.
(From the _Standard_, July 29, 1888.)
The interest excited by the other appointments sinks into nothing compared with that which must be felt in the promotion of Lord R. Churchill to the Chancellorship of the Exchequer and the leadership of the House of Commons. There is, doubtless, much that may be said against the appointment to so responsible a position of one who has had so brief an experience of official life, and who has hitherto been more remarkable for brilliancy than discretion. On the other hand, Lord Randolph Churchill possesses the debating power and the dauntless spirit which are indispensable to a successful leader. There are times and seasons when self-confidence, readiness, and a command of that pungent rhetoric which often tells better in the House of Commons than the closest and most judicial argument, are of more service to a party than any other qualities which a Parliamentary statesman can possess. Lord Randolph Churchill moreover, is eminently popular with “the masses,” and so far has a title to confront Mr. Gladstone which no other man on the Conservative side of the House can show. In short, he is an orator and a wit; and in a popular assembly these are titles to pre-eminence which it is not very easy to dispute. It remains for Lord Randolph Churchill to demonstrate that the great confidence that has been reposed in him has not been misplaced.
Taken in connection with the above extracts, it is amusing to read the leader which appeared in _The Standard_, July 31, 1889:――
Lord Randolph Churchill used his opportunities at Birmingham yesterday to illustrate, on a more ambitious scale than he has yet attempted, his constitutional incapacity for public life. A Statesman should be discreet; and even the hack politician is expected to be loyal to his associates. Lord Randolph has been at some pains to prove that no colleagues can trust him, and that no school of opinion can rely upon him for six weeks together. He made several speeches yesterday, and discussed at considerable length, and with an air of dogmatic assurance, a variety of topics. But the miscellaneous heads were all firmly held together by one pervading principle. Lord Randolph Churchill, his position and prospects, and the supreme importance of improving both at any cost, constituted the informing element of the whole medley. It does not, of course, follow that because Lord Randolph played a selfish game, he played a wise one. His addresses, we imagine, will strike him as poor reading by daylight. Even in the atmosphere of the City Hall, the reception was not altogether encouraging. It is not flattering to an orator to find that sayings which he meant to be oracular provoked merriment; that his serious things were taken as jokes and his jokes as serious things; and that solemn declarations of policy, which were designed to draw ringing cheers, were listened to in chilling silence, or, still worse, excited immediate and emphatic protest.
――――:o:――――
H. RIDER HAGGARD.
_He_, by the author of “It,” “King Solomon’s Wives,” “Bess,” and other Romances. London, Longmans, Green and Co., 1887. This, of course, is a parody of “_She_; a History of Adventure,” by H. Rider Haggard, author of “King Solomon’s mines,” etc. Also published by Longmans and Co. London.
_She_ was also dramatised, and produced at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in September, 1888.
_Punch_ had a humorous skit on this adaptation (September 15, 1888) entitled “_She-that-ought-not-to-be-played!_ A Story of Gloomy Gaiety.”
A burlesque of “She” had also previously appeared in _Punch_, February 26, 1887, entitled “_Hee! Hee!_” by Walker Weird, author of “Solomon’s Ewers.”
American publishers not only pirated the popular works of Mr. Rider Haggard, but one firm proceeded to father upon him a work of which he knew nothing. This was entitled “_Me_, a companion to _She_.” By H. Rider Haggard; published by Butler Brothers, of New York and Chicago. In justice to that firm, however, it must be said that they withdrew the work from circulation as soon as they discovered that Mr. Haggard objected to having his name coupled with it. Copies of this are consequently very difficult to procure.
_King Solomon’s Wives_; or, The Phantom Mines. By Hyder Ragged. With numerous illustrations by Linley Sambourne. London, Vizetelly and Co., 1887.
The jocular introduction to this is signed _A. Quaterman_.
――――:o:――――
SAMUEL RICHARDSON.
It is well known that Fielding’s _Joseph Andrews_ was written with the intention of ridiculing Richardson’s tediously moral novel _Pamela_, of which to a certain extent it is a parody, Joseph, the virtuous footman, being the brother of Pamela, and subjected to similar temptations. Fielding had a contempt for the priggish tone of Richardson’s works, and his ridicule succeeded in almost killing _Pamela_.
There was another curious attack on Richardson entitled “_Apology for the Life of Mrs. Shamela Andrews_, in which the Falsehoods of Pamela are Exposed, together with a full Account of all that passed between her and Parson Williams,” by Mr. Conny Keyber. 1741.
_The History of Clorana_, the Beautiful Arcadian, or Virtue Triumphant, 1737. (_Pamela_, with slight variations.)
――――:o:――――
MISS BRADDON.
DR. MARCHMONT’S MISERY.
This was a burlesque of “Lady Audley’s Secret” which appeared in _Judy_, 1868. It was written by Mr. Walter Parke. The following is an extract from this humorous work:――
## CHAPTER XII.
Day had broken (though MARTIN was still solvent) and was casting brilliant Holborn Bars of light through the windows of Tredethlyn Abbey on to the artistic Phiz of Lady Aurorabella.
She was very very weary――tired of her own life, and of several other people’s lives, also she had not the heart to eat, and probably would not have eaten it if she had. Beyond trifling with the wing of a rabbit, cutting a morsel from a cold surloin of grouse, and drinking a single glass of _Chiaroscuro_, her breakfast was untouched.
For she had just received intelligence that, in spite of all her exertions, her FIVE HUSBANDS were again at liberty!
“Oh! why did they not all perish?” she sobbed. “I have tried to get rid of them over and over again by every species of assassination, but now I am tired of _mild_ measures. I must do something DESPERATE!”
So she summoned that ubiquitous detective officer, Inspector Weasel, who, from any quarter of the globe, would come by telegraph to obey her slightest word.
“Weasel” she said “I can endure this no longer, I have made a resolve. By the tyrannical laws of this hateful country, my _quintette_ of husbands have been allowed to keep the marriage certificates. Once in possession of _them_, I could defy the world. If you value my peace or your own, you must get them for me.”
“I will,” replied the all accomplished detective and he set about it at once.
First, to pursue the fugitive Dr. Marchmont, “Ah” murmured the Detective “my experience tells me that when a fellow on the bolt says he is going to one place, he is certain to set off in exactly the opposite direction. Let me see,” And he carefully examined his Government survey of the World.
* * * * *
Inspector Weasel hastened to the Snoozington Railway Station.
“What time does the next train start for Kamtschatka?” “At 6.85,” was the reply.
The detective chafed with impatience. Two minutes to wait! It seemed an eternity-and-a-half to him! At length the train arrived and the detective jumped up behind the Engine Driver. “Off we go!” he cried, “bother stations, and signals, and all that sort of thing, never mind bursting the engine, or blowing up the passengers. I’m in a hurry!”
――――:o:――――
THE POLITE LETTER WRITER.
At the distribution of prizes to the art classes at Chesterfield in November, 1880, the secretary read a communication purporting to come from Mr. John Ruskin, in answer to one asking him to give them a lecture. It was as follows:――
“Harlesden, London, Friday.
“My dear Sir,――Your letter reaches me here. I have just returned from Venice, where I have ruminated in the pasturages of the home of art; the loveliest and holiest of lovely and holy cities, where the very stones cry out, eloquent in the elegancies of Iambics. I could not if I would go to Chesterfield, and I much doubt whether I would go if I could. I do not hire myself out――after the fashion of a brainless long tongued puppet――for filthy ducats. You, and those who told you to write me, want me, I presume, to come that you may make money for your art class; and if I should get you much money, you will then tolerate some good advice from me. No, I will not come.
“I have heard of Chesterfield. Hath it not a steeple-abomination, and is it not the home――if not the cradle――of that arch abomination-creator, Stephenson? To him are we indebted for the screeching and howling and shrieking fiends fit only for a Pandemonium, called locomotives, that disfigure the loveliest spots of God’s own land.
“I will not come to Chesterfield. Tell your students that art is a holy luxury, and they must pay for it. Tell them to study, to ponder, and to work with a single thought for perfection, observing loving and strict obedience to the monitions of their teacher. Let them learn to do things rightly and humbly, and then, by the conviction that they can never do them as well as they have been done by others, they may be profited.
“My good young people, this is pre-eminently the foolishest――yes, quite the foolishest――notion that you can get into your empty little egg-shells of heads; that you can be a Titian, or a Raphael, or a Phidias; or that you can write like Seneca. But because you cannot be great, that is no reason why you should not aspire to greatness. In joy, humility, and humbleness, work together. Only don’t study art because it will pay, and do not ask for payment because you study art. Art will make you all wiser and happier, and is worth paying for. If you are in debt――as I suppose you are, or why pester me?――pay off your debts yourselves. If you write to me only that you may get money, you are on the foolishest of all errands. Wisdom is more precious than rubies, and is offered to you as a blessing in herself. She is the reward of industry, kindness and modesty. She is the prize of prizes, the strength of your life now, and an earnest of the life that is to come. This advice is better than money, and I give it to you gratis. Ponder it and profit by it.――Ever faithfully yours,
JOHN RUSKIN.”
Many were the comments which this letter, widely published, as it was, created; for scarcely any one doubted the authenticity of the letter addressed to Chesterfield, a name which recals that of a celebrated Earl who also wrote letters, but _his_ were on the art of politeness.
But a few days afterwards Mr. Ruskin denied that he had composed the epistle; it is, therefore, only of interest now as so clever a parody of his style that the whole London press was deceived by it. The following letter, however, was certainly genuine. In June 1886, a circular was addressed to Mr. Ruskin appealing for subscriptions towards extinquishing the debt of the Baptist Church at Richmond, to which he replied:――
SIR,――I am sorrowfully amused at your appeal to me, of all people in the world the precisely least likely to give you a farthing. My first word to all men and boys who care to hear me is “Don’t get into debt. Starve, and go to heaven; but don’t borrow. Try first begging. I don’t mind, if it’s really needful, stealing. But don’t buy things you can’t pay for.” And of all manner of debtors, pious people building churches they can’t pay for are the most detestable nonsense to me. Can’t you preach and pray behind the hedges, or in a sandpit, or in a coal-hole first? And of all manner of churches thus idiotically built, iron churches are the damnablest to me. And of all the sects and believers in any ruling spirit, Hindoos, Turks, Feather Idolators, and Mumbo Jumbo Log and Fire Worshippers, who want churches, your modern English Evangelical sect is the most absurd and entirely objectionable and unendurable to me. All which you might very easily have found out from my books. Any other sort of sect would, before bothering me to write it to them.――Ever, nevertheless, and in all this saying, your faithful servant,
JOHN RUSKIN.
[Illustration]
Having enumerated the most important parodies of our great novelists, and given such extracts as the limits of space would permit, it only remains to mention such other prose parodies of works of fiction, which are either of less merit in themselves, or mimic authors of less importance than those already dealt with. This list can only be approximately complete, as there are hundreds of such parodies buried away in the back numbers of the Magazines and Comic Journals.
W. Harrison Ainsworth.
_The Age of Lawn Tennis._ A fragment after Harrison Ainsworth’s “Rookwood.” See _Tennis Cuts and Quips_.
_Old Temple Bar_; by W, Harrissing Ainsworth. See _The Puppet Showman’s Album_.
_Blueacre._ A Romance, by W. Harrising Painsworth. See _Our Miscellany_, by E. H. Yates and R. B. Brough.
William Black.
_In Silk Attire._ By W――――m B――――k. See _The Tomahawk_, July 17, 1869.
There was also a parody of Mr. Black, in _The World_.
_A Princess of Lundy._ By W――――m B――――k. See _Ben D’Ymion and other Novelettes_, by H. F. Lester. London, Swan Sonnenschein & Co., 1887.
This volume also contains:――
_Muddlemarsh_, by George Eliot. _The Portrait of a Hybrid_, by Henry James. _A Rustic Zenobia_, by Thomas Hardy. _James Fribblesaint_, by J. H Shorthouse.
Countess of Blessington.
_Portraits of Children of the Mobility_, drawn from Nature, with Memoirs and Characteristic Sketches by the Author of the “Comic English Grammar” (Gilbert A. à Beckett), plates by John Leech. London, 1841.
A remarkably clever parody upon a publication entitled “Children of the Nobility,” issued under the auspices of the Countess of Blessington, the first Edition of which is scarce.
Charlotte Brontë.
_Miss Mix._ By Charlotte Brontë. See _Sensation Novels Condensed_, by Bret Harte.
Miss Braddon.
_Selina Sedilia._ By Miss M. E. Braddon and Mrs. Henry Wood. See _Sensation Novels Condensed_, by Bret Harte.
Miss Rhoda Broughton.
_Gone Wrong._ A new Novel by Miss Rhody Dendron, Authoress of “Cometh down like a Shower,” “Red in the Nose is She,” etc.
By F. C. Burnand. London, Bradbury, & Co, 1881.
Colonel F. Burnaby.
THE _Ride to Khiva_. By F. C. Burnand. London, Bradbury, Agnew & Co, 1879. This burlesque of Colonel Burnaby’s A _Ride to Khiva_ originally appeared in _Punch_.
Samuel Butler.
_The Irish Hudibras_, or Fingallian Prince. 1689.
_The Whigs’ Supplication_; or, Scotch Hudibras, a mock Poem. By Samuel Colville. First published in 1681, there have since been several editions.
_The Lentiad_; or, Peter the Pope pommelled and Pounded with a Hudibrastic Cudgel. Edited by Rev. John Allan. (Violently Anti-Catholic.) London, William Freeman, 1863.
_Butler’s Ghost_; or Hudibras, the fourth part, with reflections upon these times. Tom D’Urfey. 1682.
_The Modern Hudibras_, a poem in three cantos. By George Linley. London, J. C. Hotten, 1864.
“Cœlebs in search of a Wife.”
_Cœlebs Deceived_, a Novel. 1817.
_Celia in search of a Husband_, by a Modern Antique. 1809.
Miguel Cervantes.
A Chapter from the Book called _The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha_, which by some mischance has not till now been printed. London, George Redway, 1887.
(A curious dissertation on the literature of the Occult Sciences.)
_Don Quixote_; or, the Knight of the woeful Countenance. A Romantic Drama, in two acts. By George Almar, Surrey Theatre London, April 8, 1833. (Dicks).
Don Quixote was also dramatised at the Alhambra Theatre, London, a few years ago.
Wilkie Collins.
_The Moonstone and Moonshine_, after Wilkie Collins. This parody appeared in _The Mask_, London, August 1868.
_No Title_, by Wilkie Collins. See _Sensation Novels Condensed_, by Bret Harte.
Thomas Day.
_The New History of Sandford and Merton._ Being a True Account of the Adventures of “Masters Tommy and Harry,” with their Beloved Tutor, “Mr. Barlow.” By F. C. Burnand, with 76 Illustrations by Linley Sambourne.
London, Bradbury, Agnew & Co. 1871.
Of all Mr. Burnand’s burlesques, this is probably the most humorous; the immortal tutor prig, Mr. Barlow, the funny moral tales, and the equally funny illustrations, can scarcely be surpassed.
Daniel Defoe.
_The New Robinson Crusoe_, an Instructive and Entertaining History for the Children of both sexes. Thirty-two woodcuts by John Bewick. London, 1811.
_Robinson Crusoe_ was translated into Latin by F. J. Goffaux in 1823, there are several French versions of it, the “Swiss Family Robinson,” and one in German called “Robinson the Younger,” by J. H. Campe.
_Robinson the Younger_, translated from the German of J. H. Campe. Hamburg, 1781.
Benjamin Disraeli.
_Anti-Coningsby_, or the New Generation grown old. By an embryo M.P. (Mr. W. North). 1844.
_Hythair._ By Walter Parke, Funny Folks, 1876.
_Splendimion_, or, the Asian Mystery. A Grand “Diz”-torical Romance. By Walter Parke. _Funny Folks_, 1880.
Charles Dickens.
In the list of plays founded on his novels, given on p. 226, the following should have been included:――
_A Christmas Carol._ By E. Stirling. Adelphi Theatre. February 5, 1844. (Barth.)
_The Chimes._ By E. Stirling, Lyceum Theatre, December, 26, 1844.
_A Christmas Carol._ By Charles Webb, (Barth.)
_Martin Chuzzlewit._ By Harry Minus, Oxford Theatre, Easter Monday, 1878, (Dicks).
These entries have been courteously supplied by Mr. T. F. Dillon Croker.
Hugh Conway.
_Much Darker Days._ By A. Huge Longway, author of “Scrawled Black,” “Unbound,” etc.
London, Longmans, Green and Co., 1884. Anonymous, preface signed A. H. L.
A later edition of this parody of Hugh Conway’s _Dark Days_ was published in 1885, with an apologetic Preface.
_Hauled Back, by his Wife._ By Ugo Gone-away Hugaway. (Anonymous) London, J. and R. Maxwell, 1885.
Henry Fielding.
_The History of Tom Jones the Foundling, in his Married State_, London, 1750.
_Tom Jones_, a Comic Opera, as performed at Covent Garden Theatre, the words by Joseph Reed.
_Tom Jones_ was also dramatised by Robert Buchanan, as well as _Joseph Andrews_, the title of which he changed to _Joseph’s Sweetheart_.
Mrs. Gore.
_Mammon’s Marriage_, by Mrs. Bore. See _The Shilling Book of Beauty_, by Cuthbert Bede.
Fergus W. Hume.
A BLOOD CURDLING ROMANCE.
_The Mystery of a Wheelbarrow_; or, Gaboriau Gaborooed. By W. Humer Ferguson. London, Walter Scott, 1888. A parody of _The Mystery of a Hansom Cab_, by Fergus W. Hume, of Melbourne, Australia.
G. P. R. James.
_The Page._ A Romaunt from English history, by Gustavus Penny Royal Jacobus. See _Our Miscellany_, by E. H. Yates and R. B. Brough.
_The Passage of Prawns._ A Tale of Picardy, by George Prince Regent James. See _The Puppet Showman’s Album_.
_In Cruikshank’s Almanac_ for 1846, will be found an article entitled “Hints to Novelists,” in which short imitations are given of G. P. R. James, C. Dickens, and Fennimore Cooper.
_Barbazure_, by G. P. R. Jeames, Esq. See _Novels by Eminent Hands_, by W. M. Thackeray. (These originally appeared in _Punch_.)
_Magnum of Burgundy._ A Romance of the Fronde. See _A Bowl of Punch_, by Albert Smith.
_The Robber of Idleburg_, by Walter Parke. See _The Comic News_, London. 1864.
Charles Lever.
_Phil. Fogarty._ A Tale of the Fighting Onety-oneth. By Harry Rollicker. See _Novels by Eminent Hands_, by W. M. Thackeray.
_Terence Deuville_, by Charles L――v――r. See _Sensation Novels Condensed_, by Bret Harte.
_Tom Kinnahan_, or the Frays and Fights of a Horse Marine. By Charles Heaver, author of the “Confessions of Larry Jollycur,” etc. See _The Puppet Showman’s Album_.
Lord Lytton.
_The Wrongful Heir_; or, What will they do with him? A Strange Story. By Walter Parke. _Judy_, 1869.
Baron Munchausen.
_The Travels and Surprising adventures of Baron Munchausen._ First English Edition Oxford, 1786.
There can be little doubt but what this amusing piece of nonsense was written to ridicule certain German memoirs, some say those of Baron de Tott, others say those of Baron Von Trenck. The authorship of the work was also the subject of dispute, but it is now generally ascribed to G. A. Bürger, the German poet, who died in 1794.
In 1792 there appeared _A Sequel to the Adventures of Baron Munchausen_ which was _humbly dedicated_ to Mr. Bruce, the celebrated Abyssinian traveller.
_The Surprising, Unheard of, and Never-to-be-surpassed Adventures of Young Munchausen_, related and illustrated by C. H. Bennett. In twelve “Stories.” London, Routledge & Co., 1865.
This originally appeared in Routledge’s _Every Boy’s Annual_.
“Ouida.” (Louise de la Ramée.)
_Blue Blooded Bertie_, or under two fires. A serial burlesque of Ouida’s “Under Two Flags,” by Walter Parke. _Funny Folks_, 1875.
Samuel Pepys.
_The Diary of Samuel Pepys Esq._, while an undergraduate at Cambridge. With notes and appendix. Cambridge: Jonathan Palmer, 1864. This clever parody ran through several Editions, it was thought to be the production of Mr. Cooke, a student of Emanuel College, Cambridge.
_Mr. Pips, hys Diary._ Manners and Customs of ye English, 1849. By Percival Leigh, with illustrations by Richard Doyle.
_The University Commission_, or, Lord John Russell’s Postbag, containing Mister Anthony Pepys his Diary, he being a member of the said Commission. Oxford, W. Baxter, 1850.
(Written in the style of Pepys’ Diary.)
Charles Reade.
_Chikkin Hazard._ A Novel by Charles Readit and Dion Bounceycore. This parody on _Fowl Play_, written by Mr. F. C. Burnand, first appeared in _Punch_, it was afterwards issued in book form by Bradbury, Agnew & Co., 1881.
Sir Walter Scott.
_Rebecca and Rowena._ A sequel to _Ivanhoe_. By W. M. Thackeray.
_Pontefract Castle_, a novel attributed to Sir W. Scott. Contained in _Tales of my Landlord_, new series, published in 1820.
Sir Walter Scott formally disavowed this work at the end of his introduction to “The Monastery,” 1830.
_Waverley._ An abridged edition was published by Knight and Lacy, London, 1827, with the title page “Novels, Tales, and Romances” by Sir Walter Scott, abridged and illustrated by _Sholto Percy_. This appears to have been a gross piracy.
_Moredun_: A tale of the Twelve Hundred and Ten, by W. S. This was published in 1855, as a newly discovered Waverley novel.
_Walladmor._ (2 vols. 1855). A Novel, by De Quincey, which purported to be “Freely translated into German from the English of Sir Walter Scott, and now freely translated from the German into English.” It appears that German readers were actually hoaxed into the belief that this novel was by Scott.
Hawley Smart.
_What’s the Odds?_ or, The Dumb Jockey of Teddington. A sporting novel by Major Jawley Sharp.
By F. C. Burnand, London, Bradbury and Co., 1879.
(This originally appeared in _Punch_.)
Horace Smith.
_Whitehall; or, the Days of George IV._ Dedicated to Sir Edmund Nagle, K.C.B. London. W. Marsh, 1827.
Horace Smith, one of the authors of _Rejected Addresses_, wrote a number of historical novels, most of which are now entirely forgotten. One of these was called _Brambletye House_, to ridicule which Dr. William Maginn wrote _Whitehall_.
“The author’s object,” said the _Quarterly Review_, in January 1828, “is to laugh down the Brambletye House species of novel; and for this purpose we are presented with such an historical romance as an author of Brambletye House, flourishing in Barbadoes 200 or 2,000 years hence, we are not certain which, nor is the circumstance of material moment, might fairly be expected to compose of and concerning the personages, manners, and events of the age and country in which we live * * * * The book is, in fact, a series of parodies upon unfortunate Mr. Horace Smith,――and it is paying the author no compliment to say that his mimicry (with all its imperfections) deserves to outlive the ponderous original.”
But _Whitehall_ is itself, almost as heavy and as tedious, as the work it parodies.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
_The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_, by Robert Louis Stevenson. This weird and powerful story was dramatised by Mr. T. Russell Sullivan, and produced at the Lyceum Theatre in August 1888, Mr. Richard Mansfield performed the two title parts.
Another, but very inferior version, was brought out at the Opera Comique, London, by Mr. Bandmann about the same time, which the critics very unkindly laughed at as a ridiculous burlesque. Legal proceedings, however, soon compelled Mr. Bandmann to withdraw his unfortunate adaptation, and hurriedly close the theatre.
_The Strange case of the Prime Minister and Mr. Muldoon_, by Arthur Law, (London, 1886) was a sixpenny political pamphlet written to ridicule the Earl of Granville, Lord Hartington, Mr. Parnell and Mr. Gladstone.
The best thing in it was the following little parody:――
“You are old, father William,” the young man said, “You are not far off eighty, I ween; And yet you can speak for an hour or two And no one find out what you mean.” “In my youth,” father William replied to his son, “All my scruples I laid on the shelf; And now to drag from me a plain yes or no Would puzzle the devil himself.”
_The Pirate’s Hand._ A Romance of Heredity. By the Author of “The Strange case of Doctor Shuffle and Mister Glyde.” London, “Judy” office, 1888.
Jonathan Swift.
_Hints to Servants_; being a poetical and modernised version of Dean Swift’s celebrated “Directions to Servants.” By an Upper Servant. 1843.
Swift himself wrote some burlesques, amongst them one in prose, _A Meditation on a Broomstick_, in imitation of the style of the Hon. Robert Boyle’s Meditations.
His witty _Directions to Servants_, and _The Polite and Ingenious Conversations_, satirical and frequently indecent as they are, are also burlesques of their topics, treated in a very original manner.
Various imitations of the _Directions to Servants_ have been written.
Swift’s _Tale of a Tub Reversed_ for the universal improvement of mankind. 1750.
_Gulliver Revived_; or, the Vice of Lying properly Exposed, containing singular travels, campaigns, adventures, &c. by Baron Munchausen, also, a _Sequel to the Adventures_ dedicated to Bruce, the Abyssinian Traveller. 1789-92.
_Lilliput_, being a new journey to that celebrated island, with an account of the manners, customs, &c., of those famous little people, by Lemuel Gulliver, 1766.
A political skit. The names are thinly disguised by the transposition of letters.
_Voyage to Locuta_; a Fragment, with etchings and notes of illustrations. By Lemuel Gulliver Junr. London, J. Hatchard 1818. A curious little grammatical work written in the form of an allegory, and as a sequel to Gulliver’s travels. (Scarce).
_Gulliver and Munchausen outdone_, by Peter Vangergoose. London, 1807.
W. M. Thackeray.
_The Coachman, the Cook, and their Prodigy the Page._ By Wm. Breakpeace Thwackaway.
See _The Shilling Book of Beauty_. This parody was written by the late J. H. Friswell.
_Mrs. Tippikens’ Yellow Velvet Cape._ By W. M. Thwackaway. (With an illustration by the author).
See _The Puppet Showman’s Album_. This little brochure also contains prose imitations of Lytton, G. P. R. James, B. Disraeli, C. Dickens, Charles Lever, T. Carlyle, W. H. Ainsworth, Douglas Jerrold, W. S. Landor, Mrs. Trollope, J. W. Croker and Albert Smith, most of which have already been quoted.
Anthony Trollope.
_The Beadle!_ or, the Latest Chronicle of Small-Beerjester, by Anthony Dollop. _Punch_, 1880.
_The Age of Lawn-Tennis._ After Anthony Trollope. See _Tennis Cuts and Quips_. London, Field and Tuer.
Edmund Yates.
_Ba! Ba! Black Sheep._ An imitation, with a portrait of Mr. Yates, appeared in _The Mask_. London. June, 1868.
――――:o:――――
_Guy Dyingstone_, or the Muscular Patrician. A burlesque Novel by Walter Parke. _Funny Folks_, 1875.
_Guy Deadstone._ Another burlesque of “Guy Livingstone,” by the same author, appeared in _Judy_, 1869.
_The Desperado of the Wilderness_: or, The Maid, the Murderer, and the Demon Huntsman of Ashantee. This was a thrilling narrative of the “Boys of England” type, it appeared in Gleanings from “The Blue” 1881.
_Our Boys Novelist_, being stories of Wild Sport for the Youths of all Nations, with illustrations of the correctly exaggerated type by Harry Furniss, appeared in _Punch_, 1882.
――――
THE APPROACH OF WINTER.
――――pull up the wicket and the stake, And put by the mallet and the ball; For no more Croquet will be played this year, It’s getting much too late in the fall.
[Illustration]
PROGRAMMES AND PROCESSIONS.
YE ANNUALE WHYTEBAITE DINNER OF HYR MAJESTYE’S MINISTERS, On WEDNESDAIE, ye 14th AUGUST, 1878, Atte ye Hostelrie yclept Ye SHIPPE, atte GREENWICHE.
This Bille of ye Fare is drawn in playne Englysh, without any cloake of Frenche or other foreygne tongue, for the sadde and sobere comforte of frendes, and that ye maye know what ye are asked to accept.
YE BILLE OF YE FARE.
Ye Soupe. Soupe made from ye Turtle, and alsoe Soupe made from ye Greene Fatte of ye same.
Ye Fyshe. Ye Flounders curyously cooked, and Salmonne servyd inne lyke mannere. Ryssoles of ye Lobstere. Ye lyttel Soles, fryed. Ye Pudynges of ye Whyting. Ye Eles skynned and stewed inne ye riche wyne of Oporto. Ye Omelette of Crabbe inne ye style as servyd to ye Guardes of ye _Blue Seale_. Ye Troute from ye River Spey, grylled with ye sauce of Tartar. Salmonne inne collopes, with ye sauce inne ye Cyprus fashonne.
Ye Whytebaite, be-frizzled, and alsoe be-devylled.
Fleshe and Fowle. Sweetbreades with ye Mushroomes added thereunto. Ye Haunche of ye Royale Bucke, with Haricotte Beans servyd therewith. Ye Antient Hamme, from ye Citye of Yorke, grylled inne wyne of Champagne. Ye Grouse from ye Northe Countree. Hogge Bacone and younge Beanes.
Ye Sweetes, &c. Apprycottes flavoured with Noyau. Pudynges iced, after ye Nesselrode mannere. Lyttel Cakes made with ye Cheese from Parma, inne Italie. Ye Ices flavoured with Oranges and Strauberres.
Divers Fruytes which are your Desertes, and ye Wynes of Champagne and manie outlandysh countrees.
Ye Dinner will be servyd after ye mannere of ye Russian people.
Ye Guestes are bydden to eate after ye Hungarie mannere.
W. T. BALE, Mastere.
――――:o:――――
Miss Louisa Alcorn, a musical lady of New York, gave a dinner to a party of operatic friends. Here is the _menu_:――
Overture of Blue points. Soup with vermicelli obligato. Crabs al largo. Andante of Veal. Maccaroni scherzo. Gavotte of Pork and Beans. Pepper Sauce allegretto. Roast Beef maestoso. Tomato torcata, and bourrée of Yorkshire pudding. Ducks with accompaniments in P.’s. Game (in not too high a key). A symphony in Sweets.
――――:o:――――
The following was the menu of the Capital Club dinner, held on January 31st 1885.
MENU.
“Man shall not live by bread alone.”――Matthew iv., 4.
[Entries close at 8 o’clock. Open to all members. Start from scratch.]
OYSTERS.
Bluepoints, double geared. Fluted forks.
SOUP.
Volaille au Riz l’Allemande tra la la le.
FISH.
Red Snapper, elliptical backbone, Shrimp sauce. Hollandaise Potatoes, tandem.
RELEVE.
Saddle of Southdown mutton, long distance. Capon braise, a la Toulouse, not too loose.
ENTREES.
Filet de Bœuf, piqué, with laced spokes. Cotelettes de Mouton, with power traps. Spring Chicken, fried, with noiseless ratchets. Quail on toast, with rat-trap pedals. Punch, a la Cardinal, Pope M’f’g Company.
GAME.
Canvas Back Duck, buckled, with Croton Waste. Venison, with Currant Jelly, shrunk on. Pool, with set ups. Billiards, with ball-bearings.
SALADS.
Lobsters narrow-tread. Chicken, with gunmetal hubs.
VEGETABLES.
Green Peas, droped forged. Sweet Corn, half-nickled. Baked Mashed Potatoes, on the dead centre. Stewed Tomatoes, anti-friction.
DESSERT.
Tapioca Pudding, non-corrodent sauce. Assorted Cakes, enamelled and striped. Strawberry Ice Cream, on one wheel. Macaroons, Invincible double section hollow rims. Fruits, sociable. Champagne Jelly, hands-off. Roquefort Cheese, hill climbing.
LIQUORS.
French Coffee. Aqua Pura, Glace à la Artesian.
Music by Schrœder.
――――:o:――――
PRESCRIPTION FOR FEELIN’ BAD.
iii gr. _Aquy pury_. About ¼ pint _Whiskii Hyberniæ_. ⅛ inch _Lemoni_ } _ad discretionem._ iii dr. _Lumpi sugari_}
_Mixiter cum crusher._
_Directions for application._
Foment the interior of the mouth with ⅛ of the mixture. Shortly after use ⅛ as a gargle, the same to be washed down with the remainder forthwithly.
_The Hornet_, 1871.
――――:o:――――
_UN_-OFFICIAL PROGRAMME OF THE LORD MAYOR’S SHOW for 1884.
BY DEPUTY CHAFF-WAX. (_This is much too long to be given in full_)
The Services of the City Trumpeters will be dispensed with, the Lord Mayor having signified his intention of blowing his own, for which service he is eminently qualified.
ALDERMAN SAVORY
Will enliven the March by singing scraps of Dr. Watts’ hymns.
ALDERMAN H. T. WATERLOW
(the _Alphabet_ Alderman) is to be escorted by the twenty-six electors who made him an Alderman and Magistrate for life!!!
SIR JOHN BENNETT AND ALDERMAN HADLEY
will march arm-in-arm in sack-cloth and ashes doing penance for their presumption.
The Banners of the City Knights will be emblazoned with the new device:――
“REAL TURTLE AND MOCK TITLES”
The Banner of ALDERMAN TEETOTUM WHITEHEAD bearing the Inscription
“VIDEO MELIORA PROBOQUE DETERIORA SEQUOR.”
CAPTAIN SHAW OF THE FIRE BRIGADE
will attend with his own hose, and if necessary, to restrain the enthusiastic reception of the Lord Mayor, will play upon the people.
BUMBLEDOM
Is to be represented by all the Companies and Parish Beadles and Jacks in office in London, with cocked hats, gold lace, mace, cinnamon, &c.
Banner of LORD MAYOR FOWLER,
with the device
_The motto for Liberals permit me to mention, “Bradlaugh and Blasphemy” is my invention._
MAJOR SEWELL AND SIR T. NELSON
Will exhibit the Secret Service Cash Book.
The Splendid Banner of the League, with the device――
“WHY SHOULD LONDON WAIT,”
Borne by Messrs. Firth, Beal, Lloyd, and Phillips.
A CARTOON OF LAZARUS AND DIVES REPRESENTING
On one side――Civic Satraps dining―― On the other, “Out-cast London”――pining.
ONE POLICEMAN ARM-IN-ARM.
The City Marshall on Horseback Singing, “Let me Like a Soldier Fall.”
A DISSOLVING VIEW
of the odious Coal and Wine Dues, (The Metropolitan Board doing a Break-down.)
DEPUTY BEDFORD,
the City Wag, will join the procession at Temple Bar, where he will await it on his £12,000 Griffin.
THE WONDERFUL BILL OF THE CIVIC BANQUET WHICH COST £27,000!!!
Will be carried by the Common Councilmen who ate it, to amuse the people who paid for it.
THE SHERIFFS
will be preceded by the band of the Rueful Brigade, playing selections from Madame Hang-o’.
THE TROPHIES OF OUR COLONIES WILL BE FOLLOWED BY THE
TROPHIES OF OUR LONDON SLUMS, FOLLOWED BY NEMESIS!!
THE RT. HON. SIR WM. VERNON HARCOURT, M.P., Will ask the populace at every stoppage
“_If they will submit to the dictation of the Leeds Caucus and suffer the Constitution to be tinkered at, while the heart of the Empire is suffering from congestion_.”
THE BANNER OF THE UNION Will be followed by the 90,000 London Paupers.
THE LATE LORD MAYOR Will be serenaded by the Vauxhall Water Co.’s Share-holders――“Good Night――Good Knight,” &c.
LORD MAYOR FOWLER
Will be preceded by a Herald who will announce the fact that his Lordship represents some 200 nobodies and will shine for 12 months in the reflected light of FOUR MILLIONS, but in consideration of his gentleness, dignity, and urbanity, and in the hope that he will be
THE LAST OF THE SHAMS He must be tolerated accordingly.
This tomfoolery now will be brought to a close in a very appropriate way, sir, By Alderman Finis and Corpulent Innes, and Alderman Polly Decay Sir.
N.B.――The Chairman of the S. E. Rly. will be an hour behind time.――As usual.
――――
THE LORD MAYORS SHOW, 1884.
Mounted Police clearing five-barred gates. City Police clearing their throats.
The Mayors of Brighton, Ramsgate, and Margate in Bathing Machines drawn by their own Horses.
A lot of people whom nobody knows in hired flys.
THE COMPANY OF POLITICIANS.
The PREMIER, Axing his way.
Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT, with Municipal Bill, arm-in-arm. One hundred Members of the House of Peers, in morning dress. The old Chain Pier from Brighton in full armour. The Faithful Wimbledon, Wandsworth and Putney Commons.
THE COMPANY OF PAINTERS.
Twenty Royal Academicians, in beautiful modern costumes, in a chariot _Drawn by Themselves_!!
THE COMPANY OF WRITERS.
Lord TENNYSON, in his Inverness cape and coronet. Professor RUSKIN, anyhow. A round dozen of the Incorporated Society of Authors, assorted.
THE COMPANY OF PLAYERS.
Mr. TOOLE drawing a House. Walking Gentlemen coming slowly as “Strollers” The Jersey Lily and Lyceum MARY, as Sandwich Girls, carrying Somebody’s Soft Soap.
THE COMPANY OF WARRIORS.
Our Only General, in his only uniform. Our Only Admiral, a little out of date. Ironclads on horseback. Each mounted on an old screw.
THE COMPANY OF ROYALTIES.
Royalties on Songs, Royalties on Books, Royalties on everything. Mr. GEORGE GROSSMITH as “The Susceptible Chancellor,” followed by all THE JUDGES of Wine, of Pictures, of Plays, and THE JUDGE OF THE RACE in his own private box.
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LORD MAYOR, as “A Positive,” bearing banner with motto “_Photo de Mieux_,” In his State Robes, Supported by the Stereoscopic Company.
The Procession will be closed by A NEGATIVE OF THE LATE LORD MAYOR Accompanied by a Band playing “_Love for a Year_!”
_Punch._
――――:o:――――
HOW THEY’LL OPEN THE INVENTORIES.
Massed Steel Band, Composed of Eminent Surgeons, playing on their Surgical Instruments. Tune――“The Savile Row Lancers.” Specimens of Agricultural Implements, marshalled by a Steam Drill Master. Steam Ploughs and their Chères, arm in arm. Thrashing Machines following in the beaten track. A detachment of Devonshire Hinds (hinder part before). Delegates from the National Agricultural Labourers’ Union, bearing their own Triumphal “Arch.” Band, playing “The Cameras are coming.” Photographic Apparatus, focussing and swearing. Miss Mary Anderson, drawn in a brightly-coloured “carte” Two Negatives making a Positive. Two Positivists taking a Negative. A Photographic Sportsman taking a Fence. Band, playing “The Harp that once through Tara’s Halls,” and the Tune the old cow died of. Cue-rious Instruments, headed by two “Jiggers.” “P-an’-O” Boats, with sales set on the Three Years’ Hire System. The first pair of “Lyres” ever discovered. A Predatory Brass Band, playing “Band-ditties.” Sample of the “Horns” originally exalted in the East. “Cavendish,” playing “The Last Trump.” Deputation from the “Portland,” playing little Clubs. Mr. Charles Warner, singing his “Last Chaunts.” Gold Band, playing “All round my hat.” Novel Inventions three abreast. Miss Braddon and “Ouida” inventing plots. Padding. Dramatists inventing Situations. More Padding. Hydraulic Presses collecting Water Rates. Captive Balloonatics (with their Keepers). Armour-plated “Monitors.” Lent by the King’s College School authorities. Fountains, playing Handel’s “Water Music.” A Thames Angler, playing a Fish. Band of Swindlers, playing False Cards. Diplomatic Inventions à la Russe. The latest thing in Despatches Invented by General Komaroff. Band of Diplomatists, playing the Fool.
_Funny Folks_, May, 1885.
――――:o:――――
THE LORD MAYOR’S SHOW, 1885.
The following programme originally appeared in _The Sporting Times_, November 7, 1885. It has been found necessary to abbreviate it, partly because it was too long, and partly because it was too broad.
Next Monday this time-honoured procession will once more perambulate the streets, squares, ponds, reservoirs, and bars of the metropolis. Every one being sick of the Guildhall, it will this year start from Bow Street, passing by the stage-door of the Gaiety Theatre, proceeding through the Gaiety grill room, into Prosser’s Avenue. The procession will then proceed _vià_ Drury Lane Theatre to the Royal, returning by Rules’ in Maiden Lane, down to Romano’s. Thence, if not interfered with by the police, and still sufficiently sober to proceed, it will march to the Criterion, _en route_ for Hatchett’s. After that its course is a trifle uncertain. The order of the procession will be as follows:――
POLICE UNARMED WITH REVOLVERS. Burglars Beating Police. Police Armed with Revolvers. Ambulance Waggons Containing Respectable Citizens shot down as Burglars. BANNER OF THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF LUMBERERS. Banner of the Banner of the Punching Machine. Lord Chief Justice. The Lumberer’s Band.
Triumphal Car depicting Early English Industries. On this vehicle, kindly lent by the Worshipful Company of Card Makers, will be depicted, as the procession rolls by, the whole Art and Science of faking the broads, cutting longs and shorts, of dealing the long hand, and abundances at Solo.
Welshers who have passed into Tattersall’s.
Welshers who have been chucked while endeavouring to pass into Tattersall’s.
BANNER OF THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF BAT MAKERS.
Banner of J. L. Shine. Banner of John Coleman.
BANNER OF LADY ARCHIE CAMPBELL.
The Bat Band. _Air_: “Batti! Batti!”
BANNER OF THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF CHILDREN PROTECTORS. Banner of Darby. Banner of Stead. Banner of Booth. Banner of Blobbs.
BANNER OF THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF TAPEMAKERS.
Banner of the Albert Club. The Governor of Holloway. The Governor of Pentonville. Late Friends of the Governor’s on Tickets of Leave. Present Friends of the Governor’s on Treadmills. Aldermen who have passed the chair. Aldermen who have passed the bottle. Aldermen who have passed nothing. Banner of Beecham. Banner of Cockle. Banner bearing motto, “N. S.” Banner bearing motto, “Refer to Drawer.” Banner bearing motto, “No Account.” Banner of Sewage Banner of Billingsgate Commissioners. Fish Ring. Banner of Mudsalad Market. Band of Her Majesty’s Scavengers.
THE LADY MAYORESS SHIFTER In a Brompton ’Bus, Attended by Her Landlady. Banner of the Gaiety Theatre Canteen.
THE LORD MAYOR. People with People with Aquiline Noses. Snub Noses.
TRIUMPHAL CAR, representing the Search For Chips or “Where is the Oofbird?”
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THE LORD MAYOR’S SHOW, 1886.
(THE YEAR OF THE SOCIALIST SCARE.)
It is stated that the Lord Mayor’s Show this year will be of an entirely novel character, and will be made up somewhat like this:――
THE CITY MARSHAL, On horseback, glued to the saddle for the sake of safety.
DETACHMENT OF THE LIGHT CAVALRY OF THE VERY ANCIENT AND STILL MORE HONOURABLE ARTILLERY COMPANY, Dismounted for fear of accidents.
THE CHIEF COMMISSIONER OF THE CITY POLICE, Escorted by a detachment of the Social Democratic Federation.
BANNER OF THE UNEMPLOYED.
BAND OF THE UNITED ORDER OF GERMAN MUSICIANS. BANNER OF THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF CITY GORGERS.
BANNER OF CHARLES HARRIS, ESQ. CHARLES HARRIS, ESQ., Seated on a triumphal car.
BANNER OF THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF SCENE SHIFTERS. BAND OF THE ROYAL HORSE MARINES. (GREEN). ALDERMEN WHO HAVE PASSED THE BOTTLE. ALDERMEN WHO HAVE NOT PASSED THE BOTTLE, But have preferred to keep it near them. BANNER OF THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF LOAN MONGERS.
BANNER OF COMMISSIONER KERR. BAND OF THE ROYAL DISMOUNTED INFANTRY. THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LORD MAYOR’S CARRIAGE, Containing the Sword and Mace Bearers, the Lord Mayor being absent on other business.
ESCORT OF THE ROYAL HORSE MARINES. (GREEN).
RAG. TAG. BOBTAIL.
[Illustration]
It has been considered advisable to omit the scriptural quotations from the following reprint:――
COPY OF A BILL WRITTEN BY THE LATE REV. ROWLAND HILL, which was stuck up at RICHMOND, On SATURDAY, 4th of June, 1774, close to the Play Bill for that day. The design was to divert the minds of the gay and dissipated, from the vain amusements of the THEATRE And to fix their attention on the awful circumstances which shall usher in, and succeed, “The Great and Terrible Day of the Lord.” ―――― BY COMMAND OF the KING OF KINGS, and at the desire of all who love his appearing. At the THEATRE OF THE UNIVERSE on the Eve of time, will be performed THE GREAT ASSIZE or DAY OF JUDGMENT, ――――
THE SCENERY
Which is now actually preparing, will not only surpass everything that has yet been seen, but will infinitely exceed the utmost stretch of human conception. There will be a just REPRESENTATION of ALL THE INHABITANTS of the WORLD, in their various and proper colours; and their costumes and manners will be so exact, and so minutely delineated, that the most secret thought will be discovered.
This THEATRE will be laid out after a new plan, and will consist of
PIT & GALLERY
only; and contrary to all others, the GALLERY is fitted up for the reception of Persons of High (or Heavenly) Birth, and the PIT for those of Low (or Earthly) Rank. N.B.――The GALLERY is very spacious, and the PIT without bottom.
To prevent inconvenience, there are separate doors for admitting the company; and they are so different that none can mistake that are not wilfully blind. The Door which opens into the GALLERY is very narrow, and the steps up to it somewhat difficult: for which reason there are seldom many people about it. But the Door that gives entrance into the PIT is very commodious: which causes such numbers to flock to it that it is generally crowded. N.B.――The straight Door leads towards the right hand, and the broad one to the left. It will be in vain for one in a tinselled coat and borrowed language to personate one of HIGH BIRTH in order to get admittance into the upper places, for there is One of wonderful and deep penetration who will search and examine every individual and all who cannot pronounce SHIBBOLETH in the language of _Canaan_, or has not received a white stone and a new name, or cannot prove a clear title to a certain portion of the LAND OF PROMISE, must be turned in at the left door.
ACT FIRST.
of this grand and solemn piece will be opened by AN ARCHANGEL WITH THE TRUMP OF GOD!!!
ACT SECOND.
PROCESSION OF SAINTS
In white, with Golden Harps, accompanied with Shouts of Joy and Songs of Praise.
ACT THIRD.
AN ASSEMBLAGE OF ALL THE UNREGENERATE, THE MUSIC will chiefly consist of Cries, accompanied with WEEPING, WAILING, MOURNING, LAMENTATION, and WOE.
To conclude with an oration by
THE SON OF GOD.
After which the Curtain will drop.
TICKETS for the PIT, at the easy purchase of following the pomps and vanities of the Fashionable World, and the desires and amusements of the Flesh, to be had at every Flesh-pleasing Assembly.
TICKETS for the GALLERY, at no less rate than being converted, forsaking all, denying self, taking up the Cross, and following Christ in the Regeneration. To be had no where but in the word of God, and where that word appoints.
N.B.――No money will be taken at the door, nor will any Tickets give admittance into the Gallery but those sealed by the Lamb.
[Illustration]
COMPANY PROSPECTUSES.
Of late years the British public has been surfeited with the Prospectuses of new Limited Liability Companies; needy Lords and retired officers have been in great request for the Boards of Directors, they being precisely the two classes of men least likely to have any knowledge of business, or experience in commercial affairs.
Some of these Prospectuses have been so ridiculous in themselves that they read like burlesques, but numbers of amusing parodies of Company Prospectuses have also been published.
One of the best and earliest of these appeared in _Blackwood’s Magazine_, October 1845 during the great Railway Mania. It was written by Professor Aytoun, and was styled “How we got up the Glenmutchin Railway, and how we got out of it.”
This detailed the inception of a bogus Scotch Railway, and the prospectus of the _Direct Glenmutchin Railway_, with a list of the Directors, is one of the finest pieces of humorous writing in the language.
Another amusing parody was brought out some years ago, namely “The Gott-up Hotel Company, Limited,” with Sir Titus A. Drum, Baronet, as Chairman of the Directors.
When the Crown Prince of Portugal visited London in 1883, he went to Claridge’s Hotel, as he had not been invited to any of the Royal Palaces, this caused _Mr. Punch_ to issue the following:――
PROMISING PROSPECTUS.
THE ROYAL AND IMPERIAL HOMELESS AND WANDERING VISITORS HOTEL COMPANY (LIMITED).
The Directors of this unique and magnificently conceived enterprise, undertaken with a view to supplying that now long experienced National want, a suitable palatial residence for Princes and Potentates found wandering in search of a fitting domicile about the back streets of the Metropolis, have much pleasure in informing their intended august Patrons, that their perfectly-appointed establishment will shortly open under the direction of a well-known and experienced retired Central-European Monarch, whose distinguished services they have had the honour to secure.
The following (extracted from the Company’s Abridged Prospectus) comprise a few of the leading features of the new establishment:――
The building will stand on a convenient and imposing site judiciously selected in the immediate vicinity of the Metropolitan District Railway Station, St. James’s Park, and within easy access of the Aquarium, Westminster Bridge, the House of Detention, and the Foreign Office.
There will be no lettered name or title on the _façade_ of the new Hotel, which will, with the object of giving rise to a pleasing illusion, be specially designed by the architect to resemble as far as possible that of a not far distant and generally unoccupied Royal Palace.
A trained and certificated Diplomatist, who can speak several European languages fluently, will be permanently attached to the staff of the establishment, and will give his services gratis.
A couple of effective Sentry Boxes will also be placed at the principal entrance, and occupied permanently by two of the Company’s Private Soldiers, who, dressed in the correct uniform of HER MAJESTY’S Foot Guards, will be efficiently drilled for their duty.
Gold Sticks in Waiting will attend in the Hall for the purpose of receiving Royal and Imperial Visitors. They will also, if desired to do so, precede them to their respective apartments, walking backwards up-stairs for a small extra charge.
The general scheme of the establishment will include several public Throne and Reading Rooms, A Privy Council Chamber, Gala Banquet Hall, and a series of excellent Billiard and Abdication Tables by the best makers.
In order to meet the requirements of august personages who desire to be surrounded at a reasonable cost with such State accessories as are proper to their dignity and position, the subjoined Tariff of Prices has been carefully arranged by the Management, in the hope that it will be found not incompatible with a charge on the most moderate civil list:――
TARIFF.
Private Royal or Imperial Sitting-Room (per day) 5_s._ to 7_s_ 6_d._ (Ditto, ditto, with throne, 2_s._ 6_d._ extra.)
Ditto Bed-Room (exclusive of light) 3_s._ to 6_s._
State Imperial ditto, with half-tester velvet canopy 8_s._
Double-bedded ditto (suitable for two Emperors) 14_s._
Breakfast, consisting of Tea or Coffee, with cold Meat, broiled Ham, or Eggs 2_s._ 6_d._
Ditto, ditto, with full Military Band outside 3_s._
Chop or Steak, with potatoes 1_s._ 6_d._
Ditto, ditto, with Salvos of Artillery at intervals 1_s._ 9_d._
State Dinner of Soup, or Fish, _Entrées_, Joint, with Cheese and Celery 3_s._ 6_d._
Ditto, ditto, including Toast-Master and Musical Grace 5_s._
Ditto, ditto, in Uniform, at High Table (if singly) 1_s._ extra.
Gas Illumination on Exterior of Sitting-Room, according to device (per evening) From 2_s._ to 10_s._ 6_d._
Cup of Tea 4_d._
Ditto, on Throne 6_d._
Two Lancers to attend Cab or Carriage to Theatre or Reception (for first hour) 1_s._ For each succeeding hour 6_d._
Daily crowd (with cheers), on entering or leaving hotel, by contract.
Strictest attention paid to the slightest International prejudices.
An _ultimatum_ always ready on the premises.
_Punch_, December 22, 1883.
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A few extracts from the PROSPECTUS OF THE HORSE SHOE HOTEL, Tottenham Court Road, London.
This hotel was built and arranged for the special comfort and convenience of the travelling public.
On arrival, each guest will be asked how he likes the situation, and if he says the hotel ought to have been placed nearer the park or railway station, the location of the house will be immediately changed. Front rooms, on first floor, for each guest.
Bath, gas, hot and cold water, laundry, telegraph, fire escape, restaurant, bar-room, billiard tables, daily papers, sewing machine, grand piano, a clergyman, and all other modern conveniences in every room.
Meals every minute if desired. Waiters of any desired nationality.
Every waiter furnished with a libretto, button-hole bouquets, full dress suits, theatre tickets, the latest tips, and his hair parted down the middle. Every guest will have the best seat in the dining hall, and the best waiter in the house.
Any guest not getting his breakfast red hot, or experiencing a delay of fifteen seconds after giving his order for dinner, will please mention the fact at the Manager’s Office, and the cooks and waiters will at once be blown by Her Majesty’s Horse Guards from the mouth of the cannon.
Children will be welcomed with delight, and are requested to bring hoop-sticks and jack-knives, to bang and hack the carved rosewood furniture, specially provided for the purpose; they will be allowed to thump the piano at all hours, fall down stairs, scream and yell to their heart’s content, carry away dessert enough for a small family in their pockets at dinner, and make themselves otherwise as agreeable and entertaining as the fondest mother can desire. Washing underlinen allowed in all the drawing-rooms.
A discreet waiter, who belongs to the Masons, Odd Fellows, and Women’s Suffrage, and who was never known to tell the truth, has been employed to carry milk punches and hot toddies to the ladies’ rooms in the evening.
The office clerk has been carefully selected to please everybody, and can play unlimited loo, match worsteds at the shop round the corner, toss for drinks at any hour, day or night, play billiards, a good waltzer, amuse the children, is a good judge of horses, as a railroad reference is far superior to the A B C, Bradshaw’s, or anybody else’s guide, will flirt with any young lady, and not mind being cut dead when “Pa comes down,” don’t mind being damned any more than the Regent’s Canal, can put forty people into the best room in the house when the hotel is full, and answer questions in Greek, Hebrew, Choctaw, Irish, or any other polite language, at the same moment, without turning a hair.
Dogs allowed in any room in the house, including the w(h)ine room. Gentlemen can drink, smoke, swear, chew, gamble, tell shady stories, stare at the new arrivals, or indulge in any other innocent amusements in any part of the hotel.
The landlord will always be happy to hear that some other hotel is “the best in the country,” and that his is the very worst.
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Dear Jack.
Enclosed Draft Prospectus was got up by one of our “sinners,”[56] and as just now the public will buy any mortal thing, I seriously believe there is coin in the idea. Send the manuscript to the printer, just as it stands, and tell him to set it up and send a few pulls, marked “Private――First Proof,” which I will pass round and get licked into shape.
Yours, old fellow, Peter Preemium.
P.S.――Keep it quiet.
THE QUILL TOOTHPICK ATTACHMENT COMPANY, LIMITED.
Messrs LAYIT ONTHICK & CO., offer for subscription the undermentioned Capital:
(The subscription list will open on Saturday next at Four o’clock in the afternoon, and will close at five minutes past Nine on Monday morning.)
Ordinary Shares, £10 each £5,000,000 Preference 6 per cent. Shares, £10 each £4,500,000 ―――――――――― Total Share Capital £9,500,000 Debenture Stock bearing interest at 5 per cent. (redeemable at the Company’s option up to the expiration of twenty years from the first of April next (1887) at 110 per cent.) £3,000,000 ―――――――――― £12,500,000 ===========
“One-half of the ordinary Shares is reserved for the Vendor, who will hold as long as it suits his convenience, and the remainder, together with the Preference Shares and Debenture Stock, are now offered severally for public subscription at par.
THE QUILL TOOTHPICK ATTACHMENT COMPANY, LIMITED,
has been formed to supply the whole world with Quill Toothpicks, the interiors of which will be charged with hydraulically compressed drinks, such as the stout of Guinness, the ale of Bass, the champagne of , the whiskey of , the port of , and the sherry of .
_Might charge these as advertisements, say £25 each, and cheap enough at the money._
By means of a new forcing machine, which the vendor is now trying to invent, he thinks that a quart of Guinness or a bottle of Champagne can be readily compressed into the interior of a Toothpick, and when in the mouth the contents will be gently and gradually released by the touch of a spring. The Tea of , and the Coffee of will be stored in a similar manner. The Company will grant Royalties to Temperance Societies.
_Try Cooper Cooper & Co., and that tinned French Coffee chap――I forget his name――for advertisement. If you can, get some soft soap into the prospectus, Pears’ should be safe for at least £100._
The advantages of the Quill Toothpick Attachment must be apparent to the meanest capacity. For instance, a man is invited out to dine, and finds himself in danger of being poisoned. He pulls out a Toothpick charged with the desired drink, and the morning headache is avoided. Ten thousand Toothpicks charge with - - - - -
_Charge £50 for this advertisement._
wonderful brand of champagne will be distributed gratis to the female leaders of society, and it is anticipated that the use of toothpicks will soon become common to both sexes at every meal. As a further development it is anticipated that hosts will soon cease altogether to provide bottled drinks for their guests, and in place thereof will lay in quantities of Toothpicks charged by the Company. The contents of the Toothpicks will in all cases be absolutely guaranteed to be what they are, and this the Directors distinctly guarantee it is impossible to dispute.
The prospects of the Company are exceedingly brilliant. Professor Figuritout has been specially feed for the compilation of the following startling statistics:
“The population of the world,” says the learned Professor, “is in round figures ,000,000,000,” and the Professor stakes his reputation that 00·000 per cent. uses a Toothpick.
_Fill in at discretion_.
The Company hope to make very large profits out of the Toothpicks themselves, and will at once proceed to open negotiations for the purchase of farms and ranches in the great Sahara of Africa and the vast plains of America for the cultivation of the _Anser Vulgaris_, or common goose.
The _Anser Vulgaris_ flourishes everywhere, and by gentle persuasion readily and painlessly parts with its feathers, in fact it generally takes some time to discover that anything is wrong. The gander parts less readily, and as a rule the feathers are small and so few in number as to be hardly worth plucking.
There is another well-known and exceedingly strong feathered breed of goose (_Anser Stockexchangeiensis_) frequenting the numerous runs adjacent Capel Court. This breed parts with no persuasion, in fact at times it courts being plucked, but it has a nasty habit of shortly wanting back again all its own feathers and as many of other people’s as it can possibly grab hold of. Sometimes, but not often, it loses nearly every feather it has got, and then it gently hisses, and horribly blasphemes.”
These Extracts are taken from a Prospectus issued by John Heywood, Manchester, in 1887.
――――:o:――――
Numerous burlesque acts of Parliament have been published, the late Albert Smith wrote several which were printed in imitation of parliamentary papers. One was entitled “An Act to amend the laws relating to the giving of Dinner and Evening Parties. _Act 1._ _Cap 1._ 1848.”
――――
(_Ireland._) A BILL _intituled_,
An Act for the better defence and support of Life of Landlord and Tenant, and to facilitate the Maintenance and Comfort of Persons subject to certain starvation in IRELAND.
_Preamble_.
WHEREAS there has been always found to be a certain connexion between Misery and Outrage in Ireland; AND WHEREAS, there is no reason to believe that the Irish people have a greater fancy for shooting each other than other people; AND WHEREAS, hitherto every kind of Coercion has been tried without effect, and the only means of preventing outrage that has not been tried is to give the people work and food.
I. BE IT ENACTED that from and after the passing of this Act, it shall and may be compulsory upon every English Cabinet Minister, before he legislates for Ireland, to pay a visit to the same, and learn something of the real state of the people and the country thereof.
II. AND BE IT ENACTED, that it shall and may be lawful to teach Irish Landlords that Property has its duties as well as its Rights, and that the latter may best be secured by a due and proper discharge of the former.
III. AND BE IT ENACTED, that from and after the passing of this Act, Milk of Human Kindness be allowed to be imported into Ireland, and used freely in all parts of the same, instead of the _Odium Theologicum_ or _Odium Politicum_ now in use, in lieu thereof.
* * * * *
VIII. AND BE IT ENACTED, that a compensation not exceeding £ per annum, be paid to Mr. O’Connell and all hired agitators, for the loss they shall sustain by the passing of this Bill.
IX. AND BE IT ENACTED, that in the construction of this Act, masculine words shall mean feminine, and singular plural; and that all other rules of grammar shall be violated, as in other Acts is usually provided.
From _The Almanack of the Month_. July, 1846.
――――
In 1862, Carter of Regent Street, London, published “Official Regulations on Female Dress during the International Exhibition of 1862.” This amusing skit was also got up in correct official style.
――――:o:――――
OFFICE RULES.
1. Gentlemen upon entering will Leave the door wide open, or apologise.
2. Those having No Business should remain as Long as Possible, take a chair, and Lean against the Wall; it will preserve the wall, and may prevent its fall upon us.
3. Gentlemen are requested to Smoke especially during Office Hours; Tobacco and Cigars will be supplied.
4. Talk Loud or Whistle, especially when we are engaged; if this has not the desired effect, Sing.
5. If we are in Business Conversation with anyone you are requested not to wait until we are done, but Join in, as we are particularly fond of speaking to half-a-dozen or more at a time.
6. Profane Language is expected at all times, especially if Ladies are present.
7. Put your feet on the tables, or lean against the Desk; it will be of great assistance to those who are writing.
8. Persons having no Business with this Office will call often or excuse themselves.
9. Should you need the loan of any Money do not fail to Ask for it, as we do not require it for Business Purposes, but merely for the sake of lending.
Our hours for listening to Solicitors for Benevolent Purposes are from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m., Book Agents from 1 to 3 p.m., Beggars, Pedlers, and Insurance Agents all day. We attend to our Business at Night.
_The Lord helpeth those that help themselves, but the Lord help any man caught helping himself here._
――――
THE MENAGERIE. (_A Burlesque Lecture._)
“Hi! hi! hi! walk up, walk up, walk up! The only show in the fair, the largest and the best! The penny seats are all a penny, the ha’penny seats are four for tuppence! Ladies and gentlemen, we ’ave the most astounding collection of ’uman and animal fernomenons ever exhibited to the public of this or any other town! The pictures on the outside of the carawan ain’t nothink to the marvels to be seen alive within! Give the drum a one-er!
“Before a-inviting of you to enter, and taste the joys of Elysium to be ’ad at the small charge of one penny, I will exhibit to your astonished and admiring gaze a few pictorual illusterations of the wonders to be shortly disclosed to you. Give the drum a one-er!
“The first speciment I shall introduct to your notice is the _Spotted Babe of Peru_. The infant is so called from being born in the Ratcliffe ’Ighway! It was born at a very early age bein’ quite a child at the time. It had two parients, one male and one female. I should be deludin’ of you, ladies and gents, if I concealed from you the fack that its male parient was its father. The infant is covered all over with spots or specks. There ain’t nothink ketchin’ in the spots or specks. They wos caused by its grandfather ’avin swaller’d a box o’ dominoes in a fit of _duleruam tremins_. When tormented by the pangs of ’unger, the infant do not gnash ’is toothless gums and ’owl for grub like the ornary babe of commerce, but ’e climbs to the rooft of the carawan, where ’e barks like a dorg! ’Ence the term, ‘_Peruvian Bark_’! Give the drum a one-er!
“The next speciment I shall introduct to your notice is the _O-rang-O-tang_! The o-rang-o-tang ain’t a Irish beast, as ’is name might imply. ’E is a celebrated bird of the hinside of Central Africa. ’E do not live on cotton-wool and carster-hile, as is poplerly supposed! Oh, no, that there is a aspershin on the manner of the inseck! ’E climbs aloft to the giddy summat of the Halpine palm-tree, where ’e ’angs upsy-down by the roof of ’is mouth; ketches the prairie-hyster with ’is hyebrows; cracks it with ’is fore’ead; devours the lushus froot; and distriboots the shells among ’is noomerous orfspring! Give the drum a one-er!
The next objek of interest is the _Bovis Kimmunis_, or _Commin Cow_. The cow is the most dimmestercated of all wile animals. ’E is a oblong beast, in the form of a pork-mantew or fiddle-case on tressels! ’E ’ave a leg on each corner of ’im. ’Is ’ead is at one end of ’is body, and ’is tail is at the other end. The tail-end is oppersite the ’ead-end, onless the animil turns round, then the tail-end is on the ’ead-end! And this confuses the milkmaids! The cow is a useful beast. In our declinin’ days, when we expected every moment to be our nex, we ’ave been soothed and solaced by an excellent and newtrishis jelly prepared from ’is horns, ’is oofts, and ’is tail; or to quote the words of the advertisement, ‘it imparts a pearly lustre to the breath, a kinky curliness to the complexion, a floral flaviour to the eye; is a excellent substertute for a stummick-pump, carefully perpared from the reseat of a nobleum in the country, to imertate which is forgery.’
“I cannot quit the _Bovis Kimmunis_, or Commin Cow, without recalling to your recommemberlection the words of the well-known poet _Cow_per, which he says:
“‘Twinkle, twinkle, pretty cow, I thought I ’eard you say mee-yow! Up above the booth so fly, Crackin’ winkles on the sly!’
“Give the drum a one-er!
“The last speciment I shall ’ave the pleasure of introducting to your notice is the _Cocclicus Indicus_, or _Prickly_ _Pollywog of the Ipecacuanha Mountains_, wot lives entirely on bottled bootjacks, currant jelly, turnip-tops, sarsaparilla, tenpenny nails, toasting-forks, corn-plaister, pot-lids, cabbage water, lemon- squeezers, black-beetle poison, cinder-sifters, soapsuds, silver sand, and postage stamps; until, one day, in a fit of tempory aboration of hinterlek, it swaller’d a sausage machine, two reams of emery paper, a box of matches, and fourteen seidlitz powders, and expired of spontaneous combustion and acute inflermation of the waistcoat pocket linings of the coats of ’is stummick. ’E then expired, and is to be seen alive within. Give the drum a one-er!”
CHARLES COLLETTE.
――――
ON FARMING. (_Lecture Written by Mark Twain when a Boy._)
Farming is healthy work; but no man can run a farm and wear his best clothes at the same time. Either the farming must cease while the new clothes continues, or the new clothes must cease while farming continues. This shows that farming is not so clean work as being a Congressman or schoolmaster, for these men can wear good clothes if they can find money to pay for them. Farmers get up early in the morning. They say the early bird catches the worm. If I was a bird, I had rather get up late and eat cherries in place of worms. Farmers don’t paint their waggons when they can help it, for they show mud too quick. The colour of their boots is red, and don’t look like other people’s boots, because they are twice as big. Farmers’ wives have a hard time cooking for hired men, and the hired men find fault with the farmers’ wives’ cooking. Why don’t farmers’ wives let the hired men do the cooking while they do the finding fault? Farmers don’t get as rich as bank presidents, but they get more exercise. Some ask――“Why don’t farmers run for Congress?” They run so much keeping boys out of their peach orchards and melon patches they don’t have any time to run after anything else. If Congress should run after farmers, one might be caught now and then. Lawyers can beat farmers at running for most anything. I know a farmer who tried to run a line fence according to his notion. The other man objected and hurt the farmer. The farmer hired a lawyer to run his line fence, and now the lawyer runs the farmer’s farm, and the farmer has stopped running anything.
――――:o:――――
REGULATIONS IN THE UNITED STATES NAVY.
A Buffalo paper prints the following extracts from a manuscript treatise on naval discipline, prepared by the Secretary of the American Navy:――“The custom of sailing before the wind should be avoided, whenever it is possible, as experience has demonstrated that it is much better to wait for the breeze and carry it along, if not too heavy. Commanders of sailing ships-of-war, I have observed, are addicted to the practice of ‘staggering under all they can carry.’ This matter will receive early attention, as the necessity for reform in this direction would seem imperative. When dirty weather is threatened, or when there is reason to suspect breakers ahead, the captain should heave to, or three, but never more than four. In taking on board ammunition, and powder, and shot, and shells and caps, &c., the fore, main, and mizen trucks should be utilised, in connection with the animals belonging to the horse marines. It is deemed best to abolish dog-watches. The practice is believed to encourage idleness among the sailors, and necessitates the keeping on board a number of useless beasts whose presence must be anything but desirable. In the interests of economy, the allowance for captains’ gigs should be withdrawn. It is plain that they are of no real utility on ship-board, and that they are at all times in the way. When on shore the captains can avail themselves of the street railway, or of the facilities afforded by the livery stables. All anchors should be accurately weighed before being taken on board, and the weight plainly marked on each, thereby saving time and trouble when a ship is about to take her departure. All ‘splicing’ should be done by the chaplain, as he is the person upon whom the performance of the ceremony most properly devolves. When sailing in tropical seas, the breeches of the guns should be removed and carefully stowed away, to be replaced when again entering colder latitudes and longitudes. The practice of carrying logs, merely for the purpose of ‘heaving’ them is of questionable propriety, and will form a subject for future enquiry.”
――――
ADMIRALTY REFORMS.
The following appointments have recently been created at the Admiralty, to which salaries of £1000 a-year each are attached;
The Chief Obstructor. The Complicator-General of Naval Accounts. The Scrutineer of Dockyard Expenditure. The Investigator of Expenses of Ships Building. The Calculator of Profits by Ships broken up, or lost. The Professional Criticizer of the Obstructor’s Vessels. The Examiner and Inspector of Contractors and Inventors. The Constructor-in-Chief of Revolving Turrets. The Insinuator and Receiver of Contracts. The Riveter and Contractor-General of Iron Plate. The Admirer and Appraiser of Dockyard Work. The Inventor and Circulator of Expensive Theories. The Detector-General of Fraudulent Contracts. The Director of Ingenious and Inexpensive Works. The Imposter-General of Stores and Store accounts. The Subverter of Official Forms and Precedents.
――――:o:――――
THE LAST ARRIVAL.
There came to port last Sunday night The queerest little craft, Without an inch of rigging on; I looked, and looked, and laughed. It seemed so curious that she Should cross the unknown water, And moor herself within my room―― My daughter, O! my daughter!
Yet, by these presents, witness all, She’s welcome fifty times, And comes consigned to Hope and Love, And common metre rhymes. She has no manifest but this; No flag floats o’er the water; She’s rather new for British Lloyds―― My daughter, O! my daughter!
Ring out, wild bells――and tame ones too; Ring out the lover’s moon; Ring in the little worsted socks; Ring in the bib and spoon. Ring out the muse; ring in the nurse; Ring in the milk and water: Away with paper, pens, and ink―― My daughter, O! my daughter!
GEORGE W. CABLE.
――――
CUMULATIVE PARODIES.
There was a young damsel; oh, bless her, It cost very little to dress her; She was sweet as a rose In her every day clothes, But had no young man to caress her.
* * * * *
There was a young turkey; oh, bless her, It cost very little to dress her; Some dry bread and thyme, About Thanksgiving time, And they ate the last bit from the dresser.
* * * * *
A newspaper poet; oh, dang him! And pelt him, and club him, and bang him! He kept writing away, Till the people one day Rose up and proceeded to hang him.
_The Detroit Free Press._
[Illustration]
SLANG, CANT, AND FLASH.
As Slang is a species of parody of our mother tongue, and as many songs are written in it, it must be alluded to in this Collection, however briefly.
A few examples will be quoted, followed by a bibliography, including mention also of Dictionaries devoted to Satirical and Political slang.
Thieves slang, or “cant,” is of multifold origin, but is mainly derived from Romany or gipsy talk, with an admixture of Anglo-Saxon, Latin, and French words.
Rhyming and back-slang are two other forms of purely native manufacture, both arbitrary, and artificial in their construction.
By the former any word that rhymes with the one that is intended is substituted for it, and gradually becomes accepted. This method is somewhat complicated, and is, of course, almost unintelligible to the uninitiated, which is precisely why it is adopted by thieves and their associates.
Back-slang is largely patronised by costermongers. It consists in spelling backwards the principal words in a sentence, with more or less accuracy. Thus, “Hi, yob! kool that enif elrig with the nael ekom. Ssap her a top o’ reeb and a tib of occabot,” simply means “Hi boy! look at that fine girl with the lean moke. Pass her a pot of beer and a bit of tobacco.”
Although slang is principally indulged in by the lower orders and criminal classes, it must not be forgotten that many slang words have been adopted and incorporated into our general language, to say nothing of Americanisms, which are also constantly being absorbed. Every profession, too, has its slang, or technical language, which is mainly unintelligible to the outside world. Thus Soldiers, Sailors, Engineers, Doctors, and Lawyers, have their own phraseology, but what is most objectionable is the Clerical slang. This imparts a fine full flavoured tone of hypocrisy to any ordinary conversation by dragging in “D.V.” references to the Deity, and the quotation of scraps of Holy writ in the most unnecessary profusion, and in the most unseemly contrast with trivial statements of every day life.
THE HOUSE BREAKER’S SONG.
I ne’er was a nose[57] for the reg’lars[58] came Whenever a pannie[59] was done:―― Oh! who would chirp[60] to dishonour his name, And betray his pals[61] in a nibsome[62] game To the traps?[63]――Not I for one! Let nobs in the fur trade[64] hold their jaw, And let the jug[65] be free;―― Let Davy’s dust[66] and a well-faked claw[67] For Fancy coves be the only law, And a double tongued squib[68] to keep in awe The chaps that flout at me!
From morn to night we’ll booze a ken[69], And we’ll pass the bingo[70] round; At dusk we’ll make our lucky[71], and then, With our nags so flash, and our merry men, We’ll scour the lonely ground. And if the swells resist our “Stand!” We’ll squib[72] without a joke; For I’m snigger’d if we will be trepanned By the blarneying jaw of a knowing hand, And thus be lagged[73] to a foreign land, Or die by an artichoke[74].
But should the traps be on the sly, For a change we’ll have a crack[75]; The richest cribs[76] shall our wants supply―― Or we’ll knap[77] a fogle[78] with fingers fly[79], When the swell one turns his back. The flimsies we can smash[80] as well, Or a ticker[81] deftly prig;―― But if ever a pal in limbo fell, He’d sooner be scragg’d[82] at once than tell; Though the hum-box patterer[83] talked of hell, And the beak[84] wore his nattiest wig[85]!
From “_Pickwick Abroad_; or, The Tour in France.” by G. W. M. Reynolds. (Chapter 26.)
――――
NIX MY DOLLY, PALS, FAKE AWAY!
In a box of the stone Jug I was born, Of a hempen widow the kid forlorn,―― Fake away! My noble father, as I’ve heard say, Was a famous merchant of capers gay; Nix my dolly, pals,――fake away! Nix my dolly, &c.
The knucks in quod did my shoolmen play, And put me up to the time of day;―― Fake away! No dummy-hunter had forks so fly, No knuckler so deftly could take a cly; Nix my dolly, &c.
But my nuttiest lady, one fine day, To the beaks did her gentleman betray,―― Fake away! Thus was I bowl’d out at last, And into the Jug for a lag was cast; Nix my dolly, &c.
But I slipp’d my darbies one morn in May, And gave to the dubsman a holiday,―― Fake away! And here I am, pals, merry and free, A regular rollicking Romany; Nix my dolly, &c.
W. HARRISON AINSWORTH.
――――
“DEAR BILL, THIS STONE-JUG.”
(_Being an Epistle from_ TOBY CRACKSMAN, _in Newgate, to_ BILL SYKES.)
Dear Bill, this _stone-jug_,[86] at which flats dare to rail, (From which till the next Central sittings I hail) Is still the same snug, free-and-easy old hole, Where MACHEATH met his _blowens_,[87] and WYLDE floor’d his bowl. In a ward with one’s _pals_,[88] not locked up in a cell, To an old hand like me it’s a _fam-ly[89]-hotel_.
In the day-rooms the _cuffins_[90] we queer at our ease, And at _Darkman’s_[91] we run the rig just as we please; There’s your _peck_[92] and your _lush_, hot and reg’lar, each day. All the same if you work, all the same if you play. But the lark’s when a _goney_[93] up with us they shut, As ain’t up to our _lurks_,[94] our _flash-patter_,[95] and smut;
But soon in his eye nothing green would remain, He knows what’s o’clock when he comes out again. And the next time he’s _quodded_[96] so downy and snug, He may thank us for making him _fly to the jug_.[97] But here comes a cuffin――which cuts short my tale, It’s agin rules is _screevin’_[98] to pals out o’ gaol.
(_The following postscript seems to have been added when the Warder had passed._)
For them coves in Guildhall and that blessed LORD MAYOR, _Prigs on their four bones should chop whiners_,[99] I swear: That long over Newgit their Worships may rule, As the _High-toby, mob, crack and screeve_[100] model school; For if Guv’ment was here, not the Alderman’s Bench, Newgit soon ’ud be bad as “_the Pent_” or “_the Tench_.”[101]
_Note._――We subjoin a Glossary of MR. CRACKSMAN’S lingo:―― [Transcriber's Note: See footnotes [86]-[101].]
_Punch._ January 31, 1857.
――――
THE CHICK-A-LEARY COVE.
I’m a “Chickaleary bloke”[102] with my one, two, three, Whitechapel was the village, I was born in, For to get me on the hop, or on my “tibby”[103] drop, You must wake up very early in the morning. I have a “rorty”[104] gal, also a knowing pal, And merrily together we jog on, I doesn’t care a “flatch”[105] as long as I’ve a “tach,”[106] Some “pan-num”[107] for my chest, and a “tog”[108] on.
I’m a Chickaleary bloke with my one, two, three, Whitechapel is the village I was born in, For to get me on the hop, or on my “tibby” drop, You must wake up very early in the morning.
Now “kool”[109] my downy “kicksies”[110] the style for me, Built upon a plan werry naughty, The stock around my “squeeze”[111] a “guiver”[112] colour see, And the “vestat”[113] with the “bins”[114] so “rorty.” My tailor serves you well, from a “perger”[115] to a swell, At Groves’ you’re safe to make a sure pitch,[116] For ready “yenom”[117] down, there aint a shop in town Can “lick” Groves’ in the “Cut” as well as Shoreditch.
I’m a Chickaleary bloke, &c.
Off to Paris I shall go, to show a thing or two, To the “dipping blokes”[118] what hangs about the caffes, How to do a “cross-fan”[119] for a “super”[120] or a slang,[121] And to “bustle”[122] them “grand’armes”[123] I’d give the office. Now my pals I’m going to slope, see you soon again, I hope, My young woman is avaiting, so be quick, Now join in a “chyike”[124] the “jolly”[125] we all like; I’m off with a party to the “Vic.”
I’m a Chickaleary bloke, &c.
――――
THE THIEVES’ CHAUNT.
There is a nook in the _boozing ken_,[126] Where many a _mud I fog_,[127] And the smoke curls gently, while cousin Ben Keeps filling the pots again and again, If the coves have _stump’d their hog_.[128]
The liquors around are diamond bright, And the _diddle_[129] is best of all; But I never in liquors took delight, For liquors I think is all a _bite_,[130] So for heavy wet I call.
The heavy wet in a pewter quart, As brown as a badger’s hue, More than Bristol milk[131] or gin, Brandy or rum, I tipple in, With my darling _blowen_[132] Sue.
Oh! _grunting peck_[133] in its eating Is a richly soft and a savoury thing; A _Norfolk capon_[134] is jolly grub When you wash it down with _strength of bub_[135] But dearer to me Sue’s kisses far, Than grunting peck or other grub are, And I never funks the _lambskin men_,[136] When I sits with her in the boozing ken.
Her _duds_[137] are _bob_[138]――she’s a _kinchin crack_[139] And I hopes as how she’ll never _back_;[140] For she never _lushes dog’s soup or lap_,[141] But she loves my cousin the _bluffer’s_[142] tap. She’s wide awake, and her _prating cheat_[143] For humming a cove was never beat; But because she lately _nimm’d_[144] some tin, They have sent her to lodge at the _King’s Head Inn_.[145]
From _The Individual_. November 15, 1836. Cambridge. W. H. Smith.
――――
Generalizations have been made from which it appears that certain localities have peculiar productive qualities in the manufacture of criminals, thus London for sharpers, Brummagem for thieves, Paris for fly men (window thieves) Sheffield for pilchers of snyde (coiners and utterers.)
As to the ultimate destinations of these gentlemen one of themselves has put the various establishments in verse, thus recounting their merits:――
“Dartmoor is a tidy place, Chatham is the terror of our race, Portland is not quite so bad, Broadmoor is for those stark mad, Pentonville is the hill of London, Borstal if you’re there you’re undone, Portsmouth is a noted shop, Brixton is a regular cop.”
Another equally good authority thus describes them:――
“Millbank for thick shins and graft at the pump, Broadmoor for all laggs as go off their chump, Brixton for good toke and cocoa with fat, Dartmoor for bad grub but plenty of chat, Portsmouth a blooming bad place for hard work. Chatham on Sunday gives four ounces of pork, Portland is the worst of the lot for to joke in, For fetching a lagging there is no place like Woking.”
――――
“Joe quickly his sand had sold, sir, And Bess got a basket of rags; Then up to St. Giles’s they rolled sir; To every bunter Bess brags, Then unto the gin shop they _pike it_,[146] And Bess was admitted we hear; For none of the crew dare but like it, As Joey, her kiddy was there.”
* * * * *
_The Sandman’s Wedding_, a Cantata.
――――
THE BEGGAR’S CURSE. (By _Thomas Decker_, 1609.)
The Ruffin cly[147] the Nab of the Harmanbeck,[148] If we maund Pannam,[149] Lap, or Ruff-Peck, Of Poplars of Yarum,[150] he cuts bing to the Ruffmans, Or else he with cruelty swears by the Lightmans,[151] He’ll seize us, and put our stamps fast in the Harmans,[152] The Ruffin cly the Ghost of the Harmanbeck If we heave a Booth[153] we straight cly the Jerk[154] If we niggle or mill but a poor Boozing-Ken,[155] Or nip a poor Bung[156] with one single Win, Or dup but the Gigger[157] of a Country-cove’s Ken, Straight we’re to the Cuffin Queer[158] forced to bing; And ’cause we are poor made to scour the Cramp-ring,[159] From thence at the Chats we trine in the Lightmans,[160] Plague take the Harmanbeck: Ruffin the Harmans.
――――
CLEAR OUT――LOOK SHARP!
_Song commonly sung by tramps and thieves at a general Rendezvous before they divide into parties, to stroll about the country._
Bing[161] out, bien[162] Morts,[163] and toure[164] and toure, Bing out, bien Morts, and toure; For all your Duds[165] are bing’d awast[166] The bien Cove[167] hath the loure[168].
I met a Dell,[169] I viewed her well, She was benship[170] to my watch; So she and I did stall[171] and cloy,[172] Whatever we could catch.
This Doxie Dell can cut bien whids,[173] And drill well for a win;[174] And prig and cloy so benshiply, All the Deusea-Vile[175] within.
The Booth being raised,[176] we stept aside, Thro’ mire, and frost and snow; When they did seek then did we creep, And plant in Ruffman’s Row.[177]
To strowling ken[178] the mort bings then, To fetch loure for her cheats; Duds and ruffpeck,[179] maugre Harmanbeck,[180] We won by Maunder’s feats.
You maunders all, stow what you stall,[181] To Rum Coves what so quire;[182] And Bucksom Dell, that snilches well,[183] And takes loure for her hire.
A Jybe well jerked, tick Rome-confeck,[184] For back by Glimmer to maund,[185] To mill each ken,[186] let Cove bing then,[187] Thro’ Ruffmans, Jague or Laund[188].
Till Cramprings quire, tip Cove his Hire,[189] And Quire-ken[190] do them catch; Old Ruffler Mill[191] the Quire-cuffin,[192] So quire to bien Cove’s watch.
Booze, Mort, and Ken, been Darkman’s then.[193] The poor Cove’s bing’d awast; On Chats to trine,[194] by Rum-Coves Dine,[195] For his long Lib at last.[196]
Bing out bien morts, and toure and toure, Bing out of the Romevile fine;[197] Now toure the cove that cly’d your duds, Upon the chats to trine.
As this song is so old some of the expressions are obsolete, and their explanations are somewhat conjectural. The first verse translated reads as follows:――
Go out, good girls, and look and see, Go out, good girls, and see; For all your clothes are carried away, And the good man has the money.
This was first printed in “_The English Rogue_: Described in the Life of Meriton Latroon, a Witty Extravagant. Being a Compleat History of the most Eminent Cheats of both sexes. London, Printed for Henry Marsh, at the Princes Arms in Chancery Lane, 1665.”
This curious work was reprinted by Chatto and Windus in 1874.
――――
FRISKY MOLL’S SONG.
From Priggs that snabble the Prancers strong,[198] To you of the Peter Lay,[199] I pray now listen awhile to my song, How my Bowman[200] he kick’d away.
He broke through all the Rubbs[201] in the whit, And chiv’d his Darbies[202] in twain; But filing of a Rumbo-Ken, My Bowman is snabbled again.
I, Frisky Moll, with my Rum Cull,[203] Would suck in a Boozing Ken; But e’er for the Scran[204] he had tipt the Cole, The Harman he came in.
A Famble, a Tattle, and two Pops,[205] Had my Bowman when he was ta’en; But had we not booz’d in the Diddle shops,[206] He’d still been in Drury Lane.
From “_Harlequin Sheppard_.” Acted at Drury Lane Theatre, 1724.
――――
THE CANTER’S SERENADE.
(Sung early in the morning, at the Barn doors where their Doxies have reposed during the night.)
Ye Morts and ye Dells[207] Come out of your Cells, And charm all the Palliards[208] about ye; Here birds of all feathers, Through deep roads and all weathers, Are gathered together to toute[209] ye.
With faces of Wallnut, And Bladder and Smallgut, We’re come scraping and singing to rouse ye; Rise, shake off your straw, And prepare you each maw To kiss, eat, and drink till you’re bouzy.
――――
ODE TO THE KING OF THE MENDICANTS.
Cast your nabs[210] and cares away, This is Maunders holiday:[211] In the world look out and see, Where so blest a King as he!
At the crowning of our King, Thus we ever dance and sing; Where’s the nation lives so free, And so merrily as we?
Be it peace, or be it war, Here at liberty we are: Hang all Harmenbecks[212] we cry, We the Cuffin Queres[213] defy.
We enjoy our ease and rest, To the fields we are not pressed And when taxes are increased We are not a penny ’sessed.
Nor will any go to law, With a Maunder for a straw, All which happiness, he brags, Is only owing to his rags.
From _The History of Bampfylde-Moore Carew_, King of the Mendicants. London, 1749.
――――
OATH OF THE CANTING CREW.
I, Crank-Cuffin, swear to be True to this fraternity; That I will in all obey Rule and order of the lay. Never blow the gab, or squeak; Never snitch to bum or beak; But religiously maintain Authority of those who reign Over Stop Hole Abbey Green, Be their tawny king, or queen. In their cause alone will fight; Think what they think, wrong or right; Serve them truly, and no other, And be faithful to my brother; Suffer none, from far or near, With their rights to interfere; No strange Abram, ruffler crack, Hooker of another pack, Rogue or rascal, frater, maunderer,[214] Irish toyle, or other wanderer; No dimber damber,[215] angler, dancer, Prig of cackler,[216] prig of prancer;[217] No swigman, swaddler, clapper-dudgeon; Cadge-gloak,[218] curtal, or curmudgeon; No whip-jack, palliard, patrico; No jarkman, be he high or low; No dummerar, or romany; No member of “_the Family_;” No ballad-basket, bouncing buffer, Nor any other, will I suffer; But stall-off[219] now and for ever, All outliers whatsoever; And as I keep to the fore-gone, So may help me Salamon!
From _The Life of Bampfylde-Moore Carew_.
――――
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THE DARKMAN’S BUDGE,[220].
The Budge it is a delicate trade, And a delicate trade of fame, For when that we have bit the blow, We carry away the game. But if the cully naps us, And the lurries from us takes; O, then he rubbs us to the whit,[221] Tho’ we’re hardly worth two makes.[222]
And when that we come to the whit, Our darbies to behold; We’re forced to do penance there, And booze the water cold. But when we come out again, And the merry cull we meet, We’ll surely file him of his cole,[223] As he pikes along the street.
And when that we have filed him, Tho’t be but half a job; Then ev’ry man to the boozing ken, To fence his merry hog;[224] But if the cully naps us, For want of care or wit, Tho’ he cannot take away our cole, He rubbs us to the whit.
And when we come unto the whit, For garnish[225] they do cry; We promise our lusty comrogues They shall have it by and bye; Then ev’ry man, with his Mort[226] in his hand, Is forc’d to kiss and part; And after, is divorced away, To the nubbing-cheat[227] in a cart.
And we come to the Nubbing-cheat, For running on the budge; There stands Jack Ketch, that sneaking wretch, Who owes us all a grudge: For when that he hath nubbed us, And our friends tip him no cole, He takes his chive,[228] and cuts us down, And tips us into the hole.
But if we have a friend stand by, Six and eightpence for to pay, Then they may have our bodies back, And carry us quite away: For at St. Giles’s or St. Martin’s, A burying place is still; And there’s an end of a Darkman’s Budge, And the whoreson hath his will.
――――
THE GAME OF HIGH TOBY.
Now Oliver[229] puts his black nightcap on, And every star its glim[230] is hiding, And forth to the heath is the scampsman[231] gone, His matchless cherry-black[232] prancer riding; Merrily over the common he flies, Fast and free as the rush of rocket, His crape-covered vizard drawn over his eyes, His tol[233] by his side, and his pops[234] in his pocket.
_Chorus._ Then who can name So merry a game, As the game of all games――high toby?[235]
The traveller hears him, away! away! Over the wide wide heath he scurries; He heeds not the thunderbolt summons to stay, But ever the faster and faster he hurries. But what daisy-cutter can match that black tit? He is caught――he must “stand and deliver;” Then out with the dummy,[236] and off with the bit,[237] Oh! the game of high toby for ever!
_Chorus._ Then who can name So merry a game, As the game of all games――high toby?
Believe me, there is not a game, my brave boys, To compare with the game of high toby; No rapture can equal the tobyman’s joys, To blue devils, blue plumbs[238] give the go by; And what if, at length, boys, he come to the crap![239] Even rack punch has _some_ bitter in it, For the mare-with-three-legs,[240] boys, I care not a rap, ’Twill be over in less than a minute!
_Grand Chorus._ Then hip, hurrah! Fling care away! Hurrah for the game of high toby.
From _Rookwood_, by W. Harrison Ainsworth. London.
――――
THE DOUBLE CROSS.
Though all of us have heard of _crost_ fights, And certain _gains_, by certain _lost_ fights; I rather fancies that it’s news, How in a mill, _both_ men should _lose_; For vere the _odds_ are thus made _even_, It plays the dickens with the _steven_;[241] Besides, against all rule they’re sinning, Vere _neither_ has _no_ chance of vinning. _Ri, tol, lol, &c._
Two _milling coves_, each vide avake, Vere backed to fight for heavy stake; But in the mean time, so it vos, Both _kids_ agreed _to play a cross_; Bold came each _buffer_[242] to the _scratch_, To make it look a _tightish match_; They _peeled_[243] in style, and bets were making, ’Tvos six to four, but few were _taking_. _Ri, tol, lol, &c._
Quite cautiously the mill began, For neither knew the other’s plan; Each _cull_[244] completely in the _dark_, Of vot might be his neighbour’s _mark_; Resolved his _fibbing_[245] not to mind, Nor yet to _pay him back in kind_; So on each other _kept they tout_,[246] And _sparred_ a bit, and _dodged_ about. _Ri, tol, lol, &c._
Vith _mawleys_[247] raised, Tom bent his back, As if to plant a heavy thwack; Vile Jem, with neat left-handed _stopper_, Straight threatened Tommy with a _topper_; ’Tis all my eye! no claret flows, No _facers_ sound――no smashing blows, Five minutes pass, yet not a _hit_, How can it end, pals?――vait a bit. _Ri, tol, lol, &c._
Each cove vos _teazed_ with double duty, To please his backers, yet _play booty_,[248] Ven, luckily for Jem, a _teller_ Vos planted right upon his _smeller_; Down dropped he, stunned; ven time was called, Seconds in vain the _seconds_ bawled; The _mill_ is o’er, the crosser _crost_, The loser’s _won_, the vinner’s _lost_! _Ri, tol, lol, &c._
From _Rookwood_, by W. Harrison Ainsworth, London.
――――
A FLASH ANECDOTE.
I buzzed a bloak and a shakester of a reader and a skin. My jomer stalled. A cross cove, who had his regulars, called out “cop bung,” so as a pig was marking, I speeled to the crib, where I found Jim had been pulling down sawney for grub. He cracked a case last night and fenced the swag. He told me as Bill had flimped a yack and pinched a swell of a fawney, he sent the yack to church and got three finnups and a cooter for the fawney.
TRANSLATION.
I picked the pockets of a gentleman and lady of a pocket book and a purse. My fancy girl screened me from observation. A fellow thief, who shared my plunder, called out to me to hand over the stolen property, so as someone was observing my actions, I ran off to the house, where Jim had some bacon he had stolen from a shop door. He broke into a house last night, and had sold the stolen property. He told me that Bill had hustled a man and stolen his watch, and had also robbed a gentleman of a ring. He had sent the watch to have its works removed, and had got three five pound notes and a sovereign for the ring.
From _Poverty, Mendicity and Crime_, 1839.
――――
THE LEARY MAN.
Of ups and downs I’ve felt the shocks Since days of bats and shuttlecocks, And alicumpaine and Albert-rocks, When I the world began; And for these games I often sigh Both marmoney and spanish-fly, And flying kites too, in the sky, For which I’ve often ran.
But by what I’ve seen, and where I’ve been, I’ve always found it so. That if you wish to learn to live, Too much you cannot know. For you must now be wide-awake, If a living you would make, So I’ll advise what course to take To be a Leary Man.
Go first to costermongery To every _fakement_ get _a-fly_ And pick up all their slangery, But let this be your plan; Put up with no _Kieboshery_ But look well after _poshery_, And cut teetotal sloshery. And get drunk when you can.
And when you go to spree about, Let it always be your pride To have a white tile on your nob, And bulldog by your side. Your _fogle_ you must _flashly_ tie Each word must _patter flashery_, And hit _cove’s_ head to smashery, To be a Leary Man.
To Covent Garden or Billingsgate You of a morn must not be late, But your donkey drive at a slashing rate, And first be if you can. From short pipe you must your bacca blow, And if your donkey will not go, To lick him you must not be slow, But well his _hide must tan_.
The fakement _conn’d_ by _knowing rooks_ Must be well known to you, And if you come to _fibbery_, You must _mug_ one or two. Then go to St. Giles’s rookery, And live up some strange nookery, Of no use domestic cookery, To be a Leary Man.
Then go to pigeon fancery And know each breed by quiz of eye, Bald-heads from skin ’ems by their fly, Go wrong you never can. All fighting coves too you must know, Ben Caunt as well as Bendigo, And to each _mill_ be sure to go, And be one of the van.
Things that are found before they’re lost, Be always first to find. Restore dogs for a pound or two You’ll do a thing that’s kind. And you must sport a blue _billy_, Or a yellow _wipe_ tied loosily Round your _scrag_ for _bloaks_ to see That you’re a Leary Man.
At _knock’emsdown_ and tiddlywink, To be a sharp you must not shrink, But be a _brick_ and sport your _chink_ To win must be your plan. And set-toos and cock-fighting Are things you must take delight in, And always try to be right in, And every _kidment_ scan.
And bullying and chaffing too, To you should be well known, Your nob be used to bruisery, And hard as any stone. Put the kiebosh on the dibbery, Know a Joey from a tibbery, And now and then have a black eye, To be a Leary Man.
To fairs and races go must you, And get in rows and fights a few, And stopping out all night its’ true, Must often be your plan. And as through the world you _budgery_, Get well awake to _fudgery_, And rub off every _grudgery_, And do the best you can.
But mummery and slummery You must keep in your mind, For every day, mind what I say, Fresh fakements you will find. But stick to this while you can crawl, To stand ’till you’re obliged to fall, And when you’re wide awake to all You’ll be a Leary Man.
From _The Vulgar Tongue_, by Ducange Anglicus. London, Bernard Quaritch, 1857.
――――
THE SONG OF THE YOUNG PRIG.
My Mother she dwelt in Dyot’s Isle,[249] One of the Canting Crew,[250] sirs; And if you’d know my father’s style, He was the Lord _Knows-who_, sirs! I first held horses in the street, But being found defaulter, Turned rumbler’s flunky[251] for my meat, So was brought up to the halter.
Frisk the cly[252], and fork the rag[253], Draw the fogles plummy[254], Speak to the tattler[255], bag the swag[256], And finely hunt the dummy[257].
My name they say is Young Birdlime, My fingers are fish-hooks sirs; And I my reading learnt-betime, From studying pocket-books[258], sirs. I have a sweet eye for a plant[259], And graceful as I amble, Finedraw a coat-tail sure I can’t, So kiddy is my famble[260].
_Chorus._ Frisk the cly, etc.,
A night bird,[261] oft I’m in the cage[262], But my rum chants ne’er fail, sirs, The dubsman’s[263] senses to engage, While I tip him leg-bail[264], sirs. There’s not, for picking, to be had, A lad so light and larky[265], The cleanest angler on the pad[266], In daylight or the darkey[267].
_Chorus._ Frisk the cly, etc.,
And though I don’t work capital[268], And do not weigh my weight[269], sirs, Who knows but that in time I shall, For there’s no queering fate, sirs. If I’m not lagged to Virgin-nee[270], I may a Tyburn show be[271], Perhaps a tip-top cracksman[272] be Or go on the high toby[273].
_Chorus._ Frisk the cly, etc.,
From _The Life and Times of James Catnach_, by Charles Hindley. London, Reeves and Turner. 1878.
――――
THE DEATH OF SOCRATES. _By the Rev. Robt. Burrowes, Dean of St. Finbar’s Cathedral, Cork._
The night before Larry was stretch’d, The boys they all paid him a visit; A bit in their sacks, too, they fetch’d―― They sweated their duds[274] till they riz it; For Larry was always the lad, When a friend was condemn’d to the squeezer[275], But he’d pawn all the togs that he had, Just to help the poor boy to a sneezer[276], And moisten his gob ’fore he died.
“’Pon my conscience, dear Larry,” says I, “I’m sorry to see you in trouble, And your life’s cheerful noggin run dry, And yourself going off like its bubble!” “Hould your tongue in that matter,” says he; “For the neckcloth I don’t care a button, And by this time to-morrow you’ll see Your Larry will be dead as mutton: All for what? ’kase his courage was good!”
The boys they came crowding in fast; They drew their stools close round about him, Six glims[277] round his coffin they placed―― He couldn’t be well waked without ’em. I ax’d if he was fit to die, Without having duly repented? Says Larry, “That’s all in my eye, And all by the clargy invented, To make a fat bit for themselves.”
Then the cards being call’d for, they play’d, Till Larry found one of them cheated; Quick he made a hard rap at his head―― The lad being easily heated, “So ye chates me bekase I’m in grief! O! is that, by the Holy, the rason? Soon I’ll give you to know, you d――d thief! That you’re cracking your jokes out of sason, And scuttle your nob[278] with my fist.”
Then in came the priest with his book, He spoke him so smooth and so civil; Larry tipp’d him a Kilmainham look, And pitch’d his big wig to the divil. Then raising a little his head, To get a sweet drop of the bottle, And pitiful sighing he said, “O! the hemp will be soon round my throttle[279], And choke my poor windpipe to death!”
So mournful these last words he spoke, We all vented our tears in a shower; For my part, I thought my heart broke To see him cut down like a flower! On his travels we watch’d him next day, O, the hangman I thought I could kill him! Not one word did our poor Larry say, Nor changed till he came to “King William:” Och, my dear! then his colour turn’d white.
When he came to the nubbing cheat, He was tuck’d up so neat and so pretty; The rumbler jugg’d off from his feet, And he died with his face to the city. He kick’d too, but that was all pride, For soon you might see ’twas all over; And as soon as the noose was untied, Then at darkey we waked him in clover, And sent him to take a ground-sweat.
A French translation of this poem was written by the Rev. Francis Mahony, see “_The Works of Father Prout_.” London, George Routledge & Sons, 1881.
――――
’ARRY AT A POLITICAL PIC-NIC.
DEAR CHARLIE,
’Ow are yer, my ribstone? Seems scrumptious to write the old name. I ’ave quite lost the run of you lately. Bin playing some dark little game? I’m keeping mine hup as per usual, fust in the pick of the fun, For wherever there’s larks on the _tappy_[280] there’s ’Arry as sure as a gun.
The latest new lay’s Demonstrations. You’ve heard on ’em, Charlie, no doubt, For they’re at ’em all over the shop. _I_’ave ’ad a rare bustle about. All my Saturday arfs are devoted to Politics. Fancy, old chump, _Me_ doing the sawdusty reglar,[281] and follering swells on the stump!
But, bless yer, my bloater, it isn’t all chin-music[282] votes, and “’Ear! ’ear!” Or they wouldn’t catch me on the ready, or nail me for ninepence. No fear! Percessions I’ve got a bit tired of, hoof-padding,[283] and scrouging’s dry rot, But Political Picnics mean sugar to them as is fly to wot’s wot.
Went to one on ’em yesterday, Charlie; a reglar old up and down lark. The Pallis free gratis, mixed up with a old country fair in a park, And Rosherville Gardens chucked in, with a dash of the Bean Feast will do, To give you some little idear of our day with Sir Jinks Bottleblue.
Make much of us, Charlie? Lor bless you, we might ha’ bin blooming Chinese A-doing the rounds at the ’Ealthries. ’Twas regular go as you please. Lawn-tennis, quoits, cricket, and dancing for them as _must_ be on the shove, But I preferred pecking[284] and prowling, and spotting the mugs making love.
Don’t ketch _me_ a-slinging my legs about arter a beast of a ball At ninety degrees in the shade or so, Charlie, old chap, not at all. Athletics ’aint ’ardly my form, and a cutaway coat and tight bags Are the species of togs for yours truly, and lick your loose “flannels” to rags.
So I let them as liked do a swelter; I sorntered about on the snap. Rum game this yer Politics, Charlie, seems arf talkee-talkee and trap. Jest fancy old Bluebottle letting “the multitood” pic-nic and lark, And make Battersea Park of his pleasure-grounds, Bathelmy Fair of his park!
“To show his true love for the People!” sez one vote-of-thanking tall-talker, And wosn’t it rude of a bloke as wos munching a bun to cry “Walker!”? I’m Tory right down to my boots, at a price, and I bellered “’Ear, ’ear!” But they don’t cop yours truly with chaff none the more, my dear Charlie, no fear!
Old Bottleblue tipped me his flipper, and ’oped I’d “refreshed,” and all that. “Wy rather,” sez I, “wot do _you_ think?” at which he stared nto his ’at, And went a bit red in the gills. Must ha’ thought me a muggins, old man, To ask sech a question of ’Arry――as though grubbing short was _his_ plan.
I went the rounds proper, I tell yer; ’twas like the free run of a Bar, And Politics wants lots o’ wetting. Don’t ketch me perched up on a car, Or ’olding a flag-pole no more. No, percessions, dear boy, ain’t my fad, But Political Pic-nics with fireworks, and plenty of swiz ain’t ’arf bad.
The palaver was sawdust and treacle. Old Bottleblue buzzed for a bit, And a sniffy young Wiscount in barnacles landed wot _’e_ thought a ’it; Said old Gladstone wos like Simpson’s weapon, a bit of a hass and all jor, When a noisy young Rad in a wideawake wanted to give him wot for!
“Yah! boo! Turn ’im hout!” sings yours truly, a-thinkin’ the fun was at ’and, But, bless yer! ’twas only a sputter. I can’t say the meeting _looked_ grand. Five thousand they reckoned us, Charlie, but if so I guess the odd three Were a-spooning about in the halleys, or lappin’ up buns and Bohea.
The band and the ’opping wos prime though, and ’Arry in course wos all there. I ’ad several turns with a snappy young party with stror coloured ’air. Her name she hinformed me wos Polly, and wen, in my ’appiest style, I sez, “Polly is nicer than Politics!” didn’t she colour and smile?
We got back jest in time for the Fireworks, a proper flare-up, and no kid, Which finished that day’s Demonstration, an’ must ’ave cost many a quid.[285] _Wot_ fireworks and park-feeds _do_ Demonstrate, Charlie, I’m blest if I see, And I’m blowed if I care a brass button, so long as I get a cheap spree.
The patter’s all bow-wow, of course, but it goes with the buns and the beer. If it pleases the Big-wigs to spout, wy it don’t cost hus nothink to cheer. Though they _ain’t_ got the ’ang of it, Charlie, the toffs ain’t,――no go and no spice! Wy, I’d back Barney Crump at our Sing-song to lick ’em two times out o’ twice!
Still I’m all for the Lords and their lot, Charlie. Rads are my ’orror, you know. Change R into C and you’ve got ’em, and ’Arry ’ates anythink low. So if Demonstrations means skylarks, and lotion as much as you’ll carry, These “busts of spontanyous opinion” may reckon all round upon ’Arry.
_Punch._ October 11, 1884.
――――
LIFE IN GAOL.
Till seven we walk around the yard, There is a man all you to guard, If you put your hand out so, Untoe the guv’nor you must go; Eight o’clock is our breakfast hour, Those wittles they do soon devour; Oh! dear me, how they eat and stuff, Lave off with less than half enough. Nine o’clock you mount the mill, That you mayn’t cramp from settin’ still, If that be ever so against your will, You must mount on the traädin’ mill. There is a turnkey that you’ll find, He is a raskill most unkind. To rob poor prisoners he is that man, To chaäte poor prisoners where he can, At eleven o’clock we march upstairs To hear the parson read the prayers. Then we are locked into a pen―― It’s almost like a lion’s den. There’s iron bars big round as your thigh To make you of a prison shy. At twelve o’clock the turnkey come; The locks and bolts sound like a drum, If you be ever so full of game, The traädin’ mill it will you tame. At one you mount the mill again, That is labour all in vain. If that be ever so wrong or right, You must traäde till six at night. Thursdays we have a jubal fraä Wi’ bread and cheese for all the day. I’ll tell you raälly, without consate, For a hungry pig ’tis a charmin’ bait. At six you’re locked into your cell, There until the mornin’ dwell; There is a bed o’ straw all to lay on, There’s Hobson’s choice, there’s that or none.
From _The Chequers_, by James Runciman.
――――
THE TWENTY CRAFTSMEN.
_Described by the notorious thief-taker Jonathan Wild._
Good people, give ear, whilst a story I tell, Of twenty black tradesmen who were brought up in hell, On purpose poor people to rob of their due; There’s none shall be nooz’d, if you find but one true. The first was a Coiner, that stampt in a mould; The second a Voucher to put off his gold. _Tour you well; hark you well[286], see where they’re rubb’d, Up to the nubbing cheat[287], where they are nubb’d._
The third was a Padder[288], that fell to decay, Who used for to plunder upon the Highway; The fourth was a Mill-Ken[289], to crack up a door, He’d venture to rob both the rich and the poor, The fifth was a Glazier[290], who when he creeps in, To pinch all the lurry[291] he thinks it no sin, _Tour you well, etc.,_
The sixth is a File-cly[292], that not one cully[293] spares, The seventh a Budge[294] to track softly up stairs; The eighth is a Bulk[295], that can bulk any hick[296], If the master be nabbed, then the Bulk he is sick, The ninth is an Angler[297], to lift up a grate, If he sees but the lurry his hooks he will bait. _Tour you well, etc._
The tenth is a Shoplift, that carries a Bob, When he ranges the city, the shops for to rob. The eleventh a Bubber[298], much used of late; Who goes to the ale house, and steals all their plate. The twelfth is a Beautrap[299], if a Cull[300] he does meet, He nips all his Cole[301], and turns him into the street. _Tour you well, etc._
The thirteenth a Famble, false rings for to sell, When a Mob[302] he has bit his Cole he will tell; The fourteenth a Gamester, if he sees the Cull sweet[303], He presently drops down a Cog[304] in the street; The fifteenth, a Prancer, whose courage is small, If they catch him Horse-coursing he’s noozed once for all. _Tour you well, etc._
The sixteenth, a Sheep-napper, whose trade is so deep, If he’s caught in the corn he’s marked for a sheep[305]; The seventeenth a Dunaker[306], that stoutly makes vows, To go in the country and steal all the cows; The eighteenth a Kid-napper[307], who spirits young men, Tho’ he tips them the pike, they oft nap him again. _Tour you well, etc._
The nineteenth’s a Priggar of Cacklers[308], who harms, The poor Country Higlers, and plunders the Farms; He steals all their poultry and thinks it no sin, When into the Henroost, in the night, he gets in, The twentieth’s a Thief-catcher, so we him call, Who if he be nabb’d will be made pay for all. _Tour you well, etc._
There’s many more Craftsmen[309] whom here I could name, Who use such like Trades, abandon’d of shame; To the number of more than threescore on the whole, Who endanger their body, and hazard their soul; And yet, tho’ good workmen, are seldom made free, Till they ride in a cart, and be noozed on a tree. _Tour you well, hark you well, see where they’re rubb’d, Up to the nubbing-cheat, where they are nubb’d._
This is taken from _A Pedlar’s Pack of Ballads and Songs_ collected by W. H. Logan, (Edinburgh: William Paterson, 1869) which work contains some dozen cant songs, of which the best have been quoted. The others are so “Flash” in language that they could only be clearly interpreted by a regular Patter Cove.
――――
RETOURE MY DEAR DELL.
Each Darkmans[310] I pass in an old shady grove, And live not the Lightmans[311], I toute[312] not my love, I surtoute every walk, which we used to pass, And couch me down weeping and kiss the cold grass: I cry out on my Mort[313] to pity my pain, And all our vagaries remember again.
Didst thou know, my dear Doxy, but half of the smart Which has seized on my panter since thou didst depart; Didst thou hear but my sighs, my complaining and groans, Thou’dst surely retoure[314] and pity my moans; Thou’dst give me new pleasure for all my past pain, And I should rejoice in thy glaziers[315] again.
But, alas! ’tis my fear that the false _Patri-coe_[316] Is reaping those transports are only my due: Retoure my dear Doxy, oh, once more retoure, And I’ll do all to please thee that lies in my pow’r; Then be kind, my dear Dell, and pity my pain, And let me once more toute thy glaziers again.
On Redshanks and Tibs[317] thou shalt every day dine, And if it should e’er be my hard fate to trine[318] I never will whiddle, I never will squeek[319], Nor to save my Colquarron[320] endanger thy neck. Then once more, my Doxy, be kind and retoure, And thou shalt want nothing that lies in my pow’r.
The vein of sentiment that pervades this lament is almost too fine to be genuine in such a production.
――――
THE PICKPOCKETS’ CHAUNT.
_Translated from an “Argot” Song of Maitre Vidocq, by Dr. William Maginn._
As from ken to ken I was going, Doing a bit on the prigging lay[321], Who should I meet but a jolly blowen[322], Tol lol, lol lol, tol dirol lay; Who should I meet but a jolly blowen,
Who was fly to the time of day. Who should I meet but a jolly blowen, Who was fly to the time of day. I pattered in flash[323], like a covey knowing, Tol lol, &c. “Ay, bub or grubby[324], I say?”
I pattered in flash like a covey knowing, “Ay, bub or grubby, I say?” “Lots of gatter”[325] says she, is flowing, Tol lol, &c. Lend me a lift in the family way[326].
Lots of gatter, says she, is flowing, Lend me a lift in the family way. You may have a crib[327] to stow in, Tol lol, &c. Welcome, my pal, as the flowers in May.
You may have a crib to stow in, Welcome, my pal, as the flowers in May. To her ken at once I go in, Tol lol, &c. Where in a corner out of the way,
To her ken at once I go in, Where in a corner out of the way, With his smeller[328] a trumpet blowing, Tol lol, &c. A regular swell cove lushy lay,
With his smeller a trumpet blowing, A regular swell cove lushy lay, To his dies[329] my hooks[330] I throw in, Tol lol, &c. And collar his dragons[331] clear away.
To his dies my hooks I throw in, And collar his dragons clear away. Then his ticker I set a going, Tol lol, &c. And his onions,[332] chain and key,
Then his ticker I set a going, With his onions, chain and key; Next slipt off his bottom clo’ing, Tol lol, &c. And his ginger head topper gay.
Next slipt off his bottom clo’ing, And his ginger head topper gay. Then his other toggery stowing, Tol lol, &c. All with the swag I sneak away,
Then his other-toggery stowing, All with the swag I sneak away. Tramp it, tramp it, my jolly blowen, Tol lol, &c. Or be grabbed by the beaks we may,
Tramp it, tramp it, my jolly blowen, Or be grabbed by the beaks we may. And we shall caper a-heel and toeing, Tol lol, &c. A Newgate hornpipe some fine day.
And we shall caper a-heel and toeing, A Newgate hornpipe some fine day, With the mots their ogles throwing, Tol lol, &c. And Old Cotton[333] humming his pray[334],
With the mots their ogles throwing, And Old Cotton humming his pray, And the fogle hunters[335] doing, Tol lol, &c. Their morning fake in the prigging lay[336].
Many of the other words are also flash, but are so generally understood that it is quite unnecessary to translate them.
[Illustration]
Oh, Kittens! in our hours of ease Uncertain toys, and full of fleas; When pain and anguish hang o’er men, We turn you into sausage then.
――――
A CANT HANDBILL.
The following handbill is worthy of a place in this collection; the Slang Dictionary will explain its meaning. Its words are, however, fully understood by many “downy” customers;
Once Try You’ll Come Again TO HARRIS, THE SLAP-UP-TOG and out and out KICKSIES BUILDER. Well known throughout all England.
――――
Mr. H. nabs the chance of putting his customers awake that he has just made his escape from India, not forgetting to clap his mawleys upon some of the right sort of stuff, when on his return home he was stunned to find one of the top Manufacturers of Manchester had cut his lucky, and stepped off to the Swan Stream, leaving behind him a valuable stock of Moleskins, Cords, Velveteens, Box Cloths, Plushes, Doe Skins, Pilots, &c., and having some ready in his kick――grabbed the chance――stepped home with the swag――and is now safely landed at his crib. He can turn out Toggery very slap at the following low prices for
_Ready Gilt――Tick being No Go._
Upper Benjamins, built on a downy plan, a monarch to half a finnuff. Fishing or Shooting Togs, or Slap up Velveteen Togs, lined with the same, cut slap, 1 pound, 1 quarter and a peg. A Fancy Sleeve Blue Plush or Pilot ditto, made very saucy, a couter. Pair of Kerseymere or Doeskin Kicksies, built very slap with the artful dodge, a canary. Pair of Bath or Worsted Cords, cut to drop down on the trotters, a quid. Pair of out and out cords, built very serious, 9 bob and a kick. Pair of stout Broad Cords, built in the Melton Mowbray style, half a sov. Pair of Moleskins, built hanky spanky, with double fakement down the sides and artful buttons at the bottom, half a monarch.
Mud Pipes, Knee Caps & Trotter Cases built very low. A decent allowance made to Seedy Swells, Tea Kettle Purgers, Head Robbers, and Flunkeys out of Collar.
_N.B.――Gentlemen finding their own Broady can be accommodated._
――――:o:――――
The distinctions between _Slang_ and _Cant_ are well defined by Hotten. “_Cant_,” he says, “is old, whilst _Slang_ is always modern and changing. To illustrate the difference: a thief in _Cant_ language would term a horse a _Prancer_ or _Prad_; while in _Slang_ a man of fashion would speak of it as a _Bit of Blood_, a _Spanker_, or a _neat tit_.”
Cant was formed for the purpose of secrecy in roguery, Slang is commonly indulged in from a desire to appear familiar with the life, gaiety, town humour, and street jokes of the day. Cant and Slang are often used as synonyms, which is erroneous, they are distinct terms, and should be kept so.
Then there is what is commonly known as “Daily Telegraphese,” or the “high falutin” style. This arose from the invincible objection an inferior class of journalists had to writing of a spade as a _spade_, it must be called an “agricultural implement.” Examples of this may be found any day in the leaders of the _Daily Telegraph_, (London) a journal which whilst owned by Jews is especially conspicuous for its cant about Christianity and the Established Church. The parade of irrelevant learning, the mythological allusions dug up from the almost inaccessible depths of Lemprière, and the Latin verses cheaply filched from Dictionaries of Quotations, can only impose on imperfectly educated readers, to persons of any literary culture they are simply nauseating.
On page 251 _Jerry Juniper’s Chaunt_ (“Nix my dolly pals”) was given, it is the somewhat abbreviated version which is commonly sung, the full text, with a glossary, will be found in Ainsworth’s entertaining novel _Rookwood_.
This work contains other cant songs, and in his Preface Mr. Ainsworth makes the following remarks upon them:――
“As I have casually alluded to the flash song of Jerry Juniper, I may be allowed to make a few observations upon this branch of versification. It is somewhat curious with a dialect so racy, idiomatic, and plastic as our own cant, that its metrical capabilities should have been so little essayed. The French have numerous _chansons d’argot_, ranging from the time of Charles Bourdigné and Villon down to that of Vidocq and Victor Hugo, the last of whom has enlivened the horrors of his “_Dernier Jour d’un Condamné_” by a festive song of this class. The Spaniards possess a large collection of _Romances de Germania_, by various authors, amongst whom Quevedo holds a distinguished place. We on the contrary, have scarcely any slang songs of merit. This barreness is not attributable to the poverty of the soil, but to the want of due cultivation. Materials are at hand in abundance, but there have been few operators. Dekker, Beaumont and Fletcher, and Ben Jonson, have all dealt largely in this jargon, but not lyrically; and one of the earliest and best specimens of a canting-song occurs in Brome’s ‘_Jovial Crew_;’ and in the ‘_Adventures of Bamfylde Moore Carew_’ there is a solitary ode addressed by the mendicant fraternity to their newly-elected monarch; but it has little humour, and can scarcely be called a genuine canting-song. This ode brings us down to our own time; to the effusions of the illustrious Pierce Egan; to Tom Moore’s Flights of ‘_Fancy_;’ to John Jackson’s famous chant, ‘_On the High Toby Spice flash the Muzzle_,’ cited by Lord Byron in a note to ‘_Don Juan_;’ and to the glorious Irish ballad, worth them all put together, entitled ‘_The Night before Larry was stretched_.’ This is attributed to the late Dean Burrowes, of Cork. It is worthy of note, that almost all modern aspirants to the graces of the _Musa Pedestris_ are Irishmen. Of all rhymesters of the ‘_Road_,’ however, Dean Burrowes is, as yet, most fully entitled to the laurel. Larry is quite ‘the potato!’
“I venture to affirm that I have done something more than has been accomplished by my predecessors, or contemporaries, with the significant language under consideration. I have written _a purely flash song_; of which the great and peculiar merit consists in its being utterly incomprehensible to the uninformed understanding, while its meaning must be perfectly clear and perspicuous to the practised _patterer_ of _Romany_, or _Pedler’s French_. I have, moreover, been the first to introduce and naturalize amongst us a measure which, though common enough in the Argotic minstrelsy of France, has been hitherto utterly unknown to our _pedestrian_ poetry. Some years after the song alluded to, better known under the title of ‘_Nix my dolly, pals,――fake away!_’ sprang into extraordinary popularity, being set to music by Rodwell, and chanted by glorious Paul Bedford and clever little Mrs. Keeley.”
Of course Mr. Ainsworth is in error in his claim to have written the first purely flash song, if indeed that is what he claims in his somewhat ambiguous sentence on the subject.
Detached Slang phrases may be found in the writings of most of our principal novelists――in Swift, Addison, Henry Fielding, Lord Lytton, Harrison Ainsworth, and Charles Dickens they abound. Professor Wilson and Dr. Maginn were also authorities on Slang.
Our older dramatists introduced Slang largely into their plays, notably Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Richard Brome, Thomas Middleton, Thomas Decker, the Duke of Buckingham, and more recently R. B. Sheridan and Moncrieff.
Our dear little friend _Notes and Queries_ (London) contains many hundreds of references, explanations, and etymologies of Cant, Slang, and Flash, to which access can be readily obtained by reference to the indices of that ably conducted journal.
As a general remark on the songs which have been quoted, it should be borne in mind that prior to 1829 the punishment of death was inflicted for many offences which are now considered trivial, hence the frequent references they contain to hanging, and the gallows.
――――
THE PRINTER’S EPITAPH.
No more shall _copy_ bad perplex my brain; No more shall _type’s_ small face my eyeballs strain; No more the _proof’s foul page_[337] create me troubles, By _errors_, _transpositions_, _outs_, and _doubles_;[338] No more to _overrun_ shall I begin; No more be _driving out_ or _taking in_; The stubborn _pressman’s_ frown I now may scoff; _Raised, and corrected_, finally _worked off_!
From _Songs of the Press, and other Poems relative to the Art of Printing_. Collected by C. H. Timperley. London: Fisher, Son & Co., 1845.
This work contains a large number of Poems and Parodies in Printer’s Slang, and has a good glossary of the technical terms and Slang used in printing offices.
――――:o:――――
Dictionaries and other Books of Reference, on Cant and Slang. _Chronologically Arranged._
“_A Caveat or Warening for Common Cursetors, vulgarly called Vagabones_, set forth by Thomas Harman, Esquier, for the utilitie and proffyt of hys naturall Countrey, newly augumented and imprynted Anno Domini, 1567. Viewed, examined and allowed according unto the Queene Majesteyes injunctions. Imprinted at London, in Fletestret, at the signe of the Faulcon, by Wylliam Gryffith, and are to be solde at his shoppe in Saynt Dunstones Churche Yard in the West.”――This is generally acknowledged to have been the first work of its kind, namely, an attempt to form a Cant Dictionary. It was first printed in black letter, there have been several later editions, and Hotten in his _Slang Dictionary_ reprints from it what he terms the “Rogues’ Dictionary.” This vocabulary contains about 150 entries.
A reprint of Harman’s _Caveat_, with illustrations and interesting notes, was published by Reeves and Turner in 1871, in Mr. Charles Hindley’s _Old Book Collector’s Miscellany_.
_The Fraternatye of Vacabondes, etc._ Imprinted at London by John Awdeley, 1575.――Supposed to have been either written by Harman, or taken from his works.
_The Bellman of London_, by Thomas Decker.――Contains an account of the Canting Language. _Black letter._ London, 1608.
_Lanthorne and Candle-light_, or the Bellman’s Second Night’s Walke.――By Thomas Decker. London. 1608-9 This is a continuation of Decker’s former work, and contains the _Canter’s Dictionary_. There were numerous editions of Decker’s works on this subject.
“_Villanies discovered by Lanthorne and Candle-light, and the helpe of a new crier called O Per se O._ Being an addition to the Bel-man’s second night-walke; and laying open to the world of those abuses, which the Bel-man (because he went i’th darke) could not see. With Canting Songs, and other new conceits never before Printed.” By Thomas Decker. Newly corrected and enlarged. Small quarto. London, Aug Mathewes, 1620. Very rare, and curious as containing a complete description of the thieving and swindling population of London at that time, with a Cant Vocabulary and Slang songs. There were several Editions of this work.
_The English Rogue_, described in the Life of Meriton Latroon, a witty Extravagant. By Richard Head, 1671-80. This contains a list of Cant words, partly taken from Decker’s works.
_Canting Academy_; or, Villanies Discovered, wherein are shown the Mysterious and Villanous Practices of that Wicked Crew――Hectors, Trapanners, Gilts, etc., Also a Compleat Canting Dictionary. Compiled by Richard Head. 1674.
_Ladies’ Dictionary_, by Dunton, London, 1694.
_Dictionary of the Canting Crew_ (Ancient and Modern), of Gypsies, Beggars, Thieves, &c. _About_ 1700.
_New Dictionary of the Terms_ (Ancient and Modern), of the Canting Crew in its several Tribes. By B. E. Gent. _About_ 1710.――This work was the foundation of _Bacchus and Venus_, 1737, and of _The Scoundrel’s Dictionary_, 1754.
_Regulator_; or, a Discovery of the Thieves, Thief-takers, and Jocks, in and about London. With an account of all the _Flash Words_ now in vogue amongst the thieves. By Charles Hitching, formerly _City Marshall_. London, 1718.
_Complete History of the Lives and Robberies_ of the most notorious Highwaymen, Footpads, Shop-lifters, and Cheats in and about London and Westminster. By Captain A. Smith. London, 1719.――This contains “The Thieves New Canting Dictionary of the Words, Proverbs, &c., used by Thieves.”
_The Thieves’ Grammar._ By Captain Alexander Smith. About 1720.
_The Thieves’ Dictionary_, by the same author. 1724.
_Canting Dictionary_; comprehending all the Terms used by Gipsies, Beggars, Shoplifters, Highwaymen, Footpads, etc., with a collection of Songs in the Canting Dialect. A rechauffé of earlier works, 1725.
_The Golden Cabinet of Secrets_, with a Canting Dictionary, by Dr. Surman. In seven parts. London, about 1730.
_The Triumph of Wit_, or Ingenuity displayed, with the mystery and art of Canting, and Poems in the Canting Language, J. Clarke, 1735.
_Etymological English Dictionary._ By Nathaniel Bailey, 2 Vols., 1737. A collection of ancient and modern Cant words appears as an appendix to this edition.
_Bacchus and Venus_; or a select Collection of Songs in the Canting Dialect, etc., with a Dictionary explaining the Canting Terms. 1731. Founded on B. E. Gent’s _New Dictionary_.
_The Life of an English Rogue._ By Jeremy Sharp, 1740.――This contains a vocabulary of Gypsies’ Cant.
_The History and Curious Adventures of Bampfylde-Moore Carew_, King of the Mendicants. The first edition was published by R. Goodby, London, 1749.――This is a very common book, it should contain “A vocabulary of words used by the Scottish Gipsies,” “A few sentences in the Gipsy Language,” and “A Dictionary of the Cant Language generally used by mendicants.” These are incomplete and unsatisfactory.
_History of the Lives and Actions of Jonathan Wild_, Blueskin, and John Sheppard; together with a _Canting Dictionary_, by Jonathan Wild, 1750.
_The Sportsman’s Dictionary._ No date. Contains low sporting and pugilistic terms.
_Scoundrel’s Dictionary_, or an Explanation of the Cant words used by Thieves, House Breakers, Street Robbers, and Pickpockets about Town, 1754. A reprint of _Bacchus and Venus_, 1737.
_The Triumph of Wit_, or the Canting Dictionary. Dublin, about 1760.
_The Discoveries of John Poulter._ About 1770.――With an explanation of the “Language of Thieves, commonly called Cant.”
_Dictionary of the English Language_, by Dr. John Ash, 1775.――Containing low, vulgar, slang, and cant terms.
_New and Complete Dictionary of the English Language._ By John Ash, L.L.D., 1775.――Contains Cant words and phrases.
_A View of Society in High and Low Life._ By George Parker, 1781.
_The Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue._ By Francis Grose.――The first edition was published in 1785. This is the foundation of most of the Slang Dictionaries which have since been compiled. Although it is one of the most indecent books ever printed in the English language it must be admitted that it was, at the time it appeared, the most complete and important Dictionary of street language, based on personal enquiry, and acquaintance with the habits of those who used “Cant.”
_The Whole Art of Thieving and Defrauding Discovered_; to which is added an Explanation of most of the Cant terms in the Thieving Language. 1786.
_Life’s Painter of Variegated Characters_, with a Dictionary of Cant Language and Flash Songs. By George Parker, 1789.
_New Dictionary of all the Cant and Flash Languages_, both ancient and modern, used by Gipsies, Beggars, Swindlers, Footpads, Highwaymen, etc. By H. T. Potter, of Clay, Worcestershire. 1790.
_Dictionary of all the Cant and Flash Languages_, both ancient and modern. By Bailey. 1790.
_New Dictionary of all the Cant and Flash Languages_ used by every class of Offenders, from a Lully Prigger to a High Tober Gloak. 179――
_A Political Dictionary_: Explaining the True Meaning of Words. By the late Charles Pigott, Esq. London: D. I. Eaton, 1795.――A satirical work directed against the Monarchy, the Aristocracy, and the Government of the day, in the form of a dictionary.
_Blackguardiana_; or, Dictionary of Rogues, Bawds, etc. By James Caulfield. 1795.
A coarse work, mainly founded on Grose’s “Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue.”
_Dictionary of all the Cant and Flash Languages._ London. 1797.
_Anecdotes of the English Language_, chiefly regarding the Local dialect of London and Environs. By Samuel Pegge. 1803.
_Dictionary of the Slang and Cant Languages_, Ancient and Modern. By George Andrews. A sixpenny pamphlet. London, 1809.
_A Dictionary of Buckish Slang_, University Wit, and Pickpocket Eloquence. 1811.
_Lexicon Balatronicum. A Dictionary of Buckish Slang, University Wit, and Pickpocket Eloquence_, compiled originally by Captain Grose, and now considerably altered and enlarged by a member of the Whip Club, assisted by Hell-Fire Dick, etc. London: C. Chappel, Pall Mall, 1811. With a folding plate by G. Cruikshank, entitled “Bang up Dinner; or, Love and Lingo.” This is a very comprehensive slang dictionary, containing extracts from flash songs and dialogues. It is exceedingly coarse and indelicate, and is consequently very scarce.
_Bang-up Dictionary_; or, the Lounger and Sportsman’s Vade Mecum. A Glossary of the Language of the Whips. 1812.
_London Guide and Stranger’s Safeguard_, against Cheats, Swindlers, and Pickpockets, By William Perry. 1818. Contains a Dictionary of Slang Words.
_Life of the Count de Vaux_, written by Himself, to which is added a Canting Dictionary. 1819.
These memoirs were suppressed.
_Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress_: With a Preface, Notes, and Appendix. By One of the Fancy. London, Longmans & Co., 1819. There were several Editions. This has been ascribed to Thomas Moore, it contains a parody of one of his poems, most of the other pieces contained in this little volume are descriptive of prize fights, and abound in slang; the burlesque preface and footnotes, are interesting, learned, and explanatory.
There is also a translation from the Fifth Book of Virgil’s _Æneid_ in Slang, entitled “Account of the Milling-match between Entellus and Dares.”
“With daddles high uprais’d, and nob held back, In awful prescience of th’ impending thwack, Both Kiddies stood――and with prelusive spar, And light manœuvering, kindled up the war.!”
* * * * *
_Boxiana_; or, Sketches of Modern Pugilism, by Pierce Egan. London, 1820.
This is more particularly devoted to the Prize-ring, and its technicalities.
_The Fancy_: A selection from the Poetical Remains of the late Peter Corcoran, of Gray’s Inn, Student at Lawe London, Taylor & Hessey. 1820. This is written in imitation of _Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress_, and is generally ascribed to James Smith, one of the authors of _The Rejected Addresses_. It abounds in cant, slang, and terms of the prize ring, and has a short glossary of terms.
_The True History of Tom and Jerry_; or, The Day and Night scenes of Life in London, with a Glossary of Slang. By Pierce Egan. About 1820.
_Flash Dictionary of the Cant Words_, Queer Sayings, and Crack Terms now in use in Flash Cribb Society. By Mr. Duncombe. 1820.
_Jack Randall’s Diary of Proceedings at the Souse of Call for Genius._ This is supposed to have been written by Thomas Moore, it contains numerous Slang parodies, relating to pugilism and fast life in London. 1820. Jack Randall was an ex-pugilist, who kept a 284 public-house called the Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane, frequented by the “fancy.” He died in 1828.
Alas! poor Jack lies on his back, As flat as any flounder: Although he died of a bad inside, No heart was ever sounder. The Hole-in-the-Wall was once his _stall_, His _crib_ the _Fancy_ name it: A Hole-in-the-Ground he now has found, And no one else will claim it.
* * * * *
_Essayes and Characters of a Prison and Prisoners._ (Mynshull) Edinburgh, 1821. Contains an account of the Cant used in the prison.
_Life of David Haggart_, written by himself while under sentence of Death. With a glossary of the Slang and Cant Words of the Day. 1821.
_Life in St. George’s Fields_; or, the Rambles and Adventures of Disconsolate William, Esq., and his Surrey Friend, Flash Dick, with Songs and a Flash Dictionary. 1821.
_A Political Dictionary_; or, Pocket Companion:――Chiefly designed for the use of Members of Parliament, Whigs, Tories, Loyalists, Magistrates, Clergymen, Half-pay Officers, Worshipful Aldermen and Reviewers; being an Illustration and Commentary on all Words, Phrases, and Proper Names in the Vocabulary of Corruption. With biographical illustrations from the lives of the most celebrated Corruptionists in Church and State. By the Editor of the “Black Book.” London: T. Dolby. 1821.
This work, which has a strong Radical bias, is satirically dedicated to the odious Lord Castlereagh, and is very outspoken in its denunciations of Bribery, Corruption, Pensioners, and Placemen, as witness the definition it gives of “LAUREATE (_Poet_),” “A fellow who barters his principles for a hundred pounds a year and a butt of sack.” This gibe was directed at the renegade republican Robert Southey, then Poet Laureate.
_The Man of the World’s Dictionary._ Anonymous. London: J. Appleyard. 1822.
Translated from the _Dictionnaire des Gens du Monde_, a satirical work in the form of a dictionary.
_Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue_, by Francis Grose, revised and corrected, with the addition of numerous Slang Phrases, collected from tried authorities, by Pierce Egan. London. 1823.――This is the best edition of Grose’s work.
_Dictionary of the Turf_, the Ring, the Chase, the Pit, the Bon Ton, and the Varieties of Life, by John Bee, (_i.e._, John Badcock). 1823.
_Gradus ad Cantabrigiam_; or New University Guide to the Academical Customs, and Colloquial or Cant terms peculiar to _The University of Cambridge_. By a Brace of Cantabs. London. J. Hearne. 1824.――This is written in the form of a Dictionary, and contains some excellent parodies.
_The Modern Flash Dictionary_, containing all the Cant Words, Slang Terms, and Flash Phrases now in vogue. By E. Kent. 1825.
_Modern Flash Dictionary_, 48mo. 1825.――The smallest Slang Dictionary ever printed.
_Sportsman’s Slang_; A new Dictionary of Terms used in the affairs of the Turf, the Ring, the Chase, and the Cockpit. By John Bee (J. Badcock). 1825.
_My Thought Book_, by J. Thomas, 1825.――Contains a chapter on Slang.
_Living Picture of London for 1828_, and Strangers’ Guide through the streets of the Metropolis; showing the Frauds, the Arts, Snares and Wiles of all descriptions of Rogues, &c., 1828.――Giving an insight into the language of the streets.
_Mornings at Bow Street._ By T. Wright, London, 1838. Contains Etymologies of a few Slang Words.
_Poverty, Mendicity, and Crime_; or the Facts, Examinations, &c. upon which the Report was founded, Presented to the House of Lords by W. A. Miles, Esq., to which is added a Dictionary of the Flash or Cant Language, known to every Thief and Beggar. Edited by H. Brandon, Esq., London; Shaw & Sons, 1839.――The Flash Dictionary only extends to six pages, followed by two examples of “flash” conversation, the first of which has already been quoted.
_Sinks of London laid open_, a Pocket Companion for the uninitiated, to which is added a _Modern Flash Dictionary_, with a List of the 60 orders of Prime Coves, the whole forming a True Picture of London Life, Cadging made Easy, the He-She Man, Smoking Kens, Lessons to Lovers, &c. With illustrations, by George Cruikshank, London, 1848.
_London Labour and London Poor_, 4 vols. By Henry Mayhew. London, 1851.
_In the Great World of London_, written by the same gentleman, there is also some information about Cant and Slang Words.
_Magistrates’ Assistant and Constables’ Guide._ By Snowden, 1852.――Contains a “Glossary of the Flash Language.”
_Archaic Dictionary_, by J. O. Halliwell, 2 vols. 1855.
_The Vulgar Tongue_: comprising two glossaries of Slang, Cant and Flash words and phrases, principally used in London at the present day. By Ducange Anglicus. London: Bernard Quaritch, 1857. Only 250 copies were printed of this edition. The first Glossary was original, the second was merely a reprint from the report entitled _Poverty, Mendicity, and Crime_, which see. It also contains _The Leary Man_, a Flash Song, and a Tailor’s Handbill in Slang, both of which have already been quoted.
_Essay on Church Parties._ By Dean Conybeare, containing examples of clerical, or pulpit Slang. 1858.
_The Slang Dictionary_; or, the Vulgar words, Street Phrases and “Fast” expressions of High and Low Society. This was first published in London by John Camden Hotten in 1859 as _The Dictionary of Modern Slang, Cant, and Vulgar words_, a second edition appeared in 1860; the above named which appeared in 1864, contained much more matter than its predecessors. There have been several editions published more recently. Speaking in a general sense this appears to be by far the most interesting, as it is also the most useful work on _Slang_ for modern readers. Naturally it contains a few coarse and vulgar expressions, but none of an obscene or indelicate description. It has a bibliography of Slang and Cant, which is, however, incomplete.
_The History of a Manchester Cadger_; narrated in his own language. Price, one penny.――This was an impudent theft from Hotten’s Slang Dictionary.
_Miss Polly-Glott’s Dictionary of the Future._――This was a satirical Dictionary which appeared in several parts of _The Girl of the Period Miscellany_. London. 1869.
_A Pedlar’s Pack of Ballads and Songs._ By W. H. Logan. Edinburgh; William Paterson. 1869.――This contains about a dozen slang songs, the best of which have been already quoted.
_The Shotover Papers_, or Echoes from Oxford. Oxford. J. Vincent. 1874-75.――This contains numerous specimens of the slang in use in the Oxford Colleges.
_The Life and Times of James Catnach_, (late of Seven Dials) Ballad Monger. By Charles Hindley. London. Reeves and Turner. 1878.――Contains old Cant Ballads, and notes on Thieves and their haunts.
_Macmillan’s Magazine_, October, 1879. Autobiography of a Thief, by Rev. J. W. Horsley.――See also _Jottings from Jail_. 1887.
_Flights of Fancy_ by E. L. Blanchard. London: E. W. Allen, 1882. This has a more explanatory sub-title; “The Comic Encyclopædia, a Dictionary of Definitions for the use of Punsters,” this in reality is a humorous and satirical dictionary. This work originally appeared in parts in the early numbers of _Fun_. London.
_Jottings from Jail_; Notes and Papers on Prison matters. By the Rev. J. W. Horsley M.A., London. T. Fisher Unwin, 1887.
This contains “An Autobiography of a Thief, in Cant or Thieves’ language,” which had previously appeared in _Macmillan’s Magazine_ for October, 1879. This was also reprinted, with a French translation, in Mr. A. Barrère’s splendid work _Argot and Slang_.
_The A. B. C. of a New Dictionary of Flash, Cant, Slang and Vulgar Words, Proverbs and Provincialisms_, their Explication and Illustration. On the basis of Bailey and Grose. London, no date, but probably printed about 1866. This exceedingly scarce and rather coarse little book (110 pages) has no author’s or publisher’s name. It only deals with the first three letters of the alphabet, and was evidently intended as the first instalment of a very complete dictionary, an intention which was not carried into effect. Only a few copies were printed.
_New Canting Dictionary._ N.D.
_A new Dictionary of the Jaunting Crew._ N.D.
_The Gipsy Vocabulary_, Edited by W. Pinkerton.
_Every Day Life in our Public Schools._ By C. E. Pascoe. London.
_The Seven Curses of London._ By James Greenwood.
_A Supplementary English Glossary._ By T. L. O. Davies. London, 1881.
“_The True History of Tom and Jerry_; or The Day and Night Scenes of Life in London from the Start to the Finish! With a key to the Persons and Places, together with a Vocabulary and Glossary of the Flash and Slang terms occurring in the course of the work.” By Charles Hindley. London, Reeves & Turner, 1889.
This is a reprint of Pierce Egan’s _Tom and Jerry_ and _The Finish to the Adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic_, with an interesting and profusely illustrated introduction, by Mr. Hindley. The Glossary has been revised and brought down to date, and altogether the book is as curious and as amusing a record of “Life in London” seventy years ago as can be desired. Only two hundred and fifty copies have been printed.
_A Dictionary of Slang, Jargon, and Cant_, embracing English, American, and Anglo-Indian Slang, Pidgin English, Tinkers’ Jargon, and other irregular Phraseology, compiled and edited by Albert Barrère and Charles G. Leland. Printed, for subscribers only, at the Ballantyne Press. 1889. Only the first volume (A to K) of this work has as yet been issued.
AMERICAN AND COLONIAL SLANG.
_Essays on Americanisms_, Perversions of Language in the United States, Cant Phrases, &c.――By Dr. Witherspoon, Philadelphia, 1801.
Probably the earliest work on Americanisms.
_Vocabulary_, or Collection of Words and Phrases which have been supposed to be peculiar to the United States of America. By F. Pickering, Boston, 1816.
_Letter to the Hon. John Pickering_, on the subject of his Vocabulary, or Collection of Words and Phrases supposed to be peculiar to the United States. By Noah Webster, Boston, 1817.
_Collection of College Words and Customs._ By B. H. Hall. Cambridge (U.S.) 1856.
_Dictionary of Americanisms_; a Glossary of Words and Phrases colloquially used in the United States. By John Russell Bartlett. New York, 1859.
_Glossary of supposed Americanisms_; Vulgar and Slang words used in the United States, by Alfred L. Elwyn. 1859.
_Gazetteer of Georgia_, U.S. By Sherwood. This contains a glossary of the Slang and Vulgar words peculiar to the Southern States of the U.S.A.
_A Handbook of Sayings and Phrases._ By J. A. Mair. London, George Routledge and Sons. About 1880. This useful little work contains not only many English Slang Words, but also a collection of American Words and Phrases.
_Americanisms, Old and New_, being a collection of words, phrases, and colloquialisms peculiar to the United States British America, the West Indies, etc. By John S. Farmer. Privately printed 1889. This contains a good many words pertaining to transatlantic cant, or thieves’ slang. An amusing article on this book appeared in _The Daily News_, January 31, 1889.
_School Life at Winchester College_, giving an account of the Language of _Ziph_. By Professor Mansfield.
――――:o:――――
CONTINENTAL BOOKS OF REFERENCE ON “ARGOT” OR SLANG.
_La Comédie des Proverbes._ Par Adrien de Montluc. 1633.
_Dictionnaire des Halles._ Bruxelles, 1696. A scarce and very curious slang dictionary.
_Dictionnaire Comique, Satyrique, Critique, Burlesque, Libre et Proverbial._ Avec une explication très-fidèle de toutes les manières de parler Burlesques, Comiques, Libres, Satyriques, Critiques et Proverbiales, qui peuvent se rencontrer dans les meilleurs Auteurs, tant anciens que modernes. Par Philibert Joseph Le Roux. Lyons, 1735. Other editions 1752 and 1786.
(The editor’s copy of this curious work was published by Michel Charles le Cene, at Amsterdam, 1718, and was purchased in July 1889, at Sotheby’s sale of the Library of the Right Hon. and Reverend the Earl of Buckinghamshire.)
_Le Poissardiana._ 1756.
_Amusements à la Grecque_, ou les Soirées de la Halle. Par un Ami de feu Vadé. Paris, 1764.
_Amusements rapsodi-poétiques._ 1773.
_Nouveau Dictionnaire Proverbial, Satirique et Burlesque._ Plus complet que ceux qui ont paru jusqu’à ce jour, à l’usage de tout le monde. Par A. Caillot. Paris. Dauvin, 1826.
Illustrated by many interesting quotations from the old French classical writers.
_Dictionnaire d’Argot_, ou la Langue des Voleurs devoilée, contenant les moyens de se mettre en garde contre les Ruses des Filous. Paris. 1830 (?)
_Histoire de Collet_ et de plusieurs autres Voleurs anciens et modernes, suivie d’un Dictionnaire Argot-Francais. Paris, 1849.
_Macaroneana_, ou Mélange de Littérature Macaronique des différents Peuples de l’Europe. Par Octave Delepierre. 1852.
_Etudes de Philologie comparée sur l’Argot._ Par Francisque Michel. Paris. 1856.
_Dictionnaire d’Argot_, ou Etudes de Philologie comparée sur l’Argot. Par Francisque Michel. Paris. 1856.
_Le Dictionnaire des Précieuses._ Par A. B. de Somaize. Nouvelle edition par Ch. L. Livet. 1856.
_Récréations Philologiques._ Par F. Génin. Paris. 1858.
_Liber Vagatorum._ Der Betler Orden. The Book of Vagabonds and Beggars, with a vocabulary of their Language. Now first translated into English, with Notes, by John Camden Hotten. 4to. London. 1859.――For an account of this work see Hotten’s _Slang Dictionary_.
_Glossaire Erotique de la Langue Française._ Par Louis de Landes. Bruxelles, 1861.
_Curiosités de l’Etymologie française._ Par Charles Nisard. Paris, 1863.
_Vocabulaire des Houilleurs Liégois._ Par S. Bormans. 1864.
_Dictionnaire de la Langue Verte_, par Alfred Delvau. Paris. Second edition, 1867.
_Almanach de la Langue Verte pour l’année 1868_, à l’usage des Bons Zigues.
_Almanach Chantant._ 1869.
_Dictionnaire Historique, Etymologique, et Anecdotique de l’Argot Parisien._ Par L. Larchey. Paris, 1872. (There have been several editions of this work).
_De quelques Parisianismes populaires et autres Locutions._ Par Charles Nisard. Paris, 1876.
_Dictionnaire Historique l’Argot._ Par Lorédan Larchey. Paris, 1880.
_Dictionnaire d’Argot Moderne._ Par Lucien Rigaud. Paris, 1881.
_Dictionnaire de l’Argot des Typographes._ Par Eugène Boutmy. Paris, 1883.
_Dictionnaire de l’Argot Moderne._ Par L. Rigaud. Paris, 1883.
_Dictionnaire de la Langue Verte_, par Delvau et Fustier.
The last and best edition, with a supplement, was published in Paris in 1883.
_L’Argot des Nomades en Basse-Brétagne._ Par N. Quellien. Paris, 1885.
_L’Argot des Nomades de la Basse-Brétagne._ Par N. Quellien. Paris, 1886.
_La Langue Verte du Troupier._ Par Léon Merlin. Paris, 1886.
_Le Jargon_, ou Langage de l’Argot reformé. Epinal. N.D.
_Paris Voleur._ Par Pierre Delcourt. Paris, 1887.
_Dictionnaire Erotique Moderne._ Par un Professeur de la langue Verte. (Alfred Delvau.)
_Les Formules du Docteur Grégoire_, Dictionnaire du Figaro. Par A. Decourcelle. Paris: J. Hetzel. No date.
An amusing satirical work, in which many humourous definitions are arranged in the form of a dictionary.
_Histoire de la Prostitution_, par Léo Taxil. Paris. N.D.
_Argot and Slang_; a new French and English Dictionary of the Cant Words, Quaint Expressions, Slang Terms and Flash Phrases used in old and new Paris. By A. Barrère. London. Privately printed at the Chiswick Press, by C. Whittingham and Co. 1887.
This splendid work contains historical notices of the various canting languages, a number of songs both in French and English slang, and a French translation of the Rev. J. W. Horsley’s _Autobiography of a Thief in Thieves’ Language_.
M. Barrère gives a long list of the works he has consulted, and in the body of his book brief extracts are given to show the application and contexts of the examples.
――――
Books on foreign slang are very numerous. Besides those already mentioned the following are well known:――“Le Jargon, ou Langage de l’Argot reformé,” &c. (à Troyés), par Yves Girardin, 1660; another by Antoine Dubois, 1680; “Le Jargon ou Langage de l’Argot reformé, pour l’instruction des bons Grivois,” &c., à Lavergne, chex Mezière, Babillandier du Grand Coëre, 1848; “Le Jargon de l’Argot,” par Techener (several editions).
Alfred Delvau published his “Dictionnaire de la Langue Verte, Argots Parisiens comparés,” in 1866, and a second edition in 1867. A third “augmentée d’un supplément par G. Fustier” appeared in 1883. The same author published the “Dictionnaire Erotique Moderne” in 1864. Other editions followed in 1874 and 1875.
Lorédan Larchey wrote “Les Excentricités de la Langue Française” in 1860; the fourth edition appeared in 1862. In 1872 the title was changed to “Dictionnaire Historique Etymologique et Anecdotique de l’Argot Parisien. Sixième Edition des Excentricités du Langage mise à la hauteur des Revolutions du Jour.” In 1880 the eighth edition was called “Dictionnaire Historique d’Argot”; and a supplement appeared in 1883.
It has not been attempted here to give more than a brief bibliography of the principal French works treating of _Argot_ in an explanatory, or historical manner.
Those who wish to pursue the subject further, and to study examples, must consult the old poems of Maitre Francois Villon and Molière, and the writings of Rabelais, Beaumarchais, Eugene Sue, Victor Hugo, Emile Zola, Champfleury, Honoré de Balzac, Pierre de Brantôme, Alphonse Daudet, Emile Gaboriau, Charles Nodier, Jean Richepin, and the classical Memoires de Monsieur Vidocq.
[Illustration]
CROSS READINGS.
A LETTER OF RECOMMENDATION FROM CARDINAL RICHELIEU.
Mr. Campoa, Savoyard and Friar, of the holy order of St. Bennet, is to be the bearer to you of some news from me, by means of this letter; he is one of the most discreet, wise, and least vicious persons that I ever yet knew, amongst all I have conversed with and hath earnestly desired me to write to you in his favour, and to give him a letter for you of credence in his behalf and my recommendation, which to his merit (I assure you) rather than his importunity, I have granted; for he deserves greatly your esteem, and I should be sorry you should be backward to oblige him by being mistaken in not knowing him, I should be concern’d if you were as very many others have been already upon that account, who are of my best friends. Hence, and for no other motive, I am desirous to advertise you that you are obliged for my sake to take especial notice of him, to pay him all possible respect, and to say nothing before him that may offend or displease him in any sort; for I may truly say, he is a worthy man, and assure you, there can’t be a more convincing argument of an unworthy person in the world, than to be able to injure him. I am sure, that as soon as you cease being a stranger to his virtue, & have any acquaintance with him, you will love him as well as I, and I shall receive thanks for the advice. The assurance I have of your Civility hindereth me to write farther of him to you, or to say any more on the subject.
An invention of the like kind is the Jesuits Double-faced Creed, which was published in the history of Popery, 1679, and which, according to the different readings, may suit either Papist or Protestant.
THE JESUITS DOUBLE-FACED CREED.
I hold for faith What England’s church allows, What Rome’s church saith My conscience disavows. Where the king is head The flock can take no shame, The flock’s misled Who hold the pope supreme. Where the altar’s drest The worship’s scarce divine, The people’s blest Whose table’s bread and wine. He’s but an ass Who their communion flies, Who shuns the mass Is catholic and wise.
IN LATIN.
Pro fide teneo sana Quae docet Anglicana Affirmat quae Romana Videnter mihi vana, Supremus quando rex est Tum plebs est fortunata, Erraticus tum Grex est Cum caput fiat papa, Altare cum ornatur Communio fit inanis, Populus tum beatur Cum mensa vino panis, Asini nomen meruit Hunc morem qui non capit, Missam qui deseruit Catholicus est et sapit.
The following lines were found in the pocket of the Marquis of Tullabardine on his death in July, 1746. Read across, the cause of the Stuart family is advocated, whilst that of the Hanoverians is pleaded if the short lines are read straight down.
I love wᵗʰ all my Heart The Stuart’s party Here The Hanoverian part Most hateful doth appear And for the Settlement I ever have denied My Conscience gives Consent To be on Jemmy’s side Most righteous is the Cause To be for such a King To fight for George’s Laws Will Britain ruin bring This is my Mind and Heart In this Opinion I Tho’ none shoᵈ take my part Resolve to live and die.
TWO VIEWS OF MARRIED LIFE.
The first view is attained by reading the verses as they are printed, the second view appears by reading the lines alternately, the first and third, then the second and fourth.
That man must lead a happy life Who is directed by a wife; Who’s freed from matrimonial claims, Is sure to suffer for his pains.
Adam could find no solid peace Till he beheld a woman’s face; When Eve was given for a mate, Adam was in a happy state.
In all the female race appear Truth, darling of a heart sincere; Hypocrisy, deceit, and pride, In woman never did reside.
What tongue is able to unfold The worth in woman we behold? The failings that in woman dwell Are almost imperceptible.
Confusion take the men, I say, Who no regard to women pay; Who make the women their delight Keep always reason in their sight.
A mangled and spoilt version of this very old poem was recently given in _The Sporting Times_, (September 4, 1889), as original matter.
――――:o:――――
AUTUMN.
The melancholy days have come, The saddest of the year; Too warm, alas! for whiskey punch, Too cold for lager beer.
Religious and Political Parodies.
Those parodies which deal with Religious and Political questions are alike in that they are both of great antiquity, and that, no matter how harmless they may be, they are sure to displease a certain proportion of their readers. Thus the parodies that were published by William Hone were both religious and political, and they gave great offence to the supporters of the government of his day, yet any history of English parody that should omit the parodies which gave rise to his three trials would be ridiculously incomplete. It is difficult to adequately treat of the topic without appearing to ridicule that which to many appears too solemn for burlesque.
But in the following pages a broad distinction has been drawn, those Parodies only have been admitted which, whilst imitating the form or language of portions of the liturgy, have no tendency to ridicule religion in itself, nor to burlesque any of its dogmas. It should be remembered that much of the phraseology we associate with the Liturgy is simply old fashioned English, such as was in common use at the time the Scriptures were translated into English, and when the services of the Church of England were first compiled. There can therefore be nothing impious in applying similar language to other subjects, and many eminent churchmen have used the liturgical forms of expression in answering and ridiculing the arguments of their opponents.
There would be little difficulty in showing that in the matter of Parodies no one creed has been less considerate of their neighbours religious opinions than the Protestants, and that, from the days of Luther, the Reformers have left no weapon unemployed which could, in their opinion, do injury to the older form of Catholicism.
When that pattern of filial devotion, Mary the Second, came over with her husband to dispossess her father of his kingdom, we read that he who, with all his faults, had been a kind father, exclaimed “Heaven help me, since even my own children desert me!” It was in the name of holy Religion that James the Second was banished from this country, and his enemies, to show how truly christianlike they were, addressed the following poem to his daughter. In this, not content with burlesquing one of the most beautiful portions of the Catholic Church service, they compare this Mary, descended from the Stuarts, with the Virgin Mary.
THE PROTESTANTS AVE MARY, on the Arrival of Her most Gracious Majesty, MARY, QUEEN OF ENGLAND.
Hail all that’s Great or Good! and let the Hail O’erspread Three Kingdoms, and like Truth prevail: _Hail Mary!_ ’twas of old the Voice of Heaven; Nor are we mortals of our share bereaven. _Hail Mary full of Grace!_ speaks yet more clear, Since ev’ry Virtue is Constellate here. And all the Graces so entirely meet, That nothing less could such a Princess greet. Nor rest we here: _The Lord is with thee too_: Or thy Great Lord could ne’er such Wonders do. Wonders! may well th’ alarum’d World surprise; It was of GOD, and Marvellous in our Eyes! Wonders! as put its Motion to a stand, And not His Finger speaks, but Mighty Hand.
Advance yet higher, and pursue the Hind; _Blessed art thou amongst all Womankind:_
Since thou com’st cloath’d with Innocence and Peace, And brings’t the Charms, to make our Tempests cease: Since by thy virtues we shall now Retrieve Our gasping Laws, and gain them a Reprieve. Thy WILLIAM’S maintain’d Ray will restore, _England_ the lustre it enjoy’d before; Our shatter’d Liberties and Laws maintain, And calmly anchor Church and State again. But oh! We grieve, that yet, we can’t apply, The last Division of that _Rosary_. We Wish, we Hope, we Pray, and will Pray on, Till we have gain’d Heaven’s Favour in a SON: That then we may the whole Salute repeat, And make our Joys, as well as that Compleat. Ye Miter’d Heads assist, call to Assize Your strongest zeals, and with them storm the Skies; We know, that fervent Prayer did never fail, And let _Rome_ know such Hereticks can prevail, And with a Holy Violence pluck down, A real Issue to support the Crown, Whilst their addresses to _Loretto_ made, Did only gain a Son in Masquerade. Thus we, to our Great MARY, pay our Hails, With Hearts as full, and swelling as her Sails; Thanks Winds, and Seas, and Ships, that wafted o’er, OUR BLESSED LADY to the British Shore. But above all, thanks be to Heaven alone, That led Her from a State, unto a Throne; Where She will hold (guided by th’ Hand of God.) The Dovelike Sceptre not an Iron Rod: So our late model, she may them Reform; And with true _English_ interest perform, What _James_ first promis’d; and advance our Glory, Beyond the Limits of Ancestral Story; For what can’t England do, would she awake, Give _Laws_ to _Europe_, and make Empires shake. Keep Mistress of the Undisputed Maine, And hold the Balance Just, ’twixt France and Spain; And once more make her useless Cannons Roar, Through both the _Indies_, and bring back their ore. Search out new World, and Conquer old Ones too, Bomb _Mexico_, and subjugate Peru: Beard the proud _Sophy_, and the Grand _Mogul_, These are the Rays would make thy Glory full. Such mighty Acts, would make a Perfect Reign, And our _Great_ WILLIAM Conquerour again. * * * * * Then visit _Monsieur_ with United Powers, See _Paris_ too, and humble her high Towers; Storm the _Bastile_, possess the _Louvre_ too; What can’t _Great_ WILLIAM and _Bright_ MARY do! Thus may’st thou Conquer, and _Amen_ all say, Thus may’st thou reign, while we our Homage pay, And make thy entry, our Great _Lady-Day_.
This poem is dated “_London, 1689_. Printed for _R. Baldin_ near the Black-Bull in the Old Baily.”
An even earlier Parody, having a religious motive, may be found in “_The Temple_. Sacred Poems by Mr. George Herbert.” First printed at Cambridge in 1633, it is entitled
A PARODIE.
Souls joy, when thou art gone, And I alone, Which cannot be, Because thou dost abide with me, And I depend on thee; Yet when thou dost suppresse The cheerfulnesse Of thy abode, And in my powers not stirre abroad, But leave me to my load: O what a damp and shade Doth me invade! No stormie night Can so afflict or so affright, As thy eclipsed light.
* * * * *
The Parody of Scripture may be raised above mere travesty by a vein of earnestness in the motive. Luther intended no violence to the first Psalm when he thus parodied it:――
“Blessed is the man that hath not walked in the way of the Sacramentarians, nor sat in the seat of the Zuringlians, nor followed in the Council of the Zurichers.”
The same may be said of Dr. Norman Macleod’s parody of the first chapter of Genesis:――
“Perhaps the men of science would do well, in accordance with the latest scientific results, and especially the ‘meteoric theory’ to re-write the first chapter of Genesis in this way:――
1. The earth was without form and void. 2. A meteor fell upon the earth. 3. The result was fish, flesh, and fowl. 4. From these proceeded the British Association. 5. And the British Association pronounced it tolerably good.”
――――:o:――――
William Hone’s Three Trials.
In the year 1817 William Hone, a printer and publisher in the Old Bailey, London, was prosecuted by the Government for having printed and published three parodies, the first was _John Wilkes’s Catechism of a Ministerial Member_, the second was _The Political Litany_, and the third was _The Sinecurist’s Creed_.
The first trial was held in the Guildhall, on December 17, 1817, before Mr. Justice Abbott and a Special Jury; the second, also in the Guildhall, on December 19, 1817, before Lord Ellenborough and a Special Jury, and the third in the same place and before the same judge, on December 20, 1817.
In each case all the influence of Court and Government was brought to bear against Mr. Hone, the Attorney-General prosecuted, and the judges were distinctly adverse to the defendant. Notwithstanding all this, and that Mr. Hone, who defended himself without legal assistance, was in feeble health, in each case the Juries returned a verdict of NOT GUILTY, and their decisions were received with delight and applause by the London populace.
Mr. Hone, in his defence, contended that the parodies were harmless in themselves, were not intended to ridicule religion or the scriptures, and were written for purely political motives. He further contended, and indeed, proved by extracts, that parodies of a far more objectionable character than his were daily published without let or hindrance, provided that they were in favour of the Government, or written to abuse its opponents.
Directly after the trials Hone published a full account of them, with his defences, and a quantity of entertaining reading on the subject of religious and political parodies. This book had an enormous sale, it has also been recently reprinted by the _Freethought Publishing Company_, so that copies of it can readily be obtained.
It will therefore suffice to give only the parodies themselves here, without the evidence and speeches of the trials.
JOHN WILKES’S CATECHISM.
The late John Wilkes’s Catechism of a Ministerial Member; taken from an Original Manuscript in Mr. Wilkes’s Handwriting, never before printed,[339] and adapted to the Present Occasion. With permission.
London: Printed for one of the Candidates for the Office of Printer to the King’s Most Excellent Majesty, and Sold by William Hone, 55, Fleet Street, and 67, Old Bailey. Three Doors from Ludgate Hill. 1817. Price Two-pence.
A Catechism, that is to say, An Instruction, to be learned of every person before he be brought to be confirmed a Placeman or Pensioner by the Minister.
_Question._ What is your name?
_Answer._ Lick Spittle.
Q. Who gave you this name?
A. My Sureties to the Ministry, in my Political Change, wherein I was made a Member of the Majority, the Child of Corruption, and a Locust to devour the good Things of this Kingdom.
Q. What did your Sureties then for you?
A. They did promise and vow three things in my Name. First, that I should renounce the Reformists and all their Works, the pomps and vanity of Popular Favour, and all the sinful lusts of Independence. Secondly, that I should believe all the Articles of the Court Faith. And thirdly, that I should keep the Minister’s sole Will and Commandments, and walk in the same, all the days of my life.
Q. Dost thou not think that thou art bound to believe and to do as they have promised for thee?
A. Yes, verily, and for my own sake, so I will; and I heartily thank our heaven-born Ministry, that they have called me to this state of elevation, through my own flattery, cringing, and bribery; and I shall pray to their successors to give me their assistance, that I may continue the same unto my life’s end.
Q. Rehearse the Articles of thy Belief.
A. I believe in GEORGE, the Regent Almighty, Maker of New Streets, and Knights of the Bath,
And in the present Ministry, his only choice, who were conceived of Toryism, brought forth of WILLIAM PITT, suffered loss of Place under CHARLES JAMES FOX, were execrated, dead, and buried. In a few months they rose again from their minority; they re-ascended to the Treasury benches, and sit at the right hand of a little man with a large wig; from whence they laugh at the Petitions of the People who may pray for Reform, and that the sweat of their brow may procure them Bread.
I believe that King James the Second was a legitimate Sovereign, and that King William the Third was not; that the Pretender was of the right line; and that George the Third’s grandfather was not; that the dynasty of Bourbon is immortal! and that the glass in the eye of Lord James Murray was not Betty Martin. I believe in the immaculate purity of the Committee of Finance, in the independence of the Committee of Secresy, and that the Pitt System is everlasting, Amen.
Q. What dost thou chiefly learn in these Articles of thy Belief?
A. First, I learn to forswear all conscience, which was never meant to trouble me, nor the rest of the tribe of Courtiers. Secondly, to swear black is white, or white black, according to the good pleasure of the Ministers. Thirdly, to put on the helmet of Impudence, the only armour against the shafts of Patriotism.
Q. You said that your Sureties did promise for you, that you should keep the Minister’s Commandments: tell me how many there be?
A. Ten.
Q. Which be they?
A. The same to which the Minister for the time being always obliges all his creatures to swear, I, the Minister, am the Lord thy liege, who brought thee out of Want and Beggary, into the House of Commons.
I. Thou shalt have no other Patron but me.
II. Thou shalt not support any measure but mine, nor shalt thou frame clauses of any bill in its progress to the House above, or in the Committee beneath, or when the mace is under the table, except it be mine. Thou shalt not bow to Lord COCHRANE, nor shake hands with him, nor any other of my real opponents; for I thy Lord am a jealous Minister, and forbid familiarity of the Majority, with the Friends of the People, unto the third and fourth cousins of them that divide against me; and give places, and thousands and tens of thousands, to them that divide with me, and keep my Commandments.
III. Thou shalt not take the Pension of thy Lord the Minister in vain; for I the Minister will force him to accept the Chilterns that taketh my Pension in vain.
IV. Remember that thou attend the Minister’s Levee day; on other days thou shalt speak for him in the House, and fetch and carry, and do all that he commandeth thee to do; but the Levee day is for the glorification of the Minister thy Lord: In it thou shalt do no work in the House, but shalt wait upon him, thou, and thy daughter, and thy wife, and the Members that are within his influence; for on other days the Minister is inaccessible, but delighteth in the Levee day; wherefore the Minister appointed the Levee day, and chatteth thereon familiarly, and is amused with it.
V. Honour the Regent and the helmets of the Life Guards, that thy stay may be long in the Place, which the Lord thy Minister giveth thee.
VI. Thou shalt not call starving to death murder.
VII. Thou shalt not call Royal gallivanting adultery.
VIII. Thou shalt not say, that to rob the Public is to steal.
IX. Thou shalt bear false witness against the people.
X. Thou shalt not covet the People’s applause, thou shalt not covet the People’s praise, nor their good name, nor their esteem, nor their reverence, nor any reward that is theirs.
Q. What dost thou chiefly learn by these Commandments?
A. I learn two things――my duty towards the Minister, and my duty towards myself.
Q. What is thy duty towards the Minister?
A. My duty towards the Minister is, to trust him as much as I can; to fear him; to honour him with all my words, with all my bows, with all my scrapes, and all my cringes; to flatter him; to give him thanks; to give up my whole soul to him; to idolize his name, and obey his word; and serve him blindly all the days of his political life.
Q. What is thy duty towards thyself?
A. My duty towards myself is to love nobody but myself, and to do unto most men what I would not that they should do unto me; to sacrifice unto my own interest even my father and mother; to pay little reverence to the King, but to compensate that omission by my servility to all that are put in authority under him; to lick the dust under the feet of my superiors, and to shake a rod of iron over the backs of my inferiors; to spare the People by neither word nor deed; to observe neither truth nor justice in my dealings with them; to bear them malice and hatred in my heart; and where their wives and properties are concerned, to keep my body neither in temperance, soberness, nor chastity, but to give my hands to picking and stealing, and my tongue to evil speaking and lying, and slander of their efforts to defend their liberties and recover their rights; never failing to envy their privileges, and to learn to get the Pensions of myself and my colleagues out of the People’s labour, and to do my duty in that department of public plunder unto which it shall please the Minister to call me.
Q. My good Courtier, know this, that thou art not able of thyself to preserve the Minister’s favour, nor to walk in his Commandments, nor to serve him, without his special protection; which thou must at all times learn to obtain by diligent application. Let me hear, therefore, if thou canst rehearse the Minister’s Memorial.
_Answer._
Our Lord who art in the Treasury, whatsoever be thy name, thy power be prolonged, thy will be done throughout the empire, as it is in each session. Give us our usual sops, and forgive us our occasional absences on divisions; as we promise not to forgive them that divide against thee. Turn us not out of our places; but keep us in the House of Commons, the land of Pensions and Plenty; and deliver us from the People. Amen.
Q. What desirest thou of the Minister in this Memorial?
A. I desire the Minister, our Patron, who is the disposer of the Nation’s overstrained Taxation, to give his protection unto me and to all Pensioners and Placemen, that we may vote for him, serve him, and obey him, as far as we find it convenient; and I beseech the Minister that he will give us all things that be needful, both for our reputation and appearance in the House and out of it; that he will be favourable to us, and forgive us our negligence; that it will please him to save and defend us, in all dangers of life and limb, from the People, our natural enemies; and that he will help us in fleecing and grinding them; and this I trust he will do out of care for himself, and our support of him through our corruption and influence; and therefore I say Amen. So be it.
Q. How many Tests hath the Minister ordained?
A. Two only, as generally necessary to elevation; (that is to say) Passive Obedience and Bribery.
Q. What meanest thou by this word Test?
A. I mean an outward visible sign of an inward intellectual meanness, ordained by the Minister himself as a pledge to assure him thereof.
Q. How many parts are there in this Test?
A. Two; the outward visible sign, and the intellectual meanness.
Q. What is the outward visible sign or form of Passive Obedience?
A. Dangling at the Minister’s heels, whereby the person is degraded beneath the baseness of a slave, in the character of a Pensioner, Placeman, Expectant Parasite, Toadeater, or Lord of the Bedchamber.
Q. What is the inward intellectual meanness?
A. A death unto Freedom, a subjection unto perpetual Thraldom; for being by nature born free, and the children of Independence, we are hereby made children of Slavery.
Q. What is required of persons submitting to the Test of Passive Obedience?
A. Apostacy, whereby they forsake Liberty; and faith, whereby they stedfastly believe the promises of the Minister, made to them upon submitting to that Test.
Q. Why was the Test of Bribery ordained?
A. For the continual support of the Minister’s influence, and the feeding of us, his needy creatures and sycophants.
Q. What is the outward part or sign in the Test of Bribery?
A. Bank notes, which the Minister hath commanded to be offered by his dependants.
Q. Why then are beggars submitted to this Test, when by reason of their poverty they are not able to go through the necessary forms?
A. Because they promise them by their Sureties; which promise, when they come to lucrative offices, they themselves are bound to perform.
Q. What is the inward part, or thing signified?
A. The industry and wealth of the People, which are verily and indeed taken and had by Pensioners and Sinecurists, in their Corruption.
Q. What are the benefits whereof you are partakers thereby?
A. The weakening and impoverishing the People, through the loss of their Liberty and Property, while our wealth becomes enormous, and our pride intolerable.
Q. What is required of them who submit to the Test of Bribery and Corruption?
A. To examine themselves, whether they repent them truly of any signs of former honour and patriotism, stedfastly purposing henceforward to be faithful towards the Minister; to draw on and off like his glove, to crouch to him like a spaniel; to purvey for him like a jackall; to be as supple to him as Alderman Sir WILLIAM TURTLE; to have the most lively faith in the Funds, especially in the Sinking Fund; to believe the words of Lord CASTLEREAGH alone; to have remembrance of nothing but what is in the Courier; to hate MATTHEW WOOD, the present Lord Mayor, and his second Mayoralty; with all our heart, with all our mind, with all our soul, and with all our strength; to admire Sir JOHN SILVESTER, the Recorder, and Mr. JOHN LANGLEY; and to be in charity with those only who have something to give.
[_Here endeth the Catechism._]
――――
THE POLITICAL LITANY.
¶ _Here followeth the Litany, or General Supplication, to be said or sung at all times when thereunto especially moved._
O Prince, ruler of the people, have mercy upon us thy miserable subjects.
_O Prince, ruler, &c._
O House of Lords, hereditary legislators, have mercy upon us, pension-paying subjects.
_O House of Lords, &c._
O House of Commons, proceeding from corrupt borough-mongers, have mercy upon us, your should-be constituents.
_O House of Commons, &c._
O gracious, noble, right honourable, and learned rulers of our land, three estates in one state, have mercy upon us, a poverty-stricken people.
_O gracious, noble, &c._
Remember not, most gracious, most noble, right honourable, and honourable gentlemen, our past riches, nor the riches of our forefathers; neither continue to tax us according to our long-lost ability――spare us, good rulers; spare the people who have supported ye with their labour, and spilt their most precious blood in your quarrels; O consume us not utterly,
_Spare us, good Prince_.
From an unnational debt; from unmerited pensions and sinecure places; from an extravagant civil list; and from utter starvation,
_Good Prince, deliver us_.
From the blind imbecility of ministers; from the pride and vain-glory of warlike establishments in time of peace,
_Good Prince, deliver us_.
From all the deadly sins attendant on a corrupt method of election; from all the deceits of the pensioned hirelings of the press,
_Good Prince, deliver us_.
From taxes levied by distress; from jails crowded with debtors; from poor-houses overflowing with paupers,
_Good Prince, deliver us_.
From a Parliament chosen only by one-tenth of the taxpayers; from taxes raised to pay wholesale human butchers their subsidies; from the false doctrines, heresy, and schism, which have obscured our once-glorious constitution; from conspiracies against the liberty of the people; and from obstacles thrown in the way of the exertion of our natural and constitutional rights,
_Good Prince, deliver us_.
By your feelings as men; by your interests as members of civil society; by your duty as Christians,
_O Rulers, deliver us_.
By the deprivation of millions――by the sighs of the widow――by the tears of the orphan――by the groans of the aged in distress――by the wants of all classes in the community, except your own and your dependents,
_O Rulers, deliver us_.
In this time of tribulation――in this time of want of labour to thousands, and of unrequited labour to tens of thousands――in this time of sudden death from want of food,
_O Rulers, deliver us_.
We people do beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers; and that it may please ye to rule and govern us constitutionally in the right way;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to keep yourselves in all sobriety, temperance, and honesty of life――that ye spend not extravagantly the money raised from the production of our labours, nor take for yourselves that which ye need not;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to keep your hearts in fear of oppression, and in love of justice; and that ye may evermore have affiance in our affection, rather than in the bayonets of an hired soldiery;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to be our defenders and keepers, giving us the victory over all our enemies, and redressing the grievances under which we labour;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to lessen the cares of the world unto all Bishops and Church Dignitaries; giving their superabundance to the poor clergy, and no longer taxing us for their support;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to place within the bounds of economy the expenditure of all the Royal Family;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to deprive the Lords of the Council, and all the nobility, of all money paid out of the taxes which they have not earned;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to direct all Magistrates to give up their advanced salaries, which the times no longer render necessary, and to content themselves with their former stipends;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to bless all the people with equal representation, and to keep them safe from borough-mongering factions;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye so to govern us, that unity, peace, and concord, may prevail throughout the nation, and the voice of tumult and dissatisfaction be no more heard in our streets;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to give unto all people all their rights as citizens, whatever may be the mode in which their consciences may impel them to worship their Creator, and whatever the creed to which their judgments assent;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to bring into the way of truth those apostates who have erred therefrom, and have deceived us;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to strengthen all such as do stand up for the legal and constitutional rights of the people; to comfort and help the weak-hearted, who want courage in our behalf; to raise up such as do fall; and, finally, to beat down corruption under our feet;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye not to tax “until the brow of labour sweats in vain;” but to succour and comfort all that are in necessity and tribulation;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to shew pity to all who are prisoners and captives for the people’s sake, or through the oppressive expenses of the laws;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to appropriate the 200,000l. annually paid to Members of Parliament, contrary to an ancient law, as a provision for fatherless children and widows, and all that are desolate and oppressed;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to have mercy upon us all;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to turn the hearts of our enemies, persecutors, and slanderers, by withdrawing their pensions and emoluments, that they may no longer call us a “rabble,” the “swinish multitude,” or “ragamuffins,” but may once more style us “the real strength of the nation,”――“the body, without which a head is useless;”
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to give and preserve to our use the kindly fruits of the earth, untaxed by men in black, whom those who wish for their instruction ought alone to support;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to abolish and destroy all sinecure places, and worthless pensions; to utterly purge and root out all wrong-doers; to thoroughly correct the present misrepresentation of the people, by an effectual Reform in Parliament; and otherwise to do, or cause to be done, such further and other acts and deeds, as shall or may conduce to the true interest and benefit of the whole commonwealth;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to lead and strengthen GEORGE Prince of Wales, our present REGENT, in the true fear and knowledge of the principles whereon the people of this commonwealth placed their crown on the head of his ancestors, and continue it towards him; and that it may please ye, as much as in ye lie, to keep and defend him from battle and murder, and sudden death, and from fornication, and all other deadly sin;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to put on short allowance all Bishops, Priests, and Deacons, that their fleshly appetites being reduced, their spiritual-mindedness may be thereby increased and so that both by their preaching and living they may set it forth, and show it accordingly;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
That it may please ye to take to yourselves true repentance, inasmuch as ye have erred from the way of your forefathers; and amend your method of governing according to our free constitution;
_We beseech ye to hear us, O Rulers_.
Son of George, we beseech thee to hear us.
_Son of George, we beseech thee, &c._
O House of Lords, that takest away so many tens of thousands of pounds in pensions,
_Have mercy upon us_.
O House of Commons, that votest away the money of the whole nation, instead of that of those only who elect you;
_Have mercy upon us_.
O Prince, hear us.
_O Prince, hear us._
George, have mercy upon us.
_George, have mercy upon us._
O House of Lords, have mercy upon us.
_O House of Lords, have mercy upon us._
O House of Commons, have mercy upon us.
_O House of Commons, have mercy upon us._
[_Here endeth the Litany._]
――――
¶ THE COLLECT TO BE USED BY HIS MAJESTY’S MINISTERS
_Beginneth thus_:
Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, &c.
_¶ By whom the following may be used in ordinary._
The Grace of our Lord GEORGE the PRINCE REGENT, and the Love of LOUIS the XVIII., and the fellowship of the Pope, be with us all evermore. _Amen._
――――:o:――――
THE SINECURIST’S CREED OR BELIEF.
¶ _Upon all suitable occasions may be sung or said the following CONFESSION――upstanding and uncovered._
_Quicunque vult._
Whosoever will be a Sinecurist: before all things it is necessary that he hold a place of profit.
Which place except every Sinecurist do receive the salary for, and do no service: without doubt it is no Sinecure.
And a Sinecurist’s duty is this: that he divide with the Ministry and be with the Ministry in a Majority.
Neither confounding the Persons, nor dividing with the Opposition.
For there is One Ministry of Old Bags,[340] another of Derry Down Triangle:[341] and another of the Doctor.[342] But the Ministry of Old Bags, of Derry Down Triangle,[343] and of the Doctor, is all one: the folly equal, the profusion coeternal.
Such as Old Bags is, such is Derry Down Triangle: and such is the Doctor.
Old Bags a Mountebank, Derry Down Triangle a Mountebank: the Doctor a Mountebank.
Old Bags incomprehensible, Derry Down Triangle incomprehensible: the Doctor incomprehensible.
Old Bags a Humbug, Derry Down Triangle a Humbug: and the Doctor a Humbug.
And yet they are not three Humbugs: but one Humbug.
As also they are not three incomprehensibles, nor three Mountebanks: but one Mountebank, and one incomprehensible.
So likewise Old Bags is All-twattle,[344] Derry Down Triangle All-twattle: and the Doctor All-twattle.
And yet they are not three All-twattles: but one All-twattle.
So Old Bags is a Quack, Derry Down Triangle is a Quack: and the Doctor is a Quack.
And yet they are not three Quacks: but one Quack.
So likewise Old Bags is a Fool, Derry Down Triangle is a Fool: and the Doctor is a Fool.
And yet not three Fools: but one Fool.
For like as we are compelled by real verity to acknowledge every Minister by himself to be Quack and Fool;
So are we forbidden by state etiquette to say there be three Quacks, or three Fools.
Derry Down Triangle is made of none: neither born nor begotten.
Old Bags is of himself alone; a Lawyer bred, a Lord created, by the Father begotten.
The Doctor is of Old Bags, and of Derry Down Triangle: neither made, nor created, nor begotten, but proceeding.
So there is one Old Bags, not three Old Bags: one Derry Down Triangle, not three Triangles: one Doctor, not three Doctors.
And in this ministry none is afore or after the other: none is greater or less than another.
But the whole three Ministers are co-Charlatans together, and co-Tricksters.
So that, in all things, as is aforesaid: the Majority with the Ministry, and the Ministry in the Majority, is to be worshipped.
He therefore that will be a Sinecurist, must thus think of the Ministry.
Furthermore it is necessary to his Sinecure’s preservation: that he also believe rightly the mystification of Derry Down Triangle.
For the Sinecurist’s right faith is, that he believe and confess: that Derry Down Triangle, the _queue_ of the Ministry of the great man now no more, is now both Minister and Manager.
Minister, first selling the substance of his own country to this: Manager scattering the substance of this over all the world;
Perfect Knave and perfect Fool: of unsparing despotic views――on overstrained taxation subsisting;
Equal to Old Bags as touching grave Trickery: and inferior to the Doctor as touching his Mummery.
Who although he be Knave and Fool, yet he is not two, but one Minister;
One; not by a conversion of the Charlatan into the Minister; but by shooting a more showy juggler, who wanted, and still wants, to be a Minister.
One altogether; squandering in profusion our substance: by votes of corrupt Majorities.
For as by power of Dupery, and our Money, he makes whom he will his own; so by Intrigue and Cajolery, he is Minister:――
Who to talk for our Salvation, descended to kiss the Nethermost End of Tally-high-ho; and rose again as a giant refreshed;
He ascended into a higher place, he sitteth at the right hand of the Chair; from whence he shall hear how those who being starved――‘by the Visitation of God’――became Dead.
At whose nodding all Sinecurists shall rise again, and again; and with their voices cry Aye! Aye! and the Laureate[345] in token of joy, shall mournfully chaunt the most doleful Lay in his Works.
And they that have said Aye! Aye! shall go into place everlasting; and they that have said No! shall go into everlasting Minorities.
And COLERIDGE shall have a Jew’s Harp, and a Rabbinical Talmud, and a Roman Missal: and WORDSWORTH shall have a Psalter, and a Primer, and a Reading Easy; and unto SOUTHEY’S pension Sack-but shall be duly added: and with Harp, Sack-but, and Psaltery, they shall make merry, and discover themselves before Derry Down Triangle, and HUM his most gracious Master, whose Kingdom shall have no end.
This is the Sinecurist’s duty, from doing more than which, except he abstain faithfully, he cannot be a Sinecurist.
¶ Glory be to old Bags, and to Derry Down Triangle, and to the Doctor.
As it was in the Beginning, is now, and ever shall be, if such _things_ be, without end. _Amen._
[_Here endeth the Creed or Belief._]
――――
Hone was then a poor, friendless man, whom the Government meant to crush by fine and imprisonment in case of conviction. But his triumphant acquittal on each of the three trials had effects exactly opposite to those they anticipated. The legality of his publications being fully established, and public curiosity being aroused, large numbers of the tracts were sold; Hone, instead of being ruined, found himself the hero of the day, with public sympathy in his favour, and a rapidly increasing business. The popular Alderman, Robert Waithman, M.P. for London, interested himself in the case, and presided over a public meeting at which the following resolutions were passed:――
At a MEETING of the FRIENDS of the LIBERTY of the PRESS and TRIAL by JURY, held at the City of London Tavern, on Monday, December 29, 1817,
Mr. WAITHMAN in the Chair,
Resolved unanimously,
1. That the Liberty of the Press is one of the dearest rights and proudest distinctions of Englishmen, and is inseparably connected with, and wholly dependent on the purity of the Trial by Jury.
2. That the inestimable importance of the sacred and constitutional right of Trial by Jury has never been more demonstratively proved than by the recent prosecutions and honourable acquittals of Mr. William Hone.
3. That Parodies on Scripture having been written and published by Martin Luther, the Father of the Reformation, by Dignitaries of the Church, and by other eminent and learned personages down to the present time, we are persuaded that the exception taken to the parodies of Mr. Hone by the present Ministers of the Crown was to answer political purposes against the Liberty of the Press.
4. That a hypocritical prostitution of Religion, and a pretended zeal for its defence, when used by corrupt Statesmen as a mask for political persecution, must ever be held by all sincere Christians as the worst profanation of its sacred name.
5. That it is evident, from the manner in which those prosecutions were commenced and conducted, that the real object of Ministers was not to protect Religion, but to crush an apparently defenceless individual who had exposed their political delinquencies, to stifle public discussion, to destroy the Liberty of the Press, and to uphold existing abuse.
6. That the extensive knowledge, the varied talents, the manly intrepidity, the energy of mind, and the unshaken perseverance, which enabled Mr. Willian Hone so dauntlessly to resist the reiterated assaults of Ministerial persecution, entitle him to the gratitude and support of every friend to constitutional freedom.
7. That a subscription be now opened, and that the money which may be subscribed be placed in the hands of a Committee, to be used in such way as shall appear to them best calculated to promote the permanent welfare of Mr. Hone and his family.
8. That the following Gentlemen be of the Committee――Alderman Goodbehere, Alderman Thorp, Robert Waithman, Joseph Hurcombe, William Sturch, Samuel Brooks, William Williams, William Teasdale.
9. That Robert Waithman, Esq., be the Treasurer.
10. That the Thanks of this Meeting are due to Sir Francis Burdett, Bart., for his spontaneous offers of cooperation with the Gentlemen originating the Subscription, in strict conformity with a life of pure patriotism and love of country.
11. That the Thanks of this Meeting are hereby cordially given to Mr. Charles Pearson, for his manly and successful struggle in correcting the corrupt system of packing Juries, which has contributed so essentially toward the present triumph; and especially for the gratuitous advice and assistance given to Mr. Hone throughout the whole of the prosecutions, affording a rare example to his profession of zeal, independance, and disinterestedness.
12. That the Thanks of this Meeting be given to Lord Cochrane, for his zealous endeavours on the present occasion.
ROBERT WAITHMAN, Chairman.
13. That the Thanks of this Meeting be given to Mr. Waithman, for his conduct in the Chair, and for his exertions upon all occasions to support the cause of liberty.
W. STURCH.
[Illustration]
PALINODE, 1600.
_Amorphus and Phantaste._
_Amo._ From Spanish shrugs, French faces, smirks, irps, and all affected humours, CHORUS――_Good Mercury, defend us_.
_Pha._ From secret friends, sweet servants, loves, doves, and such phantastique humours, _Good Mercury, defend us_.
_Amo._ From stabbing of arms, flap-dragons, healths, whiffes, and all such swaggering humours, _Good Mercury, defend us_.
_Pha._ From waving fannes, coy glances, glickes, cringes, and all such simpering humours, _Good Mercury, defend us_.
_Amo._ From making love by attorney, courting of puppets, and paying for new acquaintance, _Good Mercury, deliver us_.
_Pha._ From perfumed dogs, monkeys, sparrows, and parachitoes, _Good Mercury, defend us_.
_Amo._ From wearing bracelets of hair, shoe-ties, gloves, garters, and rings with posies, _Good Mercury, defend us_.
_Pha._ From pargetting, painting, slicking, glazing, and renewing old rivelled faces, _Good Mercury, defend us_.
_Amo._ From squiring to tilt-yards, play houses, pageants, and all such public places, _Good Mercury, defend us_.
_Pha._ From entertaining one gallant to gull another, and make fools of either, _Good Mercury, defend us._
_Amo._ From belying ladies’ favours, nobleman’s countenance, coining counterfeit employments, vainglorious taking to them other men’s services, and all self-loving humours, _Good Mercury, defend us._
From _Cynthia’s Revels_, by Ben Jonson.
This satire was first acted in the year 1600, by the children of Queen Elizabeth’s Chapel, with permission of the master of the revels, the passage above quoted is one of the earliest imitations of the Church of England services, as by Law established.
――――:o:――――
The following examples are taken from “_The Rump_; or, an exact Collection of the Choycest _Poems_ and _Songs_ relating to the Late Times. By the most Eminent Wits, from _Anno_ 1639 to _Anno_ 1661.” London, 1662.
These poems were all written by the Cavaliers in support of Arbitrary power in Church and State, and against the Commonwealthmen, Puritans, and Dissenters:
A LETANY FOR THE NEW YEAR.
From all and more than I have written here, I wish you well protected this New Year; From Civil War, and such uncivil things As ruine Law and Gospel, Priests and Kings; From those who for self-ends would all betray, From such new Saints that pistol when they pray, From flattering Faces with infernal Souls, From new Reformers, such as pull down Pauls, From linsey-wolsey Lords, from Town-betrayers, From Apron-preachers and Extempore Prayers, From Pulpit Blasphemy, and bold Rebellion, From Blood and――something else that I could tell ye on, From new False Teachers which destroy the old, From those that turn the Gospel into Gold, From that black Pack where Clubs are always Trump, From Bodies Politique and from the Rump, From those that ruine when they should repair, From such as cut off Heads instead of Hair, From twelve-months Taxes and Abortive Votes. From chargeable Nurse-Children in red Coats, From such as sell their Souls to save their Sums, From City Charters that make heads for Drums, From Magistrates which have no truth or knowledge, From the Red Students now in Gresham College, From Governments erected by the Rabble, From sweet Sir Arthur’s Knights of the round Table. From City-Saints whose Anagram is Stains, From Plots and being choak’d with our own Chains, From these and ten times more which may ensue, The _Poet_ prays, _Good Lord deliver you_.
――――
THE CITY OF LONDON’S NEW LETANY.
From Rumps that do Rule against Customes and Laws, From a fardle of Fancies stil’d a Good Old Cause, From Wives that have nails which are sharper than claws, _Good Jove, deliver us_.
From Men who seek right where it’s not to be had, From such who seek good where all things are bad, From Wise Men far worse than fools or men mad, _Good Jove, &c._
From Soldiers that wrack the poor out of doors, From Rumps that stuff Coffers to pleasure their Whores, Which they secretly squeeze from Commonwealth scores, _Good Jove, &c._
From Knaves that doe pocket good Subjects estates, From such that give Plaisters when they’ve broken our Pates, From Rumps that do Vote down our Postes, Chaines and Gates, _Good Jove, &c._
From souldiers who mutiny for want of their pay, And at last go sneaking without it away, Crying, they hope for a far better day, _Good Jove, &c._
From one who brought Forces to fill up the Town, That when _Rumps_ were at highest he might pull them down. Because he himself doth aim at the Crown, _Good Jove, &c._
* * * * *
From men who make use of their Friends in the nick, And when the Brunt’s over against them do kick, The thoughts of such Varlets do make my _Muse_ sick, _Good night, good people all_!
In the same collection there are several other imitations of less interest, one commences thus:
From Villany drest in the Doublet of Zeal, From three Kingdoms bak’d in one Common weal, From a gleek of _Lord Keepers_ of one poor Seal, _Libera nos, &c._
Another thus:
That if it please thee to assist Our Agitators, and their List, And _Hemp_ them with a gentle twist, _Quesumus te, &c._
That it may please thee to suppose Our actions are as good as those That gull the people through the Nose, _Quesumus, te, &c._
And two others, the refrain of one being:
From a Rump insatiate as the Sea, _Libera nos Domine_.
and of the other:
From Fools and Knaves, in our Parliament free _Libera nos Domine_.
――――:o:――――
The following is taken from the “_Collection of the newest and most ingenious Poems, &c. against Popery_,” in quarto, published soon after the Revolution, it refers to the birth of the son of James II., afterwards styled the Pretender.
A NEW PROTESTANT LITANY.
From Cobweb-Lawn Charters, from sham-freedom banters, Our Liberty-keepers and new Gospel-planters, And the trusty kind hands of our great Quo Warrantos, _Libera Nos, &c._
From High-Court Commissions, to Rome to re-join us, From a Rhadamanth Chancellor, the Western Judge Minos, Made Head of our Church by new Jure Divino’s, _Libera Nos, &c._
From a new-found Stone Doublet, to th’ old Sleeve of Lawn, And all to make room for the Pope-Lander-Spawn; To see a Babe born, through bed-curtains close drawn, _Libera Nos, &c._
From resolving o’er night, where to lye-in to-morrow, And from cunning back-door to let Midwife thorow, Eight months ful-grown man child, born without pang or sorrow, _Libera Nos, &c._
From a God-father Pope, to the Heir of a Throne; From three Christian names to one Sir-name unknown, With a Tyler milch-nurse, now the Mother’s milk’s gone, _Libera Nos, &c._
There was one in the second part of the same Collection beginning――
From immoderate fines and defamation, From Braddon’s merciless subornation, And from a bar of assassination, _Libera nos, Domine_.
From a body that’s English, a mind that is French, From a Lawyer that scolds like an oyster wench, And from the new Bonner upon the Bench, _Libera nos, Domine, &c._
――――
THE POOR MAN’S LITANY. (About 1810.)
From four pounds of Bread, at Sixteen-pence price, And Butter at Eighteen, though not very nice, And Cheese at a Shilling, though gnaw’d by the mice, _Good Lord, deliver us_!
From stale Clods of Beef, at a Shilling a pound, Which, in summer, with fly-blows and maggots abound, Or dried by the wind, and scarce fit for a hound, _Good Lord, deliver us_!
From the Tax upon Income, invented by Pitt, Though the Great Ones contrive to lose nothing by it, Yet we who have little are sure to be bit, _Good Lord, deliver us_!
From Taxes Assess’d, now rais’d at a nod, While Inspectors rule o’er us with their iron rod, And expect homage paid them like some demi-god, _Good Lord, deliver us_!
From Forestallers, Regraters, and all that curs’d train, Who, to swell out their bags, will hoard up the grain, Against which we cry out with our might and main, _Good Lord, deliver us_!
From a Workhouse where hunger and poverty rage, And distinction’s a stranger to birth, sex, or age; Lame and Blind, all must work, or be coop’d in a cage, _Good Lord, deliver us_!
From six in a bed in those mansions of woe, Where nothing but beards, nails, and vermin do grow, And from picking of Oakum in cellars below, _Good Lord, deliver us_!
From Stickings of Beef, old, withered, and tough, Bread, like Saw-dust and Bran, and of that not enough, And scarcely a rag to cover our Buff, _Good Lord, deliver us_!
From the tantalized sight of viewing the Great Luxuriously rolling in coaches of state, While thousands are starving――for something to eat, _Good Lord, deliver us_!
From feasts and rejoicings, ye Gluttons, abstain, Since the blessings you boast of but give the Poor pain, And of which one and all so loudly complain, _Good Lord, deliver us_!
But these Burthens remov’d, then united we’ll pray, Both the young and the old, the grave and the gay―― “May the Rulers be happy, and live to be grey;” Rejoice then, ye Britons, that’s our Jubilee day, _We beseech thee to hear us, Good Lord_.
――――
THE NOBLEMAN’S LITANY.
O Aristocracy! Government divine!! have mercy upon us miserable place-men.
_O Aristocracy, Government divine, &c._
Stars, Garters, and Promotions, proceeding from Aristocracy, and power, have mercy upon us miserable place-men.
_Stars, Garters, and Promotions, &c._
Remember not our offences, nor the offences of our forefathers when in office,――neither take from us our places or our pensions. Spare us, Aristocracy――spare the creatures though hast raised, and be not angry with thy servants.
_Aristocracy, spare us!_
From all Democracy, and new-fangled doctrines,
_Aristocracy, deliver us_!
From fish-women, mobs, and lamp posts,
_Aristocracy, deliver us_!
From national assemblies, national guards, and national cockades,
_Aristocracy, deliver us_!
From people who judge for themselves, and pretend to the rights of man,
_Aristocracy, deliver us_!
From TOM PAINE’S rabble and inflammatory pamphlets,
_Aristocracy, deliver us_!
From the insertion of paragraphs foreign to thy laws, and the liberty of the Press in general,
_Aristocracy, deliver us_!
From all revolution meetings, and _Ca Ira_ clubs,
_Aristocracy, deliver us_!
From all investigations and reforms,
_Aristocracy, deliver us_!
We place-men do beseech thee to hear us, O Aristocracy, and that it may please thee to govern the Church in _thine own way_.
_Aristocracy, we beseech thee to hear us._
That it may please thee to _illuminate the head_ of our _governor_, and make it rich in understanding,
_Aristocracy, we beseech thee to hear us_.
That it may please thee to bless and preserve the governor’s wife, and keep her from all uncharitableness.
_Aristocracy, we beseech thee to hear us._
That it may please thee to shower down fat livings on all righteous pastors of the Church, so that they may enjoy every luxury, and by their preaching and living shew it accordingly.
_Aristocracy, we beseech thee to hear us._
That it may please thee to preserve for _our_ use, the kindly fruits of the earth, and all the _game_ thereof, so that no other may enjoy them.
_Aristocracy, we beseech thee to hear us._
That it may please thee to protect such as are in power, both in Church and State; to raise up them that fall; and finally, to beat down _farmers_, _curates_, and _shopkeepers_, beneath our feet,
_Aristocracy, we beseech thee to hear us_.
――――
THE LONDONER’S PETITION.
From shrinkers and shufflers, and shelvers and shirks, From Parochial harangues and from corporate quirks, From the Board of many Words and no Works, _From speech-making men_.
From the pestilent flow of London’s sewage, From the further pollution of old Thames’ brewage. From the works of the old and the talk of the new age, _Save us, Big Ben_!
From MR. HARRISON’S endless motions, From amateur engineering notions, From Erith and Plumstead sewage oceans, _Within one mile or ten_.
From penny-wisdom and pound-foolishness, From pipe-maker’s quarrels, and Bumbledom’s mulishness, From H. L. TAYLOR’S obstinate owlishness, _Save us, Big Ben_!
From a thirty-six vestry-power of dilating, Disputing, discussing, protesting and prating, From a thirty-six vestry-pow’er of rating, _Where they like it and when_.
From plans propounded only to shelve, From the right our streets to dig and to delve, Into sewers to be tide-locked eight hours out of twelve, _Then let loose again_.
From centralisation and localisation, “Pipe _versus_ brick” quarrel and imputation, Cuckoo-cries, vested rights, and vestrification, _Save us, Big Ben_!
_Punch._ December 13, 1856.
――――
A DISH OF FACTS AND SCRAPS.
Friends and fellow-countrymen, no matter where you come from, or whether your mugs be black, white, or whitey brown, you are called upon this day to assemble and meet together to show your sympathy with suffering France, and although we ought at all times to love our neighbours as ourselves, yet it becomes us to look at home and take care of number one.
Now the well-known sufferings of the children of France have called forth the indignation of the Republicans of England, and they held meetings with the view of showing their sympathy for them.
And Nappy the Little was enjoying himself in the green fields of Kent, and the Prussian Bully laughed in his sleeve, saying “I will now let them alone, and they will be like unto the Kilkenny cats, they will fight on till there is nothing left but their precious tails.”
But the patriots of St. James’s Hall shouted, “Long live the Republic!” and Georgy (Odger), the man of wax responded, Amen!
Now about the same time the people of England were at loggerheads with the shovel-hatted gentry that infest the upper house of St. Stephen’s, inasmuch as they had rejected measures in spite of the people; and they said, it is not only illegal, but it is naughty for a man to marry the sister of a wife that is dead, excepting when it is to suit the coronetted gentry, and then it is quite a horse of another colour.
But the people communed together, saying, swallow the bill you must, or we will bring in a bill for a man to marry his grandmother, or off come your hats and silk aprons, and we will pack you away to the salt lake to dwell amongst the Mormons.
And Bruce, of cab flag notoriety, is doing his best to stop a man’s beer, by trying to close the houses for the sale of double stout. But he must mind his eye, or he will put his foot in it, and his licensing dodge will share the same fate as his never-to-be-forgotten cab act.
And the people said, who is he that interfereth with the liberties of the working men. Better for him that he had a millstone around his neck, and took a cold bath in the Serpentine.
And while these things were going on, Gladstone still slumbered, showing that he is like a barber’s block, neither use nor ornament.
Now behold, since the happy event of the wedding of the lucky Scotchman with our charming little lady Louise, the call for royal burgoo has been so great, that Scotch oatmeal has risen 50 per cent.
LET US SAY.
From all red hot babblers, who would cause us to burn our fingers. Common sense defend us!
_Friends of peace and order save us!_
From the tender mercies of such pious Kings as the Prussian Bully, Minister of war spare us.
_Spare us, we implore thee._
And oh, ye silk aproned gentry, play not too much with the rights of Englishmen, or you will be swept from the floor of St. Stephen’s, and be compelled to earn an honest living.
And O most noble Secretary for Home affairs, we beg of you to throw up your present berth and turn teetotal spouter, for which you are more fit, and not try to rob a poor man of his beer by your new licencing dodge.
_Spare us our beer, we beseech thee._
And Odger, stop up the mouths of our numerous oppressors with your lapstone of defiance, and spur up their shallow minds with your closing awl of reason, and remain for ever the true brick you always have been.
And O, Billy Gladstone, return to your duty as you promised the Electors of Greenwich and the whole of the working classes, or prepare to be sent to the imbecile ward of the nearest union.
And now may a hot joint and a pot of home brewed grace the tables of all who need it, and all our enemies be vaccinated by Old Nick on both shoulders.
So be it.
April, 1871.
――――
THE BOOK-LOVER’S LITANY.
From set spoilers and book borrowers, and from such as read in bed,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From plate sneaks, portrait flickers, map tearers and from book thieves,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From such as read with unwashed hands; from careless sneezers, snuff takers, and rheum voiders; from tobacco-ash droppers, grease slingers, and moth smashers; from leaf pressers and all unclean beasts,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From margin slashers, letter-press clippers and page misplacers; from half-title wasters, original-cover losers, and lettering mis-spellers; from gilt daubers and all the tribe of botcher-binders,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From heat and damp; from fire and mildew; from bookworms, flies and moths,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From careless servants and removal fiends, and from all thoughtless women and children,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From book-droppers and book wrenchers; from ink and pencil markers and scribblers; and from such as write their names on title-pages,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From selling books by auction; from disposing of them by private sale and from all grave disasters,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From truth economizing cataloguers; from two price booksellers; and from all disingenuous dealers,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From “Bowdlerized” editions; from expurgators and all putters forth of incomplete editions,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From all smatterers and pretenders; from all shallow and impertinent store assistants,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From “appliance” lunatics, and library faddists; from “fonetic” cranks, and all that have shingles loose,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From bibliotaphers and lock and key curmudgeons; and from all glass door bookcases,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From wood pulp paper, and all chemical abominations; and from those that manufacture faint ink,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From undated books, re-hashed engravings, and gaudy bindings; and from all “jerry” book-binders,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From books that have no index, and from index makers in general,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
From all booksellers who are ignorant and pig-headed, and from them that do not advertise,
_Kind Fate protect us_.
H. L.
_The Bookmart._ January, 1887.
――――
“_A Sturdy Beggars Litany to the Colossus of the Sun, or the City of London’s intended Petition to the late Prime Minister._” Being an accurate description of his last twenty years administration.
Printed by Hugo de Burgo, for the Company of Flying Stationers. (A Broadside sheet not dated.)
This referred to Horace Walpole, Don Carlos, the Queen of Spain, Vernon’s Sea Victory and Lord Scrope.
In the _Protestant Tutor for Youth_ is “A New Litany” in rudely vigorous triplets. The twentieth runs:――
From Arbitrary Power defend us And let no wooden Shoes attend us, Still Liberty of Conscience send us.
There is also a parody of the Litany in _Political Ballads_, edited by W. Walker Wilkins. 2 Vols., 1860, and another, dated 1856, in a pamphlet on _Capital Punishment_ addressed to Sir G. C. Lewis, by Arthur Trevelyan J. P., with “A Litany for the Gallows.” London, 1856.
[Illustration]
The following are imitations of what is “commonly called”
THE CREED OF SAINT ATHANASIUS.
The first is taken from an old Collection of poems, called “The Foundling Hospital for Wit”:――
PROPER RULES AND INSTRUCTIONS, WITHOUT WHICH NO PERSON CAN BE AN EXCISEMAN.
_Quicunque vult._
Whosoever would be an Exciseman, before all things it is necessary that he learns the Art of Arithmetic.
Which Art, unless he wholly understand, he without doubt can be no Exciseman.
Now the Art of Arithmetic is this, we know how to multiply and how to divide. _Desunt pauca._
The 1 is a figure, the 2 a figure, and the 3 a figure.
The 1 is a number, the 2 a number, and the 3 a number; and yet there are _Desunt plurima_.
For like as we are compelled by the Rules of Arithmetic, to acknowledge every figure by itself to have signification and form:
So we are forbidden, by the rules of right reason, to say, that each of them have three significations or three powers.
The 2 is of the 1’s alone, not abstracted, nor depending, but produced.
The 3 is of the 1 and 2, not abstracted, nor depending,, nor produced, but derived. So there is one figure of 1. _Desunt nonnulla._
He therefore that will be an Exciseman, must thus understand his figures.
Furthermore, it is necessary to the preservation of his place, that he also believe rightly the authority of his Supervisor.
For his interest is, that he believes and confesses that his Supervisor, the servant of the Commissioners, is master and man: Master of the Exciseman, having power from the Commissioners to inspect his books: and man to the Commissioners, being obliged to return his accounts.
Perfect master and perfect man, of an unconscionable soul and frail flesh subsisting; equal to the Commissioners, as touching that respect which is shown him by the Excisemen, and inferior to the Commissioners as touching their profit and salary.
Who, although he be master and man, is not two, but one Supervisor.
One, not by confusion of place, but by virtue of his authority; for his seal and sign manual perfect his commission; his gauging the vessels, and inspecting the Excisemens’ books, is what makes him Supervisor.
Who travels through thick and thin, and suffers most from heat or cold, to save us from the addition of taxes, or the deficiency in the funds, by corruption or inadvertency.
Who thrice in seven days goes his rounds, and once in six weeks meets the Collectors, who shall come to judge between the Exciseman and Victualler.
At whose coming all Excisemen shall bring in their accounts, and the Victuallers their money.
And they that have done well by prompt payment, shall be well treated.
And those that have done ill, by being tardy in their payment, shall be cast into jail; and the Excisemen whose books are blotted, or accounts unjustifiable, shall be turned out of their places.
These are the rules, which except a man follows, he cannot be an Exciseman.
Honour to the Commissioners, fatigue to the Supervisor, and bribery to the Exciseman.
As it was from the beginning, when taxes were first laid upon Malt, is now, and ever will be till the debts of the nation are paid. _Amen._
――――
THE MATRIMONIAL CREED. _To be used in all dwelling houses._
Whoever will be married, before all things it is necessary that he hold the conjugal faith, which is this, That there were two rational beings created, both equal, and yet one superior to the other; and the inferior shall bear rule over the superior; which faith, except every one do keep whole and undefiled, without doubt he shall be scolded at everlastingly.
The man is superior to the woman, and the woman is inferior to the man; yet both are equal, and the woman shall govern the man.
The woman is commanded to obey the man, and the man ought to obey the woman.
And yet, they are not two obedients, but one obedient.
For there is one dominion nominal of the husband, and another dominion real of the wife.
And yet, there are not two dominions, but one dominion.
For like as we are compelled by the Christian verity to acknowledge that wives must submit themselves to their husbands, and be subject to them in all things;
So are we forbidden by the Conjugal Faith to say, that they should be at all influenced by their wills or pay any regard to their commands.
The man was not created for the woman, but the woman for the man.
Yet the man shall be the slave of the woman, and the woman the tyrant of the man.
So that in all things, as is aforesaid, the subjection of the superior to the inferior is to be believed.
He, therefore, that will be married, must thus think of the woman and the man.
Furthermore, it is necessary to submissive Matrimony, that he also believe rightly the infallibility of the wife.
For the right faith is, that we believe and confess, that the wife is fallible and infallible.
Perfectly fallible, and perfectly infallible; of an erring soul and unerring mind subsisting; fallible as touching her human nature, and infallible as touching her female sex.
Who, although she be fallible and infallible, yet she is not two, but one woman; who submitted to lawful marriage, to acquire unlawful dominion; and promised religiously to obey, that she might rule in injustice and folly.
This is the Conjugal Faith; which except a man believe faithfully, he cannot enter the comfortable state of Matrimony.
From _The Wonderful Magazine_.
――――
A NEW POLITICAL CREED. FOR THE YEAR MDCCLXVI.
_Quicunque vult._
Whoever will be saved: before all things it is necessary that he should hold the Chatham faith.
Which faith, except every man keep whole and undefiled without doubt he shall sink into oblivion.
And the Chatham faith is this: that we worship one Minister in Trinity, and the Trinity in Unity:
Neither confounding the persons, nor dividing the substance.
For the Privy Seal is a Minister, the Secretary is a Minister, and the Treasurer is a Minister.
Yet there are not three Ministers, but one Minister; for the Privy Seal, the Secretary, and the Treasurer are all one.
Such as the Privy Seal is, such is the Secretary, and such is the Treasurer.
The Privy Seal is self-create, the Secretary is self-create, and the Treasurer is self-create.
The Privy Seal is incomprehensible, the Secretary is incomprehensible, and the Treasurer is incomprehensible.
The Privy Seal is unresponsible, the Secretary is unresponsible, and the Treasurer is unresponsible.
And yet there are not three incomprehensibles, three self-created, or three unresponsibles: but one incomprehensible, one self-create, and one unresponsible.
For like as we are compelled by the Christian verity, to acknowledge every person by himself to be God and Lord;
So are we forbidden by the articles of the Chatham alliance, to say there are three Ministers:
So that in all things, the Unity in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity, are to be worshipped; and he who would be saved, must thus think of the Ministry.
Furthermore it is necessary to elevation, that he also believe rightly of the qualities of our Minister.
For the right faith is, that we believe and confess, that this son of man is something more than man; as total perfection, though of an unreasonable soul, and gouty flesh consisting.
Who suffered for our salvation, descended into opposition, rose again the third time, and ascended into the House of Peers.
He sitteth on the right hand of the ――――, from whence he shall come to judge the good and the bad.
And they that have done good, shall go into patent places, and they that have done bad, shall go into everlasting opposition.
This is the Chatham faith; which except a man believe faithfully, he cannot be promoted.
As he was in the beginning, he is now, and ever will be.
_Then all the people, standing up, shall say_,
O blessed and glorious Trinity, three persons and one Minister, have mercy on us miserable subjects.
This parody was written against Lord Chatham. It was published in _The New Foundling Hospital for Wit_. 1786.
――――
The following imitation was written by the Rev. Mr. Toplady, a very popular preacher amongst the Calvinists, who died greatly lamented, at a very early age. Mr. Toplady’s object was to ridicule Lord Chesterfield’s Letters, and the morals therein inculcated It was entitled――
“CHRISTIANITY REVERSED, &C.; _or_ LORD CHESTERFIELD’S NEW CREED.
“I believe, that this world is the object of my hopes and morals; and that the little prettinesses of life will answer all the ends of human existence.
“I believe, that we are to succeed in all things, by the graces of civility and attention; that there is no sin, but against good manners; and that all religion and virtue consist in outward appearance.
“I believe, that all women are children, and all men fools; except a few cunning people, who see through the rest, and make their use of them.
“I believe, that hypocrisy and adultery, are within the lines of morality; that a woman may be honourable when she has lost her honour, and virtuous when she has lost her virtue.
“This, and whatever else is necessary to obtain my own ends, and bring me into repute, I resolve to follow; and to avoid all moral offences, such as scratching my head before company, spitting upon the floor, and omitting to pick up a lady’s fan And in this persuasion I will persevere, without any regard to the resurrection of the body, or the life everlasting. _Amen._
“Q. Wilt thou be initiated into these principles?
“A. That is my inclination.
“Q. Wilt thou keep up to the rules of the _Chesterfield_ morality?
“A. I will, Lord Chesterfield being my admonisher.
_“Then the officiator shall say_,
“Name this child.
“A. A FINE GENTLEMAN.
_“Then he shall say_,
“I introduce thee to the world, the flesh and the devil, that thou mayest triumph over all awkwardness, and grow up in all politeness; that thou mayest be acceptable to the ladies, celebrated for refined breeding, able to speak French and read Italian, invested with some public supernumerary character in a foreign Court, get into Parliament (perhaps into the Privy Council), and that, when thou art dead, the letters written to thy children, may be published, in seven editions, for the instruction of all sober families.
“Ye are to take care that this child, when he is of a proper age, be brought to Court, to be _confirmed_.”
――――
THE CREED OF ST. ATHANASIUS. _Quicunque Vult._――(_Shanghai Version._)
I. Whosoever will gain his cause, before all things it is necessary, that he understand the working of the Supreme Court.
II. Which if a man do not understand, without doubt he shall lose his dollars everlastingly.
III. And the condition of the Supreme Court is this, That there be one Judge, one assistant Judge, and one Law Secretary.
IV. The parties to a suit confound the persons, and the Court divideth the substance.
V. The Judge is incomprehensible, the Assistant Judge is more incomprehensible, and the Law Secretary most incomprehensible.
VI. And yet the decision of the Judge is not the decision of the Assistant Judge, and the decision of the Assistant Judge is not the decision of the Law Secretary.
VII. For like as we are compelled by the law of libel to say, the Judge is incorruptible, the Assistant Judge is incorruptible, and the Law Secretary is incorruptible.
VIII. So are we forbidden by the law of common sense to say, the Judge is infallible, the Assistant Judge is infallible, and the Law Secretary is infallible.
IX. And the doctrine of the Judge is this――That he was appointed for the sins of the people, and the hardness of heart of the Consuls.
X. The doctrine of the Assistant Judge is this: Equal to the Judge as touching the sign manual, but inferior to the Judge as touching beetle hunting.
XI. The doctrine of the Law Secretary is this――That he was neither made, created, nor appointed, but proceeding.
XII. Confusion to the Judge, and to the Assistant Judge, and to the Law Secretary.
XIII. As it was in the Levant, so shall it be in China, and (if they can find them) in Worlds without end.
――――:o:――――
THE POPULAR CREED.
An American Socialist has written the following as an expression of the real belief of the middle classes of the present day:――
“I believe in Capital, Father Almighty, maker of weal and woe, and of all things visible and invisible. And in one power, Usury and Increase, the only begotten Son of Capital, begotten of the Father before all dues. Money of money, wealth of wealth, very cash of very cash, begotten, not made, being of one substance with capital, and whereby all things are made; which for us men and for our perdition came forth from the bottomless; and was invented by ‘_auri sacra fames_,’ and incarnate of the virgin money, and was made gold, stamped, and established also for our fleecing under all governments. It is conjured with and buried and made to rise again, according to the bank books.
“And I believe in ‘_auri sacra fames_,’ the Lord and Giver of Business, which proceedeth from Capital and Interest, which with the Father and Son together are worshipped and glorified; which spake by the economists. And I believe in one all-gathering and illimitable Thrift. I acknowledge one and every dodge for the fleecing of the poor, and I look for the Kingdom of Iniquity and eternal plunder to come.――Amen.”
――――
THE GLADSTONIAN CREED.
Whosoever will be elected, before all things it is necessary that he hold the Gladstonian faith.
Which Faith, except every one do keep whole and undefiled, without doubt he shall perish politically.
And the Gladstonian faith is this, that we worship one Gladstone in Government and Government in Gladstone.
Neither confounding his person nor divining his meaning.
For there is one person in Gladstone, another in his Son, and not another near the post.
And yet not Two Gladstones, but One Gladstone.
One Bill holds the Field, not Another in the Field, so the rest nowhere.
One Gladstone Incomprehensible, One William Incomprehensible, and One Bill Incomprehensible.
And yet there are not Three Bills, but One Bill;
As also there are not Three Premiers, nor Three Incomprehensibles, but One Premier Incomprehensible.
Who begets invisible principle and policy of Himself, the only unimpeachable authority.
For like as we are compelled by the Gladstonian Faith to acknowledge all his policy to be great, good and gracious,
So we are forbidden by the Gladstonian Religion to say there be Queen, Cabinet, Lords or Commons;
And in this faith One is Afore and never after Another; One is Greater never less than another.
So that in all things as aforesaid, Verbosity against Unity――Surrender to Malignity――is to be worshipped.
Furthermore it is necessary for proper Qualification that he also believe rightly the mystification of the Grand Old Man.
For the right faith is that we believe and confess that the People’s William does good for mankind;
That he is perfect Genius and perfect Man and yet a reasonable Soul on Destructive Acts subsisting;
Equal to no one in Love of Office, and inferior to none in Design to retain it.
For as this reasonable Soul is Flesh and Blood, so Flesh and Blood cannot understand this reasonable Soul.
Who will permit any to suffer for his Salvation, and who hopes to rise again with his Bills from the Dead;
And whosoever follows shall enter as a Gladstonian politician, and he that does not may sink into political oblivion.
This is the Gladstonian faith, which except a man believe faithfully he cannot be elected.
June, 1886.
――――
HENRY BUCKLE’S CREED.
_This is the Creed, let no man chuckle, Of the great thinker Henry Buckle_:――
I believe in fire and water, And in fate, dame Nature’s daughter, Consciousness I set aside, The dissecting knife my guide. I believe in steam and rice, Not in virtue nor in vice; In what strikes the outward sense, Not in mind nor providence; In a stated course of crimes, In Macaulay and the “Times.” As for “truth” the ancients lost her; Plato was a great impostor. Morals are a vain illusion Leading only to confusion. Not in Latin nor in Greek Let us for instruction seek; Fools like Bossuet that might suit, Who had better have been mute; Let us study snakes and flies, And on fossils fix our eyes. Would we learn what men should do, Let us watch the Kangaroo! Would we know the mental march; It depends on dates and starch! I believe in all the gases As a means to raise the masses. Carbon animates ambition, Oxygen controls volition; Whatever’s good or great in men May be traced to hydrogen; And the body, not the soul, Governs the unfathom’d whole.
From _Notes and Queries_.
――――
Although _The Pious Editor’s Creed_ in “The Biglow Papers” cannot be styled a parody, it is exquisitely humorous, but much too long to give in full:――
I du believe in Freedom’s cause Ez fur away ez Paris is; I love to see her stick her claws In them infarnal Pharisees; It’s wal enough agin a king To dror resolves an’ triggers,―― But libbaty’s a kind o’ thing, That don’t agree with niggers. * * * * * In short, I firmly du believe In Humbug generally, Fer it’s a thing thet I perceive To hev a solid vally; This heth my faithful shepherd ben, In pasturs sweet heth led me, An’ this ’ll keep the people green To feed ez they hev fed me.
――――:o:――――
In the works of the Right. Hon. Sir Charles Hanbury Williams there occurs a parody entitled――
THE LESSONS FOR THE DAY, 1742.
The First Lesson. ¶ _Here beginneth the First Chapter of the Book of Preferment._
Now it came to pass in the 15th year of the reign of George the King, in the 2nd month, on the 10th day of the month at Even, that a deep sleep came upon me, the visions of the night possessed my spirit, I dreamed, and behold Robert[346] the minister came in unto the King, and besought him, saying:
O King, live for ever! let thy throne be established from generation to generation! but behold now the power which thou gavest unto thy servant is at an end, the Peterborough election is lost, and the enemies of thy servant triumph over him.
Wherefore now I pray thee, if I have found favour in thy sight, suffer thy servant to depart in peace, that my soul may bless thee.
And when he had spoken these words, he resigned unto the King his place as First Lord of the Treasury, his Chancellorship of the Exchequer, and all his other preferments.
* * * * *
This parody concludes with the following:――
OLD ENGLAND’S TE DEUM TO GEORGE THE THIRD.
We complain of Thee, O King, we acknowledge Thee to be an Hanoverian.
All Hungary doth Worship Thee, the Captain everlasting.
To Thee all Placemen cry aloud, the House of Lords and all the Courtiers therein.
To Thee, Carteret and Bath continually do cry,
Warlike, Warlike, Warlike, Captain General of the Armies! Brunswick and Lunenburgh are full of the brightness of our coin.
The venal Company of Peers praise Thee.
The goodly fellowship of Ministers praise Thee.
The noble Army of Hanoverians praise Thee.
The Holy Bench of Bishops throughout the land doth acknowledge Thee.
Thine honourable, true, and steady Son.
Also my Lady Yarmouth the comforter.
Thou art a glorious Prince, O King!
Thou art the ever charming Son of the Father.
When thou tookest upon Thee to deliver this nation, Thou didst not abhor thy Father’s example.
When Thou hadst overcome the sharpness of want, Thou didst open the smiles of thy favour to all believers in a court.
Thou sittest at the right hand of ―――― in the Treasury of the Father.
We believe that Thou shalt come to be our scourge.
We therefore pray Thee provide for thy servants, whom Thou hast fed with thy renown. Make them to be numbered with thy slaves in livery everlasting.
O King, spare thy people of England.
And now squeeze thy people of Hanover.
Govern them as Thou hast governed us,
And confine them to their turnips for ever.
Day by day we sing ballads unto Thee.
And we bawl against Hanover, ever world without end.
Vouchsafe, O King, to keep us this year without thy Hanoverians.
The Lord have mercy upon us; the Lord have mercy upon us.
O King, let thy Mercy lighten our Taxes, as our Credit should be in Thee.
O King in Thee have I trusted, let me not be confounded.
Valour be to the Father, common sense to the Son, and a young bed-fellow to the Countess of Yarmouth; as was not in the beginning, is not now, nor is ever like to be, world without end. _Amen!_
There is another parody of the _Te Deum_ in Robert Southey’s _Omniana_ (vol. 2. p. 41.) entitled _Te Franciscum_, and dated 1733, but it is of little interest.
――――
CATECHISM FOR THE MERIDIAN OF THE EXCHANGE.
Q. What is your name?
A. A Freeman.
Q. Who gave you this name?
A. The Candidates for a seat in the House of Commons.
Q. Wherein does your Freedom consist?
A. First. In having the liberty to eat, drink, and revel in debauchery, from the commencement of the canvass to the close of the poll, let that time be what it may;――and all that on _free cost_.
Secondly. In giving my vote to that Candidate or his friends, whom I shall conceive the most likely to serve my own _private_ interest, without any regard to the comparative merits of the Candidates, or the welfare and prosperity of this Town and Kingdom.
Q. What sort of morality do you call this?
A. This I call political morality; and it is this morality which has the greatest influence on the conduct of very many electors.
Q. Are there no electors who vote on other principles?
A. Yes: there are some who think, judge, and compare before they promise; and then give their suffrage, so that their hearts may not reproach them, for a violation of those principles of morality, which ought to regulate the conduct of every man, especially if he professes to be a _Christian_.
Q. Is this promise binding, which has been obtained on a false statement of facts?
A. All Casuists say _No_; especially if it be to the injury of a third person.
N.B. FREEMEN, it must be well-known to you, that HENRY BROUGHAM and THOMAS CREEVEY are the Friends of Trade, Peace and Plenty, and have neither Place nor Pension; when it is equally notorious that GEORGE CANNING and ISAAC GASCOYNE are the Friends of War, Taxes, and Famine, and are now living on the Spoils of their Country.
From _An impartial Collection of Addresses, Songs, Squibs, &c., published during the Liverpool Election_, October 1812.
The Candidates were the Rt. Hon. George Canning; Lt.-Gen. Isaac Gascoigne; Henry Brougham; Thomas Creevey; and Gen. B. Tarlton. (Messrs. G. Canning and Gascoigne, both Tories, were elected.)
――――
THE INCOME-TAX CATECHISM.
Q. Why is the Income and Property-Tax so called?
A. Because it is a tax on the mere Income of some people, and on the whole Property of others.
Q. Of whom is it a tax on the Income only?
A. It is a tax on the Income only, and on no more than the Income, of those whose Income consists of rent, or of the interest of Property.
Q. Of whom is it a tax on the entire Property?
A. It is a tax on the entire Property of those whose Income consists of earnings, and who have no other Property than their Income.
Q. So it is called an Income-Tax when it is a tax on Income arising from Property, and a Property-Tax when it is a tax on Income not arising from Property?
A. Yes.
Q. If persons whose Income consists merely of earnings were taxed in the same proportion as those whose Incomes consist of dividends or of rents, how much Income-Tax would they have to pay?
A. At the utmost, sixteen pence in the pound on the interest of their yearly incomes at 3 per cent. For instance, a man earning £500 a year would have to pay 20s.
Q. Would this be an equitable adjustment of the Income-Tax?
A. Not quite; because earnings are mostly precarious.
Q. How does the Income-Tax affect persons of precarious income?
A. It deprives them of the money which they ought to save as a provision against a season of loss of employment, or against old age.
Q. Where do those people go who are incapacitated by the Income-Tax from making a provision for loss of employment, or for old age?
A. To the workhouse.
_Punch_, December 13, 1856.
――――
A RABBLE CATECHISM FOR M.P.’S.
_Respectfully Dedicated to_ MAJOR BERESFORD, M.P., _for North Essex; Ex-Tory Whipper-in, Secretary-at-War in 1852; with every possible etcetera._
Q. What is a rabble?
A. Rabble is a congregation of creatures that hiss and hoot.
Q. Biped or quadruped?
A. I believe, biped.
Q. Of what are they ordinarily composed?
A. Mud, tempered with ditch-water. Sometimes they are made of road-scrapings; they are sometimes found of pure clay.
Q. What is your duty towards the rabble?
A. My duty towards the rabble is, from the very bottom of my heart (wherever that may be) to loathe, detest, hate, and abhor them.
Q. As everything has its place in the condition of the world, what――in your opinion――in the scale of creation, is the proper place of the rabble? Take, for instance, an individual. _One_ of the rabble?
A. I believe that one of the rabble is a――yes――a sort of link between an ape and a contented labourer. I have, I think, read of apes that chop sticks and draw water, and walk upright on two legs; I have no doubt that moral anatomy would establish the analogy. No doubt of it. Yes; one of the rabble is a link between an ape and a labourer――a contented labourer.
Q. Has the rabble any voice?
A. Certainly not: it is the want of voice that is the rabble’s distinguishing want.
Q. But supposing that the rabble could, by Act of Parliament, for instance, obtain voices――they would then be rabble no longer?
A. Certainly not.
Q. The rabble, having no articulate voices, you conceive it to be your bounden duty to hate, and, from the bottom of your heart despise them?
A. I do.
Q. But, having obtained voices, the rabble would then be to you――
A. Every one of them a man and a brother; that is――at Election times. Yes; from the bottom of my heart, a man and a brother.
――――
A RABBLE CATECHISM FOR THE RABBLE.
Q. What are you?
A. One o’ the rabble
Q. What makes you of the rabble?
A. Nothin’ makes me; got nothin’; that’s why nothin’ does it.
Q. What is your place in the world?
A. Got no place by rights; only what the gentlefolks is so kind――heaven bless ’em――is so kind to grant me.
Q. What are your duties in life?
A. My duties is to pay duties on ’bacca, and on whatsomever there may be put upon――tea and beer and so forth――and ax no questions.
Q. Have you any voice at elections?
A. Yes: when I hollars.
Q. But you have no vote?
A. In course not. ’Cause I’m one o’ the rabble.
Q. And as one of the rabble――what are you to expect from the gentlemen who propose themselves――for the benefit of the country――to be Members of Parliament?
A. I am to expect, and not a bit to mind it, to be despised from the bottom of their hearts.
Q. Were you created for that?
A. I was, as badgers were made to be baited, foxes to be hunted, and hedgehogs to be beaten to bits――so was the rabble made to be despised by Members of Parliament, ’specially when majors, from the very bottom of their hearts.
_Punch._
――――
LE CATECHISME DES ANGLAIS. _Pour l’expulsion des Français sous Napoleon I._
D. Dis moi, mon enfant, qui es tu?
R. Anglais; par la grace de Dieu.
D. Quel est l’ennémi de notre félicité?
R. L’Empereur des Français.
D. Combien a-t-il de natures?
R. Deux: la nature humaine, et la diabolique.
D. Combien y a d’Empereurs des Français?
R. Un véritable, en trois personnes trompeuses.
D. Comment les nomme t-on?
R. Napoléon, Murat, Manuel Godoi.
D. Lequel des trois est le plus méchant?
R. Ils le sont tous trois également.
D. De qui dérive Napoléon?
R. Du péché.
D. Murat?
R. De Napoléon; et Godoi de la formation des deux autres.
D. Quel est l’esprit du prémier?
R. L’orgueil et le despotisme.
D. Du sécond.
R. La rapine, et la cruauté.
D. Du troisième?
R. La cupidité, la trahison, et l’ignorance, &c. &c.
* * * * *
This fragment of a catechism appeared in _Notes and Queries_ June 27, 1868, with a request for information as to its origin, to which no reply seems to have been made.
――――
A CATECHISM FOR LONDONERS.
Q. What is a Premium?
A. Premium is a Latin word meaning “prize” or “reward.” In London this reward is given by Landlords to themselves out of the money of incoming Tenants.
Q. Is a Premium a prize for good conduct?
A. Exclusively so. The good conduct consists in allowing Tenants to live in London at all.
Q. Is the moment when a house is taken the only occasion on which a Premium is exacted?
A. Not at all. When a lease expires, Landlords, especially Ducal ones (see Mr. PLATT’S evidence before the Parliamentary Committee), often refuse to renew without a heavy Premium.
Q. Is it a valid plea to say that this Premium is a repayment to the Landlord for improvements which he has kindly made in the house?
A. No; because the Landlord hardly ever makes any improvements.
Q. Then, at any rate, Tenants of London houses can always have the advantage of a lease, if they like to pay a Premium for it?
A. Such is not the case. Some Ducal Landlords now exact Premiums, and at the same time refuse to grant leases.
Q. Then the Tenant becomes a mere Tenant-at-will?
A. Unless he prefers to become a Tenant-at-won’t, and leaves the house in disgust.
Q. Why do not all Tenants adopt the latter system?
A. Because to leave his place of business may mean to a tradesman the sacrifice of his “connection,” a fact of which Landlords take full advantage.
Q. If a Tenant asked his Landlord for compensation for improvements executed by himself, what would the latter do?
A. Improve him off the estate, probably.
Q. When a London Landlord destroys at one blow the value of a Tradesman’s good-will, by refusing him a lease, and drives him to emigrate by exacting a “starvation-rent,” what does he call the result to the Tenant?
A. A happy re-lease.
Q. What is the theoretical foundation on which Ducal Landlords build their claim to rack-rent all occupiers who “hold of” them?
A. That it is entirely owing to their own careful attention and unremitting exertions that the soil of London is now of any value whatever.
Q. And of what material is that foundation largely composed?
A. Portland Cement.
Q. What would the Ducal monopoly of land and houses in the best situations in London be called in Chicago?
A. A “corner in rents.”
Q. And what would be an appropriate name for the victim of this monopoly?
A. A _Ground_-Tenant.
Q. Although the Ducal system of “improving estates,” by turning out old Tenants and raising the rent to the utmost possible limit, may press hardly on individuals, do not these territorial magnates display a splendid example of public-spirited generosity and self-denying civic virtue which compensates for private loss?
A. Scarcely.
_Punch._ May 7, 1887.
――――
A CATECHISM OF THE PEERAGE.
_Question._ What is a Peer.
_Answer._ The eldest son of his father.
Q. Who gave him that Title?
A. No one; it came to him through the accident of birth.
Q. Has he no other claim or qualification?
A. None.
Q. What is the nature of his Title?
A. Hereditary.
Q. Are there no other kind of Peers?
A. Yes; there are a few Life Peers.
Q. What are they?
A. Commoners who are made Peers for the rest of their lives, without their titles being transmitted to their heirs.
Q. Who creates Peers?
A. The Crown.
Q. What are men made Peers for?
A. For winning battles, for serving their party in the House of Commons, for being old and no longer of any use to it, for being troublesome to their colleagues, for being behind the times, and for being political nuisances that cannot be got rid of in any other way.
Q. Are Poets ever made Peers?
A. Yes. Lord Tennyson.
Q. Why was he made a Peer?
A. For writing adulatory verses, as Poet Laureate, on royal births, marriages and deaths.
Q. Besides Hereditary Peers and Life Peers, are there any other special kinds?
A. Yes. Temporal Peers and Spiritual Peers?.
Q. What are Spiritual Peers?
A. Bishops of the Church of England.
Q. What are the Privileges of a Peer?
A. To be called “My Lord,” to sit in Parliament without asking his fellow-citizens, to legislate without consulting them, to appoint clergymen to livings in the Church, and his poor relations to well-paid offices in the public service.
Q. Whom does the House of Commons represent?
A. The People of England.
Q. Whom do the Peers represent?
A. Themselves.
Q. How many are they?
A. Five hundred and twelve.
Q. How many does the People’s House represent?
A. Thirty-four millions.
Q. Are the members of the House of Lords all English.
A. No; the Scotch Peers created before 1707 elect sixteen of their number to sit in each Parliament, and the Irish Peers created before 1801 elect twenty-eight of their number to sit for life.
Q. How many Peers are Conservatives, and how many are Liberals?
A. There are 285 Conservatives and 218 Liberals, the remaining few being uncertain.
Q. Do they vote on all questions in proportion to these numbers?
A. No; they generally show an overwhelming majority against Liberal measures, especially in relation to the Landed Interest.
Q. Can they prevent the People’s House from passing any laws it may deem necessary?
A. Yes.
Q. Have they often done so?
A. Yes, always, until they were beaten.
Q. Are not the Bishops more friendly to measures passed by the People’s House for the good of the nation?
A. No; they have always opposed such measures even more obstinately than the Temporal Peers.
Q. How many clergymen are appointed to their livings by Peers?
A. Nearly five thousand.
Q. Are the Peers rich or poor?
A. Rich.
Q. What does their wealth spring from?
A. The land.
Q. Do they cultivate it?
A. No, they own it, and the cultivators pay them rent.
Q. How much land do they own?
A. 16,411,986 acres.
Q. How much land is there in Great Britain and Ireland?
A. 72,119,961 acres, exclusive of waste lands and commons.
Q. What is the yearly income of the richest Peer?
A. Four hundred thousand pounds.
Q. How much is that per day?
A. Ten hundred and ninety-five pounds.
Q. What is the highest daily wage of a farm labourer?
A. Half-a-crown.
Q. How much public money do the Peers draw from offices and pensions?
A. £598,056.
Q. Have the Peers any other power or influence than that already mentioned?
A. Yes, they have nearly three hundred relations, by birth or marriage, in the House of Commons.
Q. Have the Peers any other privileges?
A. Yes, the clergy pray for them every Sunday that they may be endued with grace, wisdom, and understanding.
Q. Is the prayer answered?
A. No.
Q. What are the duties of a Peer?
A. To spend his money, and to sit in the House of Lords when he feels disposed.
Q. Is he often so disposed?
A. No; the average attendance of Peers in the House of Lords is about twenty.
Q. Have the Peers no other duties?
A. Yes, they have to provide the chief officers of the Royal Household, as only Peers and Peeresses can perform such exalted functions.
Q. Do they fill those offices gratuitously?
A. No, they are handsomely paid, some of them receiving as much as £2,000 a year.
Q. Have they any other duty?
A. No, that is the whole duty of a Peer.
Issued by _The People’s League for the Abolition of the Hereditary Chamber_.
――――
THE DRUNKARD’S CATECHISM.
_Question._――What is your name?
_Answer._――Drunken Sot.
Q.――Who gave you that name?
A.――As drink is my idol, landlords and their wives get all my money; they gave me that name in my drunken sprees wherein I was made a member of strife, a child of want, and an inheritor of a bundle of rags.
Q.――What did your landlords and landladies promise for you.
A.――They did promise and vow three things in my name, first, that I should renounce the comfort of my own fireside; secondly, starve my wive and hunger my children; thirdly, walk in rags and tatters, with my shoe soles going flip flap all the days of my life.
Q.――Rehearse the articles of thy belief.
A.――I believe in the existence of one Mr. Alcohol, the great head and chief of all manner of vice, the source of nine-tenths of all diseases! and I not only believe, but am sure that when my money is gone and spent, the landlord will stop the tap and turn me out.
Q.――How many commandments have ye sots to keep?
A.――Ten.
Q.――Which be they?
A.――The same which the landlord and landlady spake in the bar, saying, We are thy master and thy mistress who brought thee out of the paths of virtue, placed thee in the ways of vice, and set thy feet on the road which leadeth to New South Wales.
I.――Thou shalt use no other house but mine.
II.――Thou shalt not make to thyself any substitute for intoxicating drinks, such as tea, coffee, ginger-pop and lemonade; for I am a jealous man, wearing the coat that should be on thy back, eating thy children’s bread, and pocketing the money which should make thee and thy wife happy all the days of thy life.
III.――Thou shalt not use my house in vain.
IV.――Remember that thou eat but one meal on the Sabbath day. Six days shalt thou drink and spend all thy money, but the seventh day is the Sabbath, wherein I wash my floor, mend my fires and make ready for the company the remaining part of the day.
V.――Thou shalt honor the landlords, the landladies and the gin-shops, with thy presence that thy days may be few and miserable, in the land wherein thou livest.
VI.――Thou shalt commit murder, by starving, hungering and beating thy wife and family.
VII.――Thou shalt commit self-destruction.
VIII.――Thou shalt sell thy wife’s and children’s bread and rob thyself of all thy comforts.
IX.――Thou shalt bear false witness when thou speakest of the horrors, saying, Thou art in good health when labouring under the barrel fever.
X.――Thou shalt covet all thy neighbour is possessed of; thou shalt covet his house, his land, his purse, his health, his wealth, and all that he has got, that thou mayest indulge in drunkenness, help the brewer to buy a new coach, a pair of fine horses, a new dray, and a fine building, that he may live in idleness all his days; likewise to enable the landlord to purchase a new sign to place over his door, with “Licensed to be drunk on the Premises” written thereon.
The foregoing are only a few of the many imitations of the Catechism, others are either too long to quote, or not sufficiently interesting.
There was one published during the Regency, entitled “_A Political Catechism_, dedicated (without permission) to His most Serene Highness _Omar Bashaw_, Bey and Governor of the Warlike City and Kingdom of Algiers; the Earl of Liverpool, Lord Castlereagh, and Co.” _Coventry_: J. Turner. Price Twopence. It was also published in London, by R. Carlile, 1817.
This was written to urge the people to petition the Prince Regent for Parliamentary, and Constitutional Reform.
Another, which was published about three years ago, was styled “_The Conservative Catechism_, or, the Principles of Organised Hypocrisy Explained.” This was issued, at the low price of one penny, by Abel Heywood & Son, Manchester, and had a large sale among the Radical voters at the time of the last Election.
――――:o:――――
The following parody occurred in a sermon preached at St. Paul’s Cross during the reign of James I., by Dr. John Boys, Dean of Canterbury:――
“Our Pope, which art in Rome, cursed be thy name; perish may thy kingdom; hindered may thy will be, as it is in heaven, so in earth. Give us this day our cup in the Lord’s Supper; and remit our moneys which we have given for thy indulgencies, as we send them back unto thee; and lead us not into heresy; but free us from misery; for thine is the infernal pitch and sulphur, for ever and ever. Amen.”
This was printed in Jefferson’s _Entertaining Literary Curiosities_, 1808, and was also referred to by Hone in his trials.
A long article appeared in _Notes and Queries_, August 8, 1885, devoted to the history of the Lord’s Prayer, with variations, paraphrases, imitations, and translations. It gave two curious versions of the Prayer in very early English.
――――
“Monsieur Grévy, qui êtes à l’Elysée, demeurez et faites que nous demeurions toujours dans les sentiments républicains. Touchez vos loyers en paix. Distribuez de bonnes places à vos serviteurs. Rendez des portefeuilles à ceux qui n’en ont plus, continuez a faire grâce aux condamnés comme ils vous feraient grâce eux mêmes, et délivrez-nous des petits papiers. Au nom du beau-père, du gendre, et de Boulanger. Amen!”
――――:o:――――
THE WIFE’S COMMANDMENTS.
I. Thou shalt have none other wife but me.
II. Thou shalt not take into thy house any beautiful brazen image to bow down to her, nor serve her, for I thy wife am a jealous wife, visiting the sins of the husband unto thee, etc.
III. Thou shalt not take the name of thy wife in vain.
IV. Remember to keep her respectably.
V. Honour thy wife’s Father and Mother.
VI. Thou shalt not scold.
VII. Thou shalt not find fault with thy dinners.
VIII. Thou shalt rock the cradle during my absence, and shalt prepare the tea for my return.
IX. Thou shalt not be behind thy neighbours.
X. Thou shalt not visit the whisky tavern, thou shalt not covet the tavern keeper’s Rum, nor his Brandy, nor his Gin, nor his Whisky, nor his Wine, nor anything that is behind the bar, nor in front of the bar of the tavern keeper.
――――
THE HUSBAND’S COMMANDMENTS.
I. Thou shalt have no other Husband but me.
II. Thou shalt not take unto thyself any man wherewith to call him Husband, to bow down to him, nor to worship him, for I am a jealous Husband, visiting, etc.
III. Thou shalt not take any other name but that of thine Husband.
IV. Remember to keep him respectably.
V. Honour thy Husband’s lawful commands.
VI. Thou shalt not scold.
VII. Thou shalt not be too fond of fine clothes, but be saving in all things.
VIII. Thou shalt not gossip with thy Neighbours, but do thy work.
IX. Thou shalt not tell thy Neighbours of any of thine Husband’s faults.
X. Thou shalt not frequent Theatres, or Music Halls, or Concert Rooms, or any other place of that kind without thine Husband.
――――
LES X. COMMANDEMENTS DES BAIGNEURS.
De nombreux accidents arrivant chaque année il ne nous paraît pas inutile de rappeller à nos chers lecteurs les dix commandements du grand hygiéniste hongrois, Kruger.
I. Après les émotions vives, ne te baigne pas.
II. Après un malaise subit, ne te baigne pas.
III. Après une nuit d’insomnie, après un excès de fatigue, ne te baigne pas.
IV. Après un repas copieux, après de chaudes libations, ne te baigne pas.
V. Lorsque tu te rends au bain, ne cours pas.
VI. Ne te baigne pas dans une eau dont tu ne connais pas la profondeur.
VII. Déshabille-toi lentement, mais, aussitôt déshabillé, entre dans l’eau.
VIII. Jette-toi dans l’eau la tête la première; si tu ne sais pas plonger, immerge-toi un instant.
IX. Ne reste pas longtemps dans l’eau, à moins que tu ne sois d’un tempérament très fort.
X. Après le bain frictionne-toi, habille-toi promptement, et marche.
――――
THE X COMMANDMENTS OF THE CANTING CREW.
Perhaps the most whimsical laws that were ever prescribed to a gang of thieves were those framed by William Holliday, one of the prigging community, who was hanged in 1695:――
I. That none of his company should presume to wear shirts, upon pain of being cashiered.
II. That none should lie in any other places than stables, empty houses, or other bulks.
III. That they should eat nothing but what they begged, and that they should give away all the money they got by cleaning boots among one another, for the good of the fraternity.
IV. That they should neither learn to read nor write, that he may have them the better under command.
V. That they should appear every morning by nine on the parade, to receive necessary orders.
VI. That none should presume to follow the scent but such as he ordered on that party.
VII. That if any one gave them shoes or stockings, he should convert them into money to play.
VIII. That they should steal nothing they could not come at, for fear of bringing a scandal upon the company.
IX. That they should not endeavour to clear themselves of vermin, by killing or catching them.
X. That they should cant better than the Newgate birds, pick pockets without bungling, outlie a Quaker, outswear a lord at a gaming-table, and brazen out all their villanies beyond an Irishman.
These rules have their counterpart amongst French thieves, whose “Commandements” will be found in Professor Barrère’s _Argot and Slang_.
――――
TEN COMMANDMENTS TO BE OBSERVED BY ALL THE PEOPLE OF GREAT BRITAIN.
_After the Passing of the Allopathic Trades Union Medical Bill, of 1877_,
1st. I am thy Family Doctor, duly appointed by the state. I brought thee into this world of sorrow, and so long as thou livest, to thee, in matters medical, it must be a land of bondage.
2nd. Thou shalt have none other Doctor but me.
3rd. Thou shalt not make for thyself any medicine; nor gather any herbs that grow upon the earth, nor in the waters about the earth; thou shalt not use anything, however simple, in treating disease: for I, thy Doctor, am a very jealous man, and for any infraction of this, thy duty, I will visit thy transgression with pains and penalties; yea, I will incarcerate thee into a prison, and so punish for thy doings, those dependent upon thee. And if thou wilt blindly follow my advice, and pay obedience to me, I will promise thee, when ill, that I will bleed, blister, and salivate thee at my pleasure; and so reward thee with a ruined constitution, to drag out a miserable existence for the remainder of thy days.
4th. Thou shalt not speak lightly of my name, for I am protected by law; and the law will not hold him guiltless that interferes in any way with me.
5th. Remember that thou prayest for my welfare when attending thy church on the sabbath day. Six days shalt thou labour to prostrate thy body and work for my fees; but the seventh day is the sabbath, and on that day thou must do nothing towards restoring or improving thy health, or thy wife’s health, or thy children’s health, or above all, thy neighbour’s health; nor must thou think about it, it is something that does not concern thee, I claim that as my special privilege――state protected. I am all powerful in these matters, and as such must be respected.
6th. Honour thy Doctor more than anyone else, for I claim thee, body and soul, whilst residing in England, the land of thy birth.
7th. Thou shalt not think for thyself.
8th. Thou art an Englishman, and the law hath handed thee over to my tender keeping.
9th. Thou shalt never be a Doctor.
10th. Thou shalt not tell thy neighbour of any remedy that will do him good, for I shall watch thy doings jealously. Thou shalt never covet the position of a medical adviser. If thou seest thy neighbour suffering, or his wife suffering, or any of his children suffering and thou art in possession of any remedy that will do them good, thou shalt not advise, nor use it; for I, thy Doctor, state protected, am always watchful, to visit upon thee pains and penalties for any infraction of these my commandments.
――――
LES COMMANDEMENTS DE LA PRESSE.
1. En te fondant tu verseras Un très gros cautionnement.
2. Les droits du timbre tu pairas Au fisc quotiediennement.
3. Jamais tu ne censureras Les actes du gouvernement.
4. Les chambres tu respecteras, Et les ministres mêmement.
5. De nul citoyen ne diras Un mot sans son consentement
6. Compte-rendu ne publieras Parallèle ni autrement.
7. En y manquant tu subiras L’amende et l’emprissonnement.
8. Chaque amende te mangera Le tiers du cautionnement.
9. Des droits d’électeur tu sera Dépossédé par supplément.
10. Le tribunal te suspendra Pour six mois provisoirement;
11. Et même il te supprimera, S’il veut, définitivement.
12. Sauf ces réserves, tu pourras Ecrire et parler librement.
These lines were published in Paris, in 1867, when a new and stringent law considerably curtailed the liberty of the French press. The main idea contained in this epigram is borrowed from Beaumarchais:――
“On me dit que, pendant ma retraite économique, il s’est établi dans Madrid un système de liberté sur la vente des productions, qui s’étend meme à celles de la presse; et que, pourvu que je ne parle en mes écrits ni de l’autorité, ni du culte, ni de la politique, ni de la morale, ni des gens en place, ni des corps en crédit, ni de l’Opéra, ni des autres spectacles, ni de personne qui tienne à quelque chose, je puis tout imprimer librement, sous l’inspection de deux ou trois censeurs.”
_Le Mariage de Figaro._ Acte. v. Sc. iii.
――――
BYRON’S POETICAL COMMANDMENTS.
If ever I should condescend to prose, I’ll write poetical commandments, which Shall supersede beyond all doubt all those That went before; in these I shall enrich My text with many things that no one knows, And carry precept to the highest pitch: I’ll call the work “Longinus o’er a Bottle, Or, Every Poet his _own_ Aristotle.”
Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope; Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey; Because the first is crazed beyond all hope, The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthy; With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope, And Campbell’s Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy; Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor Commit――flirtation with the muse of Moore.
Thou shalt not covet Mr. Sotheby’s Muse, His Pegasus, nor anything that’s his; Thou shalt not bear false witness like “the Blues”―― (There’s one, at least, is very fond of this); Thou shalt not write, in short, but what I choose; This is true criticism, and you may kiss―――― Exactly as you please, or not, the rod; But if you don’t, I’ll lay it on, by God!
DON JUAN. Canto I.
――――
Contemporary with Mr. William Hone was a printer and publisher, named Richard Carlile, who, in 1817, had a shop at 183, Fleet Street, London.
He dealt largely in similar publications to those sold by Hone, and indeed reprinted the very parodies for publishing which Hone had been tried and acquitted. Like Hone, too, he was prosecuted by the Government of the day, and in October, 1819, was sentenced to three years’ imprisonment and to pay fines of £1,000 and £500 respectively, for publishing Paine’s “Age of Reason” and Palmer’s “Principles of Nature.” As he would not, or could not, pay these heavy fines, he was kept in prison until 1825.
Carlile republished _Wat Tyler_, a work which had been written by Robert Southey, when an ardent young Republican, but which, when he became Poet Laureate, and a pensioner of the Tory Government, he was very anxious should be forgotten. Southey endeavoured to prohibit the republication, but to no purpose, and over twenty-five thousand copies of the work were sold. Carlile also edited _The Republican_, _The Lion_, _The Gauntlet_, _The Christian Warrior_, and other publications. He was born at Ashburton in 1790, and died in 1843; his body, after having been dissected at St. Thomas’s Hospital at his own request, was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery.
Even those who agreed with Carlile’s very advanced theories were compelled to admit that he was a most eccentric individual, and his publications are decidedly inferior in literary merit to those issued by Hone. One of these was entitled _The Bullet Te Deum with the Canticle of the Stone_, 1817, a political parody of “Te Deum Laudamus.” He published another two-penny political pamphlet (ascribed to Professor Porson), called “_A New Catechism for the use of the Swinish Multitude_. Necessary to be had in all Sties.” This was written partly in answer to Burke’s celebrated essay on the Sublime and the Beautiful. But of all Carlile’s political parodies probably the following was the best. It was entitled――
THE ORDER FOR THE _Administration of the Loaves and Fishes_; or, The Communion of Corruption’s Host; _Diligently corrected and revised_. Commanded to be read at the Treasury the day preceding all Cabinet Dinners.
THE ORDER, &c. &c.
¶ So many as intend to be partakers of the LOAVES and FISHES, shall signify their names to the Chief Minister, at least some days before the meeting of Parliament.
¶ And if any one of these be an open hearted and upright character, or have not done any wrong to the people, by word or deed, so that he be not like unto the HOST OF CORRUPTION; the Minister having knowledge thereof, shall call him, and advertise him, that in anywise he presume not to be a partaker of the LOAVES and FISHES, until he hath openly declared himself to have truly repented and amended his former naughty life, that CORRUPTION’S HOST may thereby be satisfied, which before were offended; and that he hath recompensed the parties, by declaring himself to be in readiness so to do, as soon as he conveniently may.
¶ The same order shall the Minister use with those betwixt whom he perceiveth malice and hatred to reign; not suffering them to be partakers of the LOAVES and FISHES, until he know them to be reconciled. And if one of the parties so at variance be content to forgive, from the bottom of his heart, all that the other hath trespassed against him, and to make amends for that he himself hath offended; and the other party will not be persuaded to a Ministerial unity, but remain still in frowardness and the OPPOSITION: The Minister, in that case, ought to admit the penitent person to a share of the plunder, and not him that is obstinate. Provided that every Minister so repelling any, as is specified in this or the next paragraph of this Rubrick, shall be obliged to give an account of the same to the CABINET, within fourteen days after, at the farthest. And the CABINET shall prevent the offending person from receiving either SINECURE, PENSION, or PLACE OF PROFIT.
¶ The Table at the Cabinet dinner having a fair white damask cloth upon it, shall be covered with every luxury the earth produceth, and all Members to be there invited that shall accede to the foregoing rules, at least seven days before the opening of Parliament, there to hear repeated the Regent’s Speech, and Address thereon, and to rehearse the debates that shall be made on the said Speech and Address, also to be well acquainted with the amendment that shall be proposed by CORRUPTION’S BEST ALLIES, the WHIGS. Dinner being over, the Minister at the head of the table shall first repeat the Regent’s speech as followeth:――
We lament that our Father[347] is still secluded, hallowed be thy name, Our kingdom come, our will be done in France and Ireland, as it is in Great Britain. Give us this year, our women and wine, and forgive us our debts, that we may be enabled to satisfy those to whom we are indebted. And lead us not into danger, but deliver us from the disaffected. Amen.
THE ADDRESS.
High and mighty Prince, unto whom our hearts are open, our desires known, and from whom our secrets are not hid, gratify the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy goodly Places and Pensions, that we may perfectly love thee, and worthily magnify thy name; through the mediation of Castlereagh our Chief. Amen.
¶ Then shall the Minister, turning to the HOST, rehearse distinctly, all the TEN COMMANDMENTS; and the HOST, sitting open-mouthed, shall, after every Commandment, ask the Prince mercy for their transgressions thereof for the time past, and a Pension to keep the same for the time to come, as followeth:
_Minister._ The Prince spake these words, and said; I am the Prince thy Ruler: thou shall seek no other Prince but me.
_Host._ O Ministers, place a Pension upon us, that will incline our hearts to keep this law.
_Minister._ Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image of Bonaparte, nor a caricature likeness of any thing belonging to the Court or its Minions. Thou shalt not express pleasure at seeing them in the houses of others; for I the Prince thy Ruler am a jealous Prince, and intend to protract the wretchedness of the Fathers upon the Children, unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me, and to extend sinecure-offices and pensions unto thousands in them that love me, and keep my commandments.
_Host._ O Ministers, be lavish upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law.
_Minister._ Thou shalt not expose the name or character of the Prince thy Ruler to contempt, for the Prince will not hold him guiltless, that speaketh disrespectfully of him.
_Host._ O Ministers procure us a title, to incline our hearts to keep this law.
_Minister._ Remember that thou attend the division; at all other times thou mayst be absent, and do that thou hast to do, but to be in the division is thy duty to the Prince. In it thou shalt do as the Minister doth, for his majority compensates for his want of ability, and enableth him to create, or destroy; to suspend the laws, or enact new ones; to keep a large Army to stifle the cries of the hungry, to use the bayonet, instead of granting Reform; wherefore the Minister blesseth the majority and sanctifieth it.
_Host._ O Ministers withhold not our Pensions, but incline our hearts to keep this law.
_Minister._ Honour the Regent and Lord Castlereagh, that thy seat may be long in the Parliament, which the Boroughmonger hath sold to thee.
_Host._ O Ministers bestow your gifts upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law.
_Minister._ Thou shalt not say that a PRINCE, or a DUKE hath committed MURDER.
_Host._ O ye PRINCES and DUKES be gracious unto us, and incline our hearts to set aside the law.
_Minister._ Thou shalt not say the PRINCE committeth adultery.
_Host._ O Prince be gracious unto us, and incline our hearts to pervert the law.
_Minister._ Thou shalt not hesitate to procure false witnesses against those whom we fear.
_Host._ O Ministers be mindful of us, and incline our hearts to keep this law.
_Minister._ Thou shalt not covet the company of Reformers, nor be found with them, nor consent to any of their ways, nor be with their wives or servants, or any thing that is theirs.
_Host._ O Minister by the continuance of our Places, our Pensions, and our Sinecures, write all these thy laws in our hearts we beseech thee.
¶ _Then shall follow the Collect for the Ministry belonging to the House of Lords._
_Let us Pray._ Mighty Prince whose kingdom may not be lasting; whose power is finite; Have mercy upon the whole Host; and be so ruled by thy chosen servants, Liverpool, Sidmouth, Eldon, and their associates, that they (knowing whose Ministers they are) may above all things aggrandize themselves and dependents; and that we (duly considering under whose authority we are) may faithfully serve, honour, and humbly obey them, in view of, and hoping for farther benefits, according to thy word and ordinance; through Castlereagh our Chief. Amen.
¶ _A Collect for those of the Ministry of the House of Commons._
Mighty and lasting Prince, we are taught by thy conduct that the hearts of Princes are at the disposal of their Ministers, and that thou dost dispose and turn thine as it seemeth best to their goodly wisdom: We humbly beseech thee so to continue thy condescension to Castlereagh, Vansittart, and their associates, that in all their thoughts, words and actions, they may ever seek their own honour and glory, and study to preserve us committed to their charge, in wealth, peace and goodliness: through Castlereagh our Chief. Amen.
_The Creed for the use of Corruption’s Host._
I believe in Lord Castlereagh, the supreme director of all our affairs, maker of treaties for all nations, for the benefit of none; and in the excellence of his features, fundamental and unfundamental.
And in one George Canning, of doubtful origin, the tool and puppet of Lord Castlereagh, who, together with Lord Castlereagh, falling out about their share of the public plunder, went into a certain field to fight with swords and pistols, unfortunately without any intent to kill, who came out again without injury, to the great grief of all the People; who went on an embassy to the Court of Portugal, where there was no King, for the sole purpose of recovering the health of his son, at the expence of many thousands of pounds to the People: he rose again to the Cabinet, from whence he judgeth the Reformers; and his impudence shall have no end.
And I believe in the Prince Regent, Lord and Giver of Places, who, together with the Ministers, we should worship and glorify, who speaketh by Proclamations, Commissioners, and Green Bags; I believe in the stability of the funds, I look not for a remission of taxes, no, not till the Resurrection of the Dead. And I look not for a better Government in the world to come. Amen.
_Here endeth the_ ORDER _for the_ ADMINISTRATION _of the_ LOAVES _and_ FISHES.
(London: R. Carlile, 1817.)
――――:o:――――
_The Chronicles of the Kings of England_: Written in the manner of the Ancient Jewish Historians. By Nathan Ben Saddi, a Priest of the Jews. London: Printed for _T. Cooper_ at the _Globe_ in Pater-noster Row. 1741.
This is in two books, and concludes with the reign of George II:
“And _George_ was forty and four years old when he began to reign, and behold the Sceptre continueth in his Hand, the Crown also is on his Head; and he sitteth on the Throne of his Majesty unto this Day.
And now behold these are the Names of the Kings of _England_, and these are their generations.
_George_ the Second, who was the son of _George_ the First, who was the cousin of _Anne_, who was the sister-in-law of _William_ the Third, who was the son-in-law of _James_ the Second, who was the brother of _Charles_ the Second, who was the son of _Charles_ the First, who was the son of _James_ the First, who was the cousin of _Elizabeth_, who was the sister of _Mary_, who was the sister of _Edward_ the Sixth, who was the son of _Henry_ the Eighth, who was the son of _Henry_ the Seventh, who was the cousin of _Richard_ the Third, who was the uncle of _Edward_ the Fifth, who was the son of _Edward_ the Fourth, who was the cousin of _Henry_ the Sixth, who was the son of _Henry_ the Fifth, who was the son of _Henry_ the Fourth, who was the cousin of _Richard_ the Second, who was the grandson of _Edward_ the Second, who was the son of _Edward_ the First, who was the son of _Henry_ the Third, who was the son of _John_, who was the brother of _Richard_ the First, who was the son of _Henry_ the Second, who was the cousin of _Stephen_, who was the cousin of _Henry_ the First, who was the brother of _William Rufus_, who was the son of _William_ the Conqueror, who was the son of a w――――.”
_The Chronicle of the Kings of England_, from William the Norman to the Death of George III. Written after the manner of the Jewish Historians: with Notes explanatory and illustrative. London: J. Fairburn, 1821.
This is an amplified re-issue of the preceding work, with notes, and repeating the genealogical table so as to include the name of George III. This edition of _The Chronicles of the Kings_ should have a large folding perspective chronology of the Reign of George the Third, which is frequently wanting.
The following is an extract from this work, describing the reigns of Elizabeth and James:
“Now Elizabeth was twenty and five years old when she began to reign, and she reigned over England forty and four years, four months, and seven days, and her mother’s name was Anna Bullen. And she choose unto herself wise and able ministers, and governed her kingdom with power and great glory.
“The sea also was subject unto her, and she reigned on the ocean with a mighty hand.
“Her admirals compassed the world about, and brought her home treasures from the uttermost parts of the earth.
“The glory of England she advanced to its height, and all the princes of the earth sought her love; her love was fixed on the happiness of her people, and would not be divided. The era of learning was also in her reign, and the genius of wit shone bright in the land. Spencer and Shakespeare, Verulam and Sidney, Raleigh and Drake adorned the court, and made her reign immortal. And woe unto you Spaniards, woe unto you, you haughty usurpers of the American seas for at the light’ning of her eyes ye were destroyed, and at the breath of her mouth ye were scattered abroad; she came unto your armada as a whirlwind, and as a tempest of thunder she overwhelmed you in the sea.
“Wisdom and strength were in her right hand, and in her left were glory and wealth.
“She spake, and it was war; she waved her hand, and the nations dwelt in peace.
“Her Ministers were just, and her counsellers were sage; her captains were bold, and her maids of honour ate beefsteaks for their breakfast.
“And Elizabeth slept with her fathers, and she was a virgin. She was buried in the chapel of King Henry VII., and James of Scotland reigned in her stead.
“And Jamie thought himself a bonny King, and a mickle wise mon, howbeit, he was a fool and a pedant.
“But the spirit of flattery went forth in the land, and the great men and the bishops offered incense unto him, saying, O most sacred King! thou art wiser than the children of men; thou speakest by the spirit of God; there has been none equal to thee before thee; neither will any rise after thee like unto thee.
“Thus they abused him daily with lying and fulsome adulation; and the ear of James was tickled therewith, and he was puffed up and thought himself wise; whereupon he began to dispute with the doctors, and to decide controversies, and to write books, and the world was undeceived.”
――――:o:――――
AN ELECTION PLACARD. _In favour of Charles James Fox, Westminster, 1784._
The first Chapter of the Times.
1. And it came to pass that there were great dissension s in the West, amongst the rulers of the Nation.
2. And the counsellor s of the back stairs said, Let us take advantage and yoke the people even as oxen, and rule them with a rod of iron.
3. And let us break up the Assembly of Privileges, and get a new one of Prerogativ es; and let us hire false prophets to deceive the people. And they did so.
4. Then Judas Iscariot went among the citizens, saying, “Choose me one of your Elders, and I will tax your innocent damsels, and I will take the bread from the helpless, lame and blind.
5. “And with the scrip which will arise, we will eat, drink, and be merry.”
Then he brought forth the roll of sheepskin, and came unto the ginshops, cellars, and bye places, and said, “Sign your names,” and many made their marks.
6. Now it came to pass, that the time being come when the people choose their elders, that they assembled together at the hustings, nigh unto the Place of Cabbages.[348]
7. And Judas[349] lifted up his prerogativ e phiz, and said “Choose me, choose me.” But the people said, “Satan, avaunt! thou wicked Judas! hast thou not _deceived_ thy best friend? Would’st thou _deceive_ us also? Get thee behind us, thou unclean Spirit!”
8. We will have the man who ever has and will support our cause, and maintain our rights, who stands forth to us, and who will never be guided by _Secret Influence_!
9. And the people shouted, and cried with an exceeding loud voice, saying “Fox is the man!”
10. Then they caused the trumpets to be sounded, as at the feast of the full moon, and sang, “Long live Fox, may our champion live for ever! Amen!”
――――
_In Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine_ for October, 1817, there appeared an article entitled “Translation of an ancient Chaldee Manuscript,” it commenced on page 89, and ended at the foot of page 96. It was written in Biblical phraseology and was divided into four chapters, each of which was subdivided into verses. The parody was made on a certain chapter of Ezekiel, and was introduced by a preface, stating that it was a translation of a Chaldee manuscript preserved in a great library at Paris.
Professor Ferrier, in a Notice appended to Christopher North’s _Nodes Ambrosianae_, says “this trenchant satire on men and things in the metropolis of Scotland, excited the most indescribable commotion at the time――so much noise, indeed, that never since has it been permitted to make any noise whatever, having been pitilessly suppressed in consequence of threatened legal proceedings.” But some prosecutions were nevertheless commenced, and one was referred to the private decision of a Scotch judge, who, it is said, convicted the Publisher, and fined him two hundred and thirty pounds, for a foul and indecent libel.
The November number, 1817, of _Blackwood’s Magazine_ contained the following:――
_Note from the Editor._
“The Editor has learned with regret, that an article in the First Edition of last Number, which was intended merely as a _jeu d’esprit_, has been construed so as to give offence to individuals justly entitled to respect and regard; he has on that account withdrawn it in the Second Edition, and can only add, that if what has happened could have been anticipated, the article in question certainly never would have appeared.
With the December Number will be given eight pages, to supply the deficiency occasioned by the omission of the article, _Translation from an Ancient Chaldee Manuscript_.”
It has been recently ascertained that the original conception of this Chaldee M.S. was due to James Hogg, who wrote part of it, the remainder of the production being the work of Christopher North, and Lockhart.
A set of the magazine containing this parody is now rarely to be met with.
Professor Ferrier considers that people of the present day would be greatly amused by what he calls this delicious _jeu d’esprit_. Perhaps a few Scotchmen intimately acquainted with the Edinburgh literature and society of seventy years ago might be, but to the majority of readers the _Chaldee Manuscript_ would appear dull, tedious, and uninteresting, otherwise it would have been inserted in this chapter.
――――
In the works of Father Prout (Rev. Francis Mahony) the following passage occurs with reference to the Comte de Buffon:――“Having predetermined not to leave Moses a leg to stand on, he sweeps away at one stroke of his pen the foundations of Genesis, and reconstructs this terraqueous planet on a new patent principle. I have been at some pains to acquire a comprehensive notion of his system, and aided by an old Jesuit, I have succeeded in condensing the voluminous dissertation into, a few lines, for the use of those who are dissatisfied with the Mosaic statement, particularly the professors at the school in Gower Street:――”
1. In the beginning was the sun, from which a splinter was shot off by chance, and that fragment was our globe.
2. And the globe had for its nucleus melted glass, with an envelope of hot water.
3. And it begun to twirl round, and became somewhat flattened at the poles.
4. Now, when the water grew cool, insects began to appear, and shell-fish.
5. And from the accumulation of shells, particularly oysters (tom. i. 4to. edit. p. 14), the earth was gradually formed, with ridges of mountains, on the principle of the Monte Testacio at the gate of Rome.
6. But the melted glass kept warm for a long time, and the arctic climate was as hot in those days as the tropics now are: witness a frozen rhinoceros found in Siberia, &c. &c. &c.
――――:o:――――
THE BIBLE OF THE FUTURE.
The following specimen of what is to be the Bible of the future is published by an American paper:――
GENESIS.――Chapter 1.
1. Primarily the Unknowable moved upon cosmos, and evolved protoplasm.
2. And protoplasm was inorganic and undifferentiated, containing all things in potential energy; and a spirit of evolution moved upon the fluid mass.
3. And the Unknowable said, Let atoms attract; and their contact begat light, heat, and electricity.
4. And the Unconditioned differentiated the atoms, each after its kind; and their combinations begat rock, air, and water.
5. And there went out a spirit of evolution from the Unconditioned, and working in protoplasm, by accretion and absorption, produced the organic cell.
6. And cell by nutrition evolved primordial germ, and germ developed protogene, and protegene begat eozoon, and eozoon begat monad, and monad begat animalcule.
7. And animalcule begat ephemera; then began creeping things to multiply on the face of the earth.
8. And earthy atom in vegetable protoplasm begat the molecule, and thence came all grass, and every herb in the earth.
9. And animacule in the water evolved fins, tails, claws, and scales; and in the air wings and beaks; and on the land they sprouted such organs as were necessary as played upon by the environment.
10. And by accretion and absorption came the radiata and mollusca; and mollusca begat articulata, and articulata begat vertebrata.
11. Now these are the generations of the higher vertebrata, in the cosmic period that the Unknowable evoluted the bipedal mammalia.
12. And every man of the earth, while he was yet a monkey, and the horse while he was an hipparian, and the hipparian before he was an oredon.
13. Out of the ascidian came the amphibian, and begat the pentadactyle; and the pentadactyle, by inheritance and selection, produced the hylobate, from which are the simiadæ in all their tribes.
14. And out of the simiadæ the lemur prevailed above his fellows, and produced the platyrhine monkey.
15. And the platyrhine begat the catarrhine, and the catarrhine monkey begat the anthropoid ape, and the ape begat the longimanous orang, and the orang begat the chimpanzee, and the chimpanzee evoluted the what-is-it.
16. And the what-is-it went into the land of Nod, and took him a wife of the longimanus gibbons.
17. And in process of the cosmic period were born unto them and their children the anthropomorphic primordial types.
18. The homunculus, the prognathus, the troglodyte, the autochthon, the terragene――these are the generations of primeval man.
19. And primeval man was naked and not ashamed, but lived in quadrumanous innocence, and struggled mightily to harmonise with the environment.
20. And by inheritance and natural selection did he progress from the stable and homogeneous to the complex and heterogeneous――for the weakest died, and the strongest grew and multiplied.
21. And man grew a thumb for that he had need of it, and developed capacities for prey.
22. For, behold, the swiftest men caught the most animals, and the swiftest animals got away from the most men: wherefore the slow animals were eaten and the slow men starved to death.
23. And as types were differentiated the weaker types continually disappeared.
24. And the earth was filled with violence; for man strove with man, and tribe with tribe, whereby they killed off the weak and foolish, and secured the survival of the fittest.
From _The Church Times_, February 1875.
Two other poems on the scientific theory of evolution remain to be quoted, although neither can strictly be termed a parody. The first, written by Charles Neaves (afterwards Lord Neaves) appeared originally in _Blackwood’s Magazine_, it was afterwards reprinted in “_Songs and Verses_, by an old contributor to _Maga_.” Edinburgh. W. Blackwood & Sons.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES.
Have you heard of this question the Doctors among, Whether all living things from a Monad have sprung? This has lately been said, and it now shall be sung, _Which nobody can deny._
Not one or two ages sufficed for the feat, It required a few millions the change to complete, But now the thing’s done, why it looks rather neat, _Which nobody can deny._
The original Monad, our great-great-grandsire, To little or nothing at first did aspire; But at last to have offspring it took a desire, _Which nobody can deny._
This Monad becoming a father or mother, By budding, or bursting produced such another; And shortly there followed a sister or brother, _Which nobody can deny._
Excrescences fast were now trying to shoot; Some put out a finger, some put out a foot, Some set up a mouth, and some sent down a root, _Which nobody can deny._
Some, wishing to walk, manufactured a limb; Some rigged out a fin, with a purpose to swim; Some opened an eye, which remained dark and dim. _Which nobody can deny._
Some creatures grew bulky, while others were small, As nature sent food for the few, or for all; And the weakest, we know, ever go to the wall, _Which nobody can deny._
An Ape with a pliable thumb and big brain, When the gift of the gab he had managed to gain, As a Lord of Creation established his reign, _Which nobody can deny._
* * * * *
The second, by the late Mr. Mortimer Collins, appeared in “_The British Birds_, a communication from the Ghost of Aristophanes.” London, 1872. A work which is now very scarce.
THE POSITIVISTS.
Life and the Universe show spontaneity: Down with ridiculous notions of Deity! Churches and creeds are all lost in the mists, Truth must be sought with the Positivists.
Wise are their teachers beyond all comparison, Comte, Huxley, Tyndall, Mill, Morley, and Harrison: Who will adventure to enter the lists With such a squadron of Positivists.
Social arrangements are awful miscarriages; Cause of all crime is our system of marriages. Poets with sonnets and lovers with trysts Kindle the ire of the Positivists.
Husbands and wives should be all one community, Exquisite freedom with absolute unity. Wedding-rings worse are than manacled wrists―― Such is the creed of the Positivists.
There was an APE in the days that were earlier; Centuries passed, and his hair became curlier; Centuries more gave a thumb to his wrist―― Then he was MAN, and a Positivist.
If you are pious (mild form of insanity), Bow down and worship the mass of Humanity. Other religions are buried in mists―― We’re our own gods, say the Positivists.
――――
AN AMERICAN VIEW OF BICYCLING.
“And in these days the young man of the city is possessed of a demon, and he taketh it upon him to learn to ride the bicycle. And he goeth unto them that teach the instrument; and he sayeth unto them, Lo, now, teach me this thing, at one half a trade shekel the hour. And they make answer and say unto him, Behold now; here is the machine; and here art thou. Get on it, therefore and ride; for all things are possible to him that hath nerve.
And he taggeth after that machine for the next six weeks; yea, even until both his knees are like unto works of decorative art for colourful picturesqueness; and he frescoeth his entire person in black and blue, and he smasheth the machine variously and expensively; and in the fulness of time he learneth to mount and ride, and becometh an alleged proficient in the art.
And then, being puffed up with vanity, and being made mad with an injudicious ambition, he saith unto himself: Lo, now, I will try this thing upon the road. And he getteth permission to pay the hire of a machine, and to take the same up the avenue which is called fifth, to the northward of the hill which is called the Hill of Nobs; because of the exceedingly great number of nobs which dwell thereabouts.
And being mounted, he passeth out of the gates of the city, and journeyeth towards the suburbs, being at times in the saddle, and at other times for variety’s sake (which is, as was spoken by the prophets, as a spice unto life), upon his head.
And it shall come to pass that he meeteth casual maidens, who shall smile upon him, and make glad his heart within him. And, for that man is foolish and mankind is indiscreet, he shall put on the frills of vanity, and ride in the curves of conceit, and take no heed.
And in the end there shall come that way a school of young maidens, who shall say each one unto the other: Behold him upon the bicycle; and behold the young man upon two wheels. Is he not comely; and is he not fair to see among the young men of Israel? And moreover shall it come to pass that the young man shall be tempted of the evil one, and shall undertake to turn on the outer edge, and to put his legs over the handle, and shall generally be so previous and preliminary that presently the young students of Bellevue Hospital shall cobble him after their own will and fashion.
And when he shall have recovered as much as he ever shall, that young man will give his bycycle unto his bitterest enemy, whom he hateth with a hate unspeakable, saying: Let this be for a peace-offering from me to thee; and let there be no more strife between us.
For is there not peace in the grave; and shall war be waged against them that are utterly smashed up.”
_Puck._ United States. 1880.
――――
A PUBLICAN’S CARD.
The _Church of England Temperance Chronicle_ says:――A card has reached us, bearing on one side the inscription――
HARRY HILL, Market Hall Vaults, Shambles, Worcester.
On the reverse the following parody is printed:――
HARRY HILL’S Instructions to his Disciples.
1. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for in my house they shall be gladdened with the best of spirits.
2. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted in my house.
3. Blessed are the meek, for my beer and liquor shall embolden them.
4. Blessed are the weak and weary, for my drink shall strengthen them.
5. Blessed are the mirthful and gay, for theirs is the kingdom of Harry Hill’s.
6. Dost thou hunger? In my house shall thy belly be made glad.
7. Dost thou thirst? Enter into my vineyard.
8. I am the son of my father, and mine are the juices that shall restore them.
9. Thou shalt not steal, for my shekels are my own.
10. Thou shalt honour me, for I am the Father of the Feast.
11. Thou shalt not be rude to my pretty girls, for Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
12. Thou shalt not kiss them, if they say thee nay, for, red lips, like red roses, are sweetest on the bush.
13. Thou shalt not embrace them against their will, for caresses, like good wine, should not go to _waist_.
14. Thou shalt not bellow in my house like the bull of Bashan, but rather whisper like the sucking dove.
15. Thou shalt not damage my household goods, for it shall cost thee dear.
16. If thou art good, from my bar thou shalt not be debarred.
17. Thou shalt not attempt to pass counterfeit coin upon me, for then will the owner of my counter “fit” thee.
18. My good cheer will not settle on thy stomach if thou dost not settle with me.
――――
A PARODY BY MR. RUSKIN ON USURY.
The author of a book entitled “Usury and the English Bishops” (by R. G. Sillar, with an introduction by Professor Ruskin. A. Southey, 146, Fenchurch-street, London), dedicates it, “without permission,” to the Bishops of Manchester, Peterborough, and Rochester. Mr. Ruskin, in an introduction, endorses in the following language the opinions expressed:――
I rejoice to see my old friend Mr. Sillar gathering finally together the evidence he has so industriously collected on the guilt of Usury, and supporting it by the always impressive language of symbolical art; for indeed I had myself no idea, till I read the connected statement which these pictures illustrate, how steadily the system of money-lending had gained on the nation, and how fatally every hand and foot was now entangled by it.
“I place,” says Mr. Ruskin, “side by side the ancient and modern versions of the seven verses of the New Testament which were the beginning, and are indeed the heads, of all the teachings of Christ:――”
ANCIENT. MODERN.
Blessed are the poor in Blessed are the rich in spirit, for theirs is the flesh, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven. kingdom of earth.
Blessed are they that Blessed are they that are mourn, for they shall be merry and laugh the last. comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for Blessed are the proud, in they shall inherit the earth. that they _have_ inherited the earth.
Blessed are they which do Blessed are they which hunger for righteousness, for hunger for unrighteousness, they shall be filled. in that they shall divide its mammon.
Blessed are the merciful, Blessed are the merciless, for they shall obtain mercy. for they shall obtain money.
Blessed are the poor in Blessed are the foul in heart, for they shall see God. heart, for they shall see no God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, Blessed are the war makers, for they shall be for they shall be adored by called the children of God. the children of men.
The _Pall Mall Gazette_. March, 1885.
――――
The three following examples of Scripture knowledge are said to have been written by Metropolitan School Board pupils in answer to questions put to them by Government Inspectors. “Who was Moses?――He was an Egypsian. He lived in a hark maid of bullrushers, and he kept a golden carf and worshipt braizen snakes and het nothin but qwhales and manner for forty years. He was kort up by the air of his ed while ridin under a bow of a tree and lie was killed by his son Abslon as he was hanging from the bow. His end was peace.”
“What do you know of the patriarch Abraham?――He was the father of Lot and had tew wifes. Wun was called Hismale and tother Haygur. He kep wun at home and he hurried the tother into the dessert where she became a pillow of salt in the daytime and a pillow of fire at nite.”
“Write an account of the good Samaritan.――A certing man went down from jerslam to jerriker and he feld among thawns and the thawns spranged up and choaked him; wareupon he gave tuppins to the hoast and said take care on him and put him on his hone hass. And he passt bye on the hother side.”
――――
In addition to the parodies already quoted, Hone, in his defence, also mentioned the following:――
_A Genuine Collection_ of the several Pieces of Political Intelligence Extraordinary, Epigrams, &c., that have appeared before the Public in Detached Pieces, now carefully selected together in one View by _An Impartial Hand_. Printed for Thomas Butcher, Newgate Street, London, 1766. This curious and very scarce collection contains several parodies, amongst them _A Political Litany_, of no great merit, and _The Political Creed for 1766_, which was given on p. 299.
_Book of the Wars of Westminster_, from the fall of the Fox at the close of 1783 to 1784, on which William the Conqueror celebrated the Third Grand Lent Festival at the London. An Oriental Prophecy. _Printed for Ishmael the son of Elishama._ 1783.
_The Chronicle of the Kingdom of the Cassiterides_, under the reign of the House of Lunen. A Fragment translated from an Ancient Manuscript. London: G. Wilkie, 1783.
This describes the tremendous siege of Gibraltar by the French and Spaniards, and the political questions of the day, in Scriptural phraseology.
_The Oriental Chronicles of the Times_: being the Translation of a Chinese manuscript; with Notes supposed to have been originally written in the spirit of Prophecy, by _Confucius_ the Sage. Dedicated to her Grace the Duchess of Devonshire. London. J. Debrett, Piccadilly.
This describes, in Biblical language, the triumph of Charles James Fox, in the great contested Election at Westminster in 1784.
_The Plague of Westminster_, or an order for the visitation of a sick Parliament, 1647――Harleian Miscellany.
_Père la Chaise_, Parody of the Catechism.
_Fair Circassian_, by the Rev. Mr. Croxal, a parody of the Canticles.
_British Freeholder’s Political Creed._
_Humorous Magazine._ Te Deum.
_The Oracle in 1807._ The Lord’s prayer parodied.
_Recruiting Bill._ “Royal Volunteers, now is the time to obtain honour and glory. Wanted, immediately to serve Jehovah, who will reward them according to their zeal and ability, a vast number of people of all descriptions, who will on joining the Commanding Officer, receive new clothes, proper accoutrements, and everything necessary for their appearance at the New Jerusalem.”
――――
In _The Spirit of the Public Journals for 1809_ (Vol. XIII., London, J. Ridgway), there is a scriptural imitation, styled _A Tale of other Times_. This originally appeared in the “Morning Post.” It was an endeavour to apologise for the conduct of the Duke of York, who had been compelled, by public opinion, to resign the office of Commander-in-Chief, owing to the exposure of a wholesale traffic in army commissions, carried on by his mistress, Mrs. Clarke. The parody represents the Duke as more of a fool than a knave; it has, however, never yet been settled whether folly or knavery preponderated in his disposition. These qualities appear to have been pretty equally balanced, and this parody does not decide the question.
In Vol. 16 of the same collection, for 1812, there is an imitation, called _Book of Chronicles_, it is political, and devoted to the abuse of Charles James Fox, and his adherents.
_The Seven Chapters of the First Book of Things_; being a Concise and Impartial account of the Birmingham Riots. By Levi Ben Mordecai. This imitation of biblical phraseology occurs in a little work entitled “_Poems_, by the late Mr. Stephen Chatterton, of Willenhall.” London, printed for the Author’s Widow. 1795.
It relates entirely to the politics of the day, and commences with a description of the capture of the Bastille, in Paris.
_The First Book of Napoleon_, the Tyrant of the Earth, written in 5813 A.M., and 1809 A.D., by Eliakim the Scribe. 1809.
_The Morning Herald_ (London), May 4, 1812, contained a scriptural parody ridiculing Lord Grenville.
_Chronicles of Coxheath Camp._ A satire on General Keppel, who commanded at Coxheath. By Francis Grose F.R.S. This is in scriptural form, and appeared in _The Olio_, 1792. It was referred to by William Hone, in his trials, but is not worth reprinting.
_The Chronicles of Westminster._ This scriptural imitation will be found in the well-known quarto collection, _The History of the Westminster Election_.
_The Court of Session Garland._ Edited by James Maidment Esq. London, Hamilton, Adams & Co., 1888. This curious collection of Ballads, Parodies and Epigrams, mostly written by members of the Scottish legal profession, contains several pieces written in scriptural style. The longest, entitled, _The Book of the Chronicles of the City_, relates to a contested election in Edinburgh; another is _A Chapter from the Book of Kings_, which was found in Mr. Hume’s Collection. Another called _Book of Proclamations_ was written in 1837.
These imitations are long, and of little present interest, except perhaps to a few old residents of Edinburgh.
_The Book of Benjamin._ Appointed to be read by the Electors of England. London, Charles Watts, 1879. This consists of ten chapters, describing in biblical language, the acts of Benjamin D’Israeli, from a Liberal standpoint.
_The Second Book of Benjamin._ A record of things past, present, and to come. London, Charles Watts, 1879. A continuation of the above.
_The Fall of Benjamin._ By Alfred Capel Shaw, author of the two foregoing pamphlets. London, Watts and Co., 1880. This is the last of the trio, and concludes thus:――
“And all the land knew that Benjamin had fallen, and that he was driven forth into the wilderness. And, behold, Gladstone the Liberal ruled in his stead.”
_The New Gospel of Peace according to St. Benjamin._――New York, Sinclair Tousey. In two books. No date, but _since_ 1863. This is a most remarkable account of the Great American Civil War, in scriptural language, the names of persons and places being ingeniously spelt so as to give them a Biblical appearance. It is arranged in chapters and verses.
_The Awful and Ethical Allegory of Deuteronomy Smith_; or, the Life-history of a Medical Student. Anonymous. Edinburgh, George Dryden, 1882. This describes, in biblical style, the adventures of a rather racketty young medical student in Edinburgh.
_The Secularists’ Manual of Songs and Ceremonies_, Edited by Austin Holyoake. London, Austin & Co. About 1871. This contains a series of services for Freethinkers, suitable for Weddings, Christenings (or naming children) and for Funerals.
_The New Book of Kings_, by J. Morrison Davidson. Manchester. John Heywood. This is not written, as its name would suggest, in imitation of the Scriptures. It is an exceedingly outspoken history of the inner life and misdeeds of the Kings and Queens of England.
_The Freethinker_, edited by G. W. Foote, and published weekly at Stonecutter Street, London, contains many imitations of Biblical and Liturgical matters, which are too profane to be quoted, such as the following,
_Comic Bible Sketches_, reprinted from “The Freethinker,” edited by G. W. Foote. London: Progressive Publishing Company, 28, Stonecutter Street, 1885.
_Jonah’s Excursion to Nineveh._ By G. W. Foote, with illustrations by Paul Bellevue. London: Progressive Publishing Company, 28, Stonecutter Street. 1885. Price Twopence.
_La Bible Amusante_ pour les Grands et les Petits Enfants. Texte par Léo Taxil, Dessins par Frid’rick. Paris. Librairie Anti-Cléricale, Rue des Ecoles. This was published in weekly parts, at 50 centimes each. The illustrations were very humorous, but exceedingly profane.
――――:o:――――
Jocularity in the pulpit has been often reproved as unseemly, yet it is still largely indulged in by a certain class of ministers. _Punch in the Pulpit_, by Philip Cater (London: W. Freeman, 1863), gives some amusing examples of this curious kind of devotion.
On p. 108 a burlesque sermon founded on the Nursery Rhyme of _Old Mother Hubbard_ was given, a similar production is sold by a printer named Tresize, in Beech Street, Barbican. It is styled _A Yankee Sermon_, and is founded on the text “For they shall knaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth, and the wang-foodle mourneth for his first born.”
During his trials, Mr. Hone made several references to the following song, as showing that reverend and serious writers could jest about religious topics, without any intention to be profane. It was taken from the Reverend Mark Noble’s continuation of the Rev. Mr. Granger’s _Biographical History of England_, and showed that it was never apprehended by the most pious men, that a casual association of ludicrous images with matters of the Christian religion tended to weaken the respect due to that faith. Mr. Noble, in his work, quoted this song respecting Dr. Burnett, the author of _The Theory of the Earth_, and Master of the Charter-House:――
A Dean and prebendary Had once a new vagary; And were at doleful strife, sir, Who led the better life, sir, And was the better man, And was the better man.
The dean he said, that truly, Since Bluff was so unruly, He’d prove it to his face, sir, That he had the most grace, sir; And so the fight began, And so the fight began.
When Preb. replied like thunder, And roars out, ’twas no wonder, Since gods the dean had three, sir, And more by two than he, sir, For he had got but one, For he had got but one.
Now while these two were raging, And in dispute engaging, The Master of the CHARTER, Said both had caught a tartar; For gods, sir, there were none, For gods, sir, there were none.
That all the books of Moses Were nothing but supposes; That he deserv’d rebuke, sir, Who wrote the Pentateuch, sir; ’Twas nothing but a sham, ’Twas nothing but a sham.
That as for father Adam, With Mrs. Eve, his madam, And what the serpent spoke, sir, ’Twas nothing but a joke, sir, And well-invented flam, And well-invented flam.
Thus, in this battle royal, As none would take denial, The dame for whom they strove, sir, Could neither of them love, sir, Since all had given offence, Since all had given offence.
She therefore, slily waiting, Left all three fools a-prating; And being in a fright, sir, Religion took her flight, sir, And ne’er was heard of since, And ne’er was heard of since.
――――:o:――――
FRAGMENTS OF HYMNS.
_Divine Songs of the Muggletonians_, in Grateful Praise to the only True God, the Lord Jesus Christ, 1829.
This is a most extraordinary collection of balderdash to call Divine Songs; sung to such tunes as God save the Queen, Hearts of Oak, De’el take the Wars, etc. The following is from Hymn No. 127, sung to the tune of
“Ye Gentlemen of England”
“You faithful Muggletonians who truly do believe The Doctrine of Muggleton to be the same as Reeve; Let no wise anti-followers infuse into your ear, That a Prayer, Christ does hear, from us mortals here below.”
_A Drug in the Market_; being some of the Songs of Zion that are not Wanted, written by _Jacobus_.
THE SALVATION NAVY.
The Salvation Army was sure not to exist long without an imitator, and we are, therefore, not surprised to hear of a Salvation Navy, under the direction of a person calling himself Admiral Tug. Admiral Tug has learnt the trick from General Booth of treating the most sacred things with blasphemous familiarity, and he has summoned his supporters with the following imitation of the _Arethusa_ sea-song:――
“ON BOARD OF THE ’ALLELUJAH!”
Come all you sinners, young and old, With ’earts once cast in ’Eaven’s mould, And join our Ker-istian Navy bold―― On board of the ’Allelujah! We’re bound to floor the forts of Sin, And the Devil himself will soon cave in, Then join the side that is sure to win―― On board of the ’Allelujah!
_Punch_, August 26, 1882.
A STRANGE PARAPHRASE.
The following lines were found written in the clerk’s book, at a church in Birmingham, some sixty years ago. The said clerk every Sunday afternoon gave out the same hymn:――
Come let us join our cheerful songs, As we have often done; Though we’ve variety of choice, Our song is always one.
Worthy the clerk, the people cry, Who our devotion leads; Worthy the people, he’ll reply, Who thus approve my deeds.
Let those who in the gallery sit, And placed above the rest, Join with their brethren in the pit, And vie in singing best.
The congregation join in one, To think the clerk to blame, That every Sunday afternoon, We’re bound to sing the same.
THE BRITISH LION’S PREY.
In the hymn sung at the christening of Baby Battenberg was the following stanza:――
Never from thy pastures roving, Let him be the lion’s prey; Let Thy tenderness so loving, Keep him all life’s dangerous way.
On returning from the chapel her Majesty, with the Royal Family, received the ladies and gentlemen in the Green Drawing Room, where refreshments were served, and her Majesty gave the health of Prince Leopold of Battenberg.――_Court Circular._
Well, yes; we hope young Leopold May still keep well and skittish; But is that beast of prey tabooed, The lion that’s called British?
’Tis nice for Baby Battenberg To learn these songs of Zion; Still, what would Papa B. have done Without the British Lion?
The eagle is a noble bird That spreads its wings out yonder; But doesn’t find it “dangerous,” In lions’ dens to wander.
So, drinking Queen Victoria’s Toast, We’ve still our chance between a Good golden-plated Scottish Fife And a German concertina!
August, 1889.
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.
God bless our gracious Queen! Since we have got a Queen; God save our Queen! Her form we seldom see, But, loyal subjects, we Take things so easily, And bless our Queen.
Oft at her southern seat, Or else her Scotch retreat, She hides away; She never comes to town; She lives on past renown; _Minds_, never wears, the crown, But draws her pay.
Soon may we hope to see Her Gracious Majesty, No absent Queen; Then shall we have good cause To open wide our jaws, And sing with hearty voice, God save our Queen!
W. H. EDMUNDS.
_The Weekly Dispatch._ July 10, 1881.
The following has been suggested as an additional stanza to the National Anthem:――
Grandchildren not a few, With great-grandchildren, too, She blest has been. We’ve been their sureties, Paid them gratuities, Pensions, annuities. God save the Queen!
[Illustration]
Of purely Political parodies the number is so great, that any attempt at printing a complete collection is out of the question. At the most, mention can only be made, and brief extracts given from a few of the best examples. The King’s (or Queen’s) speeches to Parliament, on the opening and closing days, have been the subject of parodies for very many years.
One of the earliest, and certainly the most famous of these was an anonymous pamphlet published in 1778, entitled “_Anticipation_: Containing the substance of His Majesty’s Most Gracious Speech to both Houses of Parliament on the Opening of the approaching Session, together with a full and authentic account of the Debate which _will_ take place in the House of Commons, on the motion for the _Address_, and the _Amendment_, with Notes.” (First published three Days before the Opening of the Session.) London: T. Beckett, 1778.
The address and the Debate occupy 74 pages octavo, and were no doubt highly entertaining at the time, as the characteristics and oddities of the various speakers who were satirised were then familiar, but have long since been forgotten.
The principal topic in the debate was the unfavourable issue of the War with the United States of America.
This clever pamphlet (which ran through several editions) was written by Richard Tickell, who died in 1793.
Coming to more modern times _Figaro in London_, a satirical paper which flourished in the “thirties,” had numerous parodies of Parliamentary Speeches, making fun of William IV, his wife, and his Ministers. These were generally illustrated by Seymour, who delighted to represent William as a silly old man, with a silly old face, and his wife as a scraggy virago, keeping the King very much under control.
THE KING’S SPEECH.
The annual period of humbug is at length come round again, and the time has arrived for the King to put his name to the rubbish which is drawn up for him by his Ministers.
Of course, we are, so far as any public sources of information are concerned, wholly ignorant of the subject of this precious bit of ministerial eloquence that is to close the first Session of our first Reformed Parliament, but our private channels are so numerous, that it is impossible for the Government to prevent the secrets of the Cabinet from coming into the cognizance of _Figaro_.
The following is a slight sketch of the document alluded to:――
_My Lords and Gentlemen_,
“I have to thank you for the very able manner in which you have contrived to humbug my people for the last seven months. I hope you will act in the same consistent manner next Session, for the dignity of your Lordship’s house, the protection of the Constitution, and the welfare of Great Britain.
_Gentlemen of the House of Commons_,
You have my most sincere thanks for the singular tact with which you have contrived to debate every night till a late hour, and have yet managed to do nothing at all but pass the Coercive Bill for Ireland.
By a continuance in the same course, you will, I am sure, contribute to the stability of my Ministry, and to filling the Parliamentary columns of the newspapers.
I cannot help expressing my admiration of the wonderful talent you have displayed in sitting under the name of a Reformed Parliament, and yet acting precisely in the same spirit as all preceding ones.
_My Lords and Gentlemen of the House of Commons._
I am very happy to say, that my foreign relations are all as eager as ever to keep up the profession without the practice of liberality; and that Pedro is likely to be as great a scoundrel as his brother Miguel.
I hope, my Lords and Gentlemen, that when you meet next session, you will be as talkative as you have been during that which has just come to a close; and, that you will not think of business till my faithful ministers have a plea for saying it is too late to do any.
As for the supplies, I thank you for them, from the bottom of my heart, for I accept them as a strong mark of your attachment and loyalty.
My good people call for retrenchment, and I trust you will give your attention to the underlings of all offices, as you have done before, for a person who has little is better qualified to do without anything, than one who has been accustomed to a superfluity.
I am convinced your sense of honour will teach you to respect the great receivers of the public pay, while the little ones, being more numerous, will afford a wider display for and more room for the practise of your retrenching abilities.”
_Figaro in London._ August 31, 1833.
――――
THE QUEEN’S SPEECH.
Mr. Disraeli’s valet having abstracted from his master’s pocket a rough copy of the Royal Speech, transmitted it to us, we hasten to present the document to our readers.
MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN――
“The session now terminated, although not productive of any very striking measures, save that of creating me an Empress, has, nevertheless, proved highly advantageous to the country. My Government has been much occupied with undoing those acts of their predecessors which were considered as essentially beneficial to my subjects. I trust that these efforts will tend, under Providence, to the maintenance of the Tories in office, and to my own and my children’s benefit.
We must all deeply regret that civil war has broken out in the empire of my old and attached ally, the Turk. It appears he has been compelled to bayonet a number of babies, violate numerous maidens, and outrage a multitude of married women. But as my Prime Minister assures me these are the ordinary occurrences of civil warfare, we need trouble ourselves no further on the subject.
My trusty cousin the Duke of Cambridge having, through instituting the late military manœuvres for the mobilization of my army, revealed to the nation his own utter imbecility and that of the department over which he presides, I have thought fit to recognise such distinguished services by bestowing on him the colonelcy of the 17th Lancers, worth £1,300 per annum.
As the march of my third son, the Duke of Connaught, from Liverpool to Edinburgh, is universally recognised as one of the greatest military achievements of the age, and surrounded with danger, the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury will prepare a special form of thanksgiving to Providence for the happy issue of this stupendous exploit.
The navy is conspicuous, as heretofore, for its thorough efficiency. My relative, the Prince of Leiningen, has not yet had an opportunity of distinguishing himself on the Solent, but, doubtless, before the season closes, he will again display that nautical skill for which he has rendered himself so famous. My second son Alfred, has been appointed to the Sultan, which ship has hitherto been quietly at anchor in Besika Bay. Should the opportunity present itself, I feel assured that he will duly qualify himself for the post of Lord High Admiral by running the Sultan ashore,[350] sinking a consort, or some equally meritorious service. My First Lord of the Admiralty has, however, fully maintained the great credit he obtained for his management of the navy, through the destruction of the Vanguard and the Mistletoe, by the recent explosion on board the Thunderer, and the slaughter of forty men; thus, at one and the same time, giving an impetus to the engineering and undertaking trades, and proving, beyond question, the perfect ability of my navy――to destroy itself.
The financial condition of the country is, I rejoice to state, in most respects satisfactory. You have managed to increase the national income by imposing two millions of taxation on my subjects, doubtless a very proper proceeding; but, at the same time, I must remind you that mine has not been increased. I am, moreover, gratified in being able to announce that owing to Sir Bartle Frere’s economical management of the grant allowed to my eldest son for the purposes of his religious mission to India, a threepenny-piece out of the sum will be returned to the Treasury. Many distinguished foreigners have come to England of late, and after having been entertained at their own expense, and visited the Mausoleum, doubtless left the country duly impressed with the magnificent hospitality of its Court.
My lords and gentlemen, in dismissing you to the pleasures of grouse shooting, after a laborious session, which, in the course of five months has managed to undo much of the good that it took years to effect, I trust that Providence will further your future efforts in the same praiseworthy direction.”
From _Reynolds’ Newspaper_. August, 1876.
――――
In 1884, _Truth_ offered a prize for the nearest forecast of the speech to be delivered on the opening of Parliament, and many replies were published, amongst which the following was, perhaps, the most amusing, although not written in accordance with the regulations of the competition:――
[Enter Councillors, thirsting for information as to the future programme of the Powers-that-be.]
_My Lords, and Gentlemen of the House of Commons_,
I have purposely summoned you late Till I’d settled some matters of weight, Now, I’ve called you together To talk of the weather And other great matters of State.
I’m pacific, as all must confess, On the blessings of peace I lay stress, I’m on friendly relations With all other nations, (_Sotto voce_) What matters a war more or less?
_Gentlemen of the House of Commons_,
There’re a few “little Bills” to be met―― Their nature just now I forget―― On the eve of Vacation They’ll make a sensation, You’ll hardly hear much of them yet.
_My Lords and Gentlemen of the House of Commons_,
Notwithstanding “hard times” I am told “Penny buns” still for pennies are sold. Thus food is abundant, And copper’s redundant, And “coppers,” if saved, become gold.
I feel a remark should be made On the singular absence of shade, For the “glass” at “set fine” Is an excellent sign Of a rapid revival in trade.
Your labours are heavy and pressing, I trust you won’t find them distressing, Avoid long debates, Pass what William dictates, And accept, please――per proxy――my blessing.
[Exeunt Councillors of the Lower House, grateful for the information thus generously bestowed.]
WEAR-GIFFORD.
_Truth_, February 7, 1884.
Several parodies of King’s and Queen’s speeches will also be found in _The Court of Session Garland_. London: Hamilton, Adams & Co., 1888. These relate principally to Scotch affairs.
――――
A QUEEN’S SPEECH FROM THE PALACE OF TRUTH.
_My Lords and Gentlemen_:――
I’m glad, in meeting you to-day, To tell you things are going on in much the usual way, Thanks to my Ministers’ old plan of toadying Powers they fear, And sitting humbly down beneath snubs open and severe; Thanks, also, to the patent fact that ’tis Prince Bismarck’s will This country with all neighbouring lands at peace continues still; Though ’tis but right this further fact I should to you confide, We may be any day at war, should Bismarck so decide.
In Burma, since I met you last, more natives have been slain, And rebel tribes, four times subdued, have been subdued again; In India, ’spite the silly things by my advisers done, A Chinese War, most strange to say, has _not_ yet been begun; Nor have the many efforts made the Llamas to excite Availed to make the Thibetans once more my soldiers fight; Whilst recent news from Suakin enable me to say That Osman Digna will not need re-killing till next May.
As to the various Colonies which form our Empire great, They still remain beneath my sway, most curious to relate; For though my Ministers with much post-prandial declamation Are very prone to talk about “Imperial Federation,” They have not lost a chance of late to snub, insult, and slight Those Colonies which they declare they’re anxious to unite. So far, however, I repeat, their efforts have proved vain,―― An undivided Empire still is that o’er which I reign. Even in Ireland, tyranny too terrible to tell Has failed to goad my subjects ’gainst their tyrants to rebel; And, though their trusted leaders have been sent by scores to prison, Such is their loyalty and sense, the Irish have not risen.
_Gentlemen of the Commons_:――
You, without surprise, will note That certain Estimates you will be duly asked to vote. From saying, though, that they’ve been framed with a sincere regard For thrift and for economy, I am, perforce, debarred; For it is certain they’ve been framed upon a lavish scale, That Tory candidates may still at Dockyard towns prevail; That Ministers may, in effect, still foster with a bribe Their infamous alliance with St. Jingo’s yelling tribe; And that, in short, they may thereby their spell of power prolong, And with Corruption’s aid eke out their wretched reign of wrong.
_My Lords and Gentlemen_:――
You may be called on to debate Many important Bills of which the names I cannot state; Since, owing to the absence of Lord Hartington from town, It would, of course, be premature to put their titles down. They must, of course, though, just to help the Marquis play his part, _Pretend_ that they the people’s good have very much at heart, And so they _may_, with his assent, prepare a Bill or two, Which they, however, will take care that neither House pass through.
Go then, My Lords and Gentlemen, go, and remember, pray, That the chief end and aim why you are summoned here to-day Is that you may vote fresh “Supplies,” by which, if well expended, My Ministers’ sweet spell of power may further be extended, And thus put off, for one more year, that reckoning with the nation, Which Tories and D.L.’s await with such grim trepidation.
_Truth._ February 21, 1889.
――――
An answer to the Proclamation calling out the Reserve Forces was
PUNCH’S PROCLAMATION.
PUNCHIUS, R.
Whereas, by the Reserve (Moral) Force Acts of no particular date, but of general recognition and universal application, it is, amongst other things, provided that, in case of imminent national danger and emergency, the Reserve Forces of Prudence, Patience, Patriotism, Justice, Magnanimity, Wise Forethought, and Rational Self-Restraint, ordinarily latent in the breasts of the sober, sagacious, and, for the most part, silent portion of the community, may authoritatively be called out on active public service.
And whereas the present state of public affairs and public opinion, and the necessity in connection therewith of taking steps for the maintenance of peace, and for the protection of real interests, honour, and fair fame of the Empire, and, especially, of checking the insurgent forces of Pride, Passion, Prejudice, and spurious (if well-intended) Patriotism, now and for some time past deplorably and mischievously rampant, in our opinion, constitute a case of great emergency within the meaning of the said Acts:
Now, therefore, We do, in pursuance of the said Acts and of our earnest endeavour for the furtherance of the Public Weal, hereby direct that forthwith all classes of the Reserve Forces above specified be called out on permanent service, and shall henceforth proceed to and attend in their places (in Parliament or otherwise), and at such time or times as may be needful, to serve as part of Our Army of Moral Militancy until their services are no longer required.
Given at our Court in Fleet-street this tenth day of April, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-eight, and the thirty seventh of our reign.
Vivat Punchius!
_Punch_, April 1878.
――――
“ADS.” OF THE FUTURE.
[Illustration: T]O BE LET for Public Meetings, Regimental Dinners, Balls, Fancy Fairs, and other purposes for which a large and handsome room is desirable, all that eligible and highly decorated Apartment commonly known as the “Gilded Chamber,” with a quantity of carved Benches, covered with scarlet morocco leather, which could easily be adapted for use as rout seats. Also a commodious Anteroom, suitable for a cloak-room or refreshment buffet, hitherto used as “The Peers’ Robing Room.” For terms, apply to Lord Redesdale, on the premises.
[Illustration: T]O SPEAKERS OF LOCAL PARLIAMENTS, COLLECTORS OF HISTORICAL RELICS, ANTIQUARIANS, &c.――To be Sold by Private Contract, “The Woolsack,” occupied up to the date of the Disestablishment of the House of Lords by the Lord Chancellor. This interesting Constitutional object is in excellent repair, and will be sold with a warranty of its genuineness. It is stuffed with the finest white wool, and covered with crimson repp of the best quality, and being positively unique, is well worthy the attention of purchasers.
[Illustration: M]R. and MRS. SOLOMON HARTT having been favoured with the patronage of a large number of the most distinguished members of the late House of Lords, beg to inform the public that they have on hand for immediate disposal a large assortment of A1 State Robes, trimmed with ermine, including many quite equal to new. Also a large selection of silver-gilt, electro-plate, and nickel silver Coronets, ducal, early, baronial, &c., &c. Mr. and Mrs. S. H. invite special attention to this unprecedented opportunity for obtaining the above articles at the most moderate figures. Robes altered to fit intending purchasers, without extra charge. N.B.――Several of the Coronets have never been worn in public. An early inspection is solicited, as Mr. and Mrs. S. H. have received an order from the King of Bungoo-Wungoo for a set of uniforms for his newly-formed body-guard.
[Illustration: M]ESSRS. KNOCKIT and SELLEM beg to announce that their next Tuesday’s Sale will include two Swords of State, seven State Cocked Hats, four ditto Crimson Robes, one Silver Mace, one Black Rod (tipped with silver), one carved Oak Throne, twenty-seven Suits of Official Livery, various, and numerous other miscellaneous articles, formerly the property of the House of Lords, which have been consigned for Unreserved Sale. Catalogues on application.
_Funny Folks_, August 2, 1884.
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Lord Carnarvon had an interview with Mr. Parnell in Dublin, when they discussed the question of Home Rule for Ireland. The Conservative press denied that the interview had any serious political meaning, or that Lord Carnarvon had any authority to treat with Mr. Parnell, for his parliamentary support.
LIMITED LIABILITY.
A DIALOGUE.
SCENE.――Library in Lord Carnarvon’s house. Lord Carnarvon and Mr. Parnell “discovered.”
Lord C――――: Delighted to see you Mr. Parnell. Lucky chance your happening to call on me! Quite an accident, of course?
Mr. P――――, coldly: Lucky chance my having heard from your friend that your lordship wished to see me. Quite an accident, of course.
Lord C――――, gloomily: Quite, quite; (brightening up) Mr. P――――, we meet of course only to exchange the most casual and superficial ideas――merely as private gentlemen, and not representing anybody or anything?
Mr. P――――: Quite so. Exactly.
Lord C――――: But there is one thing that I may say officially and with authority. In my capacity as Viceroy of Ireland, and speaking with the sanction of the whole Cabinet on this particular subject, a subject on which I may say we are absolutely unanimous, I have to state that I do think the weather so far is disappointing and disagreeable.
Mr. P――――, solemnly: Lord C――――, I have no hesitation in saying, not only on my own behalf, but on that of the whole Irish Parliamentary party, and of the Irish people as well, that we, too, find the weather disappointing and disagreeable.
Lord C――――: That’s all right. But now, Mr. P――――, coming to unimportant matters, and speaking together as men absolutely free from any manner of responsibility, and, indeed, having no particular motive of any kind but that of whiling away a few minutes in pleasant gossip, do you think it would be a good thing if we――the Conservatives――were to introduce a Home Rule measure for Ireland?
Mr. P――――: Lord C――――, I am now speaking entirely as a private, and I may say an isolated individual, having no knowledge of the views of any of my colleagues, and, indeed, assuming that they would be rather opposed to me than not in most things, and thus free from all responsibility, I venture to say that I, for myself, should not be displeased if you were to introduce a Home Rule measure for Ireland.
Lord C――――: Thanks; then again I should like to ask you, merely to gratify the idlest personal curiosity, and not having consulted or intending ever to consult any human being on the subject, whether you think that if I were to promise――just for the fun of the thing you know――to get such a measure introduced, you could promise――also of course for the mere fun of the thing――to give us your support at the coming elections?
Mr. P――――: Well, of course, regarding the whole thing as a mere light-hearted piece of pleasantry, between two men notorious for their vivacity and levity, and neither of whom could be supposed to have any serious purpose of any kind, I may say perhaps that in such a case I could promise, just for the fun of the thing――as you happily put it――I could promise you some support at the coming elections.
Lord C――――: Thanks very much. Now coming to serious subjects.――May I ask you Mr. P―――― whether you, speaking officially as leader of the Irish people, are prepared to agree in an opinion which I have the authority of the whole Cabinet for expressing, that the present season in London is likely to be short and unsatisfactory?
Mr. P――――: On such a question as this I speak with a profound sense of responsibility; but I have no hesitation in saying, as leader of the Irish Parliamentary party, on behalf of that party and of the whole people of Ireland, and likewise on behalf of the Irish Populations of America, Australia, Brazil, and Patagonia, that Ireland’s conviction is that the present season in London will be short and unsatisfactory.
They shake hands solemnly and part.
_The Daily News_, June 19, 1888.
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POLITICAL MANIFESTOES.
_Mr. Chamberlain’s Address._
Gentlemen.――The new Parliament is about to be dissolved under circumstances unparalleled in the history of this country. I am alive, and not one of the bosses of the show. At the 1885 election, Mr. Gladstone, extending his usual method, indicated four subjects of primary importance. Need I add that one of these, _the_ one, was myself? Under these circumstances, it does not appear to have entered into the mind of any Liberal candidate that within a few weeks he would be invited to consider a vast revolution in the relations between me and the G. O. M.
The 1885 election was fought on the programme formulated by Mr. Gladstone, subject to my approval, and on collateral issues of purely domestic interest. Now, as I am only capable of understanding domestic and vestry matters, it will be readily understood that I disapprove of any dealing with large and statesmanlike questions beyond my comprehension. What the Liberal party in last November solemnly and seriously declared to be unsafe, the Prime Minister, egged on I do not doubt by that accursed Morley, has now deliberately undertaken. The authority of the Prime Minister has been sufficient to work this startling transformation, and mine, alas! insufficient to prevent it. The Irish Government Bill (_i.e._, Mr. Gladstone) would repeal the act of union between me and the G.O.M. It would also set up a rival Parliament in Dublin; and――you may believe one who has suffered much from a rival politician in London――this will be most unpleasant.
To desert me for Morley――me, whose only crime in the G.O.M.’s eyes is the peddling and board-of-guardians’ spirit in which I approach all questions――is an act of ingratitude and cowardice unworthy only of the Caucus.
So anxious am I, not particularly to stop Home Rule, but most
## particularly to teach the G.O.M. a severe lesson for preferring
Morley to me, that I say nothing for the moment even against those landlords, my customary mark, who hold their land by exactly the same means and right as I hold my capital. Nor am I, under the circumstances, disinclined to coercion.
No one has recognised more strongly than myself the claims of party and the duty incumbent on all to sacrifice individual preferences to the necessity of united action, when it suits them. But I am so real riled at the way the G.O.M. and Morley have treated me that, in spite of all my ill-temper and mischief-making, I hope to retain the support, though I have lost the confidence, of those whose interests I have loyally endeavoured to serve, as long as they did not conflict with my own, and in whose midst my life as a capitalist has been spent, and my work of screw and caucus-making accomplished.
(Signed) J. CHAMBERLAIN.
The other manifestoes were less amusing, they parodied Sir Charles Dilke, Lord Randolph Churchill, and Mr. Gladstone.
_The Topical Times_, June 26, 1886.
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SAUNDERSON AND WARING.
“When Gladstone gets his Home Rule Bill,” Says Saunderson to Waring, “Then you and I and Ballykill Will show our martial daring; Without delay, the very day That down such gage he pitches, We’ll fill our flasks from jars and casks, And march to line the ditches.
With skill and might, and valor bright, We’ll set the world a-staring.” “We surely will,” says Ballykill; “Of course we will,” says Waring.
“If in the fields the rebel rout Will not confront our Lodges, In street and lane we’ll find them out Despite their craven dodges; We’ll pot the rascals at their doors, We’ll club the babes and spouses, We’ll sack their shops, and wreck their stores, And loot their public-houses.
And then ’twill be a joy to see Our boys the plunder sharing―― The victor’s toil deserve the spoil.” “Of course it does,” says Waring.
“If met by forces of the Crown ’Neath flags and banners royal, We’ll simply shoot the traitors down For conduct so disloyal; We’ll feel a pang at every bang, We’ll weep with every volley; But theirs the blame, the sin, the shame, The treason and the folly.
In smiting wrong we must be strong, Unpitying and unsparing;” “’Tis Heaven’s will,” says Ballykill. “The will of heaven,” says Waring.
“Great chiefs will come from distant parts, And foreign institutions, To study all our Orange arts And Purple evolutions; And when our glorious fight is won, They’ll all go home declaring Earth holds no match for Saunderson, And scarcely one for Waring!”
“They surely will,” says Ballykill, “There’s no one worth comparing With our great gun, brave Saunderson.” “Well, hardly one,” says Waring.
T. D. Sullivan, M.P. in _The Nation_, August, 1889.
Colonel Saunderson, M.P., had asserted at a public meeting that, if Parliament should grant Home Rule to Ireland, 50,000 men of Ulster would immediately rise in rebellion against it, and fight to the last ditch. He did not, however, attempt to justify this statement when called upon to do so in the House of Commons.
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For many years past Mr. Gladstone has been the “leading article” in the stock-in-trade of Caricaturists and Parodists. His personal appearance, his collars, his umbrella, his hobby for felling trees, his great learning, his immense vitality, and his mode of speaking, have all furnished topics for satires and lampoons.
It would be impossible to refer to anything like a proportion of these, but the following may be mentioned as typical examples.
_The Morning Post_ (London), September 24, 1884, contained an unreported Midlothian Speech on _Free Trade_, supposed to have been delivered by Mr. Gladstone, but really written by Mr. Edward Sullivan.
_The St. Stephen’s Review_ (London), October 29, 1887, contained a prospectus, of which the following is a brief abstract:――
THE HAWARDEN ESTATE BLOCK WOOD COMPANY, LIMITED.
_Incorporated under the Companies Acts, 1862 to 1883, whereby the liability of the Shareholders is limited to the amount of their Shares._
CAPITAL £100,000, IN 100,000 SHARES OF £1 EACH.
Payable――5s. per share on Application, 5s. per share on Allotment, and the remainder One Month after Allotment
DIRECTORS.
The EARL OF ROSEBERY, The Durdans, Epsom. LORD WOLVERTON, 7, Stratton Street, Piccadilly, W. HERBERT GLADSTONE, Esq., M.P., Hawarden Castle. The Rev. H. DREW, The Rectory, Hawarden. *The Right Hon. W. E. GLADSTONE, Hawarden Castle (Chairman). * Will join the Board after allotment.
Secretary――H. DRAKE DIGBY, Esq., National Liberal Club. Temporary Offices――23, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
ABRIDGED PROSPECTUS.
During the past twenty years, and indeed ever since it became generally known that Mr. Gladstone was in the habit of wielding an axe, a steady flow of letters has ceaselessly poured into Hawarden Castle from all parts of the world, asking for chips and blocks of wood cut from the timber felled by the right honourable gentleman.
At first these demands were complied with so far as it was possible to do so, but as the Irish Question surged to the front, and Mr. Gladstone’s popularity with the civilised world increased, it became hopeless to deal with the applications, which have accumulated to such an extent that the paper on which the applications are written has been weighed out of curiosity, and is found to weigh 4 tons 17 cwt. 3 qrs. 17 lbs.
Some fortnight or so ago Mr. Gladstone announced through the press that in future, blocks from timber cut down by his hand would only be supplied on receipt of a postal order for three shillings.
He did this in the hope that it would deter his numerous correspondents, instead of which they have increased twenty-fold. Under the circumstances, it occurred to Mr. Gladstone that by the erection of large and commodious saw mills the demand might be dealt with and a lucrative industry started without any very large outlay.
Mr. Gladstone, whose great name is the sole origin of the business, and who is henceforward, called the vendor, can cut down three medium-sized trees per diem. These trees will yield an average of 7,000 blocks, which, sold at 3s., means a daily sale of
£ 1,050 300 working days ―――――――― £315,000 Deduct cost of 900 trees, say £10 9,000 ―――――――― £306,000 Erection of saw mills and 12 months’ labour of 100 men at 25s. per week 10,000 ―――――――― £296,000 Profit on first year’s operations.
It is perfectly obvious that the public demand is so great that the entire estate can be disafforested at an enormous profit, the price of three shillings per cubic foot block being as nearly as possible 30 times the normal value of the timber.
As the only drawback to the success of the undertaking is the illness, or, it may be, possible demise of the vendor, his life will be insured as a first preliminary for £100,000, being the entire capital of the company.
It is not anticipated that it will be necessary to call up more than the allotment money, as it is calculated when the premium has been paid on the vendor’s life, and the stipulated price for the goodwill (£25,000) has been handed over to the vendor, there will still remain sufficient in hand to erect the necessary saw mills and machinery.
The following contract has been entered into: An agreement dated the 23rd day of October, 1887, and made between William Ewart Gladstone of the one part, and Archibald Philip Primrose, Earl of Rosebery, on behalf of the company, of the other part.
Copies of the agreement of purchase, valuers’ certificates, and memorandum and articles of association may be inspected at the offices of the company, or of the bankers.
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Scarcely a week passes but what Mr. Gladstone appears as the central figure in _Judy’s_ political cartoon; _Judy_ has also published (separately) some burlesque Company prospectuses, one in 1885 was entitled “W. E. GLADSTONE & Co., Limited,” with a capital of One Million in £10 Shares. The proposed Directorate included the following names: The Rt. Hon. W. E. G. _Chairman_. Mr. H. Childish. Sir Veneer Half-caste. The Earl Gumboil. The Earl Drowsy. Marquis of Heart-in-Mouth. Joseph Chimneypot, Esq. (of the Birmingham Affidavit Manufacturing Company), and Sir. C. Bilke.
A long list was given of the objects to be achieved by the Company, all of which were represented as being nefarious and unpatriotic, such being the usual and natural assertion of each political party with regard to the actions of the other.
Another publication issued from the _Judy_ office, dated November 1, 1885, and sold for threepence, was a legal looking paper, endorsed _The Last Will and Testament of William Ewart Gladstone_. This was not a very witty production, the most notable clauses it contains are those in which Mr. Gladstone appoints Joseph Chamberlain and Bottomley Firth as his executors; the bequest to Lord Randolph Churchill “of twelve pence sterling to the end he may therewith buy a rope of hemp and go hang himself;” to the Sublime Porte of “a complete file of Newspapers containing all my speeches on the Bulgarian Atrocities;” and to Sir Charles Dilke “my Law treatise containing chapters on Decrees Nisi.”
There are three Codicils to this will, all in very involved and complicated language, and each one contradictory to the others. This production had a large sale.
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In October, 1879, _The Examiner_ published an amusing series of imaginary letters supposed to pass between the leaders of both the great political parties, and their followers. The following three are selected as examples:――
LORD SALISBURY TO LORD BEACONSFIELD.
Dieppe, Oct. 10.
MY DEAR BEACONSFIELD,――I saw Waddington two days ago. His bewilderment when I frankly told him that we had no Greek policy would have been amusing, had it not led to a long and troublesome remonstrance from him. It appears that he thought we were in earnest at Berlin. Of course I hastened to undeceive him, and to point out that our only object at the Congress was to quiet the people at home, and arrange with the Russians abroad. However, I satisfied him at last by telling him he may do as he pleases in Egypt.
By the way, I shall be speaking in a few days; I suppose you have nothing to suggest. Grant Duff must be smashed, and we must take what credit we can get out of Afghanistan. But as Hartington is still, and Gladstone keeps out of the way, I am afraid I shall have to tilt against egg-shells――for Harcourt is nobody.――Yours ever,
SALISBURY.
Have you heard of Derby’s latest move?
LORD BEACONSFIELD TO LORD SALISBURY.
Hughenden Manor, Oct. 13.
MY DEAR SALISBURY,――Waddington does not quite know us yet, or he would not have been surprised. If he is satisfied, however, with our Egyptian plans, we will not trouble any longer about him.
Your speech should be of great service. Harcourt may, as you say, be dismissed very shortly――the impulsive imagination of his immature intellect needs little comment from you. Hartington is in a difficulty. The Home Rulers, on one hand, and the Disestablishment section on the other, are too many for him. Can you not hint at the various nature of the forces he leads――aëronauts, somnambulists, monomaniacs, misanthropes, and nomads? As for Gladstone, it seems to me that he might be ferreted out. The perennial perplexities of a pedagogic mind have driven him once more to silence. Before he can present himself in Midlothian, he must decide upon which conviction he will follow. A word to that effect from you might reach him.
As for your audience, we trust to the generous judgment of a judicial race. Leave the policy in that fashion. It will flatter them.――Believe me, ever yours,
BEACONSFIELD.
SIR STAFFORD NORTHCOTE TO LORD BEACONSFIELD.
Dublin, Oct. 12.
MY DEAR LORD BEACONSFIELD,――I trust you will have seen that I implicitly followed your instructions. I have spoken for hours, and said absolutely nothing; received scores of persons, and let them talk, too, without expressing the slightest opinion; and the result is that I am most popular. Their idea seemed to be that I was preparing some scheme for the relief of distress, and as they were pleased with that notion, I was of course careful not to destroy it. On the whole, I have neither compromised the Government nor myself, which is saying something.――Ever yours,
S. NORTHCOTE.
This last letter refers to Irish affairs, which have given rise to many political skits; one of the most important of these was a pamphlet, published in 1886, by Reeves and Turner, entitled “_Opening and Proceedings of the Irish Parliament_. Two Visions.” The author, Mr. G. H. Moore, thus describes the plan of his little work:――“In the following pages you are presented with two forecasts of the proceedings of the proposed Irish Parliament, taken from different standpoints. They are intended to illustrate the conflicting opinions entertained of the future, should Mr. Gladstone’s Irish Bills pass into law.
The exaggerated fears and gloomy mistrust of the opponents of the measures are ludicrously drawn in one picture; and in the other, the serious hopes and the brighter anticipations of the promoters and supporters of the measures are assumed to have been realised.”
Articles based on the same idea, appeared in the _Topical Times_ in July 1886, entitled “The Dublin Parliament. A Forecast,” describing the scenes of joy and enthusiasm in the Irish capital on the first assembling of a National Parliament.
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THE OMNIBUS.
It is just sixty years ago since this convenient vehicle was introduced into our streets by Mr. J. Shillibeer. The first Omnibus ran from the Yorkshire Stingo in the New Road, to the Bank of England, and the fare was one shilling. The speculation succeeded at once, and the omnibus traffic in London has been rapidly increasing ever since. The following parody on Barry Cornwall’s _The Sea! The Sea!_ is taken from Mr. Hindley’s reprint of Egan’s “Life in London.”
The ’Buss! the ’Buss! the Omnibus! That welcomes all without a fuss; And wafts us on with joyous sound, Through crowded streets on our busy round; Reckless of cold and gloomy skies, Or the driving storm as it downward flies: Stow’d snug in thee! stow’d snug in thee! I am where I would wish to be. While the rain above and the mud below Affect me not where’er I go―― Though the sleet and the slush be ankle deep, What matters while I can ride so cheap? What matters? etc.
I love, oh how I love to ride, In cosy converse side by side, With some sweet sly enchanting one, Who lets her little ’larum run Till scarcely can the listener know If that or time more swiftly go! Henceforth I know the terrible bore Of “padding the hoof” no more, no more; But back to this seat I so oft have press’d I’ll spring to be wafted the while I rest: For thou, dear ’Buss! art a home to me, While I am snugly seated in thee, While I am, etc.
The original of this song, with other parodies on it, will be found on p. 204, Vol. 4 of this collection.
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On page 106 a splendid parody was given of “The House that Jack Built,” entitled _The Domicile Erected by John_. A correspondent pointed out that this was written by the late Mr. E. L. Blanchard, and on consulting his famous Drury-Lane Annuals, it was discovered as a preface to the Pantomime for 1861-62, styled “Harlequin and the House that Jack built.” Mr. Blanchard’s poem is not quite so long as the version given in _Parodies_, some ingenious person having undertaken to add to, and improve upon Mr. Blanchard’s work.
[Illustration]
LITERARY FORGERIES AND IMPOSTURES.
Although literary forgeries have undoubtedly some relationship with Parodies, it is of so distant a nature that, even were space available, they could not be dealt with at any length in this Collection. A brief summary of the principal Impostures must therefore suffice, those who wish to learn the details are referred to an interesting little work, entitled _Famous Literary Impostures_, by H. R. Montgomery. London. E. W. Allen. No date.
(_Why do Publishers omit dates?_)
Mr. Montgomery’s chapters deal with Thomas Chatterton and the Rowley poems; James Macpherson’s Poems of Ossian; Samuel W. H. Ireland’s Vortigern, and other Shakespearian Forgeries; George Psalmanazar and the Formosa Imposture; and the Bentley and Boyle controversy as to the Epistles of Phalaris.
Of course had Mr. Montgomery chosen to enlarge his work, he might have made some amusing chapters out of William Lander’s attempt to prove Milton a plagiarist and an impostor; of the Squire letters which deceived Thomas Carlyle; the Shapira M.S.S. which deceived some clever Egyptologists and Antiquarians; the Vrain-Lucas letters which deceived M. Michel Chasles, an eminent French Mathematician; the Shelley forgeries which deceived Robert Browning; and the Donnelly cryptogram which has deceived no one having any knowledge of the life and works of Shakespeare.
In Isaac D’Israeli’s _Curiosities of Literature_ there is a short chapter on this topic, principally devoted to instances amongst ancient and foreign writers, with a few remarks about Psalmanazar and William Lander.
There is also some information to be found in a chapter, called “Supposition d’Auteurs,” in _Curiosités Littéraires_, par Ludovic Lalanne. Paris, Adolphe Delahays, 1857. This also deals principally with the works of foreign literary Impostors. But by far the most important and most reliable work on the subject is that written by the late M. Octave Delepierre, entitled “_Supercheries Littéraires_, Pastiches, Suppositions d’Auteur, dans les lettres et dans les Arts.” London, N. Trubner & Co. 1872. Only 200 copies of this valuable work were issued, it is consequently very difficult to procure. Most literary frauds have been exposed, and not a few of the forgers have been punished. Chatterton and Shapira committed suicide, and Vrain-Lucas was sent to prison for two years, and fined 500 francs.
A writer in the _Daily News_ (July 17, 1886) observed: “The motives of the Literary Forger seem obscure to plain people. He has nothing to gain by it all, they say; he does not make money, like the forger of a cheque; he can seldom sell his forgery to advantage, as the latest biblical forger, Shapira, of the sham manuscript gospel, discovered. He merely poisons the very wells of history and throws doubt on all original “sources.” People who reason thus forget that every artist takes joy in his art, and that all art is imitation. The art of the forger is to imitate ancient manuscripts and inscriptions. _L’Art pour l’art_ is his motto. He revels in his own cleverness and power of deceiving others. This is his reward. Thus a famous French archæologist, now dead, took in his own father with some sham Greek inscriptions. Thus William Ireland went on writing Shakespearian autographs, and even Shakespearian manuscript plays, chiefly to satisfy the most tricky sense of humour, and delight in the absurdities of learned men. Probably enough Joe Smith began his Mormon Bible with no serious thought of founding a religion, but merely, as other literary forgers used, for the fun of the thing. Sooner or later these things are found out. They amuse the learned, and no great harm is done. But perhaps the jester Rabelais did not see the jest when he was beguiled into publishing, with grave and learned notes, a classical manuscript which was really the work of two of his contemporaries. These clever ghosts must chuckle still over the trick they played the author of “Pantagruel.” A meaner joke was passed on Meursius, whose respectable name is inextricably associated with a peculiarly abominable Latin work, attributed to him by its actual author, who thus gratified a spite of long standing. Literary forgers are the very Pucks of letters, and all honest men will hope they find their deserts in a Hades of their own.”
[Illustration]
A BIBLIOGRAPHY OF PARODY AND BURLESQUE.
The approaching completion of the sixth and last volume of _Parodies_ has by no means exhausted the materials which, for five and twenty years past, I have been accumulating. Indeed the subject is inexhaustible, but having given all the best parodies of English and American writers, it only remains now to mention others which were either too long, or too dull, to find a home herein, and to refer briefly to some of the principal Foreign travesties.
Only the true book hunter can appreciate the pleasures I have experienced in the never ending search for parodies and burlesques. The difficulty in obtaining some particular volumes, not to be found in the British Museum Library, which might (and sometimes did) turn up in some out-of-the-way old book shop. The delight with which they were carried home, collated, cleaned, patched and mended, to be finally packed off to Zaehnsdorf who clothes them in all the glory of calf and gilt, artistically, as his name does warrant.
In walking tours in England, in holiday trips on the Continent, and even in the few spare moments stolen to turn aside from the noise and bustle of London city into back streets and dingy alleys; in pawnbrokers, and in secondhand furniture shops, aye, even in rag and waste paper shops, have been gathered up little, dirty, torn odd volumes to add to my store, my beloved Parody Collection. Thus have materials been gathered for such a Collection of Literary trifles and _jeux d’esprit_ as has never yet been published.
LONDON, dear old London! is the paradise of the book hunter, and of the book worm; of the one who buys books, and of the other, who merely reads them. Here all tastes and all purses may be gratified; the rare and costly volumes of the King of Collectors, Bernard Quaritch; the humble “_All at 2d. in this Box_;” the first editions as collected by Elkin Mathews; or the cheap, but curious volumes to be found in the long book room of honest, kindly John Salkeld in the Clapham Road, whose catalogues (good as they are), but faintly express the wonderful knowledge of books and men he possesses.
Next, after London, come the quiet little book stores of the old Cathedral cities, such as Exeter and Canterbury; here, if theology is a trifle too obtrusive, the dealer will soon gauge your appetite, and provide a fitting meal. Then, I would say _Paris_, but the Paris of to-day is, in this respect, vastly inferior to Paris under the Empire. Then, a stroll along the quays and boulevards led to good sport, for the game was plentiful, and ridiculously cheap. The element of cheapness remains, but the true literary flavour is wanting. Thousands of books, that are _not_ books, school and prize books, old almanacs, dreary directories, medical reports, and soiled copies of trashy novels. These form the bulk.
“_La Parodie, Monsieur? La Parodie n’existe plus. Il y a trente ans qu’elle est morte dans la France_,” was the remark made to me lately by a bookseller in the Galérie D’Orléans. It is but too true, the literary sarcasm, and the pleasant malice of the good old fashioned parody seem indeed to be dead in France.
“_Ils se moquent de tous, mais ils ne plaisantent pas_,” said another dealer speaking of their authors, and so it happens that in my private collection, but a poor hundred or so of volumes are of French parentage, and the titles of some of these are all that is fit to be read, unless by an enthusiastic student of Rabelais.
No mention was made in the prospectus of “Parodies” that Foreign parodies would be included, but a few brief notes as to the principal continental examples may be given, followed by such English works on the subject as have not already been described.
French Parodies and Burlesques.
The very first book of reference to be mentioned under this head is _La Parodie, chez les Grecs, chez les Romains, et chez les Modernes_. Par Octave Delepierre. Londres: Trubner & Cie, 1870. This contains a great deal of information, but it is far from complete.
In _Les Curiosités Littéraires_ par Ludovic Lalanne (Paris, 1857) is a chapter, entitled _Du Genre Burlesque_ in which there is considerable information on Parody in general, and French parody in particular. The first piece mentioned is _La Passion de Notre-Seigneur Jésus Christ_, en vers burlesques, published in 1649; then come the works of Sarrasin, and of Assouci, the latter wrote _Ovide en belle humeur_ and the _Ravissement de Proserpine_.
_La Pharsale de Lucain_, en vers enjoués, par Brébeuf, Paris 1655.
_L’Eschole de Salerne_, en vers burlesques, par Martin Leydon, 1656.
Peter Langendik, a Dutch poet, wrote a parody of the fourth book of the Æneid, which he called _Enée endimanché_; and the Danish poet, the Baron de Holberg, also wrote burlesque translations of parts of Virgil’s great poem.
For details concerning a number of less important French Parodies and Burlesques, see also _l’Histoire de la Littérature Comique_, and _l’Histoire Burlesque_, de Flogel.
_Les Odes d’Horace en vers Burlesques._ Published at Leyden in 1653.
_L’Odyssie d’Homère en vers Burlesques._ Published at Leyden in 1653.
These small pamphlets were both issued by the same publisher, and are now very rare.
_Le Virgile Travesty_ en vers burlesques, par L’abbé Scarron. This is a burlesque translation of the first seven books and part of the eighth book, of Virgil’s _Æneid_. He dedicated the first book to the Queen, and subscribed himself thus “MADAME, Votre tres humble, tres obeyssant, tres obligé, et tres malade serviteur et sujet.
SCARRON, _Malade de la Reyne_.”
Scarron did not proceed beyond the first half of the eighth book, several other authors published continuations, but of inferior merit, such were those by Moreau de Brasey, Tellier d’Orville, Brussel and others.
_La Suite du Virgile Travesty de Scarron._ En vers burlesques, par Messire Jaques Moreau, Chevalier Seigneur de Brasey. Amsterdam, 1706.
This contains books 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12 of the _Æneid_.
_Le Virgile dans le Pays Bas_, ou le poeme d’Enée travesti en Flamand. Par le Plat du Temple, 3 vols. Bruxelles, 1802.
_Virgile en France, ou la nouvelle Enëide_, par Le Plat du Temple. First published in two volumes in 1807, and next at Offenbach in 1810, in 4 volumes, with very original notes.
_L’Ovide Bouffon_, ou les Metamorphoses Travesties, en vers Burlesques. Par L. Richer, Paris. The first edition was published either in 1661 or 1662. The fourth edition was published in 1665, prefaced by an amusing Madrigal written by Scarron.
_Young Scarron._ By Thomas Mozeen, actor and dramatist, 1752. This was written in imitation of _Le Roman Comique_ of Scarron, to ridicule the lives and manners of stage itinerants, and the strolling players of England.
_La Critique du Tartuffe_, en un acte et en vers, a burlesque of Molière.
_Le Lutrin_; Poeme héroi-comique. Par Nicolas Boileau Despréaux.
This famous burlesque poem, which describes a very simple quarrel between two officials of a country church, is in heroic measure:――
“Je chante les combats et ce prélat terrible Qui par ses longs travaux et sa force invincible, Dans une illustre église exerçant son grand cœur, Fit placer à la fin un lutrin dans le chœur.”
Boileau remarks in his _Avis au Lecteur_:――
“C’est un burlesque nouveau dont je me suis avisé en notre langue. Car au lieu que dans l’autre burlesque Didon et Enée parlaient comme des harengères et des crocheteurs, dans celui-ci une perruquière et un perruquier parlent comme Didon et Enée?.”
_La Guerre des Dieux_, anciens et modernes, Poems en dix Chants. Par Evariste Parny, Membre de l’Academie Française. Paris. L’an Sept.
This is a very profane work, in which the Gods of the Heathen Mythology are brought into contact with Jesus Christ, Mary his Mother, and the Holy Ghost. It has been reprinted in France and Belgium.
_Cartouche, ou le vice puni_ contained a number of parodies of celebrated authors.
_La Messe de Cythère_, par “Nobody.” 1801.
_Les Eternueurs_, poeme-parodi burlesque. Paris, 1758.
_Le Petit Neveu de l’Aretin._ Parodie burlesque du 4 ieme livre de l’Enéide. Paris, an IX.
_L’homme des Bois_, parodie de L’homme des Champs, de Delille.
_La Pucelle D’Orleans._ Poeme, divisé en Vingt et un Chants. Par M. de Voltaire. Paris.
There have been many editions of this licentious poem, some of them fetch very high prices owing to the sumptuous manner in which they were produced.
_La Pucelle_ was translated into English by a lady of title, but owing to the freedom of the translation it was speedily suppressed, and copies of it are very scarce.
_La Henriade Travestie_, en vers burlesques. En Dix Chants. Par M. de M. (Fougeret de Montbron). Amsterdam, 1762. The first edition was published in 1745. In this the original is parodied almost verse for verse. The author says in his _avant-propos_:――“J’ose me flatter que Monsieur de Voltaire ne me sçaura point mauvais gré d’avoir mis son Poëme en Vers burlesques. Ce n’est pas faire injure au premier Poëte Français que de le traiter comme on a fait le Prince des Poëtes Latins.” (In allusion to Scarron’s burlesque of Virgil’s _Æneid_.)
Voltaire’s tragedy _Zaire_ was burlesqued as “_Caquire_, Parodie de Zaire,” en cinq actes et en vers. Par M. de Vessaire, 1783. This was a coarse but witty production, even the names of the characters being too foul to reprint. Delepierre says it was written by M. de Combles, and that it was reprinted in 1853 in a small volume with an unmentionable title. The original edition is very rare.
_Les Parodies du Nouveau Théâtre Italien_, ou Recueil des Parodies représentées sur le Théâtre de L’Hôtel de Bourgoyne, par les Comédiens Italiens Odinaires du Roy. Three vols. Paris, 1731. Another, and more complete, collection was published in 1738.
These burlesques are principally based on French tragedies dealing with legends of the Heathen Mythology. The tragedies of Voltaire are especially singled out for imitation, two being upon _Zaire_, one called _Les Enfants trouvés_, another _Arlequin au Parnasse_.
Voltaire’s tragedy _Semiramis_ was burlesqued under the title _Zoramis_, which was produced at the Théatre de la Foire, much to his annoyance, for whilst he had written a parody of Ossian’s poems, and a burlesque on Jeanne d’Arc, he could not suffer others to burlesque him.
_Lettres inédites de Chactas d’Atala_, par M. de Chateauterne. Paris. Dentu, 1811. A parody of Chateaubriand’s _Atala_.
_Alala_, was also a burlesque of Chateaubriand’s _Atala_.
_Agnes de Chaillot_, a parody of Lamotte’s tragedy _Ines de Castro_. This burlesque gave great offence to Lamotte, who styled it “une bouffonerie où l’on essaie de rendre la vertu ridicule.”
_Parodie du Juif Errant_, par Ch. Philipon et Louis Huart, avec 300 vignettes par _Cham_. Brussels, 1845.
This has been translated into English.
_Quelgues Fables de la Fontaine recitées par un Anglais._ Par F. Guillot. Paris, 1885.
This absurd little work gives ten of la Fontaine’s fables, with versions of the same as supposed to be recited by an Englishman, having a very imperfect French accent.
_La Rapinéide ou l’Atelier_, poeme burlesco-comico-tragique, par un Ancien Rapin des ateliers Gros et Girodet, Paris, 1870.
_Le Récit de Théramene._ Parodie par J. Méry. Paris, C. Lévy, 1881.
The author remarks “Les plus belles choses out eu les honneurs de la parodie. C’est le sort de l’humanité littéraire. Virgile le divin a été parodié par Scarron l’invalide. Le _Cid_ de Corneille a été parodié par Boileau. Chateaubriand a été parodié par M. Chateauterne. Le plus grand poëte qui ait existé depuis Homère et Virgile, Victor Hugo a été parodié par tout le monde. _Ainsi les parodies n’ont jamais rien prouvé._”
This celebrated passage, from the tragedy _Phèdre_, commencing
“A peine nous sortions des portes de Trézène,”
has been frequently imitated, and Octave Delepierre, in _La Parodie_ cites a very humorous piece written against Caron de Beaumarchais, commencing:――
“A peine Beaumarchais, débarrassant la scène Avait de _Figaro_ terminé la centaine, Qu’il volait à _Tarare_, et pourtant ce vainqueur Dans l’orgueil du triomphe était morne et réveur, Je ne sais quel chagrin, le couvrant de son ombre, Lui donnait sur son char un maintien has et sombre.”
_Dictionnaire des Gens du Monde_, a l’usage de la cour et de la ville. Paris, 1818. A satirical and burlesque dictionary.
A number of illustrated burlesque histories have been published in France with the title _Tintamarresque_, of which a few of the principal may be noted:――
_Le Trocadéroscope._ Revue Tintamarresque de l’Exposition Universelle. Paris. 1878. Par Touchatout, avec dessins de A. Le Petit.
_Histoire de France Tintamarresque_, par Touchatout (Illustrated). Paris. This only brings the history down to the flight of Louis Philippe in 1848.
_Histoire Tintamarresque de Napoleon III._, par Touchatout. Paris, 1877.
This takes up the History of France at the point where the preceding work ceased, namely, 1848. The caricature illustrations, by Hadol, in this are bitterly hostile to Napoleon III. and his principal adherents.
_La Dégringolade Impériale_, seconde partie de l’Histoire Tintamarresque de Napoléon III. Par Touchatout. Dessins de G. Lafosse. Paris, 1878.
_Grande Mythologie Tintamarresque_, par Touchatout. Dessins de G. Lafosse et Moloch. Paris, 1881.
It will be readily understood that the gross legends of the Heathen Mythology present topics likely to meet with congenial treatment from a French author and artists, and that consequently this work (although very laughable) is not largely used in ladies boarding schools.
_Histoire Populaire et Tintamarresque de la Belgique_, depuis l’époque des forêts vierges jusqu’a celle des tramways. Par Fernand Delisle. Illustreé par Léon Libonis, 2 vols. Brussels.
Victor Hugo was nothing if not original. He found the French drama restricted by old-fashioned rules, and its poetry cramped and conventional. He selected new metres, and adapted his style to the subjects, relinquishing the solemn but monotonous measure in which Racine, Corneille, and Voltaire had composed their classic tragedies. He did not disdain to press uncouth polysyllables into service when the necessities of rhyming seemed to require it. His style was funnily parodied in the lines――
Jusqu’ oû O Hugo, juchera-t-on ton nom? Justice enfin que faite ne t’a t’on? Quand jusqu’au pic qu’académique on nomme, Grimperas tu enfin de roc en roc, rare homme?
The Atticism of French taste had never been favourable to versification of this kind; and if Victor Hugo had been nothing but an eccentric innovator he would have failed completely. But Victor Hugo wrote great things, and the vagaries of his style were the natural expressions of an original mind; they were not the result of studied affectation. His works in prose, in poetry, and the drama suffered from enthusiastic imitators and professional perverters. His plays have been persistently burlesqued, his tragedy _Marie Tudor_ was parodied under various titles, as “Marie, tu ronfles!” “Marie Dort-tu?” “Marie tu dors encore,” and “Marionette.” His _Angelo_ was burlesqued, as “Cornaro, Tyran pas doux,” his _Ruy Blas_ as “Ruy Blag,” and as “Ruy Black” by Charles Gabet, played at the Folies Bergères April 13, 1872, and as “Ruy Blas d’en Face,” also played in Paris in 1872.
_Ruy Brac_, Tourte en cinq Boulettes, avec assaisonnement de gros sel, de vers et de couplets, par Maxime de Redon. Paris, November, 1838.
His _Ernani_ was burlesqued as “_Harnali_, ou la Contrainte par Cor,” and as “_Ni, Ni_, ou le Danger des Castilles,” both produced in Paris as far back as 1830.
The elder Dumas’ play “_Quin_, ou désordre et génie” was travestied as “_Kinne_; ou, que de génie en désordre.”
Numerous other burlesques of the French dramatists exist, most of which are published by Messrs. Tresse and Stock, Galérie du Théâtre-Français, Paris, from whom lists of their theatrical publications (with prices) can be obtained.
When Herr Wagner’s _Rienzi_ was produced at the Théâtre Lyrique some Parisian punster brought out a parody called “Rien! scie en trois actes.” _Scie_ means literally a “saw,” but in French argot it is equivalent to our slang word “sell.”
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_Travestirte Fabeln des Phadrus_, mit einem Anhang Mysterioser Gesange. Karl Dieffenbach. Frankfurt, 1794.
_Virgils Æneis travestirt_, Von V. Blumauer. Leipzig, 1841.
This was a German travesty of Virgil, with numerous very curious and comical illustrations.
Lovers of parody will find in the feuilleton of the _Deutsche Montags Zeitung_ a series of “Poems and Novels by eminent Hands,” in which the styles of the leading German writers of the day are very happily burlesqued.
As to other German parodies, it must suffice to mention Dr. J. Scheible’s celebrated catalogue of German comic literature, which touches on Parodies and Travesties; and _Das Kloster_, another work by J. Scheible, published at Stuttgart in 1845. But the art of Parody does not appear to flourish so well in Germany as in France and England.
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ENGLISH BURLESQUE TRANSLATIONS OF THE CLASSICS. (_Not Theatrical._)
A list of the principal English translations of the ancient classics is given below in the following order: Anacreon, Aristophanes, Aristotle, Æsop, Homer, Horace, Lucian, Ovid and Virgil.
_Anacreon in Dublin_, with Notes. 1814. Satirical Parodies, dedicated to Lord Byron.
_The British Birds._ A communication from the Ghost of Aristophanes. By Mortimer Collins. London. The Publishing Company, Limited, 1872. Several extracts from this clever satire have been given in _Parodies_.
_The Art of Pluck_, a Treatise after the fashion of Aristotle, writ for the use of Students in the Universities. Oxford, 1843.
_Fables by G. Washington Æsop._ With humorous illustrations by F. S. Church. London. W. Mack. No date, about 1885.
_Homer Travestie_, a Burlesque Translation of Homer, in Hudibrastic verse. By Thomas Bridges.
Booksellers almost invariably catalogue this as “a work full of humour, but which often transgresses the bounds of decency,” a stolen phrase which very inadequately describes its coarseness. The first volume of this translation appeared in 1762 with the facetious title “_A New Translation of Homer’s Iliad_, adapted to the capacity of Honest English Roast Beef and Pudding Eaters, by Caustic Barebones, a broken apothecary.”
_Homer à la Mode._ A Mock Poem upon the First and Second Books of Homer’s Iliads. Anonymous. Oxford, R. Davis. 1664.
_Homer for the Holidays._ By a Boy of Twelve. (Richard Doyle). London. “Pall Mall Gazette” Office, 1887. Fifteen very humorous plates to illustrate Homer’s Iliad.
_The Odes of Horace_, with a translation of Dr. Bentley’s Notes, and Notes upon Notes; Done in the Bentleian Stile and Manner. London. Bernard Lintott. 1712. This contained a burlesque criticism by Oldisworth on Dr. Bentley’s _Horace_. It was published in twenty-four parts.
_The Art of Politics_, in imitation of the Art of Poetry. James Bramestone. Dublin, 1729.
_Horace in London_: consisting of Imitations of the First Two Books of the Odes of Horace. By James and Horace Smith. London, 1815.
_Railway Horace._ By G. Chichester Oxenden. London: Upham and Beet. 1862.
_Horace at the University of Athens_, (Ascribed to Sir George Otto Trevelyan.) Cambridge: Jonathan Palmer. 1862. Contains several excellent parodies.
_Horace’s Odes Englished and Imitated_, by various hands, selected and arranged by Charles W. J. Cooper. London: George Bell and Sons. 1889.
This collection is in two parts, the first being simple translations, the second part being made up of burlesques, imitations, and satires founded upon the Odes of Horace. The best of these were written by the authors of _The Rejected Addresses_, James and Horace Smith.
_Lexiphanes_, a Dialogue, imitated from Lucian, and suited to the present Times, with a dedication to Lord Lyttleton. 1767. A piece of satire directed against Dr. Johnson by one Archibald Campbell.
_The Sale of Authors._ A Dialogue in imitation of Lucian. 1767.
_The New Lucian_, being a Series of Dialogues of the Dead. By H. D. Traill. London, 1884.
_Burlesque upon Burlesque_: or, the Scoffer Scoff’d. Being some of Lucian’s Dialogues newly put into English Fustian, for the Consolation of those who had rather _Laugh and be Merry_, than be _Merry and Wise_. By Charles Cotton. London.
_Ovid Travestie_, a Burlesque upon Ovid’s Epistles. By (Captain) Alexander Radcliffe. London, J. Tonson. 1680.
_The Wits Paraphras’d_; or, Paraphrase upon Paraphrase. In a Burlesque on the several late translations of Ovid’s Epistles. London, 1680.
_Ovid in London_: Ludicrous Poem in Six Cantos. By a Member of the University of Oxford. London: W. Anderson, 1814.
_Scarronides: or, Virgil Travestie._ A Mock Poem on the First and Fourth Books of Virgil’s “Æneis” in English Burlesque. By Charles Cotton. London, 1670. There have been many editions of this burlesque.
_A Kerry Pastoral_, in imitation of the First Eclogue of Virgil. Edited by T. C. Croker. (Reprint 1843).
_Maronides_, or Virgil Travestie, being a New Paraphrase upon Book V. of Virgil’s Æneids, in Burlesque Verse. By John Phillips. 1672.
_The Canto added by Maphœus_ to Virgil’s Twelve Books of Æneas, from the original Bombastic, done into English Hudibrastic; with Notes beneath, and Latin text in every other page annext. By John Ellis. 1758.
Those who wish to see an almost perfect specimen of a classical parody must turn to _Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine_, July 1823, in which they will find
_An Idyl on the Battle._
Fists and the man I sing, who, in the valleys of Hampshire Close to the borough of Andover, one fine day of the springtime, Being the twentieth of May, (the day moreover was Tuesday,) Eighteen hundred and twenty-three, in a fistical combat, Beat, in a handful of rounds, Bill Neat, the Butcher of Bristol. What is the hero’s name? Indeed, ’tis bootless to mention. Every one knows ’tis Spring――Tom Spring, now Champion of England.
* * * * *
In a somewhat similar vein of parody is Tom Moore’s _Milling-Match between Entellus and Dares_. Translated from the Fifth book of the Æneid.
With daddles high upraised, and nob held back, In awful prescience of the impending thwack, Both kiddies stood――and with prelusive spar, And light manœvring kindled up the war. * * * * *
_A Free and Independent Translation_ of the First and Fourth Books of the Æneid of Virgil. In Hexameter and Pentameter. With Illustrations by Thomas Worth. The Winsted Herald Office, Winsted, Conn. U.S.A. 1870.
This is a burlesque in “Modern American,” with very comical woodcuts.
_The Siege of Oxford._ Fragments from the second book of the “Nova Æneis.” Oxford: F. Macpherson. 1852.
_Georgics of Bacchicles._ In Three Books. Now first published in the English tongue. Oxford, T. Shrimpton.
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Many of the beautiful legends of the old Grecian mythology have been chosen as the themes for burlesques, both poetical and dramatic.
A list of the dramatic burlesques will be given later on, of the poetical mythological burlesques many may be found in _Punch_, and the other comic papers; the following originally appeared in the _Hornet_:
PYGMALION; OR, THE STATUE FAIR.
There was an ancient classic swell, An interesting alien, His kinsfolk called him “Piggy,” but His full name was Pygmalion.
Like many a high artistic Greek, He got his bread by chiselling; I don’t mean running into debt, And then by moonlight mizzling.
I don’t mean billiards, cards or dice, At which the sharper garbles Some spooney flat. The only game Pygmalion played was _marbles_.
He chiselled marble into forms Defying competition; And won no end of _Kudos_ at Each R. A. Exhibition.
One eve, he’d worked the whole day long, And felt used up and wearied; His subject was a Grecian Bend Or Lady of the Period.
Now Piggy was a lonely man, Since he had never mated; But always kept a celibate, Although so celebrated.
So when he laid his chisel down, And saw that fair creation, He said――as critics often say―― “She lacks but animation!”
And straightway Love and Phantasy, Like disobedient vassals, Heedless of Reason, in his brain, Went building Spanish castles.
He thought it would be very nice Each morning could he see Presiding at his breakfast-board Just such a Mrs. P.
He pictured her at parties, fêtes, In pinery or grapery, Looking as she was looking then―― _Plus_ just a little drapery.
He bent on her a steadfast gaze (Mesmeric ’twas, I’m thinking) And straight her sympathetic lids Moved like――yes, just like――_winking_.
She breathed――she lived――she came to him, And he embraced her _quick_; “You are not _stone_!” he fondly cried―― “You are a little _brick_!”
His vision thus was realised; Next morning he was able To see that partner exquisite Presiding at his table.
He ordered in no end of “things,” He thought it but his duty; Since, even for that antique age, Too “unadorned” her beauty.
And knowing well that spinsters prim Would make her case a handle For rude remark, he put a stop Effectually to scandal.
For shortly in the _Morning Post_, This won the _Monde’s_ regards―― “Mr. PYGMALION, R.A., Married Miss STONE. No cards.”
And many an artist, since that day, Has found his sighs love-laden Warm into animated clay The coldest “marble maiden.”
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_Arundines Cami_ sive Musarum Cantabrigiensium Lusus Canori. Henricus Drury, A.M. Cambridge. Parker and Son. 1841.
This contains Latin versions of all the most celebrated short English poems, including Gray’s Elegy, the Burial of Sir John Moore, and some nursery rhymes.
Before leaving the Classics mention must be made of a curious branch of poetry entitled _Macaronic verse_. Examples of this, and many of them very ingenious, are to be found in _Poetical Ingenuities and Eccentricities_ selected by William T. Dobson. London. Chatto and Windus, 1882.
Octave Delepierre also wrote several essays on the subject, the principal being entitled _Littérature Macaronique_.
One of the best of these literary curiosities is a small pamphlet (to be had of Mr. J. Vincent, Oxford,) entitled――
“_Uniomachia_; a Greek-Latin Macaronic Poem,” by Thomas Jackson, M.A. This was originally published in 1833, with a translation into English verse (after the manner of the late ingenious Mr. Alexander Pope), styled “The Battle at the Union.”
Another humorous pamphlet also published by Vincent, _Viae per Angliam Ferro Stratae_, and written by Mr. Fanshawe of Baliol College in 1841, was a comical skit on the early railways, in Latin hexameters.
Many Macaronic poems have appeared in _Punch_ from time to time, to the great delight and amusement of classical scholars. The following, published in March, 1852, is a fine example of this class of learned frivolity:――
THE DEATH OF THE SEA-SERPENT,
_By Publius Jonathan Virgilius Jefferson Smith_.
Arma virumque cano, qui first, in the _Monongahela_, Tarnally squampush’d the Sarpent, mittens horrentia tela. Musa, look smart with your Banjo! I guess, to relate or invent, I Shall need all the aid you can give; so, Nunc aspirate canenti. Mighty slick were the vessel progressing, jactata per æquora ventis; But the brow of the skipper was cloudy cum sollicitudine mentis; For whales had been skase in them pearts; and the clipper, so long as he’d known her, Ne’er had gather’d less ile in her cruise, to gladden the heart of her owner. “Darn the whales!” cried the skipper at length, “with a telescope forte videbo Aut pisces, aut terras.” While speaking, just two or three points on the lee bow, He saw coming towards them, as fast as though to a combat ’twould tempt ’em, A monstrum, horrendum, informe (cui lumen was shortly ademptum). On the taffrail up jumps in a hurry dux fortis, and seizing a trumpet, With a blast that would waken the dead, mare turbat et aëra rumpit―― “Tumble up, all you lubbers!” he cries, “tumble up! for, careering before us, Is the raal old Sea-Sarpent himself, cristis maculisque decorus.” “Consarn it!” cried one of the sailors, “if e’er we provoke him, he’ll kill us; He’ll sartainly chaw up _hos_ morsu, et longis implexibus _illos_.” Loud laughs the bold skipper, and quick premit alto corde dolorem; If he does feel like running, he knows it won’t do to betray it before ’em. “O Socii,” inquit, “I’m sartin you air not the fellers to funk, or Shrink from the durum certamen, whose fathers fought bravely to Bunker. You! who have waged with the bars, and the buffeler, prœlia dura, Down to the freshes, and licks of our own free enlighten’d Missourer! You! who could whip your own weight catulis sævis sine telo, Get your eyes skinn’d in a twinkling, et ponite tela phaselo!” Talia voce refert, curisque ingentibus æger, Marshalls his ’cute little band, now panting their foe to beleaguer. Swiftly they lower the boats, and swiftly each man at his oar is, Excipe Britanni timidi duo, virque coloris; (Blackskin, you know, never feels how sweet ’tis pro patriâ mori; OVID had him in view when he said, “Nimium ne crede colori.”) Now swiftly they pull towards the monster, who seeing the cutter and gig nigh, Glares at them with terrible eyes, suffectis sanguine et igni; And never conceiving their chief so swiftly will deal him a floorer, Opens wide, to receive them at once, his linguis vibrantibus ora; But just as he’s licking his lips, and gladly preparing to taste ’em, Straight into his eyeball the skipper stridentem conjicit hastam. Soon as he feels in his eyeball the lance, growing mightily sulky, At ’em he comes in a rage ore minax, linguâque trisulcâ. “Starn all!” cry the sailors at once, for they think he has certainly caught ’em; Præsentemque viris intentant omnia mortem. But the bold skipper exclaims, “O terque quaterque beati! Now, with a will, dare viam, when I want you, be only parati; This hoss feels like raising his hair, and in spite of his scaly old cortex, Full soon you shall see that his corpse rapidus vorat æquore vortex.” Hoc ait, and choosing a lance, “With this one I think I shall hit it.” He cries; and straight into its mouth ad intima viscera mittit. Screeches the crittur in pain, and writhes till the sea is commotum, As if all its waves had been lash’d in a tempest per Eurum et Notum; Interea terrible shindy NEPTUNUS sensit, et alto Prospiciens sadly around, wiped his eye with the cuff of his paletôt; And mad at his favourite’s fate, of oaths utter’d two or three thousand, Such as, Corpo di Bacco! Mehercule! Sacré! Mille tonnerres! Potztausend! But the skipper, who thought it was time to this terrible fight dare finem, With a scalping-knife jumps on the neck of the snake, secat et dextrâ crinem; And hurling the scalp in the air, half wild with delight to possess it, Shouts, “Darn it! We’ve fixed up _his_ flint, for in ventos vita recessit.”
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THE OLDEST CLASSICAL BURLESQUE.
_Batrachomyomachia_ is the cheerful title of the oldest burlesque extant, and even if we do not accept the tradition which assigns its composition to Homer, we may safely consider it to be the earliest of the many travesties of the heroic style of the “Iliad” and “Odyssey.”
According to Plutarch, the real author was one Pigres, of Halicarnassus, who flourished during the Persian war. Statius conjectures that Homer wrote it when a youth, as a trial of his poetical powers; whilst the author of one of finest English translations of Homer, George Chapman, asserts that the work was composed in his old age; when, disgusted with the neglect and ingratitude of his contemporaries, he set to work to show that he could elevate and dignify the wars and struggles of insignificant animals, as he had previously described the heroic actions of the Greeks and Trojans.
Samuel Wesley published an English translation of the _Batrachomyomachia_, which he called “The Iliad in a Nutshell.” He speaks of it “as perhaps the best, as well as the oldest burlesque in the world.”
The following is a synopsis of the plot of this poem, generally known as the _Battle of the Frogs and Mice_.
A mouse, having just escaped the pursuit of a hungry weasel, stays by the edge of a pond to drink and take breath, when a frog swims up, enters into conversation, and invites the mouse to visit his abode. The mouse consents, and mounts upon the back of the frog, who swims into the middle of the pool. Suddenly an otter appears, the terrified frog dives to the bottom, leaving the mouse to struggle with the foaming billows. Unable to reach the shore, he sinks to a watery grave; a comrade who had arrived at the brink too late to be of service, hastens to relate the pitiful tale to a council of his fellows, and war is at once declared against the Frogs.
Jupiter and the gods deliberate in Olympus on the issue of the contest. Mars and Minerva decline personal interference, partly from awe inspired by such mighty combatants, and partly from the ill will they bear towards the contending parties.
A band of mosquitoes sound the war-alarum with their trumpets, and, after a bloody engagement, the frogs are defeated with great slaughter. Jupiter, sympathising with their fate, endeavours in vain by his thunders to intimidate the victors from further pursuit. The rescue of the frogs is at last effected by an army of landcrabs, which marches up, attacks the mice, and drives them from the field in great disorder.
Wesley’s translation of the _dénouement_ is a specimen of the mock-heroic style which runs through the original:――
The Muses, knowing all things, list not show The wailing for the Dead and Funeral Rites, To blameless Ethiopians must they go To feast with Jove for twelve succeeding nights. Therefore abrupt thus end they. Let suffice The gods’ august assembly to relate, Heroic Frogs and Demigods of Mice, Troxartes’ vengeance and Pelides’ fate. Hosts routed, lakes of gore, and hills of slain, An Iliad, work divine! raised from a day’s campaign.
[Illustration]
Burlesques of Educational Works
GUIDES, TUTORS’ ASSISTANTS, AND HISTORIES.
_In Alphabetical Order._
_The Art of Pluck._ Being a Treatise after the Fashion of Aristotle; writ for the use of Students in the Universities. By Scriblerus Redivivus. (This clever work was written by the Rev. Edward Caswell, and first published in 1835. It has run through many editions, and can still be obtained from Mr. J. Vincent, Bookseller, Oxford.)
_The Book of Fun_; or, Laugh and Learn. London: James Gilbert. This contained “The Illustrated English Grammar;” “Rhetoric and Elocution;” “Illustrated Arithmetic or, Cyphering made Comical;” “The Comic History of Rome, and the Rumuns.” These were all humourously illustrated.
_Catalogue of the Valuable Contents of Strawberry Hill_, the Seat of Horace Walpole, 24 days’ sale, by Mr. George Robins. This catalogue is often accompanied by the humorous parody: “Specimen of the Catalogue of the Great Sale at Goosebery Hall, with Puffatory Remarks.”
_The Comic Blackstone._ By Gilbert Abbot à Beckett, with illustrations by George Cruikshank. London: Bradbury, Agnew & Co. Mr. G. A. à Beckett was fully qualified by his education as a barrister, and his practice as a Metropolitan Police Magistrate, to discourse learnedly of the law. He died in August, 1856.
In 1887 his son, Mr. Arthur W. à Beckett, brought out a new, and enlarged edition of _The Comic Blackstone_, with illustrations by Mr. Harry Furniss. This was also published by Bradbury, Agnew & Co.
_Caricature History of the Georges_; or, Annals of the House of Hanover, compiled by Thomas Wright, F. S. A. London: John Camden Hotten. Illustrated.
The original edition appeared as early as 1849, but Hotten’s later reprint was more complete.
“George the First vile was reckoned, Viler still was George the Second. And what mortal ever heard Any good of George the Third? When the last to Hell descended, The Lord be praised the Georges ended!”
_Catalogue of the Valuable Contents of Strawberry Hill_, the Seat of Horace Walpole, 24 days sale, by Mr. George Robins, 1842.
Inserted in this is sometimes found a humorous parody on the Sale Catalogue. “Specimen of the Catalogue of the Great Sale at Gooseberry Hall, with Puffatory Remarks.”
_The Comic Bradshaw_; or, Bubbles from the Boiler. By Angus B. Reach. Illustrated by H. G. Hine. London: David Bogue, 1848.
This little pamphlet has no connection with the tedious and complicated book of reference alluded to in the title. It contains several parodies.
_The Comic Cocker_; or, Figures for the Million. With illustrations. This was published, _without any author’s name or date_, by Ward and Lock, London. It was probably written by Alfred Crowquill, _i.e._ A. H. Forrester.
_The Comic English Grammar_; a new and facetious introduction to the English tongue. By “Paul Prendergast,” _i.e._, Mr. Percival Leigh. With illustrations by John Leech. London: 1840. There have been numerous editions of this work.
_Comic Etiquette Illustrated_; or, Hints how to Conduct Oneself in the Best Society, by an X.M.C. With sketches by T. Onwhyn. Very scarce. About 1840.
_The Comic Etiquette_; or, Manners for the Million. By “A Nice Young Man.” With numerous illustrations. London: Diprose and Bateman.
_The Comic Guide to the Royal Academy for 1864._ By the Gemini. Illustrated. London: John Nichols, 1864.
_The Comic History of England._ By Gilbert Abbott à Beckett. With illustrations by John Leech. London: Bradbury, Agnew and Co., 1847-8.
_The Comic History of England._ By O. P. Q. Philander Smiff. With illustrations. London: Myra and Son. (This originally appeared in Figaro.)
_The Comic History of England, Ireland, and Scotland._ London: Diprose and Bateman.
_A Comic History of France._ By O. P. Q. Philander Smiff. With sketches in French chalks. London: Myra and Son, 1888.
_Ye Comic History of Heraldry._ By R. H. Edgar. Illustrated by William Vine. London: William Tegg and Co., 1878. Unlike most “comic” histories, this contains some useful information for the student of heraldry.
_The Comic History of London_, from the Earliest Period. By Walter Parke. With numerous illustrations. London: “Boys of England” Office.
_Ye Comick Historie of ye Citie of London._ By Gog and Magog. With illustrations. London: J. A. Brook & Co., 1878.
_The Comic History of Rome._ By Gilbert Abbott à Beckett. With illustrations by John Leech. London: Bradbury, Agnew & Co., 1850.
_The Comic History of the Russian War_, poetically and pictorially described by Percy Cruikshank. With plates. About 1856.
_Comic Illustrated Multiplication._ By Buz and Fuz. Illustrated. London: Dean & Son. (No date.)
_The Comic Latin Grammar_; a new and facetious introduction to the Latin tongue. By Paul Prendergast. With illustrations by John Leech. (“Paul Prendergast” was Mr. Percival Leigh, a contributor to _Punch_ from its commencement.) London: 1840.
_A Companion to the Guide; and a Guide to the Companion_; being a complete supplement to all the accounts of Oxford hitherto published. This satire on the Guide to Oxford was published anonymously in 1760. It was written by the Rev. Thomas Warton.
_Craniology Burlesqued_, in three Serio-Comic Lectures, recommended to the Patronage of Drs. Gall and Spurzheim, by a Friend to Common Sense. London, 1818.
_Cricket._ Edited by G. Hutchison, 1888. This contained several parodies.
_Cricketers Guyed for 1886._ By W. Sapte, Jun. With cuts. London: J. & R. Maxwell, 1886. This contains some valuable information for cricketers, given in a bright and humorous style.
“Break! break! break! If only an inch,” said he; And I would that my tongue dare utter The words that I heard him mutter As the ball was slogged for three.
_The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Esq._, while an Undergraduate at Cambridge. Cambridge: J. Palmer, 1866.
_Drawing for the Million_; or, Laugh and Learn. London: Diprose & Bateman.
_England’s Reformation_, from the time of Henry the Eighth to the end of Oates’s Plot. By T. Ward. A Hudibrastic poem describing the reformation from a Roman Catholic point of view. First published about 1700.
_English as She is Taught_; being genuine answers to Examination questions in our Public Schools. Collected by Caroline B. Le Row, with a Commentary thereon by Mark Twain. London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1887.
Mark Twain’s article on this subject had first appeared in the _Century Magazine_ for April, 1887.
_English as She is Wrote_, showing curious ways in which the English language may be made to convey ideas or obscure them. London: G. Routledge & Sons.
This contained some curious Signboards, Advertisements, Epitaphs, and Parodies.
_Freaks and Follies of Fabledom_; a Little Lemprière, or Mythology made easy. London: John Ollivier, 1852. This is really a drawing-room Mythology.
_Fun’s Academy Skits._ Skitched by Gordon Thomson, with Notes by “Nestor.” London: “Fun” Office, 1881 and 1882. These contained numerous parodies, both poetical and pictorial.
_Games made Game of._ By Two Game Cocks. (Chess, Billiards, Cribbage, Forfeits, Cricket, Football, &c.) London: James Allen, 1857.
_The Gladstone A. B. C._ Illustrated. Edinburgh: W. Blackwood & Sons. (No date, but about 1884.)
_The Great Exhibition_ “Wot is to be; or, probable results of the Industry of all Nations.” By George Augustus Sala. London: 1851.
_Harry Furniss’s Royal Academy._ An Artistic Joke. A Catalogue of the Exhibition, containing over Eighty illustrations after the Artists. London: 1887.
Harry Furniss’s illustrations were parodies of paintings by the most famous artists of the day.
_The Heraldry of Nature_, comprising the Arms, Supporters, Crests, and Mottoes of the English Peers, descriptive of their several qualities. With plates. London: 1785. A very satirical work; the following was the description it gave of the _Arms_ of the dissolute Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV.: First, azure, the prince’s cap, feathers disordered; second argent, four decanters azure; third gules, a fringed petticoat between three maidens’ heads; fourth, sable, the ace of spades proper; fifth argent, a horse courant between three rattles; sixth gules, a quiver, the arrows scattered.
_Supporters._ The dexter, Cupid; the sinister, a monkey. _Crest._ A deer wounded. _Motto._ Fions à l’avenir.
_Hints on Etiquette_, for the University of Oxford; to which are added some remarks on “Honour.” By Professor Taglioni Jonez. Oxford, 1838. This has been frequently reprinted, and can still be obtained from Mr. J. Vincent.
_Hints to Freshmen in the University of Oxford._ Oxford: J. Vincent. This humorous work has been ascribed to Canon Hole. In addition to the “Hints to Freshmen,” it contains nine excellent poetical parodies, extracts from which have already been quoted in this Collection.
_History of the Decline and Fall of the British Empire._ By Edwarda Gibbon (Auckland, A.D. 2884.) London: Field & Tuer, 1884.
_Homburg no Humbug_; ye Diarie of Mr. Pips while there, with plates. London, 1867.
_Leading Cases done into English._ By an Apprentice of Lincoln’s Inn. (Said to be Professor Pollock). London: Macmillan & Co. 1876.
_Manners and Customs of ye Englishe_, drawn from ye Quicke, to which is added some Extracts from Mr. Pips, hys Diarie, contributed by Percival Leigh, illustrations by Richard Doyle. London: Bradbury & Evans, 1849.
_Marks and Re-marks for the Catalogue of the Exhibition of the Royal Academy, 1856._ Written in the manner of Longfellow’s _Hiawatha_. London: Golbourn, 1856.
_Max in the Metropolis._ A Visit Paid by Yankee Doodle to Johnny Bull. By Max P. Romer. Illustrated. London: G. Routledge & Sons. 1887.
_The Model Primer._ By Eugene Field, of _Denver Tribune_. Published by Fred Tredwell, of Nassau Street, New York, U.S., and Bernard Quaritch, London. Illustrated by “Hop.” 1886.
(This is one of the drollest of Yankee books of humour.)
_More Hints on Etiquette_, for the use of Society at large, and Young Gentlemen in Particular. With cuts by George Cruikshank. London: Charles Tilt, 1838.
A parody of “_Hints on Etiquette_, and the Usages of Society: with a glance at bad habits.”
London: Longmans & Co. 1836.
_Music for the Million_; or, Singing made Easy. By Dick Crotchet. London: Diprose & Bateman.
_The Mysteries of London_, and Strangers Guide to the Art of Living and Science of Enjoyment in the Great Metropolis. By Father North. London: Hugh Cunningham, 1844. A satirical guide to London in the form of a dictionary.
_Overland Journey to the Great Exhibition_, showing a few Extra Articles and Visitors. _Being a Panoramic Procession of humorous figures representing the various Peoples of the Earth, exhibiting their national Characteristics, 109 inches in length._ By Richard Doyle. London: 1851.
_A Parody upon the History of Greece._ Published by the Society for the _Confusion of Useful Knowledge_. (By A. F. Braham.) London: W. S. Johnson. 1837.
_The Pictorial Grammar._ By Alfred Crowquill. The first edition was published by Harvey and Darton, London, without any date. It has since been re-issued by William Tegg & Co., 1876.
(Mr. Alfred Henry Forrester, who wrote as “Alfred Crowquill,” was born in London in 1806, and died May 26, 1872. He also wrote _The Tutor’s Assistant_.)
_Picture Logic_; or, the Grave made Gay, an Attempt to popularise the Science of Reasoning by the combination of Humorous Pictures with Examples of Reasoning taken from Daily Life. By Alfred Swinbourne, B.A., Queen’s College, Oxford. London: Longmans & Co., 1875.
_The Pleader’s Guide_; a Didactic Poem, in two parts: containing Mr. Surrebutter’s Poetical Lectures on the conduct of a Suit at Law (by J. Anstey). London: T. Cadell, 1804.
_The Premier School-Board Primer_; with forty illustrations. London: E. Appleyard, 1884.
_A Satire on Mottos_, being a literal translation and Criticism on all the Mottos which now decorate the Arms of the English Nobility and the Sixteen Peers of Scotland, with humorous reflections on each. (A skit on heraldry.)
_Showell’s Comic Guide to the Inventories._ London, 1885.
_The Story of the Life of Napoleon III._, as told by Popular Caricaturists of the last Thirty Years. London: John Camden Hotten, 1871.
_Tom Treddlehoyle’s Peep at t’ Manchister Art Treasures Exhebishan e_ 1857, an uther wunderful things beside at cum in hiz way i t’ city of Manchister. 1857.
_Transactions of the Loggerville Literary Society._ London: Printed for Private Circulation by J. R. Smith, 36, Soho Square, 1867. Illustrated. This singular work contains a “Concise History of England,” in 61 verses, a burlesque examination paper, and “Dandyados,” a Tragedy, which is a parody of “Bombastes Furioso.”
_The Tutor’s Assistant_; or Comic Figures of Arithmetic; slightly altered and elucidated from Walking-Game. By Alfred Crowquill, _i.e._ A. H. Forrester. London, 1843.
_The World Turned inside out_; or Comic Geography, and Comic History of England. With Illustrations. London: Diprose and Bateman (originally published in 1844).
――――
A MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM.
If you take the mean of an isosceles triangle, bisect it at one and an eighth, giving a centrifugal force of three to one; then describe a gradient on its periphery of ¾ to the square inch, throwing off the right angles from the previously ascertained square root, you form a rhomboid whose base is equal to the circumference of a circle of twice its own cubic contents. These premisses being granted it stands to reason that it is impossible for a steam engine of 40 H.P. nominal to go through a tunnel of the same dimensions, without tearing the piston cock off the main boiler, even with the rotation derived from a double stuffing box, high pressure steam, and a vacuum of 43°. Q. E. D.
[Illustration]
Theatrical Burlesques and Travesties.
[Illustration: I]n the following Table a rather wide interpretation has been given to the word _Burlesque_, so that some of J. R. Planché’s witty extravaganzas have been included, and a few even of the clever pantomime openings written by the late Mr. E. L. Blanchard. The object aimed at being to insert particulars of every _Dramatic_ production which professed to be a Burlesque, or a Travestie of any well-known Play, Novel, Poem, or Poetical Legend.
Probably some thousands of Burlesques have been performed which have never attained the dignity of print, and in the following pages will be found many Burlesques which have never been publicly acted, although written in dramatic form.
I wish to express my sincere thanks to my esteemed friend Mr. T. F. Dillon Croker for the great assistance he has rendered in this compilation. Not only was his curious dramatic library generously placed at my disposal, but he also undertook to revise the proof sheets, his intimate knowledge of theatrical history enabling him to make numerous valuable suggestions. I have also to thank Mr. F. Howell for the loan of many early burlesques, and to mention that in the verification of dates the _Era Almanacks_ have been of great service. It is to be regretted that this useful publication was not started until 1868. Long may it flourish!
In a Table containing nearly eight hundred entries, and the first of its kind ever compiled, it is almost inevitable that some errors and omissions should occur. Mr. Samuel French, the theatrical publisher, in answer to a politely worded request, not only declined to give the slightest assistance, but even refused permission to consult any of his Play books for the verification of a few dates. This information is not readily accessible at the British Museum Library, as under the peculiar method of cataloguing there adopted, it is necessary to know the author’s name of any work one desires to consult. As Mr. French possesses a virtual monopoly of the sale of modern English plays it is to be regretted that he will not extend a little courteous assistance to writers on Dramatic history.
Mr. John Dicks, of 313, Strand, who issues very cheap and readable reprints of old English plays, gave me all the information in his power, but, as yet, he has only published a few Burlesques.
In the Table a strictly alphabetical arrangement of Titles has been adopted, followed by the date and place of first performance, and in some cases the names of the principal performers have been given. For convenience of reference the articles, The, Ye, A, An, Le, La, L’, Il, have been ignored. Thus――_L’Africaine_ will be found under the letter A, and _La Sonnambula_ under the letter S.
Where the name of a Theatre is given, without any town, London is to be understood.
Burl. signifies Burlesque. Burl. panto. „ Burlesque Pantomime. Burl, extrav. „ Burlesque Extravaganza. Burl. op. „ Burlesque Opera. N.D. „ No date.
_Abon Hassan_; or, The Hunt after Happiness. By Francis Talfourd. St. James’s. December 26, 1854. J. L. Toole and Miss Eleanor Bufton.
_Abon Hassan_; or, An Arabian Knight’s Entertainment. By Arthur O’Neil. Charing Cross. December 11, 1869. Published by Phillips, Regent Circus, London.
_Abou_; or, The Sleeper Awakened, burlesque, by Joseph Tabrar. T. R. Coventry. August 3, 1885.
_Acis and Galatea_, paraphrased, by W. H. Oxberry. Adelphi. February 8, 1842. Wright & Paul Bedford.
_Acis and Galatea_, burlesque, by F. C. Burnand.
_Acis and Galatea_, by T. F. Plowman. Oxford, Dec. 1869.
_Adonis._ An “American Eccentricity,” by Gill and Dixey. Gaiety. May 31, 1886. Performed by an American company, and damned by the London press, as a noisy, stupid and meaningless production. Mr. Henry E. Dixey, the leading performer, as “Adonis,” gave some imitations (not in the best taste) of Henry Irving.
_L’Africaine_; or, the Belle of Madagascar, by Captain Arbuthnot.
_L’Africaine_, burl. By F. C. Burnand. Strand, Nov. 18, 1865, and revived in 1876. Edward Terry, Harry Cox and Marius.
_Agamemnon at Home_; or, the Latest Particulars of that little affair at Mycenæ. A Burlesque Sketch. First performed at the St. John’s College, A. T., during Commemoration, 1867. Oxford. T. & G. Shrimpton, 1867. (By the late Mr. E. Nolan, of St. John’s).
_Agamemnon and Cassandra_; or, The Prophet and Loss of Troy, by R. Reece. Prince of Wales’s, Liverpool, April 13, 1868.
_Airey Annie_, travestie of _Ariane_, by F. C. Burnand. Strand, April 4, 1888. Willie Edouin, W. Cheesman, Misses Alice Atherton and M. Ayrtoun. The latter lady mimicked Mrs. Bernard Beere’s impersonation of _Ariane_.
_A Knock at the Door_; or, Worsted Works Wonders, by Stafford O’Brien and R. M. Milnes. Acted by Amateurs at the Cambridge University, March 19, 1830. Privately printed.
_Aladdin_; or, the Wonderful Lamp in a New Light, by Gilbert A. à Beckett. July 4, 1844. Wright, Paul Bedford, Augustus Harris, Madame Sala.
_Aladdin_; or, The Wonderful Scamp. By Henry J. Byron. Strand, April 1, 1861. H. J. Turner, J. Rogers, J. Clarke, Misses C. Saunders, F. Josephs, E. Bufton and Marie Wilton.
_Aladdin II._; or, An Old Lamp in a New Light, by Alfred Thompson. Gaiety. December, 1870. Burl.-Opera. J. L. Toole, Stoyle, Miss E. Farren and Miss Loseby.
_Aladdin_; or, The Wonderful Lamp, by Frank W. Green. Charing Cross. December 23, 1874.
_Aladdin and the Flying Genius._ Philharmonic. Dec. 26, 1881.
_Aladdin._ Burl.-drama, by R. Reece. Gaiety. December 24, 1881. E. Terry, E. W. Royce, T. Squire, Misses E. Farren, P. Broughton and Kate Vaughan.
_Aladdin_; or, The Scamp, the Tramp, and the Lamp, by Lloyd Clarance. Blackpool Gardens. May 14, 1883.
_Aladdin_; or, the Wonderful Lamp, by J. R. O’Neill.
_Aladdin._ Panto-openings written by E. L. Blanchard for Covent Garden, December 1865, and for Drury Lane December 1874, and December 1885.
_Alcestis, the Original Strong-minded Woman_; being a most shameless misinterpretation of the Greek drama of Euripides. By Francis Talfourd. Strand. July 4, 1850. H. Farren, W. Farren, Compton, Miss Adams, and Mrs. Leigh Murray (as Alcestis).
_Alexander the Great_, In Little. Burlesque. By Thomas Dibdin. Strand. August 7, 1837.
_Alfred the Great._ Historical extrav., by R. B, Brough. Olympic. December 26, 1859.
_Alfred the Ingrate_, by Wentworth V. Bayly. T. R. Plymouth. May 8, 1871.
_Alhambra_, Burlesque. By Albert Smith. Princess’s. April 21, 1851.
_Ali Baba_, burlesque-extravaganza, by H. J. Byron. Strand. April 6, 1863.
_Ali Baba à la Mode._ By R. Reece. Gaiety. September 14, 1872. J. L. Toole, Miss E. Farren.
_All about the Battle of Dorking_; or, My Grandmother. By F. C. Burnand and Arthur Sketchley. Alhambra. August 7, 1871. Published by Phillips, Regent Circus, London.
_Ali Baba_; or, The Forty Naughty Thieves. T. R. Birkenhead, May 14, 1883.
_Alonzo the Brave_; or, Faust and the Fair Imogene, by F. C. Burnand. Written for the A. D. C., Cambridge, and first performed on May 20, 1857. It has since been acted in London.
_Alonzo ye Brave and ye Fayre Imogene_, by Sam H. Harrison. Alexandra T. Liverpool. April 2, 1876.
_Alonzo and Imogene_; or, The Dad, the Lad, the Lord, and the Lass, by W. W. Bird. T. R. Richmond. April 17, 1869.
_Amoroso, King of Little Britain._ By J. R. Planché. Drury Lane. April 21, 1818. This was Mr. Planché’s first attempt, and the success it achieved he modestly ascribed to the excellent acting of Harley, Knight, Oxberry, G. Smith, Mrs. Orger and Mrs. Bland. _Amoroso_ was not included in Mr. Dillon Croker’s edition of Planché’s works, by the Author’s special desire, it being considered by him as a work of scarcely sufficient importance.
_Amy Robsart._ Burlesque. By Mark Kinghorne. T. R. Norwich. May 10, 1880.
_Æneas; or, Dido Done._ By H. Such Granville. T. R. Cork. March 2, 1868.
_Anne Boleyne._ Burl. By Conway Edwardes. New Royalty. September 7, 1872.
_Another Drink._ Burlesque. By Savile Clarke and Lewis Clifton. Folly. July 12, 1879.
_Antigone._ A Classical Burl. By H. R. Hand. (Who died under very melancholy circumstances in 1874.) Oxford: T. & G. Shrimpton.
_Antony and Cleopatra_; or, His-Tory and Her Story, in a Modern Nilo Metre. By F. C. Burnand. Haymarket, November 21, 1866. Mr. & Mrs. Charles Mathews, Compton, Rogers, Clark, & Miss Fanny Wright.
_Antony and Cleopatra._ Burl. By J. F. Draper. Royal Hall. Jersey, December 16, 1870.
_Area Sylph_; or, a Footboy’s Dream. A burlesque upon the “Mountain Sylph,” by “Miss Betsey Fry.” English Opera House.
_Ariadne_; or, the Bull, the Bully, and the Bullion, A Classical Burlesque. By Vincent Amcotts. Oxford: T. & G. Shrimpton, 1867.
_Ariel._ Burlesque fairy drama. Founded on _The Tempest_. By F. C. Burnand. Gaiety, October 8, 1883.
_Arion; or the Story of a Lyre._ By F. C. Burnand. Strand. December 20, 1871. H. J. Turner, Edward Terry, Harry Paulton, Misses Rose Cullen, and Topsy Venn.
_Arline, the Lost Child._ By Best & Bellingham. Sadler’s Wells. July 23, 1864.
_Arrah-na-Brogue._ By A. C. Shelley. Sadler’s Wells. October 25, 1865.
_The Ar-Rivals_; or a Trip to Margate. Travestie. By J. M. Banero and A. D. Pincroft. Avenue. June 24, 1884. Intended as a travestie of the famous revival of “The Rivals,” at the Haymarket Theatre, by Bancroft and Pinero. “The Ar-Rivals” was a failure.
_The Ashantee War._ Burlesque. By James Sandford; Alexandra Opera House, Sheffield. May 25, 1874.
_Atalanta_; or, the Three Golden Apples. By Francis Talfourd. Haymarket, April 13, 1857. Chippendale, Compton, Clark, Misses M. Wilton and M. Oliver.
_Atalanta_, by George P. Hawtrey. Strand, November 17, 1888. W. F. Hawtrey, T. Squire, and Misses Marie Linden and Alma Stanley.
_Babes in the Wood_, burlesque, by George Capel. Gaiety Theatre, Douglas, Isle of Man, July 26, 1884.
_Babes in the Wood._ Burl.-drama, by H. J. Byron. Adelphi, July 18, 1859. J. L. Toole, P. Bedford, Mrs. A. Mellon.
_The Babes in the Wood_, by G. L. Gordon and G. W. Anson. Prince of Wales’s, Liverpool, April 16, 1877.
_The Babes_; or, Whines from the Wood, by Harry Paulton. Originally produced at the Theatre Royal, Birmingham, June 9, 1884. Also at Toole’s Theatre. London, Sept. 6, 1864, with Lionel Brough, Willie Edouin, Miss Alice Atherton.
_The Barber’s Trip to Paris_, burlesque. Wolverhampton, February 28, 1876.
_Beautiful Haidee_; or, the Sea Nymph and the Sallee Rovers, by H. J. Byron.
_Beauty and the Beast._ Panto-opening by E. L. Blanchard. Drury Lane, December, 1869.
_Beauty and the Beast_, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_The Beast and the Beauty_, or No Rose without a Thorn, by F. C. Burnand. Royalty, October 4, 1869. Mr. F. Dewar, Misses Kate Bishop, M. Oliver and C. Saunders. Published by Phillips, Regent Circus, London.
_The Bee and the Orange Tee_, burlesque, by H. J. Byron. Vaudeville.
_The Beggar’s Opera_, by John Gay. Originally produced in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 1728. Lord Byron called this a St. Giles’s lampoon.
_Behind the Scenes_, burlesque-burletta, by Charles Selby. Strand, September 12, 1839.
_The Belle of the Barley-mow_; or, the Wooer, the Waitress, and the Willian, by H. T. Arden. Cremorne Gardens, Sept. 23, 1867. W. Corri, Miss C. Parkes.
_La Belle Sauvage_, burlesque, by John Brougham. St. James’s, November 27, 1869. Mrs. John Wood, and Lionel Brough.
_The Bells Bell-esqued and Polish Jew Polished Off_; or, Mathias, the Muffin, the Mystrey, the Maiden and the Masher. Theatre Royal, Norwich, March 13, 1883.
_Belphegor Travestie_, by Leicester Buckingham. Strand, September 29, 1856. H. J. Turner, J. Clarke, Miss Cuthbert, Miss Thirlwall.
_Belphegor the Mountebank_, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_Billy Taylor_, burlesque-burletta, by J. B. Buckstone. Adelphi, November 9, 1829.
_“The Birds” of Aristophanes_, adapted by J. R. Planché. Haymarket, April 13, 1846. J. Bland, Miss P. Horton.
_Black-Eyed Sukey_; or, All in the Dumps, burlesque-extrav., by F. Fox Cooper. Olympic.
_Black-Eyed Susan_, the Latest Edition, by F. C. Burnand. New Royalty, November 29, 1866. F. Dewar, C. Wyndham, Misses M. Oliver, N. Bromley. This was afterwards revived.
_Blighted Bachelors_, burlesque, by Llewellyn Williams, Derby, August 29, 1881.
_Blossom of Churmington Green_, by F. Radcliffe Hoskins.
_Blue Beard; or, Hints to the Curious_, by J. H. Tully. English Opera House.
_Blue Beard_, burl.-burletta, by J. R. Planché. Olympic, January 1, 1839. Mr. J. Bland and Madame Vestris.
_Blue Beard Re-trimmed._ Park Theatre, July 9, 1877.
_Blue Beard, from a new point of hue_, by H. J. Byron. Adelphi, December 26, 1860.
_Blue Beard Repaired_, by H. Bellingham. Olympic, June 2, 1866.
_Blue Beard, the Great Bashaw_; or the Loves of Selim and Fatima, by H. T. Arden. Crystal Palace, March 29, 1869.
_Blue Beard and Fat Emma_; or, the Old Man who cried “Heads,” by Frank Green. North Woolwich Gardens, June 18, 1877.
_Blue Beard and Son._ Theatre Royal, Bath, March, 1880.
_Blue Beard; or, the Hazard of the Dye_, by F. C. Burnand. Gaiety, March 12, 1883.
_Bluff King Hal_; or the Maiden, the Masher, and the Monarch, Alexandra Theatre, Sheffield, March 12, 1883.
_The Blundering Heir_, by Henry P. Lyste.
_Bobadil il Chico_; or, the Moor the Merrier, by F. C. Burnand.
_Boadicea the Beautiful_; or, Harlequin Julius Caesar and the Delightful Druid. By F. C. Burnand. Pantomime for Amateurs, London, S. O. Beeton, 1865.
_The Bohemian G-yurl and the Unapproachable Pole_, by H. J. Byron. Opera Comique, Jan. 31, 1877, and Gaiety, August, 1877. E. W. Royce, Edward Terry, Misses E. Farren and Kate Vaughan. Revived in 1884.
_Bombastes Furioso_, a burlesque tragic opera, by William Barnes Rhodes. Haymarket, August 7, 1810. Mr. Mathews, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Liston, Miss H. Kelly. This is a travesty of _Orlando Furioso_, “Distaffina,” is Angelica, beloved by Orlando, whom she jilts for a young Moor named Medoro. This sends Orlando mad, and he hangs his armour on a tree with these lines beneath:――
“Orlando’s arms let none displace, Save one who’ll meet him face to face.”
_The Bottle Imp_, burlesque. Grecian Saloon. 1852.
_Bride of Abydos_; or the Prince, the Pirate, and the Pearl. By Henry J. Byron. No date. H. J. Turner, C. Young, Miss M. Oliver, Miss Swanborough.
_The Brigand_; or new Lines to an old Ban-ditty. By Gilbert A. à Beckett. Haymarket, Dec. 26, 1867. Mr. Compton.
_The Bronze Horse_, grand spectacle, by Howard Paul, founded on Scribe and Auber’s opera, _Le Cheval de Bronze_. Alhambra, July 4, 1881.
_Brown and the Brahmins_; or, Captain Pop and the Princess Pretty Eyes. Founded on the Drama of “The Illustrious Stranger,” by R. Reece. Globe, January 23, 1869.
_Mr. Buckstone’s Ascent of Mount Parnassus._ A travestie of Albert Smith’s “Ascent of Mont Blanc” by J. R. Planché. Haymarket, March 28, 1853. W. Farren, Braid, Buckstone, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.
_Called Back Again_, burl., parody of “Called Back” by Albert Chevalier. T. R., Plymouth, July 13, 1885.
_Called There and Back_, parody of H. Conway and Comyns Carr’s play “Called Back,” by Herman C. Merivale. Gaiety, October 15, 1884.
_Calypso_, Queen of Ogygia, by S. Brooks. Sadler’s Wells, April 15, 1865.
_Camaralzaman and the Fair Badoura_; or, the Bad Djinn and the Good Spirit, by Henry J. Byron. Vaudeville, Nov. 22, 1871. Thomas Thorne, and David James.
_Camaralzaman_, by F. C. Burnand. Gaiety, January 31, 1884. E. Terry, Soutar, Squire, Misses E. Farren and P. Broughton.
_Camberwell Brothers_, by C. Selby. Olympic, April 12, 1852.
_Capuletta_; or, Romeo and Juliet Restor-i-ed. Anon. Boston, U.S. C. H. Spencer, 1868.
_Carmen; or, Sold for a Song_, by R. Reece. Folly, Jan. 25, 1879. Lionel Brough, Miss Lydia Thompson.
_Caste_, a burlesque version, see _Fun_, May 4, 1867.
_Castle of Otranto_, extravaganza, by Gilbert A. à Beckett. Haymarket, April 24, 1848.
_Champagne, a Question of Phiz_, by H. B. Farnie and R. Reece. Strand, September 29, 1877. Harry Cox, W. S. Penley, Marius, Miss Lottie Venne.
_Chang-Ching-Fou_, Cream of Tartar, by William Marten. Luton, April 11, 1864.
_Charles II._; or, Something Like History, by Gilbert à Beckett. Court, November 25, 1872.
_Charmian and Badoura_, by Charles Horsman. Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, May 19, 1873.
_Cheribel_, burlesque, by Frank W. Green. Prince’s Theatre, Manchester, May 4, 1885.
_Cherry and Fair Star_, by Frank W. Green. Surrey Theatre, April 4, 1874.
_Cherry and Fair Star_, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_The Children in the Wood_; or, the Vengeance Dyer and the Pair of Dirty Kids, Bijou T. Bayswater, March 1, 1875.
_A China Tale from a Delph Point of View_, by H. F. Mc’Clelland. T. R., Belfast, November 11, 1878.
_Chrononhotonthologos_: the most Tragical Tragedy that ever was Tragedized by any Company of Tragedians. By Henry Carey. Haymarket, 1734. Revived at the Gaiety, November, 1880. Of the author, Henry Carey, it was said that “he led a life free from reproach, and hanged himself October 4, 1743.”
_Christabel; or, The Bard Bewitched_, by Gilbert à Beckett, Court, May 15, 1872. Partly founded on Coleridge’s famous poem.
_Chrystabelle_; or, the Rose without a Thorn. Extrav., by Edmund Falconer. Lyceum, December 26, 1860.
_Cinderella_, burl, extrav., by Albert Smith & C. L. Kenney. Lyceum, May 12, 1845.
_Cinderella_; or, the Lover, the Lackey, and the little Glass Slipper. By Henry J. Byron. Strand, December 26, 1860. H. J. Turner, J. Rogers, Misses M. Oliver, C. Saunders, and M. Simpson.
_Cinderella in Quite Another Pair of Shoes_, by Frank W. Green. Royal Gardens, North Woolwich, May 20, 1871.
_Cinderella; a Story of the Slip and the Slipper_, by J. W, Jones. T. R., Leicester, October 3, 1878.
_Cinderella._ Panto-opening, by E. L. Blanchard. Drury Lane, December, 1883.
_Claude Du Val_; or, the Highwayman for the Ladies, by F. C. Burnand. Royalty, January 23, 1869. F. Dewar, Misses M. Oliver & N. Bromley. Published by Phillips, Regent Circus. London.
_The Coarse-Haired Brothers_ burlesque, by C. W. Taylor. New York. 1852.
_Cœur de Lion, Revised, and his Enemies Corrected_, by John Strachan. Strand, December 22, 1870.
_Columbus el Filibustero_, by John Brougham. Burton’s Theatre, New York, December, 1857.
_Columbus_; or, the Original Pitch in a Merry Key, by Alfred Thompson. Gaiety, May 17, 1869.
_Ye Comedie of Errours_, a glorious burlesque, by John F. Poole. New York. No date.
_Conn; or, Out of Sight, Out of ’Erin_, by F. W. Green, Alexandra T., Liverpool, April 28, 1879.
_The Congress_; or, the Czar and the Minister. T. R., Dover, July 8, 1878.
_Conrad and Medora_; or, Harlequin Corsair, and the Little Fairy at the Bottom of the Sea. A Burlesque Pantomime founded upon the ballet of “Le Corsaire,” by William Brough. Lyceum, December 26, 1856. J. L. Toole, Mrs. A. Mellon, & Marie Wilton. Also at the Crystal Palace, 1873.
_Cooleen Drawn_, by Martin Dutnall and J. B. Johnstone. Surrey T., October 14, 1861.
_Corin; or the King of the Peaceful Isles._ Queen’s T., Dublin, March 6, 1871.
_The Corsair_; or, the Little Fairy at the Bottom of the Sea, by William Brough. Lyceum, December 26, 1856. J. L. Toole, Mrs. A. Mellon, Miss M. Wilton.
_The Corsican “Bothers”_; or the Troublesome Twins, by Henry J. Byron, Globe, May 17, 1869.
_The Corsican Brothers & Co._, by F. C. Burnand and H. P. Stephens. Gaiety, October 25, 1880. E. W. Royce, J. Dallas, Misses E. Farren and Kate Vaughan. (In this Royce’s burlesque of Irving was very comical).
_The Corsican Brother-babes-in-the-wood_, extravaganza, by G. R. Sims. T. R. Hull, March 19, 1881, and Royalty Theatre, Glasgow, March 28, 1881.
_The Coster Twin Brothers_, by Frank Hall, Philharmonic, November 20, 1880.
_Cox and Box_, by Maddison Morton and F. C. Burnand, Music by Sir Arthur Sullivan. Founded on “Box and Cox.”
_Cracked Heads_, by Arthur Clements and F. Hay, Strand, February 2, 1876. Harry Cox, E. Terry, Lottie Venne.
_A Cracker Bon-Bon for Christmas Parties_, consisting of Christmas Pieces for private representation, by Robert B. Brough. This contains King Alfred and the Cakes, William Tell, Orpheus and Eurydice. With Illustrations. Published by S. French, London and New York.
_Crichton_, burlesque, by R. Hartley Edgar. Charing Cross, August 30, 1871.
_The Critic_; or, a Tragedy Rehearsed, by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Drury Lane, 1779. “Sir Fretful Plagiary,” was intended as a burlesque of the character of Richard Cumberland, the dramatist.
_The Critick Anticipated_, a Literary Catchpenny, dedicated to R. B. Sheridan. London, 1780.
_Cruel Carmen_; or, the Demented Dragoon and the Terrible Toreador, by J. Wilton Jones. Prince’s Theatre, Manchester, March 29, 1880.
_Crusoe the Second_, extravaganza. Lyceum, April 5, 1847. Mr. and Mrs. Keeley, Alfred Wigan and Miss Dickinson.
_Crystaline_, by G. M. Layton. King’s Cross, March 6, 1871.
_Cupid, Burlesque._ Royalty, April 26, 1880.
_Cupid_, burl.-burletta, by Joseph Graves. Queen’s, 1837.
_Damon the Dauntless and Phillis the Fair_, by Charles Dryden. St. George’s Hall,, December 28, 1869.
_Dandyados_, a Tragedy. A parody of “Bombastes Furioso.” See “Transactions of the Loggerville Literary Society.” 1867.
_Dandy Dick Turpin_, by Geoffrey Thorn. Grand Theatre, Islington, October 7, 1889. Misses F. Leslie, F. Dysart, and Julia Warden.
_Dan’l Tra-Duced, Tinker_, by Arthur Clements. Strand, November 27, 1876.
_The Dark King_, burlesque, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_David Garrick_, burlesque, by Charles Colnaghi & E. Ponsonby. Criterion, May 11, 1888. (Amateur.)
_The Deep, Deep Sea_; or, Perseus and Andromeda, by J. R. Planché. Olympic, Dec. 26, 1833. J. Bland, J. Vining, and Madame Vestris.
_Deep Red Rover_, an O’Piratic Burlesque, by F. Hay and Westmacott Chapman.
_Delights o’ London_, by Wallis Mackay, Horace Lennard, and G. L. Gordon. Philharmonic, April, 8, 1882.
_Der Freischutz_; or, a Good Cast for a Piece, by F. C. Burnand. Strand, October 8, 1866.
_Der Freischutz_; or, the Bill, the Belle, and the Bullet, by Henry J. Byron. Prince of Wales’s, October 10, 1866.
_The Desperate Adventures of the Baby_; or, the Wandering Heir, by C. H. Ross & A. C. Freer. Strand, Dec. 14, 1878.
_Devil’s Violin_, by B. Webster. Adelphi, May 9, 1849. Wright, O. Smith, Paul Bedford, Madame Celeste, Miss Woolgar.
_Diana_; or, the Goddess of the Moon. Masonic T., Lincoln, October, 1882.
_Dick Turpin the Second_, by W. F. Goldberg. Gaiety, May, 1889.
_Dick Whittington and his Cat-astrophe_, by James Horner. Alexandra T. Walsall, June 16, 1884.
_Dick Whittington_; or, an old story re-told, by C. G. Dyall.
_Dido_, burlesque by F.C. Burnand. St. James’s, Feb. 11, 1860.
_Dinorah under Difficulties_, by W. Brough. Adelphi, Nov. 7, 1859, J. L. Toole.
_Discreet Statues_; or, the Water Carrier of the Alhambra, by Charles Penruddocke. Performed at Compton Park. January 9, 1874.
_Doctor Dulcamara_, by W. S. Gilbert. St. James’s.
_Dr. Faust and Miss Marguerite_; or, the Young Duck with the Old Quack, by R. J. Martin and E. A. P. Hobday. Queen’s T. Dublin, August 24, 1885.
_Dolly and the Rat_, or the Brisket Family, an operatic parody on “The Maid and the Magpie.” Duncombe, 1823.
_Domenico, the Vile’un_, by Leigh Thomas. Assembly Rooms, Camberwell, April 26, 1872.
_The Domestic Hearthstone_; or, the Virgin Maiden’s Vengeance, a Terrible Tragedy in One Act, by John Smith. (A Richardsonian Melo-drama.)
_Don Carlos; or, the Infante in Arms_, by Conway Edwardes, T. R. South Shields, Aug. 6, 1869. Vaudeville, April 16, 1870. Honey, Thorne, Miss Nelly Power.
_Don Giovanni_; or, a Spectre on Horseback, by Thomas Dibdin. Surrey Theatre, 1817.
_Don Giovanni_, by J. C. Brennan, T. R. Greenwich, March 11, 1872.
_Don Giovanni in Venice_, Operatic extravaganza by R. Reece. Gaiety, February 17, 1873.
_Don Giovanni M.P._ Princess’s Theatre, Edinburgh, April 17, 1874.
_Don Giovanni, Junr_; or, the Shakey Page, more Funkey than Flunkey. Greenwich, May 17, 1875.
_Don Juan_, Burlesque, T. R. Bradford, Nov., 22, 1870.
_Don Juan_; by Henry J. Byron. Alhambra, Dec., 22, 1873.
_Don Juan, Junior_, by the Brothers Prendergast. Royalty, November 2, 1880, E. Righton, Miss Kate Lawler.
_Don Quixote_, burl., by J. M. Killick. Cabinet, Oct. 28, 1869.
_Done to-a-cinderella_; or, The Drudge, the Prince, and the Plated Glass Slipper, by Fawcett Lomax. Theatre Royal, Exeter, September 12, 1881.
_Dora and Diplunacy_; or, a Woman of Uncommon Scents, by F. C. Burnand. Strand, February 14, 1878.
_Douglas Travestie_, by William Leman Rede. Adelphi, Feb. 13, 1837. O. Smith, J. Reeve, Mrs. Stirling.
_The Dragon of Hougue Bie_; or, The little Prince’s Tour, by J. F. Draper. Royal Hall, Jersey, Dec. 8, 1871.
_Dulcamara_; or, the Little Duck and the Great Quack, by W. S. Gilbert.
_East Lynne_, burl., Birmingham Theatre, Sept. 16, 1869.
_East Lynne_; or Isabel that was a Belle. Theatre Royal, Coventry, November 10, 1884.
_Edwin and Angelina_, by Miss Walford. Gallery of Illustration, May 6, 1871.
_Effie and Jeannie Deans Burlesque_, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_Elbow Shakers_, by F. Fox Cooper. Adelphi.
_Elizabeth_; or, the Don, the Duck, the Drake, and the Invisible Armada, by F. C. Burnand. Vaudeville, November 17, 1870.
_Enchanted Horse_, by Albert Smith and C. L. Kenney. Lyceum, December 26, 1845.
_The Enchanted Isle_; or, “Raising the Wind” on the most approved Principles. A parody on Shakespeare’s “Tempest,” by the Brothers Brough. Adelphi, Nov. 20, 1848. O. Smith, Paul Bedford, Miss Woolgar & Madame Celeste.
_Endymion_; or, the Naughty Boy who cried for the Moon, by William Brough.
_Ernani_; or, the Horn of a Dilemma, by William Brough. Alexandra T., May 20, 1865.
_Erratic Evangeline._ Birmingham T., March 10, 1884.
_Esmeralda_, an Operaticoterpsichorean burlesque in Two Acts, without any Foundation whatever, by two Gentlemen who won’t be answerable for anything. London, published by G. Odell, 1844.
_Esmeralda_, burl., by Albert Smith. Adelphi, June 3, 1850. O. Smith, Wright, Paul Bedford, Miss Woolgar, Madame Celeste.
_Esmeralda_; or, the “Sensation” Goat, by Henry J. Byron. Strand, Sept. 28, 1861. J. Rogers, J. Clarke, Misses Marie Wilton, E. Bufton. Revived at the Strand, June, 1871.
_Eurydice_ (as it was damned at the T. R., in Drury Lane), by Henry Fielding: see his works.
_Eurydice_; or, Little Orpheus and His Lute, by H. J. Byron. Strand, April 24, 1871.
_Evangeline_, American burlesque. Court Theatre, Liverpool, June 11, 1883.
_Fair Helen_, by V. Amcotts. Oxford. Shrimpton. 1868.
_Fair Star_, extravaganza, by Albert Smith and J. Oxenford. Princess’s, April 8, 1844.
_The Fairy Ring._ Theatre Royal, Bristol, March 29, 1869.
_Fancy Land; or, the Ideal King_, burlesque, by C. F. Fuller, H.M.S. “Rainbow,” April 9, 1884.
_Farrago_, burlesque, Ashton Theatre, May 14, 1883.
_The Fair Princess_, burlesque, by Fred Bernard. Gaiety Theatre, Walsall, December 20, 1886.
_Fair Rosamond’s Bower_ or, the Monarch, the Maiden, the Maze, and the Mixture, by Frederick Langbridge.
_Fair Rosamond_, burlesque-extravaganza, T. P. Taylor. Sadler’s Wells, 1838.
_Fair Rosamond_; or, the Maze, the Maid, and the Monarch, by F. C. Burnand. Olympic, April 21, 1862. F. Robson.
_Faust in a Fog_, by R. Reece.
_Faust and Marguerite_, by F. C. Burnand. St. James’s, July 9, 1864. Mr. and Mrs. Chas. Mathews, J. Clarke.
_Faust; or, Marguerite’s Mangle_, by C. H. Hazlewood. Britannia, March 25, 1867.
_Faust in forty minutes_, burlesque by Fred. Locke. Gaiety T. Glasgow. August 17, 1885.
_Faust and Loose; or Brocken Vows._ Travestie on Lyceum “Faust,” by F. C. Burnand. Toole’s Theatre, Feb. 4, 1886. J. L. Toole, Miss Marie Linden.
_Faust and Co._, by George Gordon, T. R. Greenock, February 27, 1886.
_Faust up to Date_, burlesque, by G. R. Sims and Henry Pettitt, Gaiety, October 30, 1888. E. J. Lonnen, Miss F. Robina, Miss F. St. John.
_Faust_; or the Old Man and the Devil. Woolwich T.
_Fayre Rosamond_; or, Ye Dagger, and Ye Poisoned Bowl by T. Cother. T. R., Gloucester, April 19, 1869.
_The Field of the Cloth of Gold_, burl-extrav. Strand, April 11, 1868. Harry Cox, Marius, H. J. Turner, Misses Sallie Turner and Lottie Venne.
_Fine Nance_; or, Alas (s) for the city; a burlesque sketch as performed by a Limited Company. London, Hatton and Son 1867. A skit on the “Companies’ Act 1862.”
_The Flying Dutchman_; or, the Demon Seaman and the Lass that loved a Sailor, by W. Brough. Royalty, Dec. 2, 1869.
_Firmilian_; or the Student of Badajoz. A Spasmodic Tragedy, by T. Percy Jones, W. Blackwood & Sons, 1854. This burlesque was written by Professor W. E. Aytoun.
_F. M. Julius Cnæsar_; or, the Irregular Rum ’un, by F. C. Burnand. Royalty, September 7, 1870.
_The Forty Thieves_, burlesque, by R. Reece, Gaiety, Dec. 24, 1880. Edward Terry, T. Squire, Royce, Misses E. Farren, and Kate Vaughan.
_The Four Kings_; or, Paddy in the Moon, by C. H. Hazlewood. Britannia, April 14, 1873.
_Fowl Play_; or, a Story of Chikken Hazard, by F. C. Burnand. Queen’s, June 20, 1868.
_Fra Diavolo_; or, the Beauty and the Brigands, by Henry James Byron. Strand, April 5, 1858, and revived Sept. 10, 1860. H. J. Turner, J. Rogers, Miss M. Simpson.
_Fra Diavolo the Second_, extravaganza, by J. T. Denny. Philharmonic, August 28, 1882.
_The Frightful Hair_; or, who Shot the Dog. An original Travestie on Lord Lytton’s “Rightful Heir.” By F. C. Burnand. Haymarket, December 26, 1868. Mr. Kendal, Mr. Compton, Misses Ione Burke, and F. Wright. Published by Phillips, Regent Circus, London.
_Frankenstein_, burlesque, by “Richard Henry.” Gaiety, December 24, 1887.
_Furnivallos Furioso!_ and “The Newest Shakespeare Society.” London, T. Richards, 1876. Written to ridicule Mr. Furnivall, but never performed.
_Galatea; or Pygmalion Re-versed_, burlesque, by H. P. Stephens. Gaiety, December 26, 1883.
_The Gay Musketeers_; or, All for Number One, by Eldred and Paulton. P. of Wales’s, Liverpool, April 18, 1870.
_Gentle Gertrude_, of the Infamous Redd Lyon Inn; or, Drugged and Drowned in Digbeth! A melo-drammer in One Act, by T. E. Pemberton. Liverpool Theatre, February 21, 1881; Gaiety, London, May 14, 1884.
_George Barnwell Travestie._ See “Rejected Addresses,” by James and Horace Smith.
_George de Barnwell_, burl., by Henry J. Byron. Adelphi, December 26, 1862.
_Georgy Barnwell_, by Montague Corri. Surrey T., May 27, 1844.
_The German Silvery King_, by Walter Burnot. Elephant and Castle, March 24, 1883.
_Giddy Godiva_; or, the Girl that was sent to Coventry, by H. C. Newton. Sanger’s Amphitheatre, Oct. 13, 1883.
_Giovanni in London_, or, The Libertine Reclaimed, by W. T. Moncrieff. Drury Lane and Covent Garden, 1827.
_The Girls of the Period_, burl., by F. C. Burnand.
_Giselle_; or, the Sirens of the Lotus Lake, by Henry J. Byron. Olympic, July 22, 1871.
_Godiva_, historical burlesque, by F. Talfourd and W. Hale. Strand, July 7, 1851.
_The Golden Fleece_; or Jason in Colchis, a classical extrav., J. R. Planché. Haymarket, March 24, 1845. J. Bland, Miss P. Horton, Madame Vestris.
_The Golden Pippin_, by Kane O’Hara. Covent Garden, 1773.
_The Good Fairy of St. Helen’s_; or, King Coal and his Merry Men, by James Brockbank. April 22, 1872.
_Good Old Barnes of New York_, by Walter Burnot. Ladbroke Hall, September 25, 1888.
_The Goose and Golden Eggs_, by J. F. Draper (Amateur). Royal Hall, Jersey. November 19, 1869.
_The Grand Duke of Camberwell_, by W. M. Akhurst. Elephant and Castle, April 17, 1876.
_The Great Metropolis_, extrav., by F. C. Burnand. Gaiety, April 6, 1874.
_Great Sensation Trial_, or Circumstantial Effie-Deans, by W. Brough.
_The Great Tragic Revival_, an absurdity, by John Brougham, Burton’s Theatre, New York, 1858.
_Greenleaf the Graceful_, or the Palace of Vengeance, by W. R. Osman. Royalty, February 26, 1872.
_The “Grin” Bushes!_ or, the “Mrs.” Brown of the “Missis”-Sippi. Founded on the “Green Bushes.” By Henry J. Byron. Strand, Dec. 26, 1864. David James, J. Stoyle, Misses M. Simpson & Ada Swanborough.
_Grizelle_; or Dancing Mad. A Legend of St. Vitus, by W. H. Oxberry. English Opera House.
_The Guardians_, or is “Union” Strength? by “Ixion.”
_The Guilty Governess and the Downey Doctor_, by G. M. Layton. Folly, May 8, 1876.
_Guy Fawkes_, by F. C. Burnand. Strand, Dec. 22, 1866.
_Guy Fawkes_, by Henry J. Byron. Gaiety, January 14, 1874. J. L. Toole, Brough, Nellie Farren.
_Guy Mannering in a New Guise_, by Robert Reece.
_Half Crown Diamonds_, by Robert Reece. Holborn, Sept. 27, 1875. G. Vincent, E. Atkins, J. H. Standing. New Version. Imperial Theatre, October 2, 1880.
_Hamlet Travestie_, in three acts, with annotations by Dr. Johnson and George Stevens, Esq., and other Commentators, by John Poole. London, 1810.
_Hamlet Travestie_, by F. Talfourd. Oxford, J. Vincent, 1849.
_Hamlet the Hysterical_, a Delusion in Five Spasms. Princess’s, November 30, 1874.
_Hamlet â la Mode_, an “absurdity,” by G. L. Gordon and G. W. Anson. Prince of Wales’s, Liverpool, Oct. 16, 1876, and Opera Comique, London, April 21, 1877.
_Hamlet whether He Will or No_, by George Booth. Alexandra Theatre, Sheffield, June 2, 1879.
_Hamlet_; or, Not such a Fool as he Looks. For Amateur Performance. Cambridge: W. Metcalfe & Son, 1882.
_Hamlet Improved_; or, Mr. Mendall’s attempt to ameliorate that Tragedy, by Colonel Colomb, R.A. (This piece was not designed to burlesque Shakespeare.)
_Hamlet the Dainty_, a Nigger drama.
_Handsome Hernani_; or, the Fatal Penny Whistle, by Henry J. Byron. Gaiety, August 30, 1879. E. W. Royce, E. Terry, Misses E. Farren and Kate Vaughan.
_The Happy Land_; a burlesque version of “The Wicked World,” by F. Tomline and Gilbert A. àBeckett. Court, March 3, 1873. W. Hill, Fisher, Righton, Miss Lottie Venn. This was prohibited by the Lord Chamberlain on March 7, 1873, on account of its political allusions, three of the principal characters having been “made up” to represent Messrs. W. E. Gladstone, R. Lowe and Ayrton; with certain alterations and omissions, the burlesque was again performed, but it had lost its savour. It was printed by J. W. Last & Co., Drury Lane.
_Harlequin Jack Sheppard_, or, the Blossom of Tyburn Tree; satirising the dramas manufactured from W. H. Ainsworth’s novels. Covent Garden Theatre, 1839.
_The Haunted Glen_, burl., by Harry Webber and Maidlow Davis. Royal Artillery T. Woolwich, April 27, 1888.
_Here’s another Guy Mannering_, by F. C. Burnand. Vaudeville, May 23, 1874.
_Helen_; or, taken from the Greek, by F. C. Burnand. Prince of Wales’, Liverpool, September, 30. 1867.
_Hercules and Omphale_, or, The Power of Love, a classical extrav., by William Brough. St. James’s, December, 26, 1864. Mr. and Mrs. Frank Matthews, H. J. Montague, Misses Herbert and C. Saunders.
_Hermesianax_, burlesque. Derby, July 9, 1869.
_Herne the Hunter_, panto-burl., by Robert Reece and W. Yardley. Gaiety, May 24, 1881.
_Haiwatha_; or, Ardent Spirits and Laughing Water, by Charles M. Walcot. Wallack’s Theatre. New York, December 25, 1856.
_Hide and Seekyl_, by George Grossmith. See “Real Case.”
_Hit and Miss_; or, All my Eye and Betty Martyn, by F. C. Burnand. Olympic, April 13, 1868.
_Hit or Miss; or, the Last of the Barons_, by Arthur Milton. Theatre Royal, Middlesborough, February 19, 1883.
_How I found Crusoe_; or, the Flight of Imagination, by Alfred Thompson. Olympic, December 28, 1870.
_The Hunchback back again_; or, Peculiar Julia, by F. C. Burnand. Olympic, Dec. 23, 1879.
_Hypermnestra_; or, the Girl of the Period, by Frank Sikes. Lyceum, March 27, 1869.
_Idle ’Prentice, The_; a Tyburnian Idyll of High, Low, Jack and His Little Game, by H. B. Farnie. Strand T., Sept., 10, 1870.
_Ill-treated Il Trovatore_; or, the Mother, the Maiden and the Musicianer, by Henry J. Byron. Adelphi, May 21, 1863. Paul Bedford, J. L. Toole, Miss C. Nelson.
_Im-patience_, travestie, by Walter Browne. Prince of Wales’s Theatre, Liverpool, August 25, 1884.
_Ingomar_, burlesque, by G. E. Jeffrey. T. R., Douglas, Isle of Man, September 2, 1868.
_Ingomar the Idiotic_; or, the Miser, the Maid, and the Mangle, by Messrs. Allan and Howard. Alfred Theatre, August 19, 1871.
_Innocentinez_; or, the Magic Pipe and the Fatal I.O.U., by H. Adams, King’s Cross, March 29, 1876.
_Ino_; or, the Theban Twins, by B. J. Spedding. Prince of Wales’s, Liverpool, August 30, 1869. Strand, London, October 30, 1869. David James and T. Thorne.
_Ion_, by F. Fox Cooper. Garrick, November 9, 1836.
_Iphigeneia_; or, the Sail, the Seer, and the Sacrifice, by E. Nolan. Performed at the Music Room, Oxford, by the St. John’s College Amateurs. Commemoration 1866. Oxford: T. & G. Shrimpton.
_Isaac Abroad_; or, Ivanhoe Settled and Rebecca Righted, by Thomas F. Plowman, T. R. Oxford, January 15, 1878.
_Isaac of York_; or, Saxons and Normans at Home, by T. F. Plowman. Court, Nov. 29, 1871. E. Righton, Misses Cornélie D’Anka and Kate Bishop.
_Ivanhoe_, by Henry J. Byron. Strand, December 26, 1862. H. J. Turner, J. Clarke, James Rogers, Misses C. Saunders, E. Bufton, Fanny Josephs.
_Ivanhoe_, the latest edition, by R. B. Brough. Haymarket, April 1, 1850.
_Ixion_; or, the Man at the Wheel, extrav. by F. C. Burnand. Royalty, Sept. 28, 1863.
_Jack_; or, the Magic key. Queen’s Theatre, Dublin, April 14, 1879.
_Jack, the Giant Killer_, by H. J. Byron. Princess’s, December 26, 1859.
_Jack and the Beanstalk_, by Charles Millward. Adelphi, December 26, 1872.
_Jack Robinson Crusoe_; or, the Good Friday that came on Saturday, by J. W. Jones. Windsor T., Oct. 14, 1876.
_Jane Shore_; or, the Fearful Penance and the Fatal Penny Roll, by J. Wilton-Jones. Liverpool, August 16, 1880.
_The Japs_; or, the Doomed Daimio, Japanese burlesque, by Harry Paulton and Mostyn Tedde. Originally produced at Prince’s Theatre, Bristol, August 31, 1885, and at Novelty Theatre, London, September 19, 1885.
_Joan of Arc_, burlesque, by William Brough. Strand, March 29, 1869 David James, Thomas Thorne, H. J. Turner, Misses E. Bufton, Bella Goodall.
_Joe Miller, and his Men_, by Gilbert A. à Beckett. Princess’s.
_Julius See-saw_; or, Dauntless Decius the Doubtful Decemvir, by Harry M. Pitt. Sheffield, March 29, 1869.
_Kenilworth_; or, Ye Queene, Ye Earle, and ye Maydenne, by Andrew Halliday and F. Lawrance. Strand, Dec. 27, 1858. J. Clarke, H. J. Turner, Misses M. Wilton, M. Oliver, C. Saunders and Swanborough. Reproduced, Strand, July 21, 1866.
_Kenilworth_, burlesque-extravaganza, by R. Reece and H. B. Farnie. Avenue, December 19, 1885.
_King Arthur_; or, the Days and Knights of the Round Table, by William Brough.
_The King, the Ring, and the Giddy Young Thing_; or, Herne the Hunter, Anne Boleyn, and the Fair Maid of the River Dee, by George Reeves. Elephant and Castle, April 8, 1882.
_King’s Bounty_; or, the Deserter, by R. E. Lonsdale.
_King Coffee_; or, the Princess of Ashantee. Southport Theatre, December 8, 1873.
_King John Travestie_, by Gilbert A. à Beckett. St. James’s, October 29, 1837.
_King Kokatoo_, by F. C. Burnand. Leeds, March 4, 1872.
_King Lear Burlesque_, by Mr. Marchant.
_King Lear and his Daughters Queer_, burl., by E. Elton.
_King Richard ye Thirde_, or ye Battel of Bosworth Field, by Charles Selby. Strand, February 26, 1844.
_The Knight and the Sprite_; or, the Cold Water Cure! an Aquatic Burl., by G. A. à Beckett and Mark Lemon. Strand, November 11, 1844.
_King Zany’s Daughter_; or, the Princess who was Blind of one Eye, and could not see out of the other. By W. H. Bosbacca.
_The Knight of the Burning Pestle_, by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher. London, 1611. This was a burlesque upon the tasteless affectations of the tales of chivalry, somewhat after the manner of “Don Quixote.”
_La-Ba-Kan_; or, the Prince’s Nap and the Snip’s Snap, by J. E. Roe. Swiss Gardens, Shoreham, June 7, 1869.
_Lady Godiva_; or, ye Ladye of Coventrie and ye Exyle Fayrie. Strand, July 7, 1851.
_Lady Godiva_ burl., by Frederick Robson. T. R. Middlesbrough, May 5, 1873. Sadler’s Wells, Dec., 6, 1873.
_Lady of the Lake_, by Mortimer Thomson. Niblo’s Garden Theatre, New York, U.S., June 21, 1860.
_The Lady of the Lake_, burlesque, by R. Whateley Taylor. Royalty, April 21, 1862.
_The Lady of the Lake, Plaid_ in a new Tartan, burl., of Sir Walter Scott, by R. Reece. Royalty, September 8, 1866, E. Danvers, Miss M. Oliver.
_The Lady of the Lane_, burl., by H. J. Byron. Strand, Oct., 31, 1872.
_Lady of the Lions_, burl., by O. F. Durivage. Baltimore T., United States, 1856.
_The Lady of Lyons Burlesque_, by M. Marchant.
_The Lady of Lyons_, burl., by Maurice G. Dowling.
_The Lady of Lyons_, burl., by W. Younge. Imperial T. April 23, 1879, Lionel Brough, C. Steyne, Miss L. Thompson.
_Ye Lady of Lyons_, by A. Lewis Clifton. Aquarium, Yarmouth, April 10, 1882.
_The Lady of Lyons Married and Settled_, by Herman C. Merivale. Gaiety, October 5, 1878. E. Terry, E. W. Royce, Squire, Elton, and Miss E. Farren.
_The Lady of Lyons Married, and Claude Unsettled_, absurdity, by R. Reece. Royalty, Glasgow, Sept. 27, 1884.
_The Latest Edition of the Lady of Lyons_, by Henry J. Byron. Strand, February 1, 1858.
_Latest Edition of Kenilworth_, by Andrew Halliday. Strand, Dec. 27, 1858.
_Latest Edition of the Lady of the Lake_, by R. Reece.
_The_ Very Latest Edition of the _Lady of Lyons_, by H. J. Byron. Strand, July 11, 1859. J. Clarke, J. Rogers, H. J. Turner, Misses C. Saunders, and M. Oliver.
_Lalla Rookh_; or, the Princess, the Peri, and the Troubadour by William Brough. Lyceum, December 24, 1857. J. L. Toole, Mrs. Alfred Mellon, Mrs. C. Dillon.
_Lalla Rookh_, an Oriental extravaganza, by Vincent Amcotts. Masonic Hall, Oxford, Commemoration 1866, by the S. S. Amateurs. Oxford: T. Shrimpton & Son, 1866. Also performed at the “Gallery of Illustration,” London, June 19 and 20, 1868, by the “Shooting Stars.”
_Lalla Rookh_, burl., by Horace Lennard. Novelty Theatre, May 1, 1884. Harry Nicholls, Misses M. Mario, Kate Vaughan, and Dot Mario.
_Lancelot the Lovely_; or, the Idol of the King, by Richard Henry. Avenue, April, 1889. Arthur Roberts, E. D. Ward, Miss Vanoni.
_The Lass that Loves a Sailor_, or, the Perfidious Pirate, the Modest Maiden, and the Trusty Tar, by Lloyd Clarance. T. R., Great Grimsby, September 17, 1883.
_The Last of the Barons_, burlesque, by L. H. Du Terreaux. Strand, April 18, 1872.
_The Latest Edition of the Rival Othellos_, by Henry J. Byron. Strand, 1876. Edward Terry, Marius, H. J. Turner. (A burlesque upon Henry Irving and Salvini in their respective representations of _Othello_).
_The Latest Yarn of the Crusoe Crew._ Ashton Theatre, July 16, 1883.
_Leah, a hearty joke in a Cab-age_, by W. Routledge. Gallery of Illustrations, January 23, 1869.
_Leah_, burl. Southminster T., Edinburgh, June 15, 1868.
_Leo the Terrible_, Æsopian burl., by J. Stirling Coyne and Francis Talfourd. Haymarket, December 27, 1852.
_Life in the Clouds_; or, Olympus in an Uproar, by John Brougham. English Opera House, July 23, 1840.
_The Light of the Isles_, by Oswald Allan. Queen’s T. Dublin, August 21, 1876.
_Linda of Chamouni_; or, not Formosa, by Alfred Thompson. Gaiety, September 13, 1869.
_Linda di Chamouni_; or, the Blighted Flower, by Conway Edwardes. T. R. Bath, February 20, 1869.
_The Lions’ Lady_; or, How come you so? An anonymous burl. of “The Lady of Lyons.” London, C. Whiting. 1838.
_Lion’s Tale_, or the Naughty Boy who wagged it, by R. Reece. Globe.
_Little Amy Robsart from a Comic Point of View._ Prince of Wales’s, Liverpool, February 22, 1872.
_Little Ben Bolt_, by Edwin Keene. Gravesend T., June 24, 1879.
_Little Ben Bolt_, or the Meritorious Maiden and the Milli-cious Miller, by Edwin Keene. Colchester, August 2, 1880.
_Little Billie Carlyle_; or, the Bell and the Hare, burlesque of “East Lynne,” by W. J. Harbon. Prince of Wales’s, Wolverhampton, April 18, 1881.
_Little Boy Blue_, by F. J. Watts. Shoreham, May 17, 1875.
_Little Carmen_, burl., by Alfred Murray. Globe, February 7, 1884.
_Little Cinderella_, J. Wilton Jones. Newcastle Theatre, June 25, 1887.
_Little Doctor Faust_, the Gaiety, not the Goethe Version, by H. J. Byron. Gaiety, October 13, 1877. Edward Terry, R. Soutar, E. W. Royce, Miss E. Farren.
_Little Don Cæsar de Bazan_; or, Maritana and the Merry Monarch. By H. J. Byron. Gaiety, August 26, 1876. E. Terry, E. W. Royce, Misses E. Farren and Kate Vaughan. (Revived in 1878.)
_Little Don Giovanni_, or Leporello and the Stone Statue, by Henry J. Byron. Prince of Wales’s, December 26, 1865. J. Clarke, Miss Marie Wilton and Miss F. Josephs.
_Little Don Quixote._ T. R., Cheltenham, April 9, 1883.
_Little Gil Blas_, and How He Played the Spanish D(j)euce, by H. B. Farnie. Princess’s, December 24, 1870.
_Little Giselle_; or, the Sirens of the Lotus Lake, by Henry J. Byron. Olympic, July 22, 1871. G. Belmore, D. James and Miss E. Farren.
_Little Jack Sheppard_, by H. P. Stephens & W. Yardley. Gaiety, Dec. 26, 1885. David James, F. Leslie, Odell, Misses E. Farren, Harriet Coveney, Marion Hood.
_Little Jack Carpenter._ T. R., Liverpool, May 15, 1875.
_Little Lalla Rookh_, burl.-extrav., by J. T. Denny. Originally produced at Gaiety T., Hastings, August 31, 1885, and at Grand T., London, September 14, 1885.
_Little Lohengrin_; or, the Lover and the Bird, by Frederick Bowyer. Holborn T., August 16, 1884.
_Little Red Riding Hood_, burlesque, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_Little Red Riding Hood_, burlesque-extravaganza, by Leicester Buckingham. Lyceum, Dec. 26, 1861.
_Little Robin Hood_, or Quite a New Beau, by Robert Reece. Royalty, April 19, 1871.
_Little Robin Hood_, burlesque-drama, by R. Reece. Gaiety, Sept. 15, 1882. T. Squire, Arthur Williams, Robert Brough, J. Dallas, Misses E. Farren, P. Broughton.
_Little Robinson Crusoe_, by David James, Jun. Oxford Theatre, April 13, 1885.
_Little Rip Van Winkle_, by R. Reece. Gaiety.
_Lord Bateman_, or The Proud Young Porter and the Fair Sophia, by Henry J. Byron. Globe, Dec. 27, 1869.
_Lord Bateman_, by Charles Daly. Theatre Royal, Seaham Harbour, April 17, 1876.
_Lord Lovel and Lady Nancy Bell_; or, the Bounding Brigand of Bakumboilum, by F. C. Burnand. Written for the A. D. C. Cambridge. November 21, 1856.
_Louis XI._; or, the Tricksey Monarch and the Wicksey Warrior, by Harry M. Pitt. T. R. West Hartlepool, July 9, 1869.
_Love and Fortune_, by J. R. Planché, Princess’s, Sept. 24, 1859. Frank Matthews, Misses Louise Keeley, and Carlotta Leclercq.
_Love’s Paradise._ Founded upon the legend of “Cupid and Psyche” in the metamorphoses of Apuleius, by F. G. Westmacott Chapman. Haymarket, April 6, 1874.
_Loves of Lord Bateman and the Fair Sophia_, burlesque by Charles Selby. Strand, July 1, 1839. The Performers were dressed in the costumes shown in George Cruikshank’s illustrations to the Ballad.
_Lucrezia Borgia!_ At Home, and all Abroad, by Leicester Buckingham. St. James’s, April 9, 1860.
_Lucrezia Borgia_, by Sydney French. Marylebone T., July 20, 1867.
_Lucrezia Borgia, M.D._, or La Grande Doctresse, by Henry J. Byron. Holborn, October 28, 1868.
_Lucy of Lammermoor_, burlesque opera, by W. H. Oxberry. Strand, February, 1848.
_Lucia di Lammermoor_, or the Laird, the Lady, and the Lover, by Henry J. Byron. Prince of Wales’s, Sept. 25, 1865. Harry Cox, F. Dewar, J. Clarke, Misses Marie Wilton, and F. Josephs.
_Lurline_, or the Rhine and the Rhino, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_Lurline_, by R. Reece & H. B. Farnie. Avenue, April 24, 1886.
_The Lying Dutchman, a Phantom Folly_, by Hue and Eye. Strand. Harry Cox, Marius, Penley, Miss Lottie Venne.
_The Lying Dutchman_, by Frank W. Green and W. Swanborough. Strand, December 21, 1876.
_Macbeth Travestie_, by W. K. Northall. Olympic T., New York, October 16, 1843. Mitchell.
_Macbeth Travestie._ See “Rejected Addresses,” by James and Horace Smith.
_Macbeth_, somewhat removed from the Text of Shakespeare, by Francis Talfourd. First performed at Henley-on-Thames (Regatta), June 17, 1847; at the Strand, January 10, 1848; at Olympic, April 25, 1853. In the last instance F. Robson played Macbeth.
_Macbeth Mystified_, by W. H. Mason and J. E. Roe. Theatre Royal Brighton, May 3, 1869.
_Madeira_; or W(h)ines from the Wood, by Henry Adams. King’s Cross, October 25, 1875.
_The Mad Mother and her Lost Son_, burlesque of “Il Trovatore.” Theatre Royal, Scarborough, April 21, 1884.
_The Magic Mirror_, burlesque spectacle, by Gilbert A. à Beckett. Princess’s, December 26, 1843.
_The Magic Whisper Burlesque_, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_The Maid and the Magpie Travestie_; or, the Fatal Spoon, by Henry J. Byron. Strand, October 11, 1858. J. Clarke, H. J. Turner, J. Bland, Misses Marie Wilton, M. Oliver and Hughes.
_Man-Fred_, burlesque by Gilbert A. à Beckett. Strand, December 26, 1834. Mitchell, Miss P. Horton.
_The Marble Maiden_; or, Zampa in Miniature, by G. M. Layton. Royalty, July 24, 1873.
_The Marble Maiden_, by J. H. Stocqueler. Lyceum, March 5, 1846. Alfred Wigan, Mr. and Mrs. Keeley.
_The Marriage of Sir Gawaine_; or, King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. T. H. Lacy, 1861. Not acted.
_Martha_; or, the Fair Lady, and the Farmer of Richmond Fair, by Captain Arbuthnot. Plymouth, 1866.
_Martha_, burlesque, by Robert Reece. Gaiety, April 14, 1873.
_Mary Turner_, by F. C. Burnand. Holborn, Oct. 25, 1867.
_Masaniello_; or, the Fish’oman of Naples, by Robert B. Brough. Olympic, July 2, 1857. F. Robson, Miss Hughes.
_Masse-en-Yell-Oh_, a riotous, socialistic travestie, by Harry Paulton and “Mostyn Tedde.” Comedy, March 23, 1886.
_Mazeppa_, an equestrian burlesque, by C. White. N. York.
_Mazeppa_, by Henry J. Byron. Olympic, December 27, 1858. F. Robson, H. Wigan, Miss Wyndham.
_Mazeppa_; or, “Bound” to Win, a Ride-diculous One-horse burlesque, in Three Hacks, by F. C. Burnand. Gaiety, March 12, 1885. E. Royce, E. Terry, Misses E. Farren, and P. Broughton.
_Mazourka_; or, the Stick, the Pole, and the Tartar, burl.-extravaganza, by H. J. Byron. Strand, April 27, 1864.
_Medea_; or, the Best of Mothers, by R. B. Brough. Olympic, July 14, 1856. F. Robson, Emery, and Miss J. St. George.
_Mephisto_, travestie, by Byron M’Guiness. Royalty, June 14, 1886.
_Merchant of Venice travestie_, by F. Talfourd. Oxford, 1849.
_Merry Mignon_; or, the Beauty and the Bard, operatic-burlesque, by J. Wilton Jones. Court Theatre, Liverpool, April 26, 1882.
_The Merry Zingara_; or, the Tipsy Gipsy, and the Pipsy Wipsy, a whimsical parody on the “Bohemian Girl,” by W. S. Gilbert. Royalty, March 31, 1868. F. Dewar, Danvers, Misses M. Oliver, and C. Saunders. Published by Phillips, Regent Circus, London.
_Metamora_; or, the Last of the Pollywogs, by John Brougham. Adelphi, Boston, U.S., November 29, 1847. Mr. and Mrs. John Brougham.
_Midas_, by Kane O’Hara. Crow Street Theatre, Dublin, 1762. Covent Garden, London, February 22, 1764.
_The Midnight Spectre,!!!_ or, the Fatal Secret, a Richardsonian melo-drama, by Nelson Lee, Junior. Crystal Palace (R.D.C.), July 21, 1861.
_The Miller of Mansfield_, burl. London. E. West, 1851.
_The Miller and his Men_, a burlesque mealy-drama, by Francis Talfourd and Henry J. Byron. Strand, April 9, 1860. J. Clarke, J. Rogers, Miss Marie Wilton.
_The Military Billy Taylor_; or, the War in Cariboo, by F. C. Burnand. Royalty, April 22, 1869. F. Dewar, Danvers, Misses C. Saunders and M. Oliver.
_Mind the Shop_, comedy-burlesque, by Robert Reece and Edward Righton. Globe, April 22, 1878.
_Miss Eily O’Connor_, a burlesque of “The Colleen Bawn,” by Henry J. Byron. Drury Lane, November 25, 1861. Tom Matthews, and Miss L. Keeley.
_Miss Esmeralda_, by “A. C. Torr.” (Fred J. Leslie) and Horace Mills. Gaiety, October 8, 1887.
_Miss Merrick_, burlesque-drama, by G. S. Brodie.
_Mr. Robert Roy, Hielan Helen, his Wife, and Dougal the Dodger_, by William Lowe. Pavilion, Glasgow, December 11, 1880.
_The Mistletoe Bough_, by H. B. Farnie. Adelphi, December 26, 1870.
_Monte Christo Jun._, burlesque-melodrama, by “Richard Henry.” Gaiety, December 23, 1886. G. Honey, F. Leslie, and Miss E. Farren.
_The Motto_, I am “all there,” by H. J. Byron. Strand, July 16, 1863.
_Moths à la Mode_, by F. Hugh Herbert. Princess’s Theatre, Edinburgh, March 5, 1883.
_Moths Quitos_; or, Ouida’s Moths, by D. W. Edgar. Theatre Royal, Middlesborough, April 21, 1882.
_Mountain Dhu_; or, the Knight! the Lady! and the Lake! by Andrew Halliday. Adelphi, Dec. 26, 1866. J. L. Toole, Paul Bedford, Mrs. A. Mellon, Miss Furtado.
_Much Ado about a Merchant of Venice._ From the Original Text――a Long Way. By John Brougham. New York, 1868.
_My-fisto_, burlesque-extravaganza, by Vere Montague and Frank St. Clare. T. R., Colchester, Jan. 24, 1887.
_Mysseltoe Bough Burlesque_, by Mr. Marchant.
_Nero_, a Romantick Fiddler, by T. H. Bayley. English Opera House, August, 1833.
_The New Corsican Brothers_, by Cecil Raleigh. Royalty, November 20, 1889. Arthur Roberts.
_A New Edition of the Corsican Brothers_; or, the Kompact, the Kick, and the Kombat, by W. H. Mason. Theatre Royal, Brighton, July 18, 1870.
_New Don Juan_, by J. B. Buckstone. Adelphi, 1828.
_The New King Richard the Third_, by C. H. Hazlewood. Britannia, April 1, 1878.
_Nobody’s Cheild_, by H. T. Arden. Cremorne, August 10, 1868, and Surrey, October 8, 1870.
_Noodledom_, by Edwin Marshall. Lecture Hall, Walworth, January 10, 1877.
_Norma_, burlesque, by J. H. Draper. Royal Hall, Jersey, March 5, 1875.
_Norma Travestie_, burlesque-burletta, by W. H. Oxberry. Adelphi, December 6, 1841. Paul Bedford and Wright.
_The Norman Invasion_, burlesque, by J. M. Killick. Saint George’s Hall, October 26, 1870.
_No Thorough-fair beyond Highbury_; or, the Maid, the Mother, and the Malicious Mountaineer, by Mr. Hazlewood, Junior. Alexandra, April 13, 1868.
_No Thoroughfare_, burl., by George Grossmith. Victoria, March 22, 1869.
_Nottingham Castle_, burl., by F. R. Goodyer. Nottingham Theatre, September 22, 1873.
_Novelty Fair_, a review, by Albert Smith. Lyceum, May 21, 1850. C. Mathews, F. Matthews, Julia St. George.
_The Nymph of the Lurleyburg_; or, the Knight and the Naiads, by Henry James Byron. New Adelphi, Dec. 26, 1859. Founded on the Legend of “Lurline.” J. L. Toole, Paul Bedford, & Miss Woolgar.
_O Gemini!_ or, the Brothers of Co(u)rse, by Gilbert A. à Beckett and Mark Lemon. Haymarket, April 12, 1852. J. B. Buckstone.
_The O’Dora: or, a Wrong Accent_, travestie of Sardou’s “Theodora,” by F. C. Burnand. Toole’s, July 13, 1885.
_Oh! Aida, or a Game at Pyramids_.
_Oh! Those Babes_; or, the Unhappy Uncle, the Virtuous Villains, and the Cheeky Children, by Will Clements. T. R., Woolwich, June 18, 1888.
_O’ Jupiter_; or the Fiddler’s Wife, by Frank Hall. Philharmonic, October 2, 1880.
_Old Carlisle Bridge_; or, the Shame of the City, a burl. Dublin Street drama, by William Scribble. Queen’s Theatre, Dublin, 1862.
_Old Izaak Walton_; or, Tom Moore of Fleet Street, the Silver Trout, and the Seven Sisters of Tottenham. Panto-opening, by T. L. Greenwood. Sadler’s Wells, December, 1858.
_Old Pals_, burlesque, by Lloyd Clarance. South Shields Theatre, August 7, 1884.
_Oliver Grumble_, by George Dance. Prince of Wales’s T., Liverpool, March 15, 1886. Novelty T., London, March 25, 1886.
_Olympic Games_; or, the Major, the Miner, and the Cock-a-doodle-doo, by F. C. Burnand. Olympic, April 22, 1867. Published by Phillips, Regent Circus, W.
_Olympic Devils_; or, Orpheus and Eurydice. A mythological burlesque, by J. R. Planché. Olympic, Dec. 26, 1831. J. Bland, W. Vining, Madame Vestris.
_Olympic Revels_; or, Prometheus and Pandora, by J. R. Planché. Olympic, January 3, 1831. J. Cooper, Beckwith and Madame Vestris.
_On the Rink_; or, the Girl He left Behind Him, by F. C. Burnand. Duke’s Theatre, February 26, 1876.
_Open Sesame!_ or a Night with the Forty Thieves.
_The Orange Tree and the Humble Bee_; or, the Little Princess who was Lost at Sea, burlesque by Henry J. Byron. Vaudeville, May 13, 1871.
_Orlando ye Brave, and ye Fayre Rosalynde_; or, “As you Lump it.” A Comycke Pastorale, by Master William Shakesydes. London, no date.
_Orpheus and Eurydice_; or, the Young Gentleman who charmed the Rocks, by Henry J. Byron. Strand, Dec. 26, 1863. D. James, George Honey, Marie Wilton.
_Orpheus_; or, the Magic Lyre, by F. C. Burnand. For Amateurs. London, S. O. Beeton, 1865.
_Orpheus in the Haymarket_, by J. R. Planché. Haymarket, December 26, 1865.
_Othello Travestie_, burlesque-burletta, by Maurice G. Dowling. Liverpool Theatre, Liverpool, March, 1834.
_The Other Little Lord Fondleboy_, travestie, by Frederick Bowyer. Avenue, June 18, 1888.
_Our Cinderella_, by R. Reece. Gaiety, Sept. 8, 1883.
_Our Helen_, burlesque, adapted from “La Belle Helène,” by Robert Reece. Gaiety, April 8, 1884.
_Our Own Antony and Cleopatra_, “an absurdity,” by F. C. Burnand. Gaiety, September 8, 1873.
_Our Traviata_, burlesque, by W. F. Vandervell. Surrey Theatre, September 14, 1857.
_Our War Correspondent_, burl., Leicester T., May 27, 1878.
_Out of the Ranks_, burlesque, by Robert Reece. Strand, June 3, 1884.
_Oxygen_; or, Gas in Burlesque Metre, by R. Reece and H. B. Farnie. Folly, March 31, 1877.
_Paddy in the Moon Burlesque_, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_Pan_; or, the Loves of Echo and Narcissus, by H. J. Byron.
_Pandora’s Box_, by H. J. Byron. Prince of Wales’s, December 26, 1866.
_The Paphian Bower_; or, Venus and Adonis. A mythological burlesque, by J. R. Planché. Olympic, Dec. 26, 1832. Benjamin Webster, W. Vining, J. Bland, Madame Vestris.
_Papillonetta_, by W. Brough. Prince of Wales’s Theatre, Liverpool, December 26, 1865.
_Paris_; or, Vive Lemprière, by F. C. Burnand. Strand, April 2, 1886. David James, Thomas Thorne, H. J. Turner, J. D. Stoyle.
_Patient Penelope_; or, the Return of Ulysses, by F. C. Burnand. Strand, November 25, 1863.
_Paul and Virginia_, burlesque, by Arthur Wood. Olympic, October 15, 1870.
_Paul Clifford Burlesque_, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_Paw Clawdian_, or, the Roman Awry, a travestie of “Claudian,” by F. C. Burnand. Toole’s, February 14, 1884. J. L. Toole, W. Cheesman, Miss Marie Linden.
_The Peddler of Very Nice_, a burlesque of the Trial Scene in “The Merchant of Venice.” Anonymous. Boston, U.S., Lee and Shepard, 1866.
_Pentheus_, an Echo of the Greek Drama, by Vincent Amcotts and W. R. Anson. Oxford, T. and G. Shrimpton, 1866.
_The People’s William_; or, Randy the (W) Reckless and the Grand Old Man all at Sea. Birkenhead T., May 12, 1884.
_Perdita_; or, the Royal Milkmaid, by W. Brough. Lyceum, September 15, 1856.
_Perola_; or, the Jewel and the Duel. Rotherham Theatre, March 19, 1883.
_Perseus and Andromeda_, burlesque, by William Brough.
_Peter Wilkins_, an extravagant extrav, by Gilbert A. à Beckett and Mark Lemon. Adelphi, April 13, 1846.
_Peter Wilkins._ Panto-opening, by E. L. Blanchard. Drury Lane, December, 1860.
_Phæton_; or, Pride must have a Fall, by William Brough. For Amateurs. London: S. O. Beeton, 1865.
_Pickwick_, dramatic Cantata, by F. C. Burnand. Comedy, February, 1889. Arthur Cecil, Rutland Barrington, Miss Lottie Venne.
_Pietro Wilkini_; or, the Castaways, the Wild Men, and the Winged Beauty, burlesque, by F. Eyles, Jun. Swiss Gardens, Shoreham, August 18, 1870.
_Pirithous_, the Son of Ixion, burl., by F. C. Burnand.
_Pizarro_; a Spanish Rolla-King Peruvian Drama, by C. J. Collins. Drury Lane, September 22, 1856. Mr. and Mrs. Keeley, Mrs. Frank Matthews, George Honey.
_Pizarro_; or, the Leotard of Peru, by Leicester Buckingham. Strand, 1862. James Rogers, J. Clarke, Misses Eleanor Bufton, and C. Saunders.
_Pizarro, the Great Tyrant, burlesque_, by Mr. Marchant.
_Plucky Parthenia_, by Robert Reece. Portsmouth, February 26, 1874.
_Pluto and Proserpine_; or, the Belle, and the Pomegranate, by F. Talfourd. Haymarket, April 5, 1858. Compton, Clark, Braid, Miss L. Leclercq.
_Pluto_; or, Little Orpheus and His Lute, by H. J. Byron. Royalty, December 26, 1881. W. J. Hill, C. Glenney, Miss Lydia Thompson.
_Po-ca-hon-tas_; or, the Gentle Savage, burlesque, by John Brougham. Wallack’s Theatre, New York, U.S.
_Poll and Partner Joe_; or, the Pride of Putney, and the Pressing Pirate, by F. C. Burnand. St. James’s, May 6, 1871. Lionel Brough, H. Cox, Mrs. John Wood.
_The Pretty Druidess_; or, the Mother, the Maid, and the Miseltoe Bough (founded on “Norma”), by W. S. Gilbert. Charing Cross, June 19, 1869. Published by Phillips, Regent Circus, London.
_Pretty Esmeralda and Captain Phœbus of Ours_, by Henry J. Byron. Gaiety, April 2, 1879. E. Royce, Edward Terry, Misses E. Farren, C. Gilchrist, and Kate Vaughan.
_Pretty Miss Pippin_, by Percy Vere (Amateur).
_Prince Cherry, and Princess Fair Star_, by E. J. Collins. Strand, July 11, 1855.
_Prince Love_; or, the Fays of the Forest, by F. Vandervell. Philharmonic Theatre, December 26, 1870.
_Prince Sohobazar_; or, Eighteen-carat Soup, burlesque-extrav., by E. W. Bowles. Kilburn Town Hall, London, December 11, 1885.
_The Princess_, by W. S. Gilbert. Olympic, January 8, 1870.
_Princess Ida_; or, Castle Adamant. Respectful perversion of Tennyson’s “Princess,” by W. S. Gilbert. Savoy T., January 5, 1884. R. Barrington, G. Grossmith, Misses Braham and Brandram.
_Princess Ouida_; or, Castle Adamandeve, by H. G. F. Taylor. London: A. Hays, 1886.
_Princess Primrose_, by Messrs. Bellingham and Best. Olympic, June 13, 1866.
_Printer’s Devil_, burlesque extrav. Anonymous.
_Prometheus_; or, The Man on the Rock, by R. Reece.
_The Proscribed Royalist_; or, Who Stole the Ducks, by Frank Seymour. Opera House, Leicester, August 1, 1881.
_Prospero_; or, the King of the Caliban Islands. Imperial Theatre, December 26, 1883.
_Pygmalion_; or, the Statue Fair, by William Brough. Strand, April 20, 1867.
_Puss in a new pair of Boots_, by H. J. Byron. Strand, 1862.
_Quasimodo, the Deformed_; or, the Man with the Hump, and the Belle of Notre Dame, by H. Spry. Grecian, April 18, 1870.
_Queen of Hearts_, burlesque. Sanger’s Amphitheatre, Ramsgate, July 14, 1884.
_The Quizziology of the British Drama_, comprising stage passions, stage characters, and stage plays, by Gilbert Abbott à Beckett. London, Punch Office, 1846. With this is usually found _Scenes from the Rejected Comedies_. See “Scenes.”
_Randolph the Reckless_, extravaganza, by Victor Stevens. Salford T., August 6, 1888.
_Rasselas_, Prince of Abyssinia, burlesque, by W. Brough. Haymarket, December 26, 1862. Chippendale, Tilbury, Compton, Louise Keeley.
_Le Raw Carotte_, by G. Thorne. Margate T., Sept. 19, 1873
_Raymond and Agnes Burlesque_, by Mr. Marchant.
_The Real Case of Hide and Seekyll_, by George Grossmith. Royalty, September 3, 1888. In this Mr. Lionel Brough cleverly imitated both Mr. Mansfield & Mr. Bandmann.
_The Red Rover_; or, I believe you my Buoy, by F. C. Burnand. Strand, Dec. 26, 1887. Marius, Cox, Miss Lottie Venne.
_The Rehearsal_, as it was acted at the Theatre Royal, London, printed for Thomas Dring, 1672, by George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. This celebrated work burlesques passages in the plays of Mrs. A. Behn, J. Dryden, Sir W. Davenant, Killigrew, and others. The history of _The Rehearsal_, with notes, and parallel passages has been ably written by Mr. Edward Arber in his series of valuable English Reprints. It was first acted on December 7, 1671.
_The Rehearsal_, an Absurdity, by Harry Dacre.
_Revolt of the Workhouse_, burlesque-opera, by Gilbert A. à Beckett. Fitzroy Theatre, February 24, 1834.
_Richard III._, travestie, by J. Stirling Coyne. Adelphi, February 12, 1844. Wright, Honey, and Miss Woolgar.
_Richard ye Third_, by Charles Selby. Strand, Feb. 26, 1844.
_Richelieu Redressed_, by R. Reece. Olympic, Oct. 27, 1873.
_Rienzi Reinstated_; or, the Last of the Cobbler, by W. A. Allan. Globe, December 21, 1874.
_The Right-Fall Heir_; or, the Sea-Rover and the Fall over. By H. T. Arden, 1868.
_The Right-Fellow_; or, the Wrong-Fellow and the Felo d’ye see? By W. F. Marshall, R. N. School, New Cross, December 21, 1868.
_Rip Van Winkle_; or, Some Nambulistic Knickerbockers, by John Strachan and Henry Davis. Newcastle Theatre, April 2, 1866.
_Rip Van Winkle_; or, a Little Game of Nap, by F. Savile Clarke. Portsmouth Theatre, March 29, 1880.
_Riquet with the Tuft_, burlesque-extrav., by J. R. Planché. Olympic, Dec. 26, 1836. Charles Mathews, J. Bland, Madame Vestris, Miss R. Isaacs, Mrs. Anderson.
_The Rise and Fall of Richard III._; or, a New Front to an old Dicky, a Richardsonian burlesque, by F. C. Burnand. Royalty, September 24, 1868. Dewar, Misses C. Saunders, Nellie Bromley and M. Oliver.
Published by Phillips, Regent Circus, London.
_The Rival Rascals_; or, Virtue Rewarded, and Vice Versa, by Alfred Greenland, Jun. St. George’s May 3, 1877.
_The Rival Sergeants_, burletta, by William Collier. Sadler’s Wells, April 5, 1847.
_Robert the Devil_; or, the Nun, the Dun, and the Son of a Gun, by W. S. Gilbert. Gaiety, Dec. 21, 1868. J. G. Taylor, R. Soutar, Miss E. Farren. Published by Phillips, Regent Circus, London.
_Robert Macaire_; or, the Roadside Inn Turned Inside Out, by Henry J. Byron. Globe, April 16, 1870. J. Clarke, and Fanny Josephs.
_Robert Macaire Renovated_, by Lloyd Clarance. Barnsley Theatre, March 3, 1884.
_Robert Make-Airs_; or, the Two Fugitives. Ethiopian burlesque, by E. Warden. New York, 1856.
_Robin Hood_, burl. spectacle, by Messrs. Stocqueler, Shirley Brooks, and Charles Kenny. Lyceum, May 4, 1846.
_Robin Hood._ Panto-opening by E. L. Blanchard. Drury Lane, December, 1858.
_Robin Hood_; or, the Forester’s Fate, by F. C. Burnand. Olympic, December 26, 1862.
_Robin Hood, Burlesque_, by William Brough. For amateurs. London: S. O. Beeton, 1865.
_Robin Hood_, and the Merrie Men of Sherwood Forest, by George Thorne and F. Grove Palmer, Margate, 1889.
_Robin Hood Burlesque_, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_Robinson Crusoe_; or, Harlequin Friday and the King of the Caribbee Islands, by Henry J. Byron. Princess’s December 26, 1860.
_Robinson Crusoe_, burl., by H. J. Byron, Gilbert, Hood, Leigh, Sketchley, & Prowse. Haymarket, July 6, 1867.
_Robinson Crusoe_; burl., by H. B. Farnie. Prince’s, Manchester, October 7, 1876, Folly (London,) Nov. 11, 1876.
_Robinson Crusoe Revived_, by E. C. Bertrand. Dumfries Theatre, February 5, 1877.
_Robinson Crusoe_; or, the Pirate Will, Pretty Poll, and Captain Bill. Todmorden Theatre, October 29, 1883.
_Robinson Crusoe_, burl.-pantomime, by R. Reece and H. B. Farnie. Avenue, December 23, 1886. Arthur Roberts, Miss P. Broughton.
_Rob Roy_, burlesque, by Sydney French. Marylebone T., June 29, 1867.
_Robbing Roy_; or, Scotched and Kilt, by F. C. Burnand. Gaiety, November 11, 1879. Edward Terry, E. W. Royce, T. Squire, Misses E. Farren, Kate Vaughan, and C. Gilchrist.
_Rob Roy_, his Great Wife and Small Family. By C. H. Hazlewood.
_Romeo and Juliet_, “as the Law Directs,” by Maurice G. Dowling. Strand, May 1, 1837.
_Romeo and Juliet Travestie_; or, The Cup of Cold Pison, by Andrew Halliday. Strand, November 3, 1859. H. J. Turner, Rogers, Clarke, Misses Marie Wilton, C. Saunders.
_Romeo and Juliet_; or, the Shaming of the True, an atrocious outrage, by E. Nolan. Perpetrated at Oxford, by the St. John’s College Amateurs, during Commemoration, 1868. T. Shrimpton, Oxford.
_Romeo the Radical, and Juliet the Jingo_; or, Obstruction and Effect, by C. P. Emery. Alexandra Theatre, Walsall, August 14, 1882.
_Romulus and Remus_; or, Rome was not Built in a Day, a most absurdly ridiculous burlesque in one Act, being an attempt at something founded on Roman history, by T. F. Dillon Croker. Privately printed, 1859.
_Romulus and Remus_; or, the Two Rum-’uns, by R. Reece, Vaudeville, Dec. 23, 1872. James, Thorne, Nelly Power.
_The Roof Scrambler_, burlesque opera, by Gilbert A. à Beckett. Victoria, June 15, 1835.
_The Rosebud of Stingingnettle Farm_; or, the Villainous Squire and the Virtuous Villager. A burl.-drama by H. J. Byron. R.D.C. Crystal Palace, 1862.
_Round the World in W’Eighty Days_, by Captain Fitz-George, Brighton Theatre, March 13, 1877.
_The Rovers_; or, the Double Arrangement, by George Canning, George Ellis, and John Hookham Frere. This originally appeared in “The Anti-Jacobin,” about 1798. It is a caricature of the sentimental German drama then fashionable.
_The Rows of Castille_, by Conway Edwardes. Brighton Theatre, March 4, 1872.
_The Royal Riddle_, burlesque, by Horace Mills. Woolwich Theatre (Amateurs), February 16, 1887.
_Ruddy George_; or, Robin Red Breast, a musical parody, by H. G. F. Taylor, and Percy Reeve. Toole’s T., March 19, 1887.
_Rumfastian Innamorato_, burlesque interlude. Oxberry, Harley, Knight.
_Rumplestiltskin_; or, the Woman at the Wheel, by F. C. Burnand.
_Rumpelstiltskin!_ An extrav. for amateurs by M. W. Hallett
_Ruy Blas Righted_, by Robert Reece. Vaudeville. Jan. 3, 1874. D. James, T. Thorne, and Kate Bishop.
_Ruy Blas and the Blasé Roué_, by A. C. Torr & H. Clark. First performed in Birmingham, Sept. 2, 1889. Gaiety, London, Sept. 21, 1889. Fred Leslie, C. Danby, F. Storey, Miss E. Farren. In this burlesque Mr. Leslie’s caricature of Mr. Henry Irving’s appearance and mannerisms was so pronounced that the Lord Chamberlain insisted on the part being considerably modified.
_St. George and the Dragon_, by Gilbert A. à Beckett and Mark Lemon. Adelphi, March 24, 1845.
_St. George and the Dragon_, burlesque, by F. C. Burnand. Written for the A.D.C., Cambridge, and first performed Feb. 21, 1856, when the author played the “Dragon.”
_St. George and the Dragon_, panto-opening by E. L. Blanchard. Alexandra Palace, Dec. 1877.
_St. George and the Dragon_, burl. Torquay T. Aug. 6, 1883.
_Salammbo, the Lovely Queen of Carthage._ Holborn, May 6, 1871.
_Salthello Ovini._ Illegitimate tragedy. Haymarket, July 26, 1875.
_Sappho_; or, Look before you Leap! by F. C. Burnand. For amateurs. London, S. O. Beeton, 1865.
_Sardanapalus_; or, the “fast” King of Assyria, by Gilbert A. à Beckett and Mark Lemon. Adelphi, July 20, 1853.
_Sardanapalus_; or, the Light of Other Days, by H. Such Granville. St. George’s Hall, December 23, 1868.
_Sardanapalus_, burl., by H. Such Granville. Limerick Theatre, May 15, 1868.
_The Scalded Back_; or, Comin’ Scars, travestie of Hugh Conway and Comyns Carr’s “Called Back,” by W. Yardley. Novelty Theatre, July 12, 1884.
_Scenes from the Rejected Comedies_, by some of the competitors for the Prize of £500 offered by Mr. B. Webster, Lessee of the Haymarket Theatre, for the best original Comedy, illustrative of English Manners. These amusing scenes were written by Gilbert A. à Beckett, and parody passages of the plays of J. Sheridan Knowles, Douglas Jerrold, Serjeant Talfourd, J. R. Planché, E. Fitzball, Leigh Hunt, Mark Lemon, Sir E. B. Lytton, and of G. A. à Beckett himself. London, Punch office, 1844.
_Seraphina the Fair_, by Charles W. Laidlaw. Public Hall, Southend, December 26, 1874.
_The Seven Champions of Christendom_; or, Good Little St. George and the Naughty Snap dragon, by W. R. Osman. Alexandra T., August 22, 1870.
_Shin Fain_; or, Ourselves Alone, by Tom Telephone. Dublin. J. Duffy and Sons, 1882.
_The Siege of Seringapatam_; or, the Maiden of Mesopotamia, by F. C. Burnand. For the Fête in aid of the Funds of the Hospital for Incurables, 1863.
_The Siege of Troy_, burl., by Robert B. Brough. Lyceum, Dec. 27, 1858. J Rogers, Mrs. Keeley, Miss J. St. George.
_Shylock_; or, the Merchant of Venice Preserved, by F. Talfourd. Olympic, July 4, 1853. F. Robson.
_Silver Guilt_, burl., by W. Warham. Strand, June 9, 1883.
_Sinbad_; or, the Dry-land Sailor, by James Horner. Coventry Theatre, July 7, 1884.
_Sinbad the Sailor_; or, the “Tar” that was “Pitched” into, by Frank W. Green. Princess’s, Edinburgh, March 31, 1878.
_Sindbad the Sailor_, by E. L. Blanchard. Crystal Palace, Dec., 1876.
_Sir George and a Dragon_; or, We are Seven, burlesque, by F. C. Burnand. Strand, March 31, 1870.
_Sir Marigold the Dottie_; or, the Moonlight Knight, by C. F. Fuller, H.M.S. “Rainbow,” April 16, 1885.
_Sir Rupert the Fearless_, burl. extrav., by A. J. Seymour. Strand, April 24, 1848.
_The Sleeping Beauty_; Her Seven Fairy Godmothers, and a Wicked Fairy, by Charles Daly and B. Chatterton. Aldershot T., August 3, 1885.
_Snow Bound_, a dramatic entertainment, by George M. Baker. Contains an original burlesque on “Alonzo the Brave, and the Fair Imogene.” Boston, U.S.
_Snowdrop_, burlesque extravaganza, by F. C. Burnand. Royalty, November 21, 1864.
_The Son of the Sun_; or, the Fate of Phæton. A classical burl., by Gilbert A. à Beckett. Fitzroy T. Feb. 13, 1834.
_La Sonnambula Burlesque_, by C. H. Hazlewood.
_The Somnambulist_, a negro burlesque sketch, by H. Dacre.
_La! Sonnambula!_ or, the Supper, the Sleeper, and the Merry Swiss Boy, by Henry J. Byron. Prince of Wales’s, April 15, 1865, the opening night of Miss Marie Wilton’s management. F. Dewar, Harry Cox, J. Clarke, Misses Marie Wilton, and Fanny Josephs.
_Il Sonnambulo and Lively Little Alessio_, by Henry J. Byron. Gaiety, April 6, 1878. E. Terry, E. W. Royce, W. Elton, Miss E. Farren.
_The Spanish Dancers_; or, Fans and Fandangoes, a Terpsichorean burl., by Charles Selby. St. James’s Oct. 18, 1854. J. L. Toole, Clarke, Misses Lydia Thompson, and E. Bufton.
_The Spectre of Shooter’s Hill_; or, the Broken Hot-cross Bun, by W. Sallenger. Woolwich Theatre, Oct. 20, 1888.
_The Sphinx_, by the Brothers Brough. Haymarket, April 9, 1849. Mr. and Mrs. Keeley, J. Bland, and Miss P. Horton.
_The Sphinx_; a Touch from the Ancients (a new version of the Brothers Brough’s burlesque), by Walter Boult, Prince of Wales’s, Liverpool, January 6, 1872.
_The Squires Maria_; or, Too, too Far from the Madding Crowd, by Harry Adams. Hanley T., July 17, 1882.
_Stage-Dora_; or, Who Killed Cock Robin? travestie of Sardou’s _Fédora_, by F. C. Burnand. Toole’s, May 26, 1883. J. L. Toole, E. D. Ward, W. Cheesman, Miss Marie Linden.
_Stars and Garters_, burlesque, by Robert Reece and H. B. Farnie. Folly, September 21, 1878.
_The Statue Bride_; an Echo of the Greek Drama, by Vincent Amcotts and W. R. Anson, Oxford.
_Stranger_, burlesque, by W. D. Ward (for Amateurs), 1859.
_Stranger_, stranger than ever; by R. Reece. Queen’s, November 4, 1868.
_The Stranger Travestie._ See “Rejected Addresses,” by James and Horace Smith.
_Success_; or, a Hit if you Like it, a Grand mock-heroical burletta, by J. R. Planché. Adelphi, Dec. 12, 1825. T. P. Cooke, Yates, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.
_Such a Guy Mannering_, by Mr. Strachan, Jun. Newcastle-on-Tyne Theatre, April 27, 1868.
_The Tailors_ (or “Quadrupeds”), a Tragedy for Warm Weather, by Samuel Foote. Haymarket, 1767. This burlesque was revived at the Haymarket in 1805, on which occasion a number of London tailors created a disturbance in and around the theatre.
_A Tale of Tell_; or, the Pole, the Patriot, and the Pippin, by Lloyd Clarance. Darwen T., February 26, 1883.
_The Talisman_, burl., by J. F. M’Ardle. Liverpool T., Aug. 10, 1874, and Philharmonic, London, Mar. 29, 1875.
_Taming a Tartar_, burlesque, by Charles Selby. Adelphi, October 20, 1845.
_Tam O’Shanter_, burlesque, by W. Lowe, Opera House, Dundee, February 10, 1873.
_Tantalus_; or, Many a Slip ’Twixt Cup and Lip, by Arthur Matthison and Charles Wyndham. Folly, Oct. 14, 1878.
_Telemachus_; or, the Island of Calypso, by J. R. Planché. Olympic, December 26, 1834. J. Bland, Wyman, Madame Vestris.
_Telemachus_; or, the Island of Calypso, by Stirling Coyne. Adelphi, October 15, 1844.
_The Tempest_, the very last edition of, by A. H. O.
_The O’Dora_, a parody of Sardou’s _Théodora_, by F. C. Burnand. Toole’s July 13, 1885. J. L. Toole and Miss Mary Linden, whose imitation of Sara Bernhardt was particularly clever and comical.
_Theseus and Ariadne_; or, the Marriage of Bacchus. A classical extrav., by J. R. Planché. Lyceum, April 24, 1848. C. Mathews, Miss Fitzwilliam, Mdme. Vestris.
_Thespis_, burlesque, by W. S. Gilbert. Gaiety, J. L. Toole, Miss E. Farren.
_The Three Calenders_, burl., by Charles Penruddocke.
_Three Graces_, by G. A. à Beckett. Princess’s April 17, 1843.
_The Three Musket Dears, and a Little One In_, by Joseph and Harry Paulton. Strand, October 5, 1871.
_Timour_, the Cream of all the Tartars. Princess’s, March 24, 1845.
_Timour the Tartar_; or the Iron Master of Samarkand-by-Oxus, by John Oxenford and Shirley Brooks. Olympic, December 26, 1860. F. Robson, Horace Wigan.
_Timour the Tartar_; or, the Swell Belle of the Period, by Edward Chamberlaine. Alexandra, Dec. 27, 1869.
_Tom Thumb_, by Kane O’Hara. Founded on Henry Fielding’s _Tragedy of Tragedies; or, the Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great_, first performed at the Haymarket in 1730. O’Hara’s adaptation was produced at the Covent Garden Theatre in 1780.
_Too Late for the Train_, a dramatic entertainment, containing burl. scenes. G. M. Baker & Co., Boston, U.S.
_Too Lovely Black-eyed Susan_, perversion of Douglas Jerrold’s drama, by Horace Lennard. Crystal Palace, April 2, 1888, and Strand Theatre, April 11, 1888. Dan Leno and Miss Fannie Leslie.
_Tootsie’s Lovers_, by W. T. Le Queux. Brentford Theatre, April 19, 1886.
_Touch and Go_, burlesque, by Walter Andrews. Prince of Wales’s Theatre, Liverpool, March 8, 1886.
_The Tragedy of Tragedies_; or, the Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great, by Henry Fielding. First acted in 1730. This contains parodies of numerous passages in the Tragedies of Dryden, N. Rowe, Thompson, and other writers whose works were then popular.
_Trovatore_; or, Larks with a Libretto, by Henry J. Byron. Olympic, April 26, 1880. E. Terry, E. W. Royce, Misses E. Farren, C. Gilchrist, and Kate Vaughan.
_Troy Again_, by E. A. Bowles (Amateurs). St. George’s Hall, March 13, 1888.
_Tumble-down Dick_; or, Phæton in the Suds, a Dramatic Entertainment of Walking, in Serious and Foolish Characters. Interlarded with Burlesque, Grotesque, Comic Interludes, as it is performed at the New Theatre in the Hay-Market. By Henry Fielding. 1737.
_Turkish Waters_, a Tail of Coarse Hair; or, Medora’s Private Tear, by Rowley Hill. Written for the A.D.C., Cambridge, and first performed November 18, 1857.
_“Two” Much Alike_, burlesque comedietta, by G. Grossmith, Jun., and A. R. Rogers. Gallery of Illustration, February 12, 1870.
_Two Gallows_; or, Slaves Escaped from Brixton, a Parody. Olympic, 1823.
_Ulf the Minstrel_; or, the Player, the Princess, and the Prophecy, burlesque-extravaganza, by R. Reece. Royalty, May 31, 1866.
_Ulysses_; or, the Iron Clad Warrior, and the Little Tug of War, by F. C. Burnand. St. James’s, April 17, 1865.
_Under Proof_; or, Very Much Above Pa, by Edward Rose, Princess’s, Edinburgh, May 1, 1879.
_Undine Undone._ Halifax Theatre, April 21, 1873.
_Undine_, burl. Great Yarmouth Theatre, August 13, 1883.
_The Ups and Downs of Deal, and Black-eyed Susan._ Marylebone, June 10, 1867.
_Valentine and Orson_, burl.-drama, by R. Reece. Gaiety, December 23, 1882.
_Valentine and Orson_, burlesque, by Joseph Ellis. Brentford Theatre, November 1, 1888.
_The Vampire_, burl., by Robert Reece. Strand, Aug. 15, 1872.
_Vanderdecken_; or, The Flying Anglo-Dutchman’s Phantom Penny Steamer, by Whyte Edgar. Novelty, Dec. 9, 1885.
_The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan_; or, the Maniac, the Mistery, and the Malediction, by H. L. Walford. Gallery of Illustration, November 24, 1870.
_Venus_; or, Gods as they Were, and not as they ought to Have Been, by Edward Rose and Augustus Harris. Royalty, June 27, 1879.
_Venus and Adonis_, burl., by F. C. Burnand. Haymarket, March 28, 1864. Misses Nelly Moore and Louise Keeley.
_The Very Last Days of Pompeii!_ By R. Reece. Vaudeville, February 13, 1872. David James, Thomas Thorne, Miss Nelly Power.
_The Very Last Edition of the Tempest_; or, the Wily Wizard, the Winsome Wench, and the Wicked Willain, by A. H. O.
_The Very Latest Edition of the Gathering of the Clans_, by G. W. Hunt. East London T., October 18, 1873.
_The Very Latest Edition of the Lady of Lyons_, by H. J. Byron. Strand, July 11, 1859. J. Rogers, J. Clarke, H. J. Turner, Misses C. Saunders, and M. Oliver.
_The Very Latest Edition of Robinson Crusoe_, by H. B. Farnie. Folly. Lionel Brough, Willie Edouin, Misses Lydia Thompson, and Violet Cameron.
_Very Little Faust and More Mephistopheles_, by F. C. Burnand. Charing Cross, August 18, 1869. Published by Phillips, Regent Circus, London.
_Very Little Hamlet_, by W. Yardley. Gaiety, Nov. 29, 1884.
_Vesta_, burl., by H. B. Farnie. St. James’s, Feb. 9, 1871.
_The Vicar of Wide-awake-field_; or, the Miss-Tery-ous Uncle, burlesque of “Olivia,” by H. P. Stephens and W. Yardley. Gaiety, August 8, 1885. In this Mr. Arthur Roberts and Miss L. Linden were very successful in their burlesques of Henry Irving & Miss Ellen Terry.
_La Vie_, burl.-opera, by H. B. Farnie. First produced at Brighton T., September 17, 1883, Avenue T., London, Oct. 3, 1883. Founded on “La Vie Parisienne.”
_Villekyns and His Dinah_, by Frederick Eyles. Swiss Gardens, Shoreham, July 7, 1873.
_Villikins and His Dinah_, burl., by F. C. Burnand. The Amateur Dramatic Club, Cambridge, Nov. 8, 1855.
_Virginius the Rum’un_, by W. Rogers. Sadler’s Wells, May, 1837.
_Virginius_; or, the Trial of a fond Papa, by Leicester Buckingham. St. James’s, October 1, 1859.
_La Vivandière_, by W. S. Gilbert. Queen’s, Jan. 18, 1868.
_Vortigern_; an Historical Play. Represented at the T. R., Drury Lane, April 2, 1796, as a supposed newly-discovered Drama by Shakespeare. Mr. John Kemble and Mrs. Jordan. This play was a forgery written by W. H. Ireland, and was afterwards published by him, with a Preface, in which he acknowledged the imposition he had practised, and gloried in having been able to deceive some of the first scholars and ablest critics of the day.
_Wattie and Meg_, burl., by W. Lowe. Dundee Theatre, January 20, 1873.
_Wat Tyler, M.P._, burlesque, by G. A. Sala. Gaiety, December 20, 1869.
_The Weeping Willow_, burl., by Peter Davey, Herbert Linford, and H. S. Ram. Town Hall, Staines. May 5, 1886.
_What’s it on_; or, Shakespeare-ience Teaches, burl., by W. Routledge. Gallery of Illustration (Amateurs), Jan. 29, ’70
_The White Cat_, burlesque, by F. C. Burnand. Globe, December 26, 1870.
_The White Fawn_, extrav., by F. C. Burnand. Holborn, April 13, 1868.
_Whittington Junior, and his Sensation Cat_, by Robert Reece. Royalty, November 23, 1870.
_Whittington and His Cat._ Panto-opening by E. L. Blanchard. Drury Lane, Dec., 1875.
_Whittington and his Cat_, burl.-drama, by F. C. Burnand. Gaiety, October 15, 1881. T. Squire, E. W. Royce, J. Dallas, Misses E. Farren and Kate Vaughan.
_The Wife_, a Tale of a Mantua Maker, burl.-drama by Joseph Graves. Strand, June 19, 1837.
_William Tell_, burl.-panto. Drury Lane, July 12, 1856.
_William Tell_, a Telling Version of an old Tell Tale, by Leicester Buckingham. Strand, April 13, 1857.
_William Tell with a Vengeance_, by Henry J. Byron. Alexandra T., Liverpool, September 4, 1867, and Strand Theatre, London, October 5, 1867.
_William Tell_, by Arthur J. O’Neil. Sadler’s Wells, October 19, 1867.
_William Tell, Told over again_, by Robert Reece. Gaiety, December 21, 1876.
_Willikind and his Dinah_, by J. Stirling Coyne. Haymarket, March 16, 1854.
_Windsor Castle_, burlesque-opera, by F. C. Burnand. Strand, June 5, 1865. David James, T. Thorne, J. Stoyle, H. J. Turner, Miss Ada Swanborough.
_Windsor Castle_, burlesque, by T. C. Grace. Newcastle Theatre, June 22, 1868.
_Winter’s Tale_, burlesque, by William Brough. Lyceum, September 15, 1856. J. L. Toole, William Brough, Mrs. A. Mellon, and Marie Wilton.
_Wonderful Lamp in a new light_, by Gilbert A. à Beckett. Princess’s, July 4, 1844.
_Wood Demon_; or, One o’clock, by Charles Kenney and Albert Smith. Lyceum, May 6, 1847.
_The World Underground_; or, the Golden Fleece and the Brazen Waters, burlesque, by Gilbert A. à Beckett. Haymarket, December, 1848.
_Yellow Dwarf_, burlesque-burletta, by Gilbert A. à Beckett. Princess’s, December 26, 1842. Madame Sala.
_The Yellow Dwarf_, and the King of the Gold Mine, by J. R. Planché. Olympic, December 26, 1854. F. Robson, Miss Julia St. George.
_The Yellow Dwarf_; or, the Good Sovereign and the Bad Yellow Boy, by Frank Hall. Philharmonic. March 29, 1880.
_Yellow Dwarf_, burlesque-extrav., by Robert Reece and Alfred Thompson. Her Majesty’s, December 30, 1882.
_Young Dick Whittington_, by J. Wilton Jones. Leicester Theatre, April 18, 1881.
_Young Fra Diavolo_; the Terror of Terracina, by Henry J. Byron. Gaiety, November 18, 1878. E. Terry, E. W. Royce, R. Soutar, T. Squire, Misses E. Farren, Kate Vaughan and C. Gilchrist.
_Young Rip Van Winkle_, by R. Reece. Folly, April 17, 1876.
_Zampa_; or, The Buckaneer and the Little Dear, by T. F. Plowman. Court, October 2, 1872.
_Zampa_; or, the Cruel Corsair, and the Marble Maid, by J. F. McArdle. Liverpool T., October 9, 1876.
――――:o:――――
In his Introduction to _Burlesque Plays and Poems_ (G. Routledge & Sons, 1885), Mr. Henry Morley observes:――
“The word Burlesque came to us through the French from the Italian ‘burlesco’; ‘burla’ being mockery or raillery, and implying always an object. Burlesque must, _burlarsi di uno_, mock at somebody or something, and when intended to give pleasure it is nothing if not good-natured. One etymologist associates the word with the old English ‘bourd,’ a jest; the Gaelic ‘burd,’ he says, means mockery, and ‘buirleadh,’ is language of ridicule. Yes, and ‘burrail’ is the loud romping of children, and ‘burrall’ is weeping and wailing in a deep-toned howl. Another etymologist takes the Italian ‘burla,’ waggery or banter, as diminutive from the Latin ‘burra,’ which means a rough hair, but is used by Ausonius in the sense of a jest. That etymology no doubt fits burlesque to a hair, but, like Launce’s sweetheart, it may have more hair than wit.”
There are few more amusing pieces of light English literature than some of our early theatrical burlesques, such as Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Knight of the Burning Pestle,” the Duke of Buckingham’s “Rehearsal,” Henry Fielding’s “Tom Thumb,” Sheridan’s “The Critic,” and Poole’s “Hamlet,” with its absurd notes in imitation of several learned Shakespearian commentators.
During the last thirty or forty years this particular form of Dramatic Entertainment has been specially cultivated, and at the Strand, Royalty, and Gaiety Theatres, in London, the “Sacred Lamp of Burlesque” has been kept alight by the productions of such prolific and humorous writers as Gilbert A. à Beckett, Francis Talfourd, Leicester Buckingham, Albert Smith, William Brough, Robert Reece, Stirling Coyne, H. B. Farnie, Henry J. Byron, and F. C. Burnand. Much has been written for and against dramatic burlesque, and it may be said, without fear of contradiction, that recently far less attention has been devoted to the literary merits of the productions than to the scenery and dresses. The humour of the actors being considered as of less importance than a dazzling mise-en-scene with a host of pretty half-dressed ballet girls.
The following articles are of interest in connection with modern dramatic burlesque.
_Is Burlesque Art?_ A paper by Blanche Reives, read before the Church and Stage Guild, October 7, 1880. The authoress quotes thus from a letter written by Mr. W. S. Gilbert:――“Burlesque in its higher development calls for high intellectual power on the part of its professors. Aristophanes, Rabelais, George Cruikshank, the authors of the _Rejected Addresses_, John Leech, and J. R. Planché were all in their respective lines professors of true burlesque. The form of burlesque with which modern theatre goers are familiar, scarcely calls for criticism, it is infantile in its folly.”
_The “A. D. C.”_, by F. C. Burnand, B.A., being Personal Reminiscences of the University Amateur Dramatic Club, Cambridge. London, Chapman & Hall, 1880.
_Old Comedy on a New Stage_, by R. C. Jebb. The Fortnightly Review. January 1884.
_Burlesques, Old and New_, a short paper by Leopold Wagner. _Time_, November, 1886.
_The Spirit of Burlesque_, in “The Universal Review” for October, 1888, by F. C. Burnand, himself probably the most prolific of all modern English authors of Parody and Burlesque.
_Reminiscences of the New Royalty_, by F. C. Burnand, containing an illustrated history of his immensely successful burlesque, “Black Eyed Susan.” _See_ “The Universal Review,” December, 1888.
A VERY PRIVATE VIEW OF THE GROSVENOR. (_By Ollendorff Junior._)
Have you seen the Pictures? I have not seen the Pictures. I have not seen the Pictures, but I have seen the People. I shall lunch. Shall you lunch? I will lunch with you (at your expense). Thank you! (_merci!_) Has the Æsthete cut his hair? The Hairdresser has cut the Æsthete’s hair (_i.e._, the hair of the Æsthete). I like (_j’aime_) the Picture by (_par_) Keeley Halswelle, but I will not purchase (_acheter_) the Nocturne by Whistler (_siffleur_). Whistler be blowed! (_sifflé_). Keeley Halswelle’s Picture is called (_s’appelle_) “_Royal Windsor_.” Is it true (_est-ce vrai que_) the Soap-man (_l’homme aux savons_), Pears, has purchased “_Royal Windsor_” for an advertisement (_affiche_)? Val Prinsep has painted something like an Artist, but (_mais_) Mr. Holl has painted somebody who is something like an Artist. What is his name? His name is (_il s’appelle_) John Tenniel. It is very hot. It is crowded. When it is crowded it is hot. How many people are there here? I do not know: I will count them. I should like some lunch. You can lunch at the Restaurant below. Will you lunch there also (_aussi_)? With pleasure, if you will pay for both of us (_tous les deux_). I have a hat, a stick, an umbrella, a catalogue, a ticket of admission, and an appetite, but I have no money. I am afraid (_je crains_) that no one will give me luncheon. I will (_je vais_) go down (_descendre_) into the Restaurant.
Waiter! (_garçon_) have you some bread, some cutlets, some beef, some preserved strawberry jam-tart (_confiture aux fraises_), and some good wine (_du bon vin_)? Yes sir; here they are (_voilà_). Ah! my dear friend (_mon cher ami_), sit opposite (_vis-à-vis_) me. Call the Waiter, and tell him we lunch together (_ensemble_).
The wine is good, the bread is excellent, the beef is appetising. Excuse me one moment (_un moment_) I see Madame X―――― going up (_monter_) to the Gallery. I must (_il faut_) speak to her. She has asked me to show (_indiquer_) her Mrs. Jopling’s pictures and Miss Montalba’s (_ceux de_ Mlle. Montalba). You are coming back (_de retour_), are you not (_n’est-ce pas_)? Yes; I shall come back.
Waiter! the Gentleman who was with me will come back and pay for his own share. No, Sir (_Non, Monsieur_) you must pay for the two. It is too bad; I will speak to (_m’addresser_) Mr. Comyns Carr, or to Sir Coutts. All that is nothing to me (_tout ça ne me regarde pas_); you have (_il faut absolument_) to pay for two soups, two fish, two beefs, two vegetables (_legumes_), one bottle of the best (_le meilleur_) wine, two breads, two butters.
There is the money. I am angry. I will not give anything (_ne-rien_) to the waiter. The pictures are in the Gallery above, but his friend is no longer to be seen (_visible_). Where is that gentleman (_ce monsieur_)? He is gone (_il est parti_). Did he say when he would return? No; he did not say when he would return. He has taken my overcoat (_par-dessus_), my catalogue, and my new umbrella (_parapluie_). I will hasten (_me presser_) to seek (_chercher_) him. Another day I will look at the pictures.
_Punch_, May 5, 1883.
[Illustration]
A CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX to some of the principal BOOKS AND PERIODICALS treating of Parody and Burlesque.
――――
_Curiosities of Literature_, by Isaac D’Israeli, has chapters on “Parodies,” “Literary Forgeries,” and on “Literary Impostures.”
_The Edinburgh Review_, November 1812, contains the famous article by Lord Jeffrey on “Rejected Addresses.”
_The Three Trials of William Hone_ for publishing Three Parodies, namely, “The late John Wilkes’s Catechism,” “The Political Litany,” and the “Sinecurist’s Creed,” at Guildhall, London, December 18, 19, and 20, 1817. William Hone himself printed and published in 1818, the Reports of these Trials, which contain a great quantity of general information about Parodies.
_Rejected Addresses._ After this amusing collection of Parodies had run through seventeen editions Mr. John Murray purchased the copyright, and in 1833 he brought out the eighteenth edition. This has an interesting preface, and valuable notes.
_The Westminster Review_, July, 1854. An anonymous article on “Parody.” London: John Chapman.
_Curiosités Littéraires_, par Ludovic Lalanne. Paris: A. Delahays, 1857. Contains articles on imitation and burlesque.
_Memoir of William Edmonstoune Aytoun._ By (Sir) Theodore Martin. Edinburgh: William Blackwood & Sons, 1867. This contains information as to Aytoun’s share in the _Bon Gaultier Ballads_, his mock tragedy _Firmilian_, and other humorous writings, prose and verse.
_The Standard_, November 26, 1868; January 30, 1871.
_La Parodie chez les Grecs, chez les Romains, et chez les Modernes_, par Octave Delepierre. Londres: N. Trübner et Cie., 1870.
The chapter on English Parodies (p. 146 to p. 169) was compiled by M. Delepierre from information and Parodies supplied to him by Walter Hamilton.
_The Athenæum_, July 1, 1871. A Review of M. Delepierre’s “La Parodie.” London.
_Pro and Con._ Edited by Walter Hamilton. February 15, 1873. An article on Parodies, Paraphrases and Imitations. London: E. and F. Spon.
_The Galaxy_, May 1874. Contains “The Parody of the Period,” by J. Brander Matthews (p. 694). New York, U.S.A. Sheldon & Company.
_Tinsley’s Magazine_ (London), September 1876. An article on “Parody,” by S. Waddington.
_Fun, Ancient and Modern._ By Dr. Maurice Davies. Two volumes. London: Tinsley Brothers, 1878.
_History of English Humour._ By the Rev. A. G. L’Estrange. Two volumes. Has a chapter on Burlesque and Parody. London: Hurst & Blackett, 1878.
_The Globe_ (London), November 17, 1880. An article on “Parodies.”
_The Humorous Poetry of the English Language, from Chaucer to Saxe._ Collected by J. Parton, Boston, U.S. Houghton & Co., 1881. This contains a good collection of Parodies and Burlesques, most of which have been reprinted in this work.
_The Gentleman’s Magazine_, London. September, 1881. “The Poetry of Parody,” by W. Davenport Adams.
_Poetical Ingenuities and Eccentricities._ Edited by William T. Dobson. London: Chatto & Windus, 1882. Contains a chapter on Parody.
_The Maclise Portrait Gallery of Illustrious Literary Characters_, with Memoirs. By William Bates, B.A. London: Chatto & Windus, 1883.
A storehouse of information as to the history and origin of some of the best parodies in the language.
_Vers de Société and Parody._ By H. A. Page. London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1883.
_The Gentleman’s Magazine_, February, 1884. “Charles Cotton,” by Rev. M. G. Watkins, contains an account of Cotton’s Burlesques. London: Chatto & Windus.
_Chambers’s Journal_, February 2, 1884. “The Muse of Parody.” Anonymous. London: W. & R. Chambers.
_Burlesque Plays and Poems_, with an Introduction, by Henry Morley. London: G. Routledge & Sons, 1885.
_The Literary Remains of Charles Stuart Calverley_, with a Memoir. By Walter J. Sendall. London: George Bell and Sons, 1885. This is interesting as throwing light on the composition of Calverley’s exquisite imitations.
_The Saturday Review_ (London), February 14, 1885. An article “The Art of Parody” (anonymous), which was reprinted on p. 103, Vol. II. of this collection.
_The Daily News_ (London), October 10, 1885. A leader on Charles Stuart Calverley’s Poems and Parodies.
_Longman’s Magazine_ (London), October, 1886. An article, “The Ethics of Plagiarism,” by Brander Matthews.
_Temple Bar_ (London), January, 1887. An article on Charles Stuart Calverley, and his Parodies.
_The Whitehall Review_ (London), March 10, 1887. “Concerning Parodies.”
_Family Herald_, July 28, 1888. “Parodies.” Anonymous. London: William Stevens.
_The Daily News_ (London), December 3, 1888. A leader on “Parody.”
_Temple Bar_ (London), March, 1889. An anonymous paper on James Smith, and the _Rejected Addresses_, the greater part of which is borrowed from the Preface to the 18th edition (1833), of the R. A.
_In Cap and Gown_, Three Centuries of Cambridge Wit. Edited by Charles Whibley. London: Kegan, Paul, Trench & Co., 1889.
This contains some of the best parodies which have been published in Cambridge, with notes descriptive of the principal publications of the University.
_The Daily News_ (London), June 21, 1889. A leader on Hamilton’s “Collection of Poems and Parodies in Praise of Tobacco.”
_The Daily News_ (London), October 16, 1889. A leader on Mr. Charles Whibley’s “In Cap and Gown,” which see.
_Famous Literary Impostures_, a Series of Essays. By H. R. Montgomery. London: E. W. Allen.
_Notes and Queries._ London. See particularly March 25, 1871; June 26, 1880; June 25, 1887; July 30, 1887.
_The Weekly Dispatch._ London. In November, 1879, this paper commenced prize competitions which it has continued ever since. Parodies of well-known authors are often selected for these competitions, and many examples have been quoted in this collection.
_The World._ London. In July, 1879, this journal opened its columns to competitors for prizes, which were awarded for the best parodies of certain poems selected by the Editor. Many of these have also been quoted in _Parodies_.
END OF SIXTH, AND LAST, VOLUME.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Written at the Crystal Palace Aquarium.
[2] _J’entends._
[3] An adaptation of “Madonna mia.”
[4] See “The Gentleman’s Magazine,” Vol. 56, p. 427; also Boswell’s Life of Johnson, Vol. 10, p. 189――edition in 10 vols., published by John Murray, London, 1835.
[5] The lines in italics are usually omitted, as being too serious for the occasion. They allude to certain newspaper critics who were supposed to be present, and who became rather heated in their political expressions.
[6] A bawbling vessel was he captain of For shallow draught and bulk imprisible. SHAKESPEARE.
[7] In plain English, the Halfpenny-hatch, then a footway through fields; but now, as the same bards sing elsewhere――
“St. George’s Fields are fields no more, The trowel supersedes the plough; Swamps, huge and inundate of yore, Are changed to civic villas now.”
[8] Some extracts from this parody, with an illustration by Cruikshank, will be found in Vol. IV. _Parodies_, p. 102.
[9] John Kemble.
[10] Madame Catalani.
[11] “Company” understood.
[12] Cochin China Cock.
[13] Halliwell considered this rhyme to be at least 300 years old. He adds a fifth verse:――
“Jenny was so mad, She didn’t know what to do; She put her finger in her ear, And crackt it right in two.”
He also makes the last line of the fourth verse to read:――
And snapt off her nose,
which tragical _dénouement_ is certainly that which is inculcated in all well-regulated nurseries.
[14] Slang for sixpence.
[15] Battenburg.
[16] Poem on Liberty, ver. 12.
[17] Ibid. ver. 16.
[18] Ibid. ver. 104.
[19] A poetical word for a Tobacco-box.
[20] Poem on Liberty, ver. 243, 245.
[21] Poem on Liberty, ver. 247.
[22] Ibid. ver. 309.
[23] Ibid. ver. 171.
[24] _Antis i.e._, Anti-smokers.
[25] An allusion to a phrase in _Ruddigore_.
[26] The term “drinking” tobacco was commonly used in the early days of smoking.
[27] An herb with which the hart is said to cure its wounds.
[28] Or, Swad out with the antro gilespians.
[29] See Hesio. Pro Mea benevolente. Act. Mediæv. Pp. 992. Quisque numjam satis, Vol. II., chap. 78, ¶XIV. Also, Hey Didhul Didhul Thecat anthef Hidul. ¶XI Pp. 672. Ib.
[30] Not found in the MSS. of the 29th century. Hunc Dune objected to by the English committee.
[31] This may also be rendered, “a long ways.”
[32] In the Vulgate, “like a California diamond.”
[33] _The Morning Star_, a London Liberal newspaper, founded in 1856.
[34] To enable the reader to realise more vividly the impressive solemnity of this ode, the number of welcomes has been put in Arabic numerals.
[35] Sir Francis Burdett, Radical M.P. for Westminster, and father of Lady Burdett Coutts.
[36] William Cobbett, M.P. for Oldham, an extraordinary man, who started life as a private soldier, and by his own unaided exertions acquired a position of considerable importance.
[37] Query――Paced?――_Printers Devil_.
[38] Fellows of Colleges are not so destitute of _feeling_ as to forget their “OLD FRIEND.”
[39] Sir Richard Steele.
[40] Sir Richard Blackmore.
[41] Sir Richard Cox.
[42] Father of Mr. J. L. Toole, the popular comedian.
[43] Alfred Bunn, the lessee of Drury Lane Theatre, was a fortune to the small wits of the day. He wrote the librettos for some operas, which were neither better nor worse than the average of such productions. _Punch_ bitterly attacked him, but he retaliated in “A word with _Punch_” which effectually silenced that individual.
Bunn brought out the wonderfully successful Operatic Singer, Jenny Lind. He died in 1860.
[44] Jullien organised the popular Promenade Concerts, with military bands, Army Quadrilles, &c.
[45] _The Rape of the Bucket_: An Heroi-comical Poem. Translated from the Italian of Tassoni by Mr. Ozell.
[46] Ringing the penance-bell was an expression which frequently occurred in Brown’s writings.
[47] Two celebrated coaches.
[48] The month in which the B.A. degree is taken and which in many instances, is the “finis fatorum;” at least to a great portion of the “bons vivans.”
[49] The celebrated Lord Chesterfield, whose Letters to his Son, according to Dr. Johnson, inculcate “the manners of a dancing master and the morals of a ――――,” &c.
[50] “Lord Mayor of the theatric sky.” This alludes to Leigh Hunt, who, in _The Examiner_, at this time kept the actors in hot water.
[51] All England Lawn-Tennis Club.
[52] President Hitquick Club.
[53] It would seem that the striking want of poetical justice in the usually-received termination of this otherwise excellent story, wherein none of the good people were made happy, and the wicked were most inadequately punished, had caused the author to tremble for his popularity among the female portion of the community――who, it is well known, will stand no liberties of that description. He has therefore (apparently) re-written it on more orthodox principles; or (not improbably) got somebody else to re-write it for him; or (as is barely possible) somebody else has re-written it for him without asking his leave. We have no means of ascertaining the exact state of the case. The reader is requested to form his own opinion, and let us know at his earliest convenience.――EDS. O. M.
[54] Not being a ghost, _Corydon_ does not talk in the style of 1670.
[55] The subject and title of these papers bear some resemblance to Messrs. Griffith and Farran’s natty little republication of the selections from “Lord Chesterfield’s Letters to his Son,” entitled _Manners and Speech_, but a careful comparison will establish the dissimilarity.
[56] The Syndicate.
[57] One who betrays his companions.
[58] Share of the plunder.
[59] Burglary.
[60] Inform.
[61] Companions.
[62] Gentlemanly.
[63] Police officers.
[64] Old Bailey pleaders.
[65] Prison.
[66] Gunpowder.
[67] An experienced hand at stealing.
[68] Double-barrelled gun.
[69] Drink freely.
[70] Brandy.
[71] Depart.
[72] Fire.
[73] Transported.
[74] A hearty choke; i.e., _hanging_.
[75] A Burglary.
[76] Houses.
[77] Steal.
[78] Handkerchief.
[79] Skilful.
[80] Pass false notes.
[81] Watch.
[82] Hanged.
[83] Parson.
[84] Magistrate or judge.
[85] Handsomest wig.
[86] Prison.
[87] Ladies of a certain description.
[88] Comrades or fast friends.
[89] Thieves speak of themselves as “family-men.”
[90] Warders.
[91] Night.
[92] Meat and drink.
[93] A greenhorn.
[94] Tricks of the trade.
[95] Talking slang.
[96] Imprisoned.
[97] Up to prison ways.
[98] Writing.
[99] Thieves should pray on their knees.
[100] Highway-robbers, swell-mobsmen, burglars, and forgers.
[101] Slang names for Pentonville Model Prison, and Millbank Penitentiary.
[102] Whitechapel Swell.
[103] Actions.
[104] Flash.
[105] Half-penny.
[106] Hat.
[107] Eatables.
[108] Coat.
[109] Look.
[110] Trousers.
[111] The Throat.
[112] Flash.
[113] Vest.
[114] Pockets.
[115] Teetotaler.
[116] Sure place.
[117] Money.
[118] Pickpockets.
[119] Cross hands.
[120] A watch.
[121] Chain.
[122] Deceive.
[123] Gensd’armes.
[124] Salute.
[125] Shout.
[126] Public-house.
[127] Smoke a pipe.
[128] Paid a shilling.
[129] Gin.
[130] Humbug.
[131] Sherry.
[132] Mistress.
[133] Pork.
[134] Red herring.
[135] Lots of beer.
[136] The judges.
[137] Clothes.
[138] Neat.
[139] A fine young woman.
[140] Die.
[141] Drinks water or tea.
[142] Innkeeper.
[143] Tongue.
[144] Stole.
[145] Newgate.
[146] _Pike it_, to run off quickly.
[147] The Devil take.
[148] The beadle or constable.
[149] Beg Bread.
[150] Porridge.
[151] The day.
[152] Legs in the stocks.
[153] Break into a house.
[154] Get a whipping.
[155] Rob a beer shop.
[156] Cut a purse.
[157] Force a lock.
[158] Magistrate.
[159] Fetters.
[160] Hang on the gallows in the daylight.
[161] To go.
[162] Good, or well.
[163] Women.
[164] To look out.
[165] Goods.
[166] Lost.
[167] A good fellow.
[168] Money.
[169] A buxom wench.
[170] Suited me very well.
[171] To cover or conceal.
[172] Steal.
[173] To tell lies cleverly.
[174] A penny.
[175] The country.
[176] The house being alarmed.
[177] To hide in the woods.
[178] Thieves receiving house.
[179] Bacon.
[180] A beadle or Watchman.
[181] Do not brag of your booty.
[182] To rogues that are base.
[183] The girl on the look out.
[184] A counterfeit license.
[185] To beg.
[186] To break into each house.
[187] The man must run.
[188] Through hedge, ditch and field.
[189] Base fetters give the man his deserts.
[190] The jail.
[191] May the Devil take.
[192] Justice of the Peace.
[193] Drink, wench, and beershop, then good night.
[194] To hang on the gallows.
[195] By rogues betrayed.
[196] Long-home.
[197] London.
[198] Horse stealers.
[199] Carriage and Wagon pilferers, and Trunk lifters.
[200] Fancy man, sweetheart.
[201] Prisons.
[202] Handcuffs.
[203] A fool easily cheated by a woman.
[204] Refreshments.
[205] A ring, a watch, and a pair of pistols.
[206] Gin shops.
[207] Women and girls.
[208] Beggars with sham wooden legs, etc.
[209] To see you.
[210] Hats or caps.
[211] Beggars’ holiday.
[212] Constables.
[213] Justice of the Peace.
[214] Tramp.
[215] Head of a gang.
[216] Poultry thief.
[217] Horse stealer.
[218] Beggar.
[219] Avoid.
[220] One who sneaks into a house at dusk to admit his companions later on.
[221] Takes us to goal.
[222] Half-pennies.
[223] Rob him of his money.
[224] To spend his shilling.
[225] To treat the other prisoners.
[226] Girl.
[227] Hanging place.
[228] Knife.
[229] The moon.
[230] Light.
[231] Highwayman.
[232] “Cherry-coloured――black; there being black cherries as well as red.”――GROSE.
[233] Sword.
[234] Pistols.
[235] Highway-robbery.
[236] Pocket-book.
[237] Money.
[238] Bullets.
[239] The gallows.
[240] Ditto.
[241] Money.
[242] Man.
[243] Stripped.
[244] Fellow.
[245] A particular kind of pugilistic punishment.
[246] Kept an eye upon the other.
[247] Hands.
[248] Deceive them.
[249] Dyot Street, St. Giles’s, afterwards called George Street, Bloomsbury, was a well-known Rookery, where thieves, and other gentry, could obtain cheap accommodation.
[250] Beggars.
[251] A _footman_ to hackney coaches, to water the horses, etc.
[252] To pick a pocket.
[253] To lay hold of notes or money.
[254] Steal handkerchiefs dexterously.
[255] Steal a watch.
[256] Pocket the chain and seals.
[257] Search for a pouch or pocket-book.
[258] Pocket-books are also called readers.
[259] An intended robbery.
[260] My hand is skilful.
[261] A disorderly vagabond.
[262] The lock-up.
[263] Gaoler.
[264] Running away.
[265] Frolicsome.
[266] An expert pickpocket.
[267] Night.
[268] Not to commit any offence punishable with death.
[269] The fine payable on capital conviction.
[270] Transported.
[271] Hanged.
[272] House-breaker.
[273] Highwayman.
[274] Pawned their clothes.
[275] The rope.
[276] Pocket handkerchief.
[277] Candles.
[278] Break your head.
[279] Neck.
[280] On the _tapis_ (carpet).
[281] Regular nonsense.
[282] Talking.
[283] Walking.
[284] Eating and drinking.
[285] A sovereign.
[286] Look out, be on your guard.
[287] The gallows.
[288] A Foot pad.
[289] A Burglar.
[290] A Window thief.
[291] Steal the valuables.
[292] A pickpocket.
[293] A silly fop.
[294] A sneaking thief.
[295] One whose duty it is to hustle a person, whilst another robs him.
[296] A country man.
[297] One who hooks goods out of shop doors, and windows.
[298] A publichouse thief.
[299] A well-dressed sharper who performs the confidence trick, etc.
[300] A good-natured fool.
[301] Money.
[302] A wench.
[303] An easy dupe.
[304] Something dropped in the street as a lure.
[305] One caught in the act of stealing is considered a poor hand by his pals.
[306] A cow stealer.
[307] A child stealer.
[308] A poultry stealer.
[309] Members of the Canting Crew.
[310] and [311] Night and Day.
[312] See.
[313] My Girl.
[314] Return.
[315] Eyes.
[316] Strolling mock priest.
[317] Ducks and geese.
[318] Hang.
[319] Never “peach” or confess.
[320] Neck.
[321] Thieving business.
[322] A girl.
[323] Spoke flash.
[324] Drink and food.
[325] Beer.
[326] Thieving way.
[327] Bed.
[328] Nose.
[329] Pockets.
[330] Fingers.
[331] Sovereigns.
[332] Seals.
[333] The parson at Newgate.
[334] Saying prayers.
[335] Pickpockets.
[336] Morning work at thieving.
[337] A proof with many errors in it.
[338] When any words have erroneously been set up twice.
[339] This was an error, as the _Catechism_ had previously appeared in a daily paper.
[340] Lord Chancellor Eldon.
[341] Lord Castlereagh.
[342] Lord Sidmouth.
[343] _Triangle, s._ a _thing_ having three _sides_; the meanest and most tinkling of all musical _instruments_; machinery used in military _torture_.――DICTIONARY.
[344] _All-twattle_; Twattle, _v. n._ to prate, gabble, chatter, talk idly.――ENTICK’S DICTIONARY.
[345] Robert Southey, the Poet Laureate.
[346] Sir Robert Walpole.
[347] George III., then insane.
[348] Covent Carden.
[349] Sir Cecil Wray, the Ministerial Candidate, who proposed to put a tax on female servants.
[350] This prophecy was afterwards strangely fulfilled, for the _Sultan_ was run upon rocks and sunk. The Duke of Edinburgh was not on board at the time, but he was in command on the station, and under his directions ineffectual efforts were made to save the vessel. These having failed, a Court of Enquiry was held, of which it has not been deemed prudent to publish any report. It would obviously be exceedingly unprofessional to impute negligence or incompetence to a Royal Duke who condescends to accept the title and the pay of an Admiral.
The vessel was afterwards raised, and taken into port by a firm of contractors.
INDEX.
_The Authors of the original poems are arranged in alphabetical order; the titles of the original poems are printed in italics, followed by the Parodies. The Authors of the Parodies are named in italics._
A Bibliography of the Parodies of Charles Dickens 224 A Bibliography of French Parodies 323 Bibliography of Scriptural Parodies 312 Books and Periodicals dealing with Parody 345 Books of Reference on Slang, Cant, and “Argot” 282 Burlesques of Educational Works 328 English Burlesques of the Classics 325 Literary Forgeries and Impostures 322 Mock Heroic Poems 179 Plays founded on Charles Dickens’s Novels 226 Theatrical Burlesques and Travesties 331
Ballades; Rondeaus; Villanelles, etc.
_The Ballade_ (See Swinburne). The Ballade in Bad Weather. _J. Ashby Sterry_ 64 A Ballade of Old Metres 64 A Young Poet’s Advice 64 Ballade of Old Law Books 65 Ballade of the Honest Lawyer 65 Ballade of Leading Cases 65 Ballade of the Timid Bard 65 Ballade of a Ballade Monger. _G. White_ 85 Ballade of Primitive Man. _Andrew Lang_ 85 Ballade of Primitive Woman. American 85 The Doom of the Muses. _H. D. Traill_ 86 Austin Dobson――Andrew Lang 86 Ballade of the Best Pipe 145 Ballade of Tobacco 145 _The Villanelle_ 65 J’ay perdu ma tourterelle 66 When I saw you last, Rose 66 A Villanelle, after Oscar Wilde 66 The Street Singer. _Austin Dobson_ 66 Culture in the Slums. _W. E. Henley_ 66 In Wain! _Punch_ 67 Jean Passerat, I like thee well 87 It’s all a trick. _W. W. Skeat_ 87 We are Cook’s Tourists. _H. C. Bunner_ 87 Dewy-eyed with shimmering hair 88 _The Triolet_ (in a Temper) 67 Le premier jour du mois de mai 67 I wished to sing my love 67 How to fashion a Triolet 67 Triolets by Austin Dobson 86 With Pipe and Book 146 _The Rondeau_ (in a Rage) 67 Ma foi, c’est fait de moi 68 You bid me try. _Austin Dobson_ 68 Why do I wander wildly? 68 Culture in the Slums. _W. E. Henley_ 68 That dear old Tune 86 In corsets laced 87 _Chant Royal._ Behold the Deeds. _H. E. Bunner_ 68 _Rondels._ Two Rondels 68 You bet! you hear _me_ 86 We have a most erotic bard 86 In a Cloud of smoke 146 _Roundel._ The cat that sings 87
Robert Browning.
Mr. R. Browning’s objection to Parodies 46 Waitress, with eyes so marvellous black 19 A Motto! Just a catch-word 26 How they brought the Good News from Ulundi to Landsman’s Drift. _The World_ 47 How I won the Challenge Shield 47 _The Pied Piper of Hamelin_ 48 The Bagpiper of Midlothian 48 The Red Piper of Westminster 49 Poets and Linnets. _Tom Hood_ 49 The Quest of Barparlo. _Judy_ 49 _Wanting is――what?_ Browning is――what? 49 Loving is――what? 49 Wooing is――what? 50 A Billiard Mystery 50 Come _is_ the Comer 50 _The Lost Leader._ The Latest News. _Fun_ 50 A Story of Girton 51 The Losing Leader 52 _The Patriot_, and two Parodies 51 A Parleying with a certain person of no importance (Joseph Chamberlain) 51 Two Sides 52 My Kate 52 Lays of a Lover 52 Post Chronology. _O. M. Brown_ 52 R. Browning’s Lines on the “Jubilee,” and a Parody 52 The Poets at Tea 52 Angelo orders his Dinner. _Bayard Taylor_ 53 Any Pleader to any Student 53 The Cock and the Bull. _C. S. Calverley_ 53 John Jones. _The Heptalogia_ 54 Articles on Robert Browning’s Poems 54 Browning Societies 54 Take them, Chum, the book and me together 55
Austin Dobson.
_This was the Pompadour’s Fan_ 61 A Ballade of the Grosvenor Gallery 61 A Ballade of Five o’clock Tea 62 Ballade of Pot-Pourri 62 Other Ballades 62, 64 _Tu Quoyue_ (by permission) 62 An Idyll of the Lobby. _Pall Mall_ 63 The Prodigals. _W. E. Henley_ 63
John Dryden.
_Alexander’s Feast_ 169 Shakespeare’s Feast, 1769 170 Prancer’s Feast, 1779 171 The Grand Portsmouth Puppet-show, 1786 171 The Covent Garden Row. (O. P.) 1810 172 Sir Francis Burdett’s Feast, 1814 172 Commemoration Day, 1824 172 Ode to a Wrangler’s Spread 173 The Kennington Common Revolution, 1848 173 Josh Hudson’s Feast 174 Alexander (Henderson’s) Feast, 1884 175 _Three Poets, in three distant ages born_ 175 Parallel passages and imitations 176 _The Hind and the Panther._ The Country Mouse and the City Mouse 176
John Keats.
Who killed John Keats? 193 La Belle Dame sans merci 193 Ode on a Jar of Pickles. _Bayard Taylor_ 193 _A thing of Beauty is a joy for ever_ A Locomotive is a joy for ever 194
Frederick Locker-Lampson.
Biographical Notes 55, 85 _St. James’s Street_, and a pirated version 56 St. Giles. _Henry S. Leigh_ 57 _Tempora Mutantur!_ and a Parody 57 _Bramble Rise_ 57 A song at Sixty 57 His Girl 58 _An Invitation to Rome_ 58 Mr. Gladstone in Rome 58 _From the Cradle_, and a Parody 58 A Gallery of Fair Women 59 Something Praedesque. _Mortimer Collins_ 59 London’s “Suez Canal.” _H. C. Pennell_ 60 Songsters of the Day. _Time_ 60 On Frederick Locker 61
Nursery Rhymes.
Introductory Notes 101 _The House that Jack built_ 101 Hebrew version 101 Political Parodies of this Rhyme 102 Version written for the O. P. Riots 103 Parodies in _The Ingoldsby Lyrics_ 103 The Palace that Nash built 103 The Crystal Palace that Fox built 103 The House that Barry built 103 The Water that John drinks 104 The Show that Sham built 104 The Mine that Lyon struck 104 The Land of Austra-_lia_ 104 The Ship that Jack built 104 The House that John built 104 This is the Radical Bradlaugh 104 This is the Face that Art made 105 The House that any one built 105 The Bicycle that Jack made 105 The House that Tithe built 105 The Mitchelstown Murders 106 This is the Toy. _Truth._ 106 The Boat that Jack built 106 Behold the Mansion reared by Daedal Jack. _E. L. Blanchard_ 106 The Jubilee Coercion Bill 107 The House that Bowen built 107 The Domiciliary Edifice erected by John 107 A Sermon on this Rhyme 108 _Mary had a Little Lamb_ Austin Dobson’s Version 88 Robert Browning’s Version 88 H. W. Longfellows’s Version 88 Andrew Lang’s Version 88 A. C. Swinburne’s Version 88 Parodies on “Mary had a Little Lamb” 125 _Sing a Song of Sixpence_ 108 Latin Versions 108, 109 The Song of the Cover. _Bentley’s Miscellany_ 108 French Version 109 Sing a Song of Christmas 109 A Version in “Pidgin” English 109 Carol forth a Canticle 109 Sing a Song of Season 109 Sing a Song of Dollars 110 Sing a Song of Native Art 110 Sing a Song of Gladness 110 The Cabman’s Shelter. _Punch_ 110 The Song of Science 110 The English Illustrated Magazine 110 Fifty Thousand nimble Shillings 111 Sing a Song of Jingo 111 Sing a Song of Eightpence 111 Sing a Song of Saving 111 The Jubilee Coinage 111 Sing a Song of Gladstone 111 Sing a Song of Scaffolds, of Gunnery, of French Pence, of Chamberlain, of Armaments, of Tricksters, of Libels, of Dynamite 112 _Who killed Cock Robin?_ Who’ll teach the Prince? _Punch_, 1843 114 Who killed these Arabs? 114 Who killed Home Rule? 114 Who killed Gladstone? 115 Who won Miss Jenny? 115 Who’ll kill Coercion? 116 Who stole O’Brien’s Breeches? 116 Who killed Cock Warren? 122 _Jack and Jill_, and Parodies 116, 122 _Hey! Diddle Diddle_ 117 An Æsthetic Version 117 Mr. Escott’s Version 117 _This Pig went to Market._ Latin Version 116 _The Bells of London Town_, and Parodies 113 _Mistress Mary_, and a Latin Version 117 A Revised Edition 118 Political Parodies 118 _Old Mother Hubbard_, as a Sermon 118 _Little Jack Horner_, Latin Versions 119 Little Lord Randy 119 _Thirty Days hath September_ 123 A French Version 123 Dirty days hath September 123 A Summery Summary 123 Mems. for 1885 123 _The Three Jovial Huntsmen_ The Three Jolly Ratsmen 124 The Three Jovial Welshmen 124 _Three Children Sliding on the Ice_ 124 A Latin Version 124 _Thank you, Pretty Cow that made_ 125 Thank you, Pretty Spotted Snake 125 What are you doing, my Pretty Maid? 128 _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star_ 122, 161 Mica, mica, parva Stella 161 Tinkle, tinkle horrid bell 161 Monument to Temple Bar 162 Shine with Irregular Light 162 Sprinkle, Sprinkle, Water Cart 162 Twinkle, twinkle, _Morning Star_ 162 Tinkle, tinkle, Tramway Car 163 Twinkle, twinkle, Prosecu_tar_ 163 Wrinkles, wrinkles, Solar Star 163 Tyndall, Tyndall, Learned Star 163 Twinkle, twinkle, Little Arc 163 Twinkle, twinkle, Boulanger 164 _The Spider and the Fly_, by Mary Howitt 164 Will you Migrate to New Zealand 165 The Song of the Bank Director 165 The Irish Spider and the English Fly 166 Will you Walk into our Death-trap? 166 Harcourt and Chamberlain 166 Will you Walk into my Convent? 167 Will you Walk into my Tunnel? 167 Pray Come along to Hawarden 167 ―――― Taffy was a Welshman 119 What are Little Boys Made of 120 Dickory, dickory dock 120 Multiplication is Vexation 120 Please to Remember the 5th November 121 Privations Sore 121 Humpty Dumpty 123 Babye Bunting 123 I Love Little Pussy 125 If I had a Donkey 127 Halliwell-Halliwell, My Pretty Man 167 When Great Victoria Ruled the Land 167 I do not like Thee, Dr. Fell 168 I love Thee not Nell 169 Jan, je ne t’aime point 169
Parodies and Poems in Praise of Tobacco.
J. H. BROWNE’S Imitations of Colley Cibber, A. Phillips, J. Thomson, E. Young, A. Pope, and Jonathan Swift, entitled “A Pipe of Tobacco” 129 LORD BYRON. I Had a Dream 135 C. S. CALVERLEY’S Ode to Tobacco 139 Hand me Another Spill 139 E. COOK. I Love It! I Love It! 134 BARRY CORNWALL. The Pipe, the Pipe 138 ABRAHAM COWLEY. The lazy Earth doth Steam amain 148 T. GRAY. Elegy on an Old Pipe Box 131 MRS. HEMANS. The Stately Pipes of England 135 O. W. HOLMES. Hymn to St. Nicotine 137 THOMAS HOOD. I Remember, I Remember 134 HORACE. An Ode Against Tobacco 131 C. KINGSLEY. Three Antis went Groaning 138 H. W. LONGFELLOW. Beware! 139 Tobacco Smoke 139 Song of Firewater 140 Song of Nicotine 140 Tell me not in Penny Numbers 140 Come to Me! oh, my Meerschaum 141 The Pipe and the Quid 141 T. MOORE. ’Tis a last choice Havana 133 ’Tis the last Weed of Hudson’s 133 ’Tis my last Mild Havana 134 The Butcher boy down the Road 134 Oh! the Days are gone 134 MY Mother. My Hookah! 136 A Pinch of Snuff! 136 My Pipe, Love! 136 My True Cigar! 137 Tobacco! 137 The Weed 137 A Smoke 137 MRS. NORTON. Smoke not, smoke not 135 A. C. SWINBURNE. Another match 141 Ballade of more Burdens, “This is the cause of every smoker’s ire” 142 W. SHAKESPEARE. To smoke or not to smoke 132 R. B. SHERIDAN. Here’s to the hookah 132 WALTER SCOTT. Hail to the plant! 133 The weed was rank 133 ALFRED TENNYSON. The Cigar Smokers 142 Nicotina! 144 O, Darling weed! 144 I come from vaunted root 145 WORDSWORTH’S Sonnet. Scorn not the meerschaum 136 SONG from the _Mikado_ 145 BALLADE of the Best Pipe 145 BALLADE of Tobacco 145 IN a Cloud of Smoke. Rondel 146 WITH Pipe and Book 146 ON an empty Tobacco Pouch 146 THE Smoker’s Alphabet 146
FIRST LINES OF SONGS IN PRAISE OF TOBACCO.
A Poet’s Pipe am I 155 A Small Boy puffed at a Big Cigar 158 As the Years vanish, Darling 159 Borne from a Short Frail Pipe 152 Certain Fumeur Courtisait une Veuve 149 Come, Lovely Tube by Friendship Blest 152 Contre Les Chagrins de La Vie 153 Contented I sit with my Pipe 153 Charm of the Solitude I Love 155 Come! don’t refuse Sweet Nicotina 157 Critics avaunt, Tobacco is my theme 149 Doux charme de ma Solitude (and Translation) 152 Good, good indeed the Herb’s good Weed 148 For lack o’Tobacco 152 Hail! Social Pipe――thou Foe to care 152 Je suis la Pipe d’un Auteur (and Translation) 155 I flirted first with Cigarettes 150 I owe to Smoking, more or less 159 I sing the Song of the Cigarette 159 J’ ai du bon Tabac 160 Knows he that never took a Pinch? 160 Keep me at hand 157 Let no cold Marble o’er my Body rise 152 Luscious Leaf of Fragrant Savour 149 May the Babylonish curse. _Charles Lamb_ 150 Molière on Tobacco 160 My Pipe to me, thro’ gloom and glee 156 Once your Smoothly Polished Face 154 Pig Tail to Chor (A Letter) 147 Plains-moi, Philippe, mon ami 154 Pipe my Darling, Fate is Snarling 155 Sweet Smoking Pipe 152 Some Praise taking Snuff 154 Some sombre evening, when I sit 155 Some sigh for this and that 157 Smoke, do you? 158 The Pungent, Nose Refreshing Weed 160 The Mighty Thebes 158 The Warmth of thy Glow 158 The Sky it was dark 157 Three Hundred Years ago or soe 157 Thou Cheering Friend 155 Tube, I Love thee as my Life 152 Tell me, Shade of Walter Raleigh 150 Thrice Happy Isles that stole the World’s Delight 149 The Indian Weed withered quite 147 Two Maiden Dames of Sixty-two 148 The Lazy Earth doth steam amain 148 Was this small Plant for thee 147 Weed of the Strange Power 148 When Happy quite and Cosy grown 150 When my Pipe burns bright and clear 153 Why should Life in sorrow be spent 153 When Nobs come oot to walk aboot 154 When Life was all a Summer Day 156 Who Scorns the Pipe? 156 When Strong Perfumes 160 Yes, Social Friend, I Love thee well 158
Political Parodies.
Anticipation. _R. Tickell_, 1778 315 Kings’ and Queens’ Speeches to the Houses of Parliament 316 Punch’s Proclamation, 1878 318 “Ads” of the Future 318 Limited Liability. _Daily News_ 319 Political Manifestoes 319 Saunderson and Waring 319 The Hawarden Block Wood Company 320 Mr. W. E. Gladstone’s Last Will 321 Letters from Political Leaders 321
Prose Parodies.
Addison (Joseph). Prefatory Paper, by 207 Acts of Parliament. On Evening Parties, and on Ladies’ Dress 268 Admiralty Reforms 270 Ainsworth (W. H.), Novels 258 Black, William. Parodies on his Novels 259 Blessington, Countess of. Parodies of 259 Boyle, Robert. Dean Swift’s Parody of 261 Braddon, Miss M. E., Dr. Marchmont’s Misery 257 Selina Sedilia. _Bret Harte_ 259 Bret Harte. The Luck of Tory Camp 242 His Finger. _Shotover Papers_ 243 Brontë, Charlotte. Miss Mix. _Bret Harte_ 259 Broughton, Rhoda. Gone Wrong. _F. C. Burnand_ 259 Bürger G. A. Baron Munchausen, & Imitations 260 Burnaby, Colonel F. _The_ Ride to Khiva, _F. C. Burnand_ 259 Burnett, Mrs. F. H. The Real Little Lord Fauntleroy 255 Carlyle, Thomas. Carlyle on Bloomerism 211 On the Tichborne Trial 211 On Mr. Gladstone’s Portrait 212 On the Parliamentary “Closure” 213 On People of the Present 213 On the Inventories 213 On “The Biglow Papers” 214 Carlyle Redivivus 215 On the Oxford Commemoration 229 The Irish Revolution, 1848 229 Cervantes, Miguel. Parodies of Don Quixote 259 Chesterfield, Lord. Chesterfield Travestie, 1808 253 Lady Chesterfield’s Letters to her daughter 253 Good manners, _Punch_ 253 Churchill, Lord Randolph. The _Standard’s_ varying estimate of him in 1885, 1888 & 1889 256 Cœlebs in Search of a Wife, imitated 259 Collins, Wilkie. The Woman in Tights 242 No Title. _Bret Harte_ 242 The Moonstone & Moonshine 259 Conway, Hugh. Much Darker Days 259 Hauled Back. 1885 259 Day, Thomas. The _New_ History of Sandford & Merton, _F. C. Burnand_ 259 Defoe, Daniel. Imitations of Robinson Crusoe 259 De Quincey, Thomas. A Recent Confession of an Opium Eater 253 Dickens, Charles. Chronological List of his principal Works 224 Parodies from the _World_, 1879 215 The Age of Lawn Tennis, _Pastime_ 216 C. S. Calverley’s Examination Paper on “Pickwick” 217 Death of Mr. Pickwick 218 The Battle Won by the Wind 218 The Haunted Man. _Bret Harte_ 219 Dombey & Sons, Finished 221 Hard Times, refinished. _R. B. Brough_ 223 The Political Mrs. Gummidge. _Punch_ 224 The Mudfog Association Papers 228 Sam Weller’s Adventures 228 List of Parodies & Imitations of Dickens’s Works 225 Plays founded upon Dickens’s Novels 226, 259 Disraeli, Benjamin (Lord Beaconsfield), Lothaw _Bret Harte_ 238 Codlingsby, _W. M. Thackeray_ 239 Nihilism in Russia. _The World_ 239 De Tankard. _Puppet Show_ 240 Tancredi. _Cuthbert Bede_ 241 Ben D’ymion. _H. F. Lester_ 241 The Age of Lawn Tennis 241 A Key to _Endymion_ 242 A Plagiarism, by B. Disraeli 242 A List of Minor Parodies 259 Dumas, Alexander. The Ninety-nine Guardsmen 250 Fielding, Henry. Imitations of Tom Jones 259 Forbes, Archibald. His egotistical style 254 Gore, Mrs. Mammon’s Marriage 259 Haggard, H. Rider, He, 1887 257 “She” dramatised 257 She-that-ought-not-to-be-Played 257 Hee-Hee. _Punch_ 257 Me, a Companion to She 257 King Solomon’s Wives 257 Hugo, Victor. Anticipations of the Derby, 1869 244 One and Three. _Punch_ 247 Thirty-one. _C. H. Waring_ 248 Fantine. _Bret Harte_ 248 Grinplaine. _Walter Parke_ 248 Quel bonheur Marie? 249 The House that Victor built 249 The Spoiler of the Sea 249 The Cat 249 A Manifesto by Victor Hugo 250 Hume, Fergus W. Mystery of a Wheelbarrow 259 James, G. P. R. Parodies of 260 Dr. Johnson’s Ghost on “Drury Lane Theatre” 208 On Book binders, after “Rasselas” 209 Anonymous Journalism 209 Lexiphanes 209 Dinarbas 209 Labouchere, Henry, and Edmund Yates 255 Lamb, Charles. Our New Actors. _The World_ 233 Lever, Charles, Parodies of 260 Lytton, Lord. Parodies of his Plays 251 The Diamond Death. _Puppet Show_ 251 The Dweller of the Threshold. _Bret Harte_ 252 On a Toasted Muffin. _Cuthbert Bede_ 253 The Wrongful Heir. _Walter Parke_ 260 Macaulay, T. B. The Quarterly Reviewer parodies him 234 A Page by Macaulay 234 A Bit of _Whig_ his-_Tory_ 235 The next Armada 235 The Age of Lawn-Tennis 236 The Story of Johnnie Armstrong 236 Marryat, Captain. Mr. Midshipman Breezy. _Bret Harte_ 243 The Flying Dutchman. _W. E. Aytoun_ 232 Menagérie, The. Burlesque Lecture by C. Collette 269 Menu. Ministerial Whitebait Dinner, 1878 261 Menu, by Miss Louisa Alcorn 262 Menu. Capital Club Dinner, 1885 262 Lady Morgan’s Wild Irish Girl 254 Munchausen, Baron. Ascribed to G. A. Burger 260 Imitations of 260 Office Rules 268 On Farming 269 “Ouida.” Moll Marine. _Light Green_ 231 The Cambridgeshire Stakes 231 Strapmore. _F. C. Burnand_ 232 Bluebottles. _Judy_ 232 Blue-blooded Bertie. _Walter Parke_ 260 Pepys, Samuel. Imitations of his Diary 260 Prescription for feelin’ bad 262 Programmes. Lords Mayor’s Show, 1884 262 How they’ll open the Inventories 263 Lord Mayor’s Show, 1885 264 Lord Mayor’s Show, 1886 264 Play Bill by Rev. Rowland Hill 265 Prospectuses. Imperial Homeless Hotel Company 266 The Glenmutchkin Railway 266 The Gott-up Hotel Company 266 Horse Shoe Hotel Prospectus 266 Quill Toothpick Attachment Company 267 Reade, Charles. A Parody by F. C. Burnand 260 Regulations in the U.S. Navy 269 Reid, Captain Mayne. The Pale Faced Warriors 244 The Skull Hunters. _Walter Parke_ 244 Richardson, Samuel. Joseph Andrews 257 Apology for Shamela Andrews 257 The History of Clorana, 1737 257 John Ruskin. “That Little Brown-red Butterfly” 229 Mark Twain’s Parody 230 On all Fours Clavigera. _Punch_ 230 On Toothpicks. _Shotover Papers_ 230 Pre-Raffaelitism. _Rev. E. Young_, 1857 231 Letter to Chesterfield 258 Letter lo the Richmond Baptists 258 On Usury, a Biblical Parody 312 Scott, Sir Walter. Parodies of his Novels 260 Sketchley, Arthur. Mrs. Brown at Cambridge 237 Smart, Hawley. What’s the Odds? _F. C. Burnand_ 260 Smith, Horace. Whitehall, 1827 260 Soyer, Alexis. Camp Cookery 254 The Art of Cookery 254 Military Cookery Book. _Punch_ 254 Stephenson R. L., Parodies of 260 Sterne (Laurence). A Sentimental Journey 209 Affecting Appeal 210 The Citizen 211 Fragments in the manner of L. Sterne, and other Imitations 211 Sue Eugene. Sir Brown. _Cuthbert Bede_ 250 Parodie du Juif Errant, and an English Translation 250 Swift, Jonathan. Parodies and Imitations 261 Thackeray, W. M. Parodies of his Novels 261 Trollope, Anthony. Parodies of his Novels 261 Walton, Izaak. The Complete (ly) done Angler 251 The Incompleat Angler 251 Walton’s Angler Imitated 251 Yates, Edmund. “Ba! Ba! Black Sheep” 261
Religious Parodies.
No Parodies introduced which have a tendency to ridicule Religion 288 The Protestants Ave Mary, 1689 288 A Parodie by George Herbert, 1633 289 Luther’s Parody of the Psalms 289 William Hone’s Three Trials 289 John Wilkes’s Catechism 289 The Political Litany 291 The Sinecurist’s Creed 293 Parodies of the Litany 294 The Book Lover’s Litany 297 Parodies of the Creed of St. Athanasius 298 England’s Te Deum to George III 301 Parodies of the Catechism 302 Imitations of the Lord’s Prayer 305 Parodies of the X Commandments 305 Richard Carlile’s Parodies 307 Administration of Loaves and Fishes 307 Chronicles of the Kings of England 309 Imitations of Biblical Phraseology 309 Blackwood’s Chaldee Manuscript 310 The Bible of the Future 310 The Origin of Species. _C. Neaves_ 311 The Positivists. _Mortimer Collins_ 311 Bibliography of Scriptural Parodies 312 A Dean and a Prebendary 314 Parodies of Hymns 314 God Save the Queen 315
Alexander Pope.
_Ode for St. Cecilia’s Day_ 176 Ode to Toast-Master Toole. _Punch_, 1843 177 Ode to Lessee Bunn, of Drury Lane 177 Bonnell Thornton’s Burlesque Ode 178 Mock Heroic Poems, Parodies or Imitations of the _Dunciad_ and the _Rape of the Lock_ 179 _The Essay on Man._ The Essay on Woman 182 _Eloisa’s Epistle to Abelard._ Eloisa en Déshabille 182 Elegy in an Empty Assembly Room 183 Les Amours d’Abélard et d’Eloise 183 _The Rape of the Lock._ The Rape of the Smock 182 The Rape of the Bucket 183 The Rape of the Cake 185 _Lo! The Poor Indian, whose Untutor’d Mind_ 183 Lo! the poor Toper 183 Lo! the lean Indian 183 _The Universal Prayer_ 183 _Achilles Speech_, a Parody of 184 _As when the Moon._ As when an Alderman 184 _Pope’s Prologue to Addison’s “Cato,”_ Parody of 185 Pope’s Imitations of the early Poets 186
Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
The Blooming Damozel 26 _Sister Helen._ Apple, and Orange, and Nectarine 70 O Mother Carey, Mother! 70 Mother Eve. _Mabel Peacock_ 70 O, Weary Mother, Drive the Cows to Roost 71 A Twilight Fantasy 71 O, for a Brandy and Soda 71 Butter, and Eggs, and a Pound of Cheese. _C. S. Calverley_ 71 Paper, and Pens, and a Bottle of Ink 72 Agriculture’s Latest Rôle. _Punch_ 72 O, the Dinner was Fine to see. _Truth_ 72 I would I were a Cigarette 73 Ah Night! Blind Germ of Days to be 73 A Goodly Balance is Fair to see 73 O, London Town 74 Cimabuella. _Bayard Taylor_ 74 A Legend of Camelot. _Punch_ 75 _The Leaf_ Imitazione 75 De la tige détachée 75 Thou Poor Leaf. _Lord Macaulay_ 75 _Remember_, by Miss Christina Rossetti 76 Remember it. _Judy_ 76 Ding Dong. _The Light Green_ 76
George R. Sims.
_Ostler Joe._ (By Permission) 35 Teamster Jim. _R. J. Burdette_ 37 “Ostler Joe” and Mrs. J. B. Potter 37 Hustler Jim 37 _Billy’s Rose_, (By Permission.) 38 Billy’s Nose. _F. Rawkins_ 39 _The Lifeboat._ The Tricycle. _Cassell’s Journal_ 39 The Terror of Tadger’s Rents 40 Another “Bagonet” Ballad 40 The Ballad Monger 43 Little Flo’. _Truth_ 43 The Coster’s Plea 44 _The Lights of London Town_ 42 Those Wights of London Town 42 The Lights o’ Ascot Heath 42 Sally 44 Christmas Day in the Beer House 45 A Coster’s Conversion 45
Slang, Cant, and Flash Songs.
The House Breaker’s Song 271 Nix my Dolly, Pals, Fake away 271 Dear Bill, this Stone Jug 271 The Chick-a-Leary Cove 272 The Thieves’ Chaunt 272 Dartmoor is a tidy place 272 Joe quickly his sand had Sold 272 Millbank for thick shins 272 The Beggar’s Curse (1609) 273 Clear out――Look sharp 273 Frisky Moll’s Song 273 Ye Morts and ye Dells 274 Ode to the King of the Mendicants 274 Oath of the Canting Crew 274 Life and Death of the Darkman’s Budge 274 The Game of High Toby 275 The Double Cross 275 Flash Anecdote, and Translation 275 The Leary Man 276 Song of the Young Prig 276 Death of Socrates 277 ’Arry at a Political Picnic 277 Life in Gaol. _The Chequers_ 279 The Twenty Craftsmen 279 Retoure my Dear Dell 280 The Pickpockets’ Chaunt 280 A Cant Handbill 281 W. H. Ainsworth on Slang and Cant 281 The Printer’s Epitaph 282 Books of Reference on Slang and Cant 282 Continental Books on “Argot,” or Slang 285 American and Colonial Slang 285
Algernon Charles Swinburne.
_Before the Beginning of Years_ 1 American Parody 1 Before the Beginning of Post 1 Now in the Railway Years 2 _For Winter’s Rains and Ruins are Over_ 2 For Mayfair’s Balls and Ballets are over 2 _Dolores and Poems and Ballads_ 2 When Waters are Rent with Commotion 2 Pain and Travel. _Fun_ 5 Our Lady Champagne. _Judy_ 6, 26 Mosquitos Again. _J. B. Stephens_ 6 Brandy and Soda. _H. Howard_ 7 Our M.D. of Spain. _Punch_ 7 Octopus. _The Light Green_ 8 Procuratores. _Shotover Papers_ 8 Oh, Vanished Benevolent Bobby 8 Oh, Nymph with the Nicest of Noses 9 O Blood-bitten Lip all Aflame 16 Stylites. _Walter Parke_ 18 Thou Magpie and Stump 22 The Days of the Dunces are Over 31 All pale from the past we draw nigh thee 33 “Disgust,” a Parody of “Despair” 22 O Season supposed of all Free Flowers 22 I trow, Wild Friends. _S. K. Cowan_ 23 Ah! Love, if Love lie still. _J. M. Lowry_ 23 Also Thine Eyes were Mild 23 The God and the Damosel, 1879. _The World_ 23 Soft is the Smell of it 24 I See the Sad Sorrow 24 A. C. Swinburne and Victor Hugo 25 The Pigmy and Portative Horner 26 I Sing of the Months 27 I am the Lady of Shalott 27 Strophes from a Song after Moonrise 28 Is not this the First Lord of Your Choice? 31 _The Ballad of Burdens_ 3 A Burden of Foul Weathers 3 The Burden of Strange Seasons 4 The Burden of Long Fielding 4 The Burden of Hard Hitting 5 The Burden of Old Women 5 How Jack Harris became Æsthetic 17 The Lay of Macaroni. _Bayard Taylor_ 17 To Ada I. Menken. _The Tomahawk_ 18 Parody of A. C. S. by Mortimer Collins 19 “O Cool in the Summer is Salad.” 19 Between the Gate Post and the Gate 21 A Song after Sunset 21 Oh, April Showers 21 “The Heptalogia.” _Nephelidia_ 21 _Ballad of Dreamland._ I hid my Head on a Rug from Moses 17 The Sorest stress of the Season’s over 18 She hid herself in the _Soirée_ Kettle 16 _A Century of Roundels_ 25 Far-fetched and dear bought 25 What Gain were mine 25 Magician of Song and of Sound 25 A Trio of Roundels 26 _March._ An Ode 26 Another Ode to March 27 _The Commomweal_ 29 _The Question_ 29 The Answer. _The Daily News_ 29 The “Question” answered. _Truth_ 29 _A Match._ “If Love were what the Rose is” 9 If You were Queen of Bloaters 9 If Life were never Bitter. _M. Collins_ 10 If you were an Elector. _E. Hamilton_ 10 If you were what your Nose is 10 If I were Big Nat Langham. _Punch_ 11 I am your Dr. Jekyll 11 If it be but a Dream or a Vision 16 If I were Anglo-Saxon. _Punch_ 20 If Love were dhudeen olden 141 _The Interpreters_ 11 Parodies from _The Weekly Dispatch_ 12 Imparadised by my Environment 13 Parody from _The Family Herald_ 13 Home, Sweet Home, _à la_ Swinburne 13 Short Space shall be Hereafter 14 Vaccine after _Faustine_ 14 A Song after Sunset. _Judy_ 15 The Mad, Mad Muse. _R. J. Burdette_ 15 I have made me an End of the Moods 16 _Clear the Way!_ 30 Rail Away! _Punch_ 30 _A Word for the Navy_ 30 A Word for the Poet 30 The Palace of Bric-à-Brac 32 Baby, see the flowers! 32 England, what of the fight? 32 Oh, thy swift, subtle, slanting, services 32 Mr. Swinburne’s prose writings 32, 205 The Session of the Poets. _R. Buchanan_ 33 Paddy Blake on Swinburne 34 An Utter Passion uttered Utterly. _Kottabos_ 81 Lines on a Dead Dog. _College Rhymes_ 204 The Song of Sir Palamede. _H. G. Cone_ “With flow exhaustless of alliterate words.” 205
Martin Farquhar Tupper.
Cuthbert Bede’s Parody 89 The Queen of Oude 89 Beer, that hath entered my head 90 Philosophy of Sausages 90 The Fall of Tupper 90 Going to the Wash 90 Tupper in the Clouds. _Andrew Lang_ 90 The Welcome to the Princess Alexandra 168
Oscar Wilde.
Biographical Memoranda 78 Sala on “Requiescat” 78 A Villanelle, after Oscar Wilde 66 There’s _Oscar Wylde_, that Gifted Chylde 79 What a Shame and what a Pity 79 Narcissus in Camden. _The Century_ 79 Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman 79 Oscar Interviewed. _Punch_ 80 Sainte Margérie. _An Imitation_ 81 Oh, fainting of Lilies with broken stem 81 Meseem’d that Love. _Kottabos_ 81 Consummate Dish! full many an ancient Crack 81 Impressions, by Oscuro Wildegoose 81 A List of Parodies on O. W. 82 The Public House 82 Five-and-Seventy Maidens, free 82 A Barrel of Beer and a Glass of Gin hot 83 Sing hey! Potatoes and Paint. _H. C. Waring_ 83
――――
ARNOLD, MATTHEW. _The Forsaken Merman_ 200 The Saturday Review on Arnold’s poems 200 Parody by W. H. Mallock 200 Christmas Thoughts. _The World_ 201 BLOOMFIELD, ROBERT. The Bishop’s wish. _Punch_ 192 The Pot Boy. _C. Thirlwall_ 192 BUTLER, SAMUEL. Parodies and Imitations of Hudibras 259 CALVERLEY, C. S. On the River 84 COLLINS, MORTIMER. The Birds 19 Oh, Summer said to Winter 206 Lady, very fair are you 206 Careless Rhymer, it is True 206 COMIC History of England. In verse 207 CORNWALL, BARRY. The Omnibus 322 COUNTRY Quarter Session. _Three or Four Parsons_ 203 Two or three facts 203 Two or three “dears” 203 CRABBE, REV. G. The Theatre. _Rejected Addresses_ 94 CROSS Readings 287 CUMULATIVE Parodies 270 DARWIN, DR. ERASMUS. _Now stood Eliza_ 198 Parody on above from _Diogenes_ 199 _The Loves of the Plants._ The Loves of the Triangles 199 The Loves of the Lowlier Plants 200 Natural Selection. Founded on Darwin 200 Miss, I’ m a Pensive Protoplasm. _S. Brooks_ 200 Parody Epitaph on Darwin 200 ÆSTHETIC School, The 69 FITZGERALD, W. T. _Britons to Arms!_ 95 Loyal Effusion. _Rejected Addresses_ 96 GAY’S “Beggar’s Opera. Parodies of songs in 198 GEORGE BARNWELL. Parody, _Rejected Addresses_ 96 “Sam,” by _Shirley Brooks_ 97 HEBER, DR. REGINALD. _From Greenland’s icy Mountains_ 98 From Cashmere’s icy Mountains 98 Address to Women Missionaries 98 From Chatham’s pleasant Mountains 99 HORACES’S Odes. Buttons you booby. _Shirley Brooks_ 197 On the Commencement of Term 197 Thackeray’s Versions 198 November, 1858 198 Railway Horace 198 INGELOW, MISS JEAN. _The Apple-Woman’s Song_ 195 Calverley’s Parodies of above 196 Lovers, and a Reflection 196 The Shrimp Gatherers. _Bayard Taylor_ 196 The Letter L. _Daily News_ 197 I AM COLONEL NORTH of the Horse Marines, _Financial News_ 203 JOHNSON, DR. SAMUEL. Ode to a Girl in the Temple, 1777 188 Parody of Dr. Johnson’s “Prologue” for Drury Lane in 1847 188 LAST Arrival, The. _G. W. Cable_ 270 LEIGH, HENRY S. _The Twins_ 100 In the Strand. _Judy_ 100 LORNE, MARQUIS OF. _Guido and Lita_ Parodied 202 LOST Chord, The. The Lost Chord. _G. R. Sims_ 45 The Lost Shot. _Corporal_ 45 The Legislative Organ 128 LYTTELTON’S Ode, & a Parody by Tobias Smollett 187 MACARONIC Poems. The Death of the Sea Serpent 327 MALLET, David. _William and Margaret_ 91 French and Latin Versions 92 Dr. Johnson’s Ghost 92 Giles Scroggin’s Ghost 93 A Polished Version of the same 93 MOCK Heroic Poems, and Imitations of the Dunciad 179 MORRIS, LEWIS. _The Imperial Institute Ode_ 99 The Ode as it ought to have been. _Truth_ 99 Poet and Poetaster. _The Star_ 100 MORRIS, WILLIAM. The Volsung Tale 26 Behold the Works of W. Morris 76 In the Cushioned Abbey Pew 76 All Sides of the River. _Once a Week_ 77 The Monthly Parodies, after Morris’s “Earthly Paradise.” _Gleeson White_ 77 NUTSHELL Novels 202 OLDEST Classical Burlesque Battle of the Frogs and Mice 328 PATMORE, COVENTRY. The Baby in the House. _S. Brooks_ 194 The Spoons. _Puppet Show Album_ 195 The Person of the House. _Heptalogia_ 229 Poetical Criticism from the _Athenæum_ 229 PYGMALION; or, the Statue Fair. _Hornet_ 326 ROWE, NICHOLAS. _Colin’s Complaint_ 186 Corydon Querens 186 A Parody by _George Canning_ 187 Bow Bells. _Henry S. Leigh_ 187 SCOTT, CLEMENT W. _The Women of Mumble’s Head._ The Wreck of the steamship “Puffin” 46 _A Tale of the 10th Hussars_, and a Parody on it 46 The Garden of Sleep 46 SCOTT, SIR WALTER. Paddy Dunbar. (_Young Lochinvar_) 161 O’SHAUGHNESSY. ARTHUR W. E. Blue Moonshine. _F. G. Stokes_ 83 Frangipanni. _Judy_ 83 On the River 84 SPENSER, EDMUND. List of works written in the Spenserian stanza. _J. Bouchier_ 189 The Alley. _Alexander Pope_ 189 The Holidayer. _Funny Folks_ 189 STERRY J. ASHBY. Georgy 84 The Muse in Manacles 64 SWIFT, JONATHAN. The State Coach 190 The Happy Life of a Country Parson. _A. Pope_ 191 The Logicians Refuted. _O. Goldsmith_ 191 A New Simile. _O. Goldsmith_ 191 TENNYSON, ALFRED. King Arthur, growing very tired 20 The Cigar-Smokers 142 Nicotina. (_Oriana_) 144 The Weed. (_The Brook_) 145 “VERNON AVICK.” Song on Sir W. Vernon Harcourt 34 WATTS, DR. How Doth the Nasty Dirty Man 138 ’Twas the Voice of the Doctor 138 WHITE, HENRY KIRKE. _It is not that my Lot is low_ 188 It is not that my “Place” was low 188 WILSON’S _Isle of Palms_, imitated by James Brown 192
Transcriber’s Note:
This book was written in a period when many words had not become standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated below.
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like this_. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down, unprinted or partially printed letters, were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were added. Duplicate words at line endings or page breaks were removed.
Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end of the book. There are two anchors to Footnote [47]. Anchors for [286] and [322] were unprinted; anchors were added where they may belong.
Illustrated drop capitals letters at beginnings of paragraphs are indicated thus: [Illustration: I]n the beginning.
Unprinted diacriticals were added to words in languages other than English. Use of quotation marks is not standardized; minor adjustments were made for clarity of text. Extraneous punctuation was deleted.
The St. James’s Street ballad and its parody are presented in sequence, not side by side.
Spelling corrections:
shall the mandate he/be spoken first appeared in the colums/columns in lines of unequal lengths ocasionally/occasionally the/she sit down and weep, Michelstown’s/Mitchelstown’s murderous shot bicylist/bicyclist to his lamp: Dose schillen did ask it, dot schoolemaster/schoolmaster written by H. B. Farmie/Farnie Keats’s ‘Imitation of Spencer/Spenser And as, forsooth, such cates/cakes Swowflakes/Snowflakes white, friend of mine took notige/notice of shamless/shameless, unreasonable, treasonable man with hugh/huge bush of beard and on potatoe/potato cans sandy loams of Cambridshire/Cambridgeshire magnificently-dessicated/desiccated veins The formost/foremost wins! apophthegm/apothegm we shall now Retreive/Retrieve Luxurously/Luxuriously rolling in coaches Superviser/Supervisor the servant insufficent/insufficient to prevent it preface to the Pantomine/Pantomime copywright/copyright