Poetical Ingenuities and Eccentricities.

by Various.

PREFACE.

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

Those curious in regard to the historical and literary accounts of several of the various phases of composition exemplified in this work, will find these fully enough noticed in "Literary Frivolities," in which none of the examples were strictly original, and had been gathered from many outlying corners of the world of literature. In the present work, however, will be found a number of pieces which have not hitherto been "glorified in type,"

and these have been furnished by various literary gentlemen, among whom may be named Professor E. H. Palmer and J. Appleton Morgan, LL.D., of New York. Assistance in "things both new and old" has also been given by Charles G. Leland, Esq. (Hans Breitmann), W. Bence Jones, Esq., J. F.

Huntingdon, Esq. (Cambridge, U.S.); whilst particular thanks are due to Mr. Lewis Carroll for a kindly and courteous permission to quote from his works.

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

POETICAL INGENUITIES AND ECCENTRICITIES.

_THE PARODY._

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

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

"Sing, O celestial goddess, Eurymedon, foremost of gluttons, Whose stomach devours like Charybdis, eater unmatched among mortals."

The Battle of the Frogs and Mice (The "Batrachomyomachia"), also a happy specimen of the parody is said to be a travesty of Homer's "Iliad," and numerous examples will be found in the comedies of Aristophanes. Among the Romans this form of literary composition made its appearance at the period of the Decline, and all the power of Nero could not prevent Persius from parodying his verses. The French among modern nations have been much given to it, whilst in the English language there are many examples, one of the earliest being the parodying of Milton by John Philips, one of the most artificial poets of his age (1676-1708). He was an avowed imitator of Milton, and certainly evinced considerable talent in his peculiar line.

Philips wrote in blank verse a poem on the victory of Blenheim, and another on Cider, the latter in imitation of the Georgics. His best work, however, is that from which there follows a quotation, a parody on "Paradise Lost," considered by Steele to be the best burlesque poem extant.

THE SPLENDID SHILLING.

"'Sing, heavenly muse!

Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme,'

A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire.

Happy the man, who, void of care and strife, In silken or in leathern purse retains A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale; But with his friends, when nightly mists arise, To Juniper's _Magpie_, or _Town-hall_[1] repairs: Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye Transfixed his soul, and kindled amorous flames, Chloe or Phillis, he each circling glass Wishes her health, and joy, and equal love.

Meanwhile he smokes, and laughs at merry tale, Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint.

But I, whom griping penury surrounds, And hunger, sure attendant upon want, With scanty offals, and small acid tiff, Wretched repast! my meagre corpse sustain: Then solitary walk, or doze at home In garret vile, and with a warming puff Regale chilled fingers; or from tube as black As winter chimney, or well-polished jet, Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent: Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, Smokes Cambro-Briton (versed in pedigree, Sprung from Cadwallader and Arthur, kings Full famous in romantic tale) when he O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff, Upon a cargo of famed Cestrian cheese, High over-shadowing rides, with a design To vend his wares, or at th' Avonian mart, Or Maridunum, or the ancient town Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!

Whence flows nectareous wines, that well may vie With Massic, Setin, or renowned Falern.

Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow With looks demur, and silent pace, a dun, Horrible monster! hated by gods and men, To my aerial citadel ascends: With vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate; With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound.

What should I do? or whither turn? Amazed, Confounded, to the dark recess I fly Of wood-hole; straight my bristling hairs erect Through sudden fear: a chilly sweat bedews My shuddering limbs, and (wonderful to tell!) My tongue forgets her faculty of speech; So horrible he seems! His faded brow Intrenched with many a frown, and conic beard, And spreading band, admired by modern saints, Disastrous acts forebode; in his right hand Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves, With characters and figures dire inscribed, Grievous to mortal eyes (ye gods, avert Such plagues from righteous men!) Behind him stalks Another monster, not unlike himself, Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar called A catchpoll, whose polluted hands the gods With force incredible, and magic charms, First have endued: if he his ample palm Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch Obsequious (as whilom knights were wont), To some enchanted castle is conveyed, Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains In durance strict detain him, till, in form Of money, Pallas sets him free.

Beware, ye debtors! when ye walk, beware, Be circumspect; oft with insidious ken This caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave, Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch With his unhallowed touch. So (poets sing) Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn An everlasting foe, with watchful eye Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap, Portending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice Sure ruin. So her disembowelled web Arachne, in a hall or kitchen, spreads Obvious to vagrant flies: she secret stands Within her woven cell; the humming prey, Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils Inextricable; nor will aught avail Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue: The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, And butterfly, proud of expanded wings Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares, Useless resistance make: with eager strides She towering flies to her expected spoils: Then, with envenomed jaws, the vital blood Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave Their bulky carcasses triumphant drags."...

Perhaps the best English examples of the true parody--the above being more of an imitation--are to be found in the "Rejected Addresses" of the brothers James and Horace Smith. This work owed its origin to the reopening of Drury Lane Theatre in 1812, after its destruction by fire.

The managers, in the true spirit of tradesmen, issued an advertisement calling for Addresses, one of which should be spoken on the opening night.

Forty-three were sent in for competition. Overwhelmed by the amount of talent thus placed at their disposal, the managers summarily rejected the whole, and placed themselves under the care of Lord Byron, whose composition, after all, was thought by some to be, if not unworthy, at least ill-suited for the occasion. Mr. Ward, the secretary of the Theatre, having casually started the idea of publishing a series of "Rejected Addresses," composed by the most popular authors of the day, the brothers Smith eagerly adopted the suggestion, and in six weeks the volume was published, and received by the public with enthusiastic delight. They were principally humorous imitations of eminent authors, and Lord Jeffrey said of them in the _Edinburgh Review_: "I take them indeed to be the very best imitations (and often of difficult originals) that ever were made; and, considering their great extent and variety, to indicate a talent to which I do not know where to look for a parallel. Some few of them descend to the level of parodies; but by far the greater part are of a much higher description." The one which follows is in imitation of Crabbe, and was written by James Smith, and Jeffrey thought it "the best piece in the collection. It is an exquisite and masterly imitation, not only of the peculiar style, but of the taste, temper, and manner of description of that most original author." Crabbe himself said regarding it, that it "was admirably done."

THE THEATRE.

"'Tis sweet to view, from half-past five to six, Our long wax candles, with short cotton wicks, Touched by the lamplighter's Promethean art, Start into light, and make the lighter start; To see red Phoebus through the gallery-pane Tinge with his beam the beams of Drury Lane; While gradual parties fill our widen'd pit, And gape, and gaze, and wonder, ere they sit.

At first, while vacant seats give choice and ease, Distant or near, they settle where they please; But when the multitude contracts the span, And seats are rare, they settle where they can.

Now the full benches to late-comers doom No room for standing, miscalled _standing-room_.

Hark! the check-taker moody silence breaks, And bawling 'Pit full!' gives the check he takes; Yet onward still the gathering numbers cram, Contending crowders shout the frequent damn, And all is bustle, squeeze, row, jabbering, and jam.

See to their desks Apollo's sons repair-- Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair!

In unison their various tones to tune, Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon; In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, Tang goes the harpsichord, too-too the flute, Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, Winds the French horn, and twangs the tingling harp; Till, like great Jove, the leader, figuring in, Attunes to order the chaotic din.

Now all seems hushed; but no, one fiddle will Give, half ashamed, a tiny flourish still.

Foiled in his crash, the leader of the clan Reproves with frowns the dilatory man: Then on his candlestick thrice taps his bow, Nods a new signal, and away they go.

Perchance, while pit and gallery cry 'Hats off!'

And awed Consumption checks his chided cough, Some giggling daughter of the Queen of Love Drops, reft of pin, her play-bill from above; Like Icarus, while laughing galleries clap, Soars, ducks, and dives in air the printed scrap; But, wiser far than he, combustion fears, And, as it flies, eludes the chandeliers; Till, sinking gradual, with repeated twirl, It settles, curling, on a fiddler's curl, Who from his powdered pate the intruder strikes, And, for mere malice, sticks it on the spikes.

Say, why these Babel strains from Babel tongues?

Who's that calls 'Silence!' with such leathern lungs!

He who, in quest of quiet, 'Silence!' hoots, Is apt to make the hubbub he imputes.

What various swains our motley walls contain!-- Fashion from Moorfields, honour from Chick Lane; Bankers from Paper Buildings here resort, Bankrupts from Golden Square and Riches Court; From the Haymarket canting rogues in grain, Gulls from the Poultry, sots from Water Lane; The lottery-cormorant, the auction shark, The full-price master, and the half-price clerk; Boys who long linger at the gallery-door, With pence twice five--they want but twopence more; Till some Samaritan the twopence spares, And sends them jumping up the gallery-stairs.

Critics we boast who ne'er their malice balk, But talk their minds--we wish they'd mind their talk; Big-worded bullies, who by quarrels live-- Who give the lie, and tell the lie they give; Jews from St. Mary Axe, for jobs so wary, That for old clothes they'd even axe St. Mary; And bucks with pockets empty as their pate, Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait; Who oft, when we our house lock up, carouse With tippling tipstaves in a lock-up house.

Yet here, as elsewhere, Chance can joy bestow Where scowling fortune seem'd to threaten woe.

John Richard William Alexander Dwyer Was footman to Justinian Stubbs, Esquire; But when John Dwyer listed in the Blues, Emanuel Jennings polished Stubbs's shoes; Emanuel Jennings brought his youngest boy Up as a corn-cutter--a safe employ; In Holywell Street, St. Pancras, he was bred (At number twenty-seven, it is said), Facing the pump, and near the Granby's head; He would have bound him to some shop in town, But with a premium he could not come down.

Pat was the urchin's name--a red-haired youth, Fonder of purl and skittle-grounds than truth.

Silence, ye gods! to keep your tongues in awe, The Muse shall tell an accident she saw.

Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat, But, leaning forward, Jennings lost his hat; Down from the gallery the beaver flew, And spurned the one to settle in the two.

How shall he act? Pay at the gallery-door Two shillings for what cost, when new, but four?

Or till half-price, to save his shilling, wait, And gain his hat again at half-past eight?

Now, while his fears anticipate a thief, John Mullens whispered, 'Take my handkerchief.'

'Thank you,' cries Pat; 'but one won't make a line.'

'Take mine,' cried Wilson; and cried Stokes, 'Take mine.'

A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties, Where Spitalfields with real India vies.

Like Iris' bow down darts the painted clue, Starred, striped, and spotted, yellow, red, and blue, Old calico, torn silk, and muslin new.

George Green below, with palpitating hand, Loops the last 'kerchief to the beaver's band-- Upsoars the prize! The youth, with joy unfeigned, Regained the felt, and felt what he regained; While to the applauding galleries grateful Pat Made a low bow, and touched the ransomed hat!"

From the same work is taken this parody on a beautiful passage in Southey's "Kehama:"

"Midnight, yet not a nose From Tower Hill to Piccadilly snored!

Midnight, yet not a nose From Indra drew the essence of repose.

See with what crimson fury, By Indra fann'd, the god of fire ascends the walls of Drury!

The tops of houses, blue with lead, Bend beneath the landlord's tread; Master and 'prentice, serving-man and lord, Nailor and tailor, Grazier and brazier, Through streets and alleys poured, All, all abroad to gaze, And wonder at the blaze.

Thick calf, fat foot, and slim knee, Mounted on roof and chimney; The mighty roast, the mighty stew To see, As if the dismal view Were but to them a mighty jubilee."

The brothers Smith reproduced Byron in the familiar "Childe Harold"

stanza, both in style and thought:

"For what is Hamlet, but a hare in March?

And what is Brutus but a croaking owl?