NOTES

P. 1.Rejected Addresses.First published anonymously in the autumn of 1812. The authors, James Smith (1775-1839) and Horace Smith (1779-1849) were brothers, the former a solicitor, the latter a stockbroker. James wrote a number of 'entertainments' for Charles Mathews, who described him as 'the only man in London who can write good nonsense.' Horace wrote more than a score of novels and collections of stories, of which, perhaps,Brambletye Houseis the best remembered. It was of him that Shelley wrote, in theLetter to Maria Gisborne:

Wit and sense,Virtue and human knowledge; all that mightMake this dull world a business of delight,Are all combined in Horace Smith.

Wit and sense,

Virtue and human knowledge; all that might

Make this dull world a business of delight,

Are all combined in Horace Smith.

How theRejected Addressescame to be written is told in the authors' prefaces:

On the 14th of August, 1812, the following advertisement appeared in most of the daily papers:—

'Rebuilding of Drury Lane Theatre.'The Committee are desirous of promoting a free and fair competition for an Address to be spoken upon the opening of the Theatre, which will take place on the 10th of October next. They have, therefore, thought fit to announce to the public, that they will be glad to receive any such compositions, addressed to their Secretary, at the Treasury Office, in Drury Lane, on or before the 10th of September, sealed up; with a distinguishing word, number, or motto, on the cover, corresponding with the inscription on a separate sealed paper, containing the name of the author, which will not be opened unless containing the name of the successful candidate.'Upon the propriety of this plan, men's minds were, as they usually are upon matters of moment, much divided. Some thought it a fair promise of the future intention of the Committee to abolish that phalanx of authors who usurp the stage, to the exclusion of a large assortment of dramatic talent blushing unseen in the background; while others contended, that the scheme would prevent men of real eminence from descending into an amphitheatre in which all Grub Street (that is to say, all London and Westminster) would be arrayed against them. The event has proved both parties to be in a degreeright, and in a degree wrong. One hundred and twelve 'Addresses' have been sent in, each sealed and signed, and mottoed, 'as per order,' some written by men of great, some by men of little, and some by men of no, talent.Many of the public prints have censured the taste of the Committee, in thus contracting for 'Addresses,' as they would for nails—by the gross; but it is surprising that none should have censured theirtemerity. One hundred and eleven of the 'Addresses' must, of course, be unsuccessful: to each of the authors, thus infallibly classed with thegenus irritabile, it would be very hard to deny six staunch friends, who consider his the best of all possible 'Addresses,' and whose tongues will be as ready to laud him, as to hiss his adversary. These, with the potent aid of the Bard himself, make seven foes per Address; and thus will be created seven hundred and seventy-seven implacable auditors, prepared to condemn the strains of Apollo himself—a band of adversaries which no prudent manager would think of exasperating.But, leaving the Committee to encounter the responsibility they have incurred, the public have at least to thank them for ascertaining and establishing one point, which might otherwise have admitted of controversy. When it is considered that many amateur writers have been discouraged from becoming competitors, and that few, if any, of the professional authors can afford to write for nothing, and, of course, have not been candidates for the honorary prize at Drury Lane, we may confidently pronounce that, as far as regardsNUMBER, the present is undoubtedly the Augustan age of English poetry. Whether or not this distinction will be extended to theQUALITYof its productions, must be decided at the tribunal of posterity; though the natural anxiety of our authors on this score ought to be considerably diminished when they reflect how few will, in all probability, be had up for judgement.It is not necessary for the Editor to mention the manner in which he became possessed of this 'fair sample of the present state of poetry in Great Britain.' It was his first intention to publish the whole; but a little reflection convinced him that, by so doing, he might depress the good, without elevating the bad. He has therefore culled what had the appearance of flowers, from what possessed the reality of weeds, and is extremely sorry that, in so doing, he has diminished his collection to twenty-one. Those which he has rejected may possibly make their appearance in a separate volume, or they may be admitted as volunteers in the files of some of the Newspapers; or, at all events, they are sure of being received among the awkward squad of the Magazines. In general, they bear a close resemblance to each other; thirty of them contain extravagant compliments to the immortal Wellington and the indefatigable Whitbread; and, as the last-mentioned gentleman is said to dislike praise in the exact proportion in which he deserves it, these laudatory writers may have been only building a wall against which they might run their own heads.The Editor here begs leave to advance a few words in behalf of that useful and much abused bird the Phœnix; and in so doing he is biased by no partiality, as he assures the reader he not only neversaw one, but (mirabile dictu!) never caged one in a simile in the whole course of his life. Not less than sixty-nine of the competitors have invoked the aid of this native of Arabia; but as, from their manner of using him after they had caught him, he does not by any means appear to have been a native ofArabia Felix, the Editor has left the proprietors to treat with Mr. Polito, and refused to receive thisrara avis, or black swan, into the present collection. One exception occurs, in which the admirable treatment of this feathered incombustible, entitles the author to great praise; that address has been preserved, and was thought worthy of taking the lead.Perhaps the reason why several of the subjoined productions of theMusæ Londinenseshave failed of selection, may be discovered in their being penned in a metre unusual upon occasions of this sort, and in their not being written with that attention to stage effect, the want of which, like want of manners in the concerns of life, is more prejudicial than a deficiency of talent. There is an art of writing for the Theatre, technically calledtouch and go, which is indispensable when we consider the small quantum of patience which so motley an assemblage as a London audience can be expected to afford. All the contributors have been very exact in sending their initials and mottoes. Those belonging to the present collection have been carefully preserved, and each has been affixed to its respective poem. The letters that accompanied the Addresses having been honourably destroyed unopened, it is impossible to state the real authors with any certainty; but the ingenious reader, after comparing the initials with the motto, and both with the poem will form his own conclusions.We do not anticipate any disapprobation from thus giving publicity to a small portion of theRejected Addresses; for unless we are widely mistaken in assigning the respective authors, the fame of each Individual is established on much too firm a basis to be shaken by so trifling and evanescent a publication as the present:——neque ego illi detrahere ausimHærentem capiti multa cum laude coronam.Of the numerous pieces already sent to the Committee for performance, we have only availed ourselves of three vocal Travesties, which we have selected, not for their merit, but simply for their brevity. Above one hundred spectacles, melodramas, operas, and pantomimes have been transmitted, besides the two first acts of one legitimate comedy. Some of these evince considerable smartness of manual dialogue, and several brilliant repartees of chairs, tables, and other inanimate wits; but the authors seem to have forgotten that in the new Drury Lane the audience can hear as well as see. Of late our theatres have been so constructed, that John Bull has been compelled to have very long ears, or none at all; to keep them dangling about his skull like discarded servants, while his eyes were gazing at piebalds and elephants, or else to stretch them out to an asinine length to catch the congenial sound of braying trumpets. An auricular revolution is, we trust, about to take place; and as many people have been much puzzled to define themeaning of the new era, of which we have heard so much, we venture to pronounce, that as far as regards Drury Lane Theatre, the new era means the reign of ears. If the past affords any pledge for the future, we may confidently expect from the Committee of that House everything that can be accomplished by the union of taste and assiduity.

'Rebuilding of Drury Lane Theatre.

'The Committee are desirous of promoting a free and fair competition for an Address to be spoken upon the opening of the Theatre, which will take place on the 10th of October next. They have, therefore, thought fit to announce to the public, that they will be glad to receive any such compositions, addressed to their Secretary, at the Treasury Office, in Drury Lane, on or before the 10th of September, sealed up; with a distinguishing word, number, or motto, on the cover, corresponding with the inscription on a separate sealed paper, containing the name of the author, which will not be opened unless containing the name of the successful candidate.'

Upon the propriety of this plan, men's minds were, as they usually are upon matters of moment, much divided. Some thought it a fair promise of the future intention of the Committee to abolish that phalanx of authors who usurp the stage, to the exclusion of a large assortment of dramatic talent blushing unseen in the background; while others contended, that the scheme would prevent men of real eminence from descending into an amphitheatre in which all Grub Street (that is to say, all London and Westminster) would be arrayed against them. The event has proved both parties to be in a degreeright, and in a degree wrong. One hundred and twelve 'Addresses' have been sent in, each sealed and signed, and mottoed, 'as per order,' some written by men of great, some by men of little, and some by men of no, talent.

Many of the public prints have censured the taste of the Committee, in thus contracting for 'Addresses,' as they would for nails—by the gross; but it is surprising that none should have censured theirtemerity. One hundred and eleven of the 'Addresses' must, of course, be unsuccessful: to each of the authors, thus infallibly classed with thegenus irritabile, it would be very hard to deny six staunch friends, who consider his the best of all possible 'Addresses,' and whose tongues will be as ready to laud him, as to hiss his adversary. These, with the potent aid of the Bard himself, make seven foes per Address; and thus will be created seven hundred and seventy-seven implacable auditors, prepared to condemn the strains of Apollo himself—a band of adversaries which no prudent manager would think of exasperating.

But, leaving the Committee to encounter the responsibility they have incurred, the public have at least to thank them for ascertaining and establishing one point, which might otherwise have admitted of controversy. When it is considered that many amateur writers have been discouraged from becoming competitors, and that few, if any, of the professional authors can afford to write for nothing, and, of course, have not been candidates for the honorary prize at Drury Lane, we may confidently pronounce that, as far as regardsNUMBER, the present is undoubtedly the Augustan age of English poetry. Whether or not this distinction will be extended to theQUALITYof its productions, must be decided at the tribunal of posterity; though the natural anxiety of our authors on this score ought to be considerably diminished when they reflect how few will, in all probability, be had up for judgement.

It is not necessary for the Editor to mention the manner in which he became possessed of this 'fair sample of the present state of poetry in Great Britain.' It was his first intention to publish the whole; but a little reflection convinced him that, by so doing, he might depress the good, without elevating the bad. He has therefore culled what had the appearance of flowers, from what possessed the reality of weeds, and is extremely sorry that, in so doing, he has diminished his collection to twenty-one. Those which he has rejected may possibly make their appearance in a separate volume, or they may be admitted as volunteers in the files of some of the Newspapers; or, at all events, they are sure of being received among the awkward squad of the Magazines. In general, they bear a close resemblance to each other; thirty of them contain extravagant compliments to the immortal Wellington and the indefatigable Whitbread; and, as the last-mentioned gentleman is said to dislike praise in the exact proportion in which he deserves it, these laudatory writers may have been only building a wall against which they might run their own heads.

The Editor here begs leave to advance a few words in behalf of that useful and much abused bird the Phœnix; and in so doing he is biased by no partiality, as he assures the reader he not only neversaw one, but (mirabile dictu!) never caged one in a simile in the whole course of his life. Not less than sixty-nine of the competitors have invoked the aid of this native of Arabia; but as, from their manner of using him after they had caught him, he does not by any means appear to have been a native ofArabia Felix, the Editor has left the proprietors to treat with Mr. Polito, and refused to receive thisrara avis, or black swan, into the present collection. One exception occurs, in which the admirable treatment of this feathered incombustible, entitles the author to great praise; that address has been preserved, and was thought worthy of taking the lead.

Perhaps the reason why several of the subjoined productions of theMusæ Londinenseshave failed of selection, may be discovered in their being penned in a metre unusual upon occasions of this sort, and in their not being written with that attention to stage effect, the want of which, like want of manners in the concerns of life, is more prejudicial than a deficiency of talent. There is an art of writing for the Theatre, technically calledtouch and go, which is indispensable when we consider the small quantum of patience which so motley an assemblage as a London audience can be expected to afford. All the contributors have been very exact in sending their initials and mottoes. Those belonging to the present collection have been carefully preserved, and each has been affixed to its respective poem. The letters that accompanied the Addresses having been honourably destroyed unopened, it is impossible to state the real authors with any certainty; but the ingenious reader, after comparing the initials with the motto, and both with the poem will form his own conclusions.

We do not anticipate any disapprobation from thus giving publicity to a small portion of theRejected Addresses; for unless we are widely mistaken in assigning the respective authors, the fame of each Individual is established on much too firm a basis to be shaken by so trifling and evanescent a publication as the present:

——neque ego illi detrahere ausimHærentem capiti multa cum laude coronam.

——neque ego illi detrahere ausim

Hærentem capiti multa cum laude coronam.

Of the numerous pieces already sent to the Committee for performance, we have only availed ourselves of three vocal Travesties, which we have selected, not for their merit, but simply for their brevity. Above one hundred spectacles, melodramas, operas, and pantomimes have been transmitted, besides the two first acts of one legitimate comedy. Some of these evince considerable smartness of manual dialogue, and several brilliant repartees of chairs, tables, and other inanimate wits; but the authors seem to have forgotten that in the new Drury Lane the audience can hear as well as see. Of late our theatres have been so constructed, that John Bull has been compelled to have very long ears, or none at all; to keep them dangling about his skull like discarded servants, while his eyes were gazing at piebalds and elephants, or else to stretch them out to an asinine length to catch the congenial sound of braying trumpets. An auricular revolution is, we trust, about to take place; and as many people have been much puzzled to define themeaning of the new era, of which we have heard so much, we venture to pronounce, that as far as regards Drury Lane Theatre, the new era means the reign of ears. If the past affords any pledge for the future, we may confidently expect from the Committee of that House everything that can be accomplished by the union of taste and assiduity.

The text of theRejected Addresseshere given is that of the eighteenth edition with Horace Smith's annotations. The footnotes from theEdinburgh Reviewwere taken from an article by Lord Jeffrey in the number for November, 1812. It may be mentioned that the actual addresses sent in to the Drury Lane Committee are preserved with their covering letters in the Manuscript Department of the British Museum, and that on the immediate success of the Smiths' parodies an enterprising publisher issued a volume ofGenuine Rejected Addressesfrom the forty-three competitors who responded to his appeal for such.

The following is from the Preface to the eighteenth edition:

Our first difficulty, that of selection, was by no means a light one. Some of our most eminent poets, such, for instance, as Rogers and Campbell, presented so much beauty, harmony, and proportion in their writings, both as to style and sentiment, that if we had attempted to caricature them, nobody would have recognized the likeness; and if we had endeavoured to give a servile copy of their manner, it would only have amounted, at best, to a tame and unamusing portrait, which it was not our object to present. Although fully aware that their names would, in the theatrical phrase, have conferred great strength upon our bill, we were reluctantly compelled to forgo them, and to confine ourselves to writers whose style and habit of thought, being more marked and peculiar, was more capable of exaggeration and distortion. To avoid politics and personality, to imitate the turn of mind, as well as the phraseology of our originals, and, at all events, to raise a harmless laugh, were our main objects: in the attainment of which united aims, we were sometimes hurried into extravagance, by attaching much more importance to the last than to the two first. In no instance were we thus betrayed into a greater injustice than in the case of Mr. Wordsworth—the touching sentiment, profound wisdom, and copious harmony of whose loftier writings we left unnoticed, in the desire of burlesquing them; while we pounced upon his popular ballads, and exerted ourselves to push their simplicity into puerility and silliness. With pride and pleasure do we now claim to be ranked among the most ardent admirers of this true poet; and if he himself could see the state of his works, which are ever at our right hand, he would, perhaps, receive the manifest evidences they exhibit of constant reference, and delighted re-perusal, as some sort ofamende honorablefor the unfairness of which we were guilty, when we were less conversant with the higher inspirations of his muse. To Mr. Coleridge, and others of our originals, we must also do a tardy act of justice, by declaring that our burlesque of their peculiarities, has neverblinded us to those beauties and talents which are beyond the reach of all ridicule.One of us had written a genuine Address for the occasion, which was sent to the Committee, and shared the fate it merited, in being rejected. To swell the bulk, or rather to diminish the tenuity of our little work, we added it to the Imitations; and prefixing the initials of S. T. P. for the purpose of puzzling the critics, were not a little amused, in the sequel, by the many guesses and conjectures into which we had ensnared some of our readers. We could even enjoy the mysticism, qualified as it was by the poor compliment, that our carefully written Address exhibited no 'very prominent trait of absurdity,' when we saw it thus noticed in theEdinburgh Reviewfor November, 1812. 'An Address by S. T. P. we can make nothing of; and professing our ignorance of the author designated by these letters, we can only add, that the Address, though a little affected, and not very full of meaning, has no very prominent trait of absurdity, that we can detect; and might have been adopted and spoken, so far as we can perceive, without any hazard of ridicule. In our simplicity we consider it as a very decent, mellifluous, occasional prologue; and do not understand how it has found its way into its present company.'Urged forward by hurry, and trusting to chance, two very bad coadjutors in any enterprise, we at length congratulated ourselves on having completed our task in time to have it printed and published by the opening of the theatre. But, alas! our difficulties, so far from being surmounted, seemed only to be beginning. Strangers to the arcana of the bookseller's trade, and unacquainted with their almost invincible objection to single volumes of low price, especially when tendered by writers who have acquired no previous name, we little anticipated that they would refuse to publish ourRejected Addresses, even although we asked nothing for the copyright. Such however, proved to be the case. Our manuscript was perused and returned to us by several of the most eminent publishers. Well do we remember betaking ourselves to one of the craft in Bond Street, whom we found in a back parlour, with his gouty leg propped upon a cushion, in spite of which warning he diluted his luncheon with frequent glasses of Madeira. 'What have you already written?' was his first question, an interrogatory to which we had been subjected in almost every instance. 'Nothing by which we can be known.' 'Then I am afraid to undertake the publication.' We presumed timidly to suggest that every writer must have a beginning, and that to refuse to publish for him until he had acquired a name, was to imitate the sapient mother who cautioned her son against going into the water until he could swim. 'An old joke—a regular Joe!' exclaimed our companion, tossing off another bumper. 'Still older than Joe Miller,' was our reply; 'for, if we mistake not, it is the very first anecdote in the facetiæ of Hierocles.' 'Ha, sirs!' resumed the bibliopolist, 'you are learned, are you? So, soh!—Well, leave your manuscript with me; I will look it over to-night, and give you an answer to-morrow.' Punctual as the clock we presented ourselves at his door on the following morning, when our papers were returned to us with the observation—'These trifles arereally not deficient in smartness; they are well, vastly well for beginners; but they will never do—never. They would not pay for advertising, and without it I should not sell fifty copies.'This was discouraging enough. If the most experienced publishers feared to be out of pocket by the work, it was manifest,a fortiori, that its writers ran a risk of being still more heavy losers, should they undertake the publication on their own account. We had no objection to raise a laugh at the expense of others; but to do it at our own cost, uncertain as we were to what extent we might be involved, had never entered into our contemplation. In this dilemma, ourAddresses, now in every sense rejected, might probably have never seen the light, had not some good angel whispered us to betake ourselves to Mr. John Miller, a dramatic publisher, then residing in Bow Street, Covent Garden. No sooner had this gentleman looked over our manuscript, than he immediately offered to take upon himself all the risk of publication, and to give us half the profits,should there be any; a liberal proposition, with which we gladly closed. So rapid and decided was its success, at which none were more unfeignedly astonished than its authors, that Mr. Miller advised us to collect someImitations of Horace, which had appeared anonymously in theMonthly Mirror, offering to publish them upon the same terms. We did so accordingly; and as new editions of theRejected Addresseswere called for in quick succession, we were shortly enabled to sell our half copyright in the two works to Mr. Miller, for one thousand pounds!! We have entered into this unimportant detail, not to gratify any vanity of our own, but to encourage such literary beginners as may be placed in similar circumstances; as well as to impress upon publishers the propriety of giving more consideration to the possible merit of the works submitted to them, than to the mere magic of a name.To the credit of thegenus irritabilebe it recorded, that not one of those whom we had parodied or burlesqued ever betrayed the least soreness on the occasion, or refused to join in the laugh that we had occasioned. With most of them we subsequently formed acquaintanceship; while some honoured us with an intimacy which still continues, where it has not been severed by the rude hand of Death. Alas! it is painful to reflect, that of the twelve writers whom we presumed to imitate, five are now no more; the list of the deceased being unhappily swelled by the most illustrious of all, theclarum et venerabile nomenof Sir Walter Scott! From that distinguished writer, whose transcendent talents were only to be equalled by his virtues and his amiability, we received favours and notice, both public and private, which it will be difficult to forget, because we had not the smallest claim upon his kindness. 'I certainly must have written this myself!' said that fine-tempered man to one of the authors, pointing to the description of the Fire, 'although I forget upon what occasion.' Lydia White, a literary lady, who was prone to feed the lions of the day, invited one of us to dinner; but, recollecting afterwards that William Spencer formed one of the party, wrote to the latter to put him off; telling him that a man was to be at her table whom he 'would not like to meet.' 'Pray who is this whom I should not like to meet?' inquired thepoet. 'Oh!' answered the lady, 'one of those men who have made that shameful attack upon you!' 'The very man upon earth I should like to know!' rejoined the lively and careless bard. The two individuals accordingly met, and have continued fast friends, ever since. Lord Byron, too, wrote thus to Mr. Murray from Italy—'Tell him we forgive him, were he twenty times our satirist.'It may not be amiss to notice, in this place, one criticism of a Leicestershire clergyman, which may be pronounced unique: 'I do not see why they should have been rejected,' observed the matter-of-fact annotator; 'I think some of them very good!'

One of us had written a genuine Address for the occasion, which was sent to the Committee, and shared the fate it merited, in being rejected. To swell the bulk, or rather to diminish the tenuity of our little work, we added it to the Imitations; and prefixing the initials of S. T. P. for the purpose of puzzling the critics, were not a little amused, in the sequel, by the many guesses and conjectures into which we had ensnared some of our readers. We could even enjoy the mysticism, qualified as it was by the poor compliment, that our carefully written Address exhibited no 'very prominent trait of absurdity,' when we saw it thus noticed in theEdinburgh Reviewfor November, 1812. 'An Address by S. T. P. we can make nothing of; and professing our ignorance of the author designated by these letters, we can only add, that the Address, though a little affected, and not very full of meaning, has no very prominent trait of absurdity, that we can detect; and might have been adopted and spoken, so far as we can perceive, without any hazard of ridicule. In our simplicity we consider it as a very decent, mellifluous, occasional prologue; and do not understand how it has found its way into its present company.'

Urged forward by hurry, and trusting to chance, two very bad coadjutors in any enterprise, we at length congratulated ourselves on having completed our task in time to have it printed and published by the opening of the theatre. But, alas! our difficulties, so far from being surmounted, seemed only to be beginning. Strangers to the arcana of the bookseller's trade, and unacquainted with their almost invincible objection to single volumes of low price, especially when tendered by writers who have acquired no previous name, we little anticipated that they would refuse to publish ourRejected Addresses, even although we asked nothing for the copyright. Such however, proved to be the case. Our manuscript was perused and returned to us by several of the most eminent publishers. Well do we remember betaking ourselves to one of the craft in Bond Street, whom we found in a back parlour, with his gouty leg propped upon a cushion, in spite of which warning he diluted his luncheon with frequent glasses of Madeira. 'What have you already written?' was his first question, an interrogatory to which we had been subjected in almost every instance. 'Nothing by which we can be known.' 'Then I am afraid to undertake the publication.' We presumed timidly to suggest that every writer must have a beginning, and that to refuse to publish for him until he had acquired a name, was to imitate the sapient mother who cautioned her son against going into the water until he could swim. 'An old joke—a regular Joe!' exclaimed our companion, tossing off another bumper. 'Still older than Joe Miller,' was our reply; 'for, if we mistake not, it is the very first anecdote in the facetiæ of Hierocles.' 'Ha, sirs!' resumed the bibliopolist, 'you are learned, are you? So, soh!—Well, leave your manuscript with me; I will look it over to-night, and give you an answer to-morrow.' Punctual as the clock we presented ourselves at his door on the following morning, when our papers were returned to us with the observation—'These trifles arereally not deficient in smartness; they are well, vastly well for beginners; but they will never do—never. They would not pay for advertising, and without it I should not sell fifty copies.'

This was discouraging enough. If the most experienced publishers feared to be out of pocket by the work, it was manifest,a fortiori, that its writers ran a risk of being still more heavy losers, should they undertake the publication on their own account. We had no objection to raise a laugh at the expense of others; but to do it at our own cost, uncertain as we were to what extent we might be involved, had never entered into our contemplation. In this dilemma, ourAddresses, now in every sense rejected, might probably have never seen the light, had not some good angel whispered us to betake ourselves to Mr. John Miller, a dramatic publisher, then residing in Bow Street, Covent Garden. No sooner had this gentleman looked over our manuscript, than he immediately offered to take upon himself all the risk of publication, and to give us half the profits,should there be any; a liberal proposition, with which we gladly closed. So rapid and decided was its success, at which none were more unfeignedly astonished than its authors, that Mr. Miller advised us to collect someImitations of Horace, which had appeared anonymously in theMonthly Mirror, offering to publish them upon the same terms. We did so accordingly; and as new editions of theRejected Addresseswere called for in quick succession, we were shortly enabled to sell our half copyright in the two works to Mr. Miller, for one thousand pounds!! We have entered into this unimportant detail, not to gratify any vanity of our own, but to encourage such literary beginners as may be placed in similar circumstances; as well as to impress upon publishers the propriety of giving more consideration to the possible merit of the works submitted to them, than to the mere magic of a name.

To the credit of thegenus irritabilebe it recorded, that not one of those whom we had parodied or burlesqued ever betrayed the least soreness on the occasion, or refused to join in the laugh that we had occasioned. With most of them we subsequently formed acquaintanceship; while some honoured us with an intimacy which still continues, where it has not been severed by the rude hand of Death. Alas! it is painful to reflect, that of the twelve writers whom we presumed to imitate, five are now no more; the list of the deceased being unhappily swelled by the most illustrious of all, theclarum et venerabile nomenof Sir Walter Scott! From that distinguished writer, whose transcendent talents were only to be equalled by his virtues and his amiability, we received favours and notice, both public and private, which it will be difficult to forget, because we had not the smallest claim upon his kindness. 'I certainly must have written this myself!' said that fine-tempered man to one of the authors, pointing to the description of the Fire, 'although I forget upon what occasion.' Lydia White, a literary lady, who was prone to feed the lions of the day, invited one of us to dinner; but, recollecting afterwards that William Spencer formed one of the party, wrote to the latter to put him off; telling him that a man was to be at her table whom he 'would not like to meet.' 'Pray who is this whom I should not like to meet?' inquired thepoet. 'Oh!' answered the lady, 'one of those men who have made that shameful attack upon you!' 'The very man upon earth I should like to know!' rejoined the lively and careless bard. The two individuals accordingly met, and have continued fast friends, ever since. Lord Byron, too, wrote thus to Mr. Murray from Italy—'Tell him we forgive him, were he twenty times our satirist.'

It may not be amiss to notice, in this place, one criticism of a Leicestershire clergyman, which may be pronounced unique: 'I do not see why they should have been rejected,' observed the matter-of-fact annotator; 'I think some of them very good!'

P. 1.Loyal Effusion.By Horace Smith. Fitzgerald (1759?-1829) was a ready versifier who was self-appointed laureate of public events for a number of years. He was especially notable for his persistent recital of patriotic lines at the annual dinners of the Royal Literary Fund. The piece of his which Smith possibly had more particularly in mind was the 'Address to every Loyal Briton on the Threatened Invasion of his Country.'

P. 2.By Wyatt's trowel.James Wyatt (1746-1813) was the architect of the rebuilt Drury Lane Theatre.

Let hoarse Fitzgerald bawl.Byron (English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, line 1) wrote 'shall,' not 'let.'

P. 4.The Baby's Debut.By James Smith.

P. 6.the Young Betty mania.William Henry West Betty (1791-1874) first appeared on the stage in his twelfth year, and retired with a fortune in his seventeenth. Though he occasionally reappeared on the boards in manhood, he never repeated his early success.

P. 7.An Address without a Phœnix.This was the genuine address which Horace Smith had sent in for competition (see p. 397).

P. 9.Cui Bono.The opening stanza by James, the rest by Horace Smith.

P. 13.The Tradesman duns.Originally, 'The plaintiff calls.'

P. 15.To the Secretaryanda Hampshire Farmer. By James Smith. William Cobbett (1762-1835) became Member of Parliament for Oldham in 1832.

P. 16.Mr. Whitbread.Samuel Whitbread (1758-1815), brewer and politician, Member of Parliament for Bedford, was Chairman of the Committee for the rebuilding of Drury Lane Theatre.

P. 19.The Living Lustres.By Horace Smith.

The following three stanzas were originally included:—between the third and fourth:

Each pillar that opens our stage to the circle isVerdant antique, like Ninon de l'Enclos;I'd ramble from them to the pillars of Hercules,Give me but Rosa wherever I go.

Each pillar that opens our stage to the circle is

Verdant antique, like Ninon de l'Enclos;

I'd ramble from them to the pillars of Hercules,

Give me but Rosa wherever I go.

Between the fourth and fifth:

Attun'd to the scene when the pale yellow moon is onTower and tree they'd look sober and sage.And when they all winked their dear peepers in unison,Night, pitchy night would envelop the stage.Ah! could I some girl from yon box for her youth pick,I'd love her as long as she blossomed in youth;Oh! white is the ivory case of her toothpick,But when beauty smiles how much whiter the tooth!

Attun'd to the scene when the pale yellow moon is onTower and tree they'd look sober and sage.And when they all winked their dear peepers in unison,Night, pitchy night would envelop the stage.

Attun'd to the scene when the pale yellow moon is on

Tower and tree they'd look sober and sage.

And when they all winked their dear peepers in unison,

Night, pitchy night would envelop the stage.

Ah! could I some girl from yon box for her youth pick,I'd love her as long as she blossomed in youth;Oh! white is the ivory case of her toothpick,But when beauty smiles how much whiter the tooth!

Ah! could I some girl from yon box for her youth pick,

I'd love her as long as she blossomed in youth;

Oh! white is the ivory case of her toothpick,

But when beauty smiles how much whiter the tooth!

P. 21.The Rebuilding.By James Smith.

P. 29.Laura Matilda.Horace Smith, the author ofDrury's Dirge, wrote that 'the authors, as in gallantly bound, wish this lady to continue anonymous,' and as a consequence there have been several attempts to pierce the veil of anonymity. One annotator boldly 'assumes the lady to have been' Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802-1836), who was ten years of age when theRejected Addresseswere published. The motto fromThe Baviadwhich stands at the head of the parody is sufficient indication that the original was to be found among the 'Della Cruscans,' whose 'namby-pamby' verses, after appearing in theWorld, were published in two volumes asThe British Albumin 1790 (see the note on p. 405). The chief lady among those sentimentals was 'Anna Matilda,' otherwise Hannah Cowley (1743-1809), a dramatist of considerable, and a poet of but little, ability. As Mrs. Cowley had died three years before the Addresses were sent in, it is probable either that the parodists did not know of her death or that they merely meant to make fun of the school of which she was a leader. The passage from Gifford'sBaviadgiven by way of motto is taken from that part of the satire in which the writers ofThe British Albumare more particularly castigated.

P. 32.A Tale of Drury Lane.By Horace Smith.

P. 38.Johnson's Ghost.By Horace Smith.

P. 42.The Beautiful Incendiary.By Horace Smith. Spencer's best-remembered work is the tragic ballad ofBeth Gelert.

P. 46.Fire and Ale.By Horace Smith.

P. 49.Playhouse Musings.By James Smith.

P. 52.Drury Lane Hustings.By James Smith. The 'Pic-Nic Poet,' in parodying the popular songs of the day, seems a very good imitation of the improvisings for which Theodore Hook came to be famous. The description suggests, however, that no particular writer was aimed at in the parody. Both James and Horace Smith had ten years before been contributors to a short-lived magazine entitled thePic-Nic.

P. 54.Architectural Atoms.By Horace Smith. Thomas Busby (1755-1838), organist, musical composer, and man of letters. By way of supplement to the authors' note it may be said that the Address printed in the newspapers at the time asthat sent in by Dr. Busby, and parodied by Lord Byron (see p. 174), was not the Address actually sent in, for that (preserved in the British Museum) begins:

Ye social Energies! that link mankindIn golden bonds—as potent as refined!

Ye social Energies! that link mankind

In golden bonds—as potent as refined!

Byron used quotation effectively inDon Juan, Canto I, ccxxii.:

'Go, little book, from this my solitude!I cast thee on the waters—go thy ways!And if, as I believe, thy vein be good,The world will find thee after many days.'When Southey's read, and Wordsworth understood,I can't help putting in my claim to praise—The four first rhymes are Southey's, every line:For God's sake, reader! take them not for mine!Byron:Don Juan, Canto I., ccxxii.

'Go, little book, from this my solitude!

I cast thee on the waters—go thy ways!

And if, as I believe, thy vein be good,

The world will find thee after many days.'

When Southey's read, and Wordsworth understood,

I can't help putting in my claim to praise—

The four first rhymes are Southey's, every line:

For God's sake, reader! take them not for mine!

Byron:Don Juan, Canto I., ccxxii.

P. 62.Theatrical Alarm Bell.By James Smith.

committee of O.P.'s, etc.Referring to the tumultuous scenes at Covent Garden Theatre in 1809, when for sixty-seven successive nights there was uproar due to the attempt of the management to raise the prices of admission. Both James and Horace Smith appear to have written verse contributions to the newspaper warfare which accompanied, and served to stimulate, the disturbance in the theatre in favour of Old Prices.

P. 64.The Theatre.By James Smith. Spencer, referred to in the footnote, is the writer of society verse parodied inThe Beautiful Incendiary(p. 42).

P. 69.To the Managing Committee, etc.By James Smith.

The Hamlet Travestie.By John Poole. Was published in 1810, and acted at Drury Lane in 1813.

The Stranger, translated by Benjamin Thompson fromMenschenhass und Reue, by August von Kotzebue (1761-1819)—one line is remembered: 'There is another and a better world'—andGeorge Barnwell, by George Lillo (1693-1739), based on the ballad in Percy'sReliques, were sensational plays that enjoyed considerable popularity in the early part of the nineteenth century.

P. 72.Mrs. Haller.One of the principal characters inThe Stranger.

P. 76.Punch's Apotheosis.By Horace Smith. Theodore Hook wrote a number of light plays and farces before he was out of his teens, and was long notable for the way in which he could improvise such false gallop of verses as is parodied inPunch's Apotheosis.

P. 82.Can Bartolozzi's... Could Grignion's.The work of the engravers, Francesco Bartolozzi (1725-1815) and Charles Grignion (1717-1810), was much in use for sumptuously illustrated books.

The epic rage of Blackmore.Sir Richard Blackmore (d. 1729), a physician-poet, who wrotePrince Arthur, an Heroick Poem;Eliza, an Epic Poem;Alfred, an Epic Poem; and various other works which the world has willingly let die.

P. 83.With Griffiths, Langhorne, Kenrick, etc.Ralph Griffiths (1720-1803) was founder, proprietor, publisher, and sometime editor ofThe Monthly Review, the contributors to which included John Langhorne (1735-1779), the translator of Plutarch, and William Kenrick (1725?-1779).

P. 86.The first lines are an imitation of Pope'sDunciad:

The mighty Mother, and her son, who bringsThe Smithfield Muses to the ears of Kings, etc.

The mighty Mother, and her son, who brings

The Smithfield Muses to the ears of Kings, etc.

Lo! the poor toperis imitated from Pope'sEssay on Man:

Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mindSees God in clouds, and hears Him in the wind, etc.

Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mind

Sees God in clouds, and hears Him in the wind, etc.

P. 87.Catherine Fanshawe.The parody on Gray was sent by Miss Fanshawe to her friend, Miss Berry (one of Walpole's Misses Berry), with a letter purporting to be a letter of thanks to her for permission to read the verses, which, it was pretended, had been sent by Miss Berry, their author, to Miss Fanshawe for approval. The reference to Sydney Smith is to his lectures on 'Moral Philosophy' delivered at the Royal Institution, 1804-1806. Payne was a fashionable milliner of the period.

P. 92.A Fable.Dryden'sThe Hind and the Panther:

A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged,Fed on the lawns and in the forest ranged.

A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged,

Fed on the lawns and in the forest ranged.

The Course of Time.Robert Pollok's poem, despite this parody, was so popular that from its first publication in 1827 to 1868 it attained a sale of 78,000 copies.

P. 93.Canning and Frere.The Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin, 1852 and 1854, has been followed in attributing the authorship of the various parodies to Canning and others. The authority consists of Canning's own copy of theAnti-Jacobin, that of Lord Burghersh, that of Wright the publisher, and information given by Upcott.

Inscription.Southey's poem was an 'inscription for the apartment in Chepstow Castle where Henry Marten, the regicide, was imprisoned for thirty years.'

For thirty years secluded from mankind,Here Marten linger'd.

For thirty years secluded from mankind,

Here Marten linger'd.

It was written in 1795, but Southey excluded it from later editions of his works issued when he was no longer in sympathy with the French Revolution. Mrs. Brownrigg, the wife of a house-painter, was hanged at Tyburn for murder.

P. 94.The Soldier's Wife.Southey'sThe Soldier's Wife:

Weary way-wanderer, languid and sick at heart,Travelling painfully over the rugged road;Wild-visaged wanderer! Ah, for thy heavy chance.

Weary way-wanderer, languid and sick at heart,

Travelling painfully over the rugged road;

Wild-visaged wanderer! Ah, for thy heavy chance.

Coleridge wrote the third stanza, indicated by asterisks in the second imitation. Southey finally suppressed this poem also.

Dilworth and Dyche.A reference to Thomas Dilworth'sGuide to the English Tongue(1761) and Thomas Dyche'sGuide to the English Tongue(1709).

P. 95.Sapphics.Southey'sThe Widow:

Cold was the night wind, drifting fast the snow fell;Wide were the downs and shelterless and naked,When a poor wanderer struggled on her journey,Weary and way-sore.

Cold was the night wind, drifting fast the snow fell;

Wide were the downs and shelterless and naked,

When a poor wanderer struggled on her journey,

Weary and way-sore.

George Tierney was the 'Friend of Humanity.' The original shared the fate of the other two poems in being finally suppressed.

P. 97.The Loves of the Triangles.Darwin'sLoves of the Plants. Frere wrote the first lines to 'And liveried lizards wait upon her call' (p. 99); Ellis from that point to 'Twine round his struggling heart, and bind with endless chain' (p. 101); Canning, Ellis, and Frere were the joint-authors of the portion from 'Thus, happy France' to 'And folds the parent-monarch to her breast' (p. 102), Canning alone being responsible for the following twelve lines; and the trio finished the parody together. As a rule only portions of this masterpiecesui generishave hitherto been reprinted.

P. 104.Lodi's blood-stained Bridge.Napoleon beat the Austrians at Lodi on May 10, 1796.

P. 105.Muir, Ashley, etc.Thomas Muir (1765-1798) was a Parliamentary reformer; Thomas Paine (1737-1809), author of theRights of Man; Archibald Hamilton Rowan (1751-1834), a prominent United Irishman; Ashley and Barlow evade identification.

P. 107.Song by Rogero.The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement, was a travesty of German drama, in particular of Schiller'sRobbers, Kotzebue'sThe Stranger, and Goethe'sStella, and it was performed at the Haymarket Theatre in 1811. It is the work of Canning, Ellis, and Frere, but only the first two wrote this 'song' (according to some authorities Pitt is credited with the last verse), having in mind Pitt's friend, Sir Robert Adair, who was educated at Göttingen. The editors of theAnti-Jacobinsay: 'The song of Rogero with which the first act concludes is admitted on almost all hands to be in the very first taste, and if no German original is to be found for it, so much the worse for the credit of German literature.' This parody has itselfoften been parodied—by, among others, R. H. Barham, whose topic was the newly established London University.

P. 109.James Hogg.The Ettrick Shepherd'sPoetic Mirror, or the Living Bards of Great Britain, was published anonymously in 1816, and it is generally admitted that his parodies of style are among the finest in the language. They are, however, overlong, and we have been obliged to be content with the 'song' alone from the parody of Scott, which, complete, would occupy more than seventy pages.

P. 115.The light-heel'd author of the Isle of Palms.John Wilson ('Christopher North') who publishedThe Isle of Palms and other Poemsin 1812.

P. 124.Joan I chose.Southey'sJoan of Arcwas published in 1796.

The next, a son, I bred a Mussulman.Thalaba the Destroyer, 1801.

A tiny thing... from the north... with vengeful spitewas probably meant for theEdinburgh Review.

P. 125.My third, a Christian and a warrior true.Madoc, 1805.

And next, his brother, a supreme Hindu.The Curse of Kehama, 1810.

P. 128.The Curse.The closing lines are a faithful imitation of 'the Curse' inThe Curse of Kehama, which ends:

Thou shalt live in thy painWhile Kehama shall reign,With a fire in thy heart,And a fire in thy brain;And Sleep shall obey me,And visit thee neverAnd the Curse shall be on theeFor ever and ever.

Thou shalt live in thy pain

While Kehama shall reign,

With a fire in thy heart,

And a fire in thy brain;

And Sleep shall obey me,

And visit thee never

And the Curse shall be on thee

For ever and ever.

P. 128.And C—t—e shun thee.Possibly Cottle, the publisher and friend of Southey.

P. 129.The Gude Greye Katt.A parody of Hogg's own narrative,The Witch of Fyfe.

P. 142.Sonnets Attempted, etc.These appeared originally in the second number of theMonthly Magazinein November, 1797, with the signature of 'Nehemiah Higginbottom.' Coleridge described them as written—

'in ridicule of my own Poems, and Charles Lloyd's and Lamb's, etc., etc., exposing that affectation of unaffectedness, of jumping and misplaced accent in commonplace epithets, flat lines forced into poetry by italics (signifying how well and mouthishly the author would read them), puny pathos, etc., etc. The instances were almost all taken from myself and Lloyd and Lamb.'

The first sonnet, Coleridge said,

had for its object to excite a good-natured laugh at the spirit of doleful egotism and at the recurrence of favourite phrases, with the double object of being at once trite and licentious. The second was on low creeping language and thoughts under the pretence ofsimplicity. [Lamb had written some months earlier, 'Cultivate simplicity, Coleridge.'] The third, the phrases of which were borrowed entirely from my own poems, on the indiscriminate use of elaborate and swelling language and imagery.... So general at that time and so decided was the opinion concerning the characteristic vices of my style that a celebrated physician (now, alas! no more) speaking of me in other respects with his usual kindness to a gentleman who was about to meet me at a dinner-party could not, however, resist giving him a hint not to mentionThe House that Jack Builtin my presence, for that I was as sore as a boil about that sonnet, he not knowing that I was myself the author of it. (Seethe Oxford Coleridge.)

P. 144.Amatory Poems.It is curious that Southey, who had taken offence at Coleridge's sonnetTo Simplicity, signed 'Nehemiah Higginbottom,' believing it directed against himself, should himself have turned parodist and adopted the similar name of 'Abel Shufflebottom' a couple of years later. Coleridge wrote, so he declared, that he might do the young poets good; Southey, it may be believed, merely to make fun of that band of vain and foolish versifiers who came to be known as 'the Della Cruscans.' Haunters of the book-stalls may yet occasionally light upon two small volumes entitledThe British Album, containing the Poems of Della Crusca, Anna Matilda, Arley, Benedict, the Bard, etc., etc. Which were originally published under the Title of the Poetry of the World, revised and corrected by the Respective Authors. The second edition was dated 1790, and the work was still current when the brothers Smith gave their Laura Matilda parody in theRejected Addresses(see p. 29). A few stanzas of one of 'Della Crusca's' poems addressed to 'Anna Matilda' will suffice to indicate the stuff which Southey was satirising:

While thedear Songstresshad melodious stoleO'er ev'ry sense, and charm'd each nerve to rest,Thy Bardin silent ecstasy of soul,Had strain'd thedearer Womanto his breast.Or had she said, thatWar's the worthiest grave,He would have felt his proud heart burn the while,Have dar'd, perhaps, to rush among the brave,Have gain'd, perhaps, the glory—of a smile.And 'tis most true, while Time's relentless hand,With sickly grasp dragsothersto the tomb,The Soldier scorns to wait the dull command,But springs impatient to a nobler doom.Tho' on the plainhelies, outstretch'd, and pale,Without one friend his steadfast eyes to close,Yet on his honour'd corse shall many a gale,Waft the moist fragrance of the weeping rose.O'er that dread spot, the melancholy MoonShall pause a while, a sadder beam to shed,And starry Night, amidst her awful noon,Sprinkle light dews upon his hallow'd head.There too the solitary Bird shall swellWith long-drawn melody her plaintive throat,While distant echo from responsive cell,Shall oft with fading force return the note.Such recompense be Valour's due alone!To me, no proffer'd meed must e'er belong.To me, who trod the vale of life unknown,Whose proudest boast was but an idle song.

While thedear Songstresshad melodious stoleO'er ev'ry sense, and charm'd each nerve to rest,Thy Bardin silent ecstasy of soul,Had strain'd thedearer Womanto his breast.

While thedear Songstresshad melodious stole

O'er ev'ry sense, and charm'd each nerve to rest,

Thy Bardin silent ecstasy of soul,

Had strain'd thedearer Womanto his breast.

Or had she said, thatWar's the worthiest grave,He would have felt his proud heart burn the while,Have dar'd, perhaps, to rush among the brave,Have gain'd, perhaps, the glory—of a smile.

Or had she said, thatWar's the worthiest grave,

He would have felt his proud heart burn the while,

Have dar'd, perhaps, to rush among the brave,

Have gain'd, perhaps, the glory—of a smile.

And 'tis most true, while Time's relentless hand,With sickly grasp dragsothersto the tomb,The Soldier scorns to wait the dull command,But springs impatient to a nobler doom.

And 'tis most true, while Time's relentless hand,

With sickly grasp dragsothersto the tomb,

The Soldier scorns to wait the dull command,

But springs impatient to a nobler doom.

Tho' on the plainhelies, outstretch'd, and pale,Without one friend his steadfast eyes to close,Yet on his honour'd corse shall many a gale,Waft the moist fragrance of the weeping rose.

Tho' on the plainhelies, outstretch'd, and pale,

Without one friend his steadfast eyes to close,

Yet on his honour'd corse shall many a gale,

Waft the moist fragrance of the weeping rose.

O'er that dread spot, the melancholy MoonShall pause a while, a sadder beam to shed,And starry Night, amidst her awful noon,Sprinkle light dews upon his hallow'd head.

O'er that dread spot, the melancholy Moon

Shall pause a while, a sadder beam to shed,

And starry Night, amidst her awful noon,

Sprinkle light dews upon his hallow'd head.

There too the solitary Bird shall swellWith long-drawn melody her plaintive throat,While distant echo from responsive cell,Shall oft with fading force return the note.

There too the solitary Bird shall swell

With long-drawn melody her plaintive throat,

While distant echo from responsive cell,

Shall oft with fading force return the note.

Such recompense be Valour's due alone!To me, no proffer'd meed must e'er belong.To me, who trod the vale of life unknown,Whose proudest boast was but an idle song.

Such recompense be Valour's due alone!

To me, no proffer'd meed must e'er belong.

To me, who trod the vale of life unknown,

Whose proudest boast was but an idle song.

'Della Crusca,' the chief of the band, was Robert Merry (1755-1798). The 'Della Cruscans' may be said to have been killed by ridicule by Gifford'sBaviadandMaeviad.

P. 151.Epicedium.This appeared originally under the title 'Gone or Going' in Hone'sTable Book(1827), and was reprinted by Lamb in hisAlbum Verses. It is an echo rather than a close parody of Michael Drayton'sBallad of Agincourt, of which the fifth stanza runs:

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