One of the interchapters begins with the word _Aballiboozobanganorribo_.
He questions in the "Poultry Yard" the a.s.sertion of Aristotle that it is an advantage for animals to be domesticated. The statement is regarded unsatisfactory by the fowl--replies to it being made by Chick-pick, Hen-pen, c.o.c.k-lock, Duck-luck, Turkey-lurkey, and Goosey-loosey.
He occasionally coins words such as Potamology for the study of rivers, and Chapter cx.x.xiv is headed--
"A transition, an anecdote, an apostrophe, and a pun, punnet, or pundigrion."
He proposes in another chapter to make a distinction between masculine and feminine in several words.
"The troublesome affection of the diaphragm which every person has experienced is to be called according to the s.e.x of the patient--He-cups or She-cups--which upon the principle of making our language truly British is better than the more cla.s.sical form of Hiccup and Hoeccups. In the Objective use, the word becomes Hiscups or Hercups and in like manner Histerrics should be altered into Herterics--the complaint never being masculine."
The Doctor is rich in variety of verbal humour--
"When a girl is called a la.s.s, who does not perceive how that common word must have arisen? who does not see that it may be directly traced to a mournful interjection _Alas!_ breathed sorrowfully forth at the thought that the girl, the lovely innocent creature upon whom the beholder has fixed his meditative eye, would in time become a woman--a woe to man."
Our Doctor flourished in an age when the pages of Magazines, were filled with voluntary contributions from men who had never aimed at dazzling the public, but came each with his sc.r.a.p of information, or his humble question, or his hard problem, or his attempt in verse--
"A was an antiquary, and wrote articles upon Altars and Abbeys and Architecture. B made a blunder which C corrected. D demonstrated that E was in error, and that F was wrong in Philology, and neither Philosopher nor Physician though he affected to be both. G was a Genealogist. H was a Herald who helped him. I was an inquisitive inquirer, who found reason for suspecting J to be a Jesuit. M was a Mathematician. N noted the weather. O observed the stars. P was a poet, who produced pastorals, and prayed Mr. Urban to print them. Q came in the corner of the page with a query. R arrogated to himself the right of reprehending every one, who differed from him. S sighed and sued in song. T told an old tale, and when he was wrong U used to set him right; V was a virtuoso. W warred against Warburton. X excelled in Algebra. Y yearned for immortality in rhyme, and Z in his zeal was always in a puzzle."
We have already observed that the pictorial representations of demons, which were originally intended to terrify, gradually came to be regarded as ludicrous. There was something decidedly grotesque in the stories about witches and imps, and Southey, deep in early lore, was remarkable for developing a branch of humour out of them. In one place he had a catalogue of devils, whose extraordinary names he wisely recommends his readers not to attempt to p.r.o.nounce, "lest they should loosen their teeth or fracture them in the operation." Comic demonology may be said to have been out of date soon after time.
Southey is not generally amatory in his humour, and therefore we appreciate the more the following effusions, which he facetiously attributes to Abel Shufflebottom. The gentleman obtained Delia"s pocket-handkerchief, and celebrates the acquisition in the following strain--
""Tis mine! what accents can my joy declare?
Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout, Blest be the hand, so hasty, of my fair, And left the tempting corner hanging out!
"I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels, After long travel to some distant shrine, When at the relic of his saint he kneels, For Delia"s pocket-handkerchief is mine.
"When first with filching fingers I drew near, Keen hope shot tremulous through every vein, And when the finished deed removed my fear, Scarce could my bounding heart its joy contain.
"What though the eighth commandment rose to mind, It only served a moment"s qualm to move; For thefts like this it could not be designed, The eighth commandment was not made for love.
"Here when she took the macaroons from me, She wiped her mouth to clear the crumbs so sweet, Dear napkin! Yes! she wiped her lips in thee, Lips sweeter than the macaroons she eat.
"And when she took that pinch of Mocabau, That made my love so delicately sneeze, Thee to her Roman nose applied I saw, And thou art doubly dear for things like these.
"No washerwoman"s filthy hand shall e"er, Sweet pocket-handkerchef, thy worth profane, For thou hast touched the rubies of my fair, And I will kiss thee o"er and o"er again."
In another Elegy he expatiates on the beauty of Delia"s locks;--
"Happy the _friseur_ who in Delia"s hair, With licensed fingers uncontrolled may rove; And happy in his death the dancing bear, Who died to make pomatum for my love.
"Fine are my Delia"s tresses as the threads That from the silk-worm, self-interred, proceed, Fine as the gleamy gossamer that spreads Its filmy web-work over the tangled mead.
"Yet with these tresses Cupid"s power elate My captive heart hath handcuffed in a chain, Strong as the cables of some huge first-rate, That bears Britannia"s thunders o"er the main.
"The Sylphs that round her radiant locks repair, In flowing l.u.s.tre bathe their brightened wings, And elfin minstrels with a.s.siduous care, The ringlets rob for fairy fiddlestrings."
Of course Shufflebottom is tempted to another theft--a rape of the lock--for which he incurs the fair Delia"s condign displeasure--
"She heard the scissors that fair lock divide, And while my heart with transport panted big, She cast a fiery frown on me, and cried, "You stupid puppy--you have spoilt my wig.""
CHAPTER XII.
Lamb--His Farewell to Tobacco--Pink Hose--On the Melancholy of Tailors--Roast Pig.
No one ever so finely commingled poetry and humour as Charles Lamb. In his transparent crystal you are always seeing one colour through another, and he was conscious of the charm of such combinations, for he commends Andrew Marvell for such refinement. His early poems printed with those of Coleridge, his schoolfellow at Christ"s Hospital, abounded with pure and tender sentiment, but never arrested the attention of the public. We can find in them no promise of the brilliancy for which he was afterwards so distinguished, except perhaps in his "Farewell to Tobacco," where for a moment he allowed his Pegasus to take a more fantastic flight.
"Scent, to match thy rich perfume, Chemic art did ne"er presume, Through her quaint alembic strain, None so sovereign to the brain; Nature that did in thee excel, Framed again no second smell, Roses, violets, but toys For the smaller sort of boys, Or for greener damsels meant, Thou art the only manly scent."
But although forbidden to smoke, he still hopes he may be allowed to enjoy a little of the delicious fragrance at a respectful distance--
"And a seat too "mongst the joys Of the blest Tobacco Boys; Where though I, by sour physician, Am debarred the full fruition Of thy favours, I may catch Some collateral sweets, and s.n.a.t.c.h Sidelong odours that give life- Like glances from a neighbour"s wife, And still live in thee by places And the suburbs of thy graces; And in thy borders take delight, An unconquered Canaanite."
His early years brought forth another kind of humour which led to his being appointed jester to the "Morning Post." He was paid at the rate of sixpence a joke, furnished six a day, and depended upon this remuneration for his supplementary livelihood--everything beyond mere bread and cheese. As humour, like wisdom, is found of those who seek her not, we may suppose the quality of these productions was not very good.
He thus bemoans his irksome task, which he performed generally before breakfast--
"No Egyptian task-master ever devised a slavery like to that, our slavery. No fractious operants ever turned out for half the tyranny, which this necessity exercised upon us. Half-a-dozen jests in a day, (bating Sundays too,) why, it seems nothing! We make twice the number every day in our lives as a matter of course, and claim no Sabbatical exemptions. But then they come into our head.
But when the head has to go out to them--when the mountain must go to Mahomet. Readers, try it for once, only for some short twelvemonth."
Lamb, however, only obtained this undesirable appointment by a coincidence he thus relates,--
"A fashion of flesh--or rather pink-coloured hose for the ladies luckily coming up when we were on our probation for the place of Chief Jester to Stuart"s Paper, established our reputation. We were p.r.o.nounced a "capital hand." O! the conceits that we varied upon _red_ in all its prismatic differences!... Then there was the collateral topic of ankles, what an occasion to a truly chaste writer like ourself of touching that nice brink and yet never tumbling over it, of a seemingly ever approximating something "not quite proper," while like a skilful posture master, balancing between decorums and their opposites, he keeps the line from which a hair"s breadth deviation is destruction.... That conceit arrided us most at that time, and still tickles our midriff to remember where allusively to the flight of Astroea we p.r.o.nounced--in reference to the stockings still--that "Modesty, taking her final leave of mortals, her last blush was visible in her ascent to the Heavens by the track of the glowing instep.""
References of a somewhat amatory character often make sayings acceptable, which for their intrinsic merit would scarcely raise a smile, and Lamb soon seriously deplored the loss of this serviceable a.s.sistance. He continues:--
"The fashion of jokes, with all other things, pa.s.ses away as did the transient mode which had so favoured us. The ankles of our fair friends in a few weeks began to rea.s.sume their whiteness, and left us scarce a leg to stand upon. Other female whims followed, but none methought so pregnant, so invitatory of shrewd conceits, and more than single meanings."
He tells us that Parson Este and Topham brought up the custom of witty paragraphs first in the "World," a doubtful statement--and that even in his day the leading papers began to give up employing permanent wits.
Many of our provincial papers still regale us with a column of facetiae, but machine-made humour is not now much appreciated. We require something more natural, and the jests in these papers now consist mostly of extracts from the works, or anecdotes from the lives of celebrated men. The pressure thus brought to bear upon Lamb for the production of jests in a given time led him to indulge in very bad puns, and to try to justify them as pleasant eccentricities. What can be expected from a man who tells us that "the worst puns are the best," or who can applaud Swift for having asked, on accidentally meeting a young student carrying a hare; "Prithee, friend, is that your own hair or a wig?" He finds the charm in such hazards in their utter irrelevancy, and truly they can only be excused as flowing from a wild and unchastened fancy. It must require great joviality or eccentricity to find any humour in caricaturing a pun.
Speaking of the prospectus of a certain Burial Society, who promised a handsome plate with an angel above and a flower below, Lamb ventures--"Many a poor fellow, I dare swear, has that Angel and Flower kept from the Angel and Punchbowl, while to provide himself a bier he has curtailed himself of beer." But to record all Lamb"s bad puns would be a dull and thankless task. We will finish the review of his verbal humour by quoting a pa.s.sage out of an indifferent farce he wrote ent.i.tled, "Mr. H----."
(_The hero cannot on account of his patronymic get any girl to marry him._)
"My plaguy ancestors, if they had left me but a Van, or a Mac, or an Irish O", it had been something to qualify it--Mynheer Van Hogsflesh, or Sawney Mac Hogsflesh, or Sir Phelim O"Hogsflesh, but downright blunt---- If it had been any other name in the world I could have borne it. If it had been the name of a beast, as Bull, Fox, Kid, Lamb, Wolf, Lion; or of a bird, as Sparrow, Hawk, Buzzard, Daw, Finch, Nightingale; or of a fish, as Sprat, Herring, Salmon; or the name of a thing, as Ginger, Hay, Wood; or of a colour, as Black, Gray, White, Green; or of a sound, as Bray; or the name of a month, as March, May; or of a place, as Barnet, Baldock, Hitchen; or the name of a coin, as Farthing, Penny, Twopenny; or of a profession, as Butcher, Baker, Carpenter, Piper, Fisher, Fletcher, Fowler, Glover; or a Jew"s name, as Solomons, Isaacs, Jacobs; or a personal name, as Foot, Leg, Crookshanks, Heaviside, Sidebottom, Ramsbottom, Winterbottom; or a long name, as Blanchenhagen or Blanchhausen; or a short name as Crib, Crisp, Crips, Tag, Trot, Tub, Phips, Padge, Papps, or Prig, or Wig, or Pip, or Trip; Trip had been something, but Ho--!"
(_Walks about in great agitation; recovering his coolness a little, sits down._)
These were weaker points in Lamb, but we must also look at the other side. Those who have read his celebrated essay on Hogarth will find that he possesses no great appreciation for that humour which is only intended to raise a laugh, and might conclude that he was more of a moralist than a humorist. He admires the great artist as an instructor, but admits that "he owes his immortality to his touches of humour, to his mingling the comic with the terrible." Those, he continues, are to be blamed who overlook the moral in his pictures, and are merely taken with the humour or disgusted by the vulgarity. Moreover, there is a propriety in the details; he notices the meaning in the tumbledown houses "the dumb rhetoric," in which "tables, chairs, and joint stools are living, and significant things." In these pa.s.sages Lamb seems to regard the comic merely as a means to an end;--"Who sees not," he asks, "that the grave-digger in Hamlet, the fool in Lear have a kind of correspondency to, and fall in with, the subjects which they seem to interrupt; while the comic stuff in "Venice Preserved," and the doggrel nonsense of the cook and his poisoning a.s.sociates in the Rollo of Beaumont and Fletcher are pure irrelevant, impertinent discords--as bad as the quarreling dog and cat under the table of our Lord and the Disciples at Emmaus, of t.i.tian."
Lamb"s interpretation of Hogarth"s works is that of a superior and thoughtful mind: but we cannot help thinking that the humour in them was not so entirely subordinate to the moral. One conclusion we may incidentally deduce from his remarks--that the meaning in pictorial ill.u.s.trations, either as regards humour or sentiment, is not so appreciable as it would be in words, and consequently that caricatures labour under considerable disadvantages. "Much," he says, "depends upon the habits of mind we bring with us." And he continues--"It is peculiar to the confidence of high genius alone to trust much to spectators or readers," he might have added that in painting, this confidence is often misplaced, especially as regards the less imaginative part of the public. We owe him a debt, however, for a true observation with regard to the general uses of caricatures, that "it prevents that disgust at common life which an unrestricted pa.s.sion for ideal forms and beauties is in danger of producing."
But leaving pa.s.sages in which Lamb approves of absurd jesting, and those in which he commends humour for pointing a moral, we come to consider the largest and most characteristic part of his writings, his pleasant essays, in which he has neither shown himself a moralist or a mountebank.