In setting forth an Armado Shortly afterwards appeared Drummond of Hawthornden's "Polemo Middinia," which contains macaronic verses that were highly esteemed in their time, but are at once too coarse and too obscure for reproduction to-day. A modern specimen of a macaronic which is perfect in structure and exemplifies the sort of humor which may be expected in this kind of verse is the following from the "Comic Latin Grammar:" Patres conscripti—took a boat and went to Philippi. But, on the whole, nothing better has ever been produced than the following, which appeared in Punch: The Death Of The Sea-serpent. BY PUBLIUS JONATHAN VIRGILIUS JEFFERSON SMITH. Arma virumque cano, qui first in Monongahela Tarnally squampushed the sarpent, mittens horrentia tela. Musa, look sharp with your banjo I I guess to relate this event I Shall need all the aid you can give; so nunc aspirate canenti. Mighty slick were the vessels progressing, jactata per aequora vends, But the brow of the skipper was sad, cum solicitudine mentis; For whales had been scarce in those parts, and the skipper, so long as he'd known her, Ne'er had gathered less oil in a cruise to gladden the heart of her owner. "Darn the whales," cries the skipper at length, " with a telescope forte videbo Aut pisces, aut terras." While speaking, just two or ihree 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. Blows a blast that would waken the dead, mare turbat et aera rumpit. "Tumble up, all you lubbers," he cries, " tumble up, for careering before us Is the real old sea-sarpent himself, cristis maculisque decorus." "Consarn it," cries one of the sailors, *' if e'er we provoke him he'll kill us, He'll certainly 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 'cm,) "O socii," inquit, " I'm sartin you're not the fellers to funk, or Shrink from the durum certamen, whose fathers fit bravely at Bunker, You who have waged with the bears and the buffalo proelia dura, Down to the freshets and licks of our own free enlightened Missourer, You who could whip your own weight catulis saevis sine telo, Get your eyes skinned in a twinkling, et ponite tela phasello!" Talia voce refert, curisque ingentibus aeger, Marshals his cute little band, now panting their foes to beleaguer; Swiftly they lower the boats, and swiftly each man at the oar is, Excipe Britannos timidos duo, virumque coloris. (Blackskin, you know, never feels how sweet 'tis pro patria mori; Ovid had him in view when he said, " Nimium ne crede colon.") Now swiftly they pull towards the monster, who. seeing the cutter and gig aigh. Glares at them with terrible eves, suffectis sanguine et igni, And, never conceiving their chief will so quickly deal him a flower, Opens wide to receive them at once his Unguis 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. Straight as he feels in his eyeball the lance, growing mightily sulky. At 'em he comes in a rage, ore minax, lingua trisulca. "Starn all!" cry the sailors at once, for they think he has certainly caught '•«, Praesentemque viris intenunt omnia mortem. But the bold skipper exclaims. " 0 terque quaterque bead f Now with a will date 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 acquore vortex." Hoc ait, and. choosing a lance, " With this one I think I shall hit it," He cries, and straight into his mouth ad intima viscera mittit. Screeches the creature in pain, and writhes till the sea is commotum, As if all its waves had been lashed 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 paletot, And, mad at his favorite s fate, of oaths uttered one or two thousand, Such as " Corpo di Bacco 1 Mehercle 1 Sacre! Mille Tonnerres! Potztausend V 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 dextra crinem, And hurling the scalp in the air, half mad with delight to possess it, Sboutt, " Darn it, I've fixed up his flint, for in ventos vita recessit I" So much for the genuine macaronics. But there are a large number of jeux-d'esprit, more or less closely analogous to this genuine sort, which the unscientific mind of the public persists in grouping in the same class. Many of these pseudo-macaronics are more amusing than the Simon Pures. And first we shall begin with three polyglot specimens to which purists would deny the name, either because they could not accord with the structure of Latin verse, or because it is some living language that is entwined with the English in lieu of a dead one. The following advertisement in five languages is said to be inscribed on the window of a public-house in Germany: In questa casa trovarete Toutes les choses que vous souhaitez; Vinum bonum, costas, carnes, Neat post-chaise, and horse and harness, Boi/?, bpvt&es, tx^vft apv*S' And this appears in a Cape Town, Africa, hotel: Multum in parvo, pro bono publico; Victor Hugo was once asked if he could write English poetry. "Certainement," he replied, and forthwith delivered himself of the following: Pour chasser le spleen J'entrai dans un inn; O, mais je bus le gin, The following is a relic of the Henry Clay campaign of 1844, when "That same old coon" was a popular party-cry: Ce MfeME Vieux Coon. Ce meme vieux coon n'est pas quite mort, II n'est pas seulement napping: Cette chose est yet to happen. En dix-huit forty-four, je sais{ Vous'11 hear ties curious noises; Et scare des Loco—Bois-es 1 You know que quand il est awake, Et quand il scratch ses clawses. Et, sheepish, hang leuro jaws-es. Ce me" me vieux coon, je ne lais pas why, Le mischiefs come across him, Quand seulement playing possum. Mais wait till nous le want encore, Nous'll stir him with une pole; Nous pulled him de son hole! A favorite kind of school-boy humor is that which takes the form of evolving sentences like the following: Forte dux fel flat in gutture, which is good Latin for " By chance the leader inhales poison in his throat," but which read off rapidly sounds like the English "Forty ducks fell flat in the gutter." A French example is Pas de lieu Rhone que nous, which it is hardly necessary to explain makes no sense in French at all, though every word be true Gallic, but by a similar process of reading reveals the proverbial advice, "Paddle your own canoe." Dean Swift was a master of this form of trifling. He and his friend Dr. Sheridan, who was almost his match, used to correspond together in this fashion. The following inquiry from Dean Swift needs no gloss: Is his honor sic? Pre letus felis pulse. The following correspondence may also be deciphered with very little trouble. Swift commenced it by sending the doctor the following love-poem: Moll. Mollis abuti, Sheridan responded,— I ritu a verse o na Molli o mi ne, De armo lis abuti, hos face an hos nos is And the Dean settled the whole affair thus: Apud in is almi de si re, The following sustained effort in the same style can hardly be appreciated without a key: Mi Molle Anni. O pateo tulis aras cale fel O, Hebetis vivis id, an sed " Aio puer vello I" Vittis nox cert i as in ere bo de nota olim,— A mite grate sinimus tonitis ovem: "Prae sacer, do tell us, hausit," sese, "Mi Molle anni cano te ver aegre?" Ure Molle anu cano te ver aegre. Vere truso aio puellis tento me; Thrasonis piano " cum Hymen" (hen sedit), "Diutius toga thyrso'' Hymen edidit ;— Stentior man aget O mare nautis alter id alas I Alludo isto terete ure daris pausas anas. "I) pater hie, heu vix en/' ses Molle, an vif Heu itera vere grates troche in heri Ah Moliere arti fere procaciter intuitu I Vos me 1 for de parte da vas ure arbuteis. Thus thrasonis planas vel huma sc, Vi ure Molle anu cano te ver aegre. Betce Molle indulgent an suetas agile,— Pares pector sex, uno vimen ars ille; "Quietat ure servis lam," sato heras heu pater, "Audio do missus Molle, an vatis thema ter? Ara mi honestatis, vetabit, diu se,— O mare, mi dare, cum specto me: Ago in a vae aestuare, vel uno more illic, O mare, mi dare, cum pacto ure pater hie." Beavi ad visu civile, an socia luse, Ure Molle an huma fore ver aegre. My Molly And I. O Patty O'Toole is a rascally fellow, He beat his wife's head, and said, " I hnpe you are well, O!" With his knocks, sir, she has in her body not a whole limb,— A mighty great sin I must own it is of him. "Pray, say, sir, do tell us, how it is," says he, *' My Molly and I cannot ever agree?" Your Molly and you cannot ever agiee: Very true, so 1 hope you will listen to me; The rason is plain, " O come Hymen" (you said it), "Do ye tie us together." So Hymen he did it. Since your marriage to Mary now 'tis altered, alas I All you do is to trate your dear spouse as an ass. "O Patrick ! you vixen," says Molly, and why? You hit her a very great stroke in her eye. Ah Molly 1 her heart I fearproke as 'twere in two it is! Woes me 1 for departed away sure her beauty is. Thus the rason is plain, as well you may see, Why your Molly and you cannot ever agree. Be to Molly indulgent and sivate as a jelly,— Pay respect to her sex, you know women are silly: ** Quite at your service 1 am," say to her as you pat her. "How d'ye do, Mi>sus Molly, and what is the matter? A rah, my honey! siay, 'tis wait a bit, d'ye see, O Mary, my dary, come spake to me; A-going away is't you are, well you no more I'll lick, O Mary, my dary, come/>ack to your Patrick." Behave, I advise you, and so shall you see Your Molly and you may forever agree. A facile appearance of Greek is gained by the simple trick of setting up English words in Greek type, as in this poem from Punch: TO 0E AEAAINT IIEPIOAIKAA. $b>p€jU.OaT IV 0€ Al?T? o4> <f>a.JUL€. To/i 2juii0, Tpv/3 Srpcer. This compliment, great sir, O take, Tom Smith, Grub Street. Macaronies, the dudes or dandies of Queen Anne's time. Addison has thii explanation of the origin of the name: "There is a set of merry dolls whom the common people of all countries admire, and seem to love so well that they could eat them, according to the old proverb; I mean those circumforaneous wits whom every nation calls by the name of that dish of meat which it loves best. In Holland they are termed 'Pickled Herrings;' in France, 'Jean Potages;' in Italy, 'Macaronies;* and in Great Britain, * Jack Puddings/" But Addison is wrong in assuming that the sobriquet, as such, was of Italian origin. It was self-applied to the members of the Macaroni Club, founded in 1760, which consisted of travelled young men,—Italianated Englishmen, Roger Ascham would have called them,—who with many foreign affectations brought back from their wanderings one grateful novelty in the shape of Italian macaroni, which they introduced at Almack's and from which they took their name. The name soon passed into general use as a synonyme for fop or exquisite, almost superseding the analogous terms of Buck and Blood. True Macaronies were distinguished by their passion for dress and for gambling. At Almack's and Brooks's they squandered thousands at hazard. When they sat down to this serious business they laid off the velvet suits of which they were especially fond, putting on frieze greatcoats, often turned inside out for luck, while high-crowned hats with broad brims beflowered and beribboned protected their carefully-arranged hair and guarded their eyes from the light. In the streets they carried long walkingsticks ornamented with tassels. An eye-glass and a toothpick were their inseparable companions. Burgoyne, in his play "The Maid of the Oaks" (1774), alludes to the Macaronies ** whistling a song through their toothpicks." Another feature of the true Macaroni was his supercilious rudeness. Mackenzie's " Mirror" (1780) gives a very unflattering description of a Macaroni Member of Parliament, Sir Bobby Button, who, visiting a quiet country gentleman, asserts his claims to taste and fashion by attacking everything he sees in the house and gardens. When the daughter of the house appears he talks "as if London were one grand seraglio and he himself the mighty master of it." The Macaronies were in constant attendance at Vauxhall and Ranelagh. A pamphlet published in 1773, entitled "The Vauxhall Affray; or, Macaronies Defeated," chronicles a disturbance provoked by the tipsy insolence of the exquisites. They did not retain their appellation very long. Fashions changed, and new nicknames came in with the new fashions. The species was pretty well extinct by the end of the century. In 1805, George Barrington writes in the New London Spy of "the present degenerate race of Macaronies, who appear to be of a spurious, puny breed;" and about 1815 there was published at Bath a poetical pamphlet, ascribed to Thomas Haynes Bayly, on "Bath Dandies of the Present and the Macaronies of the Past" But they were in their full glory when Yankee Doodle, in a sudden burst of dandyism, stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni. Macaulay's New Zealander. In his review of Ranke's "History of the Popes" Macaulay winds up a splendid rhetorical passage on the Catholic Church with the following peroration: She was great and respected before the Saxon had set foot on Britain, before the Frank had passed the Rhine, when Grecian eloquence still flourished in Antioch, when idols were still worshipped in the temple of Mecca. And she may still exist in undiminished vigor when some traveller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's. The last sentence became at once a classic. Macaulay's New Zealander passed into popular phraseology. Writers of leading articles made a useful man of him; reviewers, philosophers, historians, put him to all kinds of sentimental work. But it was soon found that he was no child of Mactttlav's. He had been making his prospective archaeological journeys long before |