PARODIES

OF THE WORKS OF

ENGLISH and AMERICAN AUTHORS,

COLLECTED AND ANNOTATED BY

WALTER HAMILTON,

Fellow of the Royal Geographical and Royal Historical Societies;
Author of “A History of National Anthems and Patriotic Songs,” “A Memoir of George Cruikshank”
“The Poets Laureate of England,” “The Æsthetic Movement in England,” etc.

“We maintain that, far from converting virtue into a paradox, and degrading truth by ridicule, Parody will only strike at what is chimerical and false; it is not a piece of buffoonery so much as a critical exposition. What do we parody but the absurdities of writers, who frequently make their heroes act against nature, common-sense, and truth? After all, it is the public, not we, who are the authors of these Parodies.”

D’Israeli’s Curiosities of Literature.

VOLUME II.

CONTAINING PARODIES OF

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,

JOHN MILTON, JOHN DRYDEN, DR. WATTS,

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON,

H. W. LONGFELLOW, THOMAS HOOD, BRET HARTE,

MATTHEW ARNOLD,

E. A. POE, WOLFE’S ODE, AND “MY MOTHER”

REEVES & TURNER, 196, STRAND, LONDON, W.C.
1885.

BROWN & DAVENPORT, 40, SUN STREET, FINSBURY, LONDON, E.C.

hen this Collection was originally projected it was intended to publish a few only of the best Parodies of each author. After the issue of the first few numbers, however, the sale rapidly increased, and subscribers not only expressed their desire that the collection should be made as nearly complete as possible, but by the loans of scarce books, and copies of Parodies, helped to make it so.

This involved an alteration in the original arrangement, and as it would have been monotonous to have filled a whole number with parodies of one short poem, such as those on “To be or not to be,” “Excelsior,” “My Mother” or Wolfe’s Ode, it became necessary to spread them over several numbers: In the Index, which has been carefully prepared, references will be found, under the titles of the original Poems, to all the parodies mentioned. In all cases, where it has been possible to do so, full titles and descriptions of the works quoted from, have been given; any omission to do this has been unintentional, and will be at once rectified on the necessary information being supplied.

By the completion of the second Volume of my collection, the works of the following Authors have been fully treated, William Shakespeare, John Milton, John Dryden, Dr. Watts, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, H. W. Longfellow, Thomas Hood, Bret Harte, Matthew Arnold, E. A. Poe, Wolfe’s Ode on the Death of Sir John Moore, and Miss Ann Taylor’s poem “My Mother.” Certainly most of the best parodies on these Authors have been collected, yet as new ones are constantly appearing, a further collection of them will appear in a future part of Parodies, which will also contain any good old parodies that may hitherto have escaped notice.

In a few cases where parodies are to be found in easily accessible works, extracts only have been quoted, or references given; but it is intended in future, wherever permission can be obtained, to give the parodies in full, as they are found to be useful for public entertainments, and recitations. When the older masters of our Literature are reached, a great deal of curious and amusing information will be given, and it is intended to conclude with a complete bibliographical account of Parody, with extracts and translations from all the principal works on the topic. Whilst arranging the first and second volumes, I have been gathering materials for those to come, which will illustrate the works of those old writers whose names are familiar in our mouths as household words. Much that is quaint and amusing will thus be collected, whilst many illustrations of our literature, both in prose and verse, which are valuable to the student, will for the first time be methodically arranged, annotated, and published in a cheap and accessible form.

In all Collections, such as this, there are some pieces which offend the taste, or run counter to the prejudice of some individual reader, but great care has been taken to exclude every parody of a vulgar or slangy description, although it need hardly be said that many such parodies exist.

Every effort has been made to avoid giving preference to the parodies of any Political party, and this could only be done by inserting the poems on their own merits. If any good Political Parody has been omitted, ignorance of its existence, not party motive, has been the cause.

I am much indebted to the following gentlemen either for permission to quote from their works, or for copies of parodies sent to me for publication:--Messrs. P. J. Anderson, of Aberdeen; A. H. Bates, of Birmingham; W. Butler; George Cotterell (Author of the “Banquet”); T. F. Dillon-Croker; F. B. Doveton; James Gordon, F.S.A., of Edinburgh; John H. Ingram; Walter Parke (author of “The Lays of the Saintly”); F. B. Perkins, of the Free Public Library, San Francisco; W. Smith, of Morley, near Leeds; Basil H. Soulsby, Corpus Christi, Oxford; Joseph Verey; John Whyte; J. W. Gleeson White; and A. R. Wright. The following ladies have also sent me some amusing parodies:--Miss E. Orton; Mrs. S. A. Wetmore of New York State; and Mrs. J. E. Whitby. My best thanks are also due to Mr. Walsh, and his courteous assistants in the Guildhall Library of the City of London, as well as to the gentlemen in the Library of the British Museum.

WALTER HAMILTON.

64, Bromfelde Road, Clapham, London, S.W.

December, 1885.

CONTENTS OF PARTS I. to XXIV. PARODIES.

EACH PART MAY BE PURCHASED SEPARATELY.

NOTES AND CORRECTIONS.

The Parody of “The Village Blacksmith,” on page 9, signed Sphinx, was written by Mr. W. Sappe, of Forest Hill.

Foot Note, page 112.—Mr. Artemus Ward is here credited with the advice “Never to prophecy unless you know,” an Aberdeen correspondent points out that Mr. R. Lowell was the real author, the phrase occurs in “The Biglow Papers:”—

Page 232. Milton’s Epitaph on W. Shakespeare, the fourth line should read:—

Page 24. Read Charles Baudelure, not Beaudelaire.

Page 219. Wine, a Poem. The Copy of this old poem in the Editor’s possession, was published anonymously in 1702. It has been ascribed to John Gay, who was born in 1688, the poem is certainly a remarkable production for a youth of twenty-one.

INDEX.

The authors of the original poems are arranged in alphabetical order; the titles of the original poems are printed in small capitals, followed by the Parodies, the authors of which are named wherever possible.

Bret Harte.

The following parody appeared in Jon Duan, one of Beeton’s Christmas Annuals. The original poem refers to General Ulysses S. Grant, President of the United States; the parody is in allusion to Mr. Albert Grant, M.P., who presented Leicester Square to the public in July, 1874, and whose name was then prominently before the public in connection with numerous financial schemes:—

Scribners’ Monthly for May, 1881, contained a humorous collection of imitations of various authors, entitled “Home, Sweet Home, with Variations.” It commences by giving a couple of verses from the original poem by John Howard Payne; next comes a variation such as might have been written by Algernon Charles Swinburne. Walt Whitman, Austin Dobson, Oliver Goldsmith, and Alexander Pope are also supposed each to contribute a new setting of the old song, the imitation of Walt Whitman is exquisitely humorous; but that which principally concerns us here is the third imitation, which is entitled:—

Home, Sweet Home

as Mr. Francis Bret Harte might have woven it into a touching tale of a western gentleman in a red shirt—

Bret Harte’s prose writings have been frequently parodied, and several examples will be given when the subject of prose parodies is reached. One of the best of these occurs on page 156 of The Shotover Papers for November, 1874; it is entitled “His Finger.”

Thomas Hood.

(Continued from Part 12 )

The first number of Truth, which appeared January 4, 1877, contained a long parody, signed by Thomas Hood. This, of course, was Tom Hood, the Editor of Fun, and son of the author of the original “I Remember.”

An imitation of Hood’s Dream of Eugene Aram was published in Truth, February 22, 1877. Its twenty-six verses were descriptive of the sorrows of a poor orphan girl on leaving the Wanstead Home to go into service:—

*  *  *  *  *

A still more melancholy poem, in imitation of the same original, appeared in Truth, July 19, 1877. This was entitled The Blue-coat Boy’s Ghost, and described, in twenty-seven verses, the horrible manner in which a poor lad, named Arthur Gibbes, had been killed in Christ’s Hospital. A public investigation was held, and the result showed that a brutal system of fagging was in full force in the school, and that scarcely any supervision was exercised over the elder boys.

“Meeting in the Boudoir; or, a Song of the Follies of Fashion,” which appeared in Truth, June 24, 1880, was a long parody of Hood’s Song of the Shirt, in fourteen verses.

“The Lost Child, or Russell’s lament on the loss of his Reform Bill,” a long, political parody of Hood’s Lost Child, appeared in Punch, February 16, 1867.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

(Continued from Part 12)

n page 101, Part VII., of Parodies there is a poem called The Settler’s version of Excelsior. It was taken from a MS. copy, lent by a friend. The following is probably more correct. It is an American attempt to translate Excelsior into plain English:—

Diogenes was a comic paper, somewhat resembling Punch in its general features. It contained many good parodies, principally in reference to the Crimean War.

The Dowager-Duchess at the Drawing Room.

(“A bleak, nipping south-easterly wind was blowing throughout yesterday, the glass having again fallen, but the usual rules as to the Court dress to be worn by all ladies who attended the Drawing Room were strictly enforced. Low-cut bodies, both at back and front, were de rigueur.”—Weekly Paper, February, 1880).

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

(Continued from Part 13.)

There was a competition for Parodies on “Excelsior” in Truth, fourteen parodies appeared on November 11, 1880, and the following week nine more were published, each consisting of five verses. The parody with the refrain, “That Thirty-four,” which was selected as the prize winner, has already appeared in Part VI. of Parodies. A few of the others may be given here; the first evidently refers to Mr. Disraeli’s entry into political life, when he was not favorably received:—

“Wheeling Annual” for 1885 contains many excellent parodies, relating principally, of course, to the joys and troubles of bicyclists.

What Roads!

At a recent sessions of the Uxbridge Court a gentleman pleaded guilty to riding on the footpath with a bi., and excused himself on the ground that the roads were very muddy. P.C. X. 20. proved the case, and a fine of 5s. was imposed.—Uxbridge Gazette.

It will be remembered that the Austrians had been completely defeated by the Prussians at Sadowa, on July 3, 1866, and that the Emperor Francis Joseph had ceded Venetia to Napoleon III., requesting his intervention with the King of Prussia to arrange the terms of peace. From that period until the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War, Napoleon was looked upon as the arbiter of Peace or War in Europe.

Although the following parody is taken from an old Christmas annual, it is singularly à propos at the present time, when disgust is universally expressed at the costliness and uncertainty of our Legal system. Recent scandals have also greatly detracted from the confidence and respect which should be felt for the administrators of Justice:—

In a recent trial for libel brought against the son of the Lord Chief Justice, the plaintiff had to conduct his case in person, and was subjected to continual interruptions, and hostile remarks from the bench. This conduct on the part of the judge, Mr. Justice Manisty, was even more noticeable than his contemptuous treatment of the verdict of the jury, and the following parody of a Law Report (which appeared in the Pall Mall Gazette, November 25, 1884)—is really but a mild exaggeration of the actual proceedings:—

Trial by Jury in 1884. 20

The libel case of —— versus —— was tried in the Court of ——, before Mr. Justice Manifest. The plaintiff conducted his own case; the defendant was represented by his counsel, a great legal luminary, and several of the most prominent names at the bar. The defendant is the son of a person high placed in the legal world, and is himself a barrister. The plaintiff is, vernacularly speaking, “the deuce knows who.” The alleged libel is contained in a letter written by the defendant to a widow lady (his great aunt by marriage), who wished to ally herself by marriage to the plaintiff.

The plaintiff was proceeding to open his own case, when the judge asked him why he was not properly represented by professional counsel, after the manner of a gentleman, and warned him that such an omission was likely to tell against him in the gravest manner.

Plaintiff: May it please your lordship, I am a poor man, and cannot well afford—

Mr. Justice Manifest: The question of your means is wholly irrelevant. I must request you to keep strictly to the matter in hand.

Plaintiff: My other reason was that I feared no member of your respected profession would be quite whole-hearted in conducting my case, in view of who the defendant is. (Groans from the members of the Bar present.)

The great legal luminary: I protest against the plaintiff’s speech as an insult to the entire profession, including your lordship.

Mr. Justice Manifest condoled warmly with the outraged feelings of the legal gentlemen present, but urged them to allow the plaintiff to proceed; as by so doing he would best reveal to the jury the manner of man he was.

Plaintiff: With the permission of the court, I will first read the letter.

The great legal luminary objected to this, as unnecessarily wounding to the feelings of the defendant’s eminent family.

Plaintiff humbly submitted to the court that unless he were allowed to produce the letter it would be difficult for the jury to decide whether it were a libel or not. Mr. Justice Manifest begged the great legal luminary to allow the letter to be read as a personal favour to himself. The great legal luminary consenting, the plaintiff read the letter, which was as follows:—“My dear Aunt,—It is with sincere regret that I see myself forced to point out to you the true character of the unprincipled scoundrel you are thinking of marrying. Should you be surprised to hear that he is a professed atheist? Should you be surprised to hear that he has been three times married already, and that one of these marriages took place while the former wife was still alive? Should you be surprised to hear that many excellent people suspect him of having made away with his last wife, though the murder has never been brought home to him? Should you be surprised to hear that he has on several occasions embezzled large sums of money? Should you be surprised to hear that he is a convicted felon? Should you be surprised to hear that he has a daughter in the workhouse?”… At this point the reading of the letter was interrupted by the great legal luminary, who said that the remainder of it had no bearing on the case.

The plaintiff said he thought he had read enough to give the court some idea of the animus of the document. He would next ask if the defendant denied having written it?

The great legal luminary said his client acknowledged having written the letter.

Mr. Justice Manifest said this was one more instance of the manly and straightforward manner in which the case for the defendant was being carried on.

The plaintiff said he had given the defendant an opening to withdraw his statements in presence of the defendant’s fa….

Mr. Justice Manifest (interrupting): “I must beg you not to mention eminent people in no way connected with the case.”

The plaintiff apologised and continued: The defendant refused either to withdraw or substantiate his charges.

Mr. Justice Manifest: Quite right too. (Loud cheering.)

The plaintiff next called witnesses to speak to his character and disprove the charges contained in the letter which the defendant acknowledged having written, and refused to withdraw.

The Rev. Lord Bishop of —— was sworn, and in answer to questions said he had known the plaintiff from a boy, and that he had always borne the highest character.

Several other reverend gentlemen, of whose congregations the plaintiff had at various times been a prominent member, were called, and deposed to the same effect—namely, that he was a man against whom there had never been a breath of even ordinary scandal. Also that he was of a most edifying piety.

Plaintiff: Would it have been possible that such facts as my having murdered my wife, embezzled money, been a convicted felon, &c., could have remained unknown to you during the time I was a member of your congregations?

The Reverend Gentlemen; “Quite impossible.” Plaintiff then produced evidence that the period during which he had sat under the various reverend gentlemen extended over his whole life, from the age of eighteen to the present day.

Mr. Justice Manifest asked the great legal luminary if he did not wish to cross-examine the witnesses.—Great legal luminary: “No, my lord, I have no questions to ask.”

Mr. Justice Manifest thanked him for so considerately saving the time of the court.

The plaintiff next called witnesses to prove that he had only been once married, that he had lived in great peace and harmony with his late wife, that she had died a natural death, that he had sincerely mourned her, that he had always supported his daughter honourably, and as well as his small means would allow.

The great legal luminary scornfully refused to cross-examine any of the witnesses.

The plaintiff then declared his case closed.

Mr. Justice Manifest: And high time too.

The great legal luminary then opened the case for the defence: My lord I do not mean to waste the valuable time of the court, already so mercilessly squandered by the plaintiff. My client, acting on my advice, has considerately refused to appear in the witness-box, or to call any witnesses. I shall not soil myself by attempting to set aside any of the evidence the plaintiff has thought fit so tediously to inflict upon the patience of the court. The fact that a man is obliged to call such evidence to his personal character is, I should hope, sufficiently significant to all right-thinking and unprejudiced minds. The law of libel is happily clear and concise, and is known to all. That the position occupied by the defendant’s family could in any way influence the judgment of the court, which, monstrous as it may seem, the plaintiff has not hesitated to imply, is a supposition I need not even repudiate. My lord, I have done.

Mr. Justice Manifest: I cannot sufficiently express my admiration for the moderation with which the counsel for the defence has expressed himself, or my regret that such a case should have been brought into court at all. The jury must now consider carefully whether such a letter, written confidentially by one member of a family to another, can in any sense of the word be rightly called a libel, or whether the whole thing is not a base conspiracy to annoy a family of high position, and degrade the law. For my own part my mind is quite made up, and though I have the highest opinion of juries and their decisions, I must warn the jury that in the extremely improbable event of their disagreeing 21 with me, I shall reserve to myself the right of setting aside their decision.

The jury, without retiring, consulted for a few moments, when the foreman said, My lord, we are unanimously agreed.

Mr. Justice Manifest: I was sure you would be; and your verdict is?

The Foreman: We find unhesitatingly for the plaintiff.

Mr. Justice Manifest (with withering sarcasm): Oh, do you? Then may I ask at what you fix the damages?

The Foreman (after a brief consultation with the other jurors): At £2,000, my lord.

Mr. Justice Manifest: I have no hesitation in overruling the decision of the jury, and have much pleasure in deciding that the court finds for the defendant with costs.

Finis (Beeton’s Annual, 1877) contained a long parody on “Evangeline,” from which the following lines may be quoted:—

During the war between the Northern and Southern States of America many humorous works were published which were intended to expose the weaknesses, and abuses, in the policy and administrations of both sides in the struggle. Amongst these, few were more amusing, or more popular than the Orpheus C. Kerr (i.e., office-seeker) Papers, and the following chapter is quoted, as it contains imitations of the poets most popular in the States twenty odd years ago. Under the thin veil of initials the names may be traced of H. W. Longfellow, Edward Everett, J. G. Whittier, Dr. O. W. Holmes, R. W. Emerson, W. C. Bryant, G. P. Morris, N. P. Willis, T. B. Aldwick, and R. H. Stoddart.

LETTER VIII.

The Rejected “National Hymns.”

Washington, D.C., June 30th, 1861. 

Immediately after mailing my last to you, I secured a short furlough, and proceeded to New York, to examine into the affairs of that venerable committee which had offered a prize of 500 dollars for the best National Hymn.

Astounding and distracting to relate, the committee announces the reception of no less than eleven hundred and fifty “anthems!”

And all these “anthems” are rejected by the venerable committee! But must they all, therefore, be lost to the world? I hope not, my boy,—I hope not. Having some acquaintance with the discriminating rag-merchant to whom they were turned over as rejected, I have procured some of the best, from which to quote for your special edification.

Imprimis, my boy, observe this

The committee have two objections to this: in the first place, it is not an “anthem” at all; secondly, it is a gross plagiarism from an old Scandinavian war-song of the primeval ages.

Next, I present a

This fine production is rather heavy for an “anthem,” and contains too much of Boston to be considered strictly national. To set such an “anthem” to music would require a Wagner; and even were it really accommodated to a tune, it could only be whistled by the populace.

We now come to a

The sectional bias of this “anthem” renders it unsuitable for use in that small margin of the world situated outside of New England. Hence the above must be rejected.

Here we have a very curious

The committee must not be blamed for rejecting the above, after reading thus far; for such an “anthem” could only be sung by a college of surgeons, or a Beacon-street tea-party.

Turn we now to a 23

This “anthem” was greatly praised by a celebrated German scholar; but the committee felt obliged to reject it on account of its too childish simplicity.

Here we have a

Upon finding that this did not go well to the air of “Yankee Doodle,” the committee felt justified in declining it; being furthermore prejudiced against it by a suspicion that the poet has crowded an advertisement of a paper which he edits into the first line.

Next we quote from a

The tone of this “anthem” not being devotional enough to suit the committee, it should be printed on an edition of linen-cambric handkerchiefs, for ladies especially.

Observe this

Several members of the committee being pious, it is not strange that this “anthem” has too much of the Anacreon spice to suit them.

We next peruse a

This is certainly very beautiful, and sounds somewhat like Tennyson. Though it was rejected by the committee, it can never lose its value as a piece of excellent reading for children. It is calculated to fill the youthful mind with patriotism and natural history, besides touching the youthful heart with an emotion palpitating for all.

Notice the following

And this is the last of the rejected anthems I can quote from at present, my boy, though several hundred pounds yet remain untouched.

Yours, questioningly,

Orpheus C. Kerr.

Longfellow has borrowed the refrain of “The Old Clock on the Stairs” from a phrase of Jacques Bridaine:—

“L’éternité est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces deux mots seulement, dans le silence des tombeaux: ‘Toujours! jamais! Jamais! toujours!’”

It is somewhat remarkable that such a poet as Charles Beaudelaire, the tone of whose writings is generally far removed from that of Longfellow, should so often have borrowed sentiments and ideas from him. Thus in “L’Horloge” he has two verses distinctly reminiscent of “The Old Clock”:—

Another poem in “Les Fleurs du Mal” contains not only two verses appropriated from “A Psalm of Life,” but curiously weaves in with them a verse from Gray’s “Elegy in a Country Church-yard.” This piece of patchwork is entitled—

Beaudelaire himself admits that “Le Calumet de Paix” is an imitation of Longfellow, it is, in fact, a translation of The Peace-Pipe in “The Song of Hiawatha,” and opens thus:—

The spirit of the original poem is fairly well rendered throughout, but the exigencies of French rhyme do not admit the versification of “Hiawatha.” Whilst on the topic of paraphrases, it might be asked whether Longfellow did not borrow his line—

“Tell me not in mournful numbers,”

from

“Singet nicht in Trauertönen,”

in Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister?”

It should have been mentioned that the parody quoted on page 88, Part VI., entitled “The Close of the Season,” originally appeared in Punch, August 8, 1868, under the title, “Flight,” also, that a political parody of “The Bridge” was contained in Punch, July 8, 1865.

Edgar Allan Poe.

eird, thrilling, and mysterious as are the poems and novels of this unfortunate man of genius, nothing that he ever wrote could call up the emotions of pity and regret more powerfully than the melancholy story of his own wayward career, and his sad and early death.

Much has recently been written about Poe, and no difficulty can be found in learning all that is known, with any certainty, of his singular career; but an impenetrable veil of mystery still obscures the record of several years of his life, in spite of all the research of his numerous biographers.

The name of Mr. John H. Ingram has long been associated with these investigations, and his pen has supplied biographical, and critical essays, to all the best modern editions of his works. Many of the following parodies are copied from the large collection formed by Mr. Ingram, and especial mention must here be made of the curious so-called “Spiritual Poems,” supposed to have been written by the shade of Poe, which will be referred to later on.

Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, United States, on January 19, 1809. His parents, who were actors, died leaving him an orphan at an early age; he was adopted by a wealthy childless couple, of the name of Allan, by whom he was brought to England in 1816, and placed in a school at Stoke Newington. In 1821 he returned to the United States, and spent some years in desultory study and romantic rambles abroad, of which very little, that is reliable, is known.

At length his friends obtained a nomination for him to the West Point Military Academy, to which institution he was admitted as a cadet on July 1, 1830. But Poe soon took a dislike to a military career, and wilfully set the authorities at defiance, so that they had no option but to expel him. Having thus cast away all chance of an honourable career in the United States army, Poe returned to Richmond, to the house of his only friend and protector, Mr. Allan. But that gentleman, incensed at his conduct, would not receive him, and Poe was thus thrown penniless on the world.

He had already published a few poems, and now adopted the precarious profession of journalism, at which he laboured hard for several years, and then, with no settled income, still almost unknown, and with few prospects of an encouraging character, he was rash enough to marry his cousin, a girl but a little over fourteen years of age. This was in May, 1836; after a few years of struggling poverty and anxiety, his young wife broke a blood-vessel, and although she lingered on several years, it was as a doomed invalid, whose death was almost daily expected.

Poe was much attached to his wife, and having a highly strung sensitive nature, the grief and anxiety about her, unfitted him at times for all mental labour. On such occasions Poe had recourse to drink, thus adding new sorrow and fresh misery to his already darkened home. Yet, during this melancholy period of his life, Poe produced many of his wonderful tales of the imagination, and was maturing his finest poems.

His wife died early in 1846, and Poe, for a time, led a retired and solitary life; then he resumed his newspaper work, and his practice of lecturing on poetry and kindred topics. He was now fast making his way to a good position, his fame as a poet was rapidly spreading, his lecture engagements were remunerative, and it was rumoured that he was about to marry a wealthy widow.

With ordinary steadiness and application, a brilliant future awaited him, but his craving for drink proved fatal, although he struggled against it so far as to take the pledge of total abstinence. He started to visit New York, on business, and reached Baltimore on October 3, 1849, where it is supposed that he took some drugged whiskey, as he was found helpless in the streets. He was conveyed to the Washington University Hospital, where he died on the 7th of October, 1849.

Of his Poems, those which are the best known, and the most generally admired, are amongst the latest he produced. Thus, “The Raven,” which obtained a great and immediate success, was not published until early in 1845; “Eulalie,” in 26 August, 1845; “Ulalume,” most musical, most melancholy of poems, appropriately appeared soon after his wife’s death.

“To my Mother” was addressed to his mother-in-law, and best friend, Mrs. Clemm, in 1849; “Eldorado” and “For Annie” came out in the same year; whilst the two very celebrated poems, “Annabel Lee” and “The Bells” were not published until after their author’s death.

All his poems have a melancholy tinge, and, unlike most modern American authors, Poe seems almost destitute of humour.

“The Raven” is at once the most characteristic and the most popular of his poems; it is also that which is most frequently selected for parody, or imitation. Many authors have also adopted the metre for serious poems, such as “The Gazelle” and “The Dove.” Poe wrote an ingenious and amusing account of the origin and growth of “The Raven.” The article is much too long, and too discursive, to give in full; but the following extracts contain its most important passages:—

The Philosophy of Composition.

*  *  *  *  *

Holding in view these considerations, as well as that degree of excitement which I deemed not above the popular, while not below the critical taste, I reached at once what I conceived the proper length for my intended poem—a length of about one hundred lines. It is, in fact, a hundred and eight.

My next thought concerned the choice of an impression, or effect, to be conveyed: and here I may as well observe that, throughout the construction, I kept steadily in view the design of rendering the work universally appreciable. I should be carried too far out of my immediate topic were I to demonstrate a point upon which I have repeatedly insisted, and which, with the poetical, stands not in the slightest need of demonstration—the point, I mean that Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the Poem.

Regarding, then, Beauty as my province, my next question referred to the tone of its highest manifestation—and all experience has shown that this tone is one of sadness. Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy is thus the most legitimate of all the poetical tones.

These points being settled, I next bethought me of the nature of my refrain. Since its application was to be repeatedly varied, it was clear that the refrain itself must be brief, for there would have been an insurmountable difficulty in frequent variations of application in any sentence of length. In proportion to the brevity of the sentence, would, of course, be the facility of the variation. This led me at once to a single word as the best refrain.

The question now arose as to the character of the word. Having made up my mind to a refrain, the division of the poem into stanzas was, of course, a corollary; the refrain forming the close to each stanza. That such a close, to have force, must be sonorous and susceptible of protracted emphasis, admitted no doubt; and these considerations inevitably led me to the long o as the most sonorous vowel, in connection with r as the most producible consonant.

The sound of the refrain being thus determined, it became necessary to select a word embodying this sound, and at the same time in the fullest possible keeping with that melancholy which I had pre-determined as the tone of the poem. In such a search it would have been absolutely impossible to overlook the word “Nevermore.” In fact, it was the very first which presented itself.

The next desideratum was a pretext for the continuous use of the one word “Nevermore.” In observing the difficulty which I at once found in inventing a sufficiently plausible reason for its continuous repetition, I did not fail to perceive that this difficulty arose solely from the pre-assumption that the word was to be so continuously or monotonously spoken by a human being—I did not fail to perceive, in short, that the difficulty lay in the reconciliation of this monotony with the exercise of reason on the part of the creature repeating the word. Here, then, immediately arose the idea of a non-reasoning creature capable of speech; and, very naturally, a parrot, in the first instance, suggested itself, but was superseded forthwith by a Raven, as equally capable of speech, and infinitely more in keeping with the intended tone.

I had now gone so far as the conception of a Raven—the bird of ill omen—monotonously repeating the one word, “Nevermore,” at the conclusion of each stanza, in a poem of melancholy tone, and in length about one hundred lines. Now, never losing sight of the object supremeness, or perfection, at all points, I asked myself—“Of all melancholy topics, what, according to the universal understanding of mankind, is the most melancholy?” Death—was the obvious reply. “And when,” I said, “is this most melancholy of topics most poetical?” From what I have already explained at some length, the answer here also is obvious—“When it most closely allies itself to Beauty: the death, then, of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world—and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover.”

I had now to combine the two ideas, of a lover lamenting his deceased mistress and a Raven continuously repeating the word, “Nevermore.” I had to combine these, bearing in mind my design of varying, at every turn, the application of the word repeated; but the only intelligible mode of such combination is that of imagining the Raven employing the word in answer to the queries of the lover. And here it was that I saw at once the opportunity afforded for the effect on which I had been depending—that is to say, the effect of the variation of application. I saw that I could make the first query propounded by the lover—the first query to which the Raven should reply “Nevermore” that I could make this first query a commonplace one—the second less so—the third still less, and so on—until at length the lover, startled from his original nonchalance by the melancholy character of the word itself—by its frequent repetition—and by a consideration of the ominous reputation of the fowl that uttered it—is at length excited to superstition, and wildly propounds queries of a far different character—queries whose solution he has passionately at heart—propounds them half in superstition, and half in that species of despair which delights in self-torture—propounds them not altogether because he believes in the prophetic or demoniac character of the bird (which, reason assures him, is merely repeating a lesson learned by rote) but because he experiences a frenzied pleasure in so modelling his questions as to receive from the expected “Nevermore” the most delicious because the most intolerable of sorrow. Perceiving the opportunity thus afforded me—or, more strictly, thus forced upon me in the progress of the construction I first established in mind the climax, or concluding query—that query to which “Nevermore” 27 should be in the last place an answer—that query in reply to which this word “Nevermore” should involve the utmost conceivable amount of sorrow and despair.

Here, then, the poem may be said to have its beginning—at the end, where all works of art should begin—for it was here, at this point of my preconsiderations, that I first put pen to paper in the composition of the stanza:—

*  *  *  *  *

At the time when Poe produced “The Raven” he was editor of “The Broadway Journal,” published in New York. The first number appeared on January 4, 1845, and in the number for April 26, 1845, Poe inserted the following editorial note, which shows that he was not averse to a parody of even his own most grave and solemn poem:—

A Gentle Puff.

“If we copied into our Journal all the complimentary notices that are bestowed upon us, it would contain hardly anything besides; the following done into poetry is probably the only one of the kind that we shall receive, and we extract it from our neighbour, the New World, for the sake of its uniqueness.”

C. C. Cooke, a young Virginian poet, who died at a very early age, also wrote “The Gazelle,” a poem of which Poe said “Although professedly an imitation, has a very great deal of original power.”

This was headed:—

“The following, from our new-found boy poet of fifteen years of age, shows a most happy faculty of imitation”:—

This somewhat dull imitation consists of twenty-four verses in all, the extracts sufficiently indicate its style. The numerous parodies to be found in the American papers as early as 1845 attest how rapidly “The Raven” had acquired popularity.

The following clever parody appeared originally in “Cruikshank’s Comic Almanac” for 1853, but it was reproduced in “The Piccadilly Annual,” published in 1870 by John Camden Hotten. The parody was written by Robert Brough, and was most humorously illustrated by H. G. Hine:—

THE VULTURE:
An Ornithological Study.
(After the late Edgar A. Poe.)

The Vulture is the most cruel, deadly, and voracious of birds of prey. He is remarkable for his keen scent, and for the tenacity with which he invariably clings to the victim on whom he has fixed his gripe. He is not to be shaken off whilst the humblest pickings remain. He is usually to be found in an indifferent state of feather.—New Translation of Cuvier.

The Cat-Fiend.
(An Original Adaptation.)

On a bleak evening of December I sat alone in my gloomy chambers and brooded over the past. I had sought in vain to turn the current of my thoughts by plunging into metaphysical researches: Watts on the Mind lay open, but 33 unheeded, beside me. Never had the apartment worn so ghostly an aspect. My lamp threw a fitful gleam upon the sumptuous but sombre furniture; the fire was expiring, yet I lacked energy to put on more coals. If I had been expiring myself I should have hated the man who put coals upon me.

The chief object of my memories was a young person to whom I had formerly been attached. I dwelt fondly, but bitterly, upon the day when my Leonora, accompanied by her vulgar and intrusive mother, had brightened my dingy rooms in ——’s Inn with her presence to tea, previous to visiting Drury Lane Theatre. That was all over now; Leonora married into the city and left me desolate. I am not even acquainted with her present name; but it fills me with despondency to think that her graceful form will never again press the velvet lining of my quaintly carved arm-chair.

While I sat buried in my sad reflections, it seemed as though there came a soft rapping at my outer door. It was growing so late that I made my mind up to disregard the summons. “It is only Briggs,” I murmured; “if I admit him he will weary me with platitudes until the dawn. Or it is Potter, perchance, advanced in liquor, I will none of him.”

At this point the rapping was renewed more loudly. My resolution suddenly changed, and I resolved that I would explore the mystery. Making my way to the door I flung it wide open. The landing was in darkness; no voice gave answer to my challenge, and, feeling a little nervous, I slammed the door and went back to my arm-chair by the fire.

Weird—ghastly—inscrutable—was the apparition that awaited me! Stretched upon the hearth-rug at my feet lay a large cat of ebon blackness, glaring at me with a pair of wild eyes in which anger was mingled with an expression of diabolical sarcasm. The blood curdled in my veins; I seized the poker and yelled, “Get out, beast! How dare you come in here? Go away directly, or——!”

The lips of the animal opened and pronounced slowly and solemnly the words “Never no more!”

My hair stood on end, and the poker fell from my grasp.

“Horrible being!” I cried;—“fearful and ungrammatical being leave me, and return to darkness and the Stygian shore.”

“Never no more!” said the brute: “I’ve come to stay for ever.”

“Nonsense, monster; you are insane,” I shouted.

“Fact, I assure you,” replied my tormentor;—“they hadn’t got no raven handy, and so they sent me. It’s about the Leonora business.”

“Ah, that name! Tell me, I implore you, tell me—is she a widow yet? May I hope? Shall I again behold her?”

“Never no more!”

This was too much. I ran and threw the door open again—came back—firmly grasped the poker, and——

But the beast had sought refuge under the sofa. Thence it retreated beneath my table, and thence under the arm-chair. Round and round the apartment I chased it vainly. Its demoniac laugh thrilled me with rage and horror.

*  *  *  *  *

The cat-fiend still inhabits my gloomy chambers. I have abandoned all hope of expelling it. The creature exists without food, so that the expedient of starvation is impracticable. At all hours of the day and night I am haunted by the wild eyes of my hated persecutor: at all hours of the day and night I hear the detested brute murmuring with a chuckle that maddens me,

“Never no more!”

Fun, February 1, 1868.

The above parody appeared in The Tomahawk after the execution, on June 19, 1867, of the Emperor Maximilian in Mexico. “The Craven” was intended for Napoleon III., to whose Government The Tomahawk was bitterly opposed.