Very little introductory matter would probably be sufficient to place
the rising generation on terms of the most perfect familiarity with a
"Comic Latin Grammar." To the elder and middle-aged portion of the
community, however, the very notion of such a work may seem in the
highest degree preposterous; if not indicative of a degree of
presumptuous irreverence on the part of the author little short of
literary high treason, if not commensurate, in point of moral
delinquency, with the same crime as defined by the common law of
England. It is out of consideration for the praiseworthy, though perhaps
erroneous, feelings of such respectable personages, that we proceed to
make the following preliminary remarks; wherein it will be our object,
by demonstrating the necessity which exists for such a publication as
the present, to exonerate ourselves from all blame on the score of its
production.
When we consider the progress of civilization and refinement, we find
that all ages have in turn been characterized by some one distinctive
peculiarity or other. To say nothing of the Golden Age, the Silver Age,
the Iron Age, and so forth, which, with all possible respect for the
poets, can scarcely be said to be worth much in a grave argument; it is
quite clear that the Augustan Age, the Middle Ages, the Elizabethan Age,
and the Age of Queen Anne, were all of them very different, one from the
other, in regard to the peculiar tone of feeling which distinguished the
public mind in each of them. In like manner, the present (which will
hereafter probably be called the Victorian Age) is very unlike all that
have preceded it. It may be termed the Age of Comicality. Not but that
some traces of comic feeling, inherent as it is in the very nature of
man, have not at all times been more or less observable; but it is only
of late years that the ludicrous capabilities of the human mind have
expanded in their fullest vigour. Comicality has heretofore been evinced
only, as it were, in isolated sparks and flashes, instead of that full
blaze of meridian splendour which now pervades the entire mechanism of
society, and illuminates all the transactions of life. Thus in the
Golden Age, there was something very comical in human creatures eating
acorns, like pigs. The Augustan Age was comical enough, if we may trust
some of Horace's satires. Much comicality was displayed in the Middle
Ages, in the proceedings of the knights errant, the doings in Palestine,
and the mode adopted by the priests of inculcating religion on the minds
of the people. In the Elizabethan Age several comic incidents occurred
at court; particularly when any of the courtiers were guilty of personal
impertinence to their virgin queen. It must have been very comical to
see Shakspere holding stirrups like an ostler, or performing the part of
the Ghost, in his own play of Hamlet. The dress worn in Queen Anne's
time, and that of the first Georges, was very comical indeed-- but
enough of this. Our concern is with the present time-- the funniest
epoch, beyond all comparison, in the history of the world. Some few
years back, the minds of nations, convulsed with the great political
revolutions then taking place, were in a mood by no means apt to be
gratified by whimsicality and merriment. Furthermore, certain poets of
the lack-a-daisical school, such as Byron, Shelley, Goethe, and others,
writing in conformity with the prevailing taste of the day, threw a wet
blanket on the spirits of men, which all but extinguished the feeble
embers of mirth, upon which 'shocking events' had exercised so
pernicious an influence already: or, to change a vulgar for a scientific
metaphor, they placed such a pressure of sentimental atmosphere on the
common stock of laughing gas, as to convert it into a mere fluid, and
almost to solidify it altogether. It is now exhibiting the amazing
amount of expansive force, which under favourable circumstances it is
capable of exerting. Many causes have combined to bring about the happy
state of things under which we now live. Amongst these, the exertions of
individuals hold the first rank; of whom the veteran Liston, the late
lamented Mr. John Reeve, the facetious Keeley, and the inimitable
Buckstone, are deserving of our highest commendation. And more
especially is praise due to the talented author of the Pickwick Papers,
whose genius has convulsed the sides of thousands, has revolutionized
the republic of letters (making, no doubt, a great many _sovereigns_)
and has become, as it were, a mirror, which will reflect to all
posterity the laughter-loving spirit of his age.
But it is not (as we have before remarked) in literature alone, that the
tendency to the ludicrous is shewn. In many recent scientific
speculations it is strikingly and abundantly obvious-- some of those on
geology may be quoted as examples. The offspring of the sciences-- those
pledges of affection which they present to art, almost all of them, come
into the world with a caricature-like smirk upon their faces.
Air-balloons and rail-roads have something funny about them; and
photogenic drawings are, to say the least, very curious. The learned
professions are all tinged with drollery. The law is confessedly
ridiculous from beginning to end, and what is very strange, is that no
one should attempt to make it otherwise. Medicine is comical-- or rather
tragi-comical-- the disparity of opinion among its professors, the
chaotic state of its principles, and the conduct of its students being
considered. No one can deny that the distribution of church property is
somewhat _odd_, or can assert that the doings-- at least of those who
are destined for the clerical office, are now and then of rather a
strange character. Political meetings are very laughable things, when we
reflect upon the strong asseverations of patriotism there made and
believed. The wisdom of the legislature is by no means of the gravest
class, particularly when it offers municipal reforms as a substitute for
bread. The debates in a certain House must be of a very humourous
character, if we may judge from the frequent "hear hear, and a laugh,"
by which the proceedings there are interrupted. Our risible faculties
are continually called into action at public lectures of all kinds; and
indeed, no lecturer, however learned he may be, has much chance
now-a-days of instructing, unless he can also amuse his audience. Nor
can the various public and even private buildings, which are daily
springing up around us, like so many mushrooms, be contemplated without
considerable emotions of mirthfulness. The new style of ecclesiastical
architecture, entitled the Cockney-Gothic, affords a good illustration
of this remark; but the comic Temple of the Fine Arts, in Trafalgar
Square, is what Lord Bacon would have called a "glaring instance" of its
correctness. The occurrences of the day bear all of them the stamp of
facetiousness. The vote of approbation, lately passed on a certain
course of policy, is a capital joke; the tricks that are constantly
played off upon John Bull by the Russians, French, Yankees, and others,
though somewhat impertinent to the aforesaid John, must seem very
diverting to lookers on. The state of the Drama may also be brought
forward in proof of our position. Tragedies are at a discount; farces
are at a premium; lions, nay goats and monkeys, are pressed into the
service of Momus. Even the various institutions for the advancement of
morals have not escaped the influence of the prevailing taste. To
mention that respectable body of men, the Teetotallers, is sufficient of
itself to excite a smile. In short, look wherever you will, you will
find it a matter of the greatest difficulty to keep your countenance.
The truth is, that people are tired of crying, and find it much more
agreeable to laugh. The sublime is out of fashion; the ridiculous is in
vogue. A turn-up nose is now a more interesting object than a turn-down
collar; and if it should be urged that the flowing locks of our young
men are indicative of sentimentality by their _length_, let it be
remembered that they are in general quite unaccompanied by a
corresponding quality of face. It has been said that the schoolmaster is
abroad:-- true; but he is walking arm and arm with the Merry-Andrew; and
the members, presidents, and secretaries of mechanics' institutions, and
associations for the advancement of everything, follow in his train.
Nothing can be taught that is not palatable, and nothing is now
palatable but what is funny. That boys should be instructed in the Latin
language will be denied by few (although by some eccentric persons this
has been done); that they can be expected to learn what they cannot
laugh at will, to all reflecting minds, especially on perusing the
foregoing considerations, appear in the highest degree unreasonable. To
conclude:-- let all such as are disposed to stare at the title of our
work, ponder attentively on what we have said above; let them, in the
language of the farce, "put this and that together," and they will at
once perceive the beneficial effect, which holding up the Latin Grammar
to ridicule is likely to produce in the minds of youth. So much for the
satisfaction of our senior readers. And now, no longer to detain our
juvenile friends, let us proceed to business, or pleasure, or both:-- we
will not stand upon ceremony with respect to terms.
[Illustration: THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD.]