In by-gone days it was quite the fashion for learned and clever people
to amuse themselves by forming anagrams on the names of their
acquaintances or on those of the celebrated public men. Isaac Disraeli,
father of the late Lord Beaconsfield, mentions the custom in his book
about the _Curiosities of Literature_.
It was considered a delicate compliment to send an anagram to your
friend. One polite Frenchman, a poet, as it happened, sent his
lady-love, whose name was Magdelaine, a budget containing no less than
three dozen quaint and witty anagrams.
And now perhaps you would like me to tell you what an anagram is, and
how it is made. It is a simple playing with letters. You take any word
or sentence, and you make other words and sentences from it, using all
the letters in the original, and changing them about as you please, so
long as you make sense, but not using any others. You may not omit an
_a_ or an _o_ which chances to be in your way, and you may not borrow a
_t_ or an _s_ from the rest of the alphabet to help you out of a puzzle.
You must use only the letters in the name you have selected.
Galenus transposed becomes Angelus. I ought to tell you here that there
are exceptions to the rule requiring you to use only the letters given
in any name. In old times _i_, _j_, _u_, _v_, _w_, and sometimes _c_ and
_k_, were changed around by people to suit their own convenience, and
so, rather than lose the making of a very good anagram, you may take
some liberties with those particular letters.
On a rainy spring evening, when you are all at home together, it would
be charming to try this antiquated game of wit. Get out the sheets of
note-paper and the pens, and let everybody help. I would not be
astonished if even grandpa were to take a share in the fun.
Let me give you some illustrations. Queen Elizabeth was noted during her
long reign for her wise government at home, and her courage in defying
her enemies of other lands. She was always surrounded by courtiers who
liked to please her, and in her day it was thought more elegant to write
in Latin than in plain English. One of the noblemen made this anagram
one day after dinner:
Elizabetha Regina AngliƦ--
Anglis Agna, HiberiƦ Lea.
Of course this Latin does not bother the big boys, but for the benefit
of little Puss in the Corner, I'll translate it. It means that
Elizabeth, the Queen, was a lamb to the English and a lion to the
Spanish, which the latter no doubt thought was true when the great ships
that composed their wonderful "Armada" went to pieces on her coast.
In very, very old times there was an idea that an anagram really
possessed the power to tell a person's character. But that was mere
nonsense. It is only a dainty trifle, like a cross-word, an acrostic, or
any other puzzle.
There was once a Lady Eleanor Davies, who annoyed the community by
preaching in the streets of London. She was very likely insane, but she
thought herself a prophetess. The police arrested her, and she was taken
before the English Court of High Commission to answer for her
misbehavior.
She said she knew God wished her to preach, because she had found in her
name this anagram:
Eleanor Davies--.
Reveal, O Daniel.
Now she ought to have had here an _s_, and she had an _l_ to which she
had no right, so her anagram was not correct. It rather impressed the
by-standers, though, and the judges would have found it hard to persuade
the poor lady to promise to keep still in future, if she had not been
crushed by another anagram which somebody made up on the spot,
Dame Eleanor Davies--
Never so mad a ladie!
From that moment she yielded to her fate.
Nobody was ever more hated than Napoleon Bonaparte in England in the
beginning of this century. Therefore he was a popular man who was the
author of this:
Napoleon Bonaparte--
Bona rapta leno pone.
"Rascal, yield up your stolen possessions."
There are two very good anagrams on two of Napoleon's conquerors, Arthur
Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, and Horatio Nelson. The first is, "Let
well-foiled Gaul secure thy renown." Gaul is the ancient name of France.
The second is in Latin:
Horatio Nelson--
Honor est a Nilo.
"There is honor from the Nile." The battle of the Nile was the first in
which Lord Nelson won a great victory, when he was highest in command.
Many of you have read in history, and in the novels of Sir Walter Scott,
about that unfortunate Prince, Charles James Stuart, who was called the
Pretender. The brave Highlanders rallied around him, and gave their
lives and fortunes in the attempt to restore him to his father's throne,
partly because they had great faith in two anagrams. One was:
Charles James Stuart--
He asserts a true claim.
The other,
James Stuart--
A just master.
Alas, for "bonnie Prince Chairlie!" the charm was in vain. He never sat
on England's throne. He died without a kingdom, a broken-hearted man.
The question asked by the Roman Governor, Pilate, of our Saviour, who
stood before him a prisoner, "What is truth?" is, in Latin, "Quid est
Veritas?" It has been rendered, "Vir est qui adest," the Man who is
before you.
You remember Florence Nightingale, who went with a band of nurses to
take care of the poor soldiers wounded in the Crimea, or sick with fever
in the wretched camps of the allied armies. They called her "the lady
with the lamp," and all England--yes, all the world--loves her. Is not
this a pretty anagram on her sweet name:
Florence Nightingale--
Flit on, cheering angel?
It is curious what _pat_ anagrams you may make on certain words which
relate to things. For instance, _Presbyterian_, by a shake like a turn
of the kaleidoscope, is "best in prayer," and _Penitentiary_, "nay, I
repent it." _Old England_ easily becomes "Golden Land," and what could
better describe the state of busy _editors_ than "so tired" of reading
and writing? _Astronomers_ are "moon-starers," of course; and is not the
_telegraph_ "a great help"?
We wonder who will succeed best in this anagram building, father and
mother or the young folks? If some of the latter succeed in making very
happy anagrams, they will not regret their revival of this old-fashioned
amusement.