and so on, as sufficiently nonsensical. It is simply a _jeu de mots_, and no more, though funny enough as it stands. One is better satisfied when one comes to the 'Tom Thumb' of Henry Fielding and the 'Chrononhotonthologos' of Henry Carey, though even in those diverting squibs it is rarely that the versifier surrenders himself wholly to 'Divine Nonsensia.' That charming goddess was saluted to more purpose in 'The Anti-Jacobin,' where she was invoked to make charming fun of 'The Loves of the Plants.' In 'The Progress of Man' (in the same delectable collection) occurs the inspired passage: 'Ah, who has seen the mailed lobster rise, Clap her broad wings, and, soaring, claim the skies When did the owl, descending from her bower, Crop, 'mid the fleecy flocks, the tender flower? Or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb, In the salt wave and, fish-like, strive to swim?' But even this is too consistent in its grotesqueness to be perfect nonsense. One becomes acquainted with better nonsense the nearer one gets to one's own times. How clever, for instance, was that well-known 'dream' of Planche's, in which he fancied that he 'Was walking with Homer, and talking The very best Greek I was able--was able-- When Guy, Earl of Warwick, with Johnson and Garrick, Would dance a Scotch-reel on the table--the table; When Hannibal, rising, declared 'twas surprising That gentlemen made such a riot--a riot-- And sent in a bustle to beg Lord John Russell Would hasten and make them all quiet--all quiet.' It may be that Mr. W. S. Gilbert had this in his mind when, in 'Patience,' he pictured the processes by which to manufacture a heavy dragoon; but here, again, the design is too obvious, the incongruity a little too apparent. The late Shirley Brooks extracted much fun out of a mosaic of quotations from the poets, beginning: 'Full many a gem of purest ray serene, That to be hated needs but to be seen, Invites my lay; be present, sylvan maids, And graceful deer reposing in the shades.' Very good nonsense is this, if not of the best; and it leads us up naturally to the more consummate performances of Mr. Calverley, whose exquisite mimicry of Mr. Browning and Miss Ingelow, in their most incomprehensible or most affected moods, is too well known to need description. Favourable mention may also be made of a certain ballad composed by the late Professor Palmer, in illustration of his inability to master nautical terms, which he furbishes up in mirth-provoking fashion. But, putting aside Mr. Lear, the most successful, the most precious nonsense ever written has been supplied by writers still, happily, in our midst. And of these, of course, Mr. Lewis Carroll is obviously _facile princeps_--not only by reason of the immortal 'Jabberwocky,' but by reason, also, of 'The Hunting of the Snark,' in which there are some very felicitous passages.