I, the proverbial philosopher, sing of “electrical storage,” As discovered by Thompson (Sir William), a philosopher whose name is also proverbial. Pride is a horrible sin, and I am no sinner; So I do not hesitate to extend my hand in greeting to Sir William, Trusting that he will not overmuch presume on my affability. Hitherto I have been sorely flouted not only by eagles, But also by that ridiculous creature the gnat――in Latin ’tis called _culex pipiens_. Laughter was good for the gods of Homer; but we are not gods nor Homeric, And laughter too audibly laughed betrays the void mind of the laugher. Therefore, instead of cachinnating, I smile with supernal sarcasm To think that a gnat should dare to flout the stringer of proverbial pearls On silken threads of verse, strengthened and made indestructible By wax from philosophy’s beehive warmed in the sun of experience; But oh! Raptorial Bird! oh, vilest of all the _culicides_! Emblems both of the critics, carnivorous and sharp-stinging reviewers, I will be even with you now. I’ll fly, but not on waxen wings like silly Icarus―― Not in a balloon, or in anything on the levitation principle: That was all very well for Mr. Green and M. de Montgolfier, But I say that levitation is all my eye and my elbow. (Proverb that verges on slang, but its uses hath slang, like adversity). No levitation for me; but force like that of a cannon-ball. Not that I mean to be shot out of a twelve-pounder like Zazel at the Aquarium, But to be propelled by tame gunpowder. “How shall I tame it?” Have you never heard of Carter the Lion King, or of Myn Heer Van Amburg? Did not they tame furious mammalia? And did they tell you how they did it? So shall I not tell you how I intend to tame this “villanous saltpetre.” But I’ll do it, or have it done for me by “our mechanicians,” They shall invent a machine to be loaded with domesticated gunpowder (I patenting the discovery, of course, as the author of the suggestion), That shall enable me to reign in the blue empyrean and complete the subdual of the planet Which is and has been for ever so long my heritage. Wo, then, wo to the gnats! wo to the Jewish-nosed eagle! I put the least first and the greatest last, partly to snub the King of the Falconidæ, And partly because it better suits my rhythm―― I will not say my _metre_ because I condemn all trammels, Pouring out my soul in lines of unequal lengths occasionally relieved by hexameters. Wo, wo, wo! to the eagle! Now you see I reverse things again, Vice-versa-ing my apostrophe――’tis a common trick of versemen and orators―― Soon the eagle of song will soar ever so much higher than the eagle who can’t sing; And he won’t like that――the other eagle I mean, of course: So he’ll let himself fall into the sea like a thunderbolt. (That last idea is not mine, but a Mr.