Unlike Lewis Carroll, Edward Lear never published explicit parodies of other people’s poems, which is not to say that he did not write any. On the contrary, his early poems, starting with “Eclogue,” based on Collins’s “Hassan, or the Camel Driver,” are very often parodies. Lear was also fond of providing his own comic illustrations to popular poems (see my previous Irish Sources of Edward Lear’s Early Picture Stories).

Although he did not have a formal musical education, Lear also enjoyed singing at the piano; in later life he was quite successful with his arrangements of Tennyson’s songs (see Lear Vamping), a selection from which was published in 1859 (the entries in his Diaries for September-November 1858 record his collaboration with E.F. Rimbault to prepare this edition). As a young man in Knowsley he probably preferred lighter subjects to entertain Lord Derby and his guests, and in this context adding a few stanzas to a well-known comic song would have been a good idea.

I have been unable to find “The Nervous Family,” the “published song” Lear decided to add to, but it is mentioned in the advertising section of Comic Songs to Popular Tunes. Ninth Collection, by J. Beuler (London: J. Beuler, 1833) as having already been published by the same “J. Beuler, 4, Bury Place, Bloomsbury, London” in a collection of Songs with accompaniment for the Piano-forte.

The song, in any case, was the parody of an older one, “We’re a’ Noddin,” composed by William Hawes on a poem, two versions of which can be found in The Universal Songster; or, Museum of Mirth: Forming the Most Complete, Extensive, and Valuable Collection of Ancient and Modern Songs in the English Language. Twenty-nine Wood-cuts by George and Robert Cruikshank engraved by J.R. Marshall. Vol. 1. London: Jones and Co., 1834, 208:

WE’RE A’ NODDIN.

(Original Words.)

CHORUS.
WE’RE a’ noddin, nid, nid, noddin,
We’re a’ noddin, at our house at hame.

Gude e’en to you, Kimmer, and how do ye do?
Hiccup — quo’ Kimmer, the.better that I’m fou.
We’re a’ noddin, &c.

Kate sits i’ the neuk, sippin’ hen broo,
Deil tak Kate, and she be na noddin too!
We’re a’ noddin, &c.

How’s a’ wi’ you, Kimmer, and how do ye fare?
A pint o’ the best o’t, and twa pints mair.
We’re a’ noddin, &c.

How’s a’ wi’ you, Kimmer, and how do ye thrive?
How mony bairns hae ye? — Quo’ Kimmer, I hae five.
We’re a’ noddin, &c.

Are they a’ Johnny’s?—Eh! atweel na;
Twa o’ them were gotten when Johnny was awa.
We’re a’ noddin, &c.

Cats like milk weel, and dogs like broo,
Lads like lasses weel, and lasses lads too.
We’re a’ noddin, &c.

О, WE’RE A’ NODDIN AT OUR HOUSE AT HAME.

(As altered, and sung in London, &c.)

O, WE’RE a’ noddin, nid, nid, nodding,
O we’re a’ noddin at our house at hame.
When the dame’s asleep, and the gude man’s fu’,
When lads love lasses, and lasses love so true,
Kate sits i’ the neuk, and her Jo sits by.
And the moon shines bright as the love in her eye.
And they’re a’ noddin, &c.

And how d’ye kimmer? and how d’ye, dear?
How long hae ye loved me? — a twalmonth or near;
I ha’ lov’d ye a twalmonth, dearer than life,
And e’re a day aulder, I’se mak’ ye my wife.
And be aye noddin, &c.

And how d’ye kimmer? and how d’ye thrive?
O’ siller and goud I ha plenty to wive;
Gie’s your hand then, my Jo, — O, na, na, na,
My hand it was promised to Willie far awa!
And we’re a’ noddin, &c.

The latter, the version used in Lear’s parody, is attributed to Robert Burns, from Johnson’s Scots Musical Museum, vol. 3, 1790. The two first stanzas, however, appear in Herd’s collection, 1776. John Lockhart, The Works of Robert Burns; Containing His Life. (New York: William Pearson, 1835), 167.

A score for the poem, but with different words, appeared in Davidson’s Universal Melodist. Vol 1 (London: G.H. Davidson, 1853), 192:

Hawes’s song was wildly popular in the 1820s, so much as to be the cause of a copyright-infringement case, as told in The Georgian Era: Memoirs of the Most Eminent Persons. Vol. 4. (London: Vizetelly, Branston and Co., 1834), 280:

“Mr. Hawes had previously acquired a deservedly high celebrity as the composer and harmonizer of various songs, duets, &c. On the production of Montrose, or the Children of the Mist, at Covent Garden, in February, 1822, Miss Stephens sang two songs arranged by Mr. Hawes, Charlie is my Darling, and We’re a’ Noddin. The latter acquired great popularity, and being pirated and published in one of the magazines, by Mr. Taylor, jun., Mr. Hawes applied to the lord-chancellor for an injunction; but after having, in support of his copyright, expended £120, and Mr. Taylor, in his defence, £70, the lord-chancellor (Eldon,) finally declared that he knew nothing of music, and left each party to pay his own costs!!”

The detailed version is offered by the Gentleman’s Magazine, 42, January-June 1822 p. 270:

Thursday, March 14.
In the Court of Chancery (Hawes v. Sams.) Mr. Shadwell applied to the Court for an injunction to restrain the defendant, Mr. Sams, from publishing the song “We’re a’ noddin, nid, nid, noddin,” which, he said, was an old song, but with new music arranged by the plaintiff. The defendant had thought proper to publish it in the monthly publication, called the “Gazette of Fashion,” with the precise music of the plaintiff. The Lord Chancellor said he had got the “Gentleman’s Magazine” from the first number down to the present, in each of which a song had been published. He did not like to cut up a book of this description because this song was in it. His Lordship refused the application. — A Motion has since been made in the Vice-Chancellor’s Court, but has met with the same ill success.

The song appears to have been very fashionable in the 1820s, when it was repeatedly published in different versions, but it clearly remained a favourite for a long time e.g. We’re a Noddin, with Variations for Flute, with an Accompaniment for the Piano Forte, by Wm. Card. London. Lavenu. (1824), Trois Airs variés pour la Piano-forte, par Henri Hertz. — No. 1. Partant pour la Syrie; — 2. La Swissesse au bord du lac; — 3. We’re a Noddin (1828), Thalberg’s fantasia on “We’re a’ noddin” (The Musical World, XXIX, 1851, p. 251) as well as the above-mentioned version.

Here, at last, is the text of Edward Lear’s manuscript:

The Nervous Family

(Tune –

We’re a’ noddin,
nod, nod, noddin,
& we’re a’ noddin,
at our house at home)

1

We’re all nervous, very very nervous,
And we’re all nervous, at our house in town,
There’s myself, & my Aunt, & my Sister, & my Mother, –
And if left in the dark we’re quite frightened at each other!
Our Dog runs away if there’s a stranger in the house,
And our Great Tabby Cat is quite frightened at a mouse, –

For we’re all nervous, very &c.

2

My poor shaking Aunt can’t work at the needle,
And my shaking hand spills half my cup of tea.
When wine at her dinner my timid sister’s taking –
She drops it on the table, so much her hand is shaking –
And my poor old shaky Mother when to take her snuff she tries
To pop it in her nose, — she pops it in her eyes.

For she’s so nervous, very &c.

3

We all at dinner, shake – shake at carving,
And as for snuffing Candles, we all put out the light;
T’other evening after dinner we all to snuff did try,
But my Aunt couldn’t do it, nor my Sister, nor could I.
“Chill! Give me the snuffers!” said my Mother in a flout,
“I’ll show you how to do it!” – so she did, & snuffed it out,

For she’s so nervous,
very very nervous, — –
& we’re all of us nervous
at our home in town.

{Thus far is part of an old published song – the rest is mine. E.L.}

4

We’re getting much too nervous to go out to dinner
For we all sit a shaking, just like puppets upon wires.
I’m too nervous to speak loud, so I’m scarcely ever able
To ask for what I want, or to talk across the table; –
And my poor shaking Aunt where’er she sits, I sure to see,
Some sympathizing Jelly always shaking vis a vis, –

Which make her more nervous, very very &c.
And we’re all of us too –

5

We’re too nervous to get ready in time to go to church,
So we never go at all, since we once went late one day;
For the clergyman looked at us, with a dreadful sort of frown,
And my poor shaky mother caught his eye & tumbled down; –
And my Aunt & Sister fainted, — and tho’ with care & pain
We dragged them slowly out, — yet we’ve never been again –

And we’re all nervous, very &c.

6

Our nerves in stormy weather are particularly bad,
And a single peal of thunder is enough to drive us mad.
So, when a storm comes on, we in a fright begin
To lock ourselves in closets where the lightening can’t come in;
And for fear a little thunder to our nervous Ears should come,
We each turn a barrel organ, & my Mother beats a drum,

For we’re all nervous, very very nervous,
And we’re all nervous at our house in town.

These last 3 verses were composed by me at Knowsley, 1836.

Edward Lear.

The Edward Lear version of the song was first published, together with an alternative, very different one which appears to take its metre from the original “We’re a’ Noddin,” in The Complete Verse and Other Nonsense (ed. Vivien Noakes, London: Penguin, 2001, 53) and has been arranged for chorus by Benjamin Lees and performed by The Young People’s Chorus of New York: you can listen to part of the song and buy the CD containing it at CDBaby (the song is also available on iTunes). A review of the concert reveals that Lees was also inspired by Lear’s limericks to compose the interesting-sounding Vocalise:

The Nervous Family, commissioned by Young People’s Chorus, introduced the young chorus to the stage, and a double bassoon accompaniment added to the mix. The students, in yellow, red, and lavender, with young ladies in scarves and young men in jackets, were theatrically ready, as they kept repeating the word “nervous” in a humorous and surreal fashion. Lees’ Vocalise, a world premiere, inspired by Edward Lear limericks, reconfigured the chorus, as they sang only a one syllable short-A vowel, over and over, in melancholy, but melodic tones.

The diaries, however, also preserve Lear’s moods and working habits and are indispensable to date his artistic output; they also provide interesting information on places and travelling habits in the second half of the 19th century. And, of course, they record the day-to-day life of one of the great humorists of the Victorian age; a man who, as his lifelong friend Franklin Lushington wrote after his death, deserved “love for his goodness of heart & determination to do right.”

Coming to the point, I have started a new blog devoted to the diaries which will post transcripts of all the entries from 1 January 1858 to 12 May 1862, Lear’s fiftieth birthday. The original idea was to publish each entry 150 years after it was written, but the delay I have accumulated forces me to post 1858 in instalments of about five entries a day until the end of the year. The first five are online now and regular posting will start on Tuesday, 7 October.

This is a long-term project which will come to an end on 12 May 2012 (the bicentenary of Edward Lear’s birth), but I promise I will be regular in my posting, something that cannot be said for the Blog of Bosh.

Lear’s interest in Ireland and its traditions was certainly stimulated by his strict connection with the Stanley family, who had large possessions in the island; it was probably during one of his frequent stays at Knowsley between 1832 and 1837 that he produced sets of illustrations, first published in Lear in the Original, for two traditional Irish stories, “The Adventures of Daniel O’Rourke” and “The Adventures of Mick,” from “Daniel O’Rourke” and “Legend of Bottle Hill,” two short stories published in Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland (London: John Murray, 1834 — but there are editions as early as 1825 — pp. 134ff. and 33ff. respectively).

These pictures, together with the Moore adaptations (excluding St. Kiven) were part of an album Lear probably produced for some member of the Hornby family, whom Lear met at Knowsley.

I have recently identified the source for another set of Lear illustrations, first published by Vivien Noakes in The Complete Nonsense and Other Verse (London: Penguin, 2001,  pp. 40-2): “I slept, and back to my early days.” The original appeared, under the title “A Dream,” in The Dublin University Magazine: A Literary and Political Journal. (Volume I, Issue 2. February 1833, p. 145):

I slept — and back to my early days
Did wandering fancy roam,
When my hopes were bright, and my heart was light,
And my own a happy home.

And I dream’d I was young and innocent,
And my brow untrac’d by care,
While my parents smil’d on their darling child,
And breath’d for his weal a prayer.

Once again I was rising before the sun,
For in childhood I was told,
If its earliest ray on my head should play,
It would turn each tress to gold.

I was kneeling again on the grassy knoll,
Where I never may kneel more,
And I pray’d and was blest with that holier rest,
Whose halcyon reign is o’er.

I was sporting again through the fields and flowers,
And felt at each step new joys; –
But I woke with a sigh that e’er memory
Should revive what time destroys.

Lear provided five illustrations and copied four of the five stanzas (leaving out the last but one) and seems to have written down the text from memory as there are several, though small, variants. Unlike Lewis Carroll, Lear very seldom, if ever, parodied poems, and in this case too he provides a simple paraphrase for passages he probably could not remember; the comic effect is obtained in part by introducing a conventionally low speech register (”vos” for “was” and so on), but mostly through the pictures which, as often happens in nonsense, are literal representations of worn metaphors:

I slept, and back to my early days
Did wandering fancy roam –
When my heart vos light and my opes vos bright
And my own a appy ome.

When I dreamed I was young and hinnocent –
And my art vos free from care,
And my Parents smiled on their darling child,
And breathed for his [ ] a prayer.

Once again I was rising before the sun,
For in childhood I was told –
If its earliest ray on my head should play –
It would turn each tress to gold.

Once again I vos roaming through fileds and flowers,
And I felt at each step new joys –
But I woke with a sigh that memory
Should revive what time destroys.

When I first found the anonymously-published poem I felt sure it was by James Clarence Mangan, but it does not appear in the 4-volume collected works recently published, and David James O’Donoghue (The Life and Writings of James Clarence Mangan. Edinburgh: Patrick Geddes & Colleagues, 1897: 77) states that Mangan started contributing to the magazine early in 1834, i.e. a full year after this poem appeared. This date is confirmed by Wayne E. Hall: “In January 1834, James Clarence Mangan published translations from the German verse of Schiller, beginning a relationship with the DUM that would see far more of Mangan’s translating” (Dialogues in the Margin. A Study of the Dublin University Magazine. Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 1999, p. 42).

The fact in any case confirms that Lear, at least in the periods when he was staying at Knowsley, had access to Irish magazines and might have got to know some of Mangan’s poems, a fact which would throw a new light on his later Nonsense songs, whose similarities with the Irish poet’s more absurd compositions have been first noted by O’Donoghue himself:

He [Mangan] could write admirable nonsense when he liked, and the late Edward Lear might have got a hint or two from him for those “Nonsense” books which are held not undeservedly in such high estimation by present-day critics (p. 32).

It is perhaps worth noting that Mangan did write, or translate from the German of Justinus Kerner’s “Täuschung,” a poem which is remarkably similar to the one illustrated by Lear. It was entitled “Dreams” and was published in The Dublin University Magazine (Volume VIII, Issue 44, August 1836, pp. 153-4; also in The Collected Works of James Clarence Mangan. Poems: 1818-1837. Edited by Jacques Chuto et al. Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1996, pp. 243-4):

I slumbered in the moonless midnight hour;
And in my dream I lay,
Methought, reclining in a sunlit bower,
Circled with flowrets gay.

Awaking, I looked forth. I saw the trees
Reft of their leafy worth;
I heard the hissing of the rains, as these
Pelted the naked earth.

Again I slumbered. In a lovely land,
Breathing soft Summer airs,
I stood. Warm friends about me pressed my hand,
And I pressed theirs.

Awaking, I beheld the assassin near,
Armed with the deadly knife.
Was it the phantom of a sudden fear
No! ’twas a shape of Life.

Oh! might I bid thee now farewell for aye,
Illusive scene of pain!
My world is all within — without alway
I seek for it in vain!

——

Such was, crewhile, the dreary song I sang,
When but betrayed by one;
Soon two proved false, and with a double pang
I dragged Existence on.

But ah! the broken vows I since bewail
No lay, though long, could sing;
The wearied fingers in their task would fail
Upon the mournful string.

One of his special interests was the pantomime, a shown by another proto-comic he published in 1849, Pantomime, to be Played as it Was, Is, and Will Be, at Home (also available in at Coconino World). For some years, he produced “designs, devices and effects” for pantomimes, and he drew a number of “pantomimic extravaganzas” for the magazines. Among these, “The Christmas Pantomimes,” for The Illustrated London News of 31 December 1842 (pp. 536-37) is available from the Victorian Web under the title Alfred Crowquill’s Limericks for Eight London Pantomimes. Useless to say, the eight poems have nothing at all to do with the limerick, they consist of short poems in couplets, each with its own caricature illustration:

While dictionaries normally define it as “rhymed nonsense poem consisting of five lines,” it is clear that the word “limerick” is losing its specificity and for many people does no longer refer to the five-line nonsense poem popularized by Edward Lear; I would suggest that its current meanings are two:

1. For most people, a short humorous poem with sexual innuendo;
2. For scholars, a short 19th-century humorous poem accompanied by a caricatural drawing.

Nothing remains of the original nonsense connotation, except the humour, though it must be admitted that defining “nonsense” is not easy, and the “five” has become a generic “short.”

A quick look at the small images reproduced in an article by Thierry Smolderen on Coconino World’s Village des Auteurs (”Thackeray and Töpffer. The Weimar Connection”) convinced me that the Simple Melodies were not really limericks, though they looked a lot like them. Thanks to Google Books I have now found that the poems (six of them against the four shown in Smolderen’s article) were also republished as illustrations to the second part of an essay by Lewis Melville on “Thackeray as Artist” in The Conoisseur. An Illustrated Magazine for Collectors. Vol. VIII (January-April 1904), pp. 25-31, 152-5. Melville, by the way, is more precise than Kunzle and defines the compositions “nursery rhymes”.

While they are clearly not limericks, they consist of six lines with three different rhymes, they have a lot in common with Lear’s ones and were probably devised on the basis of the early limerick books of the 1820s:

1. Each short poem is accompanied by a single picture;
2. Each poem is about one character and describes his/her idiosyncratic behaviour, sometimes the characters are two, and then their relationship is the focus;
3. The fun is generated by the juxtaposition of image and text.

That Thackeray was also inpired by that archetype limerick of the “Sick Man of Tobago” (from Anecdotes and Adventures of Fifteen Gentlemen. London: John Marshall, [1821]) is, I think, amply demonstrated by two of the six Melodies:

I humble to write
The fate of Tom Knight
For here the poor fellow’s in bed seen
And see how he takes
Instead of beef steaks
All sorts of the nastiest med’cine.

Miss Mary Knight
Has a small appetite
But Thomas her brother’s a glutton
For breakfast he takes
Two pounds of beefsteaks
And for dinner a leg of roast Mutton.

Further characteristics connecting Thackeray’s poems to Lear’s limericks are the interest in food shown in the examples above, as well as the informal, childish drawing style, in part no doubt due to the fact that Thackeray’s poems were not published, which is very different from the formal engravings typical of contemporary books and magazines. Thackeray himself liked to say that “he was not half so bad as the woodcutters made him appear” (Melville in The Conoisseur, p. 155), while Lear chose to use lithography as a means of maintaining his simple style.

Some of the Melodies also seem to follow the cautionary-tale tradition; in addition to “Good Dicky Snooks” above, which recommends study, the two remaining poems, like “Miss Mary Knight” above, celebrate moderation in eating:

Dear Suky Jones
Though all skin & bones
Has a slim & an elegant figure
But Miss Mary Grig
Is as fat as a pig
And each day she grows bigger & bigger.

Little Miss Perkins
Much loved pickled Gerkins
And went to the Cup board & stole some
But they gave her such pain
She ne’er ate them again
She found them so shocking unwholesome.

Bob Turvey, in the July 2008 issue of The Pentatette (”William Makepeace Thackeray: Writer of Limericks Pre-Lear?”, p. 6), criticizes Kunzle’s definition of Thackeray’s poems as limericks and he is certainly right; however, I can’t see much difference between the Simple Melodies and many other examples usually accepted as belonging to the prehistory of the form (see my “The Limerick”, originally publishedin three parts in The Pentatette, November 1996- January 1997, for examples). Thackeray’s “nursery rhymes” should in my opinion be considered idiosyncratic variants based on the limerick books which had been published in the first half of the previous decade.

The Pentatette of September 1995, p. 4, reports that Thackeray did write limericks:

According to The Compleat Flea by Brendan Lehane (Viking Press, 1969), W.M. Thackeray’s “Wealthy Old Man of Tabreez” was one of several drawings-with-limericks sketched by Thackeray and friends of his, perhaps to amuse themselves one evening,

There’s a wealthy old man of Tabreez
With a maudlin affection for fleas.
He’ll grin with delight
When they scratch him and bite –
Perverted old man of Tabreez.

Did you know that here at nonsenselit.org you can read all the known 1820s limerick books?

• The History of Sixteen Wonderful Old Women, illustrated by as many engravings: exhibiting their Principal Eccentricities and Amusements. London: John Harris and Son, 1820.
• Anecdotes and Adventures of Fifteen Gentlemen. London, John Marshall, [1821]. Probably written by Richard Scrafton Sharpe and illustrated by Robert Cruikshank.
• The History of Sixteen Wonderful Old Women. Illustrated with as many engravings; exhibiting their principal eccentricities and amusements. Much credit is due to our artist, I ween; For such pictures as these can seldom be seen. London: J. Harris and Son, 1822. (First edition 1820.)
• Anecdotes and Adventures of Fifteen Young Ladies. By the Author of “Anecdotes and Adventures of Fifteen Gentlemen.” London: E. Marshall, c1822.
• A Peep at the Geography of Europe. Illustrated by Comic Figures of the Several Nations. London: E. Marshall, c1824.

Rush to Barnacle Press to enjoy the full run of The Explorigator, one of the most original, and nonsensical, comics of all times and meet a crew on a par with the one that set out to hunt the Snark.

If anyone has scans of the complete three-page story I would be interested in getting them (I can’t find The Beano here in Italy.)

you turn the page and place it in front of a light source, so that the image you now see represents something else, this case “A Rag Picker:”

Unfortunately, the images above were taken with a camera and do no justice to the real book: in many cases the different densities of the tints in the “front” picture produce nuances in the shadow one which enhance the effect. If I ever manage to find a way to get good images without ruining my copy, I’ll post the whole series.

It is likely that the book sold as well as the earlier ones, though it is harder to find as in many cases it was probably burnt by inattentive children who followed Newell’s back-cover suggestion of using a candle:

Better luck probably had those who preferred, or could afford, to use a light bulb, as recommended in the title page:

Shadow pictures, Kage-e, seem to have been common in woodblock prints of the Edo period in Japan, according to the pinktentacle blog. Here is one of the several instances posted:

In this case, first you looked at the shadow image cast on a door (in the example a hawk), and then discovered the real subject, a man in a very peculiar attitude.

1896 must have been the annus mirabilis of shadow books for the Century Co.: they also published Gobolinks, or Shadow-Pictures for Young and Old by Ruth McEnery Stuart and Albert Bigelow Paine. These were not real shadow pictures, but rather images obtained with a process involving, at least in part, chance:

Drop a little ink on a sheet of white paper. Fold the sheet in the center and press the ink-spots together with the fingers. All of the pictures in this book were made in this manner — none of them having been touched with a pen or brush.

To each of the images thus generated a short poem is added, in some cases a limerick:

On Peter Newell, also see Philip Hofer, “Peter Newell’s Pictures & Rhymes.” The Colophon. A Book Collectors’ Quarterly. Part Nineteen. New York, 1934.

Here, by the way, is another “Educational Toy” patented by Newell in 1921:

This invention relates to educational toys intende more especially for children; and the object of my invention is to provide a simple, convenient, attractive and instructive device whereby a succession of figures or pictures representing animals or objects of various kinds can be individually presented to view, together with the letters in sequence of the name of each animal or object thus presented in picture form…

This one, filed under the unlikely title of Vlamoakaph Co, includes the Jungle Jangle patent I already posted as well as one for The Hole Book (with scenes that were not used for the book),

and applications of the same principle “to commercial as distinguished from literary productions.”