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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.
COMIC LATIN GRAMMAR
Of Latin there are three kinds: Latin Proper, or good Latin; Dog Latin; and Thieves’ Latin, Latin Proper, or good Latin, is the language which was spoken by the ancient Romans. Dog Latin is the Latin in which boys compose their first verses and themes, and which is occasionally employed at the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, but much more frequently at Edinburgh, Aberdeen, and Glasgow. It includes Medical Latin, and Law Latin; though these, to the unlearned, generally appear Greek. Mens tuus ego – mind your eye; Illic vadis cum oculo tuo ex – there you go with your eye out; Quomodo est mater tua? – how’s your mother? Fiat haustus ter die capiendus – let a draught be made, to be taken three times a day; Bona et catalla – goods and chattels – are examples.
Thieves’ Latin, more commonly known by the name of slang, is much in use among a certain class of conveyancers, who disregard the distinctions of meum and tuum. Furthermore, it constitutes a great part of the familiar discourse of most young men in modern times, particularly lawyers’ clerks and medical students. It bears a very close affinity to Law Latin,