Scribbleomania, or the Printer's Devil's Polychronicon, a sublime poem, edited by Anser Pendragon, Esq.," is a satirical poem by W. H. Ireland, who is best, or rather worst, known as the author of the famous Shakspeare forgeries, which created a tremendous sensation in the literary world, causing Boswell to go down on his knees in thanksgiving. One chapter is devoted to jurisprudence, and is as follows:
"From culture dispelling gross ignorance dense,
That prescribes to our passions the curb-rein of sense;
From morality's rules planted deep in the breast,
Where goading of turpitude ne'er was impress'd, —
Springs love for those writers, from whom we can draw
The precepts of justice and source of all law:
Since the upright no terrors in punishment trace,
For the guilty alone bear the brand of disgrace.
Our code void of quirks in a Blackstone is seen,
From Burn's jurisprudence staunch precepts we glean;
While our rights from Delolme are at once understood,
'That freedom acquired from our forefathers' blood.'
Such works fundamental for aye stand enrolled,
Such names should grace adamant, blazon'd in gold.
As a link of the bar, I with honor renown 'em,
And exulting with circlet unfading thus crown 'em."
Then comes the following:
"Do we not find these lords sedate
Make laws themselves, so intricate,
That one act patches up another,
As rogue will rogue, because a brother?
In vain for verdict ye resort,
And come with clean hands into court;
Since right and wrong give equal sport
To counsel, who'll cross-question so,
That whether witness will or no,
He'll surely gainsay what is sooth,
And mar with lie the naked truth.
In vain on high sits Justice scowling,
In vain poor Goddess makes a growling;
They heed her not, but with ear clinkers
Out-argue right: as for her blinkers,
Lest their keen glance should raise a stir,
They've bound e’en up with mockinger.
An oath to him who'd truth be killing,
Is kiss the book and give a shilling;
No more nor less, for when digestion
Is strong with conscience, to each question,
Witness may cut pert counsel short,
By stating he remembers naught.
Thus what with flaws the truth defeating,
And pleader's impudent brow-beating;
Judges who vary on the case,
Good allegations out of place;
A witness who cannot remember
If 'twas in August or December,
In short, such ugly cross-grain'd things,
With fifty others, trial brings.
And where's in this the wonder, pray?
Did not a famous judge once say,
That speaking truth deserves as well
Punition, being a libel,
As he who truth doth vilify
By telling a confounded lie?
So from that hour when truth's been stripp'd
In courts for blabbing, she's been whipp'd."
American poets have had very little to say of our subject.
wrote the following exquisite poem, entitled "A Flight of Fancy: "
“At the bar of Judge Conscience stood Reason arraigned, The jury impanelled — the prisoner chained:
The judge was facetious at times, though severe,
Now waking a smile, and now drawing a tear, —
An old-fashioned, fidgety, queer-looking wight,
With a clerical air, and an eye quick as light.
'Here, Reason, you vagabond! look in my face:
I'm told you're becoming a real scapegrace.
They say that young Fancy, that airy coquette,
Has dared to fling round you her luminous net;
That she ran away with you, in spite of yourself,
For pure love of frolic - the mischievous elf.
'The scandal is whispered by friends and by foes,
And darkly they hint, too, that when they propose
Any question to your ear, so lightly you're led,
At once to gay Fancy you turn your wild head;
And she leads you off in some dangerous dance,
As wild as the polka that galloped from France.
'Now up to the stars with you, laughing, she springs,
With a whirl and a whisk of her changeable wings;
Now dips in some fountain her sun-painted plume,
That gleams through the spray, like a rainbow in bloom;
Now floats in a cloud, while her tresses of light
Shine through the frail boat and illumine its flight;
Now glides through the woodland to gather its flowers;
Now darts like a flash to the sea's coral bowers;
In short, cuts such capers, that with her I ween
It's a wonder you are not ashamed to be seen!
'Then, she talks such a language! - melodious enough, To be sure-but a strange sort of outlandish stuff! I'm told that it licenses many a whopper,
And when once she commences no frowning can stop her; Since it's new - I've no doubt it is very improper !
They say that she cares not for order or law;
That of you-you great dunce!—she but makes a cat's
I've no sort of objection to fun in its season,
But it's plain that this Fancy is fooling you, Reason!'
Just then into court flew a strange little sprite,
With wings of all colors and ringlets of light!
She frolicked round Reason, till Reason grew wild,
Defying the court and caressing the child.
The judge and the jury, the clerk and recorder,
In vain called this exquisite creature to order; —
'Unheard of intrusion!' They bustled about
To seize her; but wild with delight at the rout,
She flew from their touch like a bird from a spray,
And went waltzing and whirling and singing away!
Now up to the ceiling, now down to the floor!
Were never such antics in court-house before!
But a lawyer, well versed in the tricks of his trade,
A trap for the gay little innocent laid:
He held up a mirror; and Fancy was caught
By her image within it, so lovely she thought,
What could the fair creature be ! — bending its eyes
On her own with so wishful a look of surprise!
She flew to embrace it: the lawyer was ready;
He closed round the sprite a grasp cool and steady:
And she sighed, while he tied her two luminous wings,
'Ah! Fancy and Falsehood are different things!'
The witnesses, maidens of uncertain age,
With a critic, a publisher, lawyer, and sage, —
All scandalized greatly at what they had heard
Of this poor little Fancy vho dew like a bird
Were cailed to the stand, and their evidence gave:
The judge charged the jury, with countenance grave;
Their verdict was guilty:' and Reason looked down
As his honor exhorted her thus, with a frown:—
This Fancy, this vagrant, for life shall be chained
In your own little cell, where you should have remained ;
And you—for your punishment-jailer shall be:
Don't let your accomplice come coaxing to me!
I'll none of her nonsense-the little wild witch!
Nor her bribes-although rumor does say she is rich.
'I've heard that all treasures and luxuries rare
Gather round at her bidding, from earth, sea, and air;
And some go so far as to hint, that the powers
Of darkness attend her more sorrowful hours.
But go!' and Judge Conscience, who never was bought,
Just bowed the pale prisoner out of the court.
'Tis said that poor Reason next morning was found
At the door of her cell, fast asleep on the ground,
And nothing within, but one plume rich and rare,
Just to show that young Fancy's wing once had been there. She had dropped it, no doubt, while she strove to get through
The hole in the lock, which she could not undo.”
who was unsuccessful as a lawyer and early abandoned the profession, in his charming poem, "Green River," regrets that he is
"Forced to drudge for the dregs of men,
And scrawl strange words with a barbarous pen.”
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