AN OLD-FASHIONED AMUSEMENT.

In by-gone days it was quite the fashion for learned and clever people to amuse themselves by forming anagrams on the names of their acquaintances or on those of the celebrated public men. Isaac Disraeli, father of the late Lord Beaconsfield, mentions the custom in his book about the Curiosities of Literature.

It was considered a delicate compliment to send an anagram to your friend. One polite Frenchman, a poet, as it happened, sent his lady-love, whose name was Magdelaine, a budget containing no less than three dozen quaint and witty anagrams.

And now perhaps you would like me to tell you what an anagram is, and how it is made. It is a simple playing with letters. You take any word or sentence, and you make other words and sentences from it, using all the letters in the original, and changing them about as you please, so long as you make sense, but not using any others. You may not omit an a or an o which chances to be in your way, and you may not borrow a t or an s from the rest of the alphabet to help you out of a puzzle. You must use only the letters in the name you have selected.

Galenus transposed becomes Angelus. I ought to tell you here that there are exceptions to the rule requiring you to use only the letters given in any name. In old times i, j, u, v, w, and sometimes c and k, were changed around by people to suit their own convenience, and so, rather than lose the making of a very good anagram, you may take some liberties with those particular letters.

On a rainy spring evening, when you are all at home together, it would be charming to try this antiquated game of wit. Get out the sheets of note-paper and the pens, and let everybody help. I would not be astonished if even grandpa were to take a share in the fun.

Let me give you some illustrations. Queen Elizabeth was noted during her long reign for her wise government at home, and her courage in defying her enemies of other lands. She was always surrounded by courtiers who liked to please her, and in her day it was thought more elegant to write in Latin than in plain English. One of the noblemen made this anagram one day after dinner:

Elizabetha Regina Angliæ— Anglis Agna, Hiberiæ Lea.

Of course this Latin does not bother the big boys, but for the benefit of little Puss in the Corner, I'll translate it. It means that Elizabeth, the Queen, was a lamb to the English and a lion to the Spanish, which the latter no doubt thought was true when the great ships that composed their wonderful "Armada" went to pieces on her coast.

In very, very old times there was an idea that an anagram really possessed the power to tell a person's character. But that was mere nonsense. It is only a dainty trifle, like a cross-word, an acrostic, or any other puzzle.

There was once a Lady Eleanor Davies, who annoyed the community by preaching in the streets of London. She was very likely insane, but she thought herself a prophetess. The police arrested her, and she was taken before the English Court of High Commission to answer for her misbehavior.

She said she knew God wished her to preach, because she had found in her name this anagram:

Eleanor Davies—. Reveal, O Daniel.

Now she ought to have had here an s, and she had an l to which she had no right, so her anagram was not correct. It rather impressed the by-standers, though, and the judges would have found it hard to persuade the poor lady to promise to keep still in future, if she had not been crushed by another anagram which somebody made up on the spot,

Dame Eleanor Davies— Never so mad a ladie!

From that moment she yielded to her fate.

Nobody was ever more hated than Napoleon Bonaparte in England in the beginning of this century. Therefore he was a popular man who was the author of this:

Napoleon Bonaparte— Bona rapta leno pone.

"Rascal, yield up your stolen possessions."

There are two very good anagrams on two of Napoleon's conquerors, Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, and Horatio Nelson. The first is, "Let well-foiled Gaul secure thy renown." Gaul is the ancient name of France. The second is in Latin:

Horatio Nelson— Honor est a Nilo.

"There is honor from the Nile." The battle of the Nile was the first in which Lord Nelson won a great victory, when he was highest in command.

Many of you have read in history, and in the novels of Sir Walter Scott, about that unfortunate Prince, Charles James Stuart, who was called the Pretender. The brave Highlanders rallied around him, and gave their lives and fortunes in the attempt to restore him to his father's throne, partly because they had great faith in two anagrams. One was:

Charles James Stuart— He asserts a true claim.

The other,

James Stuart— A just master.

Alas, for "bonnie Prince Chairlie!" the charm was in vain. He never sat on England's throne. He died without a kingdom, a broken-hearted man.

The question asked by the Roman Governor, Pilate, of our Saviour, who stood before him a prisoner, "What is truth?" is, in Latin, "Quid est Veritas?" It has been rendered, "Vir est qui adest," the Man who is before you.

You remember Florence Nightingale, who went with a band of nurses to take care of the poor soldiers wounded in the Crimea, or sick with fever in the wretched camps of the allied armies. They called her "the lady with the lamp," and all England—yes, all the world—loves her. Is not this a pretty anagram on her sweet name:

Florence Nightingale— Flit on, cheering angel?

It is curious what pat anagrams you may make on certain words which relate to things. For instance, Presbyterian, by a shake like a turn of the kaleidoscope, is "best in prayer," and Penitentiary, "nay, I repent it." Old England easily becomes "Golden Land," and what could better describe the state of busy editors than "so tired" of reading and writing? Astronomers are "moon-starers," of course; and is not the telegraph "a great help"?

We wonder who will succeed best in this anagram building, father and mother or the young folks? If some of the latter succeed in making very happy anagrams, they will not regret their revival of this old-fashioned amusement.