I have heard, in a lecture about George the Third, that, at his accession, the King had a mind to establish an order for literary men.It was to have been called the Order of Minerva--I suppose with an Owl for a badge.The knights were to have worn a star of sixteen points, and a yellow ribbon; and good old Samuel Johnson was talked of as President, or Grand Cross, or Grand Owl, of the society.Now about such an order as this there certainly may be doubts.Consider the claimants, the difficulty of settling their claims, the rows and squabbles amongst the candidates, and the subsequent decision of posterity! Dr.Beattie would have ranked as first poet, and twenty years after the sublime Mr.Hayley would, no doubt, have claimed the Grand Cross.Mr.Gibbon would not have been eligible, on account of his dangerous freethinking opinions; and her sex, as well as her republican sentiments, might have interfered with the knighthood of the immortal Mrs.Catharine Macaulay.How Goldsmith would have paraded the ribbon at Madame Cornelys's, or the Academy dinner! How Peter Pindar would have railed at it! Fifty years later, the noble Scott would have worn the Grand Cross and deserved it; but Gifford would have had it; and Byron, and Shelley, and Hazlitt, and Hunt would have been without it; and had Keats been proposed as officer, how the Tory prints would have yelled with rage and scorn! Had the star of Minerva lasted to our present time--but I pause, not because the idea is dazzling, but too awful.Fancy the claimants, and the row about their precedence! Which philosopher shall have the grand cordon?--which the collar?--which the little scrap no bigger than a buttercup? Of the historians--A, say,--and C, and F, and G, and S, and T,--which shall be Companion and which Grand Owl? Of the poets, who wears, or claims, the largest and brightest star? Of the novelists, there is A, and B and C D; and E(star of first magnitude, newly discovered), and F (a magazine of wit), and fair G, and H, and I, and brave old J, and charming K, and L, and M, and N, and O (fair twinklers), and I am puzzled between three P's--Peacock, Miss Pardoe, and Paul Pry--and Queechy, and R, and S, and T, mere et fils, and very likely U, O gentle reader, for who has not written his novel now-a-days?--who has not a claim to the star and straw-colored ribbon?--and who shall have the biggest and largest? Fancy the struggle! Fancy the squabble! Fancy the distribution of prizes!
Who shall decide on them? Shall it be the sovereign? shall it be the Minister for the time being? and has Lord Palmerston made a deep study of novels? In this matter the late Ministry, to be sure, was better qualified; but even then, grumblers who had not got their canary cordons, would have hinted at professional jealousies entering the Cabinet; and, the ribbons being awarded, Jack would have scowled at his because Dick had a broader one; Ned been indignant because Bob's was as large: Tom would have thrust his into the drawer, and scorned to wear it at all.No--no: the so-called literary world was well rid of Minerva and her yellow ribbon.The great poets would have been indifferent, the little poets jealous, the funny men furious, the philosophers satirical, the historians supercilious, and, finally, the jobs without end.Say, ingenuity and cleverness are to be rewarded by State tokens and prizes--and take for granted the Order of Minerva is established--who shall have it? A great philosopher? no doubt we cordially salute him G.C.M.Agreat historian? G.C.M.of course.A great engineer? G.C.M.Agreat poet? received with acclamation G.C.M.A great painter? oh!
certainly, G.C.M.If a great painter, why not a great novelist?
Well, pass, great novelist, G.C.M.But if a poetic, a pictorial, a story-telling or music-composing artist, why not a singing artist?
Why not a basso-profondo? Why not a primo tenore? And if a singer, why should not a ballet-dancer come bounding on the stage with his cordon, and cut capers to the music of a row of decorated fiddlers?
A chemist puts in his claim for having invented a new color; an apothecary for a new pill; the cook for a new sauce; the tailor for a new cut of trousers.We have brought the star of Minerva down from the breast to the pantaloons.Stars and garters! can we go any farther; or shall we give the shoe maker the yellow ribbon of the order for his shoetie?
That of Lord Derby, in l859, which included Mr.Disraeli and Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.
When I began this present Roundabout excursion, I think I had not quite made up my mind whether we would have an Order of all the Talents or not: perhaps I rather had a hankering for a rich ribbon and gorgeous star, in which my family might like to see me at parties in my best waistcoat.But then the door opens, and there come in, and by the same right too, Sir Alexis Soyer! Sir Alessandro Tamburini! Sir Agostino Velluti! Sir Antonio Paganini (violinist)!
Sir Sandy McGuffog (piper to the most noble the Marquis of Farintosh)! Sir Alcide Flicflac (premier danseur of H.M.Theatre)!
Sir Harley Quin and Sir Joseph Grimaldi (from Covent Garden)! They have all the yellow ribbon.They are all honorable, and clever, and distinguished artists.Let us elbow through the rooms, make a bow to the lady of the house, give a nod to Sir George Thrum, who is leading the orchestra, and go and get some champagne and seltzer-water from Sir Richard Gunter, who is presiding at the buffet.Anational decoration might be well and good: a token awarded by the country to all its benemerentibus: but most gentlemen with Minerva stars would, I think, be inclined to wear very wide breast-collars to their coats.Suppose yourself, brother penman, decorated with this ribbon, and looking in the glass, would you not laugh? Would not wife and daughters laugh at that canary-colored emblem?
