Our frequent correspondent C. Simon writes:

Has Dr. Boli encountered the Book of Saint Albans? It is a hunting and hawking treatise, but no matter; the real interest in this book is that it is reputed by some to be the foremost authority on collective nouns like a parliament of owls, an exultation of doves, a murder of crows, etc. Now that claim is either a true or false one, which can be verified simply by opening the book and reading it, to see if it contains the said terms or not, which I would do myself except the typography is so interesting I cannot stop looking at the letters for long enough to read the words. Perhaps someone courtesy of this magazine can help me with my predicament.

The book can be ordered courtesy of the Book of Google, reputed by some to be the foremost authority on the rest of humanity’s useless information, here.

[A much better scan is here at archive.org.]

The type is indeed strange to modern eyes, not at all like the clear blackletter or roman types used in most English books after 150o or so. The bastarda type used in this book, according to the scholars who reprinted it in facsimile, is a castoff from William Caxton, who had given it up in favor of a smaller type, and would later change to the blackletter type that would be standard for luxury books in English (like the King James Bible) for the next century and a half. Caxton had already worn down the letters pretty well, so they are not always as legible as they ought to be.

The spelling in this book would strike Chaucer or Malory as peculiar, doubtless representing a different pronunciation from the one that became standard printed English; and the printer seldom misses an opportunity to spell the same word two different ways at the very least. Plurals are generally formed by adding “-is” or “-ys” to the end of a noun.

The famous list of collective names for beasts and fowls (and not a few human animals as well) is stuffed in after the hunting section to take up three blank pages. Dr. Boli was surprised to find no transcription of it on the World-Wide Web, so he has transcribed it from the book to the best of his ability. Nevertheless, because of the obscurity of the provincial dialect and his own unfamiliarity with the littera bastarda, Dr. Boli admits that the transcription is far from perfect.

Why not make this a collaborative project? Dr. Boli has marked with an asterisk the words he did not recognize and may have misinterpreted. With the superior collective wisdom of the Internet, it ought to be possible to remove all uncertainty. Leave corrections as comments, with the confidence that you are making the world a little bit better for your efforts.

—

The Compaynys of beestys and fowlys.

an Herde of Hertis
an herde of all man (all manner?) dere
an Herde of Swannys
an Herde of Cranys (cranes)
an Herde of Corlewys (curlews)
an Herde of wrennys (wrens)
an Herde of harlottys
a Nye of Fesaunttys (pheasants)
a Bevy of Ladies
a Bevy of Roos (roes)
a Bevy of Quaylis
a Sege of heronnys
a Sege of betouris (bitterns)
a Sorde or a sute of malardis
a Mustre of Pecockys
a Walke of Snytis (snites)
a Congregation of peple
an Exaltyng of Larkis
a Wache of Nyghtingalis
an hoost of men
a Felishippyng of yomen
a Cherme of Goldfynches
a Cast of Brede (see Ecclesiastes 11:1)
a Couple or a payer of botillis
a Flight of Doves
an unkyndenes of Ravenes
a Clateryng of choughes
a Dissimulation of breddis (birds)
a Route of knyghtis
a Pride of lionys
a Sleuth of Beeris (bears)
a Cete of Graies (badgers)
a Bery of Conyis
a Riches of Matronys
a Besynes of ferettis
a Brace of grehoundis of ii
a Lece of Grehoundis of iii
a Coupult of spaynellis
a Couple of rennyng houndis
a Litter of Welpis
a Kyndill of yong Cattis
a Synguler of Boris (boars)
a Dryft of tame Swyne
an Harrasse of horse
a Ragge of coltis or a Rake
a Baren of Mulis
a Trippe of Gete (goats)
a Trippe of haaus (hogs)
a Gagle of gees
a Brode of hennys
a badelyng * of Dokis
a Noonpatiens of wyves
a State of Prynces
a Thongh of barons
a Prudens of vikeris (vicars)
a Superfluyte of Nunnys
a Scole of clerkes
a Doctryne of doctoris
a Convertyng of prechouris
a Sentence of Juges
a Dampnyng of Jurrouris
a Diligens of Messangeris
an Obeisians of seruauntis
a Sete of ussheris
a Draught of boteleris
a Proude shewyng of taloris
a Tempans of cokys
a Stalke of fosteris
a Boost of saudrouris (a boast of soldiers)
a Laughtre of Osteloris
a Glosyng of Taverneris
a Malepertnes of pedleres
a Thrave of Throsheris
a squatte of Dawberis
a Fightyng of beggers
an untrouth of sompneris
a Melody of Harpers
a Pauverty of pypers
a sotelty of sergeauntis
a Tabernacle of bakers
a Drifte of fishers
a Disgysing of Taylours
a Bleche of sowteris
a Smere of Coryouris
a Clustre of Grapys
a Clustre of chorlis
a Rage of Maydmys
a Rafull (“a rayful [that is, a netful]“) of knavys
a blush of boyes
an uncredibilite of Cocoldis
a Covy of partrichis
a Sprynge of Telis (teals)
a Desserte of Lapwyngs
a fall of woodcockis
a Congregation of Plevers
a Covert of cootis
a Duell of Turtillis
a Titengis of Pies
an Ost (host) of sparowis
a Swarme of bees
a cast of haukis of the tour ii
a Lece of the same haukis iii
a Flight of Goshaukes
a Flighte of swalowes
a beldyng (building) of Rookes
a Murmuration of stares
a Route of wolvess
a Lepe of Lebardis (leopards)
a Shrewdenes of Apis
a Skulke of Thivys
a skulke of Foxis
a Nest of Rabettis
a Labor of Mollis
a Mute of houndes
a Kenell of Rachis (hounds)
a Sute of a lyam (“Means the ‘following’ [suite] of a led hound.”)
a Cowardnes of curris (curs)
a Soundre of wilde swyne
a Stode of Maris
a Pase of Assis
a Drove of Nete
a Flocke of Shepe
a Gagle of women
a Pepe of chykennys
a Multiplieng of husbondis
a Pontificalite of prelatis
a Dignyte of chanonys (canons)
a Charge of curatis
a Discrecion of Prestis
a bhomynable sight of monkis
a Scoff of Fysh
a Example of Maisteris
an Obseruans of heremytis
an Eloquens of laweyeris
an Execution of Officeris
a faith of Marchandis
a provision of stewards of hous
a kerff of Panteris (pantrymen)
a Thretenyng of courteyeris
a Promyse of Tapsteris
a Lyeng of pardeneris
a Misbeleve of paynteris
a Lash of Carteris
a Scoldyng of Kemsteris (wool-combers)
a Wonderyng of Tynkeris
a Waywardnes of haylbardis
a Worship of Writeris
a Neverthrivyng of Jogoleris
a Fraunch of Mylneris
a Festre of Brweris (brewers)
a Goryng of Bochouris (butchers)
a Trynket of Courveseris (corvisers, shoemakers)
a Plocke of Shoturnetis (shoe-turners)
a Dronkship of Coblers
a Sculke of foxis
a Clustre of Nottis (nuts)
a Rage of the tethe
a Rascall of Boyes
a Disworship of Scottis

The author of the opening sentence in yesterday’s literary challenge was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Although Longfellow is more famous for his poetry, he published two prose romances: Hyperion and Kavanagh. The former was rumored to be a strong influence on the well-known poet and novelist Irving Vanderblock-Wheedle. Dr. Boli himself has read Hyperion; he has not yet read Kavanagh, partly because he has read Hyperion.

This is not the very greatest opening sentence in the history of the English novel: that honor still belongs to the first sentence of Rosabella: or, A Mother’s Marriage. It is, however, one of the most striking first sentences ever penned by an American author—though we must admit that it depends for its full effect on the sentence immediately following.

Great men stand like solitary towers in the city of God, and secret passages running deep beneath external nature give their thoughts intercourse with higher intelligences, which strengthens and consoles them, and of which the laborers on the surface do not even dream!

Some such thought as this was floating vaguely through the brain of Mr. Churchill, as he closed his school-house door behind him…

And now, your challenge: without resorting to a search engine, can you identify the author? Winners of the literary challenge earn the right to say, “I know a thing or two about a certain well-known American author that would make your hair stand on end.” The answer will be provided in this space tomorrow.

Every year at Christmas-time, we are subjected to the usual articles and Web circulars explaining to us that Christmas had been utterly forgotten before Dickens published A Christmas Carol in 1843. Bah! Humbug. Dr. Boli remembers those delightful Christmases of the early nineteenth century. If the holiday had been forgotten, what possible motive could Dickens’ publisher have for issuing an expensive Christmas book with a color title page and frontispiece?

Here, therefore, are a few delightful Christmas books from the era before Dickens’ immortal work. Click on the title page to go straight to the book.

Reprinted from Hypericum: A Romance, by Irving Vanderblock-Wheedle, with permission of the author.

—

How sad, thought Vanderstone-Beadle as he wandered down the Denkenstrasse, with its quaint projecting oriels in which generations of blushing maidens had waited for a glimpse of their lovers as they passed down toward the stock exchange, that even the most artistic souls in this sublunary world seldom if ever reach that state of refinement which he had reached in his appreciation of Beauty and Truth! What a burden to meander through this mortal life alone, with no one else who was capable of feeling that same thrill of splendid superiority to the common that he felt when he appreciated the golden yellow of a St. Johnswort flower, so much more poetic than the other hues of other flowers that foolish simpletons prize just as much!

But providence did not intend that Vanderstone-Beadle should pass his entire life without such companionship. For it was later that afternoon that he heard a voice singing an old English ballad with the most exquisitely artistic expression; and he followed the voice to its source, and was rewarded with a glimpse of that spiritual sort of beauty which he had hitherto thought did not dwell on this earth. She was an American traveler; her brown eyes betrayed a keenness of intellect that surprised him, and her golden hair glinted like the treasures of Manco Capac, and her pale complexion glowed with just a slight suffusion of the rose of dawn with its thousand promises, and her name was Britney.

Oh! I shall not describe the meeting that took place between these kindred souls, because I am not very good at describing things that happen outside the heart rather than within it. But it was not half an hour before Vanderstone-Beadle was speaking to her of his favorite enthusiasm, the poetry of the great Normalverbraucher, rightly called the Only True One among German poets.

“Yet I have heard some say that Normalverbraucher is not to be compared with Richter,” the girl remarked.

“Oh! the poetry of Normalverbraucher indeed is not to everyone’s taste; but to the soul which can throb in his rhythm, it is like a draught of that elixir which the ancient Nordic gods relied upon to sustain them while they played dodgeball. I have here one of his little ballads, which I transcribed on the back of a chewing-gum wrapper, and nothing would delight me more than to read it to you.”

“Have you an English translation?” asked Britney with eyes wide in anticipation, “—for you know that my knowledge of German is not always as thorough and refined as yours.”

“I have no written translation with me,” Vanderstone-Beadle replied, “but I shall improvise a translation, sticking as close to the original meter as the difference in languages will permit:

“‘Oh, when I see the snow-capped hills,
They make me think of death.
Of death! Of death!
They make me think of death!
Oh, when I see the snow-capped hills.
They make me think of death.

“‘And when I hear the gushing rills,
They make me think of death.
Of death! Of death!
They make me think of death!
Oh, when I hear the gushing rills,
They make me think of death.

“‘And when I swallow strychnine pills,
They make me think of death.
Of death! Of death!
They make me think of death!
Oh, when I swallow strychnine pills,
They make me think of death.’

“There—it loses some of the poetry in the translation, but is it not fine?”

“I think it is beautiful, with a beauty I have never felt before; it speaks to me of twilight and sauerkraut and cummerbunds and steam-whistles and trickling cascades in the Alpine fastnesses where none but the lonely Edelweiss ever hears their music. Oh! I feel as if I have seen heaven opened, and heard the song the janitor whistles as he scrubs the gates of pearl to a more than lustrous shine!”

“Yes!” cried Vanderstone-Beadle. “Yes, that is it exactly! And the janitor is wearing a greenish tweed overcoat, and smells of parsnips! You understand!” And the enchanting creature nodded, and fixed his eyes with her own, and Vanderstone-Beadle understood that he was in love, and that providence had led him to the one human female in all the world who was fit to share the life of a true poet.

But later that evening, as she was walking alone on the Ambossestrasse, and the larks were singing their tuneless melody so strangely gay and melancholy at the same time, and the delicate perfume of the night-phlox wafted over a homely garden gate badly in need of painting, an anvil fell out of a picturesque gable window in a quaint half-timbered house once inhabited by the famous minnesinger Mittelstirn, but now belonging to a healthy and prosaic blacksmith, and crushed her delicate little head in. Ah, the transience of hope! Ah, the fickleness of fortune! When Vanderstone-Beadle heard the news the next morning, he was very sad for a little while; but then he reflected that it was well that he had learned this lesson now instead of next Tuesday, when he had a dental appointment, and he understood that Providence was all-wise.

If you enjoyed Moby-Dick, you may be interested in a somewhat obscure, but certainly comprehensive, book published in 1878, entitled, History of the American Whale Fishery from Its Earliest Inception to the Year 1876. It may interest you as giving some supplementary information that will add to your appreciation of Melville’s masterpiece. Or it may interest you because the name of the author is Alexander Starbuck.