e is the greatest poetical genius who has not
yet died in infancy._

_This is an astounding statement but it can be corroborated by admiring
friends, for the writer is like a certain brand of children's food in
that he is advertised by his loving friends._

_Speaking of "Alexander's Feast" it simply cannot be compared to any
one of the finished, poetic gems in this collection because it is so
utterly different. The difference is what made Dryden famous. But
comparisons are odious, and Mr. Dryden has been dead several years._

_"But what," you may ask, "is the object of nonsense verse?" Most
assuredly to make one laugh. That masterpiece of nonsense "Alice In
Wonderland" and its companion volume "Through The Looking Class" are
absurd books, but their very absurdity is what appeals to us most.
Their author, Mr. Lewis Carroll was, in private life a very sober
gentleman (at least we hope so). Nonsense is the salt of life with
which we season the dry food of everyday cooking._

_"A little nonsense now and then
Is relished by the wisest men."_

_Even serious old Longfellow had this feeling in his bones when he
wrote the immortal lines which all of us recall from childhood:_

_"There was a little girl
And she had a little curl
Which hung way down on her forehead;
And when she was good,
She was very good indeed,
But when she was bad, she was horrid."_

_This is nonsense pure and simple and even the most ardent admirers of
Mr. Longfellow must, when they try to make "forehead" and "horrid"
rhyme, admit that it was very poor verse for the author of
"Evangeline."_

_Bret Harte flew off at a tangent when he wrote about "Ah Sin, The
Chinaman," a nonsense poem that gave "Bill Nye" his pseudonym. Oliver
Wendell Holmes wrote "The Wonderful One-Hoss Shay." Rudyard Kipling is
often "caught with the goods on him" and Mark Twain wrote an "Ode to
Stephen Dowling Botts."_

_And Great Scott! I almost forgot that even such a gentle, domestic
creature as the cow has been the unconscious inspiration of much
nonsense and has doubtless often chewed the bitter cud of reflection in
deploring her undesired popularity. First she was forced (very much
against her will, no doubt) to jump over the moon to the undignified
strains of "Hey Diddle, Diddle." Then, just when beginning to breathe
easily again after that astounding performance, Gelett Burgess came
along and gave her more notoriety by raising th