Literary/Academic Cliques According To "The Devil's Dictionary"

I is the first letter of the alphabet, the first word of the language, the first thought of the mind, the first object of affection. In grammar it is a pronoun of the first person and singular number. Its plural is said to be We, but how there can be more than one myself is doubtless clearer to the grammarians than it is to the author of this incomparable dictionary. Conception of two myselves is difficult, but fine. The frank yet graceful use of "I" distinguishes a good writer from a bad; the latter carries it with the manner of a thief trying to cloak his loot.

CONGRATULATION, n. The civility of envy.

CONTEMPT, n. The feeling of a prudent man for an enemy who is too formidable safely to be opposed.

ESTEEM, n. [1.] The degree of favorable regard that is due to one who has the power to serve us and has not yet refused. [2.] Payment in full for a benefaction.

FAMOUS, adj. Conspicuously miserable. 

Done to a turn on the iron, behold

Him who to be famous aspired.

Content? Well, his grill has a plating of gold,

And his twistings are greatly admired.

—Hassan Brubuddy

ELOQUENCE, n. [1.] The art of orally persuading fools that white is the color that it appears to be. It includes the gift of making any color appear white. [2.] A method of convincing fools. The art is commonly presented under the visible aspect of a bald-headed little man gesticulating above a glass of water.

FLATTER, v.t. To impress another with a sense of one's own merit.

The bungler boasts of his excellence —

His hearers yawn and nod;

The artist flatters his audience —

They shout: "He is a god!"

HYPOCRITE, n. One who, professing virtues that he does not respect, secures the advantage of seeming to be what he despises.

OBSOLETE, adj. No longer used by the timid. Said chiefly of words. A word which some lexicographer has marked obsolete is ever thereafter an object of dread and loathing to the fool writer, but if it is a good word and has no exact modern equivalent equally good, it is good enough for the good writer. Indeed, a writer's attitude toward "obsolete" words is as true a measure of his literary ability as anything except the character of his work. A dictionary of obsolete and obsolescent words would not only be singularly rich in strong and sweet parts of speech; it would add large possessions to the vocabulary of every competent writer who might not happen to be a competent reader.

RENOWN, n. A degree of distinction between notoriety and fame — a little more supportable than the one and a little more intolerable than the other. Sometimes it is conferred by an unfriendly and inconsiderate hand.I touched the harp in every key,

But found no heeding ear;

And then Ithuriel touched me

With a revealing spear.

Not all my genius, great as 'tis,

Could urge me out of night.

I felt the faint appulse of his,

And leapt into the light!

—W.J. Candleton

SELF-ESTEEM, n. An erroneous appraisement.

SOPHISTRY, n. The controversial method of an opponent, distinguished from one's own by superior insincerity and fooling. This method is that of the later Sophists, a Grecian sect of philosophers who began by teaching wisdom, prudence, science, art and, in brief, whatever men ought to know, but lost themselves in a maze of quibbles and a fog of words.His bad opponent's "facts" he sweeps away,

SYCOPHANT, n. One who approaches Greatness on his belly so that he may not be commanded to turn and be kicked. He is sometimes an editor.

As the lean leech, its victim found, is pleased

To fix itself upon a part diseased

Till, its black hide distended with bad blood,

It drops to die of surfeit in the mud,

So the base sycophant with joy descries

His neighbor's weak spot and his mouth applies,

Gorges and prospers like the leech, although,

Unlike that reptile, he will not let go.

Gelasma, if it paid you to devote

Your talent to the service of a goat,

Showing by forceful logic that its beard

Is more than Aaron's fit to be revered;

If to the task of honoring its smell

Profit had prompted you, and love as well,

The world would benefit at last by you

And wealthy malefactors weep anew —

Your favor for a moment's space denied

And to the nobler object turned aside.

Is't not enough that thrifty millionaires

Who loot in freight and spoliate in fares,

Or, cursed with consciences that bid them fly

To safer villainies of darker dye,

Forswearing robbery and fain, instead,

To steal (they call it "cornering") our bread

May see you groveling their boots to lick

And begging for the favor of a kick?

Still must you follow to the bitter end

Your sycophantic disposition's trend,

And in your eagerness to please the rich

Hunt hungry sinners to their final ditch?

In Morgan's praise you smite the sounding wire,

And sing hosannas to great Havemeyer!

What's Satan done that him you should eschew?

He too is reeking rich — deducting you.

And drags his sophistry to light of day;

Then swears they're pushed to madness who resort

To falsehood of so desperate a sort.

Not so; like sods upon a dead man's breast,

He lies most lightly who the least is pressed.

—Polydore Smith