To the dish thus seasoned add a drawl _ad libitum_. by James Russell Lowell: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
This piece parodies the overly grandiose editorial footnotes, crafted in the style of the fictional Reverend Homer Wilbur, the self-important "editor" of Lowell's *Biglow Papers*.
The poem
[Mr. Wilbur's notes here become entirely fragmentary.--C.N.] [Greek: a]. Unable to procure a likeness of Mr. Biglow, I thought the curious reader might be gratified with a sight of the editorial effigies. And here a choice between two was offered,--the one a profile (entirely black) cut by Doyle, the other a portrait painted by a native artist of much promise. The first of these seemed wanting in expression, and in the second a slight obliquity of the visual organs has been heightened (perhaps from an over-desire of force on the part of the artist) into too close an approach to actual _strabismus_. This slight divergence in my optical apparatus from the ordinary model--however I may have been taught to regard it in the light of a mercy rather than a cross, since it enabled me to give as much of directness and personal application to my discourses as met the wants of my congregation, without risk of offending any by being supposed to have him or her in my eye (as the saying is)--seemed yet to Mrs. Wilbur a sufficient objection to the engraving of the aforesaid painting. We read of many who either absolutely refused to allow the copying of their features, as especially did Plotinus and Agesilaus among the ancients, not to mention the more modern instances of Scioppius, Palæottus, Pinellus, Velserus, Gataker, and others, or were indifferent thereto, as Cromwell. [Greek: b.] Yet was Cæsar desirous of concealing his baldness. _Per contra_, my Lord Protector's carefulness in the matter of his wart might be cited. Men generally more desirous of being _improved_ in their portraits than characters. Shall probably find very unflattered likenesses of ourselves in Recording Angel's gallery. [Greek: g.] Whether any of our national peculiarities may be traced to our use of stoves, as a certain closeness of the lips in pronunciation, and a smothered smoulderingness of disposition seldom roused to open flame? An unrestrained intercourse with fire probably conducive to generosity and hospitality of soul. Ancient Mexicans used stoves, as the friar Augustin Ruiz reports, Hakluyt, III. 468,--but Popish priests not always reliable authority. To-day picked my Isabella grapes. Crop injured by attacks of rose-bug in the spring. Whether Noah was justifiable in preserving this class of insects? [Greek: d]. Concerning Mr. Biglow's pedigree. Tolerably certain that there was never a poet among his ancestors. An ordination hymn attributed to a maternal uncle, but perhaps a sort of production not demanding the creative faculty. His grandfather a painter of the grandiose or Michael Angelo school. Seldom painted objects smaller than houses or barns, and these with uncommon expression. [Greek: e]. Of the Wilburs no complete pedigree. The crest said to be a _wild boar_, whence, perhaps, the name. (?) A connection with the Earls of Wilbraham (_quasi_ wild boar ham) might be made out. This suggestion worth following up. In 1677, John W.m. Expect----, had issue, 1. John,
This piece parodies the overly grandiose editorial footnotes, crafted in the style of the fictional Reverend Homer Wilbur, the self-important "editor" of Lowell's *Biglow Papers*. Wilbur meanders through incomplete ideas about portrait painting, national identity, grape harvests, and his own genealogy, never fully arriving at a conclusion. The humor lies in how these "notes" are so disjointed and self-indulgent that they reveal nothing of value — yet everything about the type of blowhard who pens them.
Line-by-line
[Greek: a]. Unable to procure a likeness of Mr. Biglow...
[Greek: b.] Yet was Cæsar desirous of concealing his baldness...
[Greek: g.] Whether any of our national peculiarities may be traced to our use of stoves...
[Greek: d]. Concerning Mr. Biglow's pedigree...
[Greek: e]. Of the Wilburs no complete pedigree...
Tone & mood
Dry, deadpan, and delightfully absurd, Lowell maintains Wilbur's voice with a straight face — the pomposity never winks at the reader — making the comedy hit even harder. Beneath the silliness lies a sharp satirical edge that critiques American self-importance, vanity, and that pompous attitude which confuses footnotes with true wisdom.
Symbols & metaphors
- The unfinished portrait — Wilbur's struggle to finalize a portrait of Biglow — along with his diversion into creating his own portraits — illustrates how ego often overshadows the very subject it's supposed to focus on. The unfinished portrait serves as a reminder of editorial self-absorption.
- The stove — Wilbur's stove theory represents the sort of half-baked national mythology that Americans often created — seeking grand explanations for cultural identity in everyday household items.
- The Recording Angel's gallery — A representation of straightforward truth that challenges human vanity. While earthly depictions may flatter, the divine record reveals our true selves — a subtly serious notion hidden within a mostly humorous context.
- The wild boar crest — Wilbur's imaginative family heraldry — linking 'Wilbur' to 'wild boar' and the Earls of Wilbraham — reflects the American desire for aristocratic legitimacy, humorously highlighted by the flimsy and hopeful nature of the evidence.
- The fragment that cuts off mid-sentence — The sudden ending takes the title's joke at face value. The 'drawl *ad libitum*' lacks a natural stopping point; it keeps going until someone cuts it off. This sense of incompleteness is the punchline.
Historical context
James Russell Lowell published *The Biglow Papers* in two parts (1848 and 1867), featuring the fictional Yankee farmer Hosea Biglow and his equally fictional editor, Reverend Homer Wilbur, to poke fun at American politics—first through the lens of the Mexican-American War, and then during the Civil War era. Wilbur serves as a continuous source of humor: a pompous, self-satisfied country parson who overwhelms Biglow's straightforward verse with excessive scholarly commentary. This excerpt comes from Wilbur's editorial notes, which Lowell's fictional compiler "C.N." claims are too disorganized to arrange. The title itself is a playful nod: *ad libitum* is a term that indicates a performance can be done "at the performer’s discretion, for as long as desired." Lowell was tapping into a rich American tradition of humorous pedantry, which also included Washington Irving's Diedrich Knickerbocker and, later, Mark Twain's unreliable narrators.
FAQ
*Ad libitum* is a Latin term in music that translates to 'at pleasure' or 'as long as you like.' Lowell suggests that Wilbur's drawling, rambling style has no natural conclusion—it simply continues on its own accord. The title reveals the joke before you even dive into the piece.
Wilbur is a completely fictional character created by Lowell to act as the pretentious 'editor' of Hosea Biglow's poems in *The Biglow Papers*. He parodies the type of scholarly clergyman who complicates straightforward, honest writing with self-important footnotes and lengthy digressions.
Strabismus is when the eyes aren't aligned properly, often referred to as a squint or crossed eyes. Wilbur brings it up because a painted portrait emphasized his slight eye misalignment. He goes on to transform this vanity into a theological virtue, suggesting it helped him preach without making anyone feel singled out. This perfectly illustrates his self-serving logic.
Wilbur gives the most extravagant label imaginable — likening the grandfather to Michelangelo — for someone who simply painted houses and barns. The humor lies in the stark contrast between the exaggerated description and the mundane reality of the subject. It also subtly pokes fun at Wilbur for using such lofty comparisons.
It's a throwaway comic line that comes right after he talks about how his grape crop was damaged by rose-bugs. The humor lies in the ridiculousness of blaming Noah, and indirectly God, for a pesky insect ruining his harvest. It highlights how Wilbur's thoughts shift seamlessly from grand cosmic issues to trivial complaints without him even realizing it.
Richard Hakluyt was a 16th-century English writer known for compiling *The Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques and Discoveries of the English Nation* — an extensive collection of exploration accounts. Wilbur references this work to lend his stove theory an air of scholarly credibility but quickly undercuts his own citation by pointing out that the source is a Catholic friar, which casts doubt on its reliability. This tactic serves as a sharp parody of how selective scholarly sourcing can be.
It's a prose-poem in the broadest sense — a comic literary piece that Lowell wove into the poetic project of *The Biglow Papers*. This 'poem' essentially performs a character: the title cues the joke, while the fragmentary notes deliver the punchline. Throughout the *Papers*, Lowell intentionally blurred the boundaries between verse, editorial commentary, and satirical fiction.
The notes abruptly halt in the middle of the genealogy — 'had issue, 1. John,' and then there's silence. This is the title's joke taken literally. A drawl *ad libitum* doesn’t have a natural ending; it only stops when someone decides to give up or runs out of paper. The fragmented style is the essence of it all: Wilbur could keep going indefinitely, and the kindness is that he doesn’t.