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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 49684 ***
+
+PUCK ON PEGASUS
+
+By H. Cholmondeley Pennell
+
+Illustrated By Leech, Phiz, Portch, and Tenniel
+
+With a Frontispiece By George Cruikshank
+
+Fourth Edition
+
+Routledge, Warne, & Routledge:
+
+1862.
+
+
+
+
+PUCK ON PEGASUS.
+
+
+ "Those that Hobgoblin call you, and swee Puck
+
+ You do their work, and they shall have good luck,
+
+ Are not you he?"------
+
+ Midsummer Nights Dream.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION.
+
+|The custom of inditing a preface is one which is perhaps more honoured
+in the breach than in the observance: nevertheless, I cannot allow the
+present opportunity to pass without returning my hearty thanks and
+acknowledgments to my Critics, and the Press generally, for the
+indulgent consideration I have received at their hands, and for the
+discriminating advice, of which, in revising this edition, I have gladly
+availed myself. Many of the minor pieces-introduced in the first
+instance principally as vehicles for illustrations have been omitted,
+and others of a somewhat less trivial character substituted.
+
+These alterations have, to a certain extent, modified the original
+design of the book, as conveyed by its title; but the unexpectedly
+flattering reception accorded to the two most serious poems, the "Night
+Mail North," and the "Derby Day," (the former haying been quoted at
+length in nine Reviews) led me to think that the change might not be
+disadvantageous.
+
+I have had on the whole but few hard knocks to complain of; certainly
+fewer than, considering the nature of some of the poems, I had reason to
+expect. For these adverse criticisms, which were no doubt the expression
+of the genuine opinions of their writers, I bear no grudge. As the
+Author of "The Season" pointedly phrases it, I could "have escaped
+censure only by escaping notice."
+
+WEYBRIDGE,
+
+20 May, 1862.
+
+
+[Illustration: 5022]
+
+
+
+
+THE NIGHT MAIL NORTH
+
+
+(Euston Square, 1840.)
+
+[Illustration: 9024]
+
+
+ OW then, take your seats! for Glasgow
+
+ and the North;
+
+ Chester!--Carlisle!--Holyhead,
+
+ and the wild Frith of Forth.
+
+ Clap on the steam, and sharp's
+
+ the word
+
+ "You men in scarlet cloth:--
+
+ "Are there any more passengers,
+
+ For the Night.. Mail.. to the North!"
+
+ Are there any more passengers?
+
+ Yes three-but they can't get in,
+
+ Too late, too late!-How they bellow and knock,
+
+ They might as well try to soften a rock
+
+ As the heart of that fellow in green.
+
+ For the Night Mail North? what Ho--
+
+ (No use to struggle, you can't get thro')
+
+ My young and lusty one--
+
+ Whither away from the gorgeous town?--
+
+ "For the lake and the stream and the heather brown,
+
+ "And the double-barrell'd gun!"
+
+ For the Night Mail North, I say?--
+
+ You with the eager eyes--
+
+ You with the haggard face and pale?--
+
+ 'From a ruin'd hearth and a starving brood,
+
+ "A crime and a felon's gaol!"
+
+ For the Night Mail North, old man?--
+
+ Old statue of despair--
+
+ Why tug and strain at the iron gate?
+
+ "My daughter!!" Ha! too late, too late,
+
+ She is gone, you may safely swear;
+
+ She has given you the slip, d'you hear?
+
+ She has left you alone in your wrath,--
+
+ And she's off and away, with a glorious start,
+
+ To the home of her choice, with the man of her heart,
+
+ By the Night Mail North!
+
+
+ Wh------ish R------ush
+
+ Wh-----ish r------ush.-----
+
+ "What's all that hullabaloo?
+
+ "Keep fast the gates there-who is this
+
+ "That insists on bursting thro'?"
+
+
+ A desp'rate man whom none may withstand,
+
+ For look, there is something clench'd in his hand---
+
+ Tho' the bearer is ready to drop---
+
+ He waves it wildly to and fro,
+
+ And hark! how the crowd are shouting below---
+
+ "Back!"---
+
+ And back the opposing barriers go,
+
+ "A reprieve for the Cannongate murderer Ho!
+
+ "In the Queen's name---
+
+ "STOP.
+
+ "Another has confessed the crime."
+
+
+ Whish--rush--whish--rush---
+
+ The Guard has caught the flutt'ring sheet,
+
+ Now forward and northward! fierce and fleet,
+
+ Thro' the mist and the dark and the driving sleet,
+
+ As if life and death were in it;
+
+ 'Tis a splendid race! a race against Time,---
+
+ And a thousand to one we win it.
+
+ Look at those flitting ghosts---
+
+ The white-arm'd finger posts---
+
+ If we're moving the eighth of an inch, I say,
+
+ We're going a mile a minute!
+
+
+ A mile a minute--for life or death---
+
+ Away, away! though it catches one's breath,
+
+ The man shall not die in his wrath:
+
+ The quivering carriages rock and reel---
+
+ Hurrah! for the rush of the grinding steel!
+
+ The thundering crank, and the mighty wheel!--
+
+ Are there any more pasengers
+
+ For the Night.. Mail.. to the North?
+
+[Illustration: 0028]
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF IN-THE-WATER.
+
+
+(By L--g--f--R.)
+
+[Illustration: 9029]
+
+
+ HEN the summer night
+
+ descended
+
+ Sleepy on the White--
+
+ Witch water;
+
+ Came a lithe and lovely
+
+ maiden,
+
+ Gazing on the silent water--
+
+ Gazing on the gleaming river--
+
+ With her azure eyes and tender,--
+
+ On the river, glancing forward,
+
+ Till the laughing waves sprang upward,
+
+ Dancing in her smile of sunshine
+
+ Curling ev'ry dimpled ripple
+
+ As they sprang into the starlight;
+
+ As they clasp'd her charm'd reflection
+
+ Glowing to their silver bosoms--
+
+ As they whisper'd, "Fairest, fairest,
+
+ "Rest upon our crystal bosoms!"
+
+
+ And she straightway did according:--
+
+ Down into the water stept she,
+
+ Down into the shining river,
+
+ Like a red deer in the sunset--
+
+ Like a ripe leaf in the autumn:
+
+ From her lips like roses snow-fill'd,
+
+ Came a soft and dreamy murmur.
+
+ Softer than the breath of summer.
+
+ Softer than the murmring river!
+
+ Sighs that melted as the snows melt.
+
+ Silently and sweetly melted;
+
+ Words that mingled with the crisping
+
+ Foam upon the billow resting.
+
+
+ From the forest shade primeval,
+
+ Piggey-Wiggey look'd out at her;
+
+ He, the very Youthful Porker--
+
+ He, the Everlasting Granter--
+
+ Gazed upon her there, and wonder'd!
+
+ With his nose out, rokey-pokey--
+
+ And his tail up, curley-wurley--
+
+ Wonder'd what on earth the row meant.
+
+ Wonder'd what the girl was up to--
+
+ What the deuce her little game was?
+
+
+ And she floated down the river,
+
+ Like a water-proof Ophelia--
+
+ For her crinoline sustained her!!
+
+
+[Illustration: 0032]
+
+
+
+
+THE FIGHT FOR THE CHAMPIONSHIP.
+
+
+By L --d M--l-- y.
+
+TOLD BY AN ANCIENT GLADIATOR TO HIS GREAT GRANDMOTHER.
+
+
+I.
+
+[Illustration: 9033]
+
+
+ ARGE Heenan of Benicia,
+
+ By ninety-nine gods he
+
+ swore,
+
+ That the bright Belt of
+
+ England
+
+ Should grace her sons
+
+ no more.
+
+
+ By ninety-nine he swore it,
+
+ And named the "fisting" day.--
+
+ East and west and south and north
+
+ Sir Richard Mayne rode wildly forth
+
+ His cohorts to array!
+
+
+
+II.
+
+
+ East and west and south and north
+
+ The smart Detectives flew--
+
+ South and north and east and west
+
+ They watch'd the long day thro'.
+
+ West and south--east and north--
+
+ The word went flashing by,
+
+ "Look out for Sayers and Heenan,
+
+ "Policemen--mind your eye!"
+
+
+III.
+
+
+ Sir Robert's azure heroes
+
+ Look'd out uncommon keen,
+
+ From park and plain and prairie,
+
+ From heath and upland green;
+
+ From Essex fens and fallows,
+
+ From Hampshire--dale and down--
+
+ From Sussex' hundred leagues of sand,
+
+ To Shropshire's fat and flow'ry land
+
+ And Cheshire's wild and wasted strand,
+
+ And Yorkshire's heather brown;--
+
+ And so, of course, the fight came off
+
+ A dozen miles from Town.
+
+IV.
+
+
+ Then first stept out great Heenan,
+
+ Unmatch'd for breadth and length;
+
+ And in his chest it might be guess'd,
+
+ He had unpleasant strength.
+
+ And to him went the Sayers
+
+ That look'd both small and thin,
+
+ But well each practised eye could read
+
+ The Lion and the Bull-dog breed,--
+
+ And from each fearless stander-by
+
+ Arose that genuine British cry,
+
+ "Go in, my boy,--and win!"
+
+V.
+
+
+ And he "went in"--and smote him
+
+ Through mouth-piece and through cheek;
+
+ And Heenan smote him back again
+
+ Into the ensuing week;
+
+ Full seven days thence he smote him
+
+ With one prodigious crack,
+
+ And th' undaunted Champion straight
+
+ Discern'd that he was five feet eight,
+
+ When flat upon his back:--
+
+ Whilst a great shout of laughter
+
+ Rang from the Yankee pack.
+
+VI.
+
+
+ As springs the Whitworth bullet
+
+ Out sprang the Champion then,
+
+ And dealt the huge Benician
+
+ A vast thump on the chin;
+
+ And thrice and four times strongly
+
+ Drove in the shatt'ring blow;
+
+ And thrice and four times waver'd
+
+ The herculean foe;
+
+ And his great arms swung wildly,
+
+ Like ship-masts, to and fro.
+
+VII.
+
+
+ But now no sound of laughter
+
+ Was heard on either side,
+
+ Whilst feint, and draw, and rally,
+
+ The cautious Bruisers tried;
+
+ And long they spared and counter'd,
+
+ Till Heenan sped a thrust
+
+ So fierce and quick, it swept away
+
+ Th' opposing guard like sapling spray,--
+
+ And for the second time that day
+
+ The Champion bit the dust.
+
+VIII.
+
+Short time lay English Sayers
+Upon the ground at length,
+Short time his Yankee foeman
+Had triumph in his strength;
+Bight to the eye he smote him
+And his soul went with the blow--
+Such blow no other hand could dash
+Such blow no other arm could smash--
+The giant tottered low;
+And for a space they spong'd his face,
+And thought the eye would go.
+
+IX.
+
+
+ Time's up!--Again they battle;
+
+ Again the strokes" fly free;
+
+ But Sayers' right arm--that arm of pride--
+
+ Now dangles pow'rless by his side,
+
+ Plain for all eyes to see;
+
+ And thro' that long and desp'rate shock--
+
+ Two mortal hours on the clock--
+
+ By sheer indomitable pluck
+
+ With his _left hand_ fought he!
+
+X.
+
+
+ With his left hand he fought him,
+
+ Though he was sore in pain,--
+
+ Full twenty times hurl'd backward,
+
+ Still pressing on again!
+
+ With his left hand he fought him,
+
+ Till each could fight no more;
+
+ Till Sayers could scarcely strike a blow,
+
+ Till Heenan could not see his foe--
+
+ Such fighting England never knew
+
+ Upon her soil before!
+
+XI.
+
+
+ They gave him of the standard
+
+ Gold coinage of the realm,
+
+ As much as one stout guardsman
+
+ Could carry in his helm;
+
+ They made him an ovation
+
+ On the Exchange hard by,--
+
+ And they may slap their pockets
+
+ In witness if I lie.
+
+XII.
+
+
+ And ev'ry soul in England
+
+ Was glad, both high and low,
+
+ And books were voted snobbish,
+
+ And "gloves" were all the go;
+
+ And each man told the story,
+
+ Whilst ladies' hearts did melt,
+
+ How Sayers, the British Champion,
+
+ Did battle for the Belt.
+
+XIII.
+
+
+ And still, when Yankees swagger
+
+ Th' almighty "stars and stripes,"
+
+ And put eternal bunkum
+
+ Into their neighbours' pipes,--
+
+ With joke and gibe and banter
+
+ Long shall the tale be told,
+
+ How stout Tom Sayers kept the Belt
+
+ And Yankee Doodle sold!
+
+
+[Illustration: 0040]
+
+
+
+
+THE PETITION
+
+
+[Illustration: 9041]
+
+
+ H! pause awhile, kind gentleman,
+
+ Nor turn thy face away;
+
+ There is a boon that I must ask,
+
+ A pray'r that I would pray.
+
+ Thou hast a gentle wife at home?
+
+ A son--perchance like me--
+
+ And children fair with golden hair
+
+ To cling around thy knee?
+
+ Then by their love I pray thee,
+
+ And by their merry tone;
+
+ By home, and all its tender joys,
+
+ Which I have never known,--
+
+ By all the smiles that hail thee now;
+
+ By ev'ry former sigh;
+
+ By ev'ry pang that thou hast felt
+
+ When lone, perchance, as I,--
+
+ By youth and all its blossoms bright,
+
+ By manhood's ripen'd fruits,
+
+ By Faith and Hope and Charity--
+
+ Yer'll let me clean yer boots!
+
+
+[Illustration: 0042]
+
+HOW THE DAUGHTERS COME DOWN AT DUNOON
+
+
+(By R--b--t S--th--y.)
+
+_"There standyth on the one tide of Dunoon, a hill or moleock of passynge
+steepnesse, and right slipperie withal; wherepon in gaye timet, ye youths and ye maidens of that towne do exceedingly disport themselvet and take their pleasaunce; runnynge both uppe and downe with great glee and to the much endangerment of their fair nekkes."_
+
+_Kirke's Memoirs_
+
+[Illustration: 9043]
+
+
+ OW do the Daughters
+
+ Come down at Dunoon?
+
+ Daintily:--
+
+ Gingerly
+
+ Tenderly;
+
+ Fairily;
+
+ Glidingly,
+
+ Slidingly,
+
+ Slippingly
+
+ Trippingly
+
+ Skippingly
+
+ Clippingly!--
+
+ Dashing and flying,
+
+ And clashing and shying,
+
+ And starting and bolting,
+
+ And darting and jolting,
+
+ And rushing and crushing,
+
+ And leaping and creeping,
+
+ And tottering and staggering,
+
+ And lumbering and slithering,
+
+ And hurrying and skurrying,
+
+ And worrying and flurrying,
+
+ Feathers a-flying all--bonnets untying all--
+
+ Crinolines rapping and flapping and slapping all,
+
+ Balmorals dancing and glancing entrancing all,--
+
+
+ Feats of activity--
+
+ Nymphs on declivity--
+
+ Mothers in extacies--
+
+ Fathers in vextacies--
+
+
+ Lady-loves whisking and frisking and clinging on
+
+ True-lovers puffing and blowing and springing on,
+
+ Flushing and blushing and wriggling and giggling on,
+
+ Teazing and pleasing and wheezing and squeezing on,
+
+ Everlastingly falling and bawling and sprawling on,
+
+ Rumbling and tumbling and grumbling and stumbling
+
+ on,
+
+
+ Any fine afternoon,
+
+ About July or June--
+
+ That's just how the Daughters
+
+ Come down at Dunoon!
+
+
+[Illustration: 0046]
+
+
+
+
+'THE POET CLOSE.'
+
+(_Mr. "Barney Maguire's" Account._)
+
+
+
+ CH! botheration! what a perturbation
+
+ And exasperation in the Press arose,
+
+ At the first mintion of the Queen's intintion
+
+ To confer a pinsion on the Poet Close!
+
+ There was the True-Blues-Man and the Farthing--
+
+ Newsman
+
+ All in the confushan fighting cheek by jowl;
+
+ And the Whigs and Tories forgett'n their furies
+
+ In their indignation and giniral howl!
+
+
+ The _TittlerTattle_ and the _Penny-Rattle_
+
+ Led off the battle with a puny squake,
+
+ Whilst the _Big-Tin-Kettle_ and the 'heavy metal'
+
+ His hash for to settle took the liberty to spake;--
+
+
+ "Shure'twas most ongracious, not to say owdacious,
+
+ And enough to bring the water to their eyes,
+
+ To take the loaves and fishes from the chilthren's dishes
+
+ And bestow the Royal Bounty in such wise.
+
+
+ "If so be that noble Er-rls and infarior chur-rls
+
+ Has parties they don't love and daresen't bate,
+
+ Let them squeeze their purses to choke off the curses
+
+ And not foist their verses on the Public State!
+
+ 'Twas worse than jobbery, and a right down robbery,
+
+ For to give the ruffian fifty pounds a year,--
+
+ Becase the swate nobilities were dhreading his civilities,
+
+ And ould Lord Lonsdale in a state of bodily fear.
+
+
+ "Themselves despiting, there was Carlisle writing,
+
+ And Brougham inditing of saft-sardering notes,
+
+ And Viscount Palmerston a-chuckling at the harm he's
+
+ done,
+
+ And dipping his fingers in the county votes.--
+
+ 'Twould be a wrong entirely, to be remimber'd direly,
+
+ If the scribbling blackguard on 'the List' was placed,
+
+ And should the Legislature support the crature
+
+ Then for sartin shure the counthry was disgraced!"
+
+
+ So the papers thunder'd, and the people wonder'd
+
+ _Whose_ nose had blunder'd into this hornet's nist;
+
+ And the Queen, Heav'n bless her! the Roy'1 Rehdresser,
+
+ Struck Close's name out of the Civil List
+
+ Och! then, what a rowing and a rubadub-dow-ing
+
+ And universal crowing fill'd the air,
+
+ With a gin'ral hissing,--but Lord Pam was missing,
+
+ And making for the house-top by the garret-stair!
+
+
+
+
+THE DU CHILLU CONTROVERSY
+
+
+_(After the "Snapping Turtle.")_
+
+[Illustration: 9050]
+
+
+ AVE you read B. P. Du Chaillu?
+
+ Chaillu of the Big Baboon?
+
+ He who slew the fierce Gorilla
+
+ In the Mountains of the Moon?
+
+
+ All day long that injured party
+
+ Rested on the boughs his chin;
+
+ Strangling spifflicated niggers
+
+ Just to keep his biceps in.
+
+
+ Nightly several score of lions
+
+ Yielded up their worthless lives;
+
+ And there was a cry in Mickbos,
+
+ For the King had lost his wives.
+
+
+ Wrathful was the sable monarch
+
+ At their unexpected hops;
+
+ For the brute had cook'd the gruel
+
+ Of the Nymphs who cook'd the chops!
+
+
+ Thro' this land of death and danger,
+
+ Mandrake-swamp and stagnant fen,--
+
+ Where the spiders look like asses,
+
+ And the asses grow like men,--
+
+
+ Where the Shniego-Bmouvé sitteth
+
+ Hairless underneath his hat,
+
+ And a white man is a dainty
+
+ Irresistible if fat,--
+
+
+ Where the alligator gambols--
+
+ Whale like--in the black lagoon;--
+
+ Went unscathed B. P. Du Chaillu,
+
+ Chaillu of the Big Baboon!
+
+
+ Found the Shniego-Bmouvé squatting,
+
+ Hairless,'neath the tropic moon
+
+ Saw the spiders--saw the asses--
+
+ (When he gazed in the Lagoon)--
+
+
+ Twigg'd the Crocodile stupendous,
+
+ Winking with ferocious eye,--
+
+ Met the Cannibals--the feasters
+
+ On cold missionary pie;--
+
+
+ Shot, and bagg'd, the fierce Gorilla,
+
+ To the music of the drum,--
+
+ Heard, fifteen miles off, his roaring,
+
+ Mellow'd to a gentle--hum!
+
+
+ What, you doubt me! gen'rous public,
+
+ Hear me swear it's no take in--
+
+ Owen says the throat's a larynx,
+
+ And look here's the beggar's skin!
+
+
+
+
+ADVERTISEMENT
+
+[Illustration:9053]
+
+
+ OST, stolen, or stray'd!--During Satur--
+
+ day's fog--
+
+ A confoundedly ugly terrier dog.
+
+ Coat short, fore-legs long, color mud--
+
+ dyish black.
+
+
+ (Item--bites freely:)--no hair on the
+
+ back:--
+
+ Whoso brings the above to Old-Lady Place East,
+
+ Will be rewarded!! _(by getting rid of the beast)_.
+
+[Illustration: 0053]
+
+
+
+
+OUR SWEET RECRUITING SERGEANTS.
+
+
+
+ _"Down before his feet she knelt,
+
+ Her locks of gold Ml o'er her."
+
+ Edward and Philippa._
+
+[Illustration: 9054]
+
+
+ OME look from the window with me,
+
+ Charley love,
+
+ They are marching this way thro' the
+
+ gloom;
+
+ With clatter of steel,
+
+ And echoing peal,
+
+ And a ringing reverb'rating hum
+
+ As they come;--
+
+ 'Tis the tuck of the Volunteer drum!
+
+
+'Tis the tuck of the Volunteer drum,
+
+ Charley love.
+
+ Our own Volunteers, Caro mine,--
+
+ See, now their arms glance!
+
+ "Front form!--left--advance!"--
+
+
+ As the long column wheels into line
+
+ It's divine
+
+ To watch how their bayonets shine.
+
+
+ From village and town they have drawn,
+
+ Charley love,
+
+ They've gather'd from lowland and height,--
+
+ Their lasses have braced
+
+ The swords to their waist,
+
+ And armed them for England and Right,
+
+ and to fight
+
+ For the banner that's waving to night.
+
+
+ Gallant hearts! they are bound to our own,
+
+ Charley love,
+
+ They are link'd by each tie that endears,--
+
+ By hopes and by pray'rs--
+
+ By smiles and by tears--
+
+ Long, long ring those shouts in our ears!
+
+ Hark, three cheers--
+
+ Three times three for our brave Volunteers!
+
+
+ Adieu! the bright pageant grows dark,
+
+ Charley love,
+
+ Their ranks are beginning to fade--
+
+ The last glimmer dies--
+
+ There's a mist in my eyes!--
+
+ Their voices come faint thro' the shade,
+
+ I'm afraid
+
+ That's good night to our Rifle Brigade!
+
+[Illustration: 0056]
+
+
+
+
+SONNET
+
+TO HIMSELF.
+
+
+[Illustration: 9057]
+
+
+ FF! off! thou art an ass, thou art
+
+ an ass,
+
+ "Thou man of endless words and
+
+ little sense,
+
+ "Of pigmy powers and conceit im--
+
+ mense--
+
+ "Thou art a Donkey!
+
+ Take a bit of grass?"
+
+ Oh, Martin! Oh, my Tupper! thus exclaims
+
+ A groveling Age, grown envious of thy fames,--
+
+ Thy boundless sonnets, and Proverbial bays:
+
+ Blest Silence! lovéd Silence! thou art Heavn!--
+
+ (See my remarks in "Sonnet 47")--
+
+ _Yet_ will I breathe my pleasant Poems forth
+
+ Innumerable. Hundreds more--ay tens
+
+ Of thousands! Sweet etherial rhymes,
+
+ I hold ye here! and hug ye--all the lot;--
+
+ A monstrous pile of quintessential rot!!
+
+[Illustration: 0058]
+
+
+
+
+DERBY DAY
+
+
+[Illustration: 9059]
+
+
+ H! who will over the Downs
+
+ with me?"
+
+ Over Epsom Downs, and away--
+
+ The Sun has got a tear in his
+
+ eye,
+
+ And the morning mists are light
+
+ and high;--
+
+ We shall have a splendid day.
+
+
+ And splendid it is, by all that's hot!--
+
+ A regular blaze on the hill;
+
+ And the turf rebounds from the light-shod heel
+
+ And the tapering spokes of the delicate wheel
+
+ With a springy-velvety sort of a feel
+
+ That fairly invites "a spill."
+
+ Splendid it is; but we musnt stop,
+
+ The folks are beginning to run,--
+
+ Is yonder a cloud that covers the course?
+
+ No, it's fifty thousand--man and horse--
+
+ Come out to see the fun.
+
+
+ So--just in time for the trial spurt;
+
+ The jocks are cantering in,--
+
+ We shall have the leaders round in a crack,
+
+ And a hundred voices are shouting "back,"
+
+ But nobody stirs a pin!
+
+ There isn't a soul will budge
+
+ So much as an inch from his place,
+
+ Tho' the hue of the Masters scarlet coat
+
+ Is a joke compared to his face.
+
+ To the ropes! to the ropes!"--Now stick to your
+
+ hold;--
+
+ A breezy flutter of crimson and gold,
+
+ And the crowd are swept aside,--
+
+ You can see the caps as they fall and rise
+
+ Like a swarm of variegated flies
+
+ Coming glittering up the ride;
+
+ To the ropes, for your life!" Here they come--there
+
+ they go--"
+
+ The exquisite graceful things!
+
+ In the very sport of their strength and pride;
+
+ Ha! that's the Favourite--look at his,
+
+ It suggests the idea of wings:
+
+ And the glossy neck is arched and firm
+
+ In spite of the flying pace;
+
+ The jockey sticks to his back like glue,
+
+ And his hand is quick and his eye is true,
+
+ And whatever skill and pluck can do
+
+ They will do to win the race.
+
+ The colt with the bright broad chest,
+
+ Will run to win to day--
+
+ There's fame and fortune in every bound
+
+ And a hundred and fifty thousand pound
+
+ Staked on the gallant Bay!
+
+ "_Theyre off!_"....
+
+ And away at the very first start,
+
+ "Hats down! hats down in front!
+
+ "Hats down, you sir in the wide-awake!"--
+
+ The tighten'd barriers quiver and shake
+
+ But they bravely bear the brunt.
+
+ A hush, like death, is over the crowd;
+
+ D'you hear that distant cry?--
+
+ Then hark how it gathers, far and near,
+
+ One rolling, ringing, rattling cheer
+
+ As the race goes dashing by,
+
+ And away with the hats and caps in the air,
+
+ And the horses seem to fly...
+
+ Forward! forward! at railway speed,
+
+ There's one that has fairly taken the lead
+
+ In a style that can scarce miscarry;
+
+ Oyer and on, like a flash of light,
+
+ And now his colours are coming in sight,
+
+ Favourite! Favourite!--scarlet and white--
+
+ He'll win, by the Lord Harry!!
+
+ If he can but clear the Corner, I say,
+
+ The Derby is lost and won--
+
+ It's an awful shave, but he'll do the trick,
+
+ Now! Now or never--he's passing it quick.--
+
+ _He's round!_...
+
+ No, he isn't; he's broken his neck,
+
+ And the jockey his collar bone:
+
+ And the whirlwind race is over his head,
+
+ Without stopping to ask if he's living or dead,--
+
+ Was there ever such rudeness known?
+
+ He fell like a trump in the foremost place--
+
+ He died with the rushing wind on his face--
+
+ At the wildest bound of his glorious pace--
+
+ In the mad exulting revel;
+
+ He left his shoes to his son and heir,
+
+ His hocks to a champagne dealer at Ware,
+
+ A lock of his hair
+
+ To the Lady-Mare,
+
+ And his hoofs and his tail------to the------!
+
+[Illustration: 0064]
+
+[Illustration: 5065]
+
+
+
+
+AH, WHO?
+
+
+[Illustration: 9066]
+
+
+ HO comes so damp by grass and
+
+ grave,
+
+ At ghastly twilight hour;
+
+ And bubbles forth his pois'nous
+
+ breath
+
+ On ev'ry shudd'ring flow'rî
+
+ Who dogs the houseless wanderer
+
+ Upon the wintry wold;
+
+ And kisses--with his frothy lips--
+
+ The clammy brow and cold?
+
+
+ Who, hideous, trails a slimy form,
+
+ Betwixt the moonlight pale;
+
+ And the pale, fearful, sleeping face?
+
+Our little friend--the Snail.
+
+[Illustration: 0067]
+
+
+
+
+"DAILY TRIALS."
+
+
+_By a Dyspeptic_.
+
+[Illustration: 9068]
+
+
+ UNCH, sir? Yes-ser, Pickled Salmon
+
+ Cutlets Kidneys Greens and"--
+
+ "Gammon!
+
+ Have you got no wholesome
+
+ meat, sir?
+
+ Flesh or fowl that one can
+
+ eat, sir?"
+
+ "Eat, sir? Yes-ser, on the dresser
+
+ Pork, sir"--"Pork, sir, I detest, sir"--
+
+ "Lobsters?"
+
+
+ "Are to me unblest, sir"--
+
+ "Duck and Peas?"
+
+"I can't digest, sir"--
+
+ 'Roe, sir?"
+
+"No, sir!"
+
+"Fish, sir?"
+
+"Pish, sir!"
+
+ Sausage?"
+
+"Sooner eat the dish, sir--
+
+ _Hath_ a puppy charms for Briton?
+
+ _Can_ the soul rejoice in kitton?
+
+
+ "Shrimps, sir? Prawns, sir? Crawfish? Winkle?
+
+ Scallops ready in a twinkle?
+
+ Wilks and Cockles, Crabs to follow!"
+
+ "Heav'ns, _nothing_ I can swallow!
+
+ Waitar!"
+
+"Yes-sar."
+
+"Bread for twenty.
+
+ I shall starve in midst of plenty!"
+
+[Illustration: 0069]
+
+
+
+
+HOW WE GOT TO THE BRIGHTON REBLEW
+
+
+[Illustration: 9070]
+
+
+ H, Brighton's the place
+
+ For a beautiful face,
+
+ And a figure that gracefully made is;
+
+ And so far as I know
+
+ There's none other can show,
+
+ At the right time of year--say November or so--
+
+ Such a bevy of pretty young ladies.
+
+
+ Such blows on the Down!
+
+ Such lounges thro' Town!
+
+ Such a crush at Parade and Pavilion!
+
+
+ Such beaches below!
+
+ (Where people don't go),
+
+ Such bathing!--Such dressing, past Madame Tussaud!--
+
+ No wonder it catches the Million!
+
+
+ For bustle and breeze
+
+ And a sniff of salt seas
+
+ Oh, Brighton's the place!--not a doubt of it;--
+
+ But instead of post-chaise
+
+ Or padded coupes
+
+ If you had to get there a la excursionaise--
+
+ (Which Trench
+
+ Says is French
+
+ For a seat on a bench,
+
+ With an even toss up if you frizzle or drench)--
+
+ I think you'd be glad to keep out of it!
+
+
+ With their slap dash, crack crash,
+
+ And here and there a glorious smash,
+
+ And a hundred killed and wounded,--
+
+ It's little our jolly Directors care,
+
+ For a Passenger's neck if he pays his fare,
+
+ So away you go at a florin a pair,
+
+ The signal whistle has sounded!
+
+ Off at last
+
+ An hour past
+
+ The time, and carriages tight-full;
+
+ Why this should be
+
+ We can't quite see,
+
+ But of course it's all a part of the spree,
+
+ And it's really most delightful!
+
+ Crush, pack--
+
+ Brighton and back--
+
+ All the way for a shilling,--
+
+ What'prentice cit
+
+ But doesn't admit
+
+ Tho' ten in a row is an awkwardish fit,
+
+ At the price it's exceedingly filling!
+
+
+ _(Chorus of Passengers.)_
+
+ Crash, crack--
+
+ Brighton and back--
+
+ All the way for a shilling,--
+
+ Tho' the pace be slow
+
+ We're likely to go
+
+ A long journey before we get back d'you know,
+
+ The speed's so remarkably "killing"!
+
+
+ Ho! "slow" you find?
+
+ Then off, like the wind--
+
+ With a jerk that to any unprejudiced mind
+
+ Feels strongly as if it had come from _behind_--
+
+ Away like mad we clatter;
+
+ Bang--slap,--bang--rap,--
+
+ "Can't somebody manage to see what has hap--?"
+
+ There goes Jones's head!--no, it's only his cap!--
+
+ Jones, my boy, who's your hatter?
+
+
+ Slow it is, is it? jump jolt,
+
+ Slithering wheel and starting bolt,
+
+ Staggering, reeling, and rocking,--
+
+ Now we're going it!---jolt jump,
+
+ Whack thwack, thump bump,--
+
+ It's a mercy we're all stuck fast in a lump,
+
+ The permanent way is shocking!
+
+
+ Away we rattle--we race--we fly!--
+
+ Mrs. Brown is certain she's going to die,
+
+ 'We've our own ideas on that point, you and I)
+
+ But this pitching will make evry one ill,--
+
+ Screech scream--groan grunt--
+
+ Express behind, and Luggage in front,--
+
+ If we have good luck we may manage to shunt
+
+ Before we get into the tunnel!
+
+
+_(Chorus of Passengers.)_
+
+ Jump, jolt--
+
+ Engines that bolt--
+
+ Brighton and back for a shilling--
+
+ Jolt jump--but we've children and wives,
+
+ Jump jolt--who value our lives,
+
+ Jump--and you won't catch one here again who survives
+
+ The patent process of killing!
+
+_(Chorus of Directors.)_
+
+ With our slap dash, crack crash,
+
+ And here and there a glorious smash
+
+ And a hundred killed and wounded!--
+
+ It's little we jolly directors care
+
+ For a passenger's limbs if he pays his fare,
+
+ So away you go at a florin the pair,
+
+ The signal whistle has sounded!!
+
+
+
+
+SCHOOL "FEEDS."
+
+
+[Illustration: 9076]
+
+
+ Y, there they sit! a merry rout
+
+ As village green can show,
+
+ That were such woful little wights
+
+ A summer hour ago.
+
+
+ Such woful weary little wights!
+
+ And precious hungry too--
+
+ And now they look like sausages
+
+ All smiling in a row.
+
+
+ For they have fed on dainty fare
+
+ This blazing August day,
+
+ And ate--as only people eat
+
+ When _other_ people pay!
+
+
+ A pyramid of roasted ox
+
+ Has vanish'd like a shot;
+
+ Plum puddings, brobdiguag, have gone
+
+ The second time, to pot;
+
+
+ Devoted fowls have come to grief,
+
+ With persecuted geese;
+
+ And ducks (it is a wicked world!)
+
+ Departed life in peas.
+
+
+ My Lord and Lady Bountiful
+
+ Have done the civil thing,--
+
+ The lady patrons of "the turf"
+
+ Have waited in the "ring;"
+
+
+ The Grand Comptroller of the cake
+
+ Can hardly hold the knife;
+
+ The milk-and-water Ganymede
+
+ Is weary of his life;
+
+
+ Yet still the conflict rages round!
+
+ But now there comes a lull--
+
+ The edge of youthful appetite
+
+ Is waxing somewhat dull--
+
+ And fat Fenetta bobs, and says,
+
+ "No, thank ye, mam,--I'm 'ful'!"
+
+
+ Alone amid the festive throng
+
+ One tiny brow is sad!
+
+ One cherub face is wet with grief--
+
+ What ails you little lad?
+
+
+ Why still with scarifying sleeve
+
+ That tearful visage rub?
+
+ Ah! much I fear, my gentle boy,
+
+ You don't enjoy your grub!
+
+
+ You're altogether off your feed,
+
+ Your laughing looks have fled,--
+
+ Perhaps some little faithful friend
+
+ Has punch'd your little head?
+
+
+ You miss some well remembered face
+
+ The merry rout among?
+
+
+ The lips that blest, the arms that prest,
+
+ The neck to which you clung?
+
+ A brothers voice? a sister's smile?
+
+ Perhaps--you've burnt your tongue?
+
+ Here, on a sympathetic breast,
+
+ Your tale of suff'ring pour.
+
+ Come, darling! tell me all----"Boo-hoo;--
+
+ "I can't eat any more!"
+
+
+[Illustration: 0079]
+
+
+
+
+LORD HOLLYGREENS COURTSHIP
+
+
+_(BY MRS. E. B. BR--N--G.)_
+
+A POET WRITES TO HIS FRIEND. Place--BEDLAM. Time--PROBABLY
+"SATURDAY NIGHT ABOUT TWO O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING."
+
+"_Dear my friend, and fellow-student, I would lean my spirit o'er you;
+
+"Down the purple of this chamber, tears should scarcely run at will." (!!!)
+Mrs. Browning's "Lady Geraldine's Courtship."_
+
+[Illustration: 9080]
+
+
+ O Ho, Ha Ha, He He--Hum!!!! 0,
+
+ Charley, let me weep adown your
+
+ Manly bosom! o'er that chamber, tears
+
+ must surely run ad libi.--
+
+ I'm a victim! friend and pitcher!--done incontinently
+
+ brown--your
+
+ Poet is immensely diddled by a--but _narrabo tibi_:--
+
+ (There's a Lady, * who writes verses, in the true spas--
+
+ modic metre,--
+
+ Better writes she, certes, better than all women with--
+
+ out end:
+
+ Writes full darkly:--I defy all Bards alive or dead to
+
+ beat her
+
+ At a nubibustic stanza that no man can comprehend--
+
+
+ Her sublime afflatus had I, and her noble scorn of
+
+ rhyming,
+
+ I could write you something tallish--should make
+
+ Lindley Murray suffer,--
+
+ Would she "lean her spirit" o'er me, in this rhympho--
+
+ leptic climbing, **
+
+ I would paint My Courtship in a style would make
+
+ you stare, Old Buffer!)--
+
+* I cannot forego this opportunity of paying my humble tribute of ad--
+miration to the genius and accomplishments of Mrs. Barrett Browning,
+whose lamented death has occurred since the above effusion first appeared
+in print; and I do so the more readily as I fear lest lines which were
+written in mere gaité de cour may possibly have been construed into a
+serious attack upon works, the general and undoubted merits of which
+I should be the first to acknowledge.
+
+** "Nymphs of mountain, not of valley, we are wont to call the muses--
+"And in nympholeptic climbing, poets pass from mount to star."
+--Lady Geraldine's Courtship.
+
+
+ You know, Charley, 'where I saw my Marianne (first) in
+
+ Belgravia;
+
+ And (_secundo_) how I loved her, with more love than
+
+ kith and kin do:
+
+ (_Tertio_) how I won,--and wed her,--yestermorn; and
+
+ her behaviour
+
+ You shall hear in five words--last night she exodus'd
+
+ BY THE WINDOW!!
+
+
+ O! my Charley, you remember, on that cold fifth of
+
+ November,
+
+ As we saunter'd slowly Eastward, with the weed between
+
+ our lips;
+
+ How we spied a damsel beauteous, lymphomatically
+
+ duteous,
+
+ (I.E. cook at Number 7, scrubbing of the kitchen steps).
+
+
+ Charley, you and I remember, on that bright fifth of
+
+ November,
+
+ How she knelt there like a statue,--knelt bare-armëd
+
+ in the breeze,--
+
+ Whist her saponaceous lavement catalambanized the
+
+ pavement,
+
+ And her virginal white vesture flutter'd, reef d-wise, to
+
+ the knees.
+
+
+ Spell-bound in the road behind her, paused the Hurdy--
+
+ Gurdy Grinder,
+
+ Strangling in his wild excitement, Jumping Jimmy the
+
+ baboon;
+
+ Whilst the Genius of the Organ, fascinated by her
+
+ Gorgon
+
+ Beauty, stood enraptured--captured--playing madly out
+
+ of tune.
+
+
+ Then with her blue eyes entrancing, and her taper ankle
+
+ glancing,
+
+ And her rounded arms akimbo resting on her dainty
+
+ waist;
+
+ She half turn'd,--and turning threw me one glance
+
+ "utterly to undo me"--
+
+ (Well, you know'twas me she look'd at, Charley, and
+
+ she show'd her taste! )
+
+
+ Evermore my soul beguiling, in arch silence she kept
+
+ smiling--
+
+ And my heart within my bosom, pretematurally hopp'd;
+
+ Still as near I drew, and nearer, she grew fair and yet
+
+ more fairer (!)--
+
+ On both knees upon the pavement (Miles's bags, my
+
+ Boy) I dropp'd.
+
+[Illustration: 0084]
+
+
+ Then--but why should I confide you, what you know as
+
+ well as I do?
+
+ How she look'd up like an angel, (I can see her figure still!)
+
+
+ "I am yours, sir, if you'll take me--if you'll marry me
+
+ and make me
+
+ "A fine Lady, like my Missis:"--how I cried, "By
+
+ Jove, I WILL!"
+
+
+ How thenceforward ev'ry morning, wet and wind and
+
+ weather scorning,
+
+ By the steps of Number 7, punctual as the clock I past,--
+
+ How my love grew daily stronger--strength'ning as the
+
+ days grew longer--
+
+ Till my Marianne consented, and we named the day at
+
+ last.
+
+
+ How my Queen of Cake and Curry volunteer'd a
+
+ muffin-worry,
+
+ How I fondly made my advent somewhat ere the
+
+ moment due,--
+
+ And on going to the cupboard, like a second Mother
+
+ Hubbard,
+
+ Found the same, not "bare," but fill'd with six feet one
+
+ of Horse Guards Blue.
+
+
+ "Monster!'tis my only brother!"--"Silence, Madam--
+
+ you're another:
+
+ "Come out of your cupboard, Lobster! come out, gallant
+
+ Corporal Brown,--
+
+ "Slave! (I said) base Kitchen-creeper! (said I) I will
+
+ stop your peeper!
+
+ "I will tap your claret, Lobster,--I'll--"
+
+[Illustration: 0086]
+
+
+ --but here he knock'd me down.
+
+ How, still chain'd by Love the Fetterer, spite of cupboard
+
+ and etcetera,
+
+ To Cremome one night I took her, in a "Pork Pie"
+
+ highly killing;
+
+ Purvey'd buns and ices satis, and a sherry-cobbler
+
+ --gratis!
+
+ (Tho' you know I do not, Charley, love to sep'rate from
+
+ a shilling)--
+
+
+ How, when ev'rything was paid for; fun and fireworks
+
+ only stay'd for;
+
+ And my belle amie had eaten ev'rything that she was able;
+
+ Whilst the Resonant Steam-Dragon* (that's the tea--
+
+ pot), and the flagon
+
+ Of Lymphatic Cow (that's milk), stood smiling on the
+
+ arbor table,--
+
+
+ "Might she just step out and find her parasol she'd left
+
+ behind her?
+
+ "Whilst I kindly pour'd the tea out, and the cream that
+
+ look'd so yellow?"--
+
+* "She has halls and she has castles, and the resonant Steam-Eagles
+Follow far on the direction of her little dove-like hand."
+_Lady Geraldine's Courtship_.
+
+
+ Yellow? Ha, ha! who could think it!--She never came
+
+ back to drink it:--
+
+ I fell flooded in a Brown. * ( study, understood, Old Fellow).
+
+
+ How my love withstood this trial, (toughish there is no
+
+ denial)
+
+ Soul-subdued by her low pleading, satin-tongued, soap--
+
+ soft as silk,--
+
+ Not a saint his heart could harden, thus so sweetly
+
+ ask'd for pardon:--
+
+ I suck'd in the obvious crammer kindly as my mother's
+
+ milk.
+
+
+ Soh! (I said)--and then forgave her: and she promised
+
+ to behave her--
+
+ Self in future like an angel (which she did, and show'd
+
+ her wings)
+
+ And I fancied yestermorning (fool) that my reward was
+
+ dawning,--
+
+ So it was--and with a vengeance! (fool again) But
+
+ some one rings?--
+
+* . . . "I fell flooded in a dark."--
+_Lady Geraldine's Courtship._
+
+
+ 'Twas a cruel thing--but funny?--her eloping ere her
+
+ Honey--
+
+[Illustration: 0089]
+
+
+ Moon'd scarce risen?--cutting, very,--and for me the
+
+ world is dead.
+
+ Slightly crushing to my hopes is this performance on the
+
+ ropes! Miss
+
+ Marianne _suspensa scalis_--(would t'were sus. per col.
+
+ instead!)
+
+ Ass that I was to be wedded!--Wonderfully wooden--
+
+ headed!
+
+ I'm a wiser man now, Charley,--_certes_, up to snuff--but
+
+ sadder,--
+
+ Oh, the fickle little Hindoo! _Facilis descensus_ window!
+
+ Oh--that bell again! what's this?---- A Bill
+
+ OF £5 FOR THE LADDER!
+
+[Illustration: 0090]
+
+
+
+
+LAY OF THE DESERTED INFLUENZED
+
+
+(How you speak through your Dose)
+
+[Illustration: 9091]
+
+
+ O, doe, doe!
+
+ I shall dever see her bore!
+
+ Dever bore our feet shall rove
+
+ The beadows as of yore!
+
+ Dever bore with byrtle boughs
+
+ Her tresses shall I twide--
+
+ Dever bore her bellow voice
+
+ Bake bellody with bide!
+
+ Dever shall we lidger bore,
+
+ Abid the flow'rs at dood,
+
+ Dever shall we gaze at dight
+
+ Upod the tedtder bood!
+
+ Ho, doe, doe!
+
+ Those berry tibes have flowd,
+
+ Ad I shall dever see her bore,
+
+ By beautiful! by owd!
+
+
+ Ho, doe, doe!
+
+ I shall dever see her bore,
+
+ She will forget be id a bonth--
+
+ Bost probably before.
+
+ She will forget the byrtle boughs,
+
+ The flow'rs we pluck'd at dood,
+
+ Our beetigs by the tedtder stars,
+
+ Our gazigs od the bood.
+
+ Ad I shall dever see agaid
+
+ The Lily ad the Rose;
+
+ The dabask cheek! the sdowy brow!
+
+ The perfect bouth ad dose!
+
+ Ho, doe, doe!
+
+ Those berry tibes have flowd--
+
+
+ Ad I shall dever see her bore,
+
+ By beautiful!! by owd!!
+
+
+[Illustration: 5093]
+
+
+
+
+I'VE LOST MY --------
+
+
+[Illustration: 9094]
+
+
+ EELER! hast thou found my treasure,--
+
+ Hast thou seen my vanish'd Fair?
+
+ Flora of the raven ringlets,
+
+ Flora of the shining hair?
+
+ Tell me quick, and no palaver,
+
+ For I am a man of heat--
+
+ Hast thou seen her, X 100?
+
+ Hast thou view'd her on thy beat?
+
+
+ Mark'd, I say, her fairy figure
+
+ In the wilderness of Bow?
+
+ Traced her lilliputian foot-prints
+
+ On the sands of Rotten Row?
+
+
+ Out, alas! thou answ'rest nothing,
+
+ And my senseless anger dies;
+
+ Who would look for "speculation"
+
+ In a boil'd potato's eyes?
+
+
+ Foggy Peeler! purblind Peeler!
+
+ Wherefore walk'st thou in a dream?--
+
+ Ask a plethoric black beetle
+
+ Why it walks into the cream!
+
+
+ Why the jolly gnats find pleasaunce
+
+ In your drowsy orbs of sight,--
+
+ Why besotted daddy long-legs
+
+ Hum into the nearest light,--
+
+
+ 'Tis his creed, "_non mi ricordo_,"
+
+ And he wanders in a fog;
+
+ As that other peel, her--
+
+ Baceous, wanders in your glass of grog;--
+
+
+ Ah, my Flora! (graceless chit!) O
+
+ Pearl of all thy peerless race!
+
+
+ Where shall fancy find one fit, O
+
+ Fit to fill thy vacant place?
+
+ Who can be the graceful ditt-o
+
+ Ditto to that form and face?
+
+
+ Hence, then, sentimental twaddle!
+
+ Love, thy fetters I will fly--
+
+ Friendship is not worth a boddle,
+
+ Lost, alas! I've lost--my Skye.
+
+
+[Illustration: 0096]
+
+
+
+
+THE VIII CRUSADE.
+
+
+(Preach'd by Puck ye Poete against Paint and Pommade.)
+
+[Illustration: 9097]
+
+
+ DO you wish that your face should
+
+ be fair?
+
+ That your cheek should be rosy
+
+ and plump?
+
+ Morning noontide and night
+
+ Take a dip in the bright
+
+ Wave that flows from the spout of
+
+ the pump,--
+
+ From a Pump!--
+
+ Not a dump
+
+ Do we care for the lily
+
+ Pick'd in Piccadilly,
+
+ Or grown by the "Camphorate Lump."
+
+
+ Do you sigh for ambrosial hair?
+
+ For clustering ringlets to match?
+
+
+ Little goose!
+
+ To the deuce
+
+ With pommades--learn the use
+
+ Of the BRUSH, and you'll soon have a thatch
+
+ That shall 'catch'
+
+ The moustachio'd amasser
+
+ Of Rowland's Macassar,
+
+ (At twenty-five shillings a batch).
+
+
+ Is it ivory teeth you desire?
+
+ A set that no dentist may trammel?
+
+ To Rowland's O-dont-o
+
+ Cry, "No that we won't O!
+
+ "It softens the precious enamel!"
+
+ (That Schamyl
+
+ Sends packing, confound it,
+
+ To the Sultan Mahound. (It
+
+ 'S _au naturel_, perch'd on a Camel))
+
+
+ Then toy not with powder and paste!
+
+ Sweet nymphs, they are deadliest foes;
+
+ No Piver persuade you--
+
+ No Rowland invade you--
+
+ In peace let each dimple repose
+
+ Where it grows!
+
+ When he shows
+
+ You his Kalydor Lotion
+
+ Reply "We've a notion
+
+ "It takes all the skin off one's nose!"
+
+ (As he goes)
+
+ Add "There's nothing can beat your's
+
+ "For blist'ring the features
+
+ "But, 'Atkinson's Milk of the Rose!"'
+
+[Illustration: 0099]
+
+
+
+
+IN MEDIÆVOS.
+
+
+[Illustration: 9100]
+
+
+ F you love to wear
+
+ An unlimited extent of hair
+
+ Push'd frantically back behind a pair
+
+ Of ears, that all asinine comparison defy--
+
+ And peripatate by star light
+
+ To gaze upon some far light
+
+ Till you've caught an aggravated catarrh right
+
+ In the pupil of your frenzy rolling eye,--
+
+ Or if you're given to the style
+
+ Of that mad fellow Tom Carlyle,
+
+ And fancy all the while, you're taking "an earnest view" of things;
+
+ Making Rousseau a hero,
+
+ Mahomet better than Nero,
+
+ And Cromwell an angel in ev'rything except the wings:
+
+ Or if you write sonnets,
+
+ In (and out of) Time and on its
+
+ Everlasting "works of art and genius" (cobweb wreath'd!)
+
+ And fly off into rapture
+
+ At some villanous old picture
+
+ Not one atom like nature
+
+ Nor any human creature, that ever breath'd,--
+
+ Some Amazonian Vixen
+
+ Of indescribable complexion
+
+ And _hideous_ all conception to surpass;
+
+ And actually prefer this abhorrence
+
+ To a lovely portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence----
+
+ Why then--I think that you must be an Ass!
+
+[Illustration: 0101]
+
+
+
+
+FIRE!
+
+
+
+ "Away there, to the east--
+
+ "Towards the Surrey ridge,--
+
+ "I see a puff of dunnish smoke
+
+ "Over the Southwark Bridge:"--
+
+ A single curl of murky mist
+
+ That scales the summer air:
+
+ And the watchman wound his listless way
+
+ Slow down the turret stair.
+
+
+ London! that deck'st thyself with wave-won spoils,
+
+ Sea-gather d wealth--Spires, palaces,
+
+ And temples high;
+
+ Well might thy goodly burgesses exclaim
+
+ "See this--and die! *--
+
+ "See these great streets; survey these monster marts;
+
+ "The lordly'Changes of our merchant kings;--
+
+ "Behold this Thames, with all its flutt'ring breast
+
+ "Brave with white wings.--
+
+
+ "Wharves, stately with warehouses--
+
+ "Docks, with a world's treasure-chest in bail--
+
+ "What hand shall touch ye?
+
+ "What rash foe assail?"
+
+
+ "_Fire! to the eastward--Fire!_
+
+ A hurrying tramp of feet,--
+
+ A sickly haze that wraps the town
+
+ Like a leaden winding-sheet,--
+
+ A smothering smoke is in the air--
+
+ A crackling sound--a cry!--
+
+ And yonder, up over the furnace pot
+
+ That smokes like the smoke of the Cities of Lot,
+
+ There's something fierce and hissing and hot
+
+ That licks the very sky!
+
+* The Italians have a proverb, _"See Naples, and die"_
+
+
+ Fire! fire! ghastly fire!
+
+ It broadens overhead;
+
+ Red gleam the roofs in lurid light
+
+ The Heav'ns are glowing-red.
+
+ From east to west--from west to east!--
+
+ Red runs the turbid Thames--
+
+ "Fire! fire! the engines! fire!
+
+ "Or half the town's in flames--
+
+ "Fire------"
+
+ A raging, quivering gulf...
+
+ A wild stream, blazing by...
+
+ Red ruin... fearful flaming leaps...
+
+ White faces to the sky....
+
+
+ "The engines, Ho! back for your lives!"
+
+ And out the Firemen dash'd;
+
+ "Stand clear in front! room, townsmen, room!"--
+
+ Like lightning thro' the gath'ring gloom
+
+ The swarthy helmets flash'd:
+
+ Stand from the causeway--Horse and Man!--
+
+ Back, while there's time for aid--
+
+
+ Back, gilded coach!--back, lordly steed S--
+
+ There's fear and fate hangs on their speed,
+
+ And life and death and daring deed,
+
+
+ Room for the Fire Brigade!
+
+
+
+
+COUNT CABOUR.
+
+
+In Memoriam.
+
+
+
+ Weep, Italy, weep!
+
+ For the sun of thy dawning,
+
+ Now set in midday:
+
+ For the flower of thy morning,
+
+ In bloom pass'd away.
+
+ On his brow be the laurel,
+
+ Fame's smile on his sleep,--
+
+ But weep for thy Hero,
+
+ Weep, Italy, weep!
+
+
+ Weep, Italy, weep!
+
+ For thy great one departed--
+
+ The eloquent breath:
+
+ For the strong, the high hearted,
+
+ Now silent in death.
+
+ For the lion-like courage;
+
+ The eye of the lynx;
+
+ The wisdom that baffled
+
+ The Gallican sphinx;
+
+ That humbled the pride
+
+ Of the priesthood of Rome;
+
+ Thy falchion abroad,
+
+ And thy buckler at home;
+
+ In whose life thou wert first,
+
+ And the last on whose lip,--
+
+ For thy Patriot--Statesman--
+
+ Weep, Italy, weep!
+
+
+ Weep, Italy! weep--
+
+ And the loud cannon's rattle
+
+ Make mourn for the brave--
+
+
+ For the light of thy battle,
+
+ Cold-quench'd in the grave!
+
+ For the daring that conquer'd
+
+ By Mincio's flood;
+
+ That wiped out each slave-stain
+
+ In Austrian blood;
+
+ That swept the red eagle
+
+ From Gaeta's steep,--
+
+ For his Country's Avenger
+
+ Let Italy weep!
+
+
+ Yes, Italy! weep!
+
+ For the arm that has righted
+
+ Thy wrongs and thy shame;
+
+ For the hand that has lighted
+
+ Bright Liberty's flame:
+
+ That took from thee--Scorning!
+
+ That left thee--Renown!
+
+ Thy long scatter'd jewels
+
+ Gave back to thy crown,--
+
+ That nerved thee to conquer,
+
+ That taught thee to keep,
+
+ For the man that has saved thee
+
+ Weep, Italy, weep!
+
+
+
+
+THE WELL OF TRUTH
+
+
+[Illustration: 9110]
+
+
+
+ 'TWAS sunset--(much ill-usèd hour,
+
+ And Southey swears it's yellow!)--
+
+
+ And so I lay and smoked the weed--
+
+ Immaculate Havannah!--
+
+ And watch'd a spider nobbling flies
+
+ In an artistic manner.
+
+
+ And mused in speculative vein
+
+ On England, and her story;
+
+ Why Palmerston was dubb'd a Whig,
+
+ And Derby was a Tory;--
+
+
+ Which diff'ring Poets tell you
+
+ Is ev'ry shade from green to red,
+
+ Why Manchester detested war,
+
+ And cottons took delight in;
+
+ Why Cobden's voice was all for peace,
+
+ And Horsman's all for fighting;--
+
+
+ Why England sent out Bibles' store,
+
+ To teach our pig-tail'd brother;
+
+ And gave him Gospel with one hand,
+
+ And Opium with the other;--
+
+
+ And why the Church was always poor,
+
+ And Lawyers lived in clover,
+
+ And why my tailor made me pay
+
+ His last.. account.. twice... over...
+
+
+ And why------
+
+ Perhaps it was the scent
+
+ That hover'd round my bow'r?
+
+
+ Perhaps it was the flies that haunt
+
+ That soul-subduing hour?
+
+
+ Or else those interesting gnats,
+
+ Which sting one so severely,
+
+ Made dreamy music round my head,
+
+ Until I slept--or nearly:--
+
+
+ But lo! I floated on a pool,
+
+ Beneath a monstrous funnel,
+
+ Whose crowning disc shone faint above,
+
+ Like sun-light thro' a tunnel;
+
+
+ And forms and faces quaint and strange
+
+ Swept by me ev'ry minute;
+
+ And ev'ry breast transparent lay
+
+ And had a window in it.
+
+
+ Then sudden thro' my mind it flash'd--
+
+ What mania could have got'em--
+
+ The place was truth's historic well,
+
+ And I--was at the bottom!
+
+
+ And first I mark'd a sombre man *
+
+ Of aspect wondrous saintly,
+
+ Whose pious eyes look'd shock'd and good,
+
+ If Sin but whisper'd faintly;
+
+* Sir John Paul.
+
+
+ And every Sunday in the plate,
+
+ His clinking gold was given
+
+ With such an air--the righteous vow'd
+
+ His alms had conquer'd Heaven!
+
+
+ And such his godly wrath'gainst all
+
+ Who betted, swore, or liquor'd,--
+
+ Old women said around his head
+
+ An Angel halo flicker'd.
+
+
+ But looking through his heart I saw
+
+ A blank, dark, moral torpor,--
+
+ And while he gave his princely alms
+
+ He cursed the needy pauper.
+
+
+ And all men grovell'd at his feet
+
+ With coax, and crawl, and wheedle;--
+
+ But I thought of Dives' burning tongue
+
+ And the parabolic needle.
+
+ And next I spied a priestly band,
+
+ In cassock, cope, and mitre,
+
+ Who diff'ring slightly from the Church,
+
+ Lent all their wits to spite her,--
+
+ With some who thought church-music gave
+
+ The Devil grievous handles;
+
+ And some who lit Polemic War
+
+ By lighting altar-candles;
+
+
+ And one who held a certain place
+
+ Most probable to get to,
+
+ Unless he preach'd in a scarlet cloak
+
+ And pray'd in a _falsetto!_--
+
+
+ But _one_ thing I could plainly read,
+
+ On ev'ry breast displaying;--
+
+ The rev'rend men took more delight
+
+ In quarrelling than praying!
+
+
+ They pass'd--and lo! an Hebrew youth,
+
+ To ebon locks confessing,
+
+ The sturdy yeomanry of Bucks
+
+ In honey'd phrase addressing.
+
+
+ And so enthusiastic wax'd
+
+ The sleek bucolic charmer;
+
+ As if his body, soul, and brains,
+
+ Had all been born a farmer.
+
+
+ And he felt "glad" and "proud," he said,
+
+ To meet his friends again--
+
+ "His valued friends!"--and in his heart
+
+ He wished himself in Spain;--
+
+
+ Of all spots in the world, he said,
+
+ To see them _there_ he'd rather,--
+
+ And inly sent them ev'ry one
+
+ To Jericho--or farther.
+
+
+ And so he gave their right good health--
+
+ And off it went in toppers;
+
+ And call'd them "Men and Patriots,"
+
+ And in his heart "Clodhoppers."--
+
+
+ And then--with very blandest smiles--
+
+ From self and boon carousers,
+
+ Gave prizes to some model louts,
+
+ And one _a pair of trousers!!_ *
+
+* Vide "Times" of 4 Nov. 1857, giving an account of the meeting
+of the Amersham and Chesham Agricultural Association.
+
+
+ And as he cried "Take, fine old man,
+
+ "These best of merit's brandings,"--
+
+ He thought "Was ever such a Calf
+
+ "On such thin understandings!"
+
+ Just then roll'd by, so bluff and bold,
+
+ A tar--from truck to kelson--
+
+ And prophesied such vast exploits,
+
+ Men cried--"Another Nelson!"
+
+ "You'll see," quoth he, "_I'll_ shortly be
+
+ "In Heav'n or Cronstadt reckon'd"--
+
+ But never meant to chance the _first_,
+
+ Or go too near the _second_.
+
+
+ And then I lost him in the crowd,
+
+ Nor could the question try on;
+
+ If I'd heard the voice of Balaam's ass
+
+ Or the roar of Britain's lion;
+
+
+ But when I thought what bumping things
+
+ The hero had been saying,
+
+ I felt I knew what Gray must mean
+
+ By the din of battle _braying_.--
+
+[Illustration: 0118]
+
+
+
+
+PERILS OF THE FINE ARTS.
+
+
+[Illustration: 9119]
+
+
+ OOD gracious, Julia! wretched girl,
+
+ What horror do I see?
+
+ What frantic fiend has done the
+
+ deed
+
+ That rends your charms from
+
+ me?
+
+ Those matchless charms which like
+
+ the sun
+
+ Lit up Belinda Place--
+
+ What fiend, I ask, in human mask
+
+ Has dared to black your face?
+
+ Your cheeks that once out-bloom'd the rose
+
+ Are both of ebon hue;
+
+ Your chin is green--your lips are brown--
+
+ Your nose is prussian blue!
+
+ This mom the very driven snow
+
+ Was not so stainless pure,--
+
+ And now, alack! you're more a black,
+
+ Than any black-a-more.
+
+ Some wretch has painted you! Oh, Jove,
+
+ That I could clutch his throat!--
+
+ That I could give his ears a _cuff_,
+
+ Who gave your face a _coat_:
+
+ If there is justice in the land--
+
+ But no:--the law is bosh:
+
+ Altho' it's tme you're black and blue
+
+ That remedy "won't wash."
+
+
+ Revenge, I say!--yet hold, no rage--
+
+ I will be calm, sweet wife--
+
+ Calm--_icy_ calm------------Speak, woman, speak,
+
+ That I may have his life!!
+
+ Who did the deed?--
+
+ "Oh! Charles,'twas _you!_
+
+ "Nay, dearest, do not shrink--
+
+ "This face and chin!--I've wash'd it in
+
+ "Your Photographic Ink!"
+
+[Illustration: 0121]
+
+
+
+
+CHARGE OF THE LIGHT (IRISH) BRIGADE
+
+
+_(Not by A--f--d T--y--n.)_
+
+[Illustration: 9122]
+
+
+ OUTHWARD Ho--Here we go!--
+
+ O'er the wave onward,
+
+ Out from the Harbor of Cork
+
+ Sail'd the Six Hundred!
+
+ Sail'd like Crusaders thence,
+
+ Burning for Peter's pence,--
+
+ Burning for fight and fame--
+
+ Burning to show their zeal--
+
+ Into the gates of Rome,
+
+ Into the jaws of Hell,
+
+ (It's all the same)
+
+ March'd the Six Hundred!
+
+ "Barracks, and tables laid!
+
+ Food for the Pope's Brigade!"
+
+ But ev'ry Celt afraid,
+
+ Gazed on the grub dismay'd--
+
+ Twigg'd he had blunder'd;--
+
+ "Who can eat rancid grease?
+
+ Call _this_ a room a-piecc?" *
+
+ "Silence unseemly din,
+
+ Prick them with bayonets in."--
+
+ Blessed Six Hundred!
+
+ Waves ev'ry battle-blade.--
+
+ "Forward! the Pope's Brigade!"--
+
+ Was there a man obeyed?
+
+ No--where they stood they stay'd,
+
+ Tho' Lamoriciere pray'd,
+
+ Threaten'd, and thunder'd,--
+
+* A room for each man, and a table furnished from the fat of the land,
+were among the inducements reported to have been held out to the
+"Pope's own."
+
+
+ "Charge!" Down their sabres then
+
+ Clash'd, as they turn'd--and ran--
+
+ Sab'ring the empty air,
+
+ Each of one taking care,--
+
+ Here, there, and ev'rywhere
+
+ Scatter'd and sunder'd.
+
+ Sick of the powder smell,
+
+ Down on their knees they fell;
+
+ Howling for hearth and home--
+
+ Cursing the Pope of Rome--
+
+ Whilst afar shot and shell
+
+ Volley'd and thunder'd;
+
+ Captured, alive and well,
+
+ Ev'ry Hibernian swell,
+
+ Came back the tale to tell;
+
+ Back from the states of Rome--
+
+ Back from the gates of Hell--
+
+ Safe and sound ev'ry man--
+
+ Jack of Six Hundred!
+
+
+ When shall their story fade?
+
+ Oh the mistake they made!
+
+ Nobody wonder'd.
+
+ Pity the fools they made--
+
+ Pity the Pope's Brigade--
+
+ Nobbled Six Hundred!
+
+
+
+
+WUS, EVER WUS
+
+
+[Illustration: 9126]
+
+
+ US! ever wus!:--By freak of Puck's
+
+ My most exciting hopes are dash'd;
+
+ I never wore my spotless ducks
+
+ But madly--wildly!--they were
+
+ splash'd.
+
+
+ I never roved by Cynthia's beam,
+
+ To gaze upon the starry sky;
+
+ But some unpleasant beetle came,
+
+ And charged into my pensive eye:
+
+
+ And oh! I never did the swell
+
+ In Regent-street, amongst the beaus,
+
+ But smuts the most prodigious fell,
+
+ And always settled on my Nose!
+
+[Illustration: 0127]
+
+
+
+
+TOO BAD, YOU KNOW.
+
+
+_(New Year's Eve,'58.)_
+
+[Illustration: 9128]
+
+
+ T was the huge metropolis
+
+ With fog was like to choke;
+
+ It was the gentle cabby--
+
+ horse
+
+ His ancient knees that
+
+ broke;--
+
+ And, oh, it was the cabby-man
+
+ That swore from ear to ear,
+
+ And did vituperate his eyes
+
+ Considerably severe,
+
+ If any swell should make him stir
+
+ Another step that year!
+
+
+ Then up and spake that bold cabman,
+
+ Unto his inside Fare,--
+
+ "I say, you Sir,--come out of that!--
+
+ "I say, you Sir in there--
+
+
+ "Six precious aggrawatin miles
+
+ "I've druv to this here gate,
+
+ "And that poor injer'd hanimal
+
+ "Is in a faintin state;
+
+
+ "There aint a thimblefull of shine,
+
+ "The fog's as black as pitch,--
+
+ "I'm flummox'd'tween them posteses
+
+ "And that most 'ateful ditch.
+
+
+ "So bundle out! my'oss is beat;
+
+ "I'm sick of this'ere night;--
+
+ I say, you Sir in there,--hear?----
+
+ _He's bolted--blow me tight!_"
+
+[Illustration: 0130]
+
+
+
+
+"THE DAYS THE THING."
+
+
+
+ Wuw--Wuw--Wuw--Wuw--Wuw--Wuw--
+
+ W-Waterloo Place? yes you
+
+ T--Take the first tut--tut--tut--turning
+
+ that faces you,--
+
+ Lul--left, and then kuk--kuk--kuk,--kuk--
+
+ kuk--kuk--keep up Pell Mell'till you
+
+ See the Wuw--Wuw----Wuw----Wuw----
+
+ Zounds, Sir, you'll get there before I
+
+ can tell it you!
+
+[Illustration: 0131]
+
+
+
+
+GHOSTRIES.
+
+
+[Illustration: 9132]
+
+
+ ID you never hear a rustling,
+
+ In the comer of your room;
+
+ When the faint fantastic fire-light
+
+ Served but to reveal the gloom?
+
+ Did you never feel the clammy
+
+ Terror, starting from each pore,
+
+ At a shocking
+
+ Sort of knocking
+
+ On your chamber door?
+
+
+ Did you never fancy something
+
+ Horrid, underneath the bed?
+
+ Or a ghastly skeletonian,
+
+ In the garret overhead?
+
+
+ Or a sudden life-like movement,
+
+ Of the _Vandyke_, grim and tall?
+
+ Or that ruddy
+
+ Mark, a bloody
+
+ Stain upon the wall?
+
+
+ Did you never see a fearful
+
+ Figure, by the rushlight low,
+
+ Crouching, creeping, _crawling_ nearer--
+
+ Putting out its lingers--SO.
+
+ Whilst its lurid eyes glared on you
+
+ From the darkness where it sat--
+
+ And you _could_ not,
+
+ Or you _would_ not,
+
+ See it was the cat?
+
+
+[Illustration: 0134]
+
+
+
+
+"MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE."
+
+
+[Illustration: 9135]
+
+
+ IR Toby was a portly party;
+
+ Sir Toby took his turtle
+
+ hearty;
+
+ Sir Toby lived to dine:
+
+ _Chateau d'Iquen_ was his fort;
+
+ Bacchus would have backt his
+
+ port;
+
+ He was an Alderman in short
+
+ Of the very first water--and wine.
+
+
+ An Alderman of the first degree,
+
+ But neither wife nor son had he;
+
+ He had a daughter fair:
+
+ And often said her father, "Cis,
+
+ "You shall be dubb'd 'my Lady,' Miss,
+
+ "When I am dubb'd Lord Mayor.
+
+
+ "The day I don the gown and chain,
+
+ "In Hymen's modern Fetter-Lane
+
+ "You wed Sir Gobble Grist;
+
+ "And whilst with pomp and pageant high
+
+ "I scrape, and stut, and star it by
+
+ "St. George's in the East, you'll try
+
+ "St. George's in the West."
+
+
+ Oh vision of paternal pride!
+
+ Oh blessed Groom to such a Bride!
+
+ Oh happy Lady Cis!
+
+ Yet sparks won't always strike the match,
+
+ And she may chance to miss her 'catch,'
+
+ Or he may catch--a _miss!_
+
+
+ Such things do happen, here and there,
+
+ When Knights are old, and Nymphs are fair,
+
+ And who can say they don't?
+
+ When Worldly takes the gilded pill,
+
+ And Dives stands and says "I will,"
+
+ And Beauty says "I WONT!"
+
+
+ Sweet Beauty! Sweeter thus by far--
+
+ Young Goddess of the silver star,
+
+ Divinity capricious!--
+
+ Who would not barter wealth and wig,
+
+ And pomp and pride and _otium dig_,
+
+ For Youth--when 'plums' weren't worth a fig
+
+ And Venus smiled propitious?
+
+
+ Alas! that beaus will lose their spring,
+
+ And wayward belles refuse to 'ring,'
+
+ Unstruck by Cupid's dart!
+
+ Alas that--must the truth be told--
+
+ Yet oft'ner has the archer sold
+
+ The 'white and red,' to touch the 'gold,'
+
+ And Diamonds trump'd the Heart!
+
+
+ That luckless heart! too soon misplaced!--
+
+ Why is it that parental taste
+
+ On sagest calculation based
+
+ So rarely pleases Miss?
+
+ Let those who can, the riddle read;
+
+ For me, I've no idea indeed,
+
+ No more, perhaps, had Cis.
+
+
+ It might have been she found Sir G.
+
+ Less tender than a swain should be,--
+
+ Young--sprightly--witty--gay?--
+
+ It might have been she thought his hat
+
+ Or head too round or square or flat
+
+ Or empty--who can say?
+
+
+ What Bard shall dare? Perhaps his nose?--
+
+ A shade too pink, or pale, or rose?--
+
+ His cut of beard, wig, whisker, hose?--
+
+ A wrinkle?--here--or there?--
+
+ Perhaps the _preux chevalier's_ chance,
+
+ Hung on a word or on a glance,
+
+ Or on a single hair!
+
+
+ I know not! But the Parson waited,
+
+ The Groomsmen swore, the Bridegroom rated,
+
+ Till two o'clock or near;--
+
+ Then home again in rage and wrath,
+
+ Whilst pretty Cis---- was rattling North
+
+ With Jones the Volunteer!
+
+[Illustration: 0139]
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO HAMPSTEAD.
+
+
+[Illustration: 9140]
+
+
+ H Hampstead! cool oasis!
+
+ (No longer 'green,' alas)--
+
+ Where once a week, on Sunday,
+
+ The Cockneys go to grass;
+
+
+ Where spurs the bold Apprentice
+
+ Up the astonish'd ride,
+
+ Pursued by mild suggestions
+
+ Of room to spare inside;
+
+ Where Donkey-boys still flourish,
+
+ Unawed by Martin's Act,
+
+ The lash that drives a squadron
+
+ Promiscuously whackt;--
+
+
+ Upon whose hills the dust-wreath
+
+ Comes down like the simoom,
+
+ Beneath whose slopes the winkle
+
+ Has a perennial bloom,--
+
+
+ And whose once chrystal waters
+
+ Present the sort of look
+
+ The sea did when the savages
+
+ Plunged in for Captain Cook;--
+
+
+ I love thee still!--Tho' tarnish'd
+
+ Is ev'ry blade and leaf,
+
+ Tho' Highgate Fields are bitterness,
+
+ And Belsize Park is grief,--
+
+
+ Tho' Brick-kilns are not lovely,
+
+ And Railways banish rest,
+
+ And Omnibi are hateful
+
+ And Hansom Cabs unblest,--
+
+
+ Tho' Pic-nics take the place of Cows,
+
+ Tho' Geese are abdicating,
+
+ Tho' Boys usurp the haunts of Fish
+
+ And Ice-carts spoil the skating;--
+
+
+ I love thee still!--Thy benches,
+
+ When no East wind assails,--
+
+ Thy turf, sweet to recline upon--
+
+ When unengross'd by snails,--
+
+
+ Oh! never may thy blooming heath
+
+ By Wilson be enclosed;
+
+
+ Still on thy lawn let fairy feet
+
+ Disport them unopposed;
+
+ I love thee, yes I love thee still!--
+
+ Yet must I fain confess
+
+ That ev'ry time I gaze above
+
+ Thy spreading chimney-pots, my love
+
+ Grows beautifully less!
+
+[Illustration: 0143]
+
+
+
+
+OUR TRAVELLER.
+
+
+[Illustration: 9144]
+
+
+ F thou wouldst stand on Etna's
+
+ burning brow,
+
+ With smoke above, and roaring
+
+ flame below;
+
+ And gaze adown that molten
+
+ gulf reveal'd,
+
+ Till thy soul shudder'd and thy
+
+ senses reel'd.--
+
+
+ If thou wouldst beard Niag'ra in his pride,
+
+ Or stem the billows of Propontic tide;
+
+ Scale all alone some dizzy Alpine "haut,"
+
+ And shriek "Excelsior!" amidst the snow.--
+
+
+ Wouldst tempt all deaths, all dangers that may be,--
+
+ Perils by land, and perils on the sea,--
+
+ This vast round world, I say, if thou wouldst view it,--
+
+[Illustration: 0145]
+
+
+
+
+CHINESE PUZZLES.
+
+THE WEDDING GIFT.
+
+
+
+ _In the name of Fo,
+
+ Thus saith the shadow of Nobody._
+
+[Illustration: 9146]
+
+
+ ROM many a dark delicious ripple
+
+ The Moonbeams drank ethereal tipple;
+
+ Whilst over Eastern grove and dell
+
+ The perfumed breeze of evening fell,
+
+ And the young Bulbul warbling gave
+
+ Her music to the answering wave.
+
+ But not alone the Bulbul's note
+
+ Bade Echo strike her silver lute,
+
+ Nor fell the music of her dream
+
+ Alone on waving wood and stream;
+
+ For thro' the twilight blossoms stray'd,
+
+ Enamour'd youth, and fairy maid;
+
+ And mingled with her warblings lone
+
+ A voice of sweet and playful tone.
+
+
+ "And ah!" the gentlest accents said,
+
+ "You bid me name the Task;
+
+ "But if you love me as you vow,
+
+ "Then give me what I ask!
+
+
+ "No quest for errant knight have I,
+
+ "No deed of high emprize;
+
+ "No giant Tartars to be slain,
+
+ "In homage to my eyes."
+
+
+ "Oh, take my life!" her lover cried,
+
+ "Nor break this dream of bliss;
+
+ "Take house, or head, or lands, or fame--
+
+ "Take evry thing but _this_,--
+
+
+ "To gaze upon those silken braids
+
+ "Unenvious be my part;
+
+ "I could not steal one golden tress,
+
+ "To bind it round my heart.
+
+
+ "Tho' all the pearls of Ind were strung
+
+ "Upon a single hair,
+
+ "I would not cut the shiner off,--
+
+ "I wouldn't, Za', I swear."
+
+
+ The lady laughed a careless laugh,--
+
+ "While downward flows the river,
+
+ "The lover who bids for Zadie's heart
+
+ "And hand must make up his mind to part
+
+ With the Gift, or part for ever!"
+
+
+ "Remorseless Nymph!" exclaimed the youth,
+
+ "Thus stick'ling for a curl,--
+
+ "Delilah was a joke to you.
+
+ "Excruciating girl;--
+
+
+ "Sole Empress of the breast of Fi,
+
+ "What _can_ the object be,
+
+ "For you to get a Lock for which
+
+ "You ne'er can get a Key?
+
+
+ "Just think, if I should wear a wig,
+
+ "How would you like me, Zadie?
+
+ "I'm sure you'll give it up, my sweet,
+
+ "Do--there's a gentle Lady!"
+
+
+ The Maiden laugh'd a silv'ry laugh;--
+
+ "The white stars set and shiver;
+
+ "The lover who bids for Zadie's heart
+
+ "And hand, must make up his mind to part
+
+ "With the Gift--or part for ever"
+
+
+
+
+ETCETERA.
+
+
+[Illustration: 9150]
+
+
+ HE stars were out on the lake,
+
+ The silk sail stirr'd the skiff;
+
+ And faint on the billow, and fresh on the breeze,
+
+ The summer came up thro' the cinnamon trees
+
+ With an odoriferous sniff.
+
+ There was song in the scented air,
+
+ And a light in the listening leaves,--
+
+ The light of the myriad myrtle fly,
+
+ When young Fo-Fum and little Fe-Fi
+
+ Came forth to gaze upon the sky--&c.!
+
+
+ Oh! little Fe-Fi was fair,
+
+ With the rose in her raven hair!
+
+ From her almond eyes, and celestial nose,
+
+ To the tips of her imperceptible toes &c.
+
+
+ Fo-Fum stood tall I wis,
+
+ (May his shadow never be less!)
+
+ A highly irresistible male,
+
+ The ladies turn'd pale
+
+ At the length of his nail
+
+ And the twirl of his unapproachable tail &c.
+
+
+ "Now listen, Mooo-mine, my Star!
+
+ My life! my little Fe-Fi;
+
+ For over the blossom and under the bough
+
+ There's a soft little word that is whispering now
+
+ Which I think you can guess if you try!
+
+ In the bosom of faithful Fum,
+
+ There's a monosyllabic hum,--
+
+ A little wee word Fe-Fi can spell,
+
+ Concluding with 'E,' and beginning with 'L,' &c."
+
+
+ "Oh! dear, now what can it be?
+
+ That little wee word Fo-Fum?
+
+ That funny wee word that sounds so absurd
+
+ With an 'E' and an 'L' and a 'Hum!'
+
+ A something that ends with an E?--
+
+ It must be my cousin So-Sle?
+
+
+ "Or pretty Pe-Pale
+
+ Who admired your tail?--
+
+ I shall never guess what it can be
+
+ I can see
+
+ That is spelt with an L and an El
+
+ I never shall guess, if I die--
+
+ Fo-Fum, sir, I'm going to cry!--
+
+ Oh, dear how my heart is beginning to beat!
+
+ Why there's silly Fo-Fum on his knees at my feet," &c.
+
+
+ Deponent knoweth not,
+
+ History showeth not,
+
+ If the lady read the riddle;
+
+ And whether she found
+
+ It hard to expound--
+
+ As the story ends in the middle.
+
+
+ Was gallant Fo-Fum
+
+ Constrain'd to succumb
+
+ To the "thrall of delicious fetters,"--
+
+ Or pretty Fe-Fi
+
+ Induced to supply
+
+ The text of the missing letters?
+
+
+ Oh, no one can tell!
+
+ But this extract looks well,
+
+ Faute de mieux (e. g. "want of a betterer")--
+
+ "Received: by Hang-Hi,
+
+ "From Fo-Fum, for Fe-Fi,
+
+ "A thousand dollars" &c!
+
+
+
+
+WHAT THE PRINCE OF I DREAMT.
+
+
+[Illustration: 9154]
+
+
+ DREAMT it! such a funny
+
+ thing
+
+ And now it's taken wing:
+
+ I s'pose no man before or
+
+ since
+
+ Dreamt such a funny thing.
+
+
+ It had a monkey--in a trap--
+
+ Suspended by the tail:
+
+ Oh! but that monkey look'd distress'd,
+
+ And his countenance was pale.
+
+
+ And he had danced and dangled there;
+
+ Till he grew very mad:
+
+ For his tail it was a handsome tail
+
+ And the trap had pinch'd it--bad.
+
+
+ The trapper sat below, and grinn'd;
+
+ His victim's wrath wax'd hot:--
+
+ He bit his tail--and fell--and kill'd
+
+ The trapper on the spot:--
+
+
+ It had a pig--a stately pig;
+
+ With curly tail and quaint:
+
+ And the Great Mogul had hold of that
+
+ Till he was like to faint.
+
+
+ So twenty thousand Chinamen;
+
+ With three tails each at least:
+
+ Came up to help the Great Mogul
+
+ And took him round the waist.
+
+ And so, the tail slipp'd through his hands;
+
+ And so it came to pass;
+
+ That twenty thousand Chinamen
+
+ Sat down upon the grass:--
+
+ It had a Khan--a Tartar Khan--
+
+ With tail superb, I wis:
+
+ And that fell graceful down a back
+
+ Which was consider'd his.
+
+
+ And so, all sorts of boys that were
+
+ Accursed, swung by it:
+
+ Till he grew savage in his mind
+
+ And vex'd, above a bit--
+
+
+ And so, he swept his tail, as one
+
+ Awak'ning from a dream:
+
+ And those abominable ones
+
+ Flew off into the stream--
+
+
+ And so, they hobbled up and down,
+
+ Like many apples there:
+
+ Till they subsided--and became
+
+ Amongst the things that were:--
+
+
+ And so it had a moral too;
+
+ That would be bad to lose:
+
+ "Whoever takes a _tail_ in hand
+
+ Should mind his p's and _queues_."
+
+
+ I dreamt it!--such a funny thing!
+
+ And now it's taken wing;
+
+ I s'pose no man before or since
+
+ Dreamt such a funny thing!
+
+
+[Illustration: 0160]
+
+[Illustration: 0158]
+
+
+
+
+CASE IN LUNACY.
+
+
+[Illustration: 9160]
+
+
+ AS any one read the great lunacy case?
+
+ The case that's Lock'd, and Labell'd, and
+
+ Laced
+
+ With a Tissue of lies, and a Docket of 'waste,'
+
+ And a golden Key, the reverse of chased,
+
+ (Tho' hunted thro' the Hilary)--
+
+ Has any one read how the Law can hound,
+
+ And badger, and bully a man,'till it's bound
+
+ A mortgage on ev'ry acre of ground
+
+ And robb'd him of sixty thousand pound--
+
+ Without being put in the pillory?
+
+ Has any one read--does any one know--
+
+ If he marries a wife who's not quite _comme il_,
+
+ And a handsome estate should inherit,--
+
+ What a suit of chancery can effect,
+
+ To strip him, even of self-respect,
+
+ Hold him up to scorn contempt; and neglect,
+
+ And ruin him, body and spirit?
+
+
+ Has any one read--mark'd--weigh'd--the worth
+
+ Of a common name and a kindred birth,
+
+ A Brother's--Uncle's--love upon earth,
+
+ To the love that is filthy lucre's?
+
+ How day after day, without being hurt,
+
+ A man can drag his own flesh thro' the dirt
+
+ For a thousand pounds at his Broker's?
+
+
+ Yes, ev'ry one's read--we all of us know--
+
+ What man's 'first friend* could become his worst foe,
+
+ Bring him up in the way he ought not to go,--
+
+ Then lie, to make him a beggar;--
+
+ Turn him loose upon Town without guardian or friend,--
+
+ Lay traps in his paths lest they happen'd to mend,--
+
+ Set spies to note ev'ry shilling he'd spend--
+
+ Ev'iy pitiful pound he might borrow or lend,--
+
+ And dip his fingers in slime without end--
+
+ We can guess who cuts such a figure!
+
+
+
+
+A GIGGLE FOR "EXCELSIER"
+
+
+[Illustration: 9163]
+
+
+ HE shades of night had fallen (at
+
+ When from the Eagle Tavern pass'd
+
+ A youth, who bore, in manual vice,
+
+ A pot of something monstrous nice--
+
+ 'X--X:' Haw haw!
+
+
+ His brow was bad:--his young eye scann'd
+
+ The frothing flaggon in his hand,
+
+ And like a gurgling streamlet sprung
+
+ The accents to that thirsty tongue,
+
+ X--X: Haw haw!
+
+
+ In happy homes he saw them grub
+
+ On stout, and oysters from a tub,--
+
+ The dismal gas-lights gleam'd without,
+
+ And from his lips escaped a shout,
+
+ "X--X: Haw haw!"
+
+
+ "Young man," the Sage observed, "just stay,
+
+ "And let me dip my beak, I say--
+
+ "The pewter is deep, and I am dry!"
+
+ "Perceiv'st thou verdure in my eye?
+
+ "X--X? Haw haw!"
+
+
+ "Oh stop," the maiden cried, "and lend
+
+ "Thy beery burden here, my friend--"
+
+ Th' unbidden tear regretful rose,
+
+ But still his thumb tip sought his nose;
+
+ "X--X? Haw haw!"
+
+
+ "Beware the gutter at thy feet!
+
+ "Beware the Dragons of the street!
+
+ "Beware lest Thirsty Bob you meet!"
+
+ This was the ultimate remark;
+
+ A voice replied far thro' the dark,
+
+ "X--X? Haw haw!"
+
+
+ That night, by watchmen on their round,
+
+ The person in a ditch was found;
+
+ Still grasping in his manual vice
+
+ That pot--once fill'd with something nice.--
+
+ X--X: Haw haw!!
+
+[Illustration: 0165]
+
+
+
+
+THE THREAD OF LIFE.
+
+A FRAGMENT.
+
+
+_(After T--s H--d.)_
+
+[Illustration: 9167]
+
+I.
+
+
+ IFE! what depths of mystery
+
+ hide
+
+ In the oceans of Hate and the
+
+ rivers of Pride,
+
+ That mingle in Tribulation's
+
+ tide,
+
+ To quench the spark,
+
+ Vitality!
+
+
+ What chords of Love and "bands" of Hope,
+
+ Were "made strong" (without the use of rope)
+
+ In the Thread--Individuality.
+
+
+ Life! what a web of follies and fears,
+
+ Pleasures and griefs, sighs, smiles and tears,
+
+ Are twined in the woof that Mortality's shears
+
+ Must be everlastingly thinning,--
+
+ What holes for Physician Death to darn,
+
+ Are eternally spun in the wonderful yam
+
+ That the Fates are eternally spinning!
+
+
+ Life! what marvellous throbs and throes
+
+ The alchemy of Existence knows;
+
+ What "weals within wheels" (and woes without _wohs!_)
+
+ Give sophistry a handle;
+
+ Though Hare * himself could be dipp'd in the well
+
+ Where Truth's proverbial waters dwell,
+
+ It would throw no more light on the vital spell
+
+ Than a dip in the Polytechnic bell,
+
+ Or the dip--a ha'penny candle!
+
+
+ Alas! for the metaphysical host;
+
+ The wonderful wit and wisdom they boast,
+
+* C. J. Hare, author of "Guesses at Truth."
+
+
+ When the time arrives they must give up the ghost,
+
+ Become quite phantasmagorical,--
+
+ And it's found at the last that they know as much
+
+ Of the secret of LIFE--as they do of Dutch--
+
+ Or, if a lame verse may borrow a crutch,
+
+ As was known by the Delphic Oracle.
+
+
+ Into being we come, in ones and twos,
+
+ To be kiss'd, to be cuffd, to obey, to abuse,
+
+ Each destined to stand in another's shoes
+
+ To whose heels we may come the nighest;
+
+ This turns at once into Luxury's bed,
+
+ Whilst that in a gutter lays his head,
+
+ And this--in a house with a wooden lid
+
+ And a roof that's none of the highest.
+
+
+ We fall like the drops of April show'rs,
+
+ Cradled in mud or cradled in flow'rs,
+
+ Now idly to wile the rosy hours,
+
+ And now for bread to importune;
+
+ Petted, and fêted, and fed upon pap
+
+ One prattler comes in for a fortune, slap--
+
+ And one--a "more kicks than ha'pence chap"--
+
+ For a slap--without the fortune!
+
+[Illustration: 0170]
+
+
+ Who hasn't heard of the infant squall?
+
+ Sharper, shriller, and longer than all
+
+ The Nor'-wester squalls, that may chance to befall
+
+ At Cape Horn, as nauticals tell us;
+
+ And who,--oh who?--hasn't heard before
+
+ The dulcet tones of the infant roar?
+
+ Ear-piercing in at the drawing room door--
+
+ Down-bellowing, right thro' the nursery floor--
+
+ Like a hundred power bellows?
+
+
+ Alas! that the very rosiest wreath
+
+ Should ever be twined with a thorn beneath!
+
+ Forth peeping, from purple and damask sheath,
+
+ In a manner quite anti-floral;
+
+ And startling, as when to that Indian root
+
+ The traveller stretches his hand for the fruit,
+
+ And a crested head comes glittering out
+
+ With a tongue that is somewhat forkèd no doubt,
+
+ And a tail--that has quite a moral!
+
+ And who'd have believed that diminutive thing
+
+ Just form'd as you'd say, to kiss and to cling,
+
+ Would ever have opened, except to sing,
+
+ Those lips, that look so choral?
+
+
+ Behold the soft little struggling ball!
+
+ With rosy niouth ever ready to squall,
+
+ Kicking and crowing and grasping "small,"
+
+ At its Indiarrabber dangle,--
+
+ Whilst tiny fists in the pillows lurk
+
+ That are destined perhaps for fighting the Turk,
+
+ And doing no end of mangling work,
+
+ Or perhaps, for working a mangle!
+
+
+ 'Tis passing strange, that all over the earth
+
+ Men talk of the "stars" that "rule" at their birth,
+
+ For little such dazzling sponsors are worth,
+
+ Whate'er Cagliostro may say;
+
+ Tho' all the Bears in the heav'ns combined--
+
+ Mars, Mercury, Venus, and Jupiter shined,
+
+ In our glitt'ring horoscope, we shall find
+
+ Most men who are bom of woman kind
+
+ Are born in the _milky-way_.
+
+
+ In the milky-way! ev'ry mother's son;
+
+ From the son of a lord, to the 'son of a gun,'
+
+ Of colors, red, brown and yellow and dun,
+
+ An astonishing constellation;
+
+ From the black Papouse of the Cape de Verd,
+
+ The cream of Tartar, and scum of Kurd,
+
+ To the son and heir of Napoleon the Third,
+
+ Who sucks--to the joy of a Nation!
+
+ And that puny atom may happen to claim
+
+ The yeiy first round on the Ladder of Fame,
+
+ At the general conflagration.
+
+
+ The squeaky voice may be heard ere long
+
+ In the shout of the battle, deep and strong,
+
+ Like the brazen clash of a mighty gong
+
+ That has broken loose from tether;
+
+ Whilst many a hardy bosom quails
+
+ And many a swarthy visage pales
+
+ At the griffin clutch of those tender nails
+
+ As they come to the "scratch" together.
+
+
+ But well says a poet of rising fame,*
+
+ That to hint at an 'infantile frailty's' a shame
+
+ For the Baby-days have come round the same
+
+ To us all, and we can't but confess'em;
+
+* F. Locker, Author of London Lyrics, &c.
+
+
+ When the brawny hands, that can rend an oak,
+
+ Went both into Mammy's mouth for a joke!--
+
+ And the feet that stand like the solid rock,
+
+ Were "tootsies pootsies, bless'em!"
+
+
+ When to howl was the only accomplishment rife
+
+ In our 'tight little bundle' of wailing and strife,
+
+ And pap was the summum bonum of life,
+
+ To a mouth in perpetual pucker;
+
+ When "Ma" was a semi-intelligent lump,
+
+ Possess'd by a mania for making us "plump,"
+
+ And "Nus" was an inexhaustible pump
+
+ With an everlasting "sucker."
+
+
+ Yet, laugh if we will at those baby-days,
+
+ There was more of bliss in its careless plays,
+
+ Than in after time from the careful ways
+
+ Or the hollow world, with its empty praise,
+
+ Its honey'd speeches, and hackney'd phrase,
+
+ And its pleasures, for ever fleeting,--
+
+
+ And more of sense in its bald little pate,
+
+ On its own little matters of Church and State,
+
+ Than in many a House of Commons' debate,
+
+ Or the "sense" of a Manchester meeting!
+
+
+ And laugh as we may, it would make us start,
+
+ Could we read the depths of its mother's heart,--
+
+ Or imagine one twenty-thousandth part
+
+ Of the feelings that stir within it;
+
+ What a freight that little existence bears
+
+ Of pallid smiles and tremulous tears,
+
+ Of joys never breathed into mortal ears,
+
+ Griefs that the callous world never hears,
+
+ SufFring that only the more endears,
+
+ And love, that would reach into endless years,
+
+ Snuff' d out, it may be, in a minute!
+
+
+ Would you look on a mother in all her pride?
+
+ Her radiant, dazzling, glorious pride?--
+
+ Then seek yon garret--leaden-eyed--
+
+ And thrust the mouldering panel aside--
+
+ The door that has nothing to lock it,--
+
+ And the walls are tatter'd, and damp, and drear,
+
+ And the light has a quivering gleam, like fear,
+
+ For the hand of Sickness is heavy here
+
+ And the lamp bums low in the socket.
+
+
+ Mid rags, and want, and misery, piled,
+
+ A woman is watching her stricken child,
+
+ With a love so tender, a look so mild,
+
+ That the patient little sufTrer has smil'd--
+
+ A smile that is strangely fair!--
+
+ And lo! in that chamber, poverty-dyed,
+
+ A mother in all her dazzling pride--
+
+ A glorious mother is there!
+
+
+ And the child is squalid, and puny, and thin,--
+
+ But HUSH--hush your voice as you enter in!
+
+ Nor dare to despise, lest a deadly sin
+
+ On your soul rest unforgiven;--
+
+
+ Perchance, oh scornful and worldly-wise,
+
+ A Shakespeare dreams in those thoughtful eyes--
+
+ A Newton looks out at the starry skies--
+
+ Or a prison'd angel in calm surprise
+
+ Looks back to its Heaven!
+
+II.
+
+
+ Life, life! a year or two more,
+
+ And the Bark has launch'd from the quiet shore
+
+ To the restless waves that bubble and roar,
+
+ Where the billow never slumbers,--
+
+ And the storms of fate have caught in the sail,
+
+ And the sharks are gathering thick on his trail,
+
+ Like a New Edition of Jonah's whale--
+
+ That is coming out in Numbers!*
+
+III.
+
+
+ Tempus, time,--fuflit, flies!
+
+ And the ship returns with a gallant prize,
+
+ A fairy Craft of diminutive size,
+
+ Or perhaps with a huge Three-decker;
+
+ He has sailed from the matrimonial shore,
+
+ With a 'breeze' at starting, and 'squalls' before,
+
+ And he's married a Blue, or he's wed to a Bore,
+
+ Or perhaps--to my Lady Pecker!
+
+
+FINIS.
+
+
+OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON THE FIRST EDITION.
+
+
+MORNING POST.
+
+"'Puck on Pegasus' is at the same time the handsomest and cheapest book
+of the kind that we have ever seen.... Puck, as he careers through the
+world on his mad horse, shoots arrows of the pleasantest raillery,
+dipped in Eau de Cologne rather than gall, at the follies of the season,
+the artistic foibles of literary celebrities, and the affectations of
+all classes, high and low. The wee, mocking urchin indites a sonnet in
+the style of Martin Tupper, mimics Mrs. Browning, trills a song of _In-
+the-water_ after the fashion of Longfellow; and, with the aid of a black
+cat, stirs up 'a shocking sort of knocking at your chamber door,' that
+reminds the beating heart of Edgar Poe. He induces Tennyson to write the
+_Charge of the Light (Irish) Brigade_ and gives us a lay of _The Fight
+for the Championship_ by Lord Macaulay. Some of the youngster's capers
+are certainly unjustifiable; but extravagant mirth is never severely
+judged when it expresses itself in easy running verses, the music of
+which is as sweet as their rhymes are ingenious and unexpected.
+Moreover, though Mr. Pennell's muse respects neither the age nor fame of
+those whom he satirises, he never forgets gentlemanly con--sideration
+for the feelings of his readers. A joke that would bring a blush to a
+maiden's cheek, or a sarcasm aimed at the inoffensive, are not to be
+found in his poems. Nor do we draw attention to the prevailing lightness
+of his muse in a spirit of condemnation, but rather of regret that the
+fine feeling and pathetic force manifested in the treatment of his two
+finest pieces/ the _Night Mail North_, and the _Derby_ should have
+inspired him less frequently than mere gaiety of heart.... The rhythm
+and rugged swing of the _Night Mail North_, will give the reader a taste
+of Mr. Pennell's higher qualities."
+
+
+SATURDAY REVIEW.
+
+"---- Mr. Pennell's parodies and imitations are certainly above the
+average; they are at times, it is true, somewhat unequal, but there is a
+good deal of vigorous and healthy versification scattered throughout the
+volume."... "He has, moreover, studied with considerable advantage what
+is vulgarly termed the art of 'selling,' more properly described as a
+species of bathos. Barham, of the _Ingoldsby Legends_, as well as Hood
+and Bon
+
+Gualtier, excelled greatly in this. Such pieces usually give scope for
+some pretty writing at their commencement, which the reader may accept
+seriously or ironically as he should feel disposed. The absurdity or
+satire is condensed generally into the last one or two lines. Mr.
+Pennell's stanzas headed _Ah / Who_, are among his most neat and amusing
+efforts of this character."... "No doubt the works of Hood have
+exercised a con--siderable influence on Mr. Pennell's versification; and
+in this school he may be fairly considered to have enrolled himself.
+
+"The _Derby Day_ is one of the most spirited sketches in this volume.
+The first three lines of our extract are excellent in their way, and
+have a fine healthy _élan_ about them. The absence of the word 'trump'
+would render them eligible for quotation in much higher poetical
+company. The next verse, of a decidedly lower order, may still be given
+as a very fair reproduction of Hood's peculiar style and humour. Our
+author is telling how thé Derby favourite breaks his neck in the race:--
+
+
+
+ 'He fell like a trump in the foremost
+
+ place--
+
+ He died with the rushing wind on his
+
+ face--
+
+ At the wildest bound of his glorious
+
+ pace--
+
+
+ In the mad exulting revel
+
+ He left his shoes to his son and heir,
+
+ His hocks to a champagne-dealer at Ware,
+
+ A lock of his hair
+
+ To the Lady-Mare,
+
+ And his hoofs and his tail to the----!
+
+
+"There are also to be found some prettyish bits of descriptive verse, of
+which the following may be quoted, from the so-called song of
+_In-the-Water_ with Longfellow's metre preserved:--
+
+
+ 'Down into the water stept she,
+
+ Down into the tranquil nver,
+
+ Like a red deer in the sunset--
+
+ Like a ripe leaf in the autumn!
+
+ Ever from her lips of coral,
+
+ From her lips like roses snow-flll'd,
+
+ Came a soft and dreamy murmur,
+
+ Softer than the murm'ring river!
+
+ Sighs that melted as the snows melt,
+
+ Silently and sweetly melted.'
+
+
+"We should advise Mr. Pennell, on the first available occasion, to
+disem--barrass himself here of the stock-in-trade 'lips of coral.' This
+passage would be materially improved by the omission. Again, in the
+_Night Mail North_, our author seems at home in his subject, and writes
+with considerable effect
+
+
+ "Tis a splendid race I a race against
+
+ Time,--
+
+ 'The quivering carriages rock and reel,
+
+ Hurrah! for the rush of the grinding
+
+ steel!
+
+ And a thousand to one we win it.
+
+ Look at those flitting ghosts--
+
+ The thundering crank, and the mighty
+
+ The white-arm'd finger-posts-- wheel!--'
+
+
+ If we're moving the eighth of an inch, Isay,
+
+ We're going a mile a minute!...'
+
+"The last line but one is powerful enough, and the best in the extract.
+There is plenty of poetry in railways and steam engines; and now that
+other mines of inspiration are growing somewhat exhausted, we cannot see
+why a new shaft should not be run in this direction. Many of our readers
+may find, besides these extracts, much that is clever and amusing in
+'Puck on Pegasus.'"
+
+"To be funny without being vulgar, to tell a story with gestures and yet
+not become a buffoon, to parody a poet and yet retain the flavour of his
+real poetry, to turn all the finest feelings of the heart into fun, and
+yet not to be coarse or unfeeling, is not granted by Apollo to every
+writer of humorous poems."... "Mr. Pennell is an excellent parodyist, an
+ingenious punster, a reviver and modifier of existing systems of fun, a
+vigorous worker of veins of humour not yet carried for enough."... "Of
+all the poems, we like best the _Night Mail North_, which has a singular
+weird power about it that takes a hold on the imagination.... _Lord
+Jolly Green's Courtship_ is a well-written parody on a well-known poem
+of Mrs. Browning. Next best is, perhaps, the _Sayers and Heenan Fight_,
+a very vigorous imitation of Lord Macaulay's _Coman Ballads._ There is a
+great rush and gallop about the _Derby Day_; the lines at the end are-
+not unworthy of Hood's playful thoughtfulness."
+
+
+EXAMINER.
+
+"There is, without doubt, a good deal of humorous verse in this gaily
+got up and cleverly illustrated volume.... But there are better things
+than slang versides in Mr. Pennell's book, and more striking lines than
+those which are printed in black letters. The _Derby Day_ offers a
+favourable example of a popular subject well treated, in which the scene
+is vividly and often poetically depicted. The _Fight for the
+Championship_, written in imitation of Lord Macaulay's _Horatius_, is
+also very well done.... The measure of the author's power may, however,
+be taken from the poem emtitled _The Night Mail North_, one of the best
+things the book contains..... Let Mr. Pennell trust to the original
+strength that is in him, and he may bestride his 'Pegasus' without
+fear."
+
+
+FRASER'S MAGAZINE.
+
+"When a gentleman means to be absurd, and at the same time can support
+his pretensions to amuse his readers with cleverness, we know how to
+accost him. 'Puck on Pegasus' is full of those eccentricities which make
+one laugh in spite of oneself, or in unison with oneself, according as
+one takes it up in a grave or a gay humour. It reminds one of the _Bon
+Gaultier Ballads_ of some years ago.... The illustrations are capital,
+as they were likely to be considering whose they are."
+
+
+ILLUSTRATED NEWS OF THE WORLD.
+
+"Mr. Pennell's 'Puck' is gay, rattling, and really clever, something in
+the Bon Gaultier style... full of fun... very smart."
+
+
+BELL'S LIFE.
+
+"An admirable drawing-room table _brochure_, and is certain to have a
+run."
+
+
+ARMY AND NAYY GAZETTE.
+
+"No one will be wearied with these verses.... We have seldom seen a book
+more completely suitable to a drawing-room table. Mr. Pennell has
+avoided Puck's sometimes offensive characteristic."
+
+WELDON'S REGISTER.
+
+"Mr. Pennell's 1 Puck on Pegasus' is one of the most amusing books of
+verse that we have fallen in with for many a day."
+
+
+MANCHESTER EXAMINER.
+
+"... There is a high talent in _The Thread of Life_, showing that Mr.
+Pennell can do much finer work whenever he may desire to soar above mere
+trifling."
+
+
+PRESS.
+
+"Mr. Pennell writes so well that we wish he would take the trouble to
+write better. He possesses humour and the 'fatal facility' of rhyming....
+The _Night Mail North_ and the Derby Day are the two best poems."
+
+
+ST. JAMES'S CHRONICLE.
+
+"Easy running verses, the music of which is as sweet as their rhymes are
+ingenious and unexpected."
+
+
+COURT CIRCULAR.
+
+"This is certainly one of the cleverest productions of the day, and gives
+the clearest evidence of the genius of its author in almost every page."
+
+
+LONDON REVIEW.
+
+"...The popularity the work has already obtained, serves to show that
+the author's desi res have been crowned with success."
+
+
+ORIENTAL BUDGET.
+
+"Mr. Pennell has caught the spirit, as well as the style, of the different
+poets he imitates, while his lines have an elegance, mid a sly bo-peep sort
+of beauty.... The nick-names and mock climax in the song of _In-the--
+Water_, are in their way inimitable imitations.... The Author, however,
+gives proofs of far higher powers than those of mimicry."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Puck on Pegasus, by H. Cholmondeley Pennell
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 49684 ***
diff --git a/49684-h.zip b/49684-h.zip
deleted file mode 100644
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-<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?>
+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<!DOCTYPE html
PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
@@ -49,49 +49,8 @@
</style>
</head>
- <body>
-
-
-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Puck on Pegasus, by H. Cholmondeley Pennell
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Puck on Pegasus
- Fourth Edition
-
-Author: H. Cholmondeley Pennell
-
-Illustrator: Leech, Phiz, Portch, Tenniel and George Cruikshank
-
-Release Date: August 11, 2015 [EBook #49684]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUCK ON PEGASUS ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 49684 ***</div>
<div style="height: 8em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
@@ -209,7 +168,7 @@ provided by the Internet Archive
<a href="#link2H_4_0020"> THE VIII CRUSADE. </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> IN MEDIÆVOS. </a>
+ <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> IN MEDIÆVOS. </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2H_4_0022"> FIRE! </a>
@@ -1775,7 +1734,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
<br />
</p>
<p class="indent15">
- Where the Shniego-Bmouvé sitteth
+ Where the Shniego-Bmouvé sitteth
</p>
<p class="indent20">
Hairless underneath his hat,
@@ -1805,7 +1764,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
<br />
</p>
<p class="indent15">
- Found the Shniego-Bmouvé squatting,
+ Found the Shniego-Bmouvé squatting,
</p>
<p class="indent20">
Hairless,'neath the tropic moon
@@ -2152,7 +2111,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
Thy boundless sonnets, and Proverbial bays:
</p>
<p class="indent15">
- Blest Silence! lovéd Silence! thou art Heavn!&mdash;
+ Blest Silence! lovéd Silence! thou art Heavn!&mdash;
</p>
<p class="indent15">
(See my remarks in "Sonnet 47")&mdash;
@@ -2532,7 +2491,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
breath
</p>
<p class="indent20">
- On ev'ry shudd'ring flow'rî
+ On ev'ry shudd'ring flow'rî
</p>
<p class="indent15">
Who dogs the houseless wanderer
@@ -3360,7 +3319,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
miration to the genius and accomplishments of Mrs. Barrett Browning, whose
lamented death has occurred since the above effusion first appeared in
print; and I do so the more readily as I fear lest lines which were
- written in mere gaité de cour may possibly have been construed into a
+ written in mere gaité de cour may possibly have been construed into a
serious attack upon works, the general and undoubted merits of which I
should be the first to acknowledge.
</p>
@@ -3427,7 +3386,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
November,
</p>
<p class="indent15">
- How she knelt there like a statue,&mdash;knelt bare-armëd
+ How she knelt there like a statue,&mdash;knelt bare-armëd
</p>
<p class="indent30">
in the breeze,&mdash;
@@ -3834,7 +3793,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
Oh&mdash;that bell again! what's this?&mdash;&mdash; A Bill
</p>
<p class="indent30">
- OF £5 FOR THE LADDER!
+ OF £5 FOR THE LADDER!
</p>
<p>
<br /> <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0033" id="linkimage-0033"> </a>
@@ -4337,7 +4296,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
- IN MEDIÆVOS.
+ IN MEDIÆVOS.
</h2>
<p>
<br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0040" id="linkimage-0040"> </a>
@@ -4840,7 +4799,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
href="images/9110.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
</div>
<p class="indent15">
- 'TWAS sunset&mdash;(much ill-usèd hour,
+ 'TWAS sunset&mdash;(much ill-usèd hour,
</p>
<p class="indent15">
And Southey swears it's yellow!)&mdash;
@@ -7727,7 +7686,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
And now for bread to importune;
</p>
<p class="indent15">
- Petted, and fêted, and fed upon pap
+ Petted, and fêted, and fed upon pap
</p>
<p class="indent15">
One prattler comes in for a fortune, slap&mdash;
@@ -7799,7 +7758,7 @@ And thought the eye would go.
And a crested head comes glittering out
</p>
<p class="indent15">
- With a tongue that is somewhat forkèd no doubt,
+ With a tongue that is somewhat forkèd no doubt,
</p>
<p class="indent20">
And a tail&mdash;that has quite a moral!
@@ -8277,11 +8236,11 @@ And thought the eye would go.
<p>
"The <i>Derby Day</i> is one of the most spirited sketches in this volume.
The first three lines of our extract are excellent in their way, and have
- a fine healthy <i>élan</i> about them. The absence of the word 'trump'
+ a fine healthy <i>élan</i> about them. The absence of the word 'trump'
would render them eligible for quotation in much higher poetical company.
The next verse, of a decidedly lower order, may still be given as a very
fair reproduction of Hood's peculiar style and humour. Our author is
- telling how thé Derby favourite breaks his neck in the race:&mdash;
+ telling how thé Derby favourite breaks his neck in the race:&mdash;
</p>
<p>
<br />
@@ -8550,383 +8509,6 @@ And thought the eye would go.
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
-End of Project Gutenberg's Puck on Pegasus, by H. Cholmondeley Pennell
-
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