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diff --git a/757-h/757-h.htm b/757-h/757-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..545ea54 --- /dev/null +++ b/757-h/757-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6976 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Fifty Bab Ballads, by W. S. Gilbert</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .5em; + text-decoration: none;} + span.red { color: red; } + body {background-color: #ffffc0; } + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Fifty Bab Ballads, by W. S. Gilbert + + +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: Fifty Bab Ballads + + +Author: W. S. Gilbert + + + +Release Date: August 19, 2019 [eBook #757] +[This file was first posted on December 26, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIFTY BAB BALLADS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1884 George Routledge and Sons editions +by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1><span class="smcap">FIFTY “BAB” BALLADS</span><br +/> +Much Sound and Little Sense</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +W. S. GILBERT</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Baby at piano" +title= +"Baby at piano" + src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall"><i>WITH +ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR</i></span> <a name="citation1"></a><a +href="#footnote1" class="citation">[1]</a></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">NEW YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1884</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Dalziel Brothers: Engravers and Printers" +title= +"Dalziel Brothers: Engravers and Printers" + src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>PREFACE.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> “<span class="smcap">Bab +Ballads</span>” appeared originally in the columns of +“<span class="smcap">Fun</span>,” when that +periodical was under the editorship of the late <span +class="smcap">Tom Hood</span>. They were subsequently +republished in two volumes, one called “<span +class="smcap">The Bab Ballads</span>,” the other +“<span class="smcap">More Bab Ballads</span>.” +The period during which they were written extended over some +three or four years; many, however, were composed hastily, and +under the discomforting necessity of having to turn out a +quantity of lively verse by a certain day in every week. As +it seemed to me (and to others) that the volumes were disfigured +by the presence of these hastily written impostors, I thought it +better to withdraw from both volumes such Ballads as seemed to +show evidence of carelessness or undue haste, and to publish the +remainder in the compact form under which they are now presented +to the reader.</p> +<p>It may interest some to know that the first of the series, +“The Yarn of the <i>Nancy Bell</i>,” was originally +offered to “<span +class="smcap">Punch</span>,”—to which I was, at that +time, an occasional contributor. It was, however, declined +by the then Editor, on the ground that it was “too +cannibalistic for his readers’ tastes.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">W. S. GILBERT.</p> +<p>24 <i>The Boltons</i>, <i>South Kensington</i>,<br /> + <i>August</i>, +1876.</p> +<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ix</span>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Captain Reece</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Rival Curates</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Only a Dancing Girl</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>To a Little Maid</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Troubadour</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Ferdinando and Elvira</i>; <i>or</i>, <i>the Gentle +Pieman</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>To my Bride</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Sir Macklin</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Yarn of the</i> “<i>Nancy Bell</i>”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page44">44</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page48">48</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Precocious Baby</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>To Phœbe</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Baines Carew</i>, <i>Gentleman</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page60">60</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Thomas Winterbottom Hance</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page66">66</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>A Discontented Sugar Broker</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page72">72</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Pantomime</i> “<i>Super</i>” <i>to his +Mask</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page78">78</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Ghost</i>, <i>the Gallant</i>, <i>the Gael</i>, +<i>and the Goblin</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page80">80</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Phantom Curate</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>King Borria Bungalee Boo</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page88">88</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +x</span><i>Bob Polter</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Story of Prince Agib</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Ellen McJones Aberdeen</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Peter the Wag</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>To the Terrestrial Globe</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Gentle Alice Brown</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Mister William</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page120">120</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Bumboat Woman’s Story</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page125">125</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Lost Mr. Blake</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Baby’s Vengeance</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Captain and the Mermaids</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Annie Protheroe</i>. <i>A Legend of +Stratford-le-Bow</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>An Unfortunate Likeness</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page155">155</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The King of Canoodle-dum</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Martinet</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page167">167</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Sailor Boy to his Lass</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Reverend Simon Magus</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>My Dream</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo again</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Haughty Actor</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page194">194</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Two Majors</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page200">200</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Emily</i>, <i>John</i>, <i>James</i>, <i>and +I</i>. <i>A Derby Legend</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Perils of Invisibility</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page210">210</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span><i>The Mystic Selvagee</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page215">215</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Phrenology</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Fairy Curate</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page226">226</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>The Way of Wooing</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page233">233</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Hongree and Mahry</i>. <i>A Recollection of a +Surrey Melodrama</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page237">237</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Etiquette</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>At a Pantomime</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page249">249</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Haunted</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page253">253</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>CAPTAIN REECE.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the ships +upon the blue,<br /> +No ship contained a better crew<br /> +Than that of worthy <span class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>,<br +/> +Commanding of <i>The Mantelpiece</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>He was adored by all his men,<br /> +For worthy <span class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>, R.N.,<br /> +Did all that lay within him to<br /> +Promote the comfort of his crew.</p> +<p class="poetry">If ever they were dull or sad,<br /> +Their captain danced to them like mad,<br /> +Or told, to make the time pass by,<br /> +Droll legends of his infancy.</p> +<p class="poetry">A feather bed had every man,<br /> +Warm slippers and hot-water can,<br /> +Brown windsor from the captain’s store,<br /> +A valet, too, to every four.</p> +<p class="poetry">Did they with thirst in summer burn,<br /> +Lo, seltzogenes at every turn,<br /> +And on all very sultry days<br /> +Cream ices handed round on trays.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then currant wine and ginger pops<br /> +Stood handily on all the “tops;”<br /> +And also, with amusement rife,<br /> +A “Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life.”</p> +<p class="poetry">New volumes came across the sea<br /> +From <span class="smcap">Mister Mudie’s</span> libraree;<br +/> +<i>The Times</i> and <i>Saturday Review</i><br /> +Beguiled the leisure of the crew.</p> +<p class="poetry">Kind-hearted <span class="smcap">Captain +Reece</span>, R.N.,<br /> +Was quite devoted to his men;<br /> +In point of fact, good <span class="smcap">Captain +Reece</span><br /> +Beatified <i>The Mantelpiece</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>One summer eve, at half-past ten,<br /> +He said (addressing all his men):<br /> +“Come, tell me, please, what I can do<br /> +To please and gratify my crew.</p> +<p class="poetry">“By any reasonable plan<br /> +I’ll make you happy if I can;<br /> +My own convenience count as <i>nil</i>:<br /> +It is my duty, and I will.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up and answered <span +class="smcap">William Lee</span><br /> +(The kindly captain’s coxswain he,<br /> +A nervous, shy, low-spoken man),<br /> +He cleared his throat and thus began:</p> +<p class="poetry">“You have a daughter, <span +class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>,<br /> +Ten female cousins and a niece,<br /> +A Ma, if what I’m told is true,<br /> +Six sisters, and an aunt or two.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me,<br /> +More friendly-like we all should be,<br /> +If you united of ’em to<br /> +Unmarried members of the crew.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If you’d ameliorate our life,<br +/> +Let each select from them a wife;<br /> +And as for nervous me, old pal,<br /> +Give me your own enchanting gal!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Good <span class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>, +that worthy man,<br /> +Debated on his coxswain’s plan:<br /> +“I quite agree,” he said, “O <span +class="smcap">Bill</span>;<br /> +It is my duty, and I will.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>“My daughter, that enchanting gurl,<br /> +Has just been promised to an Earl,<br /> +And all my other familee<br /> +To peers of various degree.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But what are dukes and viscounts to<br +/> +The happiness of all my crew?<br /> +The word I gave you I’ll fulfil;<br /> +It is my duty, and I will.</p> +<p class="poetry">“As you desire it shall befall,<br /> +I’ll settle thousands on you all,<br /> +And I shall be, despite my hoard,<br /> +The only bachelor on board.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The boatswain of <i>The Mantelpiece</i>,<br /> +He blushed and spoke to <span class="smcap">Captain +Reece</span>:<br /> +“I beg your honour’s leave,” he said;<br /> +“If you would wish to go and wed,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>“I have a widowed mother who<br /> +Would be the very thing for you—<br /> +She long has loved you from afar:<br /> +She washes for you, <span class="smcap">Captain</span> +R.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The Captain saw the dame that day—<br /> +Addressed her in his playful way—<br /> +“And did it want a wedding ring?<br /> +It was a tempting ickle sing!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Well, well, the chaplain I will seek,<br +/> +We’ll all be married this day week<br /> +At yonder church upon the hill;<br /> +It is my duty, and I will!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece,<br /> +And widowed Ma of <span class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>,<br /> +Attended there as they were bid;<br /> +It was their duty, and they did.</p> +<h2><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>THE +RIVAL CURATES.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">List</span> while the poet +trolls<br /> + Of <span class="smcap">Mr. Clayton Hooper</span>,<br +/> +Who had a cure of souls<br /> + At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.</p> +<p class="poetry">He lived on curds and whey,<br /> + And daily sang their praises,<br /> +And then he’d go and play<br /> + With buttercups and daisies.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wild croquêt <span +class="smcap">Hooper</span> banned,<br /> + And all the sports of Mammon,<br /> +He warred with cribbage, and<br /> + He exorcised backgammon.</p> +<p class="poetry">His helmet was a glance<br /> + That spoke of holy gladness;<br /> +A saintly smile his lance;<br /> + His shield a tear of sadness.</p> +<p class="poetry">His Vicar smiled to see<br /> + This armour on him buckled:<br /> +With pardonable glee<br /> + He blessed himself and chuckled.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>“In mildness to abound<br /> + My curate’s sole design is;<br /> +In all the country round<br /> + There’s none so mild as mine is!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Hooper</span>, +disinclined<br /> + His trumpet to be blowing,<br /> +Yet didn’t think you’d find<br /> + A milder curate going.</p> +<p class="poetry">A friend arrived one day<br /> + At Spiffton-extra-Sooper,<br /> +And in this shameful way<br /> + He spoke to Mr. <span +class="smcap">Hooper</span>:</p> +<p class="poetry">“You think your famous name<br /> + For mildness can’t be shaken,<br /> +That none can blot your fame—<br /> + But, <span class="smcap">Hooper</span>, you’re +mistaken!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>“Your mind is not as blank<br /> + As that of <span class="smcap">Hopley +Porter</span>,<br /> +Who holds a curate’s rank<br /> + At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.</p> +<p class="poetry">“<i>He</i> plays the airy flute,<br /> + And looks depressed and blighted,<br /> +Doves round about him ‘toot,’<br /> + And lambkins dance delighted.</p> +<p class="poetry">“<i>He</i> labours more than you<br /> + At worsted work, and frames it;<br /> +In old maids’ albums, too,<br /> + Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The tempter said his say,<br /> + Which pierced him like a needle—<br /> +He summoned straight away<br /> + His sexton and his beadle.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>(These men were men who could<br /> + Hold liberal opinions:<br /> +On Sundays they were good—<br /> + On week-days they were minions.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“To <span class="smcap">Hopley +Porter</span> go,<br /> + Your fare I will afford you—<br /> +Deal him a deadly blow,<br /> + And blessings shall reward you.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But stay—I do not like<br /> + Undue assassination,<br /> +And so before you strike,<br /> + Make this communication:</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ll give him this one +chance—<br /> + If he’ll more gaily bear him,<br /> +Play croquêt, smoke, and dance,<br /> + I willingly will spare him.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>They went, those minions true,<br /> + To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,<br /> +And told their errand to<br /> + The <span class="smcap">Reverend Hopley +Porter</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“What?” said that reverend gent,<br +/> + “Dance through my hours of leisure?<br /> +Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?—<br /> + Play croquêt? Oh, with pleasure!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Wear all my hair in curl?<br /> + Stand at my door and wink—so—<br /> +At every passing girl?<br /> + My brothers, I should think so!</p> +<p class="poetry">“For years I’ve longed for some<br +/> + Excuse for this revulsion:<br /> +Now that excuse has come—<br /> + I do it on compulsion!!!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>He smoked and winked away—<br /> + This <span class="smcap">Reverend Hopley +Porter</span>—<br /> +The deuce there was to pay<br /> + At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Hooper</span> holds his +ground,<br /> + In mildness daily growing—<br /> +They think him, all around,<br /> + The mildest curate going.</p> +<h2><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>ONLY A +DANCING GIRL.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Only</span> a dancing +girl,<br /> + With an unromantic style,<br /> +With borrowed colour and curl,<br /> + With fixed mechanical smile,<br /> + With many a hackneyed wile,<br /> +With ungrammatical lips,<br /> +And corns that mar her trips.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>Hung from the “flies” in air,<br /> + She acts a palpable lie,<br /> +She’s as little a fairy there<br /> + As unpoetical I!<br /> + I hear you asking, Why—<br /> +Why in the world I sing<br /> +This tawdry, tinselled thing?</p> +<p class="poetry">No airy fairy she,<br /> + As she hangs in arsenic green<br /> +From a highly impossible tree<br /> + In a highly impossible scene<br /> + (Herself not over-clean).<br /> +For fays don’t suffer, I’m told,<br /> +From bunions, coughs, or cold.</p> +<p class="poetry">And stately dames that bring<br /> + Their daughters there to see,<br /> +Pronounce the “dancing thing”<br /> + No better than she should be,<br /> + With her skirt at her shameful knee,<br /> +And her painted, tainted phiz:<br /> +Ah, matron, which of us is?</p> +<p class="poetry">(And, in sooth, it oft occurs<br /> + That while these matrons sigh,<br /> +Their dresses are lower than hers,<br /> + And sometimes half as high;<br /> + And their hair is hair they buy,<br /> +And they use their glasses, too,<br /> +In a way she’d blush to do.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>But change her gold and green<br /> + For a coarse merino gown,<br /> +And see her upon the scene<br /> + Of her home, when coaxing down<br /> + Her drunken father’s frown,<br /> +In his squalid cheerless den:<br /> +She’s a fairy truly, then!</p> +<h2><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>TO A +LITTLE MAID<br /> +<span class="smcap">By a Policeman</span>.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span> with me, little +maid,<br /> +Nay, shrink not, thus afraid—<br /> + I’ll harm thee not!<br /> +Fly not, my love, from me—<br /> +I have a home for thee—<br /> + A fairy grot,<br /> + Where mortal +eye<br /> + Can rarely +pry,<br /> +There shall thy dwelling be!</p> +<p class="poetry">List to me, while I tell<br /> +The pleasures of that cell,<br /> + Oh, little maid!<br /> +What though its couch be rude,<br /> +Homely the only food<br /> + Within its shade?<br /> + No thought of +care<br /> + Can enter +there,<br /> +No vulgar swain intrude!</p> +<p class="poetry">Come with me, little maid,<br /> +Come to the rocky shade<br /> + I love to sing;<br /> +Live with us, maiden rare—<br /> +Come, for we “want” thee there,<br /> + Thou elfin thing,<br /> + To work thy +spell,<br /> + In some cool +cell<br /> +In stately Pentonville!</p> +<h2><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>THE +TROUBADOUR.</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">troubadour</span> he +played<br /> + Without a castle wall,<br /> +Within, a hapless maid<br /> + Responded to his call.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, willow, woe is me!<br /> + Alack and well-a-day!<br /> +If I were only free<br /> + I’d hie me far away!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>Unknown her face and name,<br /> + But this he knew right well,<br /> +The maiden’s wailing came<br /> + From out a dungeon cell.</p> +<p class="poetry">A hapless woman lay<br /> + Within that dungeon grim—<br /> +That fact, I’ve heard him say,<br /> + Was quite enough for him.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I will not sit or lie,<br /> + Or eat or drink, I vow,<br /> +Till thou art free as I,<br /> + Or I as pent as thou.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Her tears then ceased to flow,<br /> + Her wails no longer rang,<br /> +And tuneful in her woe<br /> + The prisoned maiden sang:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, stranger, as you play,<br /> + I recognize your touch;<br /> +And all that I can say<br /> + Is, thank you very much.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He seized his clarion straight,<br /> + And blew thereat, until<br /> +A warden oped the gate.<br /> + “Oh, what might be your will?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ve come, Sir Knave, to see<br /> + The master of these halls:<br /> +A maid unwillingly<br /> + Lies prisoned in their walls.”’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +30</span>With barely stifled sigh<br /> + That porter drooped his head,<br /> +With teardrops in his eye,<br /> + “A many, sir,” he said.</p> +<p class="poetry">He stayed to hear no more,<br /> + But pushed that porter by,<br /> +And shortly stood before<br /> + <span class="smcap">Sir Hugh de Peckham +Rye</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Hugh</span> he darkly +frowned,<br /> + “What would you, sir, with me?”<br /> +The troubadour he downed<br /> + Upon his bended knee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ve come, <span class="smcap">de +Peckham Rye</span>,<br /> + To do a Christian task;<br /> +You ask me what would I?<br /> + It is not much I ask.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Release these maidens, sir,<br /> + Whom you dominion o’er—<br /> +Particularly her<br /> + Upon the second floor.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>“And if you don’t, my lord”—<br +/> + He here stood bolt upright,<br /> +And tapped a tailor’s sword—<br /> + “Come out, you cad, and fight!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Hugh</span> he +called—and ran<br /> + The warden from the gate:<br /> +“Go, show this gentleman<br /> + The maid in Forty-eight.”</p> +<p class="poetry">By many a cell they past,<br /> + And stopped at length before<br /> +A portal, bolted fast:<br /> + The man unlocked the door.</p> +<p class="poetry">He called inside the gate<br /> + With coarse and brutal shout,<br /> +“Come, step it, Forty-eight!”<br /> + And Forty-eight stepped out.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span>“They gets it pretty hot,<br /> + The maidens what we cotch—<br /> +Two years this lady’s got<br /> + For collaring a wotch.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, ah!—indeed—I +see,”<br /> + The troubadour exclaimed—<br /> +“If I may make so free,<br /> + How is this castle named?”</p> +<p class="poetry">The warden’s eyelids fill,<br /> + And sighing, he replied,<br /> +“Of gloomy Pentonville<br /> + This is the female side!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The minstrel did not wait<br /> + The Warden stout to thank,<br /> +But recollected straight<br /> + He’d business at the Bank.</p> +<h2><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA;<br /> +<span class="smcap">Or</span>, <span class="smcap">the Gentle +Pieman</span>.</h2> +<h3>PART I.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">At</span> a pleasant +evening party I had taken down to supper<br /> +One whom I will call <span class="smcap">Elvira</span>, and we +talked of love and <span class="smcap">Tupper</span>,</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mr. Tupper</span> and the +Poets, very lightly with them dealing,<br /> +For I’ve always been distinguished for a strong poetic +feeling.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then we let off paper crackers, each of which +contained a motto,<br /> +And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not +to.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then she whispered, “To the ball-room we +had better, dear, be walking;<br /> +If we stop down here much longer, really people will be +talking.”</p> +<p class="poetry">There were noblemen in coronets, and military +cousins,<br /> +There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by +dozens.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed +them with a blessing,<br /> +Then she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in +dressing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then she had convulsive sobbings in her +agitated throttle,<br /> +Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty +smelling-bottle.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>So I whispered, “Dear <span +class="smcap">Elvira</span>, say,—what can the matter be +with you?<br /> +Does anything you’ve eaten, darling <span +class="smcap">Popsy</span>, disagree with you?”</p> +<p class="poetry">But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and +more distressing,<br /> +And she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in +dressing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling, +then above me,<br /> +And she whispered, “<span class="smcap">Ferdinando</span>, +do you really, <i>really</i> love me?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Love you?” said I, then I sighed, +and then I gazed upon her sweetly—<br /> +For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Send me to the Arctic regions, or +illimitable azure,<br /> +On a scientific goose-chase, with my <span +class="smcap">Coxwell</span> or my <span +class="smcap">Glaisher</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Tell me whither I may hie me—tell +me, dear one, that I may know—<br /> +Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?”</p> +<p class="poetry">But she said, “It isn’t polar +bears, or hot volcanic grottoes:<br /> +Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker +mottoes!”</p> +<h2>PART II.</h2> +<p class="poetry">“Tell me, <span class="smcap">Henry +Wadsworth</span>, <span class="smcap">Alfred Poet Close</span>, +or <span class="smcap">Mister Tupper</span>,<br /> +Do you write the bon bon mottoes my <span +class="smcap">Elvira</span> pulls at supper?”</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Henry Wadsworth</span> +smiled, and said he had not had that honour;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Alfred</span>, too, disclaimed the words +that told so much upon her.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>“<span class="smcap">Mister Martin Tupper</span>, +<span class="smcap">Poet Close</span>, I beg of you inform +us;”<br /> +But my question seemed to throw them both into a rage +enormous.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mister Close</span> +expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Mister Martin Tupper</span> sent the +following reply to me:</p> +<p class="poetry">“A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men +dread a bandit,”—<br /> +Which I know was very clever; but I didn’t understand +it.</p> +<p class="poetry">Seven weary years I wandered—Patagonia, +China, Norway,<br /> +Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway.</p> +<p class="poetry">There were fuchsias and geraniums, and +daffodils and myrtle,<br /> +So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth +and he was rosy,<br /> +And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and +laughed with laughter hearty—<br /> +He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.</p> +<p class="poetry">And I said, “O gentle pieman, why so +very, very merry?<br /> +Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven +sherry?”</p> +<p class="poetry">But he answered, “I’m so +happy—no profession could be dearer—<br /> +If I am not humming ‘Tra! la! la!’ I’m singing +‘Tirer, lirer!’</p> +<p class="poetry">“First I go and make the patties, and the +puddings, and the jellies,<br /> +Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is;</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then I polish all the silver, which a +supper-table lacquers;<br /> +Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the +crackers.”—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>“Found at last!” I madly shouted. +“Gentle pieman, you astound me!”<br /> +Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me.</p> +<p class="poetry">And I shouted and I danced until he’d +quite a crowd around him—<br /> +And I rushed away exclaiming, “I have found him! I +have found him!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And I heard the gentle pieman in the road +behind me trilling,<br /> +“‘Tira, lira!’ stop him, stop him! +‘Tra! la! la!’ the soup’s a +shilling!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But until I reached <span +class="smcap">Elvira’s</span> home, I never, never +waited,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Elvira</span> to her <span +class="smcap">Ferdinand’s</span> irrevocably mated!</p> +<h2><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>TO MY +BRIDE<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">(WHOEVER SHE MAY BE.)</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! little +maid!—(I do not know your name<br /> + Or who you are, so, as a safe precaution<br /> +I’ll add)—Oh, buxom widow! married dame!<br /> + (As one of these must be your present portion)<br /> + Listen, while I unveil prophetic +lore for you,<br /> + And sing the fate that Fortune has +in store for you.</p> +<p class="poetry">You’ll marry soon—within a year or +twain—<br /> + A bachelor of <i>circa</i> two and thirty:<br /> +Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain,<br /> + And when you’re intimate, you’ll call +him “<span class="smcap">Bertie</span>.”<br /> + Neat—dresses well; his +temper has been classified<br /> + As hasty; but he’s very +quickly pacified.</p> +<p class="poetry">You’ll find him working mildly at the +Bar,<br /> + After a touch at two or three professions,<br /> +From easy affluence extremely far,<br /> + A brief or two on Circuit—“soup” +at Sessions;<br /> + A pound or two from whist and +backing horses,<br /> + And, say three hundred from his +own resources.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>Quiet in harness; free from serious vice,<br /> + His faults are not particularly shady,<br /> +You’ll never find him “<i>shy</i>”—for, +once or twice<br /> + Already, he’s been driven by a lady,<br /> + Who parts with him—perhaps a +poor excuse for him—<br /> + Because she hasn’t any +further use for him.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark, or +fair!<br /> + Oh! widow—wife, maybe, or blushing maiden,<br +/> +I’ve told <i>your</i> fortune; solved the gravest care<br +/> + With which your mind has hitherto been laden.<br /> + I’ve prophesied correctly, +never doubt it;<br /> + Now tell me mine—and please +be quick about it!</p> +<p class="poetry">You—only you—can tell me, an’ +you will,<br /> + To whom I’m destined shortly to be mated,<br +/> +Will she run up a heavy <i>modiste’s</i> bill?<br /> + If so, I want to hear her income stated<br /> + (This is a point which interests +me greatly).<br /> + To quote the bard, “Oh! have +I seen her lately?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Say, must I wait till husband number one<br /> + Is comfortably stowed away at Woking?<br /> +How is her hair most usually done?<br /> + And tell me, please, will she object to smoking?<br +/> + The colour of her eyes, too, you +may mention:<br /> + Come, Sibyl, +prophesy—I’m all attention.</p> +<h2><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>SIR +MACKLIN.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the youths I +ever saw<br /> + None were so wicked, vain, or silly,<br /> +So lost to shame and Sabbath law,<br /> + As worldly <span class="smcap">Tom</span>, and <span +class="smcap">Bob</span>, and <span +class="smcap">Billy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">For every Sabbath day they walked<br /> + (Such was their gay and thoughtless natur)<br /> +In parks or gardens, where they talked<br /> + From three to six, or even later.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Macklin</span> was a +priest severe<br /> + In conduct and in conversation,<br /> +It did a sinner good to hear<br /> + Him deal in ratiocination.</p> +<p class="poetry">He could in every action show<br /> + Some sin, and nobody could doubt him.<br /> +He argued high, he argued low,<br /> + He also argued round about him.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>He wept to think each thoughtless youth<br /> + Contained of wickedness a skinful,<br /> +And burnt to teach the awful truth,<br /> + That walking out on Sunday’s sinful.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, youths,” said he, “I +grieve to find<br /> + The course of life you’ve been and hit +on—<br /> +Sit down,” said he, “and never mind<br /> + The pennies for the chairs you sit on.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My opening head is +‘Kensington,’<br /> + How walking there the sinner hardens,<br /> +Which when I have enlarged upon,<br /> + I go to ‘Secondly’—its +‘Gardens.’</p> +<p class="poetry">“My ‘Thirdly’ comprehendeth +‘Hyde,’<br /> + Of Secresy the guilts and shameses;<br /> +My ‘Fourthly’—‘Park’—its +verdure wide—<br /> + My ‘Fifthly’ comprehends ‘St. +James’s.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>“That matter settled, I shall reach<br /> + The ‘Sixthly’ in my solemn tether,<br /> +And show that what is true of each,<br /> + Is also true of all, together.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then I shall demonstrate to you,<br /> + According to the rules of <span +class="smcap">Whately</span>,<br /> +That what is true of all, is true<br /> + Of each, considered separately.”</p> +<p class="poetry">In lavish stream his accents flow,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Tom</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bob</span>, and <span class="smcap">Billy</span> +dare not flout him;<br /> +He argued high, he argued low,<br /> + He also argued round about him.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ha, ha!” he said, “you +loathe your ways,<br /> + You writhe at these my words of warning,<br /> +In agony your hands you raise.”<br /> + (And so they did, for they were yawning.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>To “Twenty-firstly” on they go,<br /> + The lads do not attempt to scout him;<br /> +He argued high, he argued low,<br /> + He also argued round about him.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ho, ho!” he cries, “you bow +your crests—<br /> + My eloquence has set you weeping;<br /> +In shame you bend upon your breasts!”<br /> + (And so they did, for they were sleeping.)</p> +<p class="poetry">He proved them this—he proved them +that—<br /> + This good but wearisome ascetic;<br /> +He jumped and thumped upon his hat,<br /> + He was so very energetic.</p> +<p class="poetry">His Bishop at this moment chanced<br /> + To pass, and found the road encumbered;<br /> +He noticed how the Churchman danced,<br /> + And how his congregation slumbered.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>The hundred and eleventh head<br /> + The priest completed of his stricture;<br /> +“Oh, bosh!” the worthy Bishop said,<br /> + And walked him off as in the picture.</p> +<h2><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>THE +YARN OF THE “NANCY BELL.” <a name="citation44"></a><a +href="#footnote44" class="citation">[44]</a></h2> +<p class="poetry">’<span class="smcap">Twas</span> on the +shores that round our coast<br /> + From Deal to Ramsgate span,<br /> +That I found alone on a piece of stone<br /> + An elderly naval man.</p> +<p class="poetry">His hair was weedy, his beard was long,<br /> + And weedy and long was he,<br /> +And I heard this wight on the shore recite,<br /> + In a singular minor key:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,<br +/> + And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /> +And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> + And the crew of the captain’s gig.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,<br +/> + Till I really felt afraid,<br /> +For I couldn’t help thinking the man had been drinking,<br +/> + And so I simply said:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>“Oh, elderly man, it’s little I know<br /> + Of the duties of men of the sea,<br /> +And I’ll eat my hand if I understand<br /> + However you can be</p> +<p class="poetry">“At once a cook, and a captain bold,<br +/> + And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /> +And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> + And the crew of the captain’s gig.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which<br +/> + Is a trick all seamen larn,<br /> +And having got rid of a thumping quid,<br /> + He spun this painful yarn:</p> +<p class="poetry">“’Twas in the good ship <i>Nancy +Bell</i><br /> + That we sailed to the Indian Sea,<br /> +And there on a reef we come to grief,<br /> + Which has often occurred to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And pretty nigh all the crew was +drowned<br /> + (There was seventy-seven o’ soul),<br /> +And only ten of the <i>Nancy’s</i> men<br /> + Said ‘Here!’ to the muster-roll.</p> +<p class="poetry">“There was me and the cook and the +captain bold,<br /> + And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /> +And the bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> + And the crew of the captain’s gig.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For a month we’d neither wittles +nor drink,<br /> + Till a-hungry we did feel,<br /> +So we drawed a lot, and, accordin’ shot<br /> + The captain for our meal.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>“The next lot fell to the <i>Nancy’s</i> +mate,<br /> + And a delicate dish he made;<br /> +Then our appetite with the midshipmite<br /> + We seven survivors stayed.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And then we murdered the bo’sun +tight,<br /> + And he much resembled pig;<br /> +Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,<br /> + On the crew of the captain’s gig.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then only the cook and me was left,<br +/> + And the delicate question, ‘Which<br /> +Of us two goes to the kettle?’ arose,<br /> + And we argued it out as sich.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For I loved that cook as a brother, I +did,<br /> + And the cook he worshipped me;<br /> +But we’d both be blowed if we’d either be stowed<br +/> + In the other chap’s hold, you see.</p> +<p class="poetry">“‘I’ll be eat if you dines +off me,’ says <span class="smcap">Tom</span>;<br /> + ‘Yes, that,’ says I, ‘you’ll +be,—<br /> +‘I’m boiled if I die, my friend,’ quoth I;<br +/> + And ‘Exactly so,’ quoth he.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Says he, ‘Dear <span +class="smcap">James</span>, to murder me<br /> + Were a foolish thing to do,<br /> +For don’t you see that you can’t cook <i>me</i>,<br +/> + While I can—and will—cook +<i>you</i>!’</p> +<p class="poetry">“So he boils the water, and takes the +salt<br /> + And the pepper in portions true<br /> +(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot.<br /> + And some sage and parsley too.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>“‘Come here,’ says he, with a proper +pride,<br /> + Which his smiling features tell,<br /> +‘’T will soothing be if I let you see<br /> + How extremely nice you’ll smell.’</p> +<p class="poetry">“And he stirred it round and round and +round,<br /> + And he sniffed at the foaming froth;<br /> +When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals<br /> + In the scum of the boiling broth.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And I eat that cook in a week or +less,<br /> + And—as I eating be<br /> +The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,<br /> + For a wessel in sight I see!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">“And I never larf, and I never smile,<br +/> + And I never lark nor play,<br /> +But sit and croak, and a single joke<br /> + I have—which is to say:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,<br +/> + And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /> +And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> + And the crew of the captain’s +gig!’”</p> +<h2><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>THE +BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">From</span> east and south +the holy clan<br /> +Of Bishops gathered to a man;<br /> +To Synod, called Pan-Anglican,<br /> + In flocking crowds they came.<br /> +Among them was a Bishop, who<br /> +Had lately been appointed to<br /> +The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Peter</span> was his +name.</p> +<p class="poetry">His people—twenty-three in sum—<br +/> +They played the eloquent tum-tum,<br /> +And lived on scalps served up, in rum—<br /> + The only sauce they knew.<br /> +<a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>When first +good <span class="smcap">Bishop Peter</span> came<br /> +(For <span class="smcap">Peter</span> was that Bishop’s +name),<br /> +To humour them, he did the same<br /> + As they of Rum-ti-Foo.</p> +<p class="poetry">His flock, I’ve often heard him tell,<br +/> +(His name was <span class="smcap">Peter</span>) loved him +well,<br /> +And, summoned by the sound of bell,<br /> + In crowds together came.<br /> +“Oh, massa, why you go away?<br /> +Oh, <span class="smcap">Massa Peter</span>, please to +stay.”<br /> +(They called him <span class="smcap">Peter</span>, people say,<br +/> + Because it was his name.)</p> +<p class="poetry">He told them all good boys to be,<br /> +And sailed away across the sea,<br /> +At London Bridge that Bishop he<br /> + Arrived one Tuesday night;<br /> +And as that night he homeward strode<br /> +To his Pan-Anglican abode,<br /> +He passed along the Borough Road,<br /> + And saw a gruesome sight.</p> +<p class="poetry">He saw a crowd assembled round<br /> +A person dancing on the ground,<br /> +Who straight began to leap and bound<br /> + With all his might and main.<br /> +To see that dancing man he stopped,<br /> +Who twirled and wriggled, skipped and hopped,<br /> +Then down incontinently dropped,<br /> + And then sprang up again.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>The Bishop chuckled at the sight.<br /> +“This style of dancing would delight<br /> +A simple Rum-ti-Foozleite.<br /> + I’ll learn it if I can,<br /> +To please the tribe when I get back.”<br /> +He begged the man to teach his knack.<br /> +“Right Reverend Sir, in half a crack!”<br /> + Replied that dancing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dancing man he worked away,<br /> +And taught the Bishop every day—<br /> +The dancer skipped like any fay—<br /> + Good <span class="smcap">Peter</span> did the +same.<br /> +The Bishop buckled to his task,<br /> +With <i>battements</i>, and <i>pas de basque</i>.<br /> +(I’ll tell you, if you care to ask,<br /> + That <span class="smcap">Peter</span> was his +name.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>“Come, walk like this,” the dancer said,<br +/> +“Stick out your toes—stick in your head,<br /> +Stalk on with quick, galvanic tread—<br /> + Your fingers thus extend;<br /> +The attitude’s considered quaint.”<br /> +The weary Bishop, feeling faint,<br /> +Replied, “I do not say it ain’t,<br /> + But ‘Time!’ my Christian +friend!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“We now proceed to something +new—<br /> +Dance as the <span class="smcap">Paynes</span> and <span +class="smcap">Lauris</span> do,<br /> +Like this—one, two—one, two—one, two.”<br +/> + The Bishop, never proud,<br /> +But in an overwhelming heat<br /> +(His name was <span class="smcap">Peter</span>, I repeat)<br /> +Performed the <span class="smcap">Payne</span> and <span +class="smcap">Lauri</span> feat,<br /> + And puffed his thanks aloud.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>Another game the dancer planned—<br /> +“Just take your ankle in your hand,<br /> +And try, my lord, if you can stand—<br /> + Your body stiff and stark.<br /> +If, when revisiting your see,<br /> +You learnt to hop on shore—like me—<br /> +The novelty would striking be,<br /> + And must attract remark.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“No,” said the worthy Bishop, +“no;<br /> +That is a length to which, I trow,<br /> +Colonial Bishops cannot go.<br /> + You may express surprise<br /> +At finding Bishops deal in pride—<br /> +But if that trick I ever tried,<br /> +I should appear undignified<br /> + In Rum-ti-Foozle’s eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>“The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo<br /> +Are well-conducted persons, who<br /> +Approve a joke as much as you,<br /> + And laugh at it as such;<br /> +But if they saw their Bishop land,<br /> +His leg supported in his hand,<br /> +The joke they wouldn’t understand—<br /> + ’T would pain them very much!”</p> +<h2><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>THE +PRECOCIOUS BABY.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A VERY TRUE TALE.</span></h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>To be sung to the Air of +the</i> “<i>Whistling Oyster</i>.”)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">An</span> elderly +person—a prophet by trade—<br /> + With his quips +and tips<br /> + On withered old +lips,<br /> +He married a young and a beautiful maid;<br /> + The cunning old +blade!<br /> + Though rather +decayed,<br /> +He married a beautiful, beautiful maid.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>She was only eighteen, and as fair as could be,<br /> + With her +tempting smiles<br /> + And maidenly +wiles,<br /> +And he was a trifle past seventy-three:<br /> + Now what she +could see<br /> + Is a puzzle to +me,<br /> +In a prophet of seventy—seventy-three!</p> +<p class="poetry">Of all their acquaintances bidden (or bad)<br +/> + With their loud +high jinks<br /> + And underbred +winks,<br /> +None thought they’d a family have—but they had;<br /> + A dear little +lad<br /> + Who drove +’em half mad,<br /> +For he turned out a horribly fast little cad.</p> +<p class="poetry">For when he was born he astonished all by,<br +/> + With their +“Law, dear me!”<br /> + “Did ever +you see?”<br /> +He’d a pipe in his mouth and a glass in his eye,<br /> + A hat all +awry—<br /> + An octagon +tie—<br /> +And a miniature—miniature glass in his eye.</p> +<p class="poetry">He grumbled at wearing a frock and a cap,<br /> + With his +“Oh, dear, oh!”<br /> + And his +“Hang it! ’oo know!”<br /> +And he turned up his nose at his excellent pap—<br /> + “My +friends, it’s a tap<br /> + Dat is not worf +a rap.”<br /> +(Now this was remarkably excellent pap.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>He’d chuck his nurse under the chin, and +he’d say,<br /> + With his +“Fal, lal, lal”—<br /> + “’Oo +doosed fine gal!”<br /> +This shocking precocity drove ’em away:<br /> + “A month +from to-day<br /> + Is as long as +I’ll stay—<br /> +Then I’d wish, if you please, for to toddle +away.”</p> +<p class="poetry">His father, a simple old gentleman, he<br /> + With nursery +rhyme<br /> + And “Once +on a time,”<br /> +Would tell him the story of “Little Bo-P,”<br /> + “So pretty +was she,<br /> + So pretty and +wee,<br /> +As pretty, as pretty, as pretty could be.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>But the babe, with a dig that would startle an ox,<br /> + With his +“C’ck! Oh, my!—<br /> + Go along wiz +’oo, fie!”<br /> +Would exclaim, “I’m afraid ’oo a socking ole +fox.”<br /> + Now a father it +shocks,<br /> + And it whitens +his locks,<br /> +When his little babe calls him a shocking old fox.</p> +<p class="poetry">The name of his father he’d couple and +pair<br /> + (With his +ill-bred laugh,<br /> + And insolent +chaff)<br /> +With those of the nursery heroines rare—<br /> + Virginia the +Fair,<br /> + Or Good +Goldenhair,<br /> +Till the nuisance was more than a prophet could bear.</p> +<p class="poetry">“There’s Jill and White Cat” +(said the bold little brat,<br /> + With his loud, +“Ha, ha!”)<br /> + “’Oo +sly ickle Pa!<br /> +Wiz ’oo Beauty, Bo-Peep, and ’oo Mrs. Jack Sprat!<br +/> + I’ve +noticed ’oo pat<br /> + <i>My</i> pretty +White Cat—<br /> +I sink dear mamma ought to know about dat!”</p> +<p class="poetry">He early determined to marry and wive,<br /> + For better or +worse<br /> + With his elderly +nurse—<br /> +Which the poor little boy didn’t live to contrive:<br /> + His hearth +didn’t thrive—<br /> + No longer +alive,<br /> +He died an enfeebled old dotard at five!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page58"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 58</span>MORAL.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, elderly men of the bachelor crew,<br /> + With wrinkled +hose<br /> + And spectacled +nose,<br /> +Don’t marry at all—you may take it as true<br /> + If ever you +do<br /> + The step you +will rue,<br /> +For your babes will be elderly—elderly too.</p> +<h2><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>TO +PHŒBE. <a name="citation59"></a><a href="#footnote59" +class="citation">[59]</a></h2> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Gentle</span>, +modest little flower,<br /> + Sweet epitome of May,<br /> +Love me but for half an hour,<br /> + Love me, love me, little fay.”<br /> +Sentences so fiercely flaming<br /> + In your tiny shell-like ear,<br /> +I should always be exclaiming<br /> + If I loved you, <span +class="smcap">Phœbe</span> dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Smiles that thrill from any distance<br +/> + Shed upon me while I sing!<br /> +Please ecstaticize existence,<br /> + Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!”<br /> +Words like these, outpouring sadly<br /> + You’d perpetually hear,<br /> +If I loved you fondly, madly;—<br /> + But I do not, <span class="smcap">Phœbe</span> +dear.</p> +<h2><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>BAINES +CAREW, GENTLEMAN.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the good +attorneys who<br /> + Have placed their names upon the roll,<br /> +But few could equal <span class="smcap">Baines Carew</span><br /> + For tender-heartedness and soul.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whene’er he heard a tale of woe<br /> + From client A or client B,<br /> +His grief would overcome him so<br /> + He’d scarce have strength to take his fee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>It laid him up for many days,<br /> + When duty led him to distrain,<br /> +And serving writs, although it pays,<br /> + Gave him excruciating pain.</p> +<p class="poetry">He made out costs, distrained for rent,<br /> + Foreclosed and sued, with moistened eye—<br /> +No bill of costs could represent<br /> + The value of such sympathy.</p> +<p class="poetry">No charges can approximate<br /> + The worth of sympathy with woe;—<br /> +Although I think I ought to state<br /> + He did his best to make them so.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of all the many clients who<br /> + Had mustered round his legal flag,<br /> +No single client of the crew<br /> + Was half so dear as <span class="smcap">Captain +Bagg</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, <span class="smcap">Captain Bagg</span> +had bowed him to<br /> + A heavy matrimonial yoke—<br /> +His wifey had of faults a few—<br /> + She never could resist a joke.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her chaff at first he meekly bore,<br /> + Till unendurable it grew.<br /> +“To stop this persecution sore<br /> + I will consult my friend <span +class="smcap">Carew</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And when <span +class="smcap">Carew’s</span> advice I’ve got,<br /> + Divorce <i>a mensâ</i> I shall try.”<br +/> +(A legal separation—not<br /> + <i>A vinculo conjugii</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>“Oh, <span class="smcap">Baines Carew</span>, my +woe I’ve kept<br /> + A secret hitherto, you know;”—<br /> +(And <span class="smcap">Baines Carew</span>, <span +class="smcap">Esquire</span>, he wept<br /> + To hear that <span class="smcap">Bagg</span> +<i>had</i> any woe.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“My case, indeed, is passing sad.<br /> + My wife—whom I considered true—<br /> +With brutal conduct drives me mad.”<br /> + “I am appalled,” said <span +class="smcap">Baines Carew</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“What! sound the matrimonial knell<br /> + Of worthy people such as these!<br /> +Why was I an attorney? Well—<br /> + Go on to the <i>sævitia</i>, +please.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Domestic bliss has proved my +bane,—<br /> + A harder case you never heard,<br /> +My wife (in other matters sane)<br /> + Pretends that I’m a Dicky bird!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>“She makes me sing, ‘Too-whit, +too-wee!’<br /> + And stand upon a rounded stick,<br /> +And always introduces me<br /> + To every one as ‘Pretty +Dick’!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, dear,” said weeping <span +class="smcap">Baines Carew</span>,<br /> + “This is the direst case I know.”<br /> +“I’m grieved,” said <span +class="smcap">Bagg</span>, “at paining you—<br /> + To <span class="smcap">Cobb</span> and <span +class="smcap">Poltherthwaite</span> I’ll go—</p> +<p class="poetry">“To <span +class="smcap">Cobb’s</span> cold, calculating ear,<br /> + My gruesome sorrows I’ll +impart”—<br /> +“No; stop,” said <span class="smcap">Baines</span>, +“I’ll dry my tear,<br /> + And steel my sympathetic heart.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“She makes me perch upon a tree,<br /> + Rewarding me with +‘Sweety—nice!’<br /> +And threatens to exhibit me<br /> + With four or five performing mice.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Restrain my tears I wish I +could”<br /> + (Said <span class="smcap">Baines</span>), “I +don’t know what to do.”<br /> +Said <span class="smcap">Captain Bagg</span>, “You’re +very good.”<br /> + “Oh, not at all,” said <span +class="smcap">Baines Carew</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>“She makes me fire a gun,” said <span +class="smcap">Bagg</span>;<br /> + “And, at a preconcerted word,<br /> +Climb up a ladder with a flag,<br /> + Like any street performing bird.</p> +<p class="poetry">“She places sugar in my way—<br /> + In public places calls me ‘Sweet!’<br /> +She gives me groundsel every day,<br /> + And hard canary-seed to eat.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, woe! oh, sad! oh, dire to +tell!”<br /> + (Said <span class="smcap">Baines</span>). +“Be good enough to stop.”<br /> +And senseless on the floor he fell,<br /> + With unpremeditated flop!</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Captain Bagg</span>, +“Well, really I<br /> + Am grieved to think it pains you so.<br /> +I thank you for your sympathy;<br /> + But, hang it!—come—I say, you +know!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>But <span class="smcap">Baines</span> lay flat upon the +floor,<br /> + Convulsed with sympathetic sob;—<br /> +The Captain toddled off next door,<br /> + And gave the case to <span class="smcap">Mr. +Cobb</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>THOMAS +WINTERBOTTOM HANCE.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> all the towns and +cities fair<br /> + On Merry England’s broad expanse,<br /> +No swordsman ever could compare<br /> + With <span class="smcap">Thomas Winterbottom +Hance</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dauntless lad could fairly hew<br /> + A silken handkerchief in twain,<br /> +Divide a leg of mutton too—<br /> + And this without unwholesome strain.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick,<br /> + His sabre sometimes he’d employ—<br /> +No bar of lead, however thick,<br /> + Had terrors for the stalwart boy.</p> +<p class="poetry">At Dover daily he’d prepare<br /> + To hew and slash, behind, before—<br /> +Which aggravated <span class="smcap">Monsieur Pierre</span>,<br +/> + Who watched him from the Calais shore.</p> +<p class="poetry">It caused good <span +class="smcap">Pierre</span> to swear and dance,<br /> + The sight annoyed and vexed him so;<br /> +He was the bravest man in France—<br /> + He said so, and he ought to know.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>“Regardez donc, ce cochon gros—<br /> + Ce polisson! Oh, sacré bleu!<br /> +Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots<br /> + Comme cela m’ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Il sait que les foulards de soie<br /> + Give no retaliating whack—<br /> +Les gigots morts n’ont pas de quoi—<br /> + Le plomb don’t ever hit you back.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But every day the headstrong lad<br /> + Cut lead and mutton more and more;<br /> +And every day poor <span class="smcap">Pierre</span>, half +mad,<br /> + Shrieked loud defiance from his shore.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hance</span> had a mother, +poor and old,<br /> + A simple, harmless village dame,<br /> +Who crowed and clapped as people told<br /> + Of <span class="smcap">Winterbottom’s</span> +rising fame.</p> +<p class="poetry">She said, “I’ll be upon the spot<br +/> + To see my <span class="smcap">Tommy’s</span> +sabre-play;”<br /> +And so she left her leafy cot,<br /> + And walked to Dover in a day.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Pierre</span> had a doating +mother, who<br /> + Had heard of his defiant rage;<br /> +<i>His</i> Ma was nearly ninety-two,<br /> + And rather dressy for her age.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>At <span class="smcap">Hance’s</span> doings every +morn,<br /> + With sheer delight <i>his</i> mother cried;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Monsieur Pierre’s</span> +contemptuous scorn<br /> + Filled <i>his</i> mamma with proper pride.</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Hance’s</span> +powers began to fail—<br /> + His constitution was not strong—<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Pierre</span>, who once was stout and +hale,<br /> + Grew thin from shouting all day long.</p> +<p class="poetry">Their mothers saw them pale and wan,<br /> + Maternal anguish tore each breast,<br /> +And so they met to find a plan<br /> + To set their offsprings’ minds at rest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Mrs. Hance</span>, +“Of course I shrinks<br /> + From bloodshed, ma’am, as you’re +aware,<br /> +But still they’d better meet, I thinks.”<br /> + “Assurément!” said <span +class="smcap">Madame Pierre</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>A sunny spot in sunny France<br /> + Was hit upon for this affair;<br /> +The ground was picked by <span class="smcap">Mrs. +Hance</span>,<br /> + The stakes were pitched by <span +class="smcap">Madame Pierre</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. H., +“Your work you see—<br /> + Go in, my noble boy, and win.”<br /> +“En garde, mon fils!” said <span +class="smcap">Madame</span> P.<br /> + “Allons!” “Go +on!” “En garde!” +“Begin!”</p> +<p class="poetry">(The mothers were of decent size,<br /> + Though not particularly tall;<br /> +But in the sketch that meets your eyes<br /> + I’ve been obliged to draw them small.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>Loud sneered the doughty man of France,<br /> + “Ho! ho! Ho! ho! Ha! ha! Ha! +ha!<br /> +The French for ‘Pish’” said <span +class="smcap">Thomas Hance</span>.<br /> + Said <span class="smcap">Pierre</span>, +“L’Anglais, Monsieur, pour +‘Bah.’”</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. H., +“Come, one! two! three!—<br /> + We’re sittin’ here to see all +fair.”<br /> +“C’est magnifique!” said <span +class="smcap">Madame</span> P.,<br /> + “Mais, parbleu! ce n’est pas la +guerre!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Je scorn un foe si lache que +vous,”<br /> + Said <span class="smcap">Pierre</span>, the doughty +son of France.<br /> +“I fight not coward foe like you!”<br /> + Said our undaunted <span class="smcap">Tommy +Hance</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The French for +‘Pooh!’” our <span class="smcap">Tommy</span> +cried.<br /> + “L’Anglais pour ‘Va!’” +the Frenchman crowed.<br /> +And so, with undiminished pride,<br /> + Each went on his respective road.</p> +<h2><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>A +DISCONTENTED SUGAR BROKER.</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">gentleman</span> of City +fame<br /> + Now claims your kind attention;<br /> +East India broking was his game,<br /> + His name I shall not mention:<br /> + No one of finely-pointed sense<br +/> + Would violate a confidence,<br /> + + +And shall <i>I</i> go<br /> + + +And do it? No!<br /> + His name I shall not mention.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>He had a trusty wife and true,<br /> + And very cosy quarters,<br /> +A manager, a boy or two,<br /> + Six clerks, and seven porters.<br /> + A broker must be doing well<br /> + (As any lunatic can tell)<br /> + + +Who can employ<br /> + + +An active boy,<br /> + Six clerks, and seven porters.</p> +<p class="poetry">His knocker advertised no dun,<br /> + No losses made him sulky,<br /> +He had one sorrow—only one—<br /> + He was extremely bulky.<br /> + A man must be, I beg to state,<br +/> + Exceptionally fortunate<br /> + + +Who owns his chief<br /> + + +And only grief<br /> + Is—being very bulky.</p> +<p class="poetry">“This load,” he’d say, +“I cannot bear;<br /> + I’m nineteen stone or twenty!<br /> +Henceforward I’ll go in for air<br /> + And exercise in plenty.”<br /> + Most people think that, should it +come,<br /> + They can reduce a bulging tum<br +/> + + +To measures fair<br /> + + +By taking air<br /> + And exercise in plenty.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>In every weather, every day,<br /> + Dry, muddy, wet, or gritty,<br /> +He took to dancing all the way<br /> + From Brompton to the City.<br /> + You do not often get the chance<br +/> + Of seeing sugar brokers dance<br +/> + + +From their abode<br /> + + +In Fulham Road<br /> + Through Brompton to the City.</p> +<p class="poetry">He braved the gay and guileless laugh<br /> + Of children with their nusses,<br /> +The loud uneducated chaff<br /> + Of clerks on omnibuses.<br /> + Against all minor things that +rack<br /> + A nicely-balanced mind, I’ll +back<br /> + + +The noisy chaff<br /> + + +And ill-bred laugh<br /> + Of clerks on omnibuses.</p> +<p class="poetry">His friends, who heard his money chink,<br /> + And saw the house he rented,<br /> +And knew his wife, could never think<br /> + What made him discontented.<br /> + It never entered their pure +minds<br /> + That fads are of eccentric +kinds,<br /> + + +Nor would they own<br /> + + +That fat alone<br /> + Could make one discontented.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>“Your riches know no kind of pause,<br /> + Your trade is fast advancing;<br /> +You dance—but not for joy, because<br /> + You weep as you are dancing.<br /> + To dance implies that man is +glad,<br /> + To weep implies that man is +sad;<br /> + + +But here are you<br /> + + +Who do the two—<br /> + You weep as you are dancing!”</p> +<p class="poetry">His mania soon got noised about<br /> + And into all the papers;<br /> +His size increased beyond a doubt<br /> + For all his reckless capers:<br /> + It may seem singular to you,<br /> + But all his friends admit it +true—<br /> + + +The more he found<br /> + + +His figure round,<br /> + The more he cut his capers.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>His bulk increased—no matter that—<br /> + He tried the more to toss it—<br /> +He never spoke of it as “fat,”<br /> + But “adipose deposit.”<br /> + Upon my word, it seems to me<br /> + Unpardonable vanity<br /> + + +(And worse than that)<br /> + + +To call your fat<br /> + An “adipose deposit.”</p> +<p class="poetry">At length his brawny knees gave way,<br /> + And on the carpet sinking,<br /> +Upon his shapeless back he lay<br /> + And kicked away like winking.<br /> + Instead of seeing in his state<br +/> + The finger of unswerving Fate,<br +/> + + +He laboured still<br /> + + +To work his will,<br /> + And kicked away like winking.</p> +<p class="poetry">His friends, disgusted with him now,<br /> + Away in silence wended—<br /> +<a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>I hardly +like to tell you how<br /> + This dreadful story ended.<br /> + The shocking sequel to impart,<br +/> + I must employ the limner’s +art—<br /> + + +If you would know,<br /> + + +This sketch will show<br /> + How his exertions ended.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">MORAL.</p> +<p class="poetry">I hate to preach—I hate to +prate—<br /> +—I’m no fanatic croaker,<br /> +But learn contentment from the fate<br /> +Of this East India broker.<br /> +He’d everything a man of taste<br /> +Could ever want, except a waist;<br /> +And discontent<br /> +His size anent,<br /> +And bootless perseverance blind,<br /> +Completely wrecked the peace of mind<br /> +Of this East India broker.</p> +<h2><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>THE +PANTOMIME “SUPER” TO HIS MASK.</h2> +<p +class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Vast</span> empty shell!<br /> +Impertinent, preposterous abortion!<br /> + With vacant +stare,<br /> + And ragged +hair,<br /> +And every feature out of all proportion!<br /> +Embodiment of echoing inanity!<br /> +Excellent type of simpering insanity!<br /> +Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!<br /> + I ring thy +knell!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> To-night +thou diest,<br /> +Beast that destroy’st my heaven-born identity!<br /> + Nine weeks of +nights,<br /> + Before the +lights,<br /> +Swamped in thine own preposterous nonentity,<br /> +I’ve been ill-treated, cursed, and thrashed diurnally,<br +/> +Credited for the smile you wear externally—<br /> +I feel disposed to smash thy face, infernally,<br /> + As there thou +liest!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> I’ve +been thy brain:<br /> +<i>I’ve</i> been the brain that lit thy dull concavity!<br +/> + The human +race<br /> + Invest <i>my</i> +face<br /> +With thine expression of unchecked depravity,<br /> +<a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>Invested +with a ghastly reciprocity,<br /> +<i>I’ve</i> been responsible for thy monstrosity,<br /> +I, for thy wanton, blundering ferocity—<br /> + But not +again!</p> +<p +class="poetry"> ’T +is time to toll<br /> +Thy knell, and that of follies pantomimical:<br /> + A nine +weeks’ run,<br /> + And thou hast +done<br /> +All thou canst do to make thyself inimical.<br /> +Adieu, embodiment of all inanity!<br /> +Excellent type of simpering insanity!<br /> +Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!<br /> + Freed is thy +soul!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>The Mask respondeth</i>.)</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Oh! +master mine,<br /> +Look thou within thee, ere again ill-using me.<br /> + Art thou +aware<br /> + Of nothing +there<br /> +Which might abuse thee, as thou art abusing me?<br /> +A brain that mourns <i>thine</i> unredeemed rascality?<br /> +A soul that weeps at <i>thy</i> threadbare morality?<br /> +Both grieving that <i>their</i> individuality<br /> + Is merged in +thine?</p> +<h2><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>THE +GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN.</h2> +<p class="poetry">O’er unreclaimed suburban clays<br /> + Some years ago were hobblin’<br /> +An elderly ghost of easy ways,<br /> + And an influential goblin.<br /> +The ghost was a sombre spectral shape,<br /> + A fine old five-act fogy,<br /> +The goblin imp, a lithe young ape,<br /> + A fine low-comedy bogy.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as they exercised their joints,<br /> + Promoting quick digestion,<br /> +They talked on several curious points,<br /> + And raised this delicate question:<br /> +<a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>“Which of us two is Number One—<br /> + The ghostie, or the goblin?”<br /> +And o’er the point they raised in fun<br /> + They fairly fell a-squabblin’.</p> +<p class="poetry">They’d barely speak, and each, in +fine,<br /> + Grew more and more reflective:<br /> +Each thought his own particular line<br /> + By chalks the more effective.<br /> +At length they settled some one should<br /> + By each of them be haunted,<br /> +And so arrange that either could<br /> + Exert his prowess vaunted.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The Quaint against the +Statuesque”—<br /> + By competition lawful—<br /> +The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque,<br /> + The ghost the Grandly Awful.<br /> +“Now,” said the goblin, “here’s my +plan—<br /> + In attitude commanding,<br /> +I see a stalwart Englishman<br /> + By yonder tailor’s standing.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The very fittest man on earth<br /> + My influence to try on—<br /> +Of gentle, p’r’aps of noble birth,<br /> + And dauntless as a lion!<br /> +Now wrap yourself within your shroud—<br /> + Remain in easy hearing—<br /> +Observe—you’ll hear him scream aloud<br /> + When I begin appearing!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>The imp with yell unearthly—wild—<br /> + Threw off his dark enclosure:<br /> +His dauntless victim looked and smiled<br /> + With singular composure.<br /> +For hours he tried to daunt the youth,<br /> + For days, indeed, but vainly—<br /> +The stripling smiled!—to tell the truth,<br /> + The stripling smiled inanely.</p> +<p class="poetry">For weeks the goblin weird and wild,<br /> + That noble stripling haunted;<br /> +For weeks the stripling stood and smiled,<br /> + Unmoved and all undaunted.<br /> +The sombre ghost exclaimed, “Your plan<br /> + Has failed you, goblin, plainly:<br /> +Now watch yon hardy Hieland man,<br /> + So stalwart and ungainly.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>“These are the men who chase the roe,<br /> + Whose footsteps never falter,<br /> +Who bring with them, where’er they go,<br /> + A smack of old <span class="smcap">Sir +Walter</span>.<br /> +Of such as he, the men sublime<br /> + Who lead their troops victorious,<br /> +Whose deeds go down to after-time,<br /> + Enshrined in annals glorious!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of such as he the bard has said<br /> + ‘Hech thrawfu’ raltie rorkie!<br /> +Wi’ thecht ta’ croonie clapperhead<br /> + And fash’ wi’ unco pawkie!’<br /> +He’ll faint away when I appear,<br /> + Upon his native heather;<br /> +Or p’r’aps he’ll only scream with fear,<br /> + Or p’r’aps the two together.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The spectre showed himself, alone,<br /> + To do his ghostly battling,<br /> +With curdling groan and dismal moan,<br /> + And lots of chains a-rattling!<br /> +But no—the chiel’s stout Gaelic stuff<br /> + Withstood all ghostly harrying;<br /> +His fingers closed upon the snuff<br /> + Which upwards he was carrying.</p> +<p class="poetry">For days that ghost declined to stir,<br /> + A foggy shapeless giant—<br /> +For weeks that splendid officer<br /> + Stared back again defiant.<br /> +<a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>Just as +the Englishman returned<br /> + The goblin’s vulgar staring,<br /> +Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned<br /> + The ghost’s unmannered scaring.</p> +<p class="poetry">For several years the ghostly twain<br /> + These Britons bold have haunted,<br /> +But all their efforts are in vain—<br /> + Their victims stand undaunted.<br /> +This very day the imp, and ghost,<br /> + Whose powers the imp derided,<br /> +Stand each at his allotted post—<br /> + The bet is undecided.</p> +<h2><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>THE +PHANTOM CURATE.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A FABLE.</span></h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Bishop</span> +once—I will not name his see—<br /> + Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional;<br /> +From pulpit shackles never set them free,<br /> + And found a sin where sin was unintentional.<br /> + All pleasures +ended in abuse auricular—<br /> + The Bishop was +so terribly particular.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though, on the whole, a wise and upright +man,<br /> + He sought to make of human pleasures clearances;<br +/> +And form his priests on that much-lauded plan<br /> + Which pays undue attention to appearances.<br /> + He +couldn’t do good deeds without a psalm in ’em,<br /> + Although, in +truth, he bore away the palm in ’em.</p> +<p class="poetry">Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,<br /> + Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity,<br /> +He sought by open censure to enhance<br /> + Their dread of joining harmless social jollity.<br +/> + Yet he enjoyed +(a fact of notoriety)<br /> + The ordinary +pleasures of society.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>One evening, sitting at a pantomime<br /> + (Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of +him),<br /> +Roaring at jokes, <i>sans</i> metre, sense, or rhyme,<br /> + He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him,<br /> + His peace of +mind upsetting, and annoying it,<br /> + A curate, also +heartily enjoying it.</p> +<p class="poetry">Again, ’t was Christmas Eve, and to +enhance<br /> + His children’s pleasure in their harmless +rollicking,<br /> +He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance;<br /> + When something checked the current of his +frolicking:<br /> + That curate, +with a maid he treated lover-ly,<br /> + Stood up and +figured with him in the “Coverley!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Once, yielding to an universal choice<br /> + (The company’s demand was an emphatic one,<br +/> +For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),<br /> + In a quartet he joined—an operatic one.<br /> + Harmless enough, +though ne’er a word of grace in it,<br /> + When, lo! that +curate came and took the bass in it!</p> +<p class="poetry">One day, when passing through a quiet +street,<br /> + He stopped awhile and joined a Punch’s +gathering;<br /> +And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet,<br /> + To see that gentleman his Judy lathering;<br /> + And heard, as +Punch was being treated penalty,<br /> + That phantom +curate laughing all hyænally.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>Now at a picnic, ’mid fair golden curls,<br /> + Bright eyes, straw hats, <i>bottines</i> that fit +amazingly,<br /> +A croquêt-bout is planned by all the girls;<br /> + And he, consenting, speaks of croquêt +praisingly;<br /> + But suddenly +declines to play at all in it—<br /> + The curate fiend +has come to take a ball in it!</p> +<p class="poetry">Next, when at quiet sea-side village, freed<br +/> + From cares episcopal and ties monarchical,<br /> +He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed,<br /> + In manner anything but hierarchical—<br /> + He +sees—and fixes an unearthly stare on it—<br /> + That +curate’s face, with half a yard of hair on it!</p> +<p class="poetry">At length he gave a charge, and spake this +word:<br /> + “Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye +may;<br /> +To check their harmless pleasuring’s absurd;<br /> + What laymen do without reproach, my clergy +may.”<br /> + He spake, and +lo! at this concluding word of him,<br /> + The curate +vanished—no one since has heard of him.</p> +<h2><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>KING +BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">King Borria Bungalee +Boo</span><br /> + Was a man-eating African swell;<br /> +His sigh was a hullaballoo,<br /> + His whisper a horrible yell—<br /> + A horrible, horrible yell!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>Four subjects, and all of them male,<br /> + To <span class="smcap">Borria</span> doubled the +knee,<br /> +They were once on a far larger scale,<br /> + But he’d eaten the balance, you see<br /> + (“Scale” and “balance” is +punning, you see).</p> +<p class="poetry">There was haughty <span +class="smcap">Pish-Tush-Pooh-Bah</span>,<br /> + There was lumbering <span +class="smcap">Doodle-Dum-Dey</span>,<br /> +Despairing <span class="smcap">Alack-A-Dey-Ah</span>,<br /> + And good little <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum-Teh</span>—<br /> + Exemplary <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum-Teh</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">One day there was grief in the crew,<br /> + For they hadn’t a morsel of meat,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Borria Bungalee Boo</span><br /> + Was dying for something to eat—<br /> + “Come, provide me with something to eat!</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey</span>, +famished I feel;<br /> + Oh, good little <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum-Teh</span>,<br /> +Where on earth shall I look for a meal?<br /> + For I haven’t no dinner to-day!—<br /> + Not a morsel of dinner to-day!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Dear <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum</span>, what shall we do?<br /> + Come, get us a meal, or, in truth,<br /> +If you don’t, we shall have to eat you,<br /> + Oh, adorable friend of our youth!<br /> + Thou beloved little friend of our youth!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +90</span>And he answered, “Oh, <span class="smcap">Bungalee +Boo</span>,<br /> + For a moment I hope you will wait,—<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tippy-Wippity Tol-the-Rol-Loo</span><br /> + Is the Queen of a neighbouring state—<br /> + A remarkably neighbouring state.</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Tippy-Wippity +Tol-the-Rol-Loo</span>,<br /> + She would pickle deliciously cold—<br /> +And her four pretty Amazons, too,<br /> + Are enticing, and not very old—<br /> + Twenty-seven is not very old.</p> +<p class="poetry">“There is neat little <span +class="smcap">Titty-Fol-Leh</span>,<br /> + There is rollicking <span +class="smcap">Tral-the-Ral-Lah</span>,<br /> +There is jocular <span class="smcap">Waggety-Weh</span>,<br /> + There is musical <span +class="smcap">Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah</span>—<br /> + There’s the nightingale <span +class="smcap">Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah</span>!”</p> +<p class="poetry">So the forces of <span class="smcap">Bungalee +Boo</span><br /> + Marched forth in a terrible row,<br /> +And the ladies who fought for <span class="smcap">Queen +Loo</span><br /> + Prepared to encounter the foe—<br /> + This dreadful, insatiate foe!</p> +<p class="poetry">But they sharpened no weapons at all,<br /> + And they poisoned no arrows—not they!<br /> +They made ready to conquer or fall<br /> + In a totally different way—<br /> + An entirely different way.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</span>With a crimson and pearly-white dye<br /> + They endeavoured to make themselves fair,<br /> +With black they encircled each eye,<br /> + And with yellow they painted their hair<br /> + (It was wool, but they thought it was hair).</p> +<p class="poetry">And the forces they met in the field:—<br +/> + And the men of <span class="smcap">King +Borria</span> said,<br /> +“Amazonians, immediately yield!”<br /> + And their arrows they drew to the head—<br /> + Yes, drew them right up to the head.</p> +<p class="poetry">But jocular <span +class="smcap">Waggety-Weh</span><br /> + Ogled <span class="smcap">Doodle-Dum-Dey</span> +(which was wrong),<br /> +And neat little <span class="smcap">Titty-Fol-Leh</span><br /> + Said, “<span class="smcap">Tootle-Tum</span>, +you go along!<br /> + You naughty old dear, go along!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And rollicking <span +class="smcap">Tral-the-Ral-Lah</span><br /> + Tapped <span class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey-Ah</span> +with her fan;<br /> +And musical <span class="smcap">Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah</span><br /> + Said, “<span class="smcap">Pish</span>, go +away, you bad man!<br /> + Go away, you delightful young man!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And the Amazons simpered and sighed,<br /> + And they ogled, and giggled, and flushed,<br /> +And they opened their pretty eyes wide,<br /> + And they chuckled, and flirted, and blushed<br /> + (At least, if they could, they’d have +blushed).</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>But haughty <span +class="smcap">Pish-Tush-Pooh-Bah</span><br /> + Said, “<span class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey</span>, +what does this mean?”<br /> +And despairing <span class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey-Ah</span><br /> + Said, “They think us uncommonly green!<br /> + Ha! ha! most uncommonly green!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Even blundering <span +class="smcap">Doodle-Dum-Dey</span><br /> + Was insensible quite to their leers,<br /> +And said good little <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum-Teh</span>,<br /> + “It’s your blood we desire, pretty +dears—<br /> + We have come for our dinners, my dears!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And the Queen of the Amazons fell<br /> + To <span class="smcap">Borria Bungalee +Boo</span>,—<br /> +In a mouthful he gulped, with a yell,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Tippy-Wippity +Tol-the-Rol-Loo</span>—<br /> + The pretty <span class="smcap">Queen +Tol-the-Rol-Loo</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">And neat little <span +class="smcap">Titty-Fol-Leh</span><br /> + Was eaten by <span +class="smcap">Pish-Pooh-Bah</span>,<br /> +And light-hearted <span class="smcap">Waggety-Weh</span><br /> + By dismal <span +class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey-Ah</span>—<br /> + Despairing <span +class="smcap">Alack-a-Dey-Ah</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">And rollicking <span +class="smcap">Tral-the-Ral-Lah</span><br /> + Was eaten by <span +class="smcap">Doodle-Dum-Dey</span>,<br /> +And musical <span class="smcap">Doh-Reh-Mi-Fah</span><br /> + By good little <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Dum-Teh</span>—<br /> + Exemplary <span +class="smcap">Tootle-Tum-Teh</span>!</p> +<h2><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>BOB +POLTER.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bob Polter</span> was a +navvy, and<br /> + His hands were coarse, and dirty too,<br /> +His homely face was rough and tanned,<br /> + His time of life was thirty-two.</p> +<p class="poetry">He lived among a working clan<br /> + (A wife he hadn’t got at all),<br /> +A decent, steady, sober man—<br /> + No saint, however—not at all.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>He smoked, but in a modest way,<br /> + Because he thought he needed it;<br /> +He drank a pot of beer a day,<br /> + And sometimes he exceeded it.</p> +<p class="poetry">At times he’d pass with other men<br /> + A loud convivial night or two,<br /> +With, very likely, now and then,<br /> + On Saturdays, a fight or two.</p> +<p class="poetry">But still he was a sober soul,<br /> + A labour-never-shirking man,<br /> +Who paid his way—upon the whole<br /> + A decent English working man.</p> +<p class="poetry">One day, when at the Nelson’s Head<br /> + (For which he may be blamed of you),<br /> +A holy man appeared, and said,<br /> + “Oh, <span class="smcap">Robert</span>, +I’m ashamed of you.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He laid his hand on <span +class="smcap">Robert’s</span> beer<br /> + Before he could drink up any,<br /> +And on the floor, with sigh and tear,<br /> + He poured the pot of “thruppenny.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, <span class="smcap">Robert</span>, +at this very bar<br /> + A truth you’ll be discovering,<br /> +A good and evil genius are<br /> + Around your noddle hovering.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>“They both are here to bid you shun<br /> + The other one’s society,<br /> +For Total Abstinence is one,<br /> + The other, Inebriety.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He waved his hand—a vapour came—<br +/> + A wizard <span class="smcap">Polter</span> reckoned +him;<br /> +A bogy rose and called his name,<br /> + And with his finger beckoned him.</p> +<p class="poetry">The monster’s salient points to +sum,—<br /> + His heavy breath was portery:<br /> +His glowing nose suggested rum:<br /> + His eyes were gin-and-<i>wor</i>tery.</p> +<p class="poetry">His dress was torn—for dregs of ale<br /> + And slops of gin had rusted it;<br /> +His pimpled face was wan and pale,<br /> + Where filth had not encrusted it.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>“Come, <span class="smcap">Polter</span>,” +said the fiend, “begin,<br /> + And keep the bowl a-flowing on—<br /> +A working man needs pints of gin<br /> + To keep his clockwork going on.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bob</span> shuddered: +“Ah, you’ve made a miss<br /> + If you take me for one of you:<br /> +You filthy beast, get out of this—<br /> + <span class="smcap">Bob Polter</span> don’t +wan’t none of you.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The demon gave a drunken shriek,<br /> + And crept away in stealthiness,<br /> +And lo! instead, a person sleek,<br /> + Who seemed to burst with healthiness.</p> +<p class="poetry">“In me, as your adviser hints,<br /> + Of Abstinence you’ve got a type—<br /> +Of <span class="smcap">Mr. Tweedie’s</span> pretty +prints<br /> + I am the happy prototype.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If you abjure the social toast,<br /> + And pipes, and such frivolities,<br /> +You possibly some day may boast<br /> + My prepossessing qualities!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bob</span> rubbed his eyes, +and made ’em blink:<br /> + “You almost make me tremble, you!<br /> +If I abjure fermented drink,<br /> + Shall I, indeed, resemble you?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>“And will my whiskers curl so tight?<br /> + My cheeks grow smug and muttony?<br /> +My face become so red and white?<br /> + My coat so blue and buttony?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Will trousers, such as yours, array<br +/> + Extremities inferior?<br /> +Will chubbiness assert its sway<br /> + All over my exterior?</p> +<p class="poetry">“In this, my unenlightened state,<br /> + To work in heavy boots I comes;<br /> +Will pumps henceforward decorate<br /> + My tiddle toddle tootsicums?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +98</span>“And shall I get so plump and fresh,<br /> + And look no longer seedily?<br /> +My skin will henceforth fit my flesh<br /> + So tightly and so <span +class="smcap">Tweedie</span>-ly?”</p> +<p class="poetry">The phantom said, “You’ll have all +this,<br /> + You’ll know no kind of huffiness,<br /> +Your life will be one chubby bliss,<br /> + One long unruffled puffiness!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Be off!” said irritated <span +class="smcap">Bob</span>.<br /> + “Why come you here to bother one?<br /> +You pharisaical old snob,<br /> + You’re wuss almost than t’other one!</p> +<p class="poetry">“I takes my pipe—I takes my pot,<br +/> + And drunk I’m never seen to be:<br /> +I’m no teetotaller or sot,<br /> + And as I am I mean to be!”</p> +<h2><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>THE +STORY OF PRINCE AGIB.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Strike</span> the +concertina’s melancholy string!<br /> +Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything!<br /> + Let the piano’s martial +blast<br /> + Rouse the Echoes of the Past,<br +/> +For of <span class="smcap">Agib</span>, <span +class="smcap">Prince of Tartary</span>, I sing!</p> +<p class="poetry">Of <span class="smcap">Agib</span>, who, amid +Tartaric scenes,<br /> +Wrote a lot of ballet music in his teens:<br /> + His gentle spirit rolls<br /> + In the melody of souls—<br +/> +Which is pretty, but I don’t know what it means.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of <span class="smcap">Agib</span>, who could +readily, at sight,<br /> +Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite.<br /> + He would diligently play<br /> + On the Zoetrope all day,<br /> +And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>One winter—I am shaky in my dates—<br /> +Came two starving Tartar minstrels to his gates;<br /> + Oh, <span +class="smcap">Allah</span> be obeyed,<br /> + How infernally they played!<br /> +I remember that they called themselves the +“Oüaits.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,<br /> +I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,<br /> + Photographically lined<br /> + On the tablet of my mind,<br /> +When a yesterday has faded from its page!</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! <span class="smcap">Prince Agib</span> +went and asked them in;<br /> +Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin.<br /> + And when (as snobs would say)<br +/> + They had “put it all +away,”<br /> +He requested them to tune up and begin.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though its icy horror chill you to the core,<br +/> +I will tell you what I never told before,—<br /> + The consequences true<br /> + Of that awful interview,<br /> +<i>For I listened at the keyhole in the door</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry">They played him a sonata—let me see!<br +/> +“<i>Medulla oblongata</i>”—key of G.<br /> + Then they began to sing<br /> + That extremely lovely thing,<br /> +“<i>Scherzando</i>! <i>ma non troppo</i>, +<i>ppp.</i>”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +101</span>He gave them money, more than they could count,<br /> +Scent from a most ingenious little fount,<br /> + More beer, in little kegs,<br /> + Many dozen hard-boiled eggs,<br /> +And goodies to a fabulous amount.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now follows the dim horror of my tale,<br /> +And I feel I’m growing gradually pale,<br /> + For, even at this day,<br /> + Though its sting has passed +away,<br /> +When I venture to remember it, I quail!</p> +<p class="poetry">The elder of the brothers gave a squeal,<br /> +All-overish it made me for to feel;<br /> + “Oh, <span +class="smcap">Prince</span>,” he says, says he,<br /> + “<i>If a Prince indeed you +be</i>,<br /> +I’ve a mystery I’m going to reveal!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>“Oh, listen, if you’d shun a horrid +death,<br /> +To what the gent who’s speaking to you saith:<br /> + No ‘Oüaits’ in +truth are we,<br /> + As you fancy that we be,<br /> +For (ter-remble!) I am <span +class="smcap">Aleck</span>—this is <span +class="smcap">Beth</span>!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Agib</span>, +“Oh! accursed of your kind,<br /> +I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!”<br /> + <span class="smcap">Beth</span> +gave a dreadful shriek—<br /> + But before he’d time to +speak<br /> +I was mercilessly collared from behind.</p> +<p class="poetry">In number ten or twelve, or even more,<br /> +They fastened me full length upon the floor.<br /> + On my face extended flat,<br /> + I was walloped with a cat<br /> +For listening at the keyhole of a door.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill!<br /> +(I can feel the place in frosty weather still).<br /> + For a week from ten to four<br /> + I was fastened to the floor,<br /> +While a mercenary wopped me with a will</p> +<p class="poetry">They branded me and broke me on a wheel,<br /> +And they left me in an hospital to heal;<br /> + And, upon my solemn word,<br /> + I have never never heard<br /> +What those Tartars had determined to reveal.</p> +<p class="poetry">But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,<br /> +I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,<br /> + Photographically lined<br /> + On the tablet of my mind,<br /> +When a yesterday has faded from its page</p> +<h2><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +104</span>ELLEN M<span class="smcap">c</span>JONES ABERDEEN.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Macphairson Clonglocketty +Angus Mcclan</span><br /> +Was the son of an elderly labouring man;<br /> +You’ve guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, at sight,<br +/> +And p’r’aps altogether, shrewd reader, you’re +right.</p> +<p class="poetry">From the bonnie blue Forth to the lovely +Deeside,<br /> +Round by Dingwall and Wrath to the mouth of the Clyde,<br /> +There wasn’t a child or a woman or man<br /> +Who could pipe with <span class="smcap">Clonglocketty Angus +Mcclan</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">No other could wake such detestable groans,<br +/> +With reed and with chaunter—with bag and with drones:<br /> +All day and ill night he delighted the chiels<br /> +With sniggering pibrochs and jiggety reels.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>He’d clamber a mountain and squat on the +ground,<br /> +And the neighbouring maidens would gather around<br /> +To list to the pipes and to gaze in his een,<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen McJones Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">All loved their <span +class="smcap">McClan</span>, save a Sassenach brute,<br /> +Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot;<br /> +He dressed himself up in a Highlander way,<br /> +Tho’ his name it was <span class="smcap">Pattison Corby +Torbay</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Torbay</span> had incurred +a good deal of expense<br /> +To make him a Scotchman in every sense;<br /> +But this is a matter, you’ll readily own,<br /> +That isn’t a question of tailors alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">A Sassenach chief may be bonily built,<br /> +He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt;<br /> +Stick a skeän in his hose—wear an acre of +stripes—<br /> +But he cannot assume an affection for pipes.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Clonglockety’s</span> +pipings all night and all day<br /> +Quite frenzied poor <span class="smcap">Pattison Corby +Torbay</span>;<br /> +The girls were amused at his singular spleen,<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen McJones Aberdeen</span>,</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Macphairson +Clonglocketty Angus</span>, my lad,<br /> +With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad.<br /> +If you really must play on that cursed affair,<br /> +My goodness! play something resembling an air.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>Boiled over the blood of <span +class="smcap">Macphairson McClan</span>—<br /> +The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man;<br /> +For all were enraged at the insult, I ween—<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen McJones Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Let’s show,” said <span +class="smcap">McClan</span>, “to this Sassenach loon<br /> +That the bagpipes <i>can</i> play him a regular tune.<br /> +Let’s see,” said <span class="smcap">McClan</span>, +as he thoughtfully sat,<br /> +“‘<i>In my Cottage</i>’ is +easy—I’ll practise at that.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He blew at his “Cottage,” and blew +with a will,<br /> +For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until<br /> +(You’ll hardly believe it) <span +class="smcap">McClan</span>, I declare,<br /> +Elicited something resembling an air.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>It was wild—it was fitful—as wild as the +breeze—<br /> +It wandered about into several keys;<br /> +It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I’m aware;<br /> +But still it distinctly suggested an air.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Sassenach screamed, and the Sassenach +danced;<br /> +He shrieked in his agony—bellowed and pranced;<br /> +And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene—<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen McJones Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather +around;<br /> +And fill a’ ye lugs wi’ the exquisite sound.<br /> +An air fra’ the bagpipes—beat that if ye can!<br /> +Hurrah for <span class="smcap">Clonglocketty Angus +McClan</span>!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The fame of his piping spread over the land:<br +/> +Respectable widows proposed for his hand,<br /> +And maidens came flocking to sit on the green—<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen McJones Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">One morning the fidgety Sassenach swore<br /> +He’d stand it no longer—he drew his claymore,<br /> +And (this was, I think, in extremely bad taste)<br /> +Divided <span class="smcap">Clonglocketty</span> close to the +waist.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! loud were the wailings for <span +class="smcap">Angus McClan</span>,<br /> +Oh! deep was the grief for that excellent man;<br /> +The maids stood aghast at the horrible scene—<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen McJones Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>It sorrowed poor <span class="smcap">Pattison Corby +Torbay</span><br /> +To find them “take on” in this serious way;<br /> +He pitied the poor little fluttering birds,<br /> +And solaced their souls with the following words:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, maidens,” said <span +class="smcap">Pattison</span>, touching his hat,<br /> +“Don’t blubber, my dears, for a fellow like that;<br +/> +Observe, I’m a very superior man,<br /> +A much better fellow than <span class="smcap">Angus +McClan</span>.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They smiled when he winked and addressed them +as “dears,”<br /> +And they all of them vowed, as they dried up their tears,<br /> +A pleasanter gentleman never was seen—<br /> +Especially <span class="smcap">Ellen McJones Aberdeen</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>PETER THE WAG.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Policeman Peter +Forth</span> I drag<br /> + From his obscure retreat:<br /> +He was a merry genial wag,<br /> + Who loved a mad conceit.<br /> +If he were asked the time of day,<br /> + By country bumpkins green,<br /> +He not unfrequently would say,<br /> + “A quarter past thirteen.”</p> +<p class="poetry">If ever you by word of mouth<br /> + Inquired of <span class="smcap">Mister +Forth</span><br /> +The way to somewhere in the South,<br /> + He always sent you North.<br /> +<a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>With +little boys his beat along<br /> + He loved to stop and play;<br /> +He loved to send old ladies wrong,<br /> + And teach their feet to stray.</p> +<p class="poetry">He would in frolic moments, when<br /> + Such mischief bent upon,<br /> +Take Bishops up as betting men—<br /> + Bid Ministers move on.<br /> +Then all the worthy boys he knew<br /> + He regularly licked,<br /> +And always collared people who<br /> + Had had their pockets picked.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was not naturally bad,<br /> + Or viciously inclined,<br /> +But from his early youth he had<br /> + A waggish turn of mind.<br /> +The Men of London grimly scowled<br /> + With indignation wild;<br /> +The Men of London gruffly growled,<br /> + But <span class="smcap">Peter</span> calmly +smiled.</p> +<p class="poetry">Against this minion of the Crown<br /> + The swelling murmurs grew—<br /> +From Camberwell to Kentish Town—<br /> + From Rotherhithe to Kew.<br /> +Still humoured he his wagsome turn,<br /> + And fed in various ways<br /> +The coward rage that dared to burn,<br /> + But did not dare to blaze.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>Still, Retribution has her day,<br /> + Although her flight is slow:<br /> +<i>One day that Crusher lost his way</i><br /> + <i>Near Poland Street</i>, <i>Soho</i>.<br /> +The haughty boy, too proud to ask,<br /> + To find his way resolved,<br /> +And in the tangle of his task<br /> + Got more and more involved.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Men of London, overjoyed,<br /> + Came there to jeer their foe,<br /> +And flocking crowds completely cloyed<br /> + The mazes of Soho.<br /> +The news on telegraphic wires<br /> + Sped swiftly o’er the lea,<br /> +Excursion trains from distant shires<br /> + Brought myriads to see.</p> +<p class="poetry">For weeks he trod his self-made beats<br /> + Through Newport- Gerrard- Bear-<br /> +Greek- Rupert- Frith- Dean- Poland- Streets,<br /> + And into Golden Square.<br /> +<a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>But all, +alas! in vain, for when<br /> + He tried to learn the way<br /> +Of little boys or grown-up men,<br /> + They none of them would say.</p> +<p class="poetry">Their eyes would flash—their teeth would +grind—<br /> + Their lips would tightly curl—<br /> +They’d say, “Thy way thyself must find,<br /> + Thou misdirecting churl!”<br /> +And, similarly, also, when<br /> + He tried a foreign friend;<br /> +Italians answered, “<i>Il balen</i>”—<br /> + The French, “No comprehend.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The Russ would say with gleaming eye<br /> + “Sevastopol!” and groan.<br /> +The Greek said, “Τυπτω, +τυπτομαι,<br /> + Τυπτω, +τυπτειν, +τυπτων.”<br /> +<a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>To +wander thus for many a year<br /> + That Crusher never ceased—<br /> +The Men of London dropped a tear,<br /> + Their anger was appeased.</p> +<p class="poetry">At length exploring gangs were sent<br /> + To find poor <span +class="smcap">Forth’s</span> remains—<br /> +A handsome grant by Parliament<br /> + Was voted for their pains.<br /> +To seek the poor policeman out<br /> + Bold spirits volunteered,<br /> +And when they swore they’d solve the doubt,<br /> + The Men of London cheered.</p> +<p class="poetry">And in a yard, dark, dank, and drear,<br /> + They found him, on the floor—<br /> +It leads from Richmond Buildings—near<br /> + The Royalty stage-door.<br /> +With brandy cold and brandy hot<br /> + They plied him, starved and wet,<br /> +And made him sergeant on the spot—<br /> + The Men of London’s pet!</p> +<h2><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>TO +THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BY A MISERABLE WRETCH.</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Roll</span> on, thou ball, +roll on!<br /> +Through pathless realms of Space<br /> + + +Roll on!<br /> +What though I’m in a sorry case?<br /> +What though I cannot meet my bills?<br /> +What though I suffer toothache’s ills?<br /> +What though I swallow countless pills?<br /> + Never <i>you</i> mind!<br /> + + +Roll on!</p> +<p class="poetry">Roll on, thou ball, roll on!<br /> +Through seas of inky air<br /> + + +Roll on!<br /> +It’s true I’ve got no shirts to wear;<br /> +It’s true my butcher’s bill is due;<br /> +It’s true my prospects all look blue—<br /> +But don’t let that unsettle you!<br /> + Never <i>you</i> mind!<br /> + + +Roll on!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>It rolls on</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>GENTLE ALICE BROWN.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> was a +robber’s daughter, and her name was <span +class="smcap">Alice Brown</span>,<br /> +Her father was the terror of a small Italian town;<br /> +Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing;<br /> +But it isn’t of her parents that I’m going for to +sing.</p> +<p class="poetry">As <span class="smcap">Alice</span> was +a-sitting at her window-sill one day,<br /> +A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way;<br /> +She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true,<br /> +That she thought, “I could be happy with a gentleman like +you!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +116</span>And every morning passed her house that cream of +gentlemen,<br /> +She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten;<br /> +A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road<br /> +(The Custom-house was fifteen minutes’ walk from her +abode).</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Alice</span> was a +pious girl, who knew it wasn’t wise<br /> +To look at strange young sorters with expressive purple eyes;<br +/> +So she sought the village priest to whom her family confessed,<br +/> +The priest by whom their little sins were carefully assessed.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, holy father,” <span +class="smcap">Alice</span> said, “’t would grieve +you, would it not,<br /> +To discover that I was a most disreputable lot?<br /> +Of all unhappy sinners I’m the most unhappy one!”<br +/> +The padre said, “Whatever have you been and gone and +done?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I have helped mamma to steal a little +kiddy from its dad,<br /> +I’ve assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad,<br /> +I’ve planned a little burglary and forged a little +cheque,<br /> +And slain a little baby for the coral on its neck!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a +silent tear,<br /> +And said, “You mustn’t judge yourself too heavily, my +dear:<br /> +It’s wrong to murder babies, little corals for to +fleece;<br /> +But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>“Girls will be girls—you’re very +young, and flighty in your mind;<br /> +Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find:<br /> +We mustn’t be too hard upon these little girlish +tricks—<br /> +Let’s see—five crimes at half-a-crown—exactly +twelve-and-six.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, father,” little Alice cried, +“your kindness makes me weep,<br /> +You do these little things for me so singularly cheap—<br +/> +Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget;<br /> +But, oh! there is another crime I haven’t mentioned +yet!</p> +<p class="poetry">“A pleasant-looking gentleman, with +pretty purple eyes,<br /> +I’ve noticed at my window, as I’ve sat a-catching +flies;<br /> +He passes by it every day as certain as can be—<br /> +I blush to say I’ve winked at him, and he has winked at +me!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“For shame!” said <span +class="smcap">Father Paul</span>, “my erring +daughter! On my word<br /> +This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard.<br /> +Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand<br +/> +To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band!</p> +<p class="poetry">“This dreadful piece of news will pain +your worthy parents so!<br /> +They are the most remunerative customers I know;<br /> +For many many years they’ve kept starvation from my +doors:<br /> +I never knew so criminal a family as yours!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>“The common country folk in this insipid +neighbourhood<br /> +Have nothing to confess, they’re so ridiculously good;<br +/> +And if you marry any one respectable at all,<br /> +Why, you’ll reform, and what will then become of <span +class="smcap">Father Paul</span>?”</p> +<p class="poetry">The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon +his crown,<br /> +And started off in haste to tell the news to <span +class="smcap">Robber Brown</span>—<br /> +To tell him how his daughter, who was now for marriage fit,<br /> +Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it.</p> +<p class="poetry">Good <span class="smcap">Robber Brown</span> he +muffled up his anger pretty well:<br /> +He said, “I have a notion, and that notion I will tell;<br +/> +I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits,<br /> +And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>“I’ve studied human nature, and I know a +thing or two:<br /> +Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do—<br +/> +A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall<br /> +When she looks upon his body chopped particularly +small.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He traced that gallant sorter to a still +suburban square;<br /> +He watched his opportunity, and seized him unaware;<br /> +He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Mrs. Brown</span> dissected him before +she went to bed.</p> +<p class="poetry">And pretty little <span +class="smcap">Alice</span> grew more settled in her mind,<br /> +She never more was guilty of a weakness of the kind,<br /> +Until at length good <span class="smcap">Robber Brown</span> +bestowed her pretty hand<br /> +On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band.</p> +<h2><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>MISTER WILLIAM.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, listen to the +tale of <span class="smcap">Mister William</span>, if you +please,<br /> +Whom naughty, naughty judges sent away beyond the seas.<br /> +He forged a party’s will, which caused anxiety and +strife,<br /> +Resulting in his getting penal servitude for life.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was a kindly goodly man, and naturally +prone,<br /> +Instead of taking others’ gold, to give away his own.<br /> +But he had heard of Vice, and longed for only once to +strike—<br /> +To plan <i>one</i> little wickedness—to see what it was +like.</p> +<p class="poetry">He argued with himself, and said, “A +spotless man am I;<br /> +I can’t be more respectable, however hard I try!<br /> +For six and thirty years I’ve always been as good as +gold,<br /> +And now for half an hour I’ll plan infamy untold!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>“A baby who is wicked at the early age of one,<br +/> +And then reforms—and dies at thirty-six a spotless son,<br +/> +Is never, never saddled with his babyhood’s defect,<br /> +But earns from worthy men consideration and respect.</p> +<p class="poetry">“So one who never revelled in +discreditable tricks<br /> +Until he reached the comfortable age of thirty-six,<br /> +May then for half an hour perpetrate a deed of shame,<br /> +Without incurring permanent disgrace, or even blame.</p> +<p class="poetry">“That babies don’t commit such +crimes as forgery is true,<br /> +But little sins develop, if you leave ’em to accrue;<br /> +And he who shuns all vices as successive seasons roll,<br /> +Should reap at length the benefit of so much self-control.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The common sin of +babyhood—objecting to be drest—<br /> +If you leave it to accumulate at compound interest,<br /> +For anything you know, may represent, if you’re alive,<br +/> +A burglary or murder at the age of thirty-five.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Still, I wouldn’t take advantage +of this fact, but be content<br /> +With some pardonable folly—it’s a mere experiment.<br +/> +The greater the temptation to go wrong, the less the sin;<br /> +So with something that’s particularly tempting I’ll +begin.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I would not steal a penny, for my +income’s very fair—<br /> +I do not want a penny—I have pennies and to spare—<br +/> +And if I stole a penny from a money-bag or till,<br /> +The sin would be enormous—the temptation being +<i>nil</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>“But if I broke asunder all such pettifogging +bounds,<br /> +And forged a party’s Will for (say) Five Hundred Thousand +Pounds,<br /> +With such an irresistible temptation to a haul,<br /> +Of course the sin must be infinitesimally small.</p> +<p class="poetry">“There’s <span +class="smcap">Wilson</span> who is dying—he has wealth from +Stock and rent—<br /> +If I divert his riches from their natural descent,<br /> +I’m placed in a position to indulge each little +whim.”<br /> +So he diverted them—and they, in turn, diverted him.</p> +<p class="poetry">Unfortunately, though, by some unpardonable +flaw,<br /> +Temptation isn’t recognized by Britain’s Common +Law;<br /> +Men found him out by some peculiarity of touch,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">William</span> got a “lifer,” +which annoyed him very much.</p> +<p class="poetry">For, ah! he never reconciled himself to life in +gaol,<br /> +He fretted and he pined, and grew dispirited and pale;<br /> +He was numbered like a cabman, too, which told upon him so<br /> +That his spirits, once so buoyant, grew uncomfortably low.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>And sympathetic gaolers would remark, “It’s +very true,<br /> +He ain’t been brought up common, like the likes of me and +you.”<br /> +So they took him into hospital, and gave him mutton chops,<br /> +And chocolate, and arrowroot, and buns, and malt and hops.</p> +<p class="poetry">Kind Clergymen, besides, grew interested in his +fate,<br /> +Affected by the details of his pitiable state.<br /> +They waited on the Secretary, somewhere in Whitehall,<br /> +Who said he would receive them any day they liked to call.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Consider, sir, the hardship of this +interesting case:<br /> +A prison life brings with it something very like disgrace;<br /> +It’s telling on young <span class="smcap">William</span>, +who’s reduced to skin and bone—<br /> +Remember he’s a gentleman, with money of his own.</p> +<p class="poetry">“He had an ample income, and of course he +stands in need<br /> +Of sherry with his dinner, and his customary weed;<br /> +No delicacies now can pass his gentlemanly lips—<br /> +He misses his sea-bathing and his continental trips.</p> +<p class="poetry">“He says the other prisoners are +commonplace and rude;<br /> +He says he cannot relish uncongenial prison food.<br /> +When quite a boy they taught him to distinguish Good from Bad,<br +/> +And other educational advantages he’s had.</p> +<p class="poetry">“A burglar or garotter, or, indeed, a +common thief<br /> +Is very glad to batten on potatoes and on beef,<br /> +Or anything, in short, that prison kitchens can afford,—<br +/> +A cut above the diet in a common workhouse ward.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +124</span>“But beef and mutton-broth don’t seem to +suit our <span class="smcap">William’s</span> whim,<br /> +A boon to other prisoners—a punishment to him.<br /> +It never was intended that the discipline of gaol<br /> +Should dash a convict’s spirits, sir, or make him thin or +pale.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Good Gracious Me!” that +sympathetic Secretary cried,<br /> +“Suppose in prison fetters <span class="smcap">Mister +William</span> should have died!<br /> +Dear me, of course! Imprisonment for <i>Life</i> his +sentence saith:<br /> +I’m very glad you mentioned it—it might have been For +Death!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Release him with a +ticket—he’ll be better then, no doubt,<br /> +And tell him I apologize.” So <span +class="smcap">Mister William’s</span> out.<br /> +I hope he will be careful in his manuscripts, I’m sure,<br +/> +And not begin experimentalizing any more.</p> +<h2><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>THE +BUMBOAT WOMAN’S STORY.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">I’m</span> old, my +dears, and shrivelled with age, and work, and grief,<br /> +My eyes are gone, and my teeth have been drawn by Time, the +Thief!<br /> +For terrible sights I’ve seen, and dangers great I’ve +run—<br /> +I’m nearly seventy now, and my work is almost done!</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! I’ve been young in my time, and +I’ve played the deuce with men!<br /> +I’m speaking of ten years past—I was barely sixty +then:<br /> +My cheeks were mellow and soft, and my eyes were large and +sweet,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Poll Pineapple’s</span> eyes were the +standing toast of the Royal Fleet!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>A bumboat woman was I, and I faithfully served the +ships<br /> +With apples and cakes, and fowls, and beer, and halfpenny +dips,<br /> +And beef for the generous mess, where the officers dine at +nights,<br /> +And fine fresh peppermint drops for the rollicking +midshipmites.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of all the kind commanders who anchored in +Portsmouth Bay,<br /> +By far the sweetest of all was kind <span +class="smcap">Lieutenant Belaye</span>.’<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lieutenant Belaye</span> commanded the +gunboat <i>Hot Cross Bun</i>,<br /> +She was seven and thirty feet in length, and she carried a +gun.</p> +<p class="poetry">With a laudable view of enhancing his +country’s naval pride,<br /> +When people inquired her size, <span class="smcap">Lieutenant +Belaye</span> replied,<br /> +“Oh, my ship, my ship is the first of the Hundred and +Seventy-ones!”<br /> +Which meant her tonnage, but people imagined it meant her +guns.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whenever I went on board he would beckon me +down below,<br /> +“Come down, Little Buttercup, come” (for he loved to +call me so),<br /> +And he’d tell of the fights at sea in which he’d +taken a part,<br /> +And so <span class="smcap">Lieutenant Belaye</span> won poor +<span class="smcap">Poll Pineapple’s</span> heart!</p> +<p class="poetry">But at length his orders came, and he said one +day, said he,<br /> +“I’m ordered to sail with the <i>Hot Cross Bun</i> to +the German Sea.”<br /> +And the Portsmouth maidens wept when they learnt the evil day,<br +/> +For every Portsmouth maid loved good <span +class="smcap">Lieutenant Belaye</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +127</span>And I went to a back back street, with plenty of cheap +cheap shops,<br /> +And I bought an oilskin hat and a second-hand suit of slops,<br +/> +And I went to <span class="smcap">Lieutenant Belaye</span> (and +he never suspected <i>me</i>!)<br /> +And I entered myself as a chap as wanted to go to sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">We sailed that afternoon at the mystic hour of +one,—<br /> +Remarkably nice young men were the crew of the <i>Hot Cross +Bun</i>,<br /> +I’m sorry to say that I’ve heard that sailors +sometimes swear,<br /> +But I never yet heard a <i>Bun</i> say anything wrong, I +declare.</p> +<p class="poetry">When Jack Tars meet, they meet with a +“Messmate, ho! What cheer?”<br /> +But here, on the <i>Hot Cross Bun</i>, it was “How do you +do, my dear?”<br /> +When Jack Tars growl, I believe they growl with a big big +D—<br /> +But the strongest oath of the <i>Hot Cross Buns</i> was a mild +“Dear me!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span>Yet, though they were all well-bred, you could scarcely +call them slick:<br /> +Whenever a sea was on, they were all extremely sick;<br /> +And whenever the weather was calm, and the wind was light and +fair,<br /> +They spent more time than a sailor should on his back back +hair.</p> +<p class="poetry">They certainly shivered and shook when ordered +aloft to run,<br /> +And they screamed when <span class="smcap">Lieutenant +Belaye</span> discharged his only gun.<br /> +And as he was proud of his gun—such pride is hardly +wrong—<br /> +The Lieutenant was blazing away at intervals all day long.</p> +<p class="poetry">They all agreed very well, though at times you +heard it said<br /> +That <span class="smcap">Bill</span> had a way of his own of +making his lips look red—<br /> +That <span class="smcap">Joe</span> looked quite his age—or +somebody might declare<br /> +That <span class="smcap">Barnacle’s</span> long pig-tail +was never his own own hair.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Belaye</span> would admit +that his men were of no great use to him,<br /> +“But, then,” he would say, “there is little to +do on a gunboat trim<br /> +I can hand, and reef, and steer, and fire my big gun +too—<br /> +And it <i>is</i> such a treat to sail with a gentle well-bred +crew.”</p> +<p class="poetry">I saw him every day. How the happy +moments sped!<br /> +Reef topsails! Make all taut! There’s dirty +weather ahead!<br /> +(I do not mean that tempests threatened the <i>Hot Cross +Bun</i>:<br /> +In <i>that</i> case, I don’t know whatever we <i>should</i> +have done!)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +129</span>After a fortnight’s cruise, we put into port one +day,<br /> +And off on leave for a week went kind <span +class="smcap">Lieutenant Belaye</span>,<br /> +And after a long long week had passed (and it seemed like a +life),<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lieutenant Belaye</span> returned to his ship +with a fair young wife!</p> +<p class="poetry">He up, and he says, says he, “O crew of +the <i>Hot Cross Bun</i>,<br /> +Here is the wife of my heart, for the Church has made us +one!”<br /> +And as he uttered the word, the crew went out of their wits,<br +/> +And all fell down in so many separate fainting-fits.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then their hair came down, or off, as the +case might be,<br /> +And lo! the rest of the crew were simple girls, like me,<br /> +Who all had fled from their homes in a sailor’s blue +array,<br /> +To follow the shifting fate of kind <span +class="smcap">Lieutenant Belaye</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>It’s strange to think that <i>I</i> should ever +have loved young men,<br /> +But I’m speaking of ten years past—I was barely sixty +then,<br /> +And now my cheeks are furrowed with grief and age, I trow!<br /> +And poor <span class="smcap">Poll Pineapple’s</span> eyes +have lost their lustre now!</p> +<h2><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>LOST +MR. BLAKE.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mr. Blake</span> was a +regular out-and-out hardened sinner,<br /> + Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to +speak,<br /> +He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking a glass +of grog on a Sunday after dinner,<br /> + And seldom thought of going to church more than +twice or—if Good Friday or Christmas Day happened to come +in it—three times a week.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was quite indifferent as to the particular +kinds of dresses<br /> + That the clergyman wore at church where he used to +go to pray,<br /> +And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap’s +distresses,<br /> + He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, +hole-and-corner sort of way.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanly +emphatics,<br /> + When the Protestant Church has been divided on the +subject of the proper width of a chasuble’s hem;<br /> +I have even known him to sneer at albs—and as for +dalmatics,<br /> + Words can’t convey an idea of the contempt he +expressed for <i>them</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">He didn’t believe in persons who, not +being well off themselves, are obliged to confine their +charitable exertions to collecting money from wealthier +people,<br /> + And looked upon individuals of the former class as +ecclesiastical hawks;<br /> +He used to say that he would no more think of interfering with +his priest’s robes than with his church or his steeple,<br +/> + And that he did not consider his soul imperilled +because somebody over whom he had no influence whatever, chose to +dress himself up like an exaggerated <span class="smcap">Guy +Fawkes</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">This shocking old vagabond was so unutterably +shameless<br /> + That he actually went a-courting a very respectable +and pious middle-aged sister, by the name of <span +class="smcap">Biggs</span>.<br /> +She was a rather attractive widow, whose life as such had always +been particularly blameless;<br /> + Her first husband had left her a secure but moderate +competence, owing to some fortunate speculations in the matter of +figs.</p> +<p class="poetry">She was an excellent person in every +way—and won the respect even of <span class="smcap">Mrs. +Grundy</span>,<br /> + She was a good housewife, too, and wouldn’t +have wasted a penny if she had owned the Koh-i-noor.<br /> +<a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>She was +just as strict as he was lax in her observance of Sunday,<br /> + And being a good economist, and charitable besides, +she took all the bones and cold potatoes and broken pie-crusts +and candle-ends (when she had quite done with them), and made +them into an excellent soup for the deserving poor.</p> +<p class="poetry">I am sorry to say that she rather took to <span +class="smcap">Blake</span>—that outcast of society,<br /> + And when respectable brothers who were fond of her +began to look dubious and to cough,<br /> +She would say, “Oh, my friends, it’s because I hope +to bring this poor benighted soul back to virtue and +propriety,”<br /> + And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his +faults, was uncommonly well off.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when <span class="smcap">Mr. +Blake’s</span> dissipated friends called his attention to +the frown or the pout of her,<br /> + Whenever he did anything which appeared to her to +savour of an unmentionable place,<br /> +He would say that “she would be a very decent old girl when +all that nonsense was knocked out of her,”<br /> + And his method of knocking it out of her is one that +covered him with disgrace.</p> +<p class="poetry">She was fond of going to church services four +times every Sunday, and, four or five times in the week, and +never seemed to pall of them,<br /> + So he hunted out all the churches within a +convenient distance that had services at different hours, so to +speak;<br /> +<a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>And when +he had married her he positively insisted upon their going to all +of them,<br /> + So they contrived to do about twelve churches every +Sunday, and, if they had luck, from twenty-two to twenty-three in +the course of the week.</p> +<p class="poetry">She was fond of dropping his sovereigns +ostentatiously into the plate, and she liked to see them stand +out rather conspicuously against the commonplace half-crowns and +shillings,<br /> + So he took her to all the charity sermons, and if by +any extraordinary chance there wasn’t a charity sermon +anywhere, he would drop a couple of sovereigns (one for him and +one for her) into the poor-box at the door;<br /> +And as he always deducted the sums thus given in charity from the +housekeeping money, and the money he allowed her for her bonnets +and frillings,<br /> + She soon began to find that even charity, if you +allow it to interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes an +intolerable bore.</p> +<p class="poetry">On Sundays she was always melancholy and +anything but good society,<br /> + For that day in her household was a day of sighings +and sobbings and wringing of hands and shaking of heads:<br /> +<a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>She +wouldn’t hear of a button being sewn on a glove, because it +was a work neither of necessity nor of piety,<br /> + And strictly prohibited her servants from amusing +themselves, or indeed doing anything at all except dusting the +drawing-rooms, cleaning the boots and shoes, cooking the parlour +dinner, waiting generally on the family, and making the beds.</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Blake</span> even went +further than that, and said that people should do their own works +of necessity, and not delegate them to persons in a menial +situation,<br /> + So he wouldn’t allow his servants to do so +much as even answer a bell.<br /> +Here he is making his wife carry up the water for her bath to the +second floor, much against her inclination,—<br /> + And why in the world the gentleman who illustrates +these ballads has put him in a cocked hat is more than I can +tell.</p> +<p class="poetry">After about three months of this sort of thing, +taking the smooth with the rough of it,<br /> + (Blacking her own boots and peeling her own potatoes +was not her notion of connubial bliss),<br /> +<a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span><span +class="smcap">Mrs. Blake</span> began to find that she had pretty +nearly had enough of it,<br /> + And came, in course of time, to think that <span +class="smcap">Blake’s</span> own original line of conduct +wasn’t so much amiss.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now that wicked person—that +detestable sinner (“<span class="smcap">Belial +Blake</span>” his friends and well-wishers call him for his +atrocities),<br /> + And his poor deluded victim, whom all her Christian +brothers dislike and pity so,<br /> +Go to the parish church only on Sunday morning and afternoon and +occasionally on a week-day, and spend their evenings in connubial +fondlings and affectionate reciprocities,<br /> + And I should like to know where in the world (or +rather, out of it) they expect to go!</p> +<h2><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>THE +BABY’S VENGEANCE.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Weary</span> at heart and +extremely ill<br /> +Was <span class="smcap">Paley Vollaire</span> of +Bromptonville,<br /> +In a dirty lodging, with fever down,<br /> +Close to the Polygon, Somers Town.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Paley Vollaire</span> was +an only son<br /> +(For why? His mother had had but one),<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Paley</span> inherited gold and +grounds<br /> +Worth several hundred thousand pounds.</p> +<p class="poetry">But he, like many a rich young man,<br /> +Through this magnificent fortune ran,<br /> +And nothing was left for his daily needs<br /> +But duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,<br /> +He slept, and dreamt that the clock’s “tick, +tick,”<br /> +Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,<br /> +Snicking off bits of his shortened life.</p> +<p class="poetry">He woke and counted the pips on the walls,<br +/> +The outdoor passengers’ loud footfalls,<br /> +And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,<br /> +The little white tufts on his counterpane.</p> +<p class="poetry">A medical man to his bedside came.<br /> +(I can’t remember that doctor’s name),<br /> +And said, “You’ll die in a very short while<br /> +If you don’t set sail for Madeira’s isle.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Go to Madeira? goodness me!<br /> +I haven’t the money to pay your fee!”<br /> +“Then, <span class="smcap">Paley Vollaire</span>,” +said the leech, “good bye;<br /> +I’ll come no more, for your’re sure to +die.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He sighed and he groaned and smote his +breast;<br /> +“Oh, send,” said he, “for <span +class="smcap">Frederick West</span>,<br /> +Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim:<br /> +I’ve a terrible tale to whisper him!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Poor was <span +class="smcap">Frederick’s</span> lot in life,—<br /> +A dustman he with a fair young wife,<br /> +A worthy man with a hard-earned store,<br /> +A hundred and seventy pounds—or more.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span><span class="smcap">Frederick</span> came, and he said, +“Maybe<br /> +You’ll say what you happened to want with me?”<br /> +“Wronged boy,” said <span class="smcap">Paley +Vollaire</span>, “I will,<br /> +But don’t you fidget yourself—sit still.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">THE TERRIBLE TALE.</p> +<p class="poetry">“’Tis now some thirty-seven years +ago<br /> +Since first began the plot that I’m revealing,<br /> +A fine young woman, whom you ought to know,<br /> + Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing.<br +/> +Herself by means of mangling reimbursing,<br /> +And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Two little babes dwelt in their humble +cot:<br /> +One was her own—the other only lent to her:<br /> +<i>Her own she slighted</i>. Tempted by a lot<br /> + Of gold and silver regularly sent to her,<br /> +She ministered unto the little other<br /> +In the capacity of foster-mother.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>“<i>I was her own</i>. Oh! how I lay and +sobbed<br /> +In my poor cradle—deeply, deeply cursing<br /> +The rich man’s pampered bantling, who had robbed<br /> + My only birthright—an attentive nursing!<br /> +Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother,<br /> +I gnashed my gums—which terrified my mother.</p> +<p class="poetry">“One day—it was quite early in the +week—<br /> +I <i>in</i> <span class="smcap">My</span> <i>cradle having placed +the bantling</i>—<br /> +Crept into his! He had not learnt to speak,<br /> + But I could see his face with anger mantling.<br /> +It was imprudent—well, disgraceful maybe,<br /> +For, oh! I was a bad, blackhearted baby!</p> +<p class="poetry">“So great a luxury was food, I think<br +/> +No wickedness but I was game to try for it.<br /> +<i>Now</i> if I wanted anything to drink<br /> + At any time, I only had to cry for it!<br /> +<i>Once</i>, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking,<br /> +My blubbering involved a serious smacking!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>“We grew up in the usual way—my friend,<br +/> +My foster-brother, daily growing thinner,<br /> +While gradually I began to mend,<br /> + And thrived amazingly on double dinner.<br /> +And every one, besides my foster-mother,<br /> +Believed that either of us was the other.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I came into <i>his</i> wealth—I +bore <i>his</i> name,<br /> +I bear it still—<i>his</i> property I squandered—<br +/> +I mortgaged everything—and now (oh, shame!)<br /> + Into a Somers Town shake-down I’ve +wandered!<br /> +I am no <span class="smcap">Paley</span>—no, <span +class="smcap">Vollaire</span>—it’s true, my boy!<br +/> +The only rightful <span class="smcap">Paley</span> V. is +<i>you</i>, my boy!</p> +<p class="poetry">“And all I have is yours—and yours +is mine.<br /> +I still may place you in your true position:<br /> +Give me the pounds you’ve saved, and I’ll resign<br +/> + My noble name, my rank, and my condition.<br /> +So far my wickedness in falsely owning<br /> +Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Frederick</span> he was a +simple soul,<br /> +He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll,<br /> +And gave to <span class="smcap">Paley</span> his hard-earned +store,<br /> +A hundred and seventy pounds or more.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Paley Vollaire</span>, with +many a groan,<br /> +Gave <span class="smcap">Frederick</span> all that he called his +own,—<br /> +Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,<br /> +A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>And <span class="smcap">Fred</span> (entitled to all +things there)<br /> +He took the fever from <span class="smcap">Mr. +Vollaire</span>,<br /> +Which killed poor <span class="smcap">Frederick +West</span>. Meanwhile<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vollaire</span> sailed off to Madeira’s +isle.</p> +<h2><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>THE +CAPTAIN AND THE MERMAIDS.</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">sing</span> a legend of +the sea,<br /> +So hard-a-port upon your lee!<br /> + A ship on starboard tack!<br /> +She’s bound upon a private cruise—<br /> +(This is the kind of spice I use<br /> + To give a salt-sea smack).</p> +<p class="poetry">Behold, on every afternoon<br /> +(Save in a gale or strong Monsoon)<br /> + Great <span class="smcap">Captain Capel +Cleggs</span><br /> +(Great morally, though rather short)<br /> +Sat at an open weather-port<br /> + And aired his shapely legs.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>And Mermaids hung around in flocks,<br /> +On cable chains and distant rocks,<br /> + To gaze upon those limbs;<br /> +For legs like those, of flesh and bone,<br /> +Are things “not generally known”<br /> + To any Merman <span class="smcap">Timbs</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">But Mermen didn’t seem to care<br /> +Much time (as far as I’m aware)<br /> + With <span class="smcap">Cleggs’s</span> legs +to spend;<br /> +Though Mermaids swam around all day<br /> +And gazed, exclaiming, “<i>That’s</i> the way<br /> + A gentleman should end!</p> +<p class="poetry">“A pair of legs with well-cut knees,<br +/> +And calves and ankles such as these<br /> + Which we in rapture hail,<br /> +Are far more eloquent, it’s clear<br /> +(When clothed in silk and kerseymere),<br /> + Than any nasty tail.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Cleggs</span>—a +worthy kind old boy—<br /> +Rejoiced to add to others’ joy,<br /> + And, when the day was dry,<br /> +Because it pleased the lookers-on,<br /> +He sat from morn till night—though con-<br /> + Stitutionally shy.</p> +<p class="poetry">At first the Mermen laughed, “Pooh! +pooh!”<br /> +But finally they jealous grew,<br /> + And sounded loud recalls;<br /> +<a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>But +vainly. So these fishy males<br /> +Declared they too would clothe their tails<br /> + In silken hose and smalls.</p> +<p class="poetry">They set to work, these water-men,<br /> +And made their nether robes—but when<br /> + They drew with dainty touch<br /> +The kerseymere upon their tails,<br /> +They found it scraped against their scales,<br /> + And hurt them very much.</p> +<p class="poetry">The silk, besides, with which they chose<br /> +To deck their tails by way of hose<br /> + (They never thought of shoon),<br /> +For such a use was much too thin,—<br /> +It tore against the caudal fin,<br /> + And “went in ladders” soon.</p> +<p class="poetry">So they designed another plan:<br /> +They sent their most seductive man<br /> + This note to him to show—<br /> +“Our Monarch sends to <span class="smcap">Captain +Cleggs</span><br /> +His humble compliments, and begs<br /> + He’ll join him down below;</p> +<p class="poetry">“We’ve pleasant homes below the +sea—<br /> +Besides, if <span class="smcap">Captain Cleggs</span> should +be<br /> + (As our advices say)<br /> +A judge of Mermaids, he will find<br /> +Our lady-fish of every kind<br /> + Inspection will repay.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>Good <span class="smcap">Capel</span> sent a kind +reply,<br /> +For <span class="smcap">Capel</span> thought he could descry<br +/> + An admirable plan<br /> +To study all their ways and laws—<br /> +(But not their lady-fish, because<br /> + He was a married man).</p> +<p class="poetry">The Merman sank—the Captain too<br /> +Jumped overboard, and dropped from view<br /> + Like stone from catapult;<br /> +And when he reached the Merman’s lair,<br /> +He certainly was welcomed there,<br /> + But, ah! with what result?</p> +<p class="poetry">They didn’t let him learn their law,<br +/> +Or make a note of what he saw,<br /> + Or interesting mem.:<br /> +<a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>The +lady-fish he couldn’t find,<br /> +But that, of course, he didn’t mind—<br /> + He didn’t come for them.</p> +<p class="poetry">For though, when <span class="smcap">Captain +Capel</span> sank,<br /> +The Mermen drawn in double rank<br /> + Gave him a hearty hail,<br /> +Yet when secure of <span class="smcap">Captain Cleggs</span>,<br +/> +They cut off both his lovely legs,<br /> + And gave him <i>such</i> a tail!</p> +<p class="poetry">When <span class="smcap">Captain Cleggs</span> +returned aboard,<br /> +His blithesome crew convulsive roar’d,<br /> + To see him altered so.<br /> +The Admiralty did insist<br /> +That he upon the Half-pay List<br /> + Immediately should go.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>In vain declared the poor old salt,<br /> +“It’s my misfortune—not my fault,”<br /> + With tear and trembling lip—<br /> +In vain poor <span class="smcap">Capel</span> begged and +begged.<br /> +“A man must be completely legged<br /> + Who rules a British ship.”</p> +<p class="poetry">So spake the stern First Lord aloud—<br +/> +He was a wag, though very proud,<br /> + And much rejoiced to say,<br /> +“You’re only half a captain now—<br /> +And so, my worthy friend, I vow<br /> + You’ll only get half-pay!”</p> +<h2><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>ANNIE PROTHEROE.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A LEGEND OF STRATFORD-LE-BOW.</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! listen to the +tale of little <span class="smcap">Annie Protheroe</span>.<br /> +She kept a small post-office in the neighbourhood of Bow;<br /> +She loved a skilled mechanic, who was famous in his day—<br +/> +A gentle executioner whose name was <span class="smcap">Gilbert +Clay</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I think I hear you say, “A dreadful +subject for your rhymes!”<br /> +O reader, do not shrink—he didn’t live in modern +times!<br /> +He lived so long ago (the sketch will show it at a glance)<br /> +That all his actions glitter with the lime-light of Romance.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>In busy times he laboured at his gentle craft all +day—<br /> +“No doubt you mean his Cal-craft,” you amusingly will +say—<br /> +But, no—he didn’t operate with common bits of +string,<br /> +He was a Public Headsman, which is quite another thing.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when his work was over, they would ramble +o’er the lea,<br /> +And sit beneath the frondage of an elderberry tree,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Annie’s</span> simple prattle +entertained him on his walk,<br /> +For public executions formed the subject of her talk.</p> +<p class="poetry">And sometimes he’d explain to her, which +charmed her very much,<br /> +How famous operators vary very much in touch,<br /> +And then, perhaps, he’d show how he himself performed the +trick,<br /> +And illustrate his meaning with a poppy and a stick.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or, if it rained, the little maid would stop at +home, and look<br /> +At his favourable notices, all pasted in a book,<br /> +And then her cheek would flush—her swimming eyes would +dance with joy<br /> +In a glow of admiration at the prowess of her boy.</p> +<p class="poetry">One summer eve, at supper-time, the gentle +<span class="smcap">Gilbert</span> said<br /> +(As he helped his pretty <span class="smcap">Annie</span> to a +slice of collared head),<br /> +“This reminds me I must settle on the next ensuing day<br +/> +The hash of that unmitigated villain <span class="smcap">Peter +Gray</span>.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>He saw his <span class="smcap">Annie</span> tremble and +he saw his <span class="smcap">Annie</span> start,<br /> +Her changing colour trumpeted the flutter at her heart;<br /> +Young <span class="smcap">Gilbert’s</span> manly bosom rose +and sank with jealous fear,<br /> +And he said, “O gentle <span class="smcap">Annie</span>, +what’s the meaning of this here?”</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Annie</span> answered, +blushing in an interesting way,<br /> +“You think, no doubt, I’m sighing for that felon +<span class="smcap">Peter Gray</span>:<br /> +That I was his young woman is unquestionably true,<br /> +But not since I began a-keeping company with you.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then <span class="smcap">Gilbert</span>, who +was irritable, rose and loudly swore<br /> +He’d know the reason why if she refused to tell him +more;<br /> +And she answered (all the woman in her flashing from her eyes)<br +/> +“You mustn’t ask no questions, and you won’t be +told no lies!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Few lovers have the privilege enjoyed, +my dear, by you,<br /> +Of chopping off a rival’s head and quartering him too!<br +/> +Of vengeance, dear, to-morrow you will surely take your +fill!”<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Gilbert</span> ground his molars as he +answered her, “I will!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>Young <span class="smcap">Gilbert</span> rose from +table with a stern determined look,<br /> +And, frowning, took an inexpensive hatchet from its hook;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Annie</span> watched his movements with +an interested air—<br /> +For the morrow—for the morrow he was going to prepare!</p> +<p class="poetry">He chipped it with a hammer and he chopped it +with a bill,<br /> +He poured sulphuric acid on the edge of it, until<br /> +This terrible Avenger of the Majesty of Law<br /> +Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw.</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Annie</span> said, +“O <span class="smcap">Gilbert</span>, dear, I do not +understand<br /> +Why ever you are injuring that hatchet in your hand?”<br /> +He said, “It is intended for to lacerate and flay<br /> +The neck of that unmitigated villain <span class="smcap">Peter +Gray</span>!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, <span +class="smcap">Gilbert</span>,” <span +class="smcap">Annie</span> answered, “wicked headsman, just +beware—<br /> +I won’t have <span class="smcap">Peter</span> tortured with +that horrible affair;<br /> +If you appear with that, you may depend you’ll rue the +day.”<br /> +But <span class="smcap">Gilbert</span> said, “Oh, shall +I?” which was just his nasty way.</p> +<p class="poetry">He saw a look of anger from her eyes distinctly +dart,<br /> +For <span class="smcap">Annie</span> was a woman, and had pity in +her heart!<br /> +She wished him a good evening—he answered with a glare;<br +/> +She only said, “Remember, for your <span +class="smcap">Annie</span> will be there!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>The morrow <span class="smcap">Gilbert</span> boldly on +the scaffold took his stand,<br /> +With a vizor on his face and with a hatchet in his hand,<br /> +And all the people noticed that the Engine of the Law<br /> +Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw.</p> +<p class="poetry">The felon very coolly loosed his collar and his +stock,<br /> +And placed his wicked head upon the handy little block.<br /> +The hatchet was uplifted for to settle <span class="smcap">Peter +Gray</span>,<br /> +When <span class="smcap">Gilbert</span> plainly heard a +woman’s voice exclaiming, “Stay!”</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas <span class="smcap">Annie</span>, +gentle <span class="smcap">Annie</span>, as you’ll easily +believe.<br /> +“O <span class="smcap">Gilbert</span>, you must spare him, +for I bring him a reprieve,<br /> +It came from our Home Secretary many weeks ago,<br /> +And passed through that post-office which I used to keep at +Bow.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I loved you, loved you madly, and you +know it, <span class="smcap">Gilbert Clay</span>,<br /> +And as I’d quite surrendered all idea of <span +class="smcap">Peter Gray</span>,<br /> +I quietly suppressed it, as you’ll clearly understand,<br +/> +For I thought it might be awkward if he came and claimed my +hand.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +154</span>“In anger at my secret (which I could not tell +before),<br /> +To lacerate poor <span class="smcap">Peter Gray</span> +vindictively you swore;<br /> +I told you if you used that blunted axe you’d rue the +day,<br /> +And so you will, young <span class="smcap">Gilbert</span>, for +I’ll marry <span class="smcap">Peter +Gray</span>!”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>And so she did</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>AN +UNFORTUNATE LIKENESS.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">I’ve</span> painted +<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span> all my life—<br /> + “An infant” (even then at +“play”!)<br /> +“A boy,” with stage-ambition rife,<br /> + Then “Married to <span class="smcap">Ann +Hathaway</span>.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“The bard’s first ticket +night” (or “ben.”),<br /> + His “First appearance on the stage,”<br +/> +His “Call before the curtain”—then<br /> + “Rejoicings when he came of age.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The bard play-writing in his room,<br /> + The bard a humble lawyer’s clerk.<br /> +<a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>The bard +a lawyer <a name="citation156a"></a><a href="#footnote156a" +class="citation">[156a]</a>—parson <a +name="citation156b"></a><a href="#footnote156b" +class="citation">[156b]</a>—groom <a +name="citation156c"></a><a href="#footnote156c" +class="citation">[156c]</a>—<br /> + The bard deer-stealing, after dark.</p> +<p class="poetry">The bard a tradesman <a +name="citation156d"></a><a href="#footnote156d" +class="citation">[156d]</a>—and a Jew <a +name="citation156e"></a><a href="#footnote156e" +class="citation">[156e]</a>—<br /> + The bard a botanist <a name="citation156f"></a><a +href="#footnote156f" class="citation">[156f]</a>—a beak <a +name="citation156g"></a><a href="#footnote156g" +class="citation">[156g]</a>—<br /> +The bard a skilled musician <a name="citation156h"></a><a +href="#footnote156h" class="citation">[156h]</a> too—<br /> + A sheriff <a name="citation156i"></a><a +href="#footnote156i" class="citation">[156i]</a> and a surgeon <a +name="citation156j"></a><a href="#footnote156j" +class="citation">[156j]</a> eke!</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet critics say (a friendly stock)<br /> + That, though it’s evident I try,<br /> +Yet even <i>I</i> can barely mock<br /> + The glimmer of his wondrous eye!</p> +<p class="poetry">One morning as a work I framed,<br /> + There passed a person, walking hard:<br /> +“My gracious goodness,” I exclaimed,<br /> + “How very like my dear old bard!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>“Oh, what a model he would make!”<br /> + I rushed outside—impulsive me!—<br /> +“Forgive the liberty I take,<br /> + But you’re so +very”—“Stop!” said he.</p> +<p class="poetry">“You needn’t waste your breath or +time,—<br /> + I know what you are going to say,—<br /> +That you’re an artist, and that I’m<br /> + Remarkably like <span +class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>. Eh?</p> +<p class="poetry">“You wish that I would sit to +you?”<br /> + I clasped him madly round the waist,<br /> +And breathlessly replied, “I do!”<br /> + “All right,” said he, “but please +make haste.”</p> +<p class="poetry">I led him by his hallowed sleeve,<br /> + And worked away at him apace,<br /> +I painted him till dewy eve,—<br /> + There never was a nobler face!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, sir,” I said, “a fortune +grand<br /> + Is yours, by dint of merest chance,—<br /> +To sport <i>his</i> brow at second-hand,<br /> + To wear <i>his</i> cast-off countenance!</p> +<p class="poetry">“To rub <i>his</i> eyes whene’er +they ache—<br /> + To wear <i>his</i> baldness ere you’re +old—<br /> +To clean <i>his</i> teeth when you awake—<br /> + To blow <i>his</i> nose when you’ve a +cold!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +158</span>His eyeballs glistened in his eyes—<br /> + I sat and watched and smoked my pipe;<br /> +“Bravo!” I said, “I recognize<br /> + The phrensy of your prototype!”</p> +<p class="poetry">His scanty hair he wildly tore:<br /> + “That’s right,” said I, “it +shows your breed.”<br /> +He danced—he stamped—he wildly swore—<br /> + “Bless me, that’s very fine +indeed!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Sir,” said the grand Shakesperian +boy<br /> + (Continuing to blaze away),<br /> +“You think my face a source of joy;<br /> + That shows you know not what you say.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Forgive these yells and cellar-flaps:<br +/> + I’m always thrown in some such state<br /> +When on his face well-meaning chaps<br /> + This wretched man congratulate.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For, oh! this face—this pointed +chin—<br /> + This nose—this brow—these eyeballs +too,<br /> +Have always been the origin<br /> + Of all the woes I ever knew!</p> +<p class="poetry">“If to the play my way I find,<br /> + To see a grand Shakesperian piece,<br /> +I have no rest, no ease of mind<br /> + Until the author’s puppets cease.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>“Men nudge each other—thus—and +say,<br /> + ‘This certainly is <span +class="smcap">Shakespeare’s</span> son,’<br /> +And merry wags (of course in play)<br /> + Cry ‘Author!’ when the piece is +done.</p> +<p class="poetry">“In church the people stare at me,<br /> + Their soul the sermon never binds;<br /> +I catch them looking round to see,<br /> + And thoughts of <span +class="smcap">Shakespeare</span> fill their minds.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And sculptors, fraught with cunning +wile,<br /> + Who find it difficult to crown<br /> +A bust with <span class="smcap">Brown’s</span> insipid +smile,<br /> + Or <span class="smcap">Tomkins’s</span> +unmannered frown,</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yet boldly make my face their own,<br /> + When (oh, presumption!) they require<br /> +To animate a paving-stone<br /> + With <span class="smcap">Shakespeare’s</span> +intellectual fire.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +160</span>“At parties where young ladies gaze,<br /> + And I attempt to speak my joy,<br /> +‘Hush, pray,’ some lovely creature says,<br /> + ‘The fond illusion don’t +destroy!’</p> +<p class="poetry">“Whene’er I speak, my soul is +wrung<br /> + With these or some such whisperings:<br /> +‘’Tis pity that a <span +class="smcap">Shakespeare’s</span> tongue<br /> + Should say such un-Shakesperian things!’</p> +<p class="poetry">“I should not thus be criticised<br /> + Had I a face of common wont:<br /> +Don’t envy me—now, be advised!”<br /> + And, now I think of it, I don’t!</p> +<h2><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>THE +KING OF CANOODLE-DUM.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> story of <span +class="smcap">Frederick Gowler</span>,<br /> + A mariner of the sea,<br /> +Who quitted his ship, the <i>Howler</i>,<br /> + A-sailing in Caribbee.<br /> +For many a day he wandered,<br /> + Till he met in a state of rum<br /> +<span class="smcap">Calamity Pop von Peppermint Drop</span>,<br +/> + The King of Canoodle-Dum.</p> +<p class="poetry">That monarch addressed him gaily,<br /> + “Hum! Golly de do to-day?<br /> +Hum! Lily-white Buckra Sailee”—<br /> + (You notice his playful way?)—<br /> +<a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>“What dickens you doin’ here, sar?<br /> + Why debbil you want to come?<br /> +Hum! Picaninnee, dere isn’t no sea<br /> + In City Canoodle-Dum!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Gowler</span> he +answered sadly,<br /> + “Oh, mine is a doleful tale!<br /> +They’ve treated me werry badly<br /> + In Lunnon, from where I hail.<br /> +I’m one of the Family Royal—<br /> + No common Jack Tar you see;<br /> +I’m <span class="smcap">William the Fourth</span>, far up +in the North,<br /> + A King in my own countree!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Bang-bang! How the tom-toms thundered!<br +/> + Bang-bang! How they thumped this gongs!<br /> +Bang-bang! How the people wondered!<br /> + Bang-bang! At it hammer and tongs!<br /> +Alliance with Kings of Europe<br /> + Is an honour Canoodlers seek,<br /> +Her monarchs don’t stop with <span class="smcap">Peppermint +Drop</span><br /> + Every day in the week!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fred</span> told them that +he was undone,<br /> + For his people all went insane,<br /> +And fired the Tower of London,<br /> + And Grinnidge’s Naval Fane.<br /> +And some of them racked St. James’s,<br /> + And vented their rage upon<br /> +The Church of St. Paul, the Fishmongers’ Hall,<br /> + And the Angel at Islington.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +163</span><span class="smcap">Calamity Pop</span> implored him<br +/> + In his capital to remain<br /> +Till those people of his restored him<br /> + To power and rank again.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Calamity Pop</span> he made him<br /> + A Prince of Canoodle-Dum,<br /> +With a couple of caves, some beautiful slaves,<br /> + And the run of the royal rum.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pop gave him his only daughter,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Hum Pickety Wimple +Tip</span>:<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fred</span> vowed that if over the water<br +/> + He went, in an English ship,<br /> +He’d make her his Queen,—though truly<br /> + It is an unusual thing<br /> +For a Caribbee brat who’s as black as your hat<br /> + To be wife of an English King.</p> +<p class="poetry">And all the Canoodle-Dummers<br /> + They copied his rolling walk,<br /> +His method of draining rummers,<br /> + His emblematical talk.<br /> +For his dress and his graceful breeding,<br /> + His delicate taste in rum,<br /> +And his nautical way, were the talk of the day<br /> + In the Court of Canoodle-Dum.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Calamity Pop</span> most +wisely<br /> + Determined in everything<br /> +To model his Court precisely<br /> + On that of the English King;<br /> +<a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>And +ordered that every lady<br /> + And every lady’s lord<br /> +Should masticate jacky (a kind of tobaccy),<br /> + And scatter its juice abroad.</p> +<p class="poetry">They signified wonder roundly<br /> + At any astounding yarn,<br /> +By darning their dear eyes roundly<br /> + (’T was all they had to darn).<br /> +They “hoisted their slacks,” adjusting<br /> + Garments of plantain-leaves<br /> +With nautical twitches (as if they wore breeches,<br /> + Instead of a dress like <span +class="smcap">Eve’s</span>!)</p> +<p class="poetry">They shivered their timbers proudly,<br /> + At a phantom forelock dragged,<br /> +And called for a hornpipe loudly<br /> + Whenever amusement flagged.<br /> +<a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>“Hum! Golly! him <span +class="smcap">Pop</span> resemble,<br /> + Him Britisher sov’reign, hum!<br /> +<span class="smcap">Calamity Pop von Peppermint Drop</span>,<br +/> + De King of Canoodle-Dum!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The mariner’s lively +“Hollo!”<br /> + Enlivened Canoodle’s plain<br /> +(For blessings unnumbered follow<br /> + In Civilization’s train).<br /> +But Fortune, who loves a bathos,<br /> + A terrible ending planned,<br /> +For <span class="smcap">Admiral D. Chickabiddy</span>, C.B.,<br +/> + Placed foot on Canoodle land!</p> +<p class="poetry">That rebel, he seized <span class="smcap">King +Gowler</span>,<br /> + He threatened his royal brains,<br /> +And put him aboard the <i>Howler</i>,<br /> + And fastened him down with chains.<br /> +<a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>The +<i>Howler</i> she weighed her anchor,<br /> + With <span class="smcap">Frederick</span> nicely +nailed,<br /> +And off to the North with <span class="smcap">William the +Fourth</span><br /> + These horrible pirates sailed.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Calamity</span> said (with +folly),<br /> + “Hum! nebber want him again—<br /> +Him civilize all of us, golly!<br /> + <span class="smcap">Calamity</span> suck him +brain!”<br /> +The people, however, were pained when<br /> + They saw him aboard his ship,<br /> +But none of them wept for their <span +class="smcap">Freddy</span>, except<br /> + <span class="smcap">Hum Pickety Wimple +Tip</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>THE +MARTINET.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Some</span> time ago, in +simple verse<br /> + I sang the story true<br /> +Of <span class="smcap">Captain Reece</span>, the +<i>Mantelpiece</i>,<br /> + And all her happy crew.</p> +<p class="poetry">I showed how any captain may<br /> + Attach his men to him,<br /> +If he but heeds their smallest needs,<br /> + And studies every whim.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +168</span>Now mark how, by Draconic rule<br /> + And <i>hauteur</i> ill-advised,<br /> +The noblest crew upon the Blue<br /> + May be demoralized.</p> +<p class="poetry">When his ungrateful country placed<br /> + Kind <span class="smcap">Reece</span> upon +half-pay,<br /> +Without much claim <span class="smcap">Sir Berkely</span> +came,<br /> + And took command one day.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Berkely</span> was a +martinet—<br /> + A stern unyielding soul—<br /> +Who ruled his ship by dint of whip<br /> + And horrible black-hole.</p> +<p class="poetry">A sailor who was overcome<br /> + From having freely dined,<br /> +And chanced to reel when at the wheel,<br /> + He instantly confined!</p> +<p class="poetry">And tars who, when an action raged,<br /> + Appeared alarmed or scared,<br /> +And those below who wished to go,<br /> + He very seldom spared.</p> +<p class="poetry">E’en he who smote his officer<br /> + For punishment was booked,<br /> +And mutinies upon the seas<br /> + He rarely overlooked.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>In short, the happy <i>Mantelpiece</i>,<br /> + Where all had gone so well,<br /> +Beneath that fool <span class="smcap">Sir Berkely’s</span> +rule<br /> + Became a floating hell.</p> +<p class="poetry">When first <span class="smcap">Sir +Berkely</span> came aboard<br /> + He read a speech to all,<br /> +And told them how he’d made a vow<br /> + To act on duty’s call.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then <span class="smcap">William Lee</span>, he +up and said<br /> + (The Captain’s coxswain he),<br /> +“We’ve heard the speech your honour’s made,<br +/> + And werry pleased we be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“We won’t pretend, my lad, as +how<br /> + We’re glad to lose our <span +class="smcap">Reece</span>;<br /> +Urbane, polite, he suited quite<br /> + The saucy <i>Mantelpiece</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But if your honour gives your mind<br /> + To study all our ways,<br /> +With dance and song we’ll jog along<br /> + As in those happy days.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I like your honour’s looks, and +feel<br /> + You’re worthy of your sword.<br /> +Your hand, my lad—I’m doosid glad<br /> + To welcome you aboard!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span><span class="smcap">Sir Berkely</span> looked amazed, +as though<br /> + He didn’t understand.<br /> +“Don’t shake your head,” good <span +class="smcap">William</span> said,<br /> + “It is an honest hand.</p> +<p class="poetry">“It’s grasped a better hand than +yourn—<br /> + Come, gov’nor, I insist!”<br /> +The Captain stared—the coxswain glared—<br /> + The hand became a fist!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Down, upstart!” said the hardy +salt;<br /> + But <span class="smcap">Berkely</span> dodged his +aim,<br /> +And made him go in chains below:<br /> + The seamen murmured “Shame!”</p> +<p class="poetry">He stopped all songs at 12 p.m.,<br /> + Stopped hornpipes when at sea,<br /> +And swore his cot (or bunk) should not<br /> + Be used by aught than he.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +171</span>He never joined their daily mess,<br /> + Nor asked them to his own,<br /> +But chaffed in gay and social way<br /> + The officers alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">His First Lieutenant, <span +class="smcap">Peter</span>, was<br /> + As useless as could be,<br /> +A helpless stick, and always sick<br /> + When there was any sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">This First Lieutenant proved to be<br /> + His foster-sister <span class="smcap">May</span>,<br +/> +Who went to sea for love of he<br /> + In masculine array.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when he learnt the curious fact,<br /> + Did he emotion show,<br /> +Or dry her tears or end her fears<br /> + By marrying her? No!</p> +<p class="poetry">Or did he even try to soothe<br /> + This maiden in her teens?<br /> +Oh, no!—instead he made her wed<br /> + The Sergeant of Marines!</p> +<p class="poetry">Of course such Spartan discipline<br /> + Would make an angel fret;<br /> +They drew a lot, and <span class="smcap">William</span> shot<br +/> + This fearful martinet.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>The Admiralty saw how ill<br /> + They’d treated <span class="smcap">Captain +Reece</span>;<br /> +He was restored once more aboard<br /> + The saucy <i>Mantelpiece</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>THE +SAILOR BOY TO HIS LASS.</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">go</span> away this +blessed day,<br /> + To sail across the sea, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +My vessel starts for various parts<br /> + At twenty after three, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>.<br /> +I hardly know where we may go,<br /> + Or if it’s near or far, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +For <span class="smcap">Captain Hyde</span> does not confide<br +/> + In any ’fore-mast tar, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry">Beneath my ban that mystic man<br /> + Shall suffer, <i>coûte qui coûte</i>, +<span class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +What right has he to keep from me<br /> + The Admiralty route, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>?<br /> +<a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>Because, +forsooth! I am a youth<br /> + Of common sailors’ lot, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +Am I a man on human plan<br /> + Designed, or am I not, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>?</p> +<p class="poetry">But there, my lass, we’ll let that +pass!<br /> + With anxious love I burn, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>.<br /> +I want to know if we shall go<br /> + To church when I return, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>?<br /> +Your eyes are red, you bow your head;<br /> + It’s pretty clear you thirst, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +To name the day—What’s that you say?<br /> + —“You’ll see me further +first,” <span class="smcap">Matilda</span>?</p> +<p class="poetry">I can’t mistake the signs you make,<br /> + Although you barely speak, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>;<br /> +Though pure and young, you thrust your tongue<br /> + Right in your pretty cheek, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +<a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>My dear, +I fear I hear you sneer—<br /> + I do—I’m sure I do, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +With simple grace you make a face,<br /> + Ejaculating, “Ugh!” <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, pause to think before you drink<br /> + The dregs of Lethe’s cup, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +Remember, do, what I’ve gone through,<br /> + Before you give me up, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +Recall again the mental pain<br /> + Of what I’ve had to do, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +And be assured that I’ve endured<br /> + It, all along of you, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry">Do you forget, my blithesome pet,<br /> + How once with jealous rage, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +I watched you walk and gaily talk<br /> + With some one thrice your age, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>?<br /> +You squatted free upon his knee,<br /> + A sight that made me sad, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +You pinched his cheek with friendly tweak,<br /> + Which almost drove me mad, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry">I knew him not, but hoped to spot<br /> + Some man you thought to wed, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +I took a gun, my darling one,<br /> + And shot him through the head, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +I’m made of stuff that’s rough and gruff<br /> + Enough, I own; but, ah, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +It <i>did</i> annoy your sailor boy<br /> + To find it was your pa, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +176</span>I’ve passed a life of toil and strife,<br /> + And disappointments deep, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>;<br /> +I’ve lain awake with dental ache<br /> + Until I fell asleep, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!<br /> +At times again I’ve missed a train,<br /> + Or p’rhaps run short of tin, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +And worn a boot on corns that shoot,<br /> + Or, shaving, cut my chin, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">But, oh! no trains—no dental +pains—<br /> + Believe me when I say, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +No corns that shoot—no pinching boot<br /> + Upon a summer day, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>—<br /> +It’s my belief, could cause such grief<br /> + As that I’ve suffered for, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +My having shot in vital spot<br /> + Your old progenitor, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Bethink you how I’ve kept the vow<br /> + I made one winter day, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>—<br /> +That, come what could, I never would<br /> + Remain too long away, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>.<br /> +And, oh! the crimes with which, at times,<br /> + I’ve charged my gentle mind, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +To keep the vow I made—and now<br /> + You treat me so unkind, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry">For when at sea, off Caribbee,<br /> + I felt my passion burn, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +By passion egged, I went and begged<br /> + The captain to return, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>.<br /> +<a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>And +when, my pet, I couldn’t get<br /> + That captain to agree, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +Right through a sort of open port<br /> + I pitched him in the sea, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry">Remember, too, how all the crew<br /> + With indignation blind, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +Distinctly swore they ne’er before<br /> + Had thought me so unkind, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>.<br /> +And how they’d shun me one by one—<br /> + An unforgiving group, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>—<br /> +I stopped their howls and sulky scowls<br /> + By pizening their soup, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry">So pause to think, before you drink<br /> + The dregs of Lethe’s cup, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>;<br /> +Remember, do, what I’ve gone through,<br /> + Before you give me up, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>.<br /> +<a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>Recall +again the mental pain<br /> + Of what I’ve had to do, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>,<br /> +And be assured that I’ve endured<br /> + It, all along of you, <span +class="smcap">Matilda</span>!</p> +<h2><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>THE +REVEREND SIMON MAGUS.</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">rich</span> advowson, +highly prized,<br /> +For private sale was advertised;<br /> +And many a parson made a bid;<br /> +The <span class="smcap">Reverend Simon Magus</span> did.</p> +<p class="poetry">He sought the agent’s: “Agent, I<br +/> +Have come prepared at once to buy<br /> +(If your demand is not too big)<br /> +The Cure of Otium-cum-Digge.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ah!” said the agent, +“<i>there’s</i> a berth—<br /> +The snuggest vicarage on earth;<br /> +No sort of duty (so I hear),<br /> +And fifteen hundred pounds a year!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +180</span>“If on the price we should agree,<br /> +The living soon will vacant be;<br /> +The good incumbent’s ninety five,<br /> +And cannot very long survive.</p> +<p class="poetry">“See—here’s his +photograph—you see,<br /> +He’s in his dotage.” “Ah, dear me!<br /> +Poor soul!” said <span class="smcap">Simon</span>. +“His decease<br /> +Would be a merciful release!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The agent laughed—the agent +blinked—<br /> +The agent blew his nose and winked—<br /> +And poked the parson’s ribs in play—<br /> +It was that agent’s vulgar way.</p> +<p class="poetry">The <span class="smcap">Reverend Simon</span> +frowned: “I grieve<br /> +This light demeanour to perceive;<br /> +It’s scarcely <i>comme il faut</i>, I think:<br /> +Now—pray oblige me—do not wink.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Don’t dig my waistcoat into +holes—<br /> +Your mission is to sell the souls<br /> +Of human sheep and human kids<br /> +To that divine who highest bids.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>“Do well in this, and on your head<br /> +Unnumbered honours will be shed.”<br /> +The agent said, “Well, truth to tell,<br /> +I <i>have</i> been doing very well.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“You should,” said <span +class="smcap">Simon</span>, “at your age;<br /> +But now about the parsonage.<br /> +How many rooms does it contain?<br /> +Show me the photograph again.</p> +<p class="poetry">“A poor apostle’s humble house<br +/> +Must not be too luxurious;<br /> +No stately halls with oaken floor—<br /> +It should be decent and no more.</p> +<p class="poetry">“No billiard-rooms—no stately +trees—<br /> +No croquêt-grounds or pineries.”<br /> +“Ah!” sighed the agent, “very true:<br /> +This property won’t do for you.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“All these about the house you’ll +find.”—<br /> +“Well,” said the parson, “never mind;<br /> +I’ll manage to submit to these<br /> +Luxurious superfluities.</p> +<p class="poetry">“A clergyman who does not shirk<br /> +The various calls of Christian work,<br /> +Will have no leisure to employ<br /> +These ‘common forms’ of worldly joy.</p> +<p class="poetry">“To preach three times on Sabbath +days—<br /> +To wean the lost from wicked ways—<br /> +The sick to soothe—the sane to wed—<br /> +The poor to feed with meat and bread;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>“These are the various wholesome ways<br /> +In which I’ll spend my nights and days:<br /> +My zeal will have no time to cool<br /> +At croquêt, archery, or pool.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The agent said, “From what I hear,<br /> +This living will not suit, I fear—<br /> +There are no poor, no sick at all;<br /> +For services there is no call.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The reverend gent looked grave, “Dear +me!<br /> +Then there is <i>no</i> ‘society’?—<br /> +I mean, of course, no sinners there<br /> +Whose souls will be my special care?”</p> +<p class="poetry">The cunning agent shook his head,<br /> +“No, none—except”—(the agent +said)—<br /> +“The <span class="smcap">Duke of</span> A., the <span +class="smcap">Earl of</span> B.,<br /> +The <span class="smcap">Marquis</span> C., and <span +class="smcap">Viscount</span> D.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But you will not be quite alone,<br /> +For though they’ve chaplains of their own,<br /> +Of course this noble well-bred clan<br /> +Receive the parish clergyman.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>“Oh, silence, sir!” said <span +class="smcap">Simon</span> M.,<br /> +“Dukes—Earls! What should I care for them?<br +/> +These worldly ranks I scorn and flout!”<br /> +“Of course,” the agent said, “no +doubt!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yet I might show these men of birth<br +/> +The hollowness of rank on earth.”<br /> +The agent answered, “Very true—<br /> +But I should not, if I were you.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Who sells this rich advowson, +pray?”<br /> +The agent winked—it was his way—<br /> +“His name is <span class="smcap">Hart</span>; ’twixt +me and you,<br /> +He is, I’m grieved to say, a Jew!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“A Jew?” said <span +class="smcap">Simon</span>, “happy find!<br /> +I purchase this advowson, mind.<br /> +My life shall be devoted to<br /> +Converting that unhappy Jew!”</p> +<h2><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 184</span>MY +DREAM.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> other night, +from cares exempt,<br /> +I slept—and what d’you think I dreamt?<br /> +I dreamt that somehow I had come<br /> +To dwell in Topsy-Turveydom—</p> +<p class="poetry">Where vice is virtue—virtue, vice:<br /> +Where nice is nasty—nasty, nice:<br /> +Where right is wrong and wrong is right—<br /> +Where white is black and black is white.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where babies, much to their surprise,<br /> +Are born astonishingly wise;<br /> +With every Science on their lips,<br /> +And Art at all their finger-tips.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>For, as their nurses dandle them<br /> +They crow binomial theorem,<br /> +With views (it seems absurd to us)<br /> +On differential calculus.</p> +<p class="poetry">But though a babe, as I have said,<br /> +Is born with learning in his head,<br /> +He must forget it, if he can,<br /> +Before he calls himself a man.</p> +<p class="poetry">For that which we call folly here,<br /> +Is wisdom in that favoured sphere;<br /> +The wisdom we so highly prize<br /> +Is blatant folly in their eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry">A boy, if he would push his way,<br /> +Must learn some nonsense every day;<br /> +And cut, to carry out this view,<br /> +His wisdom teeth and wisdom too.</p> +<p class="poetry">Historians burn their midnight oils,<br /> +Intent on giant-killers’ toils;<br /> +And sages close their aged eyes<br /> +To other sages’ lullabies.</p> +<p class="poetry">Our magistrates, in duty bound,<br /> +Commit all robbers who are found;<br /> +But there the Beaks (so people said)<br /> +Commit all robberies instead.</p> +<p class="poetry">Our Judges, pure and wise in tone,<br /> +Know crime from theory alone,<br /> +And glean the motives of a thief<br /> +From books and popular belief.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +186</span>But there, a Judge who wants to prime<br /> +His mind with true ideas of crime,<br /> +Derives them from the common sense<br /> +Of practical experience.</p> +<p class="poetry">Policemen march all folks away<br /> +Who practise virtue every day—<br /> +Of course, I mean to say, you know,<br /> +What we call virtue here below.</p> +<p class="poetry">For only scoundrels dare to do<br /> +What we consider just and true,<br /> +And only good men do, in fact,<br /> +What we should think a dirty act.</p> +<p class="poetry">But strangest of these social twirls,<br /> +The girls are boys—the boys are girls!<br /> +The men are women, too—but then,<br /> +<i>Per contra</i>, women all are men.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +187</span>To one who to tradition clings<br /> +This seems an awkward state of things,<br /> +But if to think it out you try,<br /> +It doesn’t really signify.</p> +<p class="poetry">With them, as surely as can be,<br /> +A sailor should be sick at sea,<br /> +And not a passenger may sail<br /> +Who cannot smoke right through a gale.</p> +<p class="poetry">A soldier (save by rarest luck)<br /> +Is always shot for showing pluck<br /> +(That is, if others can be found<br /> +With pluck enough to fire a round).</p> +<p class="poetry">“How strange!” I said to one I +saw;<br /> +“You quite upset our every law.<br /> +However can you get along<br /> +So systematically wrong?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +188</span>“Dear me!” my mad informant said,<br /> +“Have you no eyes within your head?<br /> +You sneer when you your hat should doff:<br /> +Why, we begin where you leave off!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your wisest men are very far<br /> +Less learned than our babies are!”<br /> +I mused awhile—and then, oh me!<br /> +I framed this brilliant repartee:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Although your babes are wiser far<br /> +Than our most valued sages are,<br /> +Your sages, with their toys and cots,<br /> +Are duller than our idiots!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But this remark, I grieve to state,<br /> +Came just a little bit too late<br /> +For as I framed it in my head,<br /> +I woke and found myself in bed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Still I could wish that, ’stead of +here,<br /> +My lot were in that favoured sphere!—<br /> +Where greatest fools bear off the bell<br /> +I ought to do extremely well.</p> +<h2><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>THE +BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO AGAIN.</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">often</span> wonder +whether you<br /> +Think sometimes of that Bishop, who<br /> +From black but balmy Rum-ti-Foo<br /> + Last summer twelvemonth came.<br /> +Unto your mind I p’r’aps may bring<br /> +Remembrance of the man I sing<br /> +To-day, by simply mentioning<br /> + That <span class="smcap">Peter</span> was his +name.</p> +<p class="poetry">Remember how that holy man<br /> +Came with the great Colonial clan<br /> +To Synod, called Pan-Anglican;<br /> + And kindly recollect<br /> +<a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>How, +having crossed the ocean wide,<br /> +To please his flock all means he tried<br /> +Consistent with a proper pride<br /> + And manly self-respect.</p> +<p class="poetry">He only, of the reverend pack<br /> +Who minister to Christians black,<br /> +Brought any useful knowledge back<br /> + To his Colonial fold.<br /> +In consequence a place I claim<br /> +For “<span class="smcap">Peter</span>” on the scroll +of Fame<br /> +(For <span class="smcap">Peter</span> was that Bishop’s +name,<br /> + As I’ve already told).</p> +<p class="poetry">He carried Art, he often said,<br /> +To places where that timid maid<br /> +(Save by Colonial Bishops’ aid)<br /> + Could never hope to roam.<br /> +The Payne-cum-Lauri feat he taught<br /> +As he had learnt it; for he thought<br /> +The choicest fruits of Progress ought<br /> + To bless the Negro’s home.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he had other work to do,<br /> +For, while he tossed upon the Blue,<br /> +The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo<br /> + Forgot their kindly friend.<br /> +Their decent clothes they learnt to tear—<br /> +They learnt to say, “I do not care,”<br /> +Though they, of course, were well aware<br /> + How folks, who say so, end.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +191</span>Some sailors, whom he did not know,<br /> +Had landed there not long ago,<br /> +And taught them “Bother!” also, +“Blow!”<br /> + (Of wickedness the germs).<br /> +No need to use a casuist’s pen<br /> +To prove that they were merchantmen;<br /> +No sailor of the Royal N.<br /> + Would use such awful terms.</p> +<p class="poetry">And so, when <span class="smcap">Bishop +Peter</span> came<br /> +(That was the kindly Bishop’s name),<br /> +He heard these dreadful oaths with shame,<br /> + And chid their want of dress.<br /> +(Except a shell—a bangle rare—<br /> +A feather here—a feather there<br /> +The South Pacific Negroes wear<br /> + Their native nothingness.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +192</span>He taught them that a Bishop loathes<br /> +To listen to disgraceful oaths,<br /> +He gave them all his left-off clothes—<br /> + They bent them to his will.<br /> +The Bishop’s gift spreads quickly round;<br /> +In <span class="smcap">Peter’s</span> left-off clothes they +bound<br /> +(His three-and-twenty suits they found<br /> + In fair condition still).</p> +<p class="poetry">The Bishop’s eyes with water fill,<br /> +Quite overjoyed to find them still<br /> +Obedient to his sovereign will,<br /> + And said, “Good Rum-ti-Foo!<br /> +Half-way I’ll meet you, I declare:<br /> +I’ll dress myself in cowries rare,<br /> +And fasten feathers in my hair,<br /> + And dance the ‘Cutch-chi-boo!’” <a +name="citation192"></a><a href="#footnote192" +class="citation">[192]</a></p> +<p class="poetry">And to conciliate his See<br /> +He married <span class="smcap">Piccadillillee</span>,<br /> +The youngest of his twenty-three,<br /> + Tall—neither fat nor thin.<br /> +(And though the dress he made her don<br /> +Looks awkwardly a girl upon,<br /> +It was a great improvement on<br /> + The one he found her in.)</p> +<p class="poetry">The Bishop in his gay canoe<br /> +(His wife, of course, went with him too)<br /> +To some adjacent island flew,<br /> + To spend his honeymoon.<br /> +<a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 193</span>Some day +in sunny Rum-ti-Foo<br /> +A little <span class="smcap">Peter</span>’ll be on view;<br +/> +And that (if people tell me true)<br /> + Is like to happen soon.</p> +<h2><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>THE +HAUGHTY ACTOR.</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span class="smcap">An</span> +actor—<span class="smcap">Gibbs</span>, of Drury +Lane—<br /> + Of very decent station,<br /> + Once happened in a part to gain<br /> + Excessive approbation:<br /> + It sometimes turns a fellow’s brain<br /> + And makes him singularly vain<br /> +When he believes that he receives<br /> + Tremendous approbation.</p> +<p class="poetry"> His great success half drove +him mad,<br /> + But no one seemed to mind him;<br +/> + Well, in another piece he had<br /> + Another part assigned him.<br /> + <a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>This part was smaller, by a bit,<br /> + Than that in which he made a hit.<br /> +So, much ill-used, he straight refused<br /> + To play the part assigned him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>That night that actor slept</i>, <i>and +I’ll attempt</i><br /> +<i>To tell you of the vivid dream he dreamt</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">THE DREAM.</p> +<p class="poetry"> In fighting with a robber +band<br /> + (A thing he loved sincerely)<br /> + A sword struck <span class="smcap">Gibbs</span> upon +the hand,<br /> + And wounded it severely.<br /> + At first he didn’t heed it much,<br /> + He thought it was a simple touch,<br /> +But soon he found the weapon’s bound<br /> + Had wounded him severely.</p> +<p class="poetry"> To Surgeon <span +class="smcap">Cobb</span> he made a trip,<br /> + Who’d just effected +featly<br /> + An amputation at the hip<br /> + Particularly neatly.<br /> + A rising man was Surgeon <span +class="smcap">Cobb</span><br /> + But this extremely ticklish job<br /> +He had achieved (as he believed)<br /> + Particularly neatly.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The actor rang the +surgeon’s bell.<br /> + “Observe my wounded +finger,<br /> + Be good enough to strap it well,<br /> + And prithee do not linger.<br /> + <a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +196</span>That I, dear sir, may fill again<br /> + The Theatre Royal Drury Lane:<br /> +This very night I have to fight—<br /> + So prithee do not +linger.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> “I don’t strap +fingers up for doles,”<br /> + Replied the haughty surgeon;<br /> + “To use your cant, I don’t play +<i>rôles</i><br /> + Utility that verge on.<br /> + First amputation—nothing less—<br /> + That is my line of business:<br /> +We surgeon nobs despise all jobs<br /> + Utility that verge on</p> +<p class="poetry"> “When in your hip there +lurks disease”<br /> + (So dreamt this lively +dreamer),<br /> + “Or devastating <i>caries</i><br /> + In <i>humerus</i> or +<i>femur</i>,<br /> + If you can pay a handsome fee,<br /> + Oh, then you may remember me—<br /> +With joy elate I’ll amputate<br /> + Your <i>humerus</i> or +<i>femur</i>.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> The disconcerted actor +ceased<br /> + The haughty leech to pester,<br /> + But when the wound in size increased,<br /> + And then began to fester,<br /> + He sought a learned Counsel’s lair,<br /> + And told that Counsel, then and there,<br /> +How <span class="smcap">Cobb’s</span> neglect of his +defect<br /> + Had made his finger fester.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page197"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 197</span>“Oh, bring my action, if you +please,<br /> + The case I pray you urge on,<br /> + And win me thumping damages<br /> + From <span +class="smcap">Cobb</span>, that haughty surgeon.<br /> + He culpably neglected me<br /> + Although I proffered him his fee,<br /> +So pray come down, in wig and gown,<br /> + On <span +class="smcap">Cobb</span>, that haughty surgeon!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> That Counsel learned in the +laws,<br /> + With passion almost trembled.<br +/> + He just had gained a mighty cause<br /> + Before the Peers assembled!<br /> + Said he, “How dare you have the face<br /> + To come with Common Jury case<br /> +To one who wings rhetoric flings<br /> + Before the Peers +assembled?”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Dispirited became our +friend—<br /> + Depressed his moral +pecker—<br /> + “But stay! a thought!—I’ll gain my +end,<br /> + And save my poor exchequer.<br /> + <a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +198</span>I won’t be placed upon the shelf,<br /> + I’ll take it into Court myself,<br /> +And legal lore display before<br /> + The Court of the +Exchequer.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> He found a Baron—one of +those<br /> + Who with our laws supply +us—<br /> + In wig and silken gown and hose,<br /> + As if at <i>Nisi Prius</i>.<br /> + But he’d just given, off the reel,<br /> + A famous judgment on Appeal:<br /> +It scarce became his heightened fame<br /> + To sit at <i>Nisi Prius</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Our friend began, with easy +wit,<br /> + That half concealed his terror:<br +/> + “Pooh!” said the Judge, “I only +sit<br /> + In <i>Banco</i> or in Error.<br /> + Can you suppose, my man, that I’d<br /> + O’er <i>Nisi Prius</i> Courts preside,<br /> +Or condescend my time to spend<br /> + On anything but Error?”</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page199"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 199</span>“Too bad,” said <span +class="smcap">Gibbs</span>, “my case to shirk!<br /> + You must be bad innately,<br /> +To save your skill for mighty work<br /> + Because it’s valued greatly!”<br /> +But here he woke, with sudden start.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"> He wrote to say he’d +play the part.<br /> +I’ve but to tell he played it well—<br /> + The author’s words—his native wit<br /> + Combined, achieved a perfect +“hit”—<br /> + The papers praised him +greatly.</p> +<h2><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>THE +TWO MAJORS.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">An</span> excellent soldier +who’s worthy the name<br /> + Loves officers dashing and strict:<br /> +When good, he’s content with escaping all blame,<br /> + When naughty, he likes to be licked.</p> +<p class="poetry">He likes for a fault to be bullied and +stormed,<br /> + Or imprisoned for several days,<br /> +And hates, for a duty correctly performed,<br /> + To be slavered with sickening praise.</p> +<p class="poetry">No officer sickened with praises his +<i>corps</i><br /> + So little as <span class="smcap">Major La +Guerre</span>—<br /> +No officer swore at his warriors more<br /> + Than <span class="smcap">Major Makredi +Prepere</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +201</span>Their soldiers adored them, and every grade<br /> + Delighted to hear their abuse;<br /> +Though whenever these officers came on parade<br /> + They shivered and shook in their shoes.</p> +<p class="poetry">For, oh! if <span class="smcap">La +Guerre</span> could all praises withhold,<br /> + Why, so could <span class="smcap">Makredi +Prepere</span>,<br /> +And, oh! if <span class="smcap">Makredi</span> could bluster and +scold,<br /> + Why, so could the mighty <span class="smcap">La +Guerre</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“No doubt we deserve it—no mercy we +crave—<br /> + Go on—you’re conferring a boon;<br /> +We would rather be slanged by a warrior brave,<br /> + Than praised by a wretched poltroon!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Makredi</span> would say +that in battle’s fierce rage<br /> + True happiness only was met:<br /> +Poor <span class="smcap">Major Makredi</span>, though fifty his +age,<br /> + Had never known happiness yet!</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">La Guerre</span> would +declare, “With the blood of a foe<br /> + No tipple is worthy to clink.”<br /> +Poor fellow! he hadn’t, though sixty or so,<br /> + Yet tasted his favourite drink!</p> +<p class="poetry">They agreed at their mess—they agreed in +the glass—<br /> + They agreed in the choice of their +“set,”<br /> +And they also agreed in adoring, alas!<br /> + The Vivandière, pretty <span +class="smcap">Fillette</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Agreement, you see, may be carried too far,<br +/> + And after agreeing all round<br /> +For years—in this soldierly “maid of the +bar,”<br /> + A bone of contention they found!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +202</span>It may seem improper to call such a pet—<br /> + By a metaphor, even—a bone;<br /> +But though they agreed in adoring her, yet<br /> + Each wanted to make her his own.</p> +<p class="poetry">“On the day that you marry her,” +muttered <span class="smcap">Prepere</span><br /> + (With a pistol he quietly played),<br /> +“I’ll scatter the brains in your noddle, I swear,<br +/> + All over the stony parade!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I cannot do <i>that</i> to you,” +answered <span class="smcap">La Guerre</span>,<br /> + “Whatever events may befall;<br /> +But this <i>I can</i> do—<i>if you</i> wed her, <i>mon +cher</i>!<br /> + I’ll eat you, moustachios and all!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The rivals, although they would never +engage,<br /> + Yet quarrelled whenever they met;<br /> +They met in a fury and left in a rage,<br /> + But neither took pretty <span +class="smcap">Fillette</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +203</span>“I am not afraid,” thought <span +class="smcap">Makredi Prepere</span>:<br /> + “For country I’m ready to fall;<br /> +But nobody wants, for a mere Vivandière,<br /> + To be eaten, moustachios and all!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Besides, though <span class="smcap">La +Guerre</span> has his faults, I’ll allow<br /> + He’s one of the bravest of men:<br /> +My goodness! if I disagree with him now,<br /> + I might disagree with him then.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“No coward am I,” said <span +class="smcap">La Guerre</span>, “as you guess—<br /> + I sneer at an enemy’s blade;<br /> +But I don’t want <span class="smcap">Prepere</span> to get +into a mess<br /> + For splashing the stony parade!”</p> +<p class="poetry">One day on parade to <span +class="smcap">Prepere</span> and <span class="smcap">La +Guerre</span><br /> + Came <span class="smcap">Corporal Jacot +Debette</span>,<br /> +And trembling all over, he prayed of them there<br /> + To give him the pretty <span +class="smcap">Fillette</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +204</span>“You see, I am willing to marry my bride<br /> + Until you’ve arranged this affair;<br /> +I will blow out my brains when your honours decide<br /> + Which marries the sweet +Vivandière!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Well, take her,” said both of them +in a duet<br /> + (A favourite form of reply),<br /> +“But when I am ready to marry <span +class="smcap">Fillette</span>.<br /> + Remember you’ve promised to die!”</p> +<p class="poetry">He married her then: from the flowery plains<br +/> + Of existence the roses they cull:<br /> +He lived and he died with his wife; and his brains<br /> + Are reposing in peace in his skull.</p> +<h2><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</span>EMILY, JOHN, JAMES, AND I.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A DERBY LEGEND.</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Emily Jane</span> was a +nursery maid,<br /> + <span class="smcap">James</span> was a bold Life +Guard,<br /> +<span class="smcap">John</span> was a constable, poorly paid<br +/> + (And I am a doggerel bard).</p> +<p class="poetry">A very good girl was <span class="smcap">Emily +Jane</span>,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Jimmy</span> was good and +true,<br /> +<span class="smcap">John</span> was a very good man in the +main<br /> + (And I am a good man too).</p> +<p class="poetry">Rivals for <span class="smcap">Emmie</span> +were <span class="smcap">Johnny</span> and <span +class="smcap">James</span>,<br /> + Though <span class="smcap">Emily</span> liked them +both;<br /> +She couldn’t tell which had the strongest claims<br /> + (And <i>I</i> couldn’t take my oath).</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>But sooner or later you’re certain to find<br /> + Your sentiments can’t lie hid—<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jane</span> thought it was time that she made +up her mind<br /> + (And I think it was time she did).</p> +<p class="poetry">Said <span class="smcap">Jane</span>, with a +smirk, and a blush on her face,<br /> + “I’ll promise to wed the boy<br /> +Who takes me to-morrow to Epsom Race!”<br /> + (Which I would have done, with joy).</p> +<p class="poetry">From <span class="smcap">Johnny</span> escaped +an expression of pain,<br /> + But Jimmy said, “Done with you!<br /> +I’ll take you with pleasure, my <span class="smcap">Emily +Jane</span>!”<br /> + (And I would have said so too).</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">John</span> lay on the +ground, and he roared like mad<br /> + (For <span class="smcap">Johnny</span> was sore +perplexed),<br /> +And he kicked very hard at a very small lad<br /> + (Which <i>I</i> often do, when vexed).</p> +<p class="poetry">For <span class="smcap">John</span> was on duty +next day with the Force,<br /> + To punish all Epsom crimes;<br /> +Young people <i>will</i> cross when they’re clearing the +course<br /> + (I do it myself, sometimes).</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">The Derby Day sun glittered gaily on cads,<br +/> + On maidens with gamboge hair,<br /> +On sharpers and pickpockets, swindlers and pads,<br /> + (For I, with my harp, was there).</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>And <span class="smcap">Jimmy</span> went down with his +<span class="smcap">Jane</span> that day,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">John</span> by the collar or +nape<br /> +Seized everybody who came in his way<br /> + (And <i>I</i> had a narrow escape).</p> +<p class="poetry">He noticed his <span class="smcap">Emily +Jane</span> with <span class="smcap">Jim</span>,<br /> + And envied the well-made elf;<br /> +And people remarked that he muttered “Oh, dim!”<br /> + (I often say “dim!” myself).</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">John</span> dogged them all +day, without asking their leaves;<br /> + For his sergeant he told, aside,<br /> +That <span class="smcap">Jimmy</span> and <span +class="smcap">Jane</span> were notorious thieves<br /> + (And I think he was justified).</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">James</span> +wouldn’t dream of abstracting a fork,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Jenny</span> would blush +with shame<br /> +At stealing so much as a bottle or cork<br /> + (A bottle I think fair game).</p> +<p class="poetry">But, ah! there’s another more serious +crime!<br /> + They wickedly strayed upon<br /> +The course, at a critical moment of time<br /> + (I pointed them out to <span +class="smcap">John</span>).</p> +<p class="poetry">The constable fell on the pair in a +crack—<br /> + And then, with a demon smile,<br /> +Let <span class="smcap">Jenny</span> cross over, but sent <span +class="smcap">Jimmy</span> back<br /> + (I played on my harp the while).</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +208</span>Stern <span class="smcap">Johnny</span> their agony +loud derides<br /> + With a very triumphant sneer—<br /> +They weep and they wail from the opposite sides<br /> + (And <i>I</i> shed a silent tear).</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Jenny</span> is crying +away like mad,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Jimmy</span> is swearing +hard;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Johnny</span> is looking uncommonly +glad<br /> + (And I am a doggerel bard).</p> +<p class="poetry">But <span class="smcap">Jimmy</span> he +ventured on crossing again<br /> + The scenes of our Isthmian Games—<br /> +<span class="smcap">John</span> caught him, and collared him, +giving him pain<br /> + (I felt very much for <span +class="smcap">James</span>).</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">John</span> led him away +with a victor’s hand,<br /> + And <span class="smcap">Jimmy</span> was shortly +seen<br /> +In the station-house under the grand Grand Stand<br /> + (As many a time <i>I’ve</i> been).</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +209</span>And <span class="smcap">Jimmy</span>, bad boy, was +imprisoned for life,<br /> + Though <span class="smcap">Emily</span> pleaded +hard;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Johnny</span> had <span +class="smcap">Emily Jane</span> to wife<br /> + (And I am a doggerel bard).</p> +<h2><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>THE +PERILS OF INVISIBILITY.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Old Peter</span> led a +wretched life—<br /> +Old <span class="smcap">Peter</span> had a furious wife;<br /> +Old <span class="smcap">Peter</span> too was truly stout,<br /> +He measured several yards about.</p> +<p class="poetry">The little fairy <span +class="smcap">Picklekin</span><br /> +One summer afternoon looked in,<br /> +And said, “Old <span class="smcap">Peter</span>, how de +do?<br /> +Can I do anything for you?</p> +<p class="poetry">“I have three gifts—the first will +give<br /> +Unbounded riches while you live;<br /> +The second health where’er you be;<br /> +The third, invisibility.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +211</span>“O little fairy <span +class="smcap">Picklekin</span>,”<br /> +Old <span class="smcap">Peter</span> answered with a grin,<br /> +“To hesitate would be absurd,—<br /> +Undoubtedly I choose the third.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“’Tis yours,” the fairy said; +“be quite<br /> +Invisible to mortal sight<br /> +Whene’er you please. Remember me<br /> +Most kindly, pray, to <span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. +P.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Old <span class="smcap">Mrs. Peter</span> +overheard<br /> +Wee <span class="smcap">Picklekin’s</span> concluding +word,<br /> +And, jealous of her girlhood’s choice,<br /> +Said, “That was some young woman’s voice!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Old <span class="smcap">Peter</span> let her +scold and swear—<br /> +Old <span class="smcap">Peter</span>, bless him, didn’t +care.<br /> +“My dear, your rage is wasted quite—<br /> +Observe, I disappear from sight!”</p> +<p class="poetry">A well-bred fairy (so I’ve heard)<br /> +Is always faithful to her word:<br /> +Old <span class="smcap">Peter</span> vanished like a shot,<br /> +Put then—<i>his suit of clothes did not</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry">For when conferred the fairy slim<br /> +Invisibility on <i>him</i>,<br /> +She popped away on fairy wings,<br /> +Without referring to his “things.”</p> +<p class="poetry">So there remained a coat of blue,<br /> +A vest and double eyeglass too,<br /> +His tail, his shoes, his socks as well,<br /> +His pair of—no, I must not tell.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +212</span>Old <span class="smcap">Mrs. Peter</span> soon began<br +/> +To see the failure of his plan,<br /> +And then resolved (I quote the Bard)<br /> +To “hoist him with his own petard.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Old <span class="smcap">Peter</span> woke next +day and dressed,<br /> +Put on his coat, and shoes, and vest,<br /> +His shirt and stock; <i>but could not find</i><br /> +<i>His only pair of</i>—never mind!</p> +<p class="poetry">Old <span class="smcap">Peter</span> was a +decent man,<br /> +And though he twigged his lady’s plan,<br /> +Yet, hearing her approaching, he<br /> +Resumed invisibility.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Dear <span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. P., +my only joy,”<br /> +Exclaimed the horrified old boy,<br /> +“Now, give them up, I beg of you—<br /> +You know what I’m referring to!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But no; the cross old lady swore<br /> +She’d keep his—what I said before—<br /> +To make him publicly absurd;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Mrs. Peter</span> kept her word.</p> +<p class="poetry">The poor old fellow had no rest;<br /> +His coat, his stick, his shoes, his vest,<br /> +Were all that now met mortal eye—<br /> +The rest, invisibility!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, madam, give them up, I +beg—<br /> +I’ve had rheumatics in my leg;<br /> +Besides, until you do, it’s plain<br /> +I cannot come to sight again!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +213</span>“For though some mirth it might afford<br /> +To see my clothes without their lord,<br /> +Yet there would rise indignant oaths<br /> +If he were seen without his clothes!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But no; resolved to have her quiz,<br /> +The lady held her own—and his—<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Peter</span> left his humble cot<br /> +To find a pair of—you know what.</p> +<p class="poetry">But—here’s the worst of the +affair—<br /> +Whene’er he came across a pair<br /> +Already placed for him to don,<br /> +He was too stout to get them on!</p> +<p class="poetry">So he resolved at once to train,<br /> +And walked and walked with all his main;<br /> +For years he paced this mortal earth,<br /> +To bring himself to decent girth.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +214</span>At night, when all around is still,<br /> +You’ll find him pounding up a hill;<br /> +And shrieking peasants whom he meets,<br /> +Fall down in terror on the peats!</p> +<p class="poetry">Old <span class="smcap">Peter</span> walks +through wind and rain,<br /> +Resolved to train, and train, and train,<br /> +Until he weighs twelve stone’ or so—<br /> +And when he does, I’ll let you know.</p> +<h2><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>THE +MYSTIC SELVAGEE.</h2> +<p class="poetry">Perhaps already you may know<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sir Blennerhasset Portico</span>?<br /> +A Captain in the Navy, he—<br /> +A Baronet and K.C.B.<br /> + You do? I +thought so!<br /> +It was that Captain’s favourite whim<br /> +(A notion not confined to him)<br /> +That <span class="smcap">Rodney</span> was the greatest tar<br /> +Who ever wielded capstan-bar.<br /> + He had been +taught so.</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Benbow</span>! +<span class="smcap">Cornwallis</span>! <span +class="smcap">Hood</span>!—Belay!<br /> +Compared with <span class="smcap">Rodney</span>”—he +would say—<br /> +“No other tar is worth a rap!<br /> +The great <span class="smcap">Lord Rodney</span> was the chap<br +/> + The French to +polish!<br /> +<a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 216</span>Though, +mind you, I respect <span class="smcap">Lord Hood</span>;<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cornwallis</span>, too, was rather good;<br +/> +<span class="smcap">Benbow</span> could enemies repel,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Lord Nelson</span>, too, was pretty +well—<br /> + That is, +tol-lol-ish!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Blennerhasset</span> +spent his days<br /> +In learning <span class="smcap">Rodney’s</span> little +ways,<br /> +And closely imitated, too,<br /> +His mode of talking to his crew—<br /> + His port and +paces.<br /> +An ancient tar he tried to catch<br /> +Who’d served in <span class="smcap">Rodney’s</span> +famous batch;<br /> +But since his time long years have fled,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Rodney’s</span> tars are mostly +dead:<br /> + <i>Eheu +fugaces</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry">But after searching near and far,<br /> +At last he found an ancient tar<br /> +Who served with <span class="smcap">Rodney</span> and his crew<br +/> +Against the French in ’Eighty-two,<br /> + (That gained the +peerage).<br /> +He gave him fifty pounds a year,<br /> +His rum, his baccy, and his beer;<br /> +And had a comfortable den<br /> +Rigged up in what, by merchantmen,<br /> + Is called the +steerage.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, <span +class="smcap">Jasper</span>”—’t was that +sailor’s name—<br /> +“Don’t fear that you’ll incur my blame<br /> +By saying, when it seems to you,<br /> +That there is anything I do<br /> + That <span +class="smcap">Rodney</span> wouldn’t.”<br /> +<a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>The +ancient sailor turned his quid,<br /> +Prepared to do as he was bid:<br /> +“Ay, ay, yer honour; to begin,<br /> +You’ve done away with ‘swifting in’—<br +/> + Well, sir, you +shouldn’t!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Upon your spars I see you’ve +clapped<br /> +Peak halliard blocks, all iron-capped.<br /> +I would not christen that a crime,<br /> +But ’twas not done in <span +class="smcap">Rodney’s</span> time.<br /> + It looks +half-witted!<br /> +Upon your maintop-stay, I see,<br /> +You always clap a selvagee!<br /> +Your stays, I see, are equalized—<br /> +No vessel, such as <span class="smcap">Rodney</span> prized,<br +/> + Would thus be +fitted!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +218</span>“And <span class="smcap">Rodney</span>, honoured +sir, would grin<br /> +To see you turning deadeyes in,<br /> +Not <i>up</i>, as in the ancient way,<br /> +But downwards, like a cutter’s stay—<br /> + You didn’t +oughter;<br /> +Besides, in seizing shrouds on board,<br /> +Breast backstays you have quite ignored;<br /> +Great <span class="smcap">Rodney</span> kept unto the last<br /> +Breast backstays on topgallant mast—<br /> + They make it +tauter.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sir Blennerhasset</span> +“swifted in,”<br /> +Turned deadeyes up, and lent a fin<br /> +To strip (as told by <span class="smcap">Jasper Knox</span>)<br +/> +The iron capping from his blocks,<br /> + Where there was +any.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sir Blennerhasset</span> does away,<br /> +With selvagees from maintop-stay;<br /> +And though it makes his sailors stare,<br /> +He rigs breast backstays everywhere—<br /> + In fact, too +many.</p> +<p class="poetry">One morning, when the saucy craft<br /> +Lay calmed, old <span class="smcap">Jasper</span> toddled aft.<br +/> +“My mind misgives me, sir, that we<br /> +Were wrong about that selvagee—<br /> + I should restore +it.”<br /> +“Good,” said the Captain, and that day<br /> +Restored it to the maintop-stay.<br /> +Well-practised sailors often make<br /> +A much more serious mistake,<br /> + And then ignore +it.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +219</span>Next day old <span class="smcap">Jasper</span> came +once more:<br /> +“I think, sir, I was right before.”<br /> +Well, up the mast the sailors skipped,<br /> +The selvagee was soon unshipped,<br /> + And all were +merry.<br /> +Again a day, and <span class="smcap">Jasper</span> came:<br /> +“I p’r’aps deserve your honour’s +blame,<br /> +I can’t make up my mind,” said he,<br /> +“About that cursed selvagee—<br /> + It’s +foolish—very.</p> +<p class="poetry">“On Monday night I could have sworn<br /> +That maintop-stay it should adorn,<br /> +On Tuesday morning I could swear<br /> +That selvagee should not be there.<br /> + The knot’s +a rasper!”<br /> +<a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +220</span>“Oh, you be hanged,” said <span +class="smcap">Captain</span> P.,<br /> +“Here, go ashore at Caribbee.<br /> +Get out—good bye—shove off—all right!”<br +/> +Old <span class="smcap">Jasper</span> soon was out of +sight—<br /> + Farewell, old +<span class="smcap">Jasper</span>!</p> +<h2><a name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +221</span>PHRENOLOGY.</h2> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Come</span>, collar +this bad man—<br /> + Around the throat he knotted me<br /> +Till I to choke began—<br /> + In point of fact, garotted me!”</p> +<p class="poetry">So spake <span class="smcap">Sir Herbert +White</span><br /> + To <span class="smcap">James</span>, Policeman +Thirty-two—<br /> +All ruffled with his fight<br /> + <span class="smcap">Sir Herbert</span> was, and +dirty too.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +222</span>Policeman nothing said<br /> + (Though he had much to say on it),<br /> +But from the bad man’s head<br /> + He took the cap that lay on it.</p> +<p class="poetry">“No, great <span class="smcap">Sir +Herbert White</span>—<br /> + Impossible to take him up.<br /> +This man is honest quite—<br /> + Wherever did you rake him up?</p> +<p class="poetry">“For Burglars, Thieves, and Co.,<br /> + Indeed, I’m no apologist,<br /> +But I, some years ago,<br /> + Assisted a Phrenologist.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Observe his various bumps,<br /> + His head as I uncover it:<br /> +His morals lie in lumps<br /> + All round about and over it.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now take him,” said <span +class="smcap">Sir White</span>,<br /> + “Or you will soon be rueing it;<br /> +Bless me! I must be right,—<br /> + I caught the fellow doing it!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Policeman calmly smiled,<br /> + “Indeed you are mistaken, sir,<br /> +You’re agitated—riled—<br /> + And very badly shaken, sir.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Sit down, and I’ll explain<br /> + My system of Phrenology,<br /> +A second, please, remain”—<br /> + (A second is horology).</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +223</span>Policeman left his beat—<br /> + (The Bart., no longer furious,<br /> +Sat down upon a seat,<br /> + Observing, “This is curious!”)</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, surely, here are signs<br /> + Should soften your rigidity:<br /> +This gentleman combines<br /> + Politeness with timidity.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of Shyness here’s a lump—<br +/> + A hole for Animosity—<br /> +And like my fist his bump<br /> + Of Impecuniosity.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Just here the bump appears<br /> + Of Innocent Hilarity,<br /> +And just behind his ears<br /> + Are Faith, and Hope, and Charity.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +224</span>“He of true Christian ways<br /> + As bright example sent us is—<br /> +This maxim he obeys,<br /> + ‘<i>Sorte tuâ contentus +sis</i>.’</p> +<p class="poetry">“There, let him go his ways,<br /> + He needs no stern admonishing.”<br /> +The Bart., in blank amaze,<br /> + Exclaimed, “This is astonishing!</p> +<p class="poetry">“I <i>must</i> have made a mull,<br /> + This matter I’ve been blind in it:<br /> +Examine, please, <i>my</i> skull,<br /> + And tell me what you find in it.”</p> +<p class="poetry">That Crusher looked, and said,<br /> + With unimpaired urbanity,<br /> +“<span class="smcap">Sir Herbert</span>, you’ve a +head<br /> + That teems with inhumanity.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Here’s Murder, Envy, Strife<br /> + (Propensity to kill any),<br /> +And Lies as large as life,<br /> + And heaps of Social Villany.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Here’s Love of Bran-New +Clothes,<br /> + Embezzling—Arson—Deism—<br /> +A taste for Slang and Oaths,<br /> + And Fraudulent Trusteeism.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Here’s Love of Groundless +Charge—<br /> + Here’s Malice, too, and Trickery,<br /> +Unusually large<br /> + Your bump of Pocket-Pickery—”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +225</span>“Stop!” said the Bart., “my cup<br /> + Is full—I’m worse than him in all;<br /> +Policeman, take me up—<br /> + No doubt I am some criminal!”</p> +<p class="poetry">That Pleeceman’s scorn grew large<br /> + (Phrenology had nettled it),<br /> +He took that Bart. in charge—<br /> + I don’t know how they settled it.</p> +<h2><a name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 226</span>THE +FAIRY CURATE.</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Once</span> a fairy<br /> + Light and airy<br /> +Married with a mortal;<br /> + Men, however,<br /> + Never, never<br /> +Pass the fairy portal.<br /> + Slyly stealing,<br /> + She to Ealing<br /> +Made a daily journey;<br /> + There she found him,<br /> + Clients round him<br /> +(He was an attorney).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Long they +tarried,<br /> + Then they married.<br /> +<a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>When the +ceremony<br /> + Once was ended,<br /> + Off they wended<br /> +On their moon of honey.<br /> + Twelvemonth, maybe,<br /> + Saw a baby<br /> +(Friends performed an orgie).<br /> + Much they prized him,<br /> + And baptized him<br /> +By the name of <span class="smcap">Georgie</span>,</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Georgie</span> grew up;<br /> + Then he flew up<br /> +To his fairy mother.<br /> + Happy meeting—<br /> + Pleasant greeting—<br /> +Kissing one another.<br /> + “Choose a calling<br /> + Most enthralling,<br /> +I sincerely urge ye.”<br /> + “Mother,” said he<br +/> + (Rev’rence made he),<br /> +“I would join the clergy.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Give +permission<br /> + In addition—<br /> +Pa will let me do it:<br /> + There’s a living<br /> + In his giving—<br /> +He’ll appoint me to it.<br /> + Dreams of coff’ring,<br /> + Easter off’ring,<br /> +<a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 228</span>Tithe +and rent and pew-rate,<br /> + So inflame me<br /> + (Do not blame me),<br /> +That I’ll be a curate.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> She, with +pleasure,<br /> + Said, “My treasure,<br /> +’T is my wish precisely.<br /> + Do your duty,<br /> + There’s a beauty;<br /> +You have chosen wisely.<br /> + Tell your father<br /> + I would rather<br /> +As a churchman rank you.<br /> + You, in clover,<br /> + I’ll watch over.”<br +/> +<span class="smcap">Georgie</span> said, “Oh, thank +you!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Georgie</span> scudded,<br /> + Went and studied,<br /> +Made all preparations,<br /> + And with credit<br /> + (Though he said it)<br /> +Passed examinations.<br /> + (Do not quarrel<br /> + With him, moral,<br /> +Scrupulous digestions—<br /> + ’Twas his mother,<br /> + And no other,<br /> +Answered all the questions.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a +name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 229</span>Time +proceeded;<br /> + Little needed<br /> +<span class="smcap">Georgie</span> admonition:<br /> + He, elated,<br /> + Vindicated<br /> +Clergyman’s position.<br /> + People round him<br /> + Always found him<br /> +Plain and unpretending;<br /> + Kindly teaching,<br /> + Plainly preaching,<br /> +All his money lending.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a +name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 230</span>So the +fairy,<br /> + Wise and wary,<br /> +Felt no sorrow rising—<br /> + No occasion<br /> + For persuasion,<br /> +Warning, or advising.<br /> + He, resuming<br /> + Fairy pluming<br /> +(That’s not English, is it?)<br /> + Oft would fly up,<br /> + To the sky up,<br /> +Pay mamma a visit.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"> Time +progressing,<br /> + <span +class="smcap">Georgie’s</span> blessing<br /> +Grew more Ritualistic—<br /> + Popish scandals,<br /> + Tonsures—sandals—<br +/> +Genuflections mystic;<br /> + Gushing meetings—<br /> + Bosom-beatings—<br /> +Heavenly ecstatics—<br /> + Broidered spencers—<br /> + Copes and censers—<br /> +Rochets and dalmatics.</p> +<p class="poetry"> This +quandary<br /> + Vexed the fairy—<br /> +Flew she down to Ealing.<br /> + <a name="page231"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 231</span>“<span +class="smcap">Georgie</span>, stop it!<br /> + Pray you, drop it;<br /> +Hark to my appealing:<br /> + To this foolish<br /> + Papal rule-ish<br /> +Twaddle put an ending;<br /> + This a swerve is<br /> + From our Service<br /> +Plain and unpretending.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> He, +replying,<br /> + Answered, sighing,<br /> +Hawing, hemming, humming,<br /> + “It’s a pity—<br +/> + They’re so pritty;<br /> +Yet in mode becoming,<br /> + Mother tender,<br /> + I’ll surrender—<br /> +I’ll be unaffected—”<br /> + But his Bishop<br /> + Into <i>his</i> shop<br /> +Entered unexpected!</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Who +is this, sir,—<br /> + Ballet miss, sir?”<br /> +Said the Bishop coldly.<br /> + “’T is my mother,<br +/> + And no other,”<br /> +<span class="smcap">Georgie</span> answered boldly.<br /> + “Go along, sir!<br /> + You are wrong, sir;<br /> +<a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 232</span>You have +years in plenty,<br /> + While this hussy<br /> + (Gracious mussy!)<br /> +Isn’t two and twenty!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> (Fairies +clever<br /> + Never, never<br /> +Grow in visage older;<br /> + And the fairy,<br /> + All unwary,<br /> +Leant upon his shoulder!)<br /> + Bishop grieved him,<br /> + Disbelieved him;<br /> +<span class="smcap">George</span> the point grew warm on;<br /> + Changed religion,<br /> + Like a pigeon, <a +name="citation233"></a><a href="#footnote233" +class="citation">[233]</a><br /> +And became a Mormon!</p> +<h2><a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 233</span>THE +WAY OF WOOING.</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">maiden</span> sat at her +window wide,<br /> +Pretty enough for a Prince’s bride,<br /> + Yet nobody came to claim her.<br /> +She sat like a beautiful picture there,<br /> +With pretty bluebells and roses fair,<br /> + And jasmine-leaves to frame her.<br /> +And why she sat there nobody knows;<br /> +But this she sang as she plucked a rose,<br /> + The leaves around her strewing:<br /> +<a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +234</span>“I’ve time to lose and power to choose;<br +/> +’T is not so much the gallant who woos,<br /> + But the gallant’s <i>way</i> of +wooing!”</p> +<p class="poetry">A lover came riding by awhile,<br /> +A wealthy lover was he, whose smile<br /> + Some maids would value greatly—<br /> +A formal lover, who bowed and bent,<br /> +With many a high-flown compliment,<br /> + And cold demeanour stately,<br /> +“You’ve still,” said she to her suitor +stern,<br /> +“The ’prentice-work of your craft to learn,<br /> + If thus you come a-cooing.<br /> +I’ve time to lose and power to choose;<br /> +’T is not so much the gallant who woos,<br /> + As the gallant’s <i>way</i> of +wooing!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +235</span>A second lover came ambling by—<br /> +A timid lad with a frightened eye<br /> + And a colour mantling highly.<br /> +He muttered the errand on which he’d come,<br /> +Then only chuckled and bit his thumb,<br /> + And simpered, simpered shyly.<br /> +“No,” said the maiden, “go your way;<br /> +You dare but think what a man would say,<br /> + Yet dare to come a-suing!<br /> +I’ve time to lose and power to choose;<br /> +’T is not so much the gallant who woos,<br /> + As the gallant’s <i>way</i> of +wooing!”</p> +<p class="poetry">A third rode up at a startling pace—<br +/> +A suitor poor, with a homely face—<br /> + No doubts appeared to bind him.<br /> +He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist,<br /> +And off he rode with the maiden, placed<br /> + On a pillion safe behind him.<br /> +<a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>And she +heard the suitor bold confide<br /> +This golden hint to the priest who tied<br /> + The knot there’s no undoing;<br /> +“With pretty young maidens who can choose,<br /> +’T is not so much the gallant who woos,<br /> + As the gallant’s <i>way</i> of +wooing!”</p> +<h2><a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +237</span>HONGREE AND MAHRY.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A RECOLLECTION OF A SURREY +MELODRAMA.</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> sun was setting +in its wonted west,<br /> +When <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, Sub-Lieutenant of +Chassoores,<br /> +Met <span class="smcap">Mahry Daubigny</span>, the Village +Rose,<br /> +Under the Wizard’s Oak—old trysting-place<br /> +Of those who loved in rosy Aquitaine.</p> +<p class="poetry">They thought themselves unwatched, but they +were not;<br /> +For <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, Sub-Lieutenant of +Chassoores,<br /> +Found in <span class="smcap">Lieutenant-Colonel Jooles +Dubosc</span><br /> +A rival, envious and unscrupulous,<br /> +<a name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 238</span>Who +thought it not foul scorn to dodge his steps,<br /> +And listen, unperceived, to all that passed<br /> +Between the simple little Village Rose<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, Sub-Lieutenant of +Chassoores.</p> +<p class="poetry">A clumsy barrack-bully was <span +class="smcap">Dubosc</span>,<br /> +Quite unfamiliar with the well-bred tact<br /> +That animates a proper gentleman<br /> +In dealing with a girl of humble rank.<br /> +You’ll understand his coarseness when I say<br /> +He would have married <span class="smcap">Mahry +Daubigny</span>,<br /> +And dragged the unsophisticated girl<br /> +Into the whirl of fashionable life,<br /> +For which her singularly rustic ways,<br /> +Her breeding (moral, but extremely rude),<br /> +Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical),<br /> +Would absolutely have unfitted her.<br /> +How different to this unreflecting boor<br /> +Was <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, Sub-Lieutenant of +Chassoores.</p> +<p class="poetry">Contemporary with the incident<br /> +Related in our opening paragraph,<br /> +Was that sad war ’twixt Gallia and ourselves<br /> +That followed on the treaty signed at Troyes;<br /> +And so <span class="smcap">Lieutenant-Colonel Jooles +Dubosc</span><br /> +(Brave soldier, he, with all his faults of style)<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, Sub-Lieutenant of +Chassoores,<br /> +Were sent by <span class="smcap">Charles</span> of France against +the lines<br /> +Of our Sixth <span class="smcap">Henry</span> (Fourteen +twenty-nine),<br /> +To drive his legions out of Aquitaine.</p> +<p class="poetry">When <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, +Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,<br /> +Returned, suspecting nothing, to his camp,<br /> +After his meeting with the Village Rose,<br /> +<a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 239</span>He found +inside his barrack letter-box<br /> +A note from the commanding officer,<br /> +Requiring his attendance at head-quarters.<br /> +He went, and found <span class="smcap">Lieutenant-Colonel +Jooles</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Young <span +class="smcap">Hongree</span>, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,<br /> +This night we shall attack the English camp:<br /> +Be the ‘forlorn hope’ yours—you’ll lead +it, sir,<br /> +And lead it too with credit, I’ve no doubt.<br /> +As every man must certainly be killed<br /> +(For you are twenty ’gainst two thousand men),<br /> +It is not likely that you will return.<br /> +But what of that? you’ll have the benefit<br /> +Of knowing that you die a soldier’s death.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Obedience was young <span +class="smcap">Hongree’s</span> strongest point,<br /> +But he imagined that he only owed<br /> +<a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span>Allegiance to his <span class="smcap">Mahry</span> and +his King.<br /> +“If <span class="smcap">Mahry</span> bade me lead these +fated men,<br /> +I’d lead them—but I do not think she would.<br /> +If <span class="smcap">Charles</span>, my King, said, ‘Go, +my son, and die,’<br /> +I’d go, of course—my duty would be clear.<br /> +But <span class="smcap">Mahry</span> is in bed asleep, I hope,<br +/> +And <span class="smcap">Charles</span>, my King, a hundred +leagues from this.<br /> +As for <span class="smcap">Lieutenant-Colonel Jooles +Dubosc</span>,<br /> +How know I that our monarch would approve<br /> +The order he has given me to-night?<br /> +My King I’ve sworn in all things to obey—<br /> +I’ll only take my orders from my King!”<br /> +Thus <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, Sub-Lieutenant of +Chassoores,<br /> +Interpreted the terms of his commission.</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, who was +wise as he was good,<br /> +Disguised himself that night in ample cloak,<br /> +Round flapping hat, and vizor mask of black,<br /> +And made, unnoticed, for the English camp.<br /> +He passed the unsuspecting sentinels<br /> +<a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 241</span>(Who +little thought a man in this disguise<br /> +Could be a proper object of suspicion),<br /> +And ere the curfew bell had boomed “lights out,”<br +/> +He found in audience Bedford’s haughty Duke.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your Grace,” he said, “start +not—be not alarmed,<br /> +Although a Frenchman stands before your eyes.<br /> +I’m <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, Sub-Lieutenant of +Chassoores.<br /> +My Colonel will attack your camp to-night,<br /> +And orders me to lead the hope forlorn.<br /> +Now I am sure our excellent <span class="smcap">King +Charles</span><br /> +Would not approve of this; but he’s away<br /> +A hundred leagues, and rather more than that.<br /> +So, utterly devoted to my King,<br /> +Blinded by my attachment to the throne,<br /> +And having but its interest at heart,<br /> +I feel it is my duty to disclose<br /> +All schemes that emanate from <span class="smcap">Colonel +Jooles</span>,<br /> +If I believe that they are not the kind<br /> +Of schemes that our good monarch would approve.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“But how,” said Bedford’s +Duke, “do you propose<br /> +That we should overthrow your Colonel’s scheme?”<br +/> +And <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, Sub-Lieutenant of +Chassoores,<br /> +Replied at once with never-failing tact:<br /> +“Oh, sir, I know this cursed country well.<br /> +Entrust yourself and all your host to me;<br /> +I’ll lead you safely by a secret path<br /> +Into the heart of <span class="smcap">Colonel +Jooles</span>’ array,<br /> +And you can then attack them unprepared,<br /> +And slay my fellow-countrymen unarmed.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The thing was done. The <span +class="smcap">Duke of Bedford</span> gave<br /> +The order, and two thousand fighting men<br /> +<a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 242</span>Crept +silently into the Gallic camp,<br /> +And slew the Frenchmen as they lay asleep;<br /> +And Bedford’s haughty Duke slew <span class="smcap">Colonel +Jooles</span>,<br /> +And gave fair <span class="smcap">Mahry</span>, pride of +Aquitaine,<br /> +To <span class="smcap">Hongree</span>, Sub-Lieutenant of +Chassoores.</p> +<h2><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +243</span>ETIQUETTE. <a name="citation243"></a><a +href="#footnote243" class="citation">[243]</a></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> +<i>Ballyshannon</i> foundered off the coast of Cariboo,<br /> +And down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew;<br /> +Down went the owners—greedy men whom hope of gain +allured:<br /> +Oh, dry the starting tear, for they were heavily insured.</p> +<p class="poetry">Besides the captain and the mate, the owners +and the crew,<br /> +The passengers were also drowned excepting only two:<br /> +Young <span class="smcap">Peter Gray</span>, who tasted teas for +<span class="smcap">Baker</span>, <span +class="smcap">Croop</span>, <span class="smcap">and +Co</span>.,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Somers</span>, who from Eastern shores +imported indigo.</p> +<p class="poetry">These passengers, by reason of their clinging +to a mast,<br /> +Upon a desert island were eventually cast.<br /> +They hunted for their meals, as <span class="smcap">Alexander +Selkirk</span> used,<br /> +But they couldn’t chat together—they had not been +introduced.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +244</span>For <span class="smcap">Peter Gray</span>, and <span +class="smcap">Somers</span> too, though certainly in trade,<br /> +Were properly particular about the friends they made;<br /> +And somehow thus they settled it without a word of +mouth—<br /> +That <span class="smcap">Gray</span> should take the northern +half, while <span class="smcap">Somers</span> took the south.</p> +<p class="poetry">On <span class="smcap">Peter’s</span> +portion oysters grew—a delicacy rare,<br /> +But oysters were a delicacy <span class="smcap">Peter</span> +couldn’t bear.<br /> +On <span class="smcap">Somers</span>’ side was turtle, on +the shingle lying thick,<br /> +Which <span class="smcap">Somers</span> couldn’t eat, +because it always made him sick.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Gray</span> gnashed his +teeth with envy as he saw a mighty store<br /> +Of turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature’s shore.<br /> +The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,<br /> +For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved.</p> +<p class="poetry">And <span class="smcap">Somers</span> sighed in +sorrow as he settled in the south,<br /> +For the thought of <span class="smcap">Peter’s</span> +oysters brought the water to his mouth.<br /> +He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff:<br /> +He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough.</p> +<p class="poetry">How they wished an introduction to each other +they had had<br /> +When on board the <i>Ballyshannon</i>! And it drove them +nearly mad<br /> +To think how very friendly with each other they might get,<br /> +If it wasn’t for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!</p> +<p class="poetry">One day, when out a-hunting for the <i>mus +ridiculus</i>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gray</span> overheard his fellow-man +soliloquizing thus:<br /> +“I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on,<br +/> +<span class="smcap">M’Connell</span>, S. B. <span +class="smcap">Walters</span>, <span class="smcap">Paddy +Byles</span>, and <span class="smcap">Robinson</span>?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +245</span>These simple words made <span +class="smcap">Peter</span> as delighted as could be,<br /> +Old chummies at the Charterhouse were <span +class="smcap">Robinson</span> and he!<br /> +He walked straight up to <span class="smcap">Somers</span>, then +he turned extremely red,<br /> +Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and +said:</p> +<p class="poetry">“I beg your pardon—pray forgive me +if I seem too bold,<br /> +But you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old.<br /> +You spoke aloud of <span class="smcap">Robinson</span>—I +happened to be by.<br /> +You know him?” “Yes, extremely +well.” “Allow me, so do I.”</p> +<p class="poetry">It was enough: they felt they could more +pleasantly get on,<br /> +For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knew <span +class="smcap">Robinson</span>!<br /> +And Mr. <span class="smcap">Somers</span>’ turtle was at +<span class="smcap">Peter’s</span> service quite,<br /> +And Mr. <span class="smcap">Somers</span> punished <span +class="smcap">Peter’s</span> oyster-beds all night.</p> +<p class="poetry">They soon became like brothers from community +of wrongs:<br /> +They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;<br +/> +<a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 246</span>They +told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;<br /> +On several occasions, too, they saved each other’s +lives.</p> +<p class="poetry">They felt quite melancholy when they parted for +the night,<br /> +And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;<br /> +Each other’s pleasant company they reckoned so upon,<br /> +And all because it happened that they both knew <span +class="smcap">Robinson</span>!</p> +<p class="poetry">They lived for many years on that inhospitable +shore,<br /> +And day by day they learned to love each other more and more.<br +/> +At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day,<br /> +They saw a frigate anchored in the offing of the bay.</p> +<p class="poetry">To <span class="smcap">Peter</span> an idea +occurred. “Suppose we cross the main?<br /> +So good an opportunity may not be found again.”<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Somers</span> thought a minute, then +ejaculated, “Done!<br /> +I wonder how my business in the City’s getting +on?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span>“But stay,” said Mr. <span +class="smcap">Peter</span>: “when in England, as you +know,<br /> +I earned a living tasting teas for <span +class="smcap">Baker</span>, <span class="smcap">Croop</span>, +<span class="smcap">and Co</span>.,<br /> +I may be superseded—my employers think me dead!”<br +/> +“Then come with me,” said <span +class="smcap">Somers</span>, “and taste indigo +instead.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But all their plans were scattered in a moment +when they found<br /> +The vessel was a convict ship from Portland, outward bound;<br /> +When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very +kind,<br /> +To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.</p> +<p class="poetry">As both the happy settlers roared with laughter +at the joke,<br /> +They recognized a gentlemanly fellow pulling stroke:<br /> +’Twas <span class="smcap">Robinson</span>—a convict, +in an unbecoming frock!<br /> +Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!!</p> +<p class="poetry">They laughed no more, for <span +class="smcap">Somers</span> thought he had been rather rash<br /> +In knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Peter</span> thought a foolish tack he +must have gone upon<br /> +In making the acquaintance of a friend of <span +class="smcap">Robinson</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +248</span>At first they didn’t quarrel very openly, +I’ve heard;<br /> +They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word:<br +/> +The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head,<br +/> +And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">To allocate the island they agreed by word of +mouth,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Peter</span> takes the north again, and +<span class="smcap">Somers</span> takes the south;<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Peter</span> has the oysters, which he +hates, in layers thick,<br /> +And <span class="smcap">Somers</span> has the turtle—turtle +always makes him sick.</p> +<h2><a name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span>AT A +PANTOMIME.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BY A BILIOUS ONE.</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">An</span> Actor sits in +doubtful gloom,<br /> + His stock-in-trade unfurled,<br /> +In a damp funereal dressing-room<br /> + In the Theatre Royal, World.</p> +<p class="poetry">He comes to town at Christmas-time,<br /> + And braves its icy breath,<br /> +To play in that favourite pantomime,<br /> + <i>Harlequin Life and Death</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +250</span>A hoary flowing wig his weird<br /> + Unearthly cranium caps,<br /> +He hangs a long benevolent beard<br /> + On a pair of empty chaps.</p> +<p class="poetry">To smooth his ghastly features down<br /> + The actor’s art he cribs,—<br /> +A long and a flowing padded gown.<br /> + Bedecks his rattling ribs.</p> +<p class="poetry">He cries, “Go on—begin, begin!<br +/> + Turn on the light of lime—<br /> +I’m dressed for jolly Old Christmas, in<br /> + A favourite pantomime!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The curtain’s up—the stage all +black—<br /> + Time and the year nigh sped—<br /> +Time as an advertising quack—<br /> + The Old Year nearly dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wand of Time is waved, and lo!<br /> + Revealed Old Christmas stands,<br /> +And little children chuckle and crow,<br /> + And laugh and clap their hands.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cruel old scoundrel brightens up<br /> + At the death of the Olden Year,<br /> +And he waves a gorgeous golden cup,<br /> + And bids the world good cheer.</p> +<p class="poetry">The little ones hail the festive +King,—<br /> + No thought can make them sad.<br /> +Their laughter comes with a sounding ring,<br /> + They clap and crow like mad!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +251</span>They only see in the humbug old<br /> + A holiday every year,<br /> +And handsome gifts, and joys untold,<br /> + And unaccustomed cheer.</p> +<p class="poetry">The old ones, palsied, blear, and hoar,<br /> + Their breasts in anguish beat—<br /> +They’ve seen him seventy times before,<br /> + How well they know the cheat!</p> +<p class="poetry">They’ve seen that ghastly pantomime,<br +/> + They’ve felt its blighting breath,<br /> +They know that rollicking Christmas-time<br /> + Meant Cold and Want and Death,—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +252</span>Starvation—Poor Law Union fare—<br /> + And deadly cramps and chills,<br /> +And illness—illness everywhere,<br /> + And crime, and Christmas bills.</p> +<p class="poetry">They know Old Christmas well, I ween,<br /> + Those men of ripened age;<br /> +They’ve often, often, often seen<br /> + That Actor off the stage!</p> +<p class="poetry">They see in his gay rotundity<br /> + A clumsy stuffed-out dress—<br /> +They see in the cup he waves on high<br /> + A tinselled emptiness.</p> +<p class="poetry">Those aged men so lean and wan,<br /> + They’ve seen it all before,<br /> +They know they’ll see the charlatan<br /> + But twice or three times more.</p> +<p class="poetry">And so they bear with dance and song,<br /> + And crimson foil and green,<br /> +They wearily sit, and grimly long<br /> + For the Transformation Scene.</p> +<h2><a name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +253</span>HAUNTED.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Haunted</span>? Ay, +in a social way<br /> +By a body of ghosts in dread array;<br /> +But no conventional spectres they—<br /> + Appalling, grim, and tricky:<br /> +I quail at mine as I’d never quail<br /> +At a fine traditional spectre pale,<br /> +With a turnip head and a ghostly wail,<br /> + And a splash of blood on the dickey!</p> +<p class="poetry">Mine are horrible, social ghosts,—<br /> +Speeches and women and guests and hosts,<br /> +Weddings and morning calls and toasts,<br /> + In every bad variety:<br /> +Ghosts who hover about the grave<br /> +Of all that’s manly, free, and brave:<br /> +You’ll find their names on the architrave<br /> + Of that charnel-house, Society.</p> +<p class="poetry">Black Monday—black as its school-room +ink—<br /> +With its dismal boys that snivel and think<br /> +Of its nauseous messes to eat and drink,<br /> + And its frozen tank to wash in.<br /> +<a name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>That was +the first that brought me grief,<br /> +And made me weep, till I sought relief<br /> +In an emblematical handkerchief,<br /> + To choke such baby bosh in.</p> +<p class="poetry">First and worst in the grim array—<br /> +Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way,<br /> +Which I wouldn’t revive for a single day<br /> + For all the wealth of <span +class="smcap">Plutus</span>—<br /> +Are the horrible ghosts that school-days scared:<br /> +If the classical ghost that <span class="smcap">Brutus</span> +dared<br /> +Was the ghost of his “Cæsar” unprepared,<br /> + I’m sure I pity <span +class="smcap">Brutus</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I pass to critical seventeen;<br /> +The ghost of that terrible wedding scene,<br /> +When an elderly Colonel stole my Queen,<br /> + And woke my dream of heaven.<br /> +No schoolgirl decked in her nurse-room curls<br /> +Was my gushing innocent Queen of Pearls;<br /> +If she wasn’t a girl of a thousand girls,<br /> + She was one of forty-seven!</p> +<p class="poetry">I see the ghost of my first cigar,<br /> +Of the thence-arising family jar—<br /> +Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar,<br /> + And I called the Judge “Your +wushup!”)<br /> +Of reckless days and reckless nights,<br /> +With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,<br /> +Unholy songs and tipsy fights,<br /> + Which I strove in vain to hush up.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +255</span>Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,<br /> +Ghosts of “copy, declined with thanks,”<br /> +Of novels returned in endless ranks,<br /> + And thousands more, I suffer.<br /> +The only line to fitly grace<br /> +My humble tomb, when I’ve run my race,<br /> +Is, “Reader, this is the resting-place<br /> + Of an unsuccessful duffer.”</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ve fought them all, these ghosts of +mine,<br /> +But the weapons I’ve used are sighs and brine,<br /> +And now that I’m nearly forty-nine,<br /> + Old age is my chiefest bogy;<br /> +For my hair is thinning away at the crown,<br /> +And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;<br /> +And a general verdict sets me down<br /> + As an irreclaimable fogy.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> Apart from a few illustrations on +the title page the 140 illustrations have not yet been scanned +for this transcription. They will appear in due +time.—DP.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44"></a><a href="#citation44" +class="footnote">[44]</a> A version of this ballad is +published as a Song, by Mr. Jeffreys, Soho Square.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59"></a><a href="#citation59" +class="footnote">[59]</a> This ballad is published as a +Song, under the title “If,” by Messrs. Cramer and +Co.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156a"></a><a href="#citation156a" +class="footnote">[156a]</a> “Go with me to a +Notary—seal me there<br /> +Your single bond.”—<i>Merchant of Venice</i>, Act I., +sc. 3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156b"></a><a href="#citation156b" +class="footnote">[156b]</a> “And there shall she, at +Friar Lawrence’ cell,<br /> +Be shrived and married.”—<i>Romeo and Juliet</i>, Act +II., sc. 4.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156c"></a><a href="#citation156c" +class="footnote">[156c]</a> “And give the fasting +horses provender.”—<i>Henry the Fifth</i>, Act IV., +sc. 2.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156d"></a><a href="#citation156d" +class="footnote">[156d]</a> “Let us, like merchants, +show our foulest wares.”—<i>Troilus and Cressida</i>, +Act I., sc. 3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156e"></a><a href="#citation156e" +class="footnote">[156e]</a> “Then must the Jew be +merciful.”—<i>Merchant of Venice</i>, Act IV., sc. +1.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156f"></a><a href="#citation156f" +class="footnote">[156f]</a> “The spring, the +summer,<br /> +The chilling autumn, angry winter, change<br /> +Their wonted liveries.”—<i>Midsummer Night Dream</i>, +Act IV., sc. 1.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156g"></a><a href="#citation156g" +class="footnote">[156g]</a> “In the county of +Glo’ster, justice of the peace and <i>coram</i>.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Merry Wives of Windsor</i>, Act +I., sc. 1.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156h"></a><a href="#citation156h" +class="footnote">[156h]</a> “What lusty trumpet thus +doth summon us?”—<i>King John</i>, Act V., sc. 2.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156i"></a><a href="#citation156i" +class="footnote">[156i]</a> “And I’ll provide +his executioner.”—<i>Henry the Sixth</i> (Second +Part), Act III., sc. 1.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156j"></a><a href="#citation156j" +class="footnote">[156j]</a> “The lioness had torn +some flesh away,<br /> +Which all this while had bled.”—<i>As You Like +It</i>, Act IV., sc. 3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote192"></a><a href="#citation192" +class="footnote">[192]</a> Described by <span +class="smcap">Mungo Park</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote233"></a><a href="#citation233" +class="footnote">[233]</a> “Like a +bird.”—<i>Slang expression</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote243"></a><a href="#citation243" +class="footnote">[243]</a> Reprinted from the “The +Graphic,” by permission of the proprietors.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIFTY BAB BALLADS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 757-h.htm or 757-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/7/5/757 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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