Chapter VI: Prologue: Act IV. 201 (3)

His hair is gingery, coarse, and long;
His muscles none can span,
His brow is wet with honest sweat――
He’s “put in” all he can;
He ain’t much to look at in the face,
But he’ll ride ’gainst any man!
(In the village!)

Week after week, morn, noon, and night,
You could see him rushing round
The cricket-field the club had hired
For an impromptu training-ground;
You could hear his back wheel clump and clatter,
Although with wire bound!

The loafers and cadgers of the place:
Crowd round the open gate:
They love to watch him wheeling round
Like some pursuing Fate;
To count each gasp, to cheer each spurt,
And fill with pride his pate!

He goes on Sunday to the church;
And sits among his pals:
Receiving homage from each youth,
And winking at the gals!
Makes weak attempts to “mash” ’em, and
Criticises their “fal-lals!”

He sleeps――dreams――hears his trainer’s voice
Telling him when to “stick it on!”
Remembers that he’ll ride no more
When the cold earth lays his chest upon!
Waking, he checks a deep, loud snore,
And finds his “mashes” homeward gone!

Training――perspiring――grinding:
Onward through life he goes――
Each evening sees a mile begun,
2m. 50s. sees it close!
Something attempted, something done,
Has gained a broken nose!

Experience by thee, my friend:
Thy chums, they have been taught,
Hadst thou been doomèd _nées_ to ride
As reckless fellows ought
Then had thy Roman nose escaped
Much evil thou hast wrought!
R. C. BLOW.
_The Wheeling Annual_ for 1885.

_Finis_ (Beeton’s Annual, 1877) contained a long parody on “Evangeline,” from which the following lines may be quoted:――

MABEL, THE MADE-UP.

This is the Forest of St. John. The murmuring pines and the
hemlocks,
Bearded with moss and with lichens, have nothing to do with this
Forest.
Here ’stead of pines there are lamp-posts; and ’stead of the
hemlocks, post-pillars;
And as for the moss and the lichens, there’s dust and there’s slush
in their places.
This is the Forest of St. John――but here are no beasts save
cab-horses;
Birds, though――soiled doves as some call them――roost pretty thick
in its villas.
Sooth ’tis a forest, say some, where one may find lots of
“dears-talking.”
Certainly is it a tract for growing wild oats very famous!
Ye who believe in fair beauty, in beauty skin deep and enduring,
Ye who believe in the truth and the genuine charms of a woman,
List to my mournful experience gained not long since in the Forest;
List to the tale of Miss Mabel, a _belle_ of that north-western
quarter.
In the Ranunculus Road, near to the underground station;
In a small villa, detached, bounded on all sides by garden;
Lived on a competence easy, Mabel, the _belle_ I have mentioned.
Fair as to face and so slim; flawless, in sooth, was this damsel;
Rounded her bust in a manner approved of by painters and sculptors;
Golden her hair as the sunshine that, careless, got tangled amongst
it;
Blue though her eyes as the ocean, jet black her brows and her lashes;
Soft was the bloom on her cheeks as the delicate blush upon peaches;
Seeing her smile, teeth and lips seemed like pearls set in pinkest of
coral;
Snow in her bosom had melted, despairing to rival its whiteness;
Taper and lithe were her fingers, each with its pink pearl-shell
helmet;
Lightly had Time run the wheels of his chariot over her forehead,
Never a rut had they made, for the road was like white alabaster,
All this I saw and still more, though I am not a little
short-sighted,
When at a morning performance by chance I happened to meet her.
Known to the friend I was with, he in the _entr’acte_ introduced me;
And from that moment her box became the shrine of a goddess.
Little I saw of the play, now even its name I’ve forgotten;
Little I thought of my friend, but sheltered behind a box curtain,
Kept I my _lorgnette_ on Mabel, watching her moods and her glances.
Perfect was each of her poses as that of a painter’s lithe model;
E’en when she talked to her friends the shape of her lips seemed
like poetry;
Smiles rippled over her face like sunshine upon broken water.

* * * * *

During the war between the Northern and Southern States of America many humorous works were published which were intended to expose the weaknesses, and abuses, in the policy and administrations of both sides in the struggle. Amongst these, few were more amusing, or more popular than the Orpheus C. Kerr (_i.e._, office-seeker) Papers, and the following chapter is quoted, as it contains imitations of the poets most popular in the States twenty odd years ago. Under the thin veil of initials the names may be traced of H. W. Longfellow, Edward Everett, J. G. Whittier, Dr. O. W. Holmes, R. W. Emerson, W. C. Bryant, G. P. Morris, N. P. Willis, T. B. Aldwick, and R. H. Stoddart.