Chapter XIX: Part V

“It’s deuced interesting,” quoth
The now exhausted Swell;
“But I must be allow’d to hope
You’ve nothing more to tell.

“And if you’ll take a fellah’s hint,
You, and your Mayor, and crew;
The work you say your dream described,
You’d better go and do.

“And when the sewers are quite complete,
Jump in, and you shall be
With all the other nuisances,
Wash’d nicely down to sea.

“Now _au revoir_――the boxkeeper,
With the half-price board comes;
And I must hear that Blondelet,
Upon his twenty drums”

Vanish’d the Swell: the Alderman
Went off and drown’d his sorrow――
And with a thundering headache he
Awoke upon the morrow.

SHIRLEY BROOKS. 1855.

――――

THE ANCIENT MARINER;
_or_,
_The Deceived Husband_.

It was an ancient mariner
Who a party stopp’d of three
(A father and his children twain):
“Wilt sail to-day?” quoth he.

“My yacht she lieth off the shore:
A shilling each you’ll pay.”
The father slowly shook his head――
“I thank you――not to day.

“I see your yacht upon the shore,
Dancing right merrily;
But then my wife, ere we came out,
Said, ‘Mind, be home to tea.’

“My dame she hath an angry tongue,
And if that we should not
Be back at five, I fear that we
Should catch it rather hot.

“Besides, when out upon the waves,
The _mal du mer_ I fear.”
“Lord bless you,” quoth the mariner,
“We ain’t caught one this year!

“And you’ll be back by half-past four,
In lots of time for tea.”
“You promised, Pa, we’d have a sail,”
Said the children, plaintively.

Appeal’d to thus, in sore perplex,
The father gave consent;
And, oh! he thought how sick he’d be,
As to the boat he went.

The sun was high, the wind was low,
And as the party sail,
These words rang in the father’s ears,
“At five, mind, without fail!”

And now they’re launch’d upon the deep,
The yacht, like any witch,
Skimm’d o’er the foam at first, and then
She up and down did pitch.

She pitchèd up, she pitchèd down,
All comfort ’gan to leave
That father, and though afternoon,
For him ’twas time of heave!

With cheery voice the mariner
Kept pointing out the view;
The father heeded not his words,
For Ocean claimed his due.

He heard his children playing round,
Devoid of qualms and fear;
He heard his boy, in mocking tones,
Say, “Ain’t Pa jolly queer!”

He had not strength to punch his head,
Nor eke to box his ear;
The words were true, and he did feel
Particularly queer.

And worst of all, the while he paid
His tribute to the sea,
A voice kept ringing in his ear:
“You won’t be home to tea!”

“Turn, mariner, I pray you, turn!”
He cried in accents weak;
The sailor heard, but only turn’d
The quid within his cheek.

His cruel offsprings then began
To laugh at their papa;
Quoth they, “It’s five and after――won’t
You catch it, Pa, from Ma!”

“Turn, mariner, I pray you, turn!
Our course let homeward be;
Your guerdon shall be doubled if
We are in time for tea!”

The mariner he smiled a smile――
Nay, more, he grinned a grin――
He said (he was a vulgar man),
“Fork over, then, the tin!”

The wretched father heaved a sigh,
The cash he handed o’er;
Again he turned him o’er the side,――
The boatman turned to shore.

They reach the land, the clocks struck six――
What vision does he see?
It was the wife awaiting him
Who came too late for tea.

What happened when they reached their home
No one was there to see;
Certain it is that from that hour
He ne’er was late for tea!

ANONYMOUS.

――――

CLASSICAL VERSUS MODERN.

It was an ancient pedagogue[80]
And he stopped me (one of three)――
‘To Classic or to Modern side
Go’st thou?’ said he to me.

By thy long Problems and Theorems
Now wherefore plagu’st thou me?
Hold off! unhand me, ancient one!
I’ve seen enough of thee!

He held me with his skinny hand:
Quoth he “I’ll prove to thee
The fault in leaving thus the M[81]
And going to the C.”

I sat me just outside, the Gymn,
I could not choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient one,
That able Moderner!

“Arithmetic, and my good book
Are all you’ll want in life;
An accurate mind will bless your age――
Reward your early strife.”

I slowly raised my head, eftsoons
I asked with much civility
My aged friend, does your book boast
_Degrees_ of probability?

Is it not plain without your aid
To every child of fortune,
That _two long lines are always good_
In length, as against one short ’un?

“Is it not clear that in working a ‘sum,’
With figures enough to frighten,
That of all the _ansers_ who solve the thing
One _answer_ alone is the right ’un.

‘Figures, figures, everywhere――
And all the boys do shrink――
Figures, figures, everywhere――
Nothing whereon to _think_.’

I paused――the Moderner strode away
And answered never a word;
And away to Leck’ton Hill he hied[82]
To work a favourite surd.

From _The Cheltonian_. March 1869.

――――

THE ANCIENT MARINER.
_A New Version._