Chapter V: Part II (3)

Two ogres dwelt in Wickham Wold--
Each _traits_ distinctive had:
The younger was as good as gold,
The elder was as bad.

A wicked, disobedient son
Was JAMES M'ALPINE, and
A contrast to the elder one,
Good APPLEBODY BLAND.

M'ALPINE--brutes like him are few--
In greediness delights,
A melancholy victim to
Unchastened appetites.

Good, well-bred children every day
He ravenously ate,--
All boys were fish who found their way
Into M'ALPINE'S net:

Boys whose good breeding is innate,
Whose sums are always right;
And boys who don't expostulate
When sent to bed at night,

And kindly boys who never search
The nests of birds of song;
And serious boys for whom, in church,
No sermon is too long.

Contrast with JAMES'S greedy haste
And comprehensive hand,
The nice discriminating taste
Of APPLEBODY BLAND.

Bland only eats bad boys, who swear--
Who _can_ behave, but _don't_--
Disgraceful lads who say "don't care,"
And "shan't," and "can't," and "won't."

Who wet their shoes and learn to box,
And say what isn't true,
Who bite their nails and jam their frocks,
And make long noses too;

Who kick a nurse's aged shin,
And sit in sulky mopes;
And boys who twirl poor kittens in
Distracting zoëtropes.

But JAMES, when he was quite a youth,
Had often been to school,
And though so bad, to tell the truth,
He wasn't quite a fool.

At logic few with him could vie;
To his peculiar sect
He could propose a fallacy
With singular effect.

So, when his Mentors said, "Expound--
Why eat good children--why?"
Upon his Mentors he would round
With this absurd reply:

"I have been taught to love the good--
The pure--the unalloyed--
And wicked boys, I've understood,
I always should avoid.

"Why do I eat good children--why?
Because I love them so!"
(But this was empty sophistry,
As your Papa can show.)

Now, though the learning of his friends
Was truly not immense,
They had a way of fitting ends
By rule of common sense.

"Away, away!" his Mentors cried,
"Thou uncongenial pest!
A quirk's a thing we can't abide,
A quibble we detest!

"A fallacy in your reply
Our intellect descries,
Although we don't pretend to spy
Exactly where it lies.

"In misery and penal woes
Must end a glutton's joys;
And learn how ogres punish those
Who dare to eat good boys.

"Secured by fetter, cramp, and chain,
And gagged securely--so--
You shall be placed in Drury Lane,
Where only good lads go.

"Surrounded there by virtuous boys,
You'll suffer torture wus
Than that which constantly annoys
Disgraceful TANTALUS.

("If you would learn the woes that vex
Poor TANTALUS, down there,
Pray borrow of Papa an ex-
Purgated LEMPRIERE.)

"But as for BLAND who, as it seems,
Eats only naughty boys,
We've planned a recompense that teems
With gastronomic joys.

"Where wicked youths in crowds are stowed
He shall unquestioned rule,
And have the run of Hackney Road
Reformatory School!"

THE FIRST LORD'S SONG

When I was a lad I served a term
As office boy to an Attorney's firm;
I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,
And I polished up the handle of the big front door.
I polished up that handle so successfullee,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!

As office boy I made such a mark
That they gave me the post of a junior clerk;
I served the writs with a smile so bland,
And I copied all the letters in a big round hand.
I copied all the letters in a hand so free,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!

In serving writs I made such a name
That an articled clerk I soon became;
I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit
For the Pass Examination at the Institute:
And that Pass Examination did so well for me,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!

Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip
That they took me into the partnership,
And that junior partnership, I ween,
Was the only ship that I ever had seen:
But that kind of ship so suited me,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!

I grew so rich that I was sent
By a pocket borough into Parliament;
I always voted at my Party's call,
And I never thought of thinking for myself at all.
I thought so little, they rewarded me,
By making me the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!

Now, landsmen all, whoever you may be,
If you want to rise to the top of the tree--
If your soul isn't fettered to an office stool,
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule--
Stick close to your desks and _never go to sea_,
And you all may be Rulers of the Queen's Navee!

LITTLE OLIVER

EARL JOYCE he was a kind old party
Whom nothing ever could put out,
Though eighty-two, he still was hearty,
Excepting as regarded gout.

He had one unexampled daughter,
The LADY MINNIE-HAHA JOYCE,
Fair MINNIE-HAHA, "Laughing Water,"
So called from her melodious voice.

By Nature planned for lover-capture,
Her beauty every heart assailed;
The good old nobleman with rapture
Observed how widely she prevailed.

Aloof from all the lordly flockings
Of titled swells who worshipped her,
There stood, in pumps and cotton stockings,
One humble lover--OLIVER.

He was no peer by Fortune petted,
His name recalled no bygone age;
He was no lordling coronetted--
Alas! he was a simple page!

With vain appeals he never bored her,
But stood in silent sorrow by--
He knew how fondly he adored her,
And knew, alas! how hopelessly!

Well grounded by a village tutor
In languages alive and past,
He'd say unto himself, "Knee-suitor,
Oh, do not go beyond your last!"

But though his name could boast no handle,
He could not every hope resign;
As moths will hover round a candle,
So hovered he about her shrine.

The brilliant candle dazed the moth well:
One day she sang to her Papa
The air that MARIE sings with BOTHWELL
In NIEDERMEYER'S opera.

(Therein a stable boy, it's stated,
Devoutly loved a noble dame,
Who ardently reciprocated
His rather injudicious flame.)

And then, before the piano closing
(He listened coyly at the door),
She sang a song of her composing--
I give one verse from half a score:

BALLAD

_Why, pretty page, art ever sighing?
Is sorrow in thy heartlet lying?
Come, set a-ringing
Thy laugh entrancing,
And ever singing
And ever dancing.
Ever singing, Tra! la! la!
Ever dancing, Tra! la! la!
Ever singing, ever dancing,
Ever singing, Tra! la! la!_

He skipped for joy like little muttons,
He danced like Esmeralda's kid.
(She did not mean a boy in buttons,
Although he fancied that she did.)

Poor lad! convinced he thus would win her,
He wore out many pairs of soles;
He danced when taking down the dinner--
He danced when bringing up the coals.

He danced and sang (however laden)
With his incessant "Tra! la! la!"
Which much surprised the noble maiden,
And puzzled even her Papa.

He nourished now his flame and fanned it,
He even danced at work below.
The upper servants wouldn't stand it,
And BOWLES the butler told him so.

At length on impulse acting blindly,
His love he laid completely bare;
The gentle Earl received him kindly
And told the lad to take a chair.

"Oh, sir," the suitor uttered sadly,
"Don't give your indignation vent;
I fear you think I'm acting madly,
Perhaps you think me insolent?"

The kindly Earl repelled the notion;
His noble bosom heaved a sigh,
His fingers trembled with emotion,
A tear stood in his mild blue eye:

For, oh! the scene recalled too plainly
The half-forgotten time when he,
A boy of nine, had worshipped vainly
A governess of forty-three!

"My boy," he said, in tone consoling,
"Give up this idle fancy--do--
The song you heard my daughter trolling
Did not, indeed, refer to you.

"I feel for you, poor boy, acutely;
I would not wish to give you pain;
Your pangs I estimate minutely,--
I, too, have loved, and loved in vain.

"But still your humble rank and station
For MINNIE surely are not meet"--
He said much more in conversation
Which it were needless to repeat.

Now I'm prepared to bet a guinea,
Were this a mere dramatic case,
The page would have eloped with MINNIE.
But, no--he only left his place.

The simple Truth is my detective,
With me Sensation can't abide;
The Likely beats the mere Effective,
And Nature is my only guide.

MISTER WILLIAM

Oh, listen to the tale of MISTER WILLIAM, if you please,
Whom naughty, naughty judges sent away beyond the seas.
He forged a party's will, which caused anxiety and strife,
Resulting in his getting penal servitude for life.

He was a kindly goodly man, and naturally prone,
Instead of taking others' gold, to give away his own.
But he had heard of Vice, and longed for only once to strike--
To plan _one_ little wickedness--to see what it was like.

He argued with himself, and said, "A spotless man am I;
I can't be more respectable, however hard I try;
For six and thirty years I've always been as good as gold,
And now for half-an-hour I'll deal in infamy untold!

"A baby who is wicked at the early age of one,
And then reforms--and dies at thirty-six a spotless son,
Is never, never saddled with his babyhood's defect,
But earns from worthy men consideration and respect.

"So one who never revelled in discreditable tricks
Until he reached the comfortable age of thirty-six,
Is free for half-an-hour to perpetrate a deed of shame,
Without incurring permanent disgrace, or even blame.

"That babies don't commit such crimes as forgery is true,
But little sins develop, if you leave 'em to accrue;
And he who shuns all vices as successive seasons roll,
Should reap at length the benefit of so much self-control.

"The common sin of babyhood--objecting to be drest--
If you leave it to accumulate at compound interest,
For anything you know, may represent, if you're alive,
A burglary or murder at the age of thirty-five.

"Still, I wouldn't take advantage of this fact, but be content
With some pardonable folly--it's a mere experiment.
The greater the temptation to go wrong, the less the sin;
So with something that's particularly tempting I'll begin.

"I would not steal a penny, for my income's very fair--
I do not want a penny--I have pennies and to spare--
And if I stole a penny from a money-bag or till,
The sin would be enormous--the temptation being _nil_.

"But if I broke asunder all such pettifogging bounds,
And forged a party's Will for (say) Five Hundred Thousand Pounds,
With such an irresistible temptation to a haul,
Of course the sin must be infinitesimally small.

"There's WILSON who is dying--he has wealth from Stock and rent--
If I divert his riches from their natural descent,
I'm placed in a position to indulge each little whim."
So he diverted them--and they, in turn, diverted him.

Unfortunately, though, by some unpardonable flaw,
Temptation isn't recognised by Britain's Common Law;
Men found him out by some peculiarity of touch,
And WILLIAM got a "lifer," which annoyed him very much.

For ah! he never reconciled himself to life in gaol,
He fretted and he pined, and grew dispirited and pale;
He was numbered like a cabman, too, which told upon him so,
That his spirits, once so buoyant, grew uncomfortably low.

And sympathetic gaolers would remark, "It's very true,
He ain't been brought up common, like the likes of me and you."
So they took him into hospital, and gave him mutton chops,
And chocolate, and arrowroot, and buns, and malt and hops.

Kind clergymen, besides, grew interested in his fate,
Affected by the details of his pitiable state.
They waited on the Secretary, somewhere in Whitehall,
Who said he would receive them any day they liked to call.

"Consider, sir, the hardship of this interesting case:
A prison life brings with it something very like disgrace;
It's telling on young WILLIAM, who's reduced to skin and bone--
Remember he's a gentleman, with money of his own.

"He had an ample income, and of course he stands in need
Of sherry with his dinner, and his customary weed;
No delicacies now can pass his gentlemanly lips--
He misses his sea-bathing and his continental trips.

"He says the other prisoners are commonplace and rude;
He says he cannot relish the disgusting prison food,
For when a boy they taught him to distinguish Good from Bad,
And other educational advantages he's had.

"A burglar or garrotter, or, indeed, a common thief
Is very glad to batten on potatoes and on beef,
Or anything, in short, that prison kitchens can afford,--
A cut above the diet in a common workhouse ward.

"But beef and mutton-broth don't seem to suit our WILLIAM'S whim,
A boon to other prisoners--a punishment to him:
It never was intended that the discipline of gaol
Should dash a convict's spirits, sir, or make him thin or pale."

"Good Gracious Me!" that sympathetic Secretary cried,
"Suppose in prison fetters MISTER WILLIAM should have died!
Dear me, of course! Imprisonment for _Life_ his sentence saith:
I'm very glad you mentioned it--it might have been For Death!

"Release him with a ticket--he'll be better then, no doubt,
And tell him I apologise." So MISTER WILLIAM'S out.
I hope he will be careful in his manuscripts, I'm sure,
And not begin experimentalising any more.

WOULD YOU KNOW?

Would you know the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a?
Eyes must be downcast and staid,
Cheeks must flush for shame-a!
She may neither dance nor sing,
But, demure in everything,
Hang her head in modest way
With pouting lips that seem to say,
"Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,
Though I die of shame-a!"
Please you, that's the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a!

When a maid is bold and gay
With a tongue goes clang-a,
Flaunting it in brave array,
Maiden may go hang-a!
Sunflower gay and hollyhock
Never shall my garden stock;
Mine the blushing rose of May,
With pouting lips that seem to say
"Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,
Though I die for shame-a!"
Please you, that's the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a!

PASHA BAILEY BEN

A proud Pasha was BAILEY BEN,
His wives were three, his tails were ten;
His form was dignified, but stout,
Men called him "Little Roundabout."

_His Importance_

Pale Pilgrims came from o'er the sea
To wait on PASHA BAILEY B.,
All bearing presents in a crowd,
For B. was poor as well as proud.

_His Presents_

They brought him onions strung on ropes,
And cold boiled beef, and telescopes,
And balls of string, and shrimps, and guns,
And chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.

_More of them_

They brought him white kid gloves, and pails,
And candlesticks, and potted quails,
And capstan-bars, and scales and weights,
And ornaments for empty grates.

_Why I mention these_

My tale is not of these--oh no!
I only mention them to show
The divers gifts that divers men
Brought o'er the sea to BAILEY BEN.

_His Confidant_

A confidant had BAILEY B.,
A gay Mongolian dog was he;
I am not good at Turkish names,
And so I call him SIMPLE JAMES.

_His Confidant's Countenance_

A dreadful legend you might trace
In SIMPLE JAMES'S honest face,
For there you read, in Nature's print,
"A Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint."

_His Character_

A deed of blood, or fire, or flames,
Was meat and drink to SIMPLE JAMES:
To hide his guilt he did not plan,
But owned himself a bad young man.

_The Author to his Reader_

And why on earth good BAILEY BEN
(The wisest, noblest, best of men)
Made SIMPLE JAMES his right-hand man
Is quite beyond my mental span.

_The same, continued_

But there--enough of gruesome deeds!
My heart, in thinking of them, bleeds;
And so let SIMPLE JAMES take wing,--
'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.

_The Pasha's Clerk_

Good PASHA BAILEY kept a clerk
(For BAILEY only made his mark),
His name was MATTHEW WYCOMBE COO,
A man of nearly forty-two.

_His Accomplishments_

No person that I ever knew
Could "yödel" half as well as COO,
And Highlanders exclaimed, "Eh, weel!"
When COO began to dance a reel.

_His Kindness to the Pasha's Wives_

He used to dance and sing and play
In such an unaffected way,
He cheered the unexciting lives
Of PASHA BAILEY'S lovely wives.

_The Author to his Reader_

But why should I encumber you
With histories of MATTHEW COO?
Let MATTHEW COO at once take wing.--
'Tis not of COO I'm going to sing.

_The Author's Muse_

Let me recall my wandering Muse
She _shall_ be steady if I choose--
She roves, instead of helping me
To tell the deeds of BAILEY B.

_The Pasha's Visitor_

One morning knocked, at half-past eight,
A tall Red Indian at his gate.
In Turkey, as you're p'raps aware,
Red Indians are extremely rare.

_The Visitor's Outfit_

Mocassins decked his graceful legs,
His eyes were black, and round as eggs,
And on his neck, instead of beads,
Hung several Catawampous seeds.

_What the Visitor said_

"Ho, ho!" he said, "thou pale-faced one,
Poor offspring of an Eastern sun,
You've _never_ seen the Red Man skip
Upon the banks of Mississip!"

_The Author's Moderation_

To say that BAILEY oped his eyes
Would feebly paint his great surprise--
To say it almost made him die
Would be to paint it much too high.

_The Author to his Reader_

But why should I ransack my head
To tell you all that Indian said;
We'll let the Indian man take wing,--
'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.

_The Reader to the Author_

Come, come, I say, that's quite enough
Of this absurd disjointed stuff;
Now let's get on to that affair
About LIEUTENANT-COLONEL FLARE.

LIEUTENANT-COLONEL FLARE

The earth has armies plenty,
And semi-warlike bands,
I dare say there are twenty
In European lands;
But, oh! in no direction
You'd find one to compare
In brotherly affection
With that of COLONEL FLARE.

His soldiers might be rated
As military Pearls:
As unsophisticated
As pretty little girls!

They never smoked or ratted,
Or talked of Sues or Polls;
The Sergeant-Major tatted,
The others nursed their dolls.

He spent his days in teaching
These truly solemn facts;
There's little use in preaching,
Or circulating tracts.
(The vainest plan invented
For stifling other creeds,
Unless it's supplemented
With charitable _deeds_.)

He taught his soldiers kindly
To give at Hunger's call:
"Oh, better far give blindly
Than never give at all!
Though sympathy be kindled
By Imposition's game,
Oh, better far be swindled
Than smother up its flame!"

His means were far from ample
For pleasure or for dress,
Yet note this bright example
Of single-heartedness:
Though ranking as a Colonel,
His pay was but a groat,
While their reward diurnal
Was--each a five-pound note.

Moreover,--this evinces
His kindness, you'll allow,--
He fed them all like princes,
And lived himself on cow.

He set them all regaling
On curious wines, and dear,
While he would sit pale-ale-ing,
Or quaffing ginger-beer.

Then at his instigation
(A pretty fancy this)
Their daily pay and ration
He'd take in change for his;
They brought it to him weekly,
And he without a groan
Would take it from them meekly
And give them all his own!

Though not exactly knighted
As knights, of course, should be,
Yet no one so delighted
In harmless chivalry.
If peasant girl or ladye
Beneath misfortunes sank,
Whate'er distinctions made he,
They were not those of rank.

No maiden young and comely
Who wanted good advice
(However poor or homely)
Need ask him for it twice.

He'd wipe away the blindness
That comes of teary dew;
His sympathetic kindness
No sort of limit knew.

He always hated dealing
With men who schemed or planned;
A person harsh--unfeeling--
The Colonel could not stand.
He hated cold, suspecting,
Official men in blue,
Who pass their lives detecting
The crimes that others do.

For men who'd shoot a sparrow,
Or immolate a worm
Beneath a farmer's harrow,
He could not find a term.
Humanely, ay, and knightly
He dealt with such an one;
He took and tied him tightly,
And blew him from a gun.

The earth has armies plenty,
And semi-warlike bands,
I'm certain there are twenty
In European lands;
But, oh! in no direction
You'd find one to compare
In brotherly affection
With that of COLONEL FLARE.

SPECULATION

Comes a train of little ladies
From scholastic trammels free,
Each a little bit afraid is,
Wondering what the world can be!

Is it but a world of trouble--
Sadness set to song?
Is its beauty but a bubble
Bound to break ere long?

Are its palaces and pleasures
Fantasies that fade?
And the glory of its treasures
Shadow of a shade?

Schoolgirls we, eighteen and under,
From scholastic trammels free,
And we wonder--how we wonder!--
What on earth the world can be!

AH ME!

When maiden loves, she sits and sighs
She wanders to and fro;
Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes,
And to all questions she replies
With a sad heigho!
'Tis but a little word--"heigho!"
So soft, 'tis scarcely heard--"heigho!
An idle breath--
Yet life and death
May hang upon a maid's "heigho!"

When maiden loves, she mopes apart,
As owl mopes on a tree;
Although she keenly feels the smart,
She cannot tell what ails her heart,
With its sad "Ah me!"
'Tis but a foolish sigh--"Ah me!"
Born but to droop and die--"Ah me!"
Yet all the sense
Of eloquence
Lies hidden in a maid's "Ah me!"

LOST MR. BLAKE

MR. BLAKE was a regular out-and-out hardened sinner,
Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak:
He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking
a glass of grog on Sunday after dinner,
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.

He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dresses
That the clergyman wore at the church where he used
to go to pray,
And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap's
distresses,
He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-
and-corner sort of way.

I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanly
emphatics,
When the Protestant Church has been divided on the
subject of the width of a chasuble's hem;
I have even known him to sneer at albs--and as for
dalmatics,
Words can't convey an idea of the contempt he expressed
for _them_.

He didn't believe in persons who, not being well off them-
selves, are obliged to confine their charitable exertions
to collecting money from wealthier people,
And looked upon individuals of the former class as
ecclesiastical hawks;
He used to say that he would no more think of interfering
with his priest's robes than with his church or his
steeple,
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 ecclesiastical
GUY FAWKES.

This shocking old vagabond was so unutterably shameless
That he actually went a-courting a very respectable and
pious middle-aged sister, by the name of BIGGS:
She was a rather attractive widow whose life, as such, had
always been particularly blameless;
Her first husband had left her a secure but moderate
competence owing to some fortunate speculations in
the matter of figs.

She was an excellent person in every way--and won the
respect even of MRS. GRUNDY,
She was a good housewife, too, and wouldn't have wasted
a penny if she had owned the Koh-i-noor;

She was just as strict as he was lax in her observance of
Sunday,
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.

I am sorry to say that she rather took to BLAKE--that outcast
of society;
And when respectable brothers who were fond of her
began to look dubious and to cough,
She would say, "Oh, my friends, it's because I hope to
bring this poor benighted soul back to virtue and
propriety"
(And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his faults,
was uncommonly well off).

And when MR. BLAKE'S dissipated friends called his attention
to the frown or the pout of her,
Whenever he did anything which appeared to her to
savour of an unmentionable place,
He would say she would be a very decent old girl when all
that nonsense was knocked out of her--
And his method of knocking it out of her is one that
covered him with disgrace.

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,
So he hunted out all the churches within a convenient
distance that had services at different hours, so to
speak;
And when he had married her he positively insisted upon
their going to all of them,
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.

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,
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;

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,
She soon began to find that even charity, if you allow it
to interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes an
intolerable bore.

On Sundays she was always melancholy and anything but
good society,
For that day in her household was a day of sighings and
sobbings and wringing of hands and shaking of heads:
She wouldn't hear of a button being sewn on a glove,
because it was a work neither of necessity nor of
piety,

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 dinner, waiting generally on the family,
and making the beds.

But BLAKE even went farther than that, and said that, on
Sundays, people should do their own works of necessity,
and not delegate them to persons in a menial situation,
So he wouldn't allow his servants to do so much as
even answer a bell.
Here he is making his wife carry up the water for her bath
to the second floor, much against her inclination,--
And why in the world the gentleman who illustrates
these ballads has put him into a cocked hat is more
than I can tell.

After about three months of this sort of thing, taking the
smooth with the rough of it
(Blacking her own boots and peeling her own potatoes
was not her notion of connubial bliss),
MRS. BLAKE began to find that she had pretty nearly had
enough of it,
And came, in course of time, to think that BLAKE'S own
original line of conduct wasn't so much amiss.

And now that wicked person--that detestable sinner
("BELIAL BLAKE" his friends and well-wishers call
him for his atrocities),
And his poor deluded victim whom all her Christian
brothers dislike and pity so,
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,
And I should like to know where in the world (or rather,
out of it) they expect to go!

THE DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO

In enterprise of martial kind,
When there was any fighting,
He led his regiment from behind
(He found it less exciting).
But when away his regiment ran,
His place was at the fore, O-
That celebrated,
Cultivated,
Underrated
Nobleman,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha!
You always found that knight, ha, ha!
That celebrated,
Cultivated,
Underrated
Nobleman,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

When, to evade Destruction's hand,
To hide they all proceeded,
No soldier in that gallant band
Hid half as well as he did.
He lay concealed throughout the war,
And so preserved his gore, O!
That unaffected,
Undetected,
Well connected
Warrior,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
In every doughty deed, ha, ha!
He always took the lead, ha, ha!
That unaffected,
Undetected,
Well connected
Warrior,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

When told that they would all be shot
Unless they left the service,
That hero hesitated not,
So marvellous his nerve is.
He sent his resignation in,
The first of all his corps, O!

That very knowing,
Overflowing,
Easy-going
Paladin,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
To men of grosser clay, ha, ha!
He always showed the way, ha, ha!
That very knowing,
Overflowing,
Easy-going
Paladin,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

THE BABY'S VENGEANCE

Weary at heart and extremely ill
Was PALEY VOLLAIRE of Bromptonville,
In a dirty lodging, with fever down,
Close to the Polygon, Somers Town.

PALEY VOLLAIRE was an only son
(For why? His mother had had but one),
And PALEY herited gold and grounds
Worth several hundred thousand pounds.

But he, like many a rich young man,
Through this magnificent fortune ran,
And nothing was left for his daily needs
But duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.

Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,
He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick"
Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,
Snicking off bits of his shortened life.

He woke and counted the pips on the walls,
The outdoor passengers' loud footfalls,
And reckoned all over, and reckoned again,
The little white tufts on his counterpane.

A medical man to his bedside came
(I can't remember that doctor's name),
And said, "You'll die in a very short while
If you don't set sail for Madeira's isle."

"Go to Madeira? goodness me!
I haven't the money to pay your fee!"
"Then, PALEY VOLLAIRE," said the leech, "good-bye;
I'll come no more, for you're sure to die."

He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast;
"Oh, send," said he, "for FREDERICK WEST,
Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim:
I've a terrible tale to whisper him!"

Poor was FREDERICK'S lot in life,--
A dustman he with a fair young wife,
A worthy man with a hard-earned store,
A hundred and seventy pounds--or more.

FREDERICK came, and he said, "Maybe
You'll say what you happen to want with me?"
"Wronged boy," said PALEY VOLLAIRE, "I will,
But don't you fidget yourself--sit still.

* * * * *

"'Tis now some thirty-seven years ago
Since first began the plot that I'm revealing.
A fine young woman, wed ten years or so,
Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing,
Herself by means of mangling reimbursing,
And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing.

"Two little babes dwelt in her humble cot:
One was her own--the other only lent to her:
_Her own she slighted._ Tempted by a lot
Of gold and silver regularly sent to her,
She ministered unto the little other
In the capacity of foster-mother.

"_I was her own._ Oh! how I lay and sobbed
In my poor cradle--deeply, deeply cursing
The rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbed
My only birthright--an attentive nursing!
Sometimes, in hatred of my foster-brother,
I gnashed my gums--which terrified my mother.

One darksome day (I should have mentioned that
We were alike in dress and baby feature)
I _in_ MY cradle having placed the brat,
Crept into his--the pampered little creature!
It was imprudent--well, disgraceful maybe,
For, oh! I was a bad, black-hearted baby!

"So rare a luxury was food, I think
There was no wickedness I wouldn't try for it.
_Now_ if I wanted anything to drink
At any time, I only had to cry for it!
_Once_, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking,
My blubbering involved a serious smacking!

"We grew up in the usual way--my friend,
My foster-brother, daily growing thinner,
While gradually I began to mend,
And thrived amazingly on double dinner.
And every one, besides my foster-mother,
Believed that either of us was the other.

"I came into his wealth--I bore his name,
I bear it still--his property I squandered--
I mortgaged everything--and now (oh, shame!)
Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered!
I am no PALEY--no VOLLAIRE--it's true, my boy!
The only rightful PALEY V. is _you_, my boy!

"And all I have is yours--and yours is mine.
I still may place you in your true position:
Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resign
My noble name, my rank, and my condition.
So for my sin in fraudulently owning
Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"

* * * * *

FREDERICK he was a simple soul,
He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll,
And gave to PALEY his hard-earned store,
A hundred and seventy pounds or more

PALEY VOLLAIRE, with many a groan,
Gave FREDERICK all that he'd called his own,--
Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,
A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.

And FRED (entitled to all things there)
He took the fever from MR. VOLLAIRE,
Which killed poor FREDERICK WEST. Meanwhile
VOLLAIRE sailed off to Madeira's isle.

THE ÆSTHETE

If you're anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line, as a man
of culture rare,
You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms, and plant
them everywhere.
You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of your
complicated state of mind
(The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of a
transcendental kind).
And every one will say,
As you walk your mystic way,
"If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for _me_,
Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man must
be!"

Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which have long
since passed away,
And convince 'em, if you can, that the reign of good QUEEN ANNE was
Culture's palmiest day.
Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever's fresh and new, and declare
it's crude and mean,
And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of the EMPRESS
JOSEPHINE.
And every one will say,
As you walk your mystic way,
"If that's not good enough for him which is good enough for _me_,
Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of youth must
be!"

Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion must excite your
languid spleen,
An attachment _à la_ Plato for a bashful young potato, or a
not-too-French French bean.
Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in
the high æsthetic band,
If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your mediæval
hand.
And every one will say,
As you walk your flowery way,
"If he's content with a vegetable love which would certainly not
suit _me_,
Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man
must be!"

THE CAPTAIN AND THE MERMAIDS

I sing a legend of the sea,
So hard-a-port upon your lee!
A ship on starboard tack!
She's bound upon a private cruise--
(This is the kind of spice I use
To give a salt-sea smack).

Behold, on every afternoon
(Save in a gale or strong monsoon)
Great CAPTAIN CAPEL CLEGGS
(Great morally, though rather short)
Sat at an open weather-port
And aired his shapely legs.

And Mermaids hung around in flocks,
On cable chains and distant rocks,
To gaze upon those limbs;
For legs like his, of flesh and bone,
Are things "not generally known"
To any Merman TIMBS.

But Mermen didn't seem to care
Much time (as far as I'm aware)
With CLEGGS'S legs to spend;
Though Mermaids swam around all day
And gazed, exclaiming, "That's the way
A gentleman should end!

"A pair of legs with well-cut knees
And calves and ankles such as these
Which we in rapture hail,
Are far more eloquent, it's clear,
When clothed in silk and kerseymere,
Than any nasty tail."

And CLEGGS--a worthy kind old boy--
Rejoiced to add to others' joy,
And, though he scarce knew why
(Perhaps to please the lookers-on),
He sat there every day--though con-
Stitutionally shy.

At first the Mermen sneered pooh-pooh,
But finally they jealous grew,
And sounded loud recalls;
But vainly. So these fishy males
Declared they too would clothe their tails
In silken hose and smalls.

They set to work, these water-men,
And made their nether robes--but when
They drew with dainty touch
The kerseymere upon their tails,
They found it scraped against their scales,
And hurt them very much.

The silk, besides, with which they chose
To deck their tails, by way of hose
(They never thought of shoon),
For such a use was much too thin,--
It tore against the caudal fin
And "went in ladders" soon.

So they designed another plan:
They sent their most seductive man
This note to CLEGGS to show--
"Our Monarch sends to CAPTAIN CLEGGS
His humble compliments, and begs
He'll join him down below;

"We've pleasant homes below the sea--
Besides, if CAPTAIN CLEGGS should be
(As our advices say)
A judge of Mermaids, he will find
Our lady-fish of every kind
Inspection will repay."

Good CAPEL sent a kind reply,
For CAPEL thought he could descry
An admirable plan
To study all their ways and laws--
(But not their lady-fish, because
He was a married man).

The Merman sank--the Captain too
Jumped overboard, and dropped from view
Like stone from catapult;
And when he reached the Merman's lair
He certainly was welcomed there,
But, ah! with what result?

They didn't let him learn their law,
Or make a note of what he saw,
Or interesting mem.:
The lady-fish he couldn't find,
But that, of course, he didn't mind--
He didn't come for them.

For though when CAPTAIN CAPEL sank
The Mermen drawn in double rank
Gave him a hearty hail;
Yet when secure of CAPTAIN CLEGGS,
They cut off both his lovely legs,
And gave him _such_ a tail!

When CAPTAIN CLEGGS returned aboard,
His blithesome crew convulsive roar'd,
To see him altered so.
The Admiralty did insist
That he upon the Half-pay list
Immediately should go.

In vain declared the poor old salt,
"It's my misfortune--not my fault,"
With tear and trembling lip--
In vain poor CAPEL begged and begged--
"A man must be completely legged
Who rules a British ship."

So spake the stern First Lord aloud--
He was a wag, though very proud,
And much rejoiced to say,
"You're only half a captain now--
And so, my worthy friend, I vow
You'll only get half-pay."

SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I

When I went to the Bar as a very young man
(Said I to myself--said I),
I'll work on a new and original plan
(Said I to myself--said I),
I'll never assume that a rogue or a thief
Is a gentleman worthy implicit belief,
Because his attorney has sent me a brief
(Said I to myself--said I!)

I'll never throw dust in a juryman's eyes
(Said I to myself--said I),
Or hoodwink a judge who is not over-wise
(Said I to myself--said I),
Or assume that the witnesses summoned in force
In Exchequer, Queen's Bench, Common Pleas, or Divorce,
Have perjured themselves as a matter of course
(Said I to myself--said I!)

Ere I go into court I will read my brief through
(Said I to myself--said I),
And I'll never take work I'm unable to do
(Said I to myself--said I).
My learned profession I'll never disgrace
By taking a fee with a grin on my face,
When I haven't been there to attend to the case
(Said I to myself--said I!)

In other professions in which men engage
(Said I to myself--said I),
The Army, the Navy, the Church, and the Stage
(Said I to myself--said I),
Professional licence, if carried too far,
Your chance of promotion will certainly mar--
And I fancy the rule might apply to the Bar
(Said I to myself--said I!)

ANNIE PROTHEROE

A LEGEND OF STRATFORD-LE-BOW

Oh! listen to the tale of little ANNIE PROTHEROE,
She kept a small post-office in the neighbourhood of BOW,
She loved a skilled mechanic, who was famous in his day--
A gentle executioner whose name was GILBERT CLAY.

I think I hear you say, "A dreadful subject for your rhymes!"
O reader, do not shrink--he didn't live in modern times!
He lived so long ago (the sketch will show it at a glance)
That all his actions glitter with the limelight of Romance.

In busy times he laboured at his gentle craft all day--
"No doubt you mean his Cal-craft" you amusingly will say--
But, no--he didn't operate with common bits of string,
He was a Public Headsman, which is quite another thing.

And when his work was over, they would ramble o'er the lea,
And sit beneath the frondage of an elderberry tree;
And ANNIE'S simple prattle entertained him on his walk,
For public executions formed the subject of her talk.

And sometimes he'd explain to her, which charmed her very much,
How famous operators vary very much in touch,
And then, perhaps, he'd show how he himself performed the trick,
And illustrate his meaning with a poppy and a stick.

Or, if it rained, the little maid would stop at home, and look
At his favourable notices, all pasted in a book,
And then her cheek would flush--her swimming eyes would dance with
joy
In a glow of admiration at the prowess of her boy.

One summer eve, at supper-time, the gentle GILBERT said
(As he helped his pretty ANNIE to a slice of collared head),
"This collared head reminds me that to-morrow is the day
When I decapitate your former lover, PETER GRAY."

He saw his ANNIE tremble and he saw his ANNIE start,
Her changing colour trumpeted the flutter at her heart;
Young GILBERT'S manly bosom rose and sank with jealous fear,
And he said, "O gentle ANNIE, what's the meaning of this here?"

And ANNIE answered, blushing in an interesting way,
"You think, no doubt, I'm sighing for that felon PETER GRAY:
That I was his young woman is unquestionably true,
But not since I began a-keeping company with you."

Then GILBERT, who was irritable, rose and loudly swore
He'd know the reason why if she refused to tell him more;
And she answered (all the woman in her flashing from her eyes),
"You mustn't ask no questions, and you won't be told no lies!

"Few lovers have the privilege enjoyed, my dear, by you,
Of chopping off a rival's head and quartering him too!
Of vengeance, dear, to-morrow you will surely take your fill!"
And GILBERT ground his molars as he answered her, "I will!"

Young GILBERT rose from table with a stern determined look,
And, frowning, took an inexpensive hatchet from its hook;
And ANNIE watched his movements with an interested air--
For the morrow--for the morrow he was going to prepare!

He chipped it with a hammer and he chopped it with a bill,
He poured sulphuric acid on the edge of it, until
This terrible Avenger of the Majesty of Law
Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw.

And ANNIE said, "O GILBERT, dear, I do not understand
Why ever you are injuring that hatchet in your hand?"
He said, "It is intended for to lacerate and flay
The neck of that unmitigated villain PETER GRAY!"

"Now, GILBERT," ANNIE answered, "wicked headsman just beware--
I won't have PETER tortured with that horrible affair;
If you attempt to flay him, you will surely rue the day."
But Gilbert said, "Oh, shall I?" which was just his nasty way.

He saw a look of anger from her eyes distinctly dart,
For ANNIE was a _woman_, and had pity in her heart!
She wished him a good evening--he answered with a glare;
She only said, "Remember, for your ANNIE will be there!"

* * * * *

The morrow Gilbert boldly on the scaffold took his stand,
With a vizor on his face and with a hatchet in his hand,
And all the people noticed that the Engine of the Law
Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw.

The felon very coolly loosed his collar and his stock,
And placed his wicked head upon the handy little block--
The hatchet was uplifted for to settle PETER GRAY,
When GILBERT plainly heard a woman's voice exclaiming, "Stay!"

'Twas ANNIE, gentle ANNIE, as you'll easily believe--
"O GILBERT, you must spare him, for I bring him a reprieve,
It came from our Home Secretary many weeks ago,
And passed through that post-office which I used to keep at Bow.

"I loved you, loved you madly, and you know it, GILBERT CLAY,
And having quite surrendered all idea of PETER GRAY,
I quietly suppressed it, as you'll clearly understand,
For I thought it might be awkward if he came and claimed my hand.

"In anger at my secret (which I could not tell before)
To lacerate poor PETER GRAY vindictively you swore;
I told you if you used that blunted axe you'd rue the day,
And so you will, you monster, for I'll marry PETER GRAY!"
[_And so she did._]

SORRY HER LOT

Sorry her lot who loves too well,
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,
Sad are the sighs that own the spell
Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly;
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When Love is alive and Hope is dead!

Sad is the hour when sets the Sun--
Dark is the night to Earth's poor daughters,
When to the ark the wearied one
Flies from the empty waste of waters!
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When Love is alive and Hope is dead!

AN UNFORTUNATE LIKENESS

I've painted SHAKESPEARE all my life--
"An infant" (even then at play),
"A boy," with stage-ambition rife,
Then "Married to ANN HATHAWAY."

"The bard's first ticket night" (or "ben.")
His "First appearance on the stage,"
His "Call before the curtain"--then
"Rejoicings when he came of age."

The bard play-writing in his room,
The bard a humble lawyer's clerk,
The bard a lawyer[1]--parson[2]--groom[3]--
The bard deer-stealing, after dark.

[Footnote 1:
"Go with me to a notary--seal me there
Your single bond."
--_Merchant of Venice_, Act I., sc. 3.]

[Footnote 2:
"And there she shall, at Friar Lawrence' cell,
Be shrived and married."
--_Romeo and Juliet_, Act II., sc. 4.]

[Footnote 3:
"And give their fasting horses provender."
--_Henry the Fifth_, Act IV., sc. 2.]

The bard a tradesman[4]--and a Jew[5]--
The bard a botanist[6]--a beak[7]--
The bard a skilled musician[8] too--
A sheriff[9] and a surgeon[10] eke!

Yet critics say (a friendly stock)
That, though with all my skill I try,
Yet even I can barely mock
The glimmer of his wondrous eye!

One morning as a work I framed,
There passed a person, walking hard;
"My gracious goodness," I exclaimed,
"How very like my dear old bard!

"Oh, what a model he would make!"
I rushed outside--impulsive me!--
"Forgive the liberty I take,
But you're so very"--"Stop!" said he.

"You needn't waste your breath or time,--
I know what you are going to say,--
That you're an artist, and that I'm
Remarkably like SHAKESPEARE. Eh?

[Footnote 4:
"Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares."
--_Troilus and Cressida_, Act I., sc. 3.]

[Footnote 5:
"Then must the Jew be merciful."
--_Merchant of Venice_, Act IV., sc. 1.]

[Footnote 6:
"The spring, the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries."
--_Midsummer Night's Dream_, Act II., sc. 1.]

[Footnote 7:
"In the county of Glo'ster, justice of the peace and _coram_."
--_Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act I., sc. 1.]

[Footnote 8:
"What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?"
--_King John_, Act V., sc. 2.]

[Footnote 9:
"And I'll provide his executioner."
--_Henry the Sixth_ (Second Part), Act III., sc. 1.]

[Footnote 10:
"The lioness had torn some flesh away,
Which all this while had bled."
--_As You Like It_, Act IV., sc. 3.]

"You wish that I would sit to you?"
I clasped him madly round the waist,
And breathlessly replied, "I do!"
"All right," said he, "but please make haste."

I led him by his hallowed sleeve,
And worked away at him apace,
I painted him till dewy eve,--
There never was a nobler face!

"Oh, sir," I said, "a fortune grand
Is yours, by dint of merest chance,--
To sport _his_ brow at second-hand,
To wear _his_ cast-off countenance!

"To rub _his_ eyes whene'er they ache--
To wear _his_ baldness ere you're old--
To clean _his_ teeth when you awake--
To blow _his_ nose when you've a cold!"

His eyeballs glistened in his eyes--
I sat and watched and smoked my pipe;
"Bravo!" I said, "I recognise
The phrensy of your prototype!"

His scanty hair he wildly tore:
"That's right," said I, "it shows your breed."
He danced--he stamped--he wildly swore--
"Bless me, that's very fine indeed!"

"Sir," said the grand Shakespearian boy
(Continuing to blaze away),
"You think my face a source of joy;
That shows you know not what you say.

"Forgive these yells and cellar-flaps,
I'm always thrown in some such state
When on his face well-meaning chaps
This wretched man congratulate.

"For, oh! this face--this pointed chin--
This nose--this brow--these eyeballs too,
Have always been the origin
Of all the woes I ever knew!

"If to the play my way I find,
To see a grand Shakespearian piece,
I have no rest, no ease of mind
Until the author's puppets cease!

"Men nudge each other--thus--and say,
'This certainly is SHAKESPEARE'S son,'
And merry wags (of course in play)
Cry 'Author!' when the piece is done.

"In church the people stare at me,
Their soul the sermon never binds;
I catch them looking round to see,
And thoughts of SHAKESPEARE fill their minds.

"And sculptors, fraught with cunning wile,
Who find it difficult to crown
A bust with BROWN'S insipid smile,
Or TOMKINS'S unmannered frown,

"Yet boldly make my face their own,
When (oh, presumption!) they require
To animate a paving-stone
With SHAKESPEARE'S intellectual fire.

"At parties where young ladies gaze,
And I attempt to speak my joy,
'Hush, pray,' some lovely creature says,
'The fond illusion don't destroy!'

"Whene'er I speak my soul is wrung
With these or some such whisperings;
''Tis pity that a SHAKESPEARE'S tongue
Should say such un-Shakespearian things!'

"I should not thus be criticised
Had I a face of common wont:
Don't envy me--now, be advised!"
And, now I think of it, I don't!

THE CONTEMPLATIVE SENTRY

When all night long a chap remains
On sentry-go, to chase monotony
He exercises of his brains,
That is, assuming that he's got any.
Though never nurtured in the lap
Of luxury, yet I admonish you,
I am an intellectual chap,
And think of things that would astonish you.
I often think it's comical
How Nature always does contrive
That every boy and every gal,
That's born into the world alive,
Is either a little Liberal,
Or else a little Conservative!
Fal lal la!

When in that house M.P.'s divide,
If they've a brain and cerebellum, too,
They've got to leave that brain outside,
And vote just as their leaders tell 'em to.
But then the prospect of a lot
Of statesmen, all in close proximity,
A-thinking for themselves, is what
No man can face with equanimity.
Then let's rejoice with loud Fal lal
That Nature wisely does contrive
That every boy and every gal,
That's born into the world alive,
Is either a little Liberal,
Or else a little Conservative!
Fal lal la!

GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.

A leafy cot, where no dry rot
Had ever been by tenant seen,
Where ivy clung and wopses stung,
Where beeses hummed and drummed and strummed,
Where treeses grew and breezes blew--
A thatchy roof, quite waterproof,
Where countless herds of dicky-birds
Built twiggy beds to lay their heads
(My mother begs I'll make it "eggs,"
But though it's true that dickies do
Construct a nest with chirpy noise,
With view to rest their eggy joys,

'Neath eavy sheds, yet eggs and beds,
As I explain to her in vain
Five hundred times, are faulty rhymes).
'Neath such a cot, built on a plot
Of freehold land, dwelt MARY and
Her worthy father, named by me
GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.

He knew no guile, this simple man,
No worldly wile, or plot, or plan,
Except that plot of freehold land
That held the cot, and MARY, and
Her worthy father, named by me
GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.