images of public domain material from the google print project.) the rubaiyat of omar cayenne by gelett burgess new york frederick a stokes company publishers copyright, , by gelett burgess _published december, _ the rubaiyat of omar cayenne i wake! for the hack can scatter into flight shakespere and dante in a single night! the penny-a-liner is abroad, and strikes our modern literature with blithering blight. ii before historical romances died, methought a voice from art's olympus cried, "when all dumas and scott is still for sale, why nod o'er drowsy tales, by tyros tried?" iii a cock-sure crew with names ne'er heard before greedily shouted--"open then the door! you know how little stuff is going to live, but where it came from there is plenty more." iv now the new year reviving old desires, the artist poor to calendars aspires, but of the stuff the publisher puts out most in the paper basket soon suspires. v harum indeed is gone, and lady rose, and janice meredith, where no one knows; but still the author gushes overtime, and many a poet babbles on in prose. vi aldrich's lips are lock'd; but people buy high-piping authoresses, boomed sky-high. "how fine!"--the publisher cries to the mob, that monumental cheek to justify. vii come, fill the purse, to publishers, this spring, your manuscripts of paltry passion bring: the new york times has oft a little way of praising--let the times your praises sing. viii whether by century or doubleday, whether macmillan or the harpers pay, the publisher prints new books every year; the critics will keep busy, anyway! ix each morn a thousand volumes brings, you say; yes, but who reads the books of yesterday? and this first autumn list that brings the new shall take the pit and mrs. wiggs away. x well, let it take them! what, are we not through with richard calmady and emmy lou? let ade and dooley guy us as they will, or ella wheeler wilcox--heed not you. xi with me despise this kind of fiction rude that just divides the rotten from the good, where names of poe and dickens are forgot-- and peace to thackeray with his giant brood! xii a book of limericks--nonsense, anyhow-- alice in wonderland, the purple cow beside me singing on fifth avenue-- ah, this were modern literature enow! xiii some for the stories of the world; and some sigh for the boston transcript till it come; ah, take the sun, and let the herald go, nor heed the yellow journalistic scum! xiv look to the blowing advertiser--"lo, booming's the way," he says, "to make books go! i advertise until i've drained my purse, and huge editions on the market throw." xv and those who made a mint off miss maclane, and those who shuddered at her jests profane, alike consigned her to oblivion, and buried once, would not dig up again. xvi anthony hope men set their hearts upon-- like conan doyle he prospered; and anon, remained unopened on the dusty shelf, delighting us an hour--and then was gone. xvii think, in this gaudy monthly magazine whose covers are soapette and breakfastine, how author after author with his tale fills his fool pages, and no more is seen. xviii they say that now miss myra kelly reaps rewards that howells used to have for keeps: and seton, that great hunter of wild beasts has coin ahead; cash comes to him in heaps! xix i sometimes think that never prose is read so good as that by advertising bred, and every verse sapolian poets sing brings laurel wreaths once twin'd for spenser's head. xx and this audacious author, young and green in smart set--surely you know whom i mean-- ah, look upon him lightly! for who knows but once in lippincott's he wrote unseen! xxi ah, my belovèd, write the book that clears to-day of dreary debt and sad arrears; _to-morrow!_--why, to-morrow i may see my nonsense popular as edward lear's. xxii for some we've read, the month's six selling best the bookman scored with elephantine jest, have sold a half a million in a year, yet no one ever heard of them, out west! xxiii and we, that now within the editor's room make merry while we have our little boom, ourselves must we give way to next month's set-- girls with three names, who know not who from whom! xxiv ah, make the most of what we yet may do, before our royalties have vanish'd, too, book after book, and under book to lie, sans page, sans cover, reader--or review! xxv alike for those who for to-day have shame, and those who strive for some to-morrow's fame, a critic from anonymous darkness cries, "fools, your reward will fool you, just the same!" xxvi why, e'en marie corelli, who discuss'd of the two worlds so learnedly, is thrust like elbert hubbard forth; her words to scorn are scatter'd, and her books by critics cussed. xxvii myself when young did eagerly peruse james, meredith and hardy--but to lose my reason, trying to make head or tail; the more i read, the more did they confuse. xxviii with them the germs of madness did i sow, and with "two magics" sought to make it grow; yet this was all the answer that i found-- "what it is all about, i do not know!" xxix into the library, and _why_ not knowing, nor _what i want_, i find myself a-going; and out of it, with nothing fit to read-- such is the catalogue's anæmic showing. xxx what, without asking, to be hypnotized into a sale of stevenson disguised? oh, many a page of bernard shaw's last play must drown the thought of novels dramatized! xxxi up from the country, into gay broadway i came, and bought a scribner's, yesterday, and many a tale i read and understood, but not the master-tale of kipling's "they." xxxii there was a plot to which i found no key; and others seem to be as dull as me; some little talk there was of ghosts, and such, then mrs. bathurst left me more at sea! xxxiii kim could not answer--sherlock holmes would fail-- the most enlightened browningite turn pale in futile wonder and in blank dismay; say, is there any meaning to that tale? xxxiv then of the critic, he who works behind the author's back, i tried the clue to find; but he, too, was in darkness; and i heard a literary agent say--"they all are blind!" xxxv then, from the lips of editor, i learn, "this story is the kind for which i yearn; its advertising brought us such renown, we jumped three hundred thousand, on that turn!" xxxvi i think the man exaggerated some his increased circulation,--but, i vum! if i could get two thousand for one tale, i'd write him something that would simply hum! xxxvii for i remember, shopping by the way, i saw a novel writ by bertha clay; and there was scrawled across its title-page, "this is the stuff that sells--so people say!" xxxviii listen--a moment listen!--of the same wood-pulp on which is printed hewlett's name, the "duchess" books are made--in fifty years they both will rot asunder--who's to blame?" xxxix and not a book that from our shelves we throw to the salvation army, but shall go to vitiate the taste of some poor soul who can get nothing else to read--go slow! xl as then the poet for his morning sup fills with a metaphor his mental cup, do you devoutly read your manuscripts that someone may, before you burn them up! xli perplex'd no more with editorial "nay" to-morrow's reputation cast away, and lose your college education in the flippant, foolish fiction of to-day. xlii and if the bosh you write, the trash you read, end in the garbage barrel--take no heed; think that you are no worse than other scribes, who scribble stuff to meet the public need. xliii so, when who's-who records your silly name, you'll think that you have found the road to fame; and though ten thousand other names are there, you'll fancy you're a genius, just the same! xliv why, if an author can fling art aside, and in a book of balderdash take pride, wer't not a shame--wer't not a shame for him a conscientious novel to have tried? xlv writing's a trade where newspapers pay best; legallienne this verity confess'd; so join the union, like the rest of us-- who strikes for art is looked at as a jest. xlvi and fear not, if the editor refuse your work, he has no more from which to choose; the literary microbe shall bring forth millions of manuscripts too bad to use. xlvii when fitch's comedies have all gone past, oh, the long time pinero's plays shall last, which of belasco's little triumphs heed as frohman's self should heed a bowery cast! xlviii a moment's halt--pray see this charming, chaste ladies' home journal--"on the new shirt waist"-- "advice to girls," and so forth--here is reach'd the nothing women yearn for, undebased! xlix would you a hurried lunch hour wish to spend about the secret--hearken to me, friend! the editors themselves must guess their way-- and on their wives' and sisters' hints depend! l a hair perhaps divides the good from bad; and bok himself a lot of trouble had before he found stenographers were wise-- then, as they laughed or wept, his soul was glad. li the woman's touch runs through our magazines; for her the home-and-mother tale, and scenes of love-and-action, happy at the end-- the same old plots, the same old ways and means. lii the theme once guess'd, the tale's as good as told, though dialect and local color mould; this style will last throughout eternity, while women buy our books--if books are sold. liii but if, in spite of this, you build a plot which these immortal elements has not, you gaze to-day upon a slip, which reads: "the editor regrets"--and such-like rot. liv waste not your ink, and don't attempt to use that subtle touch which editors refuse; better be jocund at two cents a word than, starving, court an ill-requited muse! lv you know, my friends, i've done with purple cows, and long to sober fiction paid my vows; spontaneous glee is mighty hard to sell-- 'twas carolyn wells that shot across _my_ bows. lvi for stuff and nonsense being in my line, as nonsense modern fiction i define; but of the sort that one would care for, i can find but little--and that little's mine! lvii ah, but this wholesale satire, you may say, makes me pretend to be a critic--nay! rather be roasted than to roast, say i; and i have been well roasted, by the way! lviii and lately, in a studio, a miss sat smiling o'er a book--and it was this: "the pipes of pan"--she showed it me, and read, bidding me pay attention--it was bliss! lix bliss carman, who with genius absolute, my poor satiric logic can confute; the only poet who, in modern days, his poems can to clinking gold transmute! lx the vagrant singer, how does he, good lord, compete with such a money-making horde of tinsel rhymesters that infest the shops? they say he makes enough to pay his board! lxi why, be our talent truly art, how dare refuse our lucubrations everywhere? and if it's rot, as our rejections hint, god knows the things they print are rot, for fair! lxii i must abjure dramatic force, i must take the sub-editor's decree on trust, or, lured by hope of selling something good, write out my heart--then burn it in disgust! lxiii oh, threats of failure, hopes of royalties! one thing at least i've sold--these parodies; one thing is certain, satire always sells; the roast is read, no matter where it is. lxiv strange, is it not? that of the authors who publish in england, such a mighty few make a success, though here they score a hit? the british public knows a thing or two! lxv by revelations of the past we've learn'd the yankee author usually is burn'd; all of our story writers say the same; the london critic all their books have spurn'd. lxvi i sent my agent where the buyers dwell, some clever stories of my own to sell: and by and by the agent said to me, "one thing i sold--that's doing mighty well!" lxvii so heaven seems tame indeed when i behold editions of five hundred thousand sold; when clippings show how critics scorch me, then hell's roasting seems comparatively cold! lxviii we are no other than a passing show of clumsy mountebanks that come and go to please the general public; now, who gave to it the right to judge, i'd like to know? lxix impotent writers bound to feed its taste for literature and poetry debased; hither and thither pandering we strive, and one by one our talents are disgraced. lxx the scribe no question makes of verse or prose, but what the editor demands he shows; and he who buys three thousand words of drule, _he_ knows what people want--you bet he knows! lxxi the facile scribbler writes; and, having writ, no rules of rhetoric bother him a bit, or lure him back to cancel half a line, nor grammar's protests change a word of it. lxxii and though you wring your hands and wonder why such slipshod work the magazines will buy, don't grumble at the editor, for he must serve the public, e'en as you and i. lxxiii with puck's first joke, they did the last life feed, and there of judge's stories sowed the seed: and the first jokelet that joe miller wrote the sunday comic-section readers read. lxxiv yesterday _this_ day's popular song supplants; to-morrow's will be even worse, perchance: drink! for the latest coon-song's floating by: drink! now the music is an indian dance! lxxv i tell you this--when, started from the goal, the first plantation ditty 'gan to roll through minstrel troupes and negro baritones in its predestined race from pole to pole, lxxvi the song had caught a rag-time girls could shout and piano-organs make a din about; but syncopated melodies at last will pass away, and more shall come, no doubt. lxxvii and this i know: though vaudeville delight, musical comedy can bore me quite; one act of ibsen from the gallery caught, better than daly for a festal night! lxxviii what! out of senseless show-girls to evoke a drama? surely, i resent the joke! for me, it is not pleasure, but a pain-- an everlasting bore for decent folk. lxxix what, must the theatre manager be paid-- our gold for what his carpenter has made-- must we pay stars we never did contract, and cannot hiss at?--oh, the sorry trade! lxxx oh thou, who dost with cool sarcastic grin scorn the poor magazine my story's in, though thou impute to ignorance my work, i know how bad 't will be, ere i begin! lxxxi oh thou, whose taste demandeth silly tales, damning the author when he tries and fails, let us toss up to see which one is worse-- thy fault or mine--which is it, heads or tails? * * * * * lxxxii as, for his luncheon hour, away had slipp'd the editor, his office-boy i tipp'd, and once again before the sacred desk i stood, surrounded by much manuscript. lxxxiii manuscripts of all sizes, great and small, upon that desk, in numbers to appall! and some looked very interesting; some i saw no sign of merit in, at all. lxxxiv said one among them--"surely not in vain my author has exhausted all his brain in writing me, to be rejected here-- i'd hate to have to be sent back again!" lxxxv then said a second--"ne'er a girl or boy such stuff as i am really could enjoy: yet he who wrote me, when i am return'd, will me with curse and bitter wrath destroy!" lxxxvi after a literary silence spake a manuscript of henry james's make; "they sneer at me for being so occult: but kipling's found such stuff is going to take!" lxxxvii whereat some one of the typewritten lot-- i think it was cy brady's--waxing hot-- "all this of shop and patter--tell me then, who buys--who reads--the stuff that boils _my_ pot?" lxxxviii "why," said another, "some there are who tell of one who threatens he will toss to hell the luckless tales he marr'd in making--pish! he's a blamed fool, any old thing will sell!" lxxxix "well," murmur'd one, "let whoso write or buy, my words with long oblivion are gone dry: but bind me new, let christy illustrate, methinks i'd sell at christmas time; i'll try!" xc so while the manuscripts were wisely speaking, the editor came in whom i was seeking: and then they signall'd to me, "brother! brother! yours is rejected! you had best be sneaking!" * * * * * xci though carnegie for literature provide, he tombs a body whence the life has died, and no one seems to turn a single leaf upon the unfrequented classic side, xcii unless to see some first edition rare, or curious styles of binding to compare; art's true believers know their aldus well, but of the author bound, are unaware! xciii indeed, rare books that they have yearn'd for long have done their literary taste much wrong: reprints of burton will not sell to-day (i mean the stupid burton) for a song! xciv indeed, such first editions oft before i envied, but they proved to be a bore. why, are not tenth editions still more rare? mine are! why are they not worth even more? xcv and much as art has play'd the infidel and robb'd me of my royalties--ah, well, i often wonder what the women read one half as clever as the stuff i sell! xcvi yet ah, that spring should come to bring our woes! that christmas season's sales should ever close! the book whose praises loud the critic sang, is not the one that sells the most, god knows! xcvii would but these book reviewers ever yield one glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd of what the fainting traveller can read worth reading--but the critic's eyes are seal'd. xcviii would but some wingèd angel bring the news of critic who _reads_ books that he reviews! and make the stern reviewer do as well himself, before he meed of praise refuse! xcix ah, love! could you and i perchance succeed in boiling down the million books we read into one book, and edit that a bit-- there'd be a world's best literature, indeed! * * * * * c oh, rising author, read me once again before my memory gradually wane! how oft hereafter you may look for me in this same library--and look in vain! ci and when, dear reader, _you_ shall chance to spend a night within the hall of fame--attend! if, in that blissful call, you find the spot where i broke in--don't turn me down, my friend! [illustration: front cover] [illustration] the rocket book by peter newell harper & brothers new york copyright, , by harper & brothers -------------- patented june , -------------- printed in the united states of america published october, the rocket book [illustration] the basement when fritz, the janitor's bad kid, went snooping in the basement, he found a rocket snugly hid beneath the window casement. he struck a match with one fell swoop; then, on the concrete kneeling, he lit the rocket and--she--oop! it shot up through the ceiling. [illustration: the basement] first flat the steiners on the floor above of breakfast were partaking; crash! came the rocket, unannounced, and set them all a-quaking! it smote a catsup bottle, fair, and bang! the thing exploded! and now these people all declare that catsup flask was loaded. [illustration: first flat] second flat before the fire old grandpa hopp dozed in his arm-chair big, when from a trunk the rocket burst and carried off his wig! it passed so near his ancient head he roused up with a start, and, turning to his grandsons, said, "you fellows think you're smart!" [illustration: second flat] third flat algernon bracket, somewhat rash, had blown a monster bubble, when, oh! there came a blinding flash, precipitating trouble! but algy turned in mild disgust, and called to mama bracket, "say, did you hear that bubble bu'st? it made an awful racket!" [illustration: third flat] fourth flat jo budd, who'd bought a potted plant, was dousing it with water. he fancied this would make it grow, and joseph loved to potter. then through the pot the rocket shot and made the scene look sickly! "well, now," said jo, "i never thought that plant would shoot so quickly!" [illustration: fourth flat] fifth flat right here 'tis needful to remark that dick and "little son" were playing with a noah's ark and having loads of fun, when all at once that rocket, stout, up through the ark came blazing! the animals were tossed about and did some stunts amazing. [illustration: fifth flat] sixth flat a burglar on the next floor up the sideboard was exploring. (the family, with the brindled pup, were still asleep and snoring.) just then, up through the silverware the rocket thundered, flaring! the burglar got a dreadful scare; then out the door went tearing. [illustration: sixth flat] seventh flat miss mamie briggs with no mean skill was playing "casey's fling" to please her cousin, amos gill, who liked that sort of thing, when suddenly the rocket, hot, the old piano jumbled! it stopped that rag-time like a shot, then through the ceiling rumbled. [illustration: seventh flat] eighth flat up through the next floor on its way that rocket, dread, went tearing where winkle stood in bath-robe, gay, a tepid bath preparing. the tub it punctured like a shot and made a mighty splashing. the man was rooted to the spot; then out the door went dashing. [illustration: eighth flat] ninth flat bob brooks was puffing very hard his football to inflate, while round him stood his faithful guard, and they could hardly wait. then came the rocket, fierce and bright, and through the football rumbled. "you've got a pair of lungs, all right!" his staring playmates grumbled. [illustration: ninth flat] tenth flat the family dog, with frenzied mien, was chasing fluff, the mouser, when, poof! the rocket flashed between, and quite astonished towzer. now, if this dog had wit enough the english tongue to torture, he might have growled such silly stuff as, "whew! that cat's a scorcher!" [illustration: tenth flat] eleventh flat while carrie cook sat with a book the phonograph played sweetly. then came the rocket and it smashed that instrument completely. fair carrie promptly turned her head, attracted by the roar. "dear me, i never heard," she said, "that record played before!" [illustration: eleventh flat] twelfth flat de vere was searching for a match to light a cigarette, but failed to find one with despatch, which threw him in a pet. just then the rocket flared up bright before his face and crackled, supplying him the needed light-- "thanks, awfully," he cackled. [illustration: twelfth flat] thirteenth flat home from the shop came maud's new hat-- a hat of monstrous size! it almost filled the tiny flat before her ravished eyes. when, sch-u-u! up through the box so proud the rocket flared and spluttered. "i said that hat was all too loud!" her peevish husband muttered. [illustration: thirteenth flat] fourteenth flat tom's pap had helped him start his train, and all would have been fine had not the rocket, raising cain, blocked traffic on the line. it blew the engine into scrap, as in a fit of passion. "who would have thought that toy," said pap, "would blow up in such fashion!" [illustration: fourteenth flat] fifteenth flat orlando pease, quite at his ease, the "morning star" was reading. "my dear," said he to mrs. pease, "here's a report worth heeding." the rocket then in wanton sport flashed through the printed pages. the lady gasped, "a wild report!" then swooned by easy stages. [illustration: fifteenth flat] sixteenth flat doc danby was a stupid guy, so, lest he sleep too late, he placed a tattoo clock near by to waken him at eight. but, ah! the rocket smote that clock and smashed its way clean through it! "you have a fine alarm," said doc, "but, say, you overdo it!" [illustration: sixteenth flat] seventeenth flat a penny-liner, abram stout, was writing a description. "the flame shot up," he pounded out-- then threw a mild conniption. for through his flemington there shied a rocket, hot and mystic. "i didn't mean to be," he cried, "so deuced realistic!" [illustration: seventeenth flat] eighteenth flat gus gummer long had set his head upon some strange invention. "be careful, gus," his good wife said; "it might explode. i mention--" just then the pesky rocket flared and wrecked that yankee notion. "i feared as much!" his wife declared; then fainted from emotion. [illustration: eighteenth flat] nineteenth flat while burt was on his hobby-horse and riding it like mad, the rocket on its fiery course upset the startled lad. the frightened pony plunged a lot, like fury playing tag. "whoa, spot!" said burt. "who would have thought you such a fiery nag!" [illustration: nineteenth flat] twentieth flat a taxidermist plied his trade upon a walrus' head. it really made him quite afraid to meet its stare so dread. when suddenly the rocket, bright, flared up and then was off! "oh, minnie," cried the man in fright, "just hear that walrus cough!" [illustration: twentieth flat] top flat oh, it was just a splendid flight-- that rocket's wild career! but to an end it came, all right, as you shall straightway hear. it plunged into a can of cream that billy bunk was freezing, and froze quite stiff, as it would seem, and so subsided, wheezing. [illustration: top flat] the mad dog one of r. caldecott's picture books frederick warne and co. ltd. [illustration] an elegy on the death of a mad dog. written by dr goldsmith pictured by r. caldecott sung by master bill primrose [illustration] good people all, of every sort, give ear unto my song; and if you find it wondrous short, it cannot hold you long. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] in islington there lived a man, of whom the world might say, that still a godly race he ran, whene'er he went to pray. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] a kind and gentle heart he had, to comfort friends and foes; the naked every day he clad, when he put on his clothes [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] and in that town a dog was found: as many dogs there be-- both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, and curs of low degree. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] this dog and man at first were friends; but, when a pique began, the dog, to gain some private ends, went mad, and bit the man. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] around from all the neighbouring streets the wondering neighbours ran; and swore the dog had lost his wits, to bite so good a man. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] the wound it seem'd both sore and sad to every christian eye; and while they swore the dog was mad, they swore the man would die [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] but soon a wonder came to light, that show'd the rogues they lied-- the man recover'd of the bite; the dog it was that died. [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] randolph caldecott's picture books "the humour of randolph caldecott's drawings is simply irresistible, no healthy-minded man, woman, or child could look at them without laughing." _in square crown to, picture covers, with numerous coloured plates._ john gilpin the house that jack built the babes in the wood the mad dog three jovial huntsmen sing a song for sixpence the queen of hearts the farmer's boy the milkmaid hey-diddle-diddle and baby bunting a frog he would a-wooing go the fox jumps over the parson's gate come lasses and lads ride a cock horse to banbury cross, &c. mrs. mary blaize the great panjandrum himself _the above selections are also issued in four volumes, square crown to, attractive binding. each containing four different books, with their coloured pictures and innumerable outline sketches._ r. caldecott's picture book no. r. caldecott's picture book no. hey-diddle-diddle-picture book the panjandrum picture book randolph caldecott's collection of pictures and songs no. containing the first books listed above with their colour pictures and numerous outline sketches randolph caldecott's collection of pictures and songs no. containing the second books listed above with their colour pictures and numerous outline sketches frederick warne & co. ltd. london & new york. _the published prices of the above picture books can be obtained of all booksellers or from the illustrated catalogue of the publishers._ engraved and printed by edmund evans, ltd., clerkenwell road, london, e.c. . printed in great britain. the slant book by peter newell this uphill work is slow, indeed, but down the slant--ah! note the speed! harper & brothers new york copyright , by harper & brothers patented september , published november, printed in the united states of america the slant book where bobby lives there is a hill-- a hill so steep and high, 'twould fill the bill for jack and jill their famous act to try once bobby's go-cart broke away and down this hill it kited. the careless nurse screamed in dismay but bobby was delighted he clapped his hands, in manner rude, and laughed in high elation-- while, close behind, the nurse pursued in hopeless consternation [illustration] an officer slid off the lid as bobby hove in sight, and bellowed out, "you're scorchin', kid-- i'll run you in all right!" but down the go-cart swiftly sped and smashed that cop completely, and as he sailed o'er bobby's head bob snipped a button neatly! [illustration] a funny son of sunny greece was standing near the curb, beside his push-cart, wrapped in peace, that naught could well disturb but all at once he got a shock-- the go-cart speeding down, collided with his fancy stock and littered up the town! [illustration] the runaway then swerved a bit and snapped a hydrant, short; which accident proved quite a hit of rather novel sort the water spouted in a jet as much as ten feet high, and all were soaked and nearly choked who chanced to be nearby! [illustration] a farmer's wife, miss' angy moore, was trudging up the grade. a basketful of eggs she bore to barter with in trade the go-cart and the lady met (informally, no doubt) and made a sort of omelette and spread it round about! [illustration] a painter on a ladder perched, was working at his calling-- against its foot the go-cart lurched and sent the fellow sprawling his pot of paint came tumbling down and wrong side up, it settled about a chappie's flaxen crown-- oh, my! but he was nettled! [illustration] a german band across the street its way was slowly wending, which was a movement indiscreet, the way that things were tending the go-cart struck the bass drum square, and passed completely through it. the drummer madly tore his hair and said, "vy did you do it?" [illustration] some workingmen were putting in a heavy plate-glass front. the go-cart then came rushing in and did its little stunt it smashed to bits a crystal pane two sweating men were bearing, and sped on down the slanting plane and left them mad and swearing! [illustration] an automobile big and brown was chugging up the hill, and met the go-cart plunging down with speed that boded ill at once there rose a noise and din of people in dismay. a sandwich-man then butted in and opened up a way! [illustration] a lad was rushing with a hat some lady had been buying-- the go-cart caught--and laid him flat, and sent the hat-box flying the hat fell out and settled down upon our bobby's head. "say, i'm the swellest kid in town!" the precious rascal said [illustration] a newsboy next was somehow hit-- the go-cart, swift and dextrous, contrived to muss him up a bit and fill the air with extras one copy bobby neatly scooped, and saw this wild display, in type so bold it fairly whooped: "a go-cart breaks away!" [illustration] then as the go-cart speeded by, a bulldog, quite pugnacious, seized on the handle on the fly and clung with grip tenacious the go-cart's speed was so increased the dog streamed out behind it, and bobby turned to pet the beast which didn't seem to mind it! [illustration] perambulating down the street was miss lucile o'grady-- the go-cart knocked her off her feet and took on board the lady "your fare!" said bobby, with a shout, one chubby hand extending. but miss o'grady tumbled out with shrieks the heavens rending [illustration] a herder up the weary grade a yearling calf was leading. the creature was a stubborn jade and lunged about, unheeding the go-cart caught the rope midway between the calf and herder, and both fell in behind the shay with cries of "ba-a!" and "murder!" [illustration] two chappies at a tennis meet were battling fast and hard-- the go-cart skidded off the street and shot across the yard the game was "forty all," but then it didn't end that day-- the go-cart dashed into the net and carried it away! [illustration] on came the go-cart down the grade (the town was now behind it) and ran into an orchard's shade where providence resigned it! but then it only grazed a tree and set it all a-shiver; the ripened fruit fell merrily and likewise sammy sliver! [illustration] then through a watermelon patch this awful cart descended, and split the melons by the batch-- the farmer was offended and tried to stop its wild career, which was a silly notion-- it passed him promptly to the rear with quite a rapid motion! [illustration] a picnic party on the green were seated at their lunch-- the go-cart dashed upon the scene and through the happy bunch! sardines and pickles, ham and cake, were jumbled in a mess, then straightway rose these picnickers and shouted for redress! [illustration] an artist sketching on the slope a lively air was humming, and so absorbed was he, he failed to note the go-cart coming a crash! the circumambient air was filled with miscellany, and damaged quite beyond repair was cremnitz white mulvaney! [illustration] a damsel milked a brindled cow out in a pasture green, the birdies sang from bush and bough-- all nature was serene when suddenly a thunderbolt dispelled the sweet illusion-- the go-cart gave the twain a jolt, and all was wild confusion! [illustration] upon a rustic bridge a chap cast out a bait inviting, and presently he took a nap and dreamed the fish were biting then came the go-cart like a gale and rudely him awakened-- at first he thought he'd caught a whale, but found he was mistaken! [illustration] the longest night must have an end as well as a beginning; and so this cart, you may depend, was bound to cease its spinning it crashed into a hemlock stump that chanced to block its way, and bobby made a flying jump and landed in the hay! [illustration] [illustration: the rubàiyàt of ohow dryyàm] illustrated by benj. franklin [not of philadelphia] _copyrighted_ _by_ leedon publishing company leedon publishing company flood building san francisco the rubaiyat of ohow dryyam by j. l. duff _with apologies to_ omar [illustration] _illustrated by_ benjamin franklin [_not of philadelphia_] _the rubaiyat of ohow dryyam_ i wail! for the law has scattered into flight those drinks that were our sometime dear delight; and still the morals-tinkers plot and plan new, sterner, stricter statutes to indite. ii after the phantom of our freedom died methought a voice within the tavern cried: "drink coffee, lads, for that is all that's left since our land of the free is washed--and dried." [illustration: _and still the morals-tinkers plot and plan new, sterner, stricter statutes to indite._] iii the haigs indeed are gone, and on the nose that bourgeoned once with color of the rose a deathly pallor sits, while down the lane where once strode johnny walker--water goes. iv come, fill the cup, and in the coffee-house we'll learn a new and temperate carouse-- the bird of time flies with a steadier wing but roosts with sleepless eye--a coffee souse! v each morn a thousand recipes, you say-- yes, but where match the beer of yesterday? and those spring months that used to bring the bock seem very long ago and far away. [illustration: _the bird of time flies with a steadier wing but roosts with sleepless eye--a coffee souse!_] vi a book of blue laws underneath the bough, a pot of tea, a piece of toast,--and thou beside me sighing in the wilderness-- wilderness? it's desert, sister, now. vii some for a sunday without taint, and some sigh for inebriate paradise to come, while moonshine takes the cash (no credit goes) and real old stuff demands a premium. [illustration: _a book of blue laws underneath the bough, a pot of tea, a piece of toast,--and thou ..._] viii the scanty stock we set our hearts upon still dwindles and declines until anon, like snow upon the desert's dusty face, it lights us for an hour and then--is gone. ix ah, my beloved, fill the cup that clears today of past regrets and future fears-- tomorrow!--why, tomorrow i may be in canada or scotland or algiers! x yes, make the most of what we still may spend; the last drop's lingering taste may yet transcend anticipation's bliss--though we are left sans wine, sans song, sans singer, and--sans end. [illustration: _the scanty stock we set our hearts upon ..._] xi alike for those who for the drouth prepared and those who, like myself, more poorly fared, fond memory weaves roseate shrouds to dress departed spirits we have loved--and shared. xii myself when young did eagerly frequent the gilded bar, and all my lucre spent for bottled joyousness, but evermore came out less steadily than in i went. xiii the legal finger writes; and having writ, moves on--and neither thirst nor wit has lured it back to cancel half a line to give a man excuse for being lit. [illustration: _myself when young did eagerly frequent the gilded bar ..._] xiv and bill the bootlegger--the infidel!-- when he takes my last cent for just a smell of hooch, i wonder what bootleggers buy one half so precious as the stuff they sell. xv oh bill, who dost with white mule and with gin beset the road i am to wander in, if i am garnered of the law, wilt thou, all piously, impute my fall to sin? [illustration: _and bill the bootlegger--the infidel!--_] xvi yon rising moon that looks for us again-- how oft hereafter will she wax and wane; but, oh, how oft before we have beheld _six_ moons arise--who now seek _two_ in vain. xvii and when thyself at last shall come to trip down that dim dock where charon loads his ship, i'll meet thee on the other wharf if thou wilt promise to have something on thy hip. [illustration: _but, oh, how oft before we have beheld six moons arise ..._] price: three pence a humorous history of england the essentials of england's history told in rhyme light and amusing told and pictured by c. harrison. price d. with forty eight illustrations concerning anæmia (poorness of blood.) in men and women, _by the late dr. andrew wilson._ _the public are very familiar with the term "anæmia," and this fact alone testifies to the extremely common nature of the ailment thus indicated._ _as a rule anæmia shows a gradual progress. there is experienced a feeling of lassitude, of being "easily tired out," and a distaste for active exertion. the digestion is enfeebled, and, without feeling actually ill, the sufferer inclines towards an inactive life, while the appetite usually disappears, and a general bodily upset is represented. the lips are pale, the red of the eyelids, seen by turning down the lower eyelid, will exhibit a similar appearance. breathlessness is another notable sign; the least exertion, going upstairs for instance, causes the sufferer to pant, because the heart, not being supplied with blood of good quality, cannot perform its work properly. the pulse is weak and irregular._ _for anÆmia (shown by breathlessness on slight exertion, pallor, depression and weakness) doctors prescribe the well-known iron jelloids no. .--there is nothing better._ _for debility, weakness and nerviness, men find the ideal tonic and restorative in iron jelloids no. a._ _a ten days treatment (price / ) will convince you._ [illustration: iron 'jelloids' (_pronounced jell-lloyds._)] reliable tonic for men iron jelloids no. a. for anæmia in men and women iron jelloids no. . for growing children iron jelloids no. . _of all chemists. a ten days treatment / . large size /-_ _manufactured by the iron jelloid co., ltd., , central street, london e.c. . england._ a humorous history of england told and pictured by c. harrison published by warrick & bird, , nile street, london, n. . . [illustration: an after-dinner speech in ye olden time. (and any other time.)] [illustration: boadicea.] preface _"arms and the man" was virgil's strain; but we propose in lighter vein to browse a crop from pastures (green's) of england's evolution scenes. who would from facts prognosticate the future progress of this state, must own the chiefest fact to be her escalator is the sea._ [illustration: "take cover"] prehistoric historians erudite and sage, when writing of the past stone age, tell us man once was clothed in skins and tattooed patterns on his shins. rough bearded and with shaggy locks he lived in dug-outs in the rocks. was often scared and run to earth by creatures of abnormal girth: mammoths and monsters; truth to tell we find their names too long to spell. he joined in little feuds no doubt; and with his weapons fashioned out of flint, went boldly to the fray; and cracked a skull or two per day. druids we read of priests of celtic day, ancient druids, holding sway by smattering of occult law and man's eternal sense of awe. stonehenge they used stonehenge on salisbury plain reputed prehistoric fane; note each megalithic boulder; no monument in europe's older. [illustration] [illustration: "veni, vidi, vici"] phoenicians merchant explorers of that day, hustling phoenicians, came this way to ship tin ore from cornish mines three thousand years before these lines. but still in spite of petty strife man lived what's termed the 'simple life' julius cæsar till julius cæsar in five-five b.c. with his galleys did arrive. he wrote despatches of the best, 'veni, vidi' and the rest, sending the news of victory home; and flags then fluttered high in rome. his 'photo' one plain fact discloses he brought in fashion roman noses. of this great general 'tis allowed the best 'life' is by j. a. froude. boadicea boadicea earns our praise. a.d. first woman leader in those days; for freedom strove all she could do, 'twas lost in a.d. sixty-two. agricola then came agricola one day and gained a battle near the tay. he started trimming up this isle, and laid out roads in roman style. east, north, south, west, it's safe to say his handiwork is traced to-day. the natives too were taught to know by busy merchants' constant flow the wisdom that great empire held; their ignorance was thus dispelled. romans left about four hundred-ten a.d. a.d. the romans left sans cérémonie. can it be wondered at when rome was needing help 'gainst huns at home. our antiquarians often find the relics which they left behind; a villa here and pavement there, coins galore and roman ware. [illustration] anglo-saxons and so we run our flippant rhymes a.d. right on to anglo-saxon times. hengist and horsa with their men came from their jutish pirate den, jutes and paid us visits in their ships bent on their ruthless looting trips. and angles landing in the humber gave that district little slumber. they plundered morning, noon, and night, were rough, uncouth, and impolite, no 'by your leave' or 's'il vous plait' they came to rob, remained to prey. horsa horsa was slain in four-five-five, leaving hengist still alive to live out his allotted term, surviving partner of the firm. king arthur time has many a fable wound about king arthur's table round, where knights quaffed cordials, wines and ales, and told their little fairy tales. augustine about six hundred years a.d. to teach us christianity came augustine. wondrous story; canterbury's pile his glory. heptarchy called 'heptarchy' the seven saxon states each other made attacks on; after four hundred years they'd striven they coalesced in eight-two-seven. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] alfred of good king alfred we've all heard - how when hiding he incurred a lady's anger for not taking care of cakes which she was baking. (most probably she left the king while she went out a-gossiping.) before he died in nine-nought-one, old england's navy had begun. he laid a tax on every town to aid his fleet to gain renown. he was the best of saxon kings and did a lot of useful things; built oxford with its noble spires and mapped out england into shires. danes in seven-eight-three first came the danes who caused the saxons aches and pains. they sailed right up our rivers broad, putting the natives to the sword. "danegeld" for centuries our sadly fated towns by them were devastated. etheldred the 'unready toff' by 'danegeld' tries to buy them off. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] canute two hundred years the raiding danes - came over. then their canute reigns. we'll merely mention that he tried an object lesson with the tide. hardicanute hardicanute, sad to confess, - died from drinking to excess. he couldn't conquer love of wine and with him went the danish line. edward edward the confessor staid the confessor the saxon line renewed. remade - at westminster the abbey grand, and signed the first 'will' in this land. and since his time ('tis not refuted) scores of wills have been disputed. ah! legal quibbles such as these mean lawyers waxing rich on fees. harold harold last of the saxon line at hastings made an effort fine and lost his life--it was to be, crushed by the men of normandy. from scandinavia they'd come, and made fair normandy their home; william the whence william spying out our shore, conqueror oliver-twist-like, wanted more. - in ten-six-six he won the day in that tough fight out hastings way. of course, no record in our reach, depicts 'ole bill' thus on the beach. [illustration] [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic goode nyghte] william the but one thing's certain. camera men, conqueror if only they'd existed then, - would have journeyed many a mile to 'snap' king william's happy smile. they made him king and schoolbooks say he ruled with arbitrary sway; demanding with sharp battle axes instant payment of big taxes. curfew and p'raps it's just as well to tell he introduced the curfew bell; so at the early hour of eight each doused his glim, raked out his grate. in bed at eight p.m. each day life was but sombre, dull and grey; no cutting fancy ball room capers, no cinemas or evening papers. he was a bully it is true, but to allow him his just due he made reforms; he also took in hand the bulky doomsday book. in william's time we're glad to write people began to be polite; ladies curtseyed to their beaux, who smartly raised their gay chapeaux. the jews the jews he introduced from spain bringing much knowledge in their train of arts and science; but 'longshanks' expelled them with no word of thanks. feudalism these were the well known feudal days, tenants were slaves in many ways to mighty lords who owned the land and ruled them with an iron hand. not free from duties were the lords, the king could call upon their swords and men to fight in time of need. so feudal laws of old decreed. william rufus william rufus or the 'red' - in ten-eight-seven ruled instead; this may be; but we know, alack, though he was red his deeds were black. crusades the first crusade in ten-nine-five, a million men, a very hive, swarm to the east, the holy plain from the mohammedans to gain. henry i. henry the first, of wisdom rife, - saxon matilda makes his wife, saxon and norman line uniting, a learned chap who loved not fighting. stephen stephen of blois ascends the throne - and 'gainst matilda holds his own; grandson of the conqueror; died in eleven-fifty-four. henry ii. henry the second claims our rhyme - 'the hardest worker of his time'; a wiser king we never had nor father with his sons so bad. becket this the first 'plantagenet' king with becket strove like anything; church v. which should be master, church or crown crown pull-king pull-bishop; both went down. thomas was murdered by four knights on steps of altar--sorry wights: with bleeding feet the king atones by pilgrimage to becket's bones. despite his struggles with the church he knocked the barons off their perch, fifteen hundred castles razing in a manner quite amazing. law trial by jury further grows; the king's court in this reign arose; our parliaments from this proceed and all our other courts indeed. linen linen's first used in twelve-five woollens alone in vogue before. glass windows in eleven-eight-nought first came to pass the novelty of window glass. and doubtless playful little boys full of children's simple joys, cracked as our youngsters often do with stones or ball a pane or two. richard coeur de lion from one crusade coeur de lion returning was a prisoner made. - but blondel played an air he knew, the king joined in; voilà the clue. this catchy tune in a pleasant key opened the door to liberty. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] john and so we'll quickly journey on - until we reach the reign of john; a king whose list of crimes was heavy; he treated badly his young 'nevvy'. magna charta he signed the magna charta. yes; in twelve-fifteen, but we may guess with much ill grace and many a twist; for king john wrote an awful fist. john loses normandy to france and by this beneficial chance in england comes amalgamation; normans and saxons form one nation robin hood and now we come to robin hood, the forest bandit of sherwood, a popular hero much belauded but not by folks whom he'd defrauded. there's no need to descant upon his boon companion 'little john'; or 'friar tuck' so overblown he tipped the scale at fifteen stone. henry iii. and what of henry number three, - the king who suffered poverty? it's very awkward we must own to be 'hard up' when on a throne; [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] to have to scrape up an amount to pay the butcher on account, or ask a dun in kingly way to kindly call some other day. coinage in twelve-five-seven it is stated gold was coined and circulated, ha'pence and farthings just before; in those times worth a great deal more. langton the bible which from over seas died had no chapters and no verses was by archbishop langton's skill divided as we use it still. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] why was it henry iii. allowed at court a huge rapacious crowd to drain his coffers nearly dry flattering with cajolery? [illustration: alle fees in advance earlye closinge daye thursdaye] astrology many simple folk, (it's queer) used to patronise the seer and pay cash down for magic spell perchance a horoscope as well. or open wide at special rate that musty tome the book of fate; or seek the philtre's subtle aid to win the hand of some fair maid. we mus'nt miss the troubadours who went forth on their singing tours, twanging harps and trilling lays to maids of medieval days. and oh! the right good merry times with maskers, mummers and the mimes, hobby horses gaily prancing, bats and bowls and maypole dancing. when folks would take a lengthy journey to see the knights at joust or tourney: or watch the early english 'knuts' show their skill at archery butts. then come gloomy history pages on torture of the middle ages; the clanking fetters grim and black, the thumbscrew and the awful rack, the horrors of the dungeon deep beneath the moat or castle keep, rusty locks and heavy keys and--let us change the subject, please. first house of commons twelve-six-five, at westminster they all arrive. simon de simon de montfort was the man montfort who 'engineered' this useful plan. and we can picture these m.p.s newly fledged and ill at ease doing their level best to try to catch the embryo speaker's eye. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] edward i. edward first 'longshanks' nicknamed - for his lengthy stride far-famed. here he is in twelve-seven-two bounding along with much ado. a soldier, statesman and a king his lofty ideals picturing that england, scotland, wales all three, united should one country be. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] first prince in twelve-eight-two annexes wales; of wales where afterwards no strife prevails. he promised a prince with english so gave his new-born speechless son. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] edward i. next scotland edward tries to tackle - no easy task the scotch to shackle; (continued) wallace and bruce resistance make, the king dies ere he gains the stake. in edward's reign some author writes they first used candle dips for lights; and coal came in about this date mixed (as to-day) with lots of slate. [illustration: iron jelloids] so monarchs, barons, dukes and knights warmed their toes with derby brights; but those in hovels had the smuts arising from cheap kitchen nuts. roger bacon roger bacon (ob. twelve-nine-three) versed was in arts of alchemy; gunpowder's composition knew; and many another chemic brew. many mortmain acts are passed; six centuries these efforts last to stop the hungry hierarchy devouring all the squirearchy. lollards lollards in thirteen-seven arose popish rituals to oppose; john wycliffe gives to old and young the bible in the vulgar tongue. with john of gaunt's protection strong he dared to preach 'gainst cleric wrong; precursor of the reformation to liberal thought attuned the nation. edward ii. edward the second with his minions - governs badly these dominions his son a man of different mould edward iii. was edward three, both wise and bold. - through clinging to their french domains our kings are french through many reigns and edward fighting in this cause french wars commenced a hundred years of wars. a century's struggle. for our pains only calais town remains. a century after this 'twas lost, in mary's reign. oh! what a frost. weaving in thirteen-three-one england's taught weaving by men from flanders brought. ryghte goode cloth with lots of 'body' the world was then not up to 'shoddy.' blanket of bristol in this year invented blankets for our cheer; and since that time its been our boast our beds have been as warm as toast. edward 'black prince' one-three-four-six, a brave and noble warrior, 'licks' crecy the valiant french in crecy's fray; cannon first used upon this day, causing panic with their rattle; but the yeomen win the battle, for, flicking arrows from their bows they 'filled the air as when it snows.' thereon the english calais seize and of the channel hold the keys; the spanish pirates bend the knee then edward iii's 'king of the sea.' parliament lords and commons from this date have their meetings separate, the commons first a speaker make the chancellors the woolsack take. ten lady members have the lords but doubtless fearful of their words, or thinking it not orthodoxy, they only let them vote by proxy. while church and barons have their squabbles the house of commons more power nobbles; on laws and taxes dares speak out and give the pope the right-about. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic kinge rychard ye ii quarrelinge withe hysse people] leasing leasing or farming, we are taught, was introduced 'bout twelve-nought-nought; the feudal system's weakened and the tenants 'usufruct' the land. on various counts the serfs go free and work for wages (edward three). the black death and the foreign wars in labour ranks commotion cause; strikes and craftsmen's combination then arise among the nation; these movements preached by one john ball, who, born too soon, was hanged withal. richard ii. now comes the second richard's reign. - it is recorded very plain that he was full of discontent quarrelling with his parliament. [illustration: "by my halidom i'll not pay it"] poll tax with his taxes super-sated the peasants grew exasperated; they threw their spades and pitchforks down and marched as rebels into town. thirteen-eighty's poll taxation puts equal tax on all the nation; lays seven thousand peasants dead; wat tyler and jack straw at head. præmunire præmunire act is passed to check the papal bulls at last. chaucer chaucer the poet this same year makes pilgrimage to becket's bier. [illustration: fortes fortuna juvat. iron jelloids the great tonic] age of this was the age, aye verily, chivalry of ryghte goode noble chivalry, when knights went forth through storm and stress to rescue beauty in distress. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic.] or sallied out in valiant way a monster dragon for to slay, or with lance or trusty blade defend from harm the hapless maid. henry iv. henry four, called 'bolingbroke' - in richard's wheel puts many a spoke; compels him to resign the throne which thereupon he makes his own. through john of gaunt, lancastrian famed, his title to the crown he claimed; the parliament confirms his right and thus he's king without a fight. in this reign persecution's turned lollards against the lollards--cobham's burned. incredible! the records show a statute 'de comburondo.' henry v. from fourteen-thirteen, henry five, - for many years with france did strive; his widow founds the tudor house by taking owen for her spouse. henry vi. henry six, next in our rhymes, - for fifty years had troublous times; wars of roses, wars with france, the poor man never had a chance. joan of arc joan of arc the peasant maid inspired the french with mystic aid; disunited, we make peace, all france but calais we release. constantinople constantinople's seized by turks causing greek scholars (with their works) to fly to italy; and thence learning's reborn--'the renaissance.' edward iv. in edward fourth, fourteen-six-one - the house of york obtains the throne. he wins at towton's bloody fray, no quarter given on that day. guy, earl of warwick in these frays was always turning different ways; barnet on barnet field he met his doom the rose of york's now well abloom. the barons, church and commons fall, the king emerges boss of all. benevolences he exacts, an early form of super tax. earl of 'kingmaker' was earl warwick styled warwick with his manner scarcely mild he set kings up and bowled them down playing at ninepins with the crown. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] wars of roses white and red rose warring madly bled the country very sadly, three-and-thirty years contending; at bosworth field we see the ending. printing first in fourteen-seventy-three we print from type in this countree. now it is that time's first measured by monster watches greatly treasured. thomas parr this centurie his hundred-fifty years did see; but henry jenkins, so 'tis said, in age was seventeen years ahead. hoary patriarchs were these retaining p'raps their faculties; what a comfort 'tis to mention neither drew the old age pension. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic ye bookeworme burninge ye midnyghte oile] printing started through the nation a taste for higher education; here is a citizen at home; note his very brainy dome. richard iii. richard (crookback) in fateful hour - smothered his nephews in the tower, he murdered them the crown to gain; a heavy price for three years' reign. the scutcheon's blotted terribly of this king richard number three, for it seems his recreation was ordering decapitation. on bosworth field when sorely pressed he made a bid th'uncommonest 'my kingdom for a horse' he cried; no offers coming, there he died. henry vii. lancastrian richmond wins the fight - and to make his title right elizabeth of york espouses, thus uniting the two houses. this henry seven of tudor line to misers' habits did incline; twelve millions stated to possess, a tidy little fortune! yes! star chamber much he managed to extort by means of a star chamber court from the rich nobles; a new wile for adding to the kingly pile. with cash in hand he could attain his wish as autocrat to reign; as sole possessor of the guns the king no risk from rebels runs. [illustration: skyscrape flats to be erected here buy hustles chewing gum fifth avenue iron jelloids the great tonic] columbus columbus, full of travellers' lore, by going west sought india's shore; but found america's wondrous land; his 'exes' paid by ferdinand. of voyagers we've now a lot vasco da gama and cabot, who sailed from bristol, whence it grew bristolians claim this fine cuckoo. [illustration: henry viii pops the question] henry viii. now henry eight comes on the screen, - a stalwart youth, ætat. eighteen; with youthful hope the nation's buoyed; only, alas! to be destroyed. [illustration: henry ye eighth thynkynge offe ye past] henry viii. this king henry number eight - six times tried the married state; (continued) and certainly of all the kings spent the most on wedding rings. but to search through old archives for tales of henry and his wives and all their little tiffs to trace we cannot spare the time or space. yet there are some who fain would sing the praises of this rotund king; but as a husband we're afraid his category's lowest grade. he wielded harsh the despot's power, and packed his wives off to the tower; consigned them to a fate most dreaded; two, alas! he had beheaded. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic _hail now to thee our good queen bess!_] henry viii. (continued) reformation martin luther, fifteen-one-seven, sows his reformation leaven; it finds a culture medium here in the 'new learning's' atmosphere. of this new learning more's the chief, utopia's author, he's 'mid grief beheaded, saying cool and calm, 'cut not my beard, that's done no harm.' his friend erasmus, logic's master, trimmed his sails and 'scaped disaster. a third, dean colet who st. paul's school london into being calls. wolsey in fifteen-thirty wolsey great, a cardinal and man of state, from butcher's son had risen high. reader! consult your shakespeare nigh. blamed by some; by others praised; he fell; but still the pile he raised most nobly graces hampton court. give wolsey then a tender thought. his main ambition that the king should be supreme in everything; thomas and thomas cromwell followed suit cromwell to make his master absolute head of the church within his realm. these two most able at the helm; but not with skill enough endued to 'scape their king's ingratitude. despotical the king's power grew. he's england's pope by act of su- premacy; as, to gain divorce, the foreign pope is banned perforce. now bluff king harry gives the monks a series of most awful funks; three thousand odd of their domains he 'collars' for his courtiers' gains. edward vi. edward six to the throne succeeds - a pious youth of goodly deeds; one, well known in the capital, the blue coat school (christ's hospital). mary queen mary one, in smithfield square, - at oxford, gloucester and elsewhere, burned poor martyrs by the score; the romish faith she would restore. elizabeth hail now to thee our good queen bess, - garbed in the puffed and padded dress, farthingale and starched up frills, meaning heavy laundry bills. od's bodikins; what monstrous ruffs, what gowns of rich embroidered stuffs piped and scolloped, trimmed with furs, and shaped like huge gasometers. now we've warfare of the creeds, for their thoughts all europe bleeds; each party seeks by force to make the other side its faith forsake. spain the great power of those days in these contentions first part plays. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic plymouth hoe bowling club] drake drake at bowls on plymouth hoe left his game to meet this foe and came home laden we are told with seachests full of spanish gold. armada in fifteen-eight-eight armada strong from spain to squash us comes along; which howard, frobisher and drake and stormy weather overtake. [illustration: globe theatre tonyghte ye tragedye offe hamlette by william shakspere. iron jelloids the great tonic] shakespeare and in these epoch making days - shakespeare wrote and staged his plays; weaving a thread whose magic strands entwine all english-speaking lands. fifteen-eight-seven scots' queen mary lost her head through fate contrary. when henry eight had robbed the church 'twas found the poor were in the lurch; poor law a law was passed about this date to place the poor upon the rate. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] sir walter sir walter raleigh, best of knights, raleigh the first to taste the keen delights - of the enchantress so serene, the ryghte goode ladye nicotine. no information's yet to hand concerning raleigh's favourite brand; tobacco was it coarse-cut shag which burns the tongue, or birdseye or returns? [illustration] queen good queen bess we understand elizabeth had crowds of suitors for her hand; and here we beg to give a view of suitors waiting in a queue. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] queen as time rolled on this good queen bess elizabeth lost somewhat of her sprightliness; (continued) she got into a nervous state was mopish and disconsolate. now, as everyone will own, had 'iron jelloids' been but known in bess's time; why, it's conceded 'twas just the tonic that she needed. east india the great 'john comp'ny' now began company its fine career without a plan. great! the elizabethan age. in history's book a glorious page. [illustration] somewhere or other we've heard snuff came in the days of frill and ruff; and here's a noble ill at ease giving the first recorded sneeze. james i. james six of scotland, miscalled a 'fule' - as james one of england comes to rule. gramercy! 'tis a canny thing to be a 'double-barrelled' king. the son of mary queen of scots of learning he had lots and lots, writing sundry ponderous books 'gainst 'bacca, witches and their spooks. james thought his kingly power divine and, loathing puritanic 'whine,' he vowed to make them all comply or else he'd 'know the reason why.' pilgrim fathers his persecution to escape some zealots in the 'mayflower' shape their course for an uncharted world where freedom's flag could be unfurled. these 'pilgrim fathers' found a state 'new england,' blessed with happy fate. folks have called the first king james most uncomplimentary names; to wit 'a sloven' and 'a glutton'; perhaps his weakness was scotch mutton. and as to gluttony, 'gadzooks'! if what we read in history books is true, they all were trenchermen; there were no diet faddists then. it startles us, one must declare, to read their breakfast bill of fare; all 'kynes' of ale, some highly spiced and divers meats, roast, boiled and sliced. in james' reign a man could get for money down a coronet and titles with the greatest ease like folks to-day buy soap and cheese. harvey yet a learned time; for harvey shows that blood's not stagnant, but it flows; lord bacon 'experiment!' lord bacon cries 'there is no progress otherwise.' [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic model of the notorious guy fawkes which however is not considered historically accurate] th november of troubles james had quite a lot, for instance the gunpowder plot. it fizzled out but left to-day a liking for firework display. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic the first cracker] so rockets with their sweeping curves, crackers which upset the nerves and squibs with their infernal din to this date owe their origin. charles i. his son charles one we understand - ruled england with a grasping hand; for he was never loth to levy taxes burdensome and heavy. he moved in an expensive set, was always heavily in debt; in fact this monarch with his frills was snowed up to the neck with bills. he was courtly, graceful, distingué, and when the scaffold came his way 'he nothing common did or mean upon that memorable scene.' he had a very taking way and made his taxed up subjects pay; and over taxing it is said this monarch fairly lost his head. petition of the 'petition of right' a famous act, right-- the commons from the king exact; giving the subject on his own a remedy against the throne. first in sixteen-hundred-twenty-one newspaper our first news-sheet began its run; for twenty years 'twas going strong then the first censor came along. this journal cribbing from the dutch lacked the smart journalistic touch; and also photographic views, 'sporting pars' and 'stop-press news.' [illustration: the great struggle in charles' time. king trying to get money from taxpayer. creditor trying to get money from king] [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic _that quiet man, known as the early puritan._] cotton cotton first came from india's shore in sixteen-thirty, less or more; where for three thousand years it grew, also in egypt and peru. grim reading is the note confessing gangs went out for navy pressing, forcing many a timid knave to spend his life on ocean wave. ship money charles raises the ship money tax; he thought he only had to 'ax'; when hampden strenuously objected, the king was very much affected. strafford earl strafford ('thorough') in his pride 'the king shall rule the commons' cried; the commons would not brook such stuff and cut his head off. 'quantum suff.' the 'grand remonstrance' is put forth by the commons who are wrath with the king's despotic ways quite unsuited to these days. the king tries hard to put in jail five members but without avail; hollis, strode, haslerig and pym and hampden (we must mention him); they're guarded from the royal hands by watermen and city bands. the 'die is cast' and civil war for seven long years the nation tore. civil wars cromwell greatest of the foemen - with his faithful english yeomen; these 'roundheads' sober, grim, religious to 'cavaliers' gave blows prodigious. their character's seen in the cry 'trust god and keep your powder dry.' naseby the cavaliers and roundheads fought in many a field, 'till naseby brought to generals cromwell and fairfax a crowning victory, though not 'pax.' the king's beheaded, but the state experiences no headless fate; a commonwealth's forthwith proclaimed and cromwell's soon protector named. dunbar in sixteen-fifty dunbar sees the royal scots brought to their knees; worcester and in the second worcester fight cromwell for good asserts his might. and there are those who love to tell about that day at boscobel when charles the second's majestye found itself doubly 'up a tree.' and now we meet that quiet man known as the early puritan; mild and placid in his talk, calm and measured in his walk. [illustration: "paint me warts and all" iron jelloids the great tonic] commonwealth oliver cromwell bluff and bold, - was cast in nature's sternest mould, lacking maybe the courtly grace and proud of warts upon his face. he fought the irish and the scotch and with his navy beat the dutch let all his faults condonéd be, he kept us up on land and sea. [illustration: "take away that bauble" iron jelloids the great tonic] commonwealth he seemed to like bold argument (continued) and wordy wars with parliament; he made things lively we infer frequently at westminster. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] with m.p.s he had many a bout and one day cleared the whole lot out; locked the door and took the key; those not the days of 'wait and see.' charles ii. cromwell's death brings restoration - and charles two lands 'mid acclamation. after his leaps from twig to twig he now has 'otium cum dig.' in merry charles the second's age woman first acted on the stage; the king encouraged much this vogue he was a pleasure seeking rogue. 'he never said a foolish thing, nor did a wise one'; this the king countered with 'my words my own my acts my ministers' alone'; in sixteen-six-two year of grace, charles taxed every fire-place; and citizens who couldn't pay shivered and grumbled as to-day. these were the times of musketeers and proud and dashing cavaliers; when words were few and tempers hot and duels fought out on the spot. john bunyan the tinker preacher bunyan wrote the 'pilgrim's progress' we still quote, the prison bars no barrier wrought to lowly bunyan's lofty thought. milton in stately language milton's muse the bible story doth diffuse; from 'paradise lost' we get our view of adam and eve and satan too. the reverend titus oates, a scamp, egregious popish plots did vamp, lied roundly for dishonest gains, got cat-o'-nine-tails for his pains. habeas corpus the 'habeas corpus' best of laws shields us from prison without cause; 'twas passed in sixteen-seventy-nine, and means 'produce him here,' in fine. van tromp admiral van tromp, dutchman bold, with broom at masthead, so 'tis told, the channel sailed, suggesting he's swept all the english from the seas. blake but blake laughed loud and spread his sails nought the dutchman now avails; for he got an awful shocker right to davy jones' locker. but though the dutch failed to invade, they were not disinclined to trade; so we get 'hollands,' cheese and hams fresh from the land of dykes and dams. peace of breda for fifteen years these navies fought, 'till sixteen-six-seven respite brought; the peace of breda then succeeded; new york to england was conceded. plague in sixty-five the plague appears fire of london and then the fire; two awful years - for london--and if more you'd know consult the pages of defoe. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic _queen anne and the duke of marlborough._] james ii. when charles two died his brother james - soon put the country into flames; papistry he would advance, and for that purpose leagued with france. in sixteen-eight-eight his bigot zeal religious test act would repeal; seven bold bishops who defied to the tower were sent and tried. the country raised a hue and cry so off to france the king doth fly. william iii. his place is filled by william three - his son-in-law from dutch countree. this orange sprig most brave of men with mary reigns and all things then went well with us. macaulay's page hails him as hero of the age. in this reign of william three, laws were harsh 'gainst burglary; for they'd a very drastic way and hanged the 'bill sykes' of that day. national debt in sixteen-nine-four we have heard the national debt was first incurred; to careful folk who would invest 'twas not devoid of interest. another national debt we owe to iron jelloids which the foe depression's worries keep at bay and drive our nervous fears away. bill of rights the 'bill of rights,' a charter grand, in sixteen-eight-nine frees this land from all encroachments of the crown hoi polloi are no longer down. queen anne good queen anne we know is dead; - she reigned twelve years but it is said 'mrs. morley,' marlborough's wife ruled her more than half her life. marlborough this was the duke of marlborough's day, who beat the french in every fray; known for his famous victories at blenheim and at ramillies. in seventeen-seven by statute passed english and scotch unite at last; 'one coinage and one parliament' both nations ever since content. about this time, so runs the story, much is heard of 'whig and tory'; and shortly after there was rife many a sign of party strife. dr. watts good dr. watts' moral lays - were much reputed in these days; and still we lisp at mother's knee 'how doth the little busy bee.' pope pope, letter-writer and great poet, - most quotable of all (ye know it), at twickenham penned his caustic verse epigrammatic, smooth and terse. george i. the house of stuart being ended, - george of hanover (descended from daughter of king jamie one) comes over to ascend our throne. of english george knew not a word, most awkward, not to say absurd, at cabinet councils to preside; so from this time the practice died. george ii. his son george two succeeding then - in person fought at dettingen. both these kings had various fights in scotland with the jacobites. william tull brings in post chaises; now the people ride like 'blazes.'; many can't for they're in trouble, ruined by the south sea bubble. wesleys john and charles wesley, men of mind, - revive religion in mankind. founding a church both broad and low, one-seven-three-nought a. domini. beginning as an office clerk, clive as soldier clive soon made his mark, and conquered india for this nation; self 'stounded at his moderation. bridgwater, gilbert, brindley, three great engineers this centurie, canals useful canals in england made, the flowing arteries of trade. quebec general wolfe seventeen-five-nine captures quebec--a victory fine, and canada's the splendid prize for old 'john bull' to colonise. george iii. and now of georgey number three: - ut mulus obstinatus he had full sixty years of reign and a big family to train. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic _georgian times._] georgian we will but very lightly scan times the customs known as 'georgian'; the times of powdered belles and beaux; patches, paint and furbelows; of beauteous maids and gallants gay and merry routs at ranelagh; gaming parties, cards or pool and 'fops' of the beau brummel school. [illustration: "odds faith they say there's iron in it" iron jelloids the great tonic] when rank and fashion history tells all took their cures among the wells; and sipped in manner hesitating daily doses nauseating. but we know better how to act our cures we purchase more compact for in the chemists' you can see 'iron jelloids' priced at 'one and three.' lord 'periwig' and gay 'fallal' in sedan chairs frequent the mall. 'taxis' and 'tubes' we beg to state came in at a much later date. when brummel, the historic beau, made laws for dress and outward show; whose vests were poems, whose coats were dreams of gorgeous beauty, so it seems; who figured in the public gaze a 'star turn' with his courtly ways; who fixed the style of a cravat, lord of appeal anent a hat. and my lord chesterfield was quite the model of the most polite wrote famous letters. it's a shame, a settee has usurped his name. dr. johnson and dr. johnson at his ease - sipped his tea at the 'cheshire cheese,' or at the 'mitre' of renown, spreading his wit throughout the town. garrick when garrick as the 'moody dane' drew the town to drury lane, mrs. siddons sarah siddons was all the rage tragedy queen of every age. highwaymen arméd to the teeth waited for prey on hounslow heath; per contra the highwayman's pate was oft strung up at tyburn gate. capt. cook it's only right a history book - should mark the feats of captain cook; so jot it down in these our rhymes that round the world he sailed three times. inventions these are the days of much invention the 'spinning jenny' we will mention; the 'cotton mule' and 'power loom'; for authors' names there's lack of room. adam smith in his book 'the wealth of nations' adam smith shows the relations governing the art of trading; with influences far pervading. 'man buys as cheaply as he can and sells as dearly, that's his plan.' 'supply demand each other feed dearer markets cheap ones bleed.' jenner jenner brings in vaccination, boon to every generation; by similar methods now devised many an ill is exorcised. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic _nelson and wellington._] american war in seventeen-sixty and fifteen our taxes raise the yankees' spleen. 'unrepresented, you've no right to tax us, therefore we will fight.' washington, franklin and the rest formed a republic quite the best; we've long been friends. let us rejoice; but at the time we had no choice. french in france in times of louis seize (says) revolution oppression dire through countless days roused revolution with its tears mainly through books with wrong ideas. napoleon i. from revolution's putrid mess - a conqueror's born, quite conscienceless, millions of men and women died victims to napoleon's pride. he plunged all europe into wars his own ambition the sole cause. england as usual did her 'bit' and 'boney' europe had to quit. during these years of storm and stress two noble pilots we possess 'chatham and son' (pitt is their name), illustrious on the scroll of fame. nelson here we must our homage pay to nelson of trafalgar day; wellington to wellington the same is due, who crowned his fame at waterloo. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] and 'shiver my timbers,' 'heave ahoy,' the tar, those times a breezy boy with shiny hat and pigtail long and love for lass and glass and song. discovery of about this date electric force electric force dawns on mankind. before, of course, in lightning it was all about, with noise enough to be found out. coelo eripuit fulmen, 'twas said of franklin, as ye ken. philosopher of bygone age accept our homage on this page. but who'd have thought it that galvani when making soup, (this is no blarney) by his power of observation on a frog's legs' oscillation should find how by chemic ways electric currents we can raise? to call him 'great' is no flattery; he set us on the wondrous battery. this simple little frog, heigh ho! the frog who would a-wooing go; thy part in electricity is unmatched eccentricity. this new discovered fact, of course, leads to the telegraph of morse, the motor and electric light the telephone and more in sight. [illustration: _in queen victoria's palmy days._] ireland of ireland but a word or two. celts were her people and they knew not benefit of roman ruling; young europa's infant schooling. in century five st. patrick great converts them to the christian state; and from this western isle afar, english and scotch converted are. danes and two hundred years from nine-nought-nought ireland danes raiding erin trouble brought; and left them in chaotic state no longer masters of their fate. in those days 'twas 'woe to the weak,' saxons and danes had made us squeak, then came the normans in great force and civilised us in due course. they tried the same with ireland green; but only sowed a feud between the land they'd conquered and erin, leading to endless quarrelling. england accepts the reformation, catholic still the irish nation cromwell sees cromwell with them battle join boyne and william beat them at the boyne. william pitt in eighteen-nought-nought ireland and england's welfare sought act of union by 'act of union' which he passed; but still the wretched squabbles last. george iv. now come george four and will his brother; william iv. with these two kings we need not bother; the first a gourmand, bon viveur, the next a sailor, bluff, sans peur. trevithick, newcomen, and watt are names will never be forgot; for their crude engines were the source of man's control of steam's wild force. steam by eighteen-thirty man has tamed steam to his use; and widely famed was puffing 'rocket' with the power of doing thirty miles an hour. steam prompts man to make machines and factories rise with all that means; divided more and more is labour each man leans more on his neighbour. for twenty million pounds the nation buys our slaves' emancipation. reform act in eighteen-three-two, happy year, the great reform act doth appear. steam vessels the atlantic cross. the penny post comes into force. and double knocks bring joys and thrills sometimes cheques, more often bills. corn law the corn law duty's brushed away, repeal hence we enjoy cheap bread to-day. we fain would linger, but alas, these are the periods we must pass. so gentle reader do not grin at sight of cumbrous crinoline. victoria since queen victoria's palmy days - woman has altered all her ways. in those days she was meek and mild and treated almost like a child; was brought up in a narrow zone; and couldn't call her soul her own. she vegetated, 'tis well known under the 'cloche' of chaperone. woman's but now the 'franchise' she obtains, status and her own property retains. what a difference from then, she 'carries on' just like the men. and now at westminster we see a lady sitting as m.p. darwin charles darwin offers us a key - to help unlock the mystery of evolution's wondrous span from protoplasm up to man. livingstone the traveller, great scotch livingstone, - wandered o'er afric's trackless zone; where no white man had ever trod teaching the blacks the word of god. crimean war english, french and turks unite 'gainst russia in crimean fight. indian mutiny the indian mutiny now arose, 'fat' was the cause that led to blows. atlantic cable with efforts many men most able lay the great atlantic cable. suez canal lesseps unites for you and me the medit'ranean and red sea. education act the education act proposes to make us all as wise as moses; in eighteen-seven-nought it passed, but each is learning to the last. ballot act a couple of years from this we note the ballot act gives secret vote; before this act, e'en since we fear, folks sold their votes for draughts of beer. [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic _women took to spade and hoe._] edward vii. edward seven, 'peacemaker' named, - his efforts to this end far famed. we know it was no idle chance his 'entente cordiale' with france. true friendship and the peace we want the outcome of this grand entente. though not accented in our rhyme we've been fighting all the time; and it's a fact which must be stated our chief opponent (so 'twas fated) wars with our nearest neighbour o'er the sea france whose 'no' is 'non'; whose 'yes' is 'oui'; like two schoolboys always sparring eight hundred years together warring; from hastings unto waterloo we'd battles with the brave 'mossoo.' now honi soit qui still y pense; hurrah for england! vive la france! and here we come to end our rhymes we've reached the present stirring times, when one and all lent helping hand to keep secure the motherland. when men went forth to fight the foe and women took to spade and hoe, and donning smocks of nattiest styles, worked on the land for farmer giles. now three cheers for the dainty maids, government clerks of different grades; [illustration] nor are we likely to forget our debt to the munitionette. the we seem to have subdued the hun present time and so farewell (our task is done) to anzacs-indians-poilus-yanks-- italians-belgians-japs-and-tanks. [illustration] concerning men and tonics _by the late dr. andrew wilson._ _"many a man feels so thoroughly out of sorts, and thinks himself so dreadfully ill, that he is rather surprised when the doctor tells him there is not really anything seriously the matter with him at all; that he just needs a tonic, and should put the brake on as regards work, worry, or late hours._ _"it is this 'run-down-ness,' 'out-of-sorts-ness,' 'below-par-ness,' which lead to all kinds of fanciful fears, such as having brain fag, neurasthenia, and other conditions startling by name at least._ _"now i have found the form of iron jelloids put up with quinine (called iron jelloids no. a), to be an excellent tonic in all such cases. when a man or youth feels out-of-sorts, and is not so ill as to require medical advice, he cannot do better than try a fortnight's treatment of iron jelloids no. a, as a suitable and effective remedy._ _for debility, weakness and nerviness, men find the ideal tonic and restorative in iron jelloids no. a._ _for anÆmia in men and women (shown by breathlessness on slight exertion, pallor, depression and weakness) doctors have for many years prescribed the well-known iron jelloids no. .--there is nothing better._ _a ten days treatment (price / ) will convince you._ _mr. j. r. pennington, chemist, late of worksop, writes:--"i always handle iron jelloids with pleasure as my customers are invariably satisfied with them."_ [illustration: iron 'jelloids' (_pronounced jell-lloyds._)] reliable tonic for men iron jelloids no. a. for anæmia in men & women iron jelloids no. . for growing children iron jelloids no. . _of all chemists. a ten days treatment / . large size /-_ _manufactured by the iron jelloid co., ltd., , central street, london, e.c. . england._ [illustration: iron jelloids the great tonic] +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's note | | | | details of minor typographical corrections and retained | | mis-spellings are provided in the source of the associated | | html version. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ the mythological zoo by oliver herford [illustration] new york - charles scribner's sons copyright, , by oliver herford published september, to elwyn barron with affectionate regard contents page medusa the siren the dolphin the cockatrice cerberus the sphinx the sea serpent the salamander the jinn the mermaid the unicorn the satyr the gargoyle the chimera the ph[oe]nix the gryphon the harpy the centaur pegasus the hydra the hyppogriff the minotaur the mythological zoo medusa how did medusa do her hair? the question fills me with despair. it must have caused her sore distress that head of curling snakes to dress. whenever after endless toil she coaxed it finally to coil, the music of a passing band would cause each separate hair to stand on end and sway and writhe and spit,-- she couldn't "do a thing with it." and, being woman and aware of such disaster to her hair, what _could_ she do but petrify all whom she met, with freezing eye? [illustration] the siren the siren may be said to be the chorus-lady of the sea; tho' mermaids claim her as their kin, instead of fishy tail and fin two shapely feet rejoice the view (with all that appertains thereto). when to these other charms we add a voice that drives the hearer mad, who will dispute her claim to be the chorus-lady of the sea? [illustration] the dolphin the dolphin was, if you should wish to call him so,--the king of fish. though having neither gills nor scales, his title _should be_ prince of whales. while too small waisted to provide a jonah with a berth inside, the dolphin has been known to pack a drowning sailor on his back and bear him safely into port,-- he was a taxi-whale, in short. [illustration] the cockatrice if you will listen to advice you will avoid the cockatrice-- a caution i need hardly say wholly superfluous to-day. yet had you lived when they were rife such warning might have saved your life. to meet the cockatrice's eye means certain death--and that is why when i its features here portray i make it look the other way. o cockatrice! were you so mean what must the _hen_atrice have been! [illustration] cerberus dear reader, should you chance to go to hades, do not fail to throw a "sop to cerberus" at the gate, his anger to propitiate. don't say "good dog!" and hope thereby his three fierce heads to pacify. what though he try to be polite and wag his tail with all his might, how shall one amiable tail against three angry heads prevail? the heads _must_ win.--what puzzles me is why in hades there should be a watch dog; 'tis, i should surmise, the _last_ place one would burglarize. [illustration] the sphinx she was half lady and half cat-- what is so wonderful in that? half of our lady friends (so say the other half) are _cats_ to-day. in egypt she made quite a stir, they carved huge images of her. riddles she asked of all she met and all who answered wrong, she ate. when oedipus her riddle solved the minx--i mean the sphinx--dissolved in tears. what is there, when one thinks, so wonderful about the sphinx? [illustration] the sea serpent o wondrous worm that won the height of fame by keeping out of sight! never was known on land or sea such a colossal modesty; never such arrogant pretence of ostentatious diffidence. celebrity whom none has seen, save some post prandial marine, no magazine can reproduce your photograph.--oh, what's the use of doing things when one may be so famous a nonentity! [illustration] the salamander the salamander made his bed among the glowing embers red. a fiery furnace, to his mind, hygiene and luxury combined. he was, if i may put it so, a saurian abednigo. he loved to climb with nimble ease the branches of the gas-log trees where oft on chilly winter nights he rose to dizzy fahrenheits. believers in soul transmigration see in him the re-incarnation of those sad plagues of summer, who ask, "is it hot enough for you?" [illustration] the jinn to call a jinn the only thing one needed was a magic ring. you rubbed the ring and forth there came a monster born of smoke and flame, a thing of vapor, fume and glare ready to waft you anywhere. the magic jinns of yesterday the wand of science now obey. you ring, and lo! with rush and roar the panting monster's at the door, a thing of vapor, fume and glare ready to take you anywhere. what's in a name? what choice between the giants, jinn and gasolene? [illustration] the mermaid although a fishwife in a sense, she does not barter fish for pence. fisher of men, her golden nets for foolish sailormen she sets. all day she combs her hair and longs for dimpled feet and curling-tongs. all night she dreams in ocean caves of low tide shoes and marcel waves. and while the fishwife, making sales, may sell her wares upon her scales, the mermaid, wonderful to tell, must wear her scales upon hersel'. [illustration] the unicorn the unicorn 's a first-rate sort. he helps the lion to support the royal arms of england's king and keep the throne from tottering. i wonder what the king would do if his supporters all withdrew? perhaps he'd try the stage; a throne should be an easy stepping-stone to histrionic heights, and who knows till he tries what he can do? the king, with diligence and care, _might_ rise to be a manager. [illustration] the satyr the satyr lived in times remote, a shape half-human and half-goat, who, having all man's faults combined with a goat's nature unrefined, was not what you would call a bright example or a shining light. far be it from me to condone the satyr's sins, yet i must own i like to think there were a few young satyrs who to heaven flew, and when saint peter, thunder browed, seeing them, cried, "no goats allowed!" although the gate slammed quickly to, somehow their human halves got through; whereat the kindly saint relented, and that's how cherubs were invented. [illustration] the gargoyle the gargoyle often makes its perch on a cathedral or a church, where, mid ecclesiastic style, it smiles an early-gothic smile. and while the parson, dignified, spouts at his weary flock inside, the gargoyle, from its lofty seat, spouts at the people in the street, and, like the parson, seems to say to those beneath him, "let us spray." i like the gargoyle best; it plays so cheerfully on rainy days, while parsons (no one can deny) are awful dampers--when they're dry. [illustration] the chimera you'd think a lion or a snake were quite enough one's nerves to shake; but in this classic beast we find a lion and a snake combined, and, just as if that weren't enough, a goat thrown in to make it tough. let scientists the breed pooh! pooh! come with me to some social zoo and hear the bearded lion bleat goat-like on patent-kidded feet, whose "civil leer and damning praise" the serpent's cloven tongue betrays. lo! lion, goat, and snake combined! thus nature doth repeat her kind. [illustration] the ph[oe]nix the ph[oe]nix was, as you might say, the burning question of his day: the more he burned, the more he grew splendiferous in feathers new. and from his ashes rising bland, did business at the same old stand. but though good people went about and talked, they could not put him out. a wond'rous bird--indeed, they say he is not quite extinct to-day. [illustration] the gryphon it chanced that allah, looking round, when he had made his creatures, found half of an eagle and a pair of extra lion legs to spare. so, hating waste, he took some glue and made a gryphon of the two. but when his handiwork he eyed, he frowned--and it was petrified, doomed for all time to represent impatience on a monument. sometimes upon our path to-day its living counterpart will stray-- columbia's eagle strutting in an awf'ly english lion's skin, with glass in eye and swagg'ring gait: behold the gryphon up to date. [illustration] the harpy they certainly contrived to raise queer ladies in the olden days. either the type had not been fixed, or else zoology got mixed. i envy not primeval man this female on the feathered plan. we only have, i'm glad to say, two kinds of human bird to-day-- women and warriors, who still wear feathers when dressed up to kill. [illustration] the centaur the centaur led a double life: two natures in perpetual strife he had, that never could agree on what the bill-of-fare should be; for when the man-half set his heart on taking dinner _à la carte_, the horse was sure to cast his vote unswervingly for _table d'oat_. a pretty sort of life to lead; the horse in time went off his feed, the hungry man was nigh demented, when one day--oatmeal was invented! [illustration] pegasus the ancients made no end of fuss about a horse named pegasus, a famous flyer of his time, who often soared to heights sublime, when backed by some poetic chap for the parnassus handicap. alas for fame! the other day i saw an ancient "one-hoss shay" stop at the mont de piété, and, lo! alighting from the same, a bard, whom i forbear to name. noting the poor beast's rusty hide (the horse, i mean), methought i spied what once were wings. incredulous, i cried, "can _this_ be pegasus!" [illustration] the hydra the hydra hercules defied, its nine diminished heads must hide before the baneful modern beast who has a thousand heads at least. see how in horrid tiers they rise, with straining ears and bulging eyes, while, blinded by fierce calcium rays, the trembling victim tribute pays of song or measure, mime or jest, to soothe the savage hydra's breast. if she please not the monster's whim, wild scribes will tear her limb from limb; even if charmed, he rend the air with hideous joy, let her beware; for she must surely, soon or late, fall 'neath the hissing hydra's hate. [illustration] the hyppogriff biologists are prone to sniff at hybrids like the hyppogriff. in evolution's plan, they say, there is no place for such as they. a horse with wings could not have more than two legs, and this beast had four. well, i for one am glad to waive two of his legs, his wings to save. i'd even sell my auto--if i had one--for a hyppogriff. [illustration] the minotaur no book of monsters is complete without the minotaur of crete. yet should i draw him you would quail, so in his place i draw a veil. o stars, that from creation's birth have winked at everything on earth, who shine where poets fear to tread, relate the story in my stead! * * * * * although it's comforting to know that theseus slew him long ago, _we_ need not boast, we too could do with--well, a theseus or two. [illustration] the end. * * * * * books by oliver herford _with pictures by the author_ published by charles scribner's sons the bashful earthquake $ . a child's primer of natural history $ . overheard in a garden $ . more animals _net_, $ . the rubaiyat of a persian kitten _net_, $ . the fairy godmother-in-law _net_, $ . a little book of bores _net_, $ . the peter pan alphabe _net_, $ . the astonishing tale of a pen-and-ink puppet _net_, $ . a kitten's garden of verses _net_, $ . the mythological zoo _net_, . _with john cecil clay_ cupid's cyclopedia _net_, $ . cupid's fair-weather booke _net_, $ . * * * * * the monkey's frolic. a humorous tale, in verse. [publisher's device] london: grant and griffith, successors to j. harris, corner of st. paul's churchyard. the monkey's frolic. a humorous tale. [publisher's device] london: grant and griffith, successors to john harris, corner of st. paul's churchyard. the monkey's frolic. our tale is a true one, from which may be taught a maxim for youth, with utility fraught;-- _if terrors assail you, examine the cause, and all will be well_;--for, by nature's kind laws, nor goblins nor spectres on earth have a station,-- these phantoms are all of ideal creation. [illustration] a _monkey_, that comical tricks would be at, his frolics one morning began with the _cat_; he chatter'd, as much as to say _how d' ye do?_ and _puss_ look'd her thanks, and politely cried _mew_! _pug_ then shook her paw, and they sat down together, _puss_ washing her face, indicating wet weather. [illustration] but, mischief the _monkey_ inclining to harbour, his skill he resolved now to try as a _barber_.-- a soap-box conveniently lay in the room, "miss _puss_," he exclaim'd, "you'll be shaved, i presume?" then scraping and bowing with grin and grimace, despite of resistance, he lather'd her face. [illustration] now _pug_ could not find either razor or knife, so _puss_ ran no hazard of losing her life;-- yet razor or knife though they could not be had, _pug_ found what the terrified _cat_ thought as bad; a knife made of ivory, in use to cut paper, with which barber _pug_ now proceeded to scrape her. [illustration] but _puss_ on a sudden deserted her station, disliking (no wonder) the strange operation, and ran round the room without means of escaping; while _pug_, still determined to give her a scraping, pursued, and, regardless of struggle or prayer, fast bound her, at last, to the back of a chair. [illustration] when, tucking a napkin close under her chin, each mew of dismay he return'd with a grin; and yelling and chattering they raised such a clatter, that _susan_ rush'd in to learn what was the matter; when _pug_, overturning the chair midst the clack, ran off, leaving _pussy_ stretched out on her back. [illustration] the sight was to _susan_ so curious, that faster she ran _out_ than _in_, to tell _mistress_ and _master_; but, when they came up, neither _puss_ nor the _shaver_ was there, to account for improper behaviour;-- for _pug_ had contrived, amid _susan's_ alarms, to reach the house-top, with miss _puss_ in his arms. [illustration] now fearing that _pug_ or miss _puss_ might be maim'd, "go, fetch a long ladder," the _master_ exclaim'd; "and bring them down quickly both _barber_ and _cat_." "oh, oh!" thought the _monkey_, "i _sha'nt suffer that_."-- the ladder was climb'd by a servant so valiant, but _pug_ with loose tiles soon repulsed the assailant. [illustration] against all manoeuvre apparently proof, _pug_ chatter'd and paced to and fro on the roof, and fondled the _cat_, and next, pitying her case, he wiped with the napkin the suds from her face; as nurse would a child, then he held her out _so_, while all the spectators kept laughing below. [illustration] now seeing him thus to good humour inclined, they thought he might prove more pacific of mind, so mounted the ladder another assailer; when _pug_, of loose tiles now perceiving a failure, eluded the grasp of pursuit with a hop, and gained an adjacent and tall chimney-pot. [illustration] it chanced that the vent of this same chimney led direct to a chamber, confined to his bed where lay an old gentleman, ill with the gout, _and wishing some bad fate might thence drag him out!_ _pug_, missing his footing, 'midst vapour and fume, that instant with _puss_ tumbled into the room. [illustration] grimed over with soot, they kick'd up such a rout, and caper'd the sick man's apartment about, and chatter'd and squall'd in a manner so hideous, like young imps of darkness, that, not to be tedious, the sufferer forgot both his gout and his prayers, and scamper'd, pursued by these phantoms, down stairs! [illustration] there sat in the parlour a medical man, and thither _pursued_ and _pursuers_ now ran;-- and _puss_ and the _monkey_ grown fiercer and bolder, physician and patient seized each by his shoulder, who raised such a yell, that the _chorus_ resembled a legion of mad-caps from bedlam assembled! [illustration] the tumult each wonder-struck inmate alarm'd; at length on assistance they ventured, well arm'd, and entered the scene of dismay and despair,-- when, lo! no invaders of quiet were there! but doctor and patient lay stretch'd on the floor, not wotting of terror a forthcoming cure. [illustration] the incident soon was of mystery clear'd,-- the owner of _pug_ and _grimalkin_ appear'd;-- "my _monkey_ and _cat_ have created alarm; i hope," he observed, "you have not taken harm:"-- then cautiously peering the chamber about, he dragg'd, from the chimney, both intruders out. [illustration] alarm now gave way to good humour and fun,-- "much harm to my friend," said the patient, "is done; your _ape_ pill and potion has put to the rout, and cured me, i thank him, at once of the _gout_." he then to the _monkey_ made reverence profound, who _salam'd_ politely the company round. [illustration] the _doctor_ a lesson thus learn'd, that, despite of physic, the gout may be cured by a _fright_: and, since this affair, now and then on the sly in similar cases same means he will try.-- to show that no malice or envy he knew, he shook hands with _pug_, and each party withdrew. popular nursery books, one shilling each. . alphabet of goody two-shoes. . the children in the wood. . cinderella; or, the little glass slipper. . cock robin. . cries of london (the). . costumes of different nations. illustrated. . courtship, marriage, and pic-nic dinner of cock-robin and jenny wren. . cowslip (the), s. d. _coloured_. . daisy (the), ditto. . dame partlett's farm. . dame trot and her cat. . graciosa and percinet. . grandmamma's rhymes for the nursery. . history of the apple pie. with dearlove's ditties. . history of johnny gilpin. . the house that jack built. . infant's friend (the); or, easy reading lessons. . infant's grammar (the); or, a pic-nic party of the parts of speech. . little rhymes for little folks. . mother hubbard and her dog. . monkey's frolic (the), &c. . nursery ditties: from the lips of mrs. lullaby. . old woman and her pig. . peacock at home (the); with the butterfly's ball, &c. . portraits and characters of the kings of england. . peter piper's practical principles of plain and perfect pronunciation. . the prince of wales' primer, with illustrations. . puss in boots. . simple stories. by the author of "stories of old daniel." . snow-drop (the); or, poetic trifles for little folks. . tom thumb. his life and death. . tommy trip's museum of beasts. part i. . ditto. part ii. . tommy trip's museum of birds. part i. . ditto. part ii. . valentine and orson. . walks with mamma; or, stories in words of one syllable. . whittington and his cat. . word book (the); or, stories, chiefly in three letters. the favourite library. _each volume with an illustration and bound in an elegant cover. price s. or extra cloth, s. d._ . the eskdale herd-boy. by lady stoddart. . mrs. leicester's school. by charles and mary lamb. . history of the robins. by mrs. trimmer. . memoirs of bob, the spotted terrier. . keeper's travels in search of his master. . the scottish orphans. by lady stoddart. . never wrong; or, the young disputant. . perambulations of a mouse. . trimmer's easy introduction to the knowledge of nature. . right and wrong. by the author of "always happy." . harry's holiday. by jeffreys taylor. . short poems and hymns for children. printed by samuel bentley and co., bangor house, shoe lane. none none the·rubÁiyÁt of·a·bachelor [illustration] [illustration: promised to pay a woman's bills for life.] the·rubÁiyÁt of·a·bachelor [illustration] by helen rowland decorations ···· by ···· harold ···· speakman dodge publishing company new york copyright by dodge publishing company to my husband william hill-brereton this little book is affectionately dedicated wake! for the spring has scattered into flight the vows of lent, and bids the heart be light. bring on the roast, and take the fish away! the season calls--and woman's eyes are bright! before the phantom of pale winter died, methought the voice of spring within me cried, "when hymen's rose-decked altars glow within, why nods the laggard _bachelor_ outside?" and, at the signal, i who stood before in idle musing, shouted, "say no more! you know how little while we have to love-- and love's light hand is knocking at the door!" now, the new moon reviving old desires, the gallant youth to sentiment aspires; and ere he saunters forth on conquest bent, himself, like unto solomon, attires. [illustration: his winter garments hung--where, no one knows!] how blithely through the smiling throng he goes, his winter garments hung--where, no one knows! a symphony in radiant scarfs and hose, wrought t'inspire a maiden's "ah's!" and "oh's!" into a new flirtation, why not knowing, nor whence, his heart with madness overflowing; then out of it--and thence, without a pause, into _another_, willy-nilly blowing. what if the conscience feel, perchance, a sting? no danger waits him--save the _wedding ring_. a kiss is not the sin that yesterday it was--for that was _lent_, and this is _spring_! some simple ones may sigh for wealth or fame, and some, for the sweet domestic life, and tame; but ah! give me a supper, a cigar, a charming woman--and the old love-game! some blue points on the half-shell, in a row, some iced champagne, a melting bird--and thou beside me flirting, 'neath a picture hat-- oh, single life were paradise enow! a cozy-corner tête-a-tête--what bliss! a murmured word, a sigh, a stolen kiss-- ah, tell me, does the promised paradise hold anything one-half so sweet as this? and yet, since i am made of common clay, one charm i'd add to this divine array; lord make me _careful_, and whate'er betide, without proposing, let me slip away! for, some i've known, the bravest and the best, who laughed at love, as but an idle jest, have, one by one, walked straight into the net, helpless, before the _cozy corner_ test! thus, oft, beside some damsel fond and fair, i've sat, thrilled by the perfume of her hair, and madly longed to murmur, lip-to-lip, "beloved, marry me!"--but did not dare! for some i've wooed, when i felt blithe and gay, have looked _so different_, when we met next day, that i have simply stopped to say, "so charmed!" and shuddering, sped hurriedly away! look to the married men! alas, their gains are neither here nor there, for all their pains. for wedding bells are rung--and loudly rung to drown the clanking of the _marriage chains_! a moment's halt--a little word or two-- and you have done what you can ne'er undo; promised to pay a woman's bills for life-- _anchored_ yourself--and there's an end of you! and we, who now make merry at the gloom of those who thus have gone to meet their doom-- may we, ourselves, not some day follow suit, ourselves to be the butt of jests--for whom? indeed, 'tis better to have loved and lost-- taken the kiss and fled, at any cost, than to have loved and married, and for aye, thereafter, by a _woman_, to be bossed. with me, along that strip of broadway strewn with lovely maids, each radiant afternoon, and think, of all the thousands you behold, that you can marry one--and _only one_! but, if the lip i kiss, the hand i press, upon the morrow seem to charm me less, ah well, am i not still a _bachelor_, and thus, entitled to--another guess? [illustration: some for the comforts of a club may sigh.] some for the comforts of a club may sigh, and some for a hermit's lonely life. not i! give me a cozy hearthside, and a girl always "at home" when _i_ chance by! her cushioned chair a spot where i may curl my weary form, and rest, beyond the whirl of madd'ning cares; to rise at half-past ten, and call next night--upon _another girl_! why, if a man can thus, at ease, abide each evening by a different damsel's side, were't not a shame--were't not a shame, for him to any _one_, forever to be tied? and so, the girls i've set my heart upon, i've flattered, wooed a little--and anon, just as they thought to slip the fatal noose about my neck, behold--the bird had flown! for this the argument that i submit-- refute it, if you can, with all your wit! that luck in love, for such as you and i, consists in safely keeping _out_ of it! * * * * * this morn, i've quaffed at least a quart or more of water--yet am thirsty as before; and that dark taste still lingers in the mouth with which, last night, i reformation swore. [illustration: some angel, with a saving drink.] yet, when some angel, with a saving drink of iced nepenthe comes, i shall not shrink; but, having drunk of it, shall feel again as good and noble as before, i think. each morn some fresh repentance brings, you say? yes--but where leaves the vows of yesterday? for i shall make and break them all, again, when time hath taken _this_ headache away. what if my conscience seem an idle joke-- my good resolves all disappear in smoke? this thought remains--and is it not enough?-- _i do not wear the matrimonial yoke!_ nay! there is no one waiting at the door, whene'er i wander in at half-past four, no one to question, no one to accuse, no one, my shocking frailty to deplore! no one to greet me with her tear-stained eyes, no one to doubt my quaint, fantastic lies, no one my foolish looks to criticize-- ah, but the knots, the knots in marriage-ties! oh friend, could you and i, somehow, conspire, to grasp the matrimonial scheme entire, would we not shatter it to bits--and then, make of its bonds a rousing funeral pyre? myself, when young, did eagerly frequent the weddings of my friends on bondage bent; but evermore thanked fate, when i escaped scot-free, by that same door wherein i went. into the fatal compact, why not knowing, i've seen them go, nor dream where they were going; then out again, with shouts of "westward, ho!" the bitter seeds of _alimony_ sowing! ah well, they say that, sometimes, side by side, a cat and dog may peacefully abide. perhaps--perhaps. but that is only when that cat and dog are not together tied! oft, to some patient married man i turn, the secret of his dumb content to learn, but lip-to-ear, he mutters, "fool, beware! _this_ is the path, whence there is no return!" [illustration: but, lip-to-ear, he mutters, "fool, beware!"] oh, threats of hell, and hopes of paradise! one thing is certain--when a husband dies, no wife shall greet him _there_ with "where's" or "why's" nor mock with laughter his most subtle lies! no matter whether up or down he goes, he neither cares nor questions, i suppose; since death can hold no bitterness for him, because--because--oh well, he knows, he knows! would you the spangle of existence spend in matrimony? slow about, my friend! a maiden's hair is more oft false than true, and on the chemist may her blush depend. a maiden's hair is more oft false than true! aye, and her modiste is, perchance, the clue, could you but know it, to her sylph-like grace, and, peradventure, to her _figure_, too. why, for this nothing, then, should you provoke the gods, or lightly don the galling yoke of unpermitted pleasure, under pain of alimony-until-death, if broke? why, when to-day your bills are promptly paid, assume the whims of some capricious maid, incur the debts you never did contract, and yet must settle? oh, the sorry trade! [illustration: i swore--but was i sober when i swore?] to "settle down and marry," oft of yore, i swore--but was i sober when i swore? and then there came another girl--and i turned gaily to the old love-game, once more. and, much as i repented things like this, and fondly dreamed of sweet domestic bliss, i sometimes wonder what a wife can give, one half so thrilling as a stolen kiss! yet, if the hair should vanish from my brow, my girth, in time, to great dimensions grow-- if youth's sweet-scented "buds" should pass me by, accounting me an antiquated beau-- why then, some winged angel, ere too late-- some maiden verging onto twenty-eight-- will gladly take what's left of me, i trow, and, leading me to wedlock, thank her fate! * * * * * alas, for those who may to-day prepare the wedding trousseau for the morrow's wear, a voice of warning cried, "there's many a slip betwixt the altar and the solitaire!" into this pact, man glides like water flowing, but _out_ of it is not such easy going; for they, who once were simple, guileless things, in breach-of-promise lore are now more knowing. [illustration: what! would you cast a loving woman hence?] what! would you cast a loving woman hence? thou, fickle one, prepare for penitence! full many a golden ducat shall you pay to drown the memory of such insolence. and every note, that, in your cups, you write, in cold black type, perchance shall see the light; while all the world, across its coffee urn, shall titter gaily at the sorry sight. ah yes! for all the papers, which discussed your wedding plans, shall turn your cake to crust, publish your letters and your photographs, and trail your egotism in the dust! the opera queens, that men have wooed and won, have loved them for a while, and then--anon, like snow upon broadway, with lightsome "touch," annexed their millions, and alas, have flown! oh look you, in the long and varied list of millionaires thus rifled and dismissed, how, rich man, after rich man, bode his hour, then went his way, to swell the golden grist. what diva's rubies ever glow so red as when some gilded chappie hath been bled? and every diamond the show girl wears, dropped in her lap, when some fool lost his head. and those who hung around the green-room door, and those who backed the show and paid the score, alike, to no such "angels" have been turned, as, once repentant, men feel sorry for. oh, my good fellow, keep the cash, that clears to-day of unpaid debts and future fears. to-morrow! why, to-morrow, you may be, yourself, with yesterday's cast-off millionaires. then, make the most of what you still may spend, ere you, too, into bankruptcy descend, bill upon bill, and under bill, to lie, sans cash, sans love, sans lady--what an end! * * * * * waste not your evenings in the vain pursuit of this or that girl. bittersweet the fruit! better be jocund with them, one and all, and loving _many_, thus your love dilute. some, with vivacity have sought to charm away my fears, and still my soul's alarm; to win me subtly, with a smile or sigh, or sweet appealing touch upon the arm. others have tempted me with festive cheer, and chafing-dish concoctions, quaint and queer; with dear, domestic airs have plied their arts-- yet, all their wiles were neither there nor here! but when _platonic friendship_ they have tried, then, to the gods for mercy, have i cried! for, in the husband-hunt, all other snares sink into nothingness, _this_ game beside! there is the trap, from which you may not flee; there is the net, through which no man may see. some jest at "love," some talk of "chums," and then, into the consommé, for thee and me! [illustration: there is the trap, from which you may not flee.] whether to church, or to the magistrate, you follow, after that, 'tis all too late! for, from your pipe-dream, you, at last, shall wake, a married man, to rail in vain at fate! love, but the vision of a dear desire! marriage, the ashes, whence has fled the fire! cast into chains which you, yourself, have forged! caught, like a sheep upon a stray barbed wire! * * * * * oh thou, who first the apple tree didst shake, and e'en in eden flirted with the snake, still, as in that first moment 'neath the bough, dost thou, to-day, of man a puppet make! but this i know--whether the one true mate, or just some fluffy thing with hook and bait, eve-like, tempt _me_--one flash of common sense, and all her sorcery shall be too late! then, let her never look for me, again; for, once escaped, how many moons shall wane, and wax and wane full oft, while still she looks down that same street--but ah, for me, in vain! yet, much as i have played the infidel, if, as the fated pitcher to the well, _too oft_ to love's empyrean font i stray, to fall, at last, beneath some siren's spell, then, in your mercy, friend, forbear to smile, and with the grape my last few hours beguile, or, let me in some caravanserie, my cynic's soul to _shackles_ reconcile. and when, with me, some fair, triumphant lass, up to the rose-decked altar-rail shall pass, and, in her joyous errand, reach the spot, where we're made _one_--oh, drain a silent glass! tamam. [illustration: t a m a m] [illustration] mother goose's nursery rhymes a collection of _alphabets, rhymes, tales, and jingles_ with illustrations by sir john gilbert, r.a., john tenniel, harrison weir, walter crane, w. mcconnell, j. b. zwecker and others [illustration] london george routledge and sons the broadway, ludgate new york: broome street [illustration] contents. _page_ a apple pie a b c, tumble down d a carrion crow sat on an oak a diller, a dollar, a ten o'clock scholar a farmer went trotting upon his grey mare a little boy went into a barn a little cock sparrow sat on a tree a man of words and not of deeds a man went hunting at reigate a-milking, a-milking, my maid apple-pie, pudding, and pancake as i was going along, long, long as i was going up pippin hill as i was going up primrose hill as i was going to st. ives as i went to bonner as tommy snooks and bessy brooks at the siege of belleisle i was there all the while away, birds, away! baa, baa, black sheep (_music_) barber, barber, shave a pig bat, bat, come under my hat bessy bell and mary gray bless you, bless you, bonny bee blow, wind, blow, and go, mill, go bow-wow-wow boys and girls, come out to play brow, brow, brinkie bye, baby bunting charley, charley, stole the barley come, let's to bed, says sleepy-head cross-patch, draw the latch cry, baby, cry curly-locks, curly-locks, wilt thou be mine? daffy-down-dilly has come up to town dame duck's lessons to her ducklings dance a baby diddit dance to your daddy death and burial of poor cock robin deedle, deedle, dumpling, my son john dickery, dickery, dock (_music_) dickery, dickery, dare ding, dong, bell ding, dong, darrow doctor foster went to glo'ster early to bed and early to rise eggs, butter, cheese, bread elizabeth, elspeth, betsy, and bess for every evil under the sun four and twenty tailors went to kill a snail freddie in the cherry-tree frog he would a-wooing go frog's (the) chorus georgie porgie (_music_) good dobbin good king arthur goosey, goosey, gander (_music_) go to bed first, a golden purse great a, little a handy, spandy, jack-a-dandy hark, hark, the dogs do bark here am i, little jumping joan here we go up, up, up he that would thrive hey, diddle, diddle hey, my kitten, my kitten hickety, pickety, my black hen high diddle ding high diddle doubt, my candle's out hot cross buns humpty dumpty sat on a wall (_music_) hush-a-bye, baby hush-a-bye, baby, lie still with thy daddy hush baby, my doll, i pray you don't cry if all the world were water if wishes were horses, beggars would ride if you are to be a gentleman i had a little dog, they called him buff i had a little hen, the prettiest ever seen i had a little hobby-horse i had a little husband no bigger than my thumb i had a little pony i have a little sister they call her peep, peep i'll tell you a story i love sixpence i love little pussy i saw a ship a-sailing is john smith within? jack and jill went up the hill (_music_) jack be nimble jack sprat could eat no fat jack sprat had a cat jack sprat's pig jacky, come give me thy fiddle jenny shall have a new bonnet john cook he had a little grey mare john gilpin ladybird, ladybird leg over leg "let us go to the woods," says this pig little betty blue little blue betty lived in a lane little bo-peep (_music_) little boy blue little boy, pretty boy, where were you born? little girl, little girl, where have you been? little jack horner (_music_) little miss muffett little nancy etticote little polly flinders little robin redbreast sat upon a rail little tommy tittlemouse little tom tucker (_music_) margery mutton-pie and johnny bo-peep marriage of cock robin and jenny wren mary had a pretty bird mary, mary, quite contrary molly, my sister, and i fell out mr. isbister and betsy his sister multiplication is vexation my lady wind, my lady wind my little old man and i fell out needles and pins, needles and pins nievie, nievie, nicknack nursery rhyme alphabet oh, mother, i'm to be married to mr. punchinello oh, the rusty, dusty, rusty miller old father grey beard old king cole old mother goose old mother hubbard old mother widdle-waddle old woman, old woman, shall we go a-shearing? one misty, moisty morning one, two, buckle my shoe one, two, three one, two, three, four, five pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man pease pudding hot peter white will ne'er go right pit, pat, well-a-day! pitty patty polt please to remember the fifth of november poor dog bright poor old robinson crusoe pussy cat ate the dumplings pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been? pussy sits beside the fire queen anne, queen anne, she sits in the sun rain, rain, go away rain, rain, go to spain ride a cock-horse robin and richard were two pretty men see a pin and pick it up see-saw, margery daw see, see, what shall i see? simple simon (_music_) sing a song of sixpence (_music_) snail, snail, come out of your hole snail, snail, come put out your horn solomon grundy some little mice sat in a barn swan, swan, over the sea taffy was a welshman the barber shaved the mason the cat sat asleep by the side of the fire the cock doth crow the cuckoo's a bonny bird the fox and the farmer the great brown owl the house that jack built the king of france went up the hill the lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown the man in the moon the north wind doth blow the old woman and her pig the old woman must stand at the tub, tub, tub the queen of hearts there was a crooked man there was a fat man of bombay there was a jolly miller there was a little man and he had a little gun there was a monkey climbed up a tree there was an old crow there was an old man of tobago there was an old woman, and what do you think? there was an old woman as i've heard tell there was an old woman called nothing-at-all there was an old woman lived under a hill there was an old woman tossed up in a basket there was an old woman who lived in a shoe there was an owl lived in an oak there was a rat, for want of stairs there were three crows sat ona stone the robin redbreasts the rose is red, the violet's blue the turtle dove's nest the waves on the sea-shore the wonderful derby ram the young linnets this is the way the ladies go thomas a tattamus took two t's three children sliding on the ice three straws on a staff three wise men of gotham to make your candles last for aye to market, to market, a gallop, a trot to market, to market, to buy a fat pig tommy kept a chandler's shop tom thumb's alphabet tom, tom, the piper's son (_music_) twinkle, twinkle, little star two legs sat upon three legs up hill and down dale up hill, spare me valentine, oh, valentine walrus (the) and the carpenter we are all in the dumps we'll go a-shooting what's the news of the day? when i was a bachelor, i lived by myself when little fred went to bed when the wind is in the east where are you going to, my pretty maid? who stole the bird's nest? willy boy, willy boy, where are you going? young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell you shall have an apple mother goose's nursery rhymes. old mother goose. old mother goose, when she wanted to wander, would ride through the air on a very fine gander. mother goose had a house, 'twas built in a wood, where an owl at the door for sentinel stood. this is her son jack, a plain-looking lad, he is not very good, nor yet very bad. she sent him to market, a live goose he bought, "here, mother," says he, "it will not go for nought." jack's goose and her gander grew very fond, they'd both eat together, or swim in one pond. [illustration: "she sent him to market, a live goose he bought."] jack found one fine morning as i have been told, his goose had laid him an egg of pure gold. jack rode to his mother, the news for to tell, she called him a good boy and said it was well. jack sold his gold egg to a rogue of a jew, who cheated him out of the half of his due. then jack went a-courting a lady so gay, as fair as the lily, and sweet as the may. the jew and the squire came behind his back, and began to belabour the sides of poor jack. and then the gold egg was thrown into the sea, [illustration] when jack he jumped in, and got it back presently. the jew got the goose, which he vowed he would kill, resolving at once his pockets to fill. [illustration] jack's mother came in, and caught the goose soon, and mounting its back, flew up to the moon. [illustration] boys and girls, come out to play, the moon does shine as bright as day, leave your supper, and leave your sleep, and meet your playfellows in the street; come with a whoop, and come with a call, and come with a good will, or not at all. up the ladder and down the wall, a halfpenny loaf will serve us all. you find milk and i'll find flour, and we'll have a pudding in half an hour. [illustration: tom thumb's alphabet] [illustration: a was an archer, who shot at a frog.] [illustration: b was a butcher, who had a great dog.] [illustration: c was a captain, all covered with lace.] [illustration: d was a drummer, who played with a grace.] [illustration: e was an esquire with pride on his brow.] [illustration: f was a farmer, who followed the plough.] [illustration: g was a gamester, who had but ill-luck.] [illustration: h was a hunter, who hunted a buck.] [illustration: i was an italian, who had a white mouse.] [illustration: j was a joiner, who built up a house.] [illustration: k was a king, so mighty and grand.] [illustration: l was a lady, who had a white hand.] [illustration: m was a miser, who hoarded up gold.] [illustration: n was a nobleman, gallant and bold.] [illustration: o was an organ-boy, who played for his bread.] [illustration: p a policeman, of bad boys the dread.] [illustration: q was a quaker, who would not bow down.] [illustration: r was a robber, who prowled about town.] [illustration: s was a sailor, who spent all he got.] [illustration: t was a tinker, who mended a pot.] [illustration: u was an usher, with dunces severe.] [illustration: v was a veteran, who never knew fear.] [illustration: w was a waiter, with dinners in store.] [illustration: x was expensive, and so became poor.] [illustration: y was a youth, who did not like school.] [illustration: z was a zany, who looked a great fool.] the walrus and the carpenter.[a] the sun was shining on the sea, shining with all his might: he did his very best to make the billows smooth and bright-- and this was odd, because it was the middle of the night. the moon was shining sulkily, because she thought the sun had got no business to be there after the day was done-- "it's very rude of him," she said, "to come and spoil the fun!" the sea was wet as wet could be, the sands were dry as dry. you could not see a cloud, because no cloud was in the sky: no birds were flying overhead-- there were no birds to fly. the walrus and the carpenter were walking close at hand; they wept like anything to see such quantities of sand: "if this were only cleared away," they said, "it _would_ be grand!" "if seven maids with seven mops swept it for half a year, do you suppose," the walrus said, "that they could get it clear?" "i doubt it," said the carpenter, and shed a bitter tear. [illustration] "o oysters, come and walk with us!" the walrus did beseech. "a pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, along the briny beach: we cannot do with more than four, to give a hand to each." the eldest oyster looked at him, but never a word he said: the eldest oyster winked his eye, and shook his heavy head-- meaning to say he did not choose to leave the oyster-bed. but four young oysters hurried up, all eager for the treat: their coats were brushed, their faces washed, their shoes were clean and neat-- and this was odd, because, you know, they hadn't any feet. four other oysters followed them, and yet another four; and thick and fast they came at last, and more, and more, and more-- all hopping through the frothy waves, and scrambling to the shore. the walrus and the carpenter walked on a mile or so, and then they rested on a rock conveniently low: and all the little oysters stood and waited in a row. "the time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- of cabbages--and kings-- and why the sea is boiling hot-- and whether pigs have wings." "but wait a bit," the oysters cried, "before we have our chat; for some of us are out of breath, and all of us are fat!" "no hurry!" said the carpenter. they thanked him much for that. [illustration] "a loaf of bread," the walrus said, "is what we chiefly need: pepper and vinegar besides are very good indeed-- now if you're ready, oysters dear, we can begin to feed." "but not on us!" the oysters cried, turning a little blue. "after such kindness, that would be a dismal thing to do!" "the night is fine," the walrus said. "do you admire the view? "it was so kind of you to come! and you are very nice!" the carpenter said nothing but "cut us another slice: i wish you were not quite so deaf-- i've had to ask you twice!" "it seems a shame," the walrus said, "to play them such a trick, after we've brought them out so far, and made them trot so quick!" the carpenter said nothing but "the butter's spread too thick!" [illustration] "i weep for you," the walrus said: "i deeply sympathize." with sobs and tears he sorted out those of the largest size, holding his pocket-handkerchief before his streaming eyes. "o oysters," said the carpenter, "you've had a pleasant run! shall we be trotting home again?" but answer there came none-- and this was scarcely odd, because they'd eaten every one. --lewis carroll. [a] by permission of the author. [illustration: a man went hunting at reigate.] a man went hunting at reigate, and wished to jump over a high gate; says the owner, "go round, with your horse and your hound, for you never shall leap over my gate." [illustration: humpty-dumpty.] [illustration: humpty-dumpty.] [music: humpty dumpty sat on a wall, humpty dumpty had a great fall; all the king's horses, and all the king's men, couldn't set humpty dumpty up again.] [illustration: "there was an owl lived in an oak."] there was an owl lived in an oak, whiskey, whaskey, weedle; and all the words he ever spoke were fiddle, faddle, feedle. a sportsman chanced to come that way, whiskey, whaskey, weedle; says he, "i'll shoot you, silly bird, so fiddle, faddle, feedle!" [illustration] good king arthur. when good king arthur ruled this land, he was a goodly king; he bought three pecks of barley-meal, to make a bag-pudding. a bag-pudding the king did make, and stuffed it well with plums, and in it put great lumps of fat, as big as my two thumbs. the king and queen did eat thereof, and noblemen beside; and what they could not eat that night, the queen next morning fried. [illustration] to market, to market, to buy a fat pig, home again, home again, jiggety jig. to market, to market, to buy a fat hog, home again, home again, jiggety jog. [illustration] hot cross buns, hot cross buns, one a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns. if your daughters don't like them, give them to your sons, one a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns. [illustration] who stole the bird's-nest? to-whit! to-whit! to-whee! will you listen to me? who stole four eggs i laid, and the nice nest i made? [illustration] not i, said the cow, moo-oo! such a thing i'd never do. i gave you a wisp of hay, but did not take your nest away; not i, said the cow, moo-oo! such a thing i'd never do. [illustration] bob-o-link! bob-o-link! now, what do you think? who stole a nest away from the plum-tree to-day? [illustration] not i, said the dog, bow-wow! i wouldn't be so mean, i vow. i gave some hairs the nest to make, but the nest i did not take; not i, said the dog, bow-wow! i would not be so mean, i vow. [illustration] coo-coo! coo-coo! coo-coo! let me speak a word or two: who stole that pretty nest from little robin redbreast? [illustration] not i, said the sheep; oh, no, i would not treat a poor bird so; i gave the wool the nest to line, but the nest was none of mine. baa! baa! said the sheep; oh, no! i wouldn't treat a poor bird so. [illustration] caw! caw! cried the crow, i should like to know what thief took away a bird's-nest to-day. [illustration] chuck! chuck! said the hen, don't ask me again; why, i haven't a chick would do such a trick. we all gave her a feather, and she wove them together. i'd scorn to intrude on her and her brood. chuck! chuck! said the hen, don't ask me again. [illustration] chirr-a-whirr! chirr-a-whirr! we will make a great stir. let us find out his name, and all cry--for shame! [illustration] a little boy hung down his head, and went and hid behind the bed; for he stole that pretty nest from little robin redbreast; and he felt so full of shame he did not like to tell his name. [illustration: "there was a jolly miller."] there was a jolly miller lived on the river dee: he worked and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as he. and this the burden of his song for ever used to be-- i care for nobody--no! not i, since nobody cares for me. [illustration] [illustration: "dickery, dickery, dare."] dickery, dickery, dare, the pig flew up in the air; the man in brown soon brought him down, dickery, dickery, dare. molly, my sister, and i fell out, and what do you think it was about? she loved coffee, and i loved tea, and that was the reason we couldn't agree. solomon grundy, born on a monday, christened on tuesday, married on wednesday, very ill on thursday, worse on friday, died on saturday, buried on sunday. this is the end of solomon grundy. [illustration] jack sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean; and so betwixt them both, you see, they licked the platter clean. [illustration] as i went to bonner, i met a pig without a wig, upon my word and honour. [illustration] hush, baby, my doll, i pray you don't cry, and i'll give you some bread, and some milk by-and-by; or perhaps you like custard, or, maybe, a tart, then to either you are welcome, with all my heart. pitty patty polt, shoe the wild colt; here a nail, and there a nail, pitty patty polt. brow, brow, brinkie, eye, eye, winkie, mouth, mouth, merry, cheek, cheek, cherry, chin chopper, chin chopper, &c. if you are to be a gentleman, as i suppose you'll be, you'll neither laugh nor smile for a tickling of the knee. [illustration] "where are you going to, my pretty maid?" "i am going a-milking, sir," she said. "may i go with you, my pretty maid?" "you're kindly welcome, sir," she said. "what is your father, my pretty maid?" "my father's a farmer, sir," she said. "what is your fortune, my pretty maid?" "my face is my fortune, sir," she said. "then i won't marry you, my pretty maid." "nobody asked you, sir," she said. [illustration] the barber shaved the mason, and as i suppose cut off his nose, and popped it in the basin. [illustration: "old mother hubbard went to the cupboard."] [illustration] old mother hubbard and her dog. old mother hubbard went to the cupboard, to get her poor dog a bone; but when she came there the cupboard was bare, and so the poor dog had none. [illustration] she went to the baker's to buy him some bread, but when she came back the poor dog was dead. [illustration] she went to the joiner's to buy him a coffin, but when she came back the poor dog was laughing, [illustration] she took a clean dish to get him some tripe, but when she came back he was smoking a pipe. [illustration] she went to the alehouse to get him some beer, but when she came back the dog sat in a chair. [illustration] she went to the tavern for white wine and red, but when she came back the dog stood on his head. [illustration] she went to the hatter's to buy him a hat, but when she came back he was feeding the cat. [illustration] she went to the barber's to buy him a wig, but when she came back he was dancing a jig. [illustration] she went to the fruiterer's to buy him some fruit, but when she came back he was playing the flute. [illustration] she went to the tailor's to buy him a coat, but when she came back he was riding a goat. [illustration] she went to the cobbler's to buy him some shoes, but when she came back he was reading the news. [illustration] she went to the sempstress to buy him some linen, but when she came back the dog was a-spinning. [illustration] she went to the hosier's to buy him some hose, but when she came back he was dressed in his clothes. [illustration: "the dame made a curtsey, the dog made a bow."] the dame made a curtsey, the dog made a bow; the dame said, "your servant," the dog said, "bow wow." this wonderful dog was dame hubbard's delight; he could sing, he could dance, he could read, he could write. she gave him rich dainties whenever he fed, and erected a monument when he was dead. [illustration] [illustration: little jack horner.] [illustration] little jack horner. [illustration: music: _allegretto._ little jack horner sat in a corner, eating a christmas pie; he put in his thumb, and he took out a plum, and said, "what a good boy am i!"] [illustration] there was a monkey climbed up a tree; when he fell down, then down fell he. there was a crow sat on a stone; when he was gone, then there was none. there was an old wife did eat an apple; when she ate two, she had ate a couple. there was a horse going to the mill; when he went on, he didn't stand still. there was a butcher cut his thumb. when it did bleed, then blood it did run. there was a jockey ran a race; when he ran fast, he ran apace. there was a cobbler, clouting shoon; when they were mended, then they were done. there was a navy went into spain; when it returned, it came back again. the waves on the sea-shore. roll on, roll on, you restless waves, that toss about and roar; why do you all run back again when you have reached the shore? roll on, roll on, you noisy waves, roll higher up the strand; how is it that you cannot pass that line of yellow sand? "we may not dare," the waves reply: "that line of yellow sand is laid along the shore to bound the waters and the land. "and all should keep to time and place, and all should keep to rule, both waves upon the sandy shore, and little boys at school." [illustration: "jenny blushed behind her fan."] [illustration] the marriage of cock robin and jenny wren. it was on a merry time, when jenny wren was young, so neatly as she danced, and so sweetly as she sung,-- robin redbreast lost his heart: he was a gallant bird; he doffed his hat to jenny, and thus to her he said: [illustration] "my dearest jenny wren, if you will but be mine, you shall dine on cherry-pie, and drink nice currant-wine. "i'll dress you like a goldfinch, or like a peacock gay; so if you'll have me, jenny, let us appoint the day." [illustration] jenny blushed behind her fan, and thus declared her mind: "then let it be to-morrow, bob,-- i take your offer kind; "cherry-pie is very good, so is currant-wine; but i'll wear my russet gown, and never dress too fine." [illustration] robin rose up early, at the break of day; he flew to jenny wren's house, to sing a roundelay. he met the cock and hen, and bade the cock declare, this was his wedding-day with jenny wren the fair. the cock then blew his horn, to let the neighbours know this was robin's wedding-day, and they might see the show. [illustration] at first came parson rook, with his spectacles and band; and one of mother hubbard's books he held within his hand. then followed him the lark, for he could sweetly sing, and he was to be the clerk at cock robin's wedding. he sang of robin's love for little jenny wren; and when he came unto the end, then he began again. the goldfinch came on next, to give away the bride; the linnet, being bridesmaid, walked by jenny's side; and as she was a-walking, said, "upon my word, i think that your cock robin is a very pretty bird." the blackbird and the thrush, and charming nightingale, whose sweet "jug" sweetly echoes through every grove and dale; the sparrow and tomtit, and many more, were there; all came to see the wedding of jenny wren the fair. the bullfinch walked by robin, and thus to him did say, "pray mark, friend robin redbreast, that goldfinch dressed so gay: "what though her gay apparel becomes her very well, yet jenny's modest dress and look must bear away the bell." [illustration] then came the bride and bridegroom; quite plainly was she dressed, and blushed so much, her cheeks were as red as robin's breast. but robin cheered her up; "my pretty jen," said he, "we're going to be married, and happy we shall be." "oh, then," says parson rook, "who gives this maid away?" "i do," says the goldfinch, "and her fortune i will pay: "here's a bag of grain of many sorts, and other things beside: now happy be the bridegroom, and happy be the bride!" "and will you have her, robin, to be your wedded wife?" "yes, i will," says robin, "and love her all my life!" "and you will have him, jenny, your husband now to be?" "yes, i will," says jenny, "and love him heartily!" then on her finger fair cock robin put the ring; "you're married now," says parson rook, while the lark aloud did sing: "happy be the bridegroom, and happy be the bride! and may not man, nor bird, nor beast, this happy pair divide!" [illustration] the birds were asked to dine, not jenny's friends alone, but every pretty songster that had cock robin known. they had a cherry-pie, besides some currant-wine, and every guest brought something, that sumptuous they might dine. now they all sat or stood, to eat and to drink; and every one said what he happened to think. [illustration] they each took a bumper, and drank to the pair, cock robin the bridegroom, and jenny the fair. the dinner-things removed, they all began to sing; and soon they made the place near a mile round to ring. the concert it was fine; and every bird tried who best should sing for robin, and jenny wren the bride. [illustration] when in came the cuckoo, and made a great rout; he caught hold of jenny, and pulled her about. cock robin was angry, and so was the sparrow, who fetched in a hurry his bow and his arrow. his aim then he took, but he took it not right; his skill was not good, or he shot in a fright; for the cuckoo he missed, but cock robin he killed!-- and all the birds mourned that his blood was so spilled. [illustration: _alas! poor cock robin!_] [illustration] the death and burial of poor cock robin. who killed cock robin? i, said the sparrow, with my bow and arrow, i killed cock robin. this is the sparrow, with his bow and arrow. [illustration] who saw him die? i, said the fly, with my little eye, i saw him die. this is the little fly who saw cock robin die. [illustration] who caught his blood? i, said the fish, with my little dish, i caught his blood. this is the fish, that held the dish. [illustration] who'll make his shroud? i, said the beetle, with my thread and needle, i'll make his shroud. this is the beetle, with his thread and needle. [illustration] who'll dig his grave? i, said the owl, with my spade and show'l, i'll dig his grave. this is the owl, with his spade and show'l. [illustration] who'll be the parson? i, said the rook, with my little book, i'll be the parson. this is the rook, reading his book. [illustration] who'll be the clerk? i, said the lark, if it's not in the dark, i'll be the clerk. this is the lark, saying "amen" like a clerk. [illustration] who'll carry him to the grave? i, said the kite, if it's not in the night, i'll carry him to the grave. this is the kite, about to take flight. [illustration] who'll carry the link? i, said the linnet, i'll fetch it in a minute, i'll carry the link. this is the linnet, and a link with fire in it. [illustration] who'll be chief mourner? i, said the dove, for i mourn for my love, i'll be chief mourner. this is the dove, who cock robin did love. [illustration] who'll sing a psalm? i, said the thrush, as she sat in a bush, i'll sing a psalm. this is the thrush, singing psalms from a bush. [illustration] who'll toll the bell? i, said the bull, because i can pull; so, cock robin, farewell! this is the bull who the bell-rope did pull. [illustration: poor cock robin] all the birds of the air fell a-sighing and sobbing, when they heard the bell toll for poor cock robin. [illustration] freddie and the cherry-tree. [illustration] freddie saw some fine ripe cherries hanging on a cherry-tree, and he said, "you pretty cherries, will you not come down to me?" "thank you kindly," said a cherry, "we would rather stay up here; if we ventured down this morning, you would eat us up, i fear." one, the finest of the cherries, dangled from a slender twig; "you are beautiful," said freddie, "red and ripe, and oh, how big!" "catch me," said the cherry, "catch me, little master, if you can." "i would catch you soon," said freddie, "if i were a grown-up man." freddie jumped, and tried to reach it, standing high upon his toes; but the cherry bobbed about, and laughed, and tickled freddie's nose. simple simon. [illustration: music: simple simon met a pieman, going to the fair; says simple simon to the pieman, "let me taste your ware." says the pieman to simple simon, "show me first your penny." says simple simon to the pieman, "indeed i have not any."] he went to catch a dickey-bird, and thought he could not fail, because he'd got a little salt to put upon his tail. [illustration] he went to take a bird's nest, was built upon a bough: a branch gave way, and simon fell into a dirty slough. [illustration] he went to shoot a wild duck, but wild duck flew away; says simon, "i can't hit him, because he will not stay." simple simon went a-hunting, for to catch a hare, he rode an ass about the streets, but couldn't find one there. simple simon went a-fishing for to catch a whale; all the water he had got was in his mother's pail. he went for to eat honey out of the mustard-pot, he bit his tongue until he cried, that was all the good he got. he went to ride a spotted cow, that had a little calf, she threw him down upon the ground, which made the people laugh. once simon made a great snowball, and brought it in to roast; he laid it down before the fire, and soon the ball was lost. he went to slide upon the ice, before the ice would bear; then he plunged in above his knees, which made poor simon stare. [illustration] he washed himself with blacking-ball, because he had no soap; then said unto his mother, "i'm a beauty now, i hope." simple simon went to look if plums grew on a thistle; he pricked his fingers very much, which made poor simon whistle. [illustration] he went for water in a sieve, but soon it all ran through; and now poor simple simon bids you all adieu. [illustration] [illustration] willy boy, willy boy, where are you going? i will go with you, if i may. i am going to the meadows, to see them mowing, i am going to see them make the hay. [illustration] away, birds, away! take a little, and leave a little, and do not come again; for if you do, i will shoot you through, and then there will be an end of you. [illustration] i had a little dog, they called him buff, i sent him to the shop for a hap'orth of snuff; but he lost the bag, and spilt the snuff, so take that cuff, and that's enough. the cock doth crow to let you know, if you be wise, 't is time to rise. jack sprat had a cat, it had but one ear, it went to buy butter, when butter was dear. the king of france went up the hill, with twenty thousand men, the king of france came down the hill, and ne'er went up again. [illustration: "a carrion crow."] [illustration] a carrion crow sat on an oak, fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do, watching a tailor shape his coat; sing he, sing ho, the old carrion crow, fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do! wife, bring me my old bent bow, fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do, that i may shoot yon carrion crow; sing he, sing ho, the old carrion crow, fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do! the tailor shot, and he missed his mark, fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do, and shot the miller's sow right through the heart; sing he, sing ho, the old carrion crow, fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do! wife! oh wife! bring brandy in a spoon, fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do, for the old miller's sow is in a swoon; sing he, sing ho, the old carrion crow, fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do! mary had a pretty bird, feathers bright and yellow, slender legs--upon my word, he was a pretty fellow. the sweetest notes he always sung, which much delighted mary, and near the cage she'd ever sit, to hear her own canary. [illustration] little blue betty lived in a lane, she sold good ale to gentlemen: gentlemen came every day, and little blue betty hopped away; she hopped upstairs to make her bed, and she tumbled down, and broke her head. [illustration] [a candle.] little nancy etticote, in a white petticoat, with a red nose; the longer she stands, the shorter she grows. [illustration: "a frog he would a-wooing go."] a frog he would a-wooing go. a frog he would a-wooing go, heigho, says rowley, whether his mother would let him or no. with a rowley powley, gammon and spinach, heigho, says anthony rowley! so off he set with his opera hat, heigho, says rowley, and on the road he met with a rat. with a rowley powley, &c. "pray, mr. rat, will you go with me, heigho, says rowley, kind mrs. mousey for to see?" with a rowley powley, &c. when they came to the door of mousey's hall, heigho, says rowley, they gave a loud knock, and they gave a loud call. with a rowley powley, &c. "pray, mrs. mouse, are you within?" heigho, says rowley, "oh, yes, kind sirs, i'm sitting to spin." with a rowley powley, &c. [illustration] "pray, mrs. mouse, will you give us some beer? heigho, says rowley, for froggy and i are fond of good cheer." with a rowley powley, &c. "pray, mr. frog, will you give us a song? heigho, says rowley, but let it be something that's not very long." with a rowley powley, &c. "indeed, mrs. mouse," replied the frog, heigho, says rowley, "a cold has made me as hoarse as a hog." with a rowley powley, &c. "since you have caught cold, mr. frog," mousey said, heigho, says rowley, "i'll sing you a song that i have just made." with a rowley powley, &c. but while they were all a merry-making, heigho, says rowley, a cat and her kittens came tumbling in. with a rowley powley, &c. the cat she seized the rat by the crown; heigho, says rowley, the kittens they pulled the little mouse down. with a rowley powley, &c. this put mr. frog in a terrible fright; heigho, says rowley. he took up his hat, and he wished them good night. with a rowley powley, &c. but as froggy was crossing over a brook, heigho, says rowley, a lily-white duck came and gobbled him up. with a rowley powley, &c. [illustration] so there was an end of one, two, and three, heigho, says rowley, the rat, the mouse, and the little frog-gee! with a rowley powley, gammon and spinach, heigho, says anthony rowley! i saw a ship a-sailing. i saw a ship a-sailing, a-sailing on the sea; and, oh! it was all laden with pretty things for thee! there were comfits in the cabin, and apples in the hold; the sails were made of silk, and the masts were made of gold. the four and twenty sailors that stood between the decks, were four and twenty white mice, with chains about their necks. the captain was a duck, with a packet on his back; and when the ship began to move, the captain said, "quack! quack!" [illustration: "as soon as he play'd they began for to dance."] tom, tom, the piper's son. [illustration: music: tom, tom, was a pi per's son, he learn'd to play when he was young; but the only tune that he could play, was "over the hills and far away." tom with his pipe made such a noise, that he pleased both the girls and boys; they'd dance and skip while he did play, "over the hills and far away."] [illustration: music: tom with his pipe did play with such skill, that those who heard him could never keep still; as soon as he play'd they began for to dance, even pigs on their hind-legs would after him prance. he met old dame trot with a basket of eggs-- he used his pipe and she used her legs; she danc'd about till her eggs were all broke, she began for to fret, but he laugh'd at the joke. and as dolly was milking her cow one day,] [illustration: music: tom took out his pipe and began for to play; so doll and the cow they danc'd a lilt, till the pail fell down and the milk was all spilt. tom saw a cross fellow was beating an ass, heavy laden with pots, pans, dishes, and glass; he took out his pipe and he play'd them a tune, and the poor donkey's load was lighten'd full soon.] [illustration] there was an old woman, as i've heard tell, she went to market her eggs for to sell; she went to market all on a market day, and she fell asleep on the king's highway. there came by a pedlar, whose name was stout, he cut her petticoats all round about; he cut her petticoats up to the knees, which made the old woman to shiver and freeze. when the little old woman first did wake, she began to shiver and she began to shake; she began to wonder, and she began to cry, "lauk a mercy on me, this can't be i! but if it be i, as i hope it be, i've a little dog at home, and he'll know me; if it be i, he'll wag his little tail, and if it be not i, he'll loudly bark and wail." home went the little woman all in the dark, up got the little dog, and he began to bark; he began to bark, so she began to cry, "lauk a mercy on me, this is none of i!" _high_ diddle ding, did you hear the bells ring? the parliament soldiers are gone to the king! some they did laugh, some they did cry, to see the parliament soldiers pass by. [illustration] three wise men of gotham went to sea in a bowl; if the bowl had been stronger my story had been longer. [illustration: little boy blue.] little boy blue, come, blow me your horn; the sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn. where's the little boy that looks after the sheep? he's under the haycock, fast asleep. [illustration] [illustration] the robin redbreasts. two robin redbreasts built their nests within a hollow tree; the hen sat quietly at home, the cock sang merrily; and all the little young ones said, "wee, wee, wee, wee, wee, wee." one day (the sun was warm and bright, and shining in the sky), cock robin said, "my little dears, 't is time you learn to fly;" and all the little young ones said, "i'll try, i'll try, i'll try." i know a child, and _who she is_ i'll tell you by-and-by, when mamma says, "do this," or "that," she says, "what for?" and "why?" she'd be a better child by far if she would say "i'll try." there was an old woman lived under a hill, and if she's not gone, she lives there still. [illustration] we are all in the dumps, for diamonds are trumps, the kittens are gone to st. paul's, the babies are bit, the moon's in a fit, and the houses are built without walls. as i was going along, long, long, a-singing a comical song, song, song, the lane that i went was so long, long, long, and the song that i sung was so long, long, long, and so i went singing along. [illustration] a-milking, a-milking, my maid, "cow, take care of your heels," she said; "and you shall have some nice new hay, if you'll quietly let me milk away." [illustration] old father grey beard, without tooth or tongue, if you'll give me your finger, i'll give you my thumb. [illustration] dance a baby diddit, what can his mother do with it, but sit in a lap, and give him some pap? dance a baby diddit. snail, snail, come out of your hole, or else i'll beat you as black as a coal. at the siege of belleisle i was there all the while, all the while, all the while, at the siege of belleisle. bye, baby bunting, father's gone a-hunting, mother's gone a-milking, sister's gone a-silking, brother's gone to buy a skin to wrap the baby bunting in. [illustration: young lambs to sell.] young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell; if i had as much money as i could tell i never would cry young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell, i never would cry, young lambs to sell. [illustration] [illustration] come, let's to bed, says sleepy-head; tarry a while, says slow; put on the pan, says greedy nan, let's sup before we go. [illustration] to make your candles last for aye, you wives and maids give ear-o! to put them out's the only way, says honest john boldero. the great brown owl the brown owl sits in the ivy-bush, and she looketh wondrous wise, with a horny beak beneath her cowl, and a pair of large round eyes. she sat all day on the selfsame spray, from sunrise till sunset; and the dim grey light, it was all too bright for the owl to see in yet. "jenny owlet, jenny owlet," said a merry little bird, "they say you're wondrous wise; but i don't think you see, though you're looking at me with your large, round, shining eyes." but night came soon, and the pale white moon rolled high up in the skies; and the great brown owl flew away in her cowl, with her large, round, shining eyes. [illustration: little tom tucker.] little tom tucker. [illustration: music: little tom tucker sings for his supper: what shall he eat? white bread and butter. how shall he cut it without e'er a knife? how can he marry without e'er a wife?] [illustration] four and twenty tailors went to kill a snail, the best man amongst them durst not touch her tail. she put out her horns, like a little kyloe cow, run, tailors, run, or she'll kill you all just now. [illustration] doctor foster went to glo'ster, in a shower of rain; he stepped in a puddle, up to the middle, and never went there again. mary, mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? silver bells and cockle-shells, and pretty maids all in a row. [illustration] the man in the moon came tumbling down, and asked the way to norwich; he went by the south, and burnt his mouth with eating cold pease porridge. little robin redbreast sat upon a rail, niddle, naddle, went his head, wiggle, waddle, went his tail; little robin redbreast sat upon a bridle, with a pair of speckle legs, and a green girdle. pit, pat, well-a-day! little robin flew away; where can little robin be, but up in yon cherry-tree? ding, dong, darrow, the cat and the sparrow; the little dog has burnt his tail, and he shall be whipped to-morrow. [illustration] dame duck's lessons to her ducklings. old mother duck has hatched a brood of ducklings, small and callow: their little wings are short, their down is mottled grey and yellow. there is a quiet little stream, that runs into the moat, where tall green sedges spread their leaves, and water-lilies float. close by the margin of the brook the old duck made her nest, of straw, and leaves, and withered grass, and down from her own breast. and there she sat for four long weeks, in rainy days and fine, until the ducklings all came out-- four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. one peeped out from beneath her wing, one scrambled on her back: "that's very rude," said old dame duck, "get off! quack, quack, quack, quack!" "'t is close," said dame duck, shoving out the egg-shells with her bill, "besides, it never suits young ducks to keep them sitting still." so, rising from her nest, she said, "now, children, look at me: a well-bred duck should waddle so, from side to side--d'ye see?" "yes," said the little ones, and then she went on to explain: "a well-bred duck turns in its toes as i do--try again." "yes," said the ducklings, waddling on. "that's better," said their mother; "but well-bred ducks walk in a row, straight--one behind another." "yes," said the little ducks again, all waddling in a row: "now to the pond," said old dame duck-- splash, splash! and in they go. "let me swim first," said old dame duck, "to this side, now to that; there, snap at those great brown-winged flies, they make young ducklings fat. "now when you reach the poultry-yard, the hen-wife, molly head, will feed you, with the other fowls, on bran and mashed-up bread; "the hens will peck and fight, but mind, i hope that all of you will gobble up the food as fast as well-bred ducks should do. "you'd better get into the dish, unless it is too small; in that case, i should use my foot, and overturn it all." the ducklings did as they were bid, and found the plan so good, that, from that day, the other fowls got hardly any food. [illustration] is john smith within? yes, that he is. can he set a shoe? ay, marry, two. here a nail, there a nail, tick, tack, too. john cook he had a little grey mare, hee, haw, hum; her legs were long and her back was bare, hee, haw, hum. john cook was riding up shooter's bank, hee, haw, hum; the mare she began to kick and to prank, hee, haw, hum. john cook was riding up shooter's hill, hee, haw, hum; his mare fell down and made her will, hee, haw, hum. the bridle and saddle were laid on the shelf, hee, haw, hum; if you want any more, you may sing it yourself, hee, haw, hum. [illustration: old king cole.] old king cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he; and he called for his pipe and he called for his glass, and he called for his fiddlers three! [illustration] a apple pie. b bit it. c cut it. d dealt it. [illustration] e eat it. f fought for it. g got it. h hid it. [illustration] j jumped for it. k kept it. l longed for it. m mourned for it. [illustration] n nodded at it. o opened it. p peeped at it. q quartered it. [illustration] r ran for it. s stole it. t tried for it. v viewed it. [illustration] x y z & amperse-and, all wished for a piece in hand. [illustration] [illustration] pussy sits beside the fire. how can she be fair? in walks a little doggy,--pussy, are you there? oh, the rusty, dusty, rusty miller, i'll not change my wife for gold or siller. [illustration] there was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile, and he found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile; he bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse, and they all lived together in a little crooked house. [illustration] high diddle doubt, my candle's out, my little maid is not at home; saddle my hog and bridle my dog, and fetch my little maid home. [illustration: baa, baa, black sheep] baa, baa, black sheep. [illustration: music: baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full: one for my master, one for my dame, and one for the little boy that lives in our lane. baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full.] [illustration] [illustration] barber, barber, shave a pig. how many hairs will make a wig? four and twenty; that's enough. give the poor barber a pinch of snuff. the lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown, the lion beat the unicorn all round about the town. some gave them white bread, some gave them brown, some gave them plum-cake, and sent them out of town. thomas a tattamus took two t's to tie two tups to two tall trees, to frighten the terrible thomas a tattamus. tell me how many t's there are in all that. [illustration] bessy bell and mary gray, they were two bonny lasses, they built a house upon the lea, and covered it o'er with rashes. bessy kept the garden gate, and mary kept the pantry; bessy always had to wait, while mary lived in plenty. little boy, pretty boy, where were you born? in lincolnshire, master; come, blow the cow's horn. [illustration: hey, diddle, diddle.] hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle the cow jumped over the moon; the little dog laughed to see such sport, and the dish ran after the spoon. [illustration] [illustration] the young linnets. did you ever see the nest of chaffinch or of linnet, when the little downy birds are lying snugly in it, gaping wide their yellow mouths for something nice to eat? caterpillar, worm, and grub, they reckon dainty meat. when the mother-bird returns, and finds them still and good, she will give them each, by turns, a proper share of food. she has hopped from spray to spray, and peeped with knowing eye into all the folded leaves where caterpillars lie. she has searched among the grass, and flown from tree to tree, catching gnats and flies, to feed her little family. i have seen the linnets chirp, and shake their downy wings: they are pleased to see her come, and pleased with what she brings. but i never saw them look impatient for their food: _somebody_, at dinner-time, is seldom quite so good. [illustration: see-saw, margery daw.] see-saw, margery daw, jenny shall have a new master; she shall have but a penny a day, because she can't work any faster. [illustration] dance to your daddy, my little babby; dance to your daddy, my little lamb. you shall have a fishy, in a little dishy; you shall have a fishy, when the boat comes in. queen anne, queen anne, she sits in the sun, as fair as the lily, as white as the swan: i send you three letters, so pray you read one. i cannot read one unless i read all; so pray, master teddy, deliver the ball. little girl, little girl, where have you been? gathering roses to give to the queen. little girl, little girl, what gave she you? she gave me a diamond as big as my shoe. [illustration] [illustration] there was an old woman tossed up in a basket, ninety times as high as the moon; and where she was going, i couldn't but ask it, for in her hand she carried a broom. old woman, old woman, old woman, quoth i, o whither, o whither, o whither so high? to sweep the cobwebs off the sky! shall i go with you? ay, by-and-by. [illustration] when i was a bachelor, i lived by myself, and all the meat i got i put upon a shelf; the rats and the mice did lead me such a life, that i went to london, to get myself a wife. the streets were so broad, and the lanes were so narrow, i could not get my wife home without a wheelbarrow, the wheelbarrow broke, my wife got a fall, down tumbled wheelbarrow, little wife, and all. robin and richard were two pretty men, they lay in bed till the clock struck ten; then up starts robin and looks in the sky, "oh, brother richard, the sun's very high! you go on with bottle and bag, and i'll come after with jolly jack nag." blow, wind, blow, and go, mill, go, that the miller may grind his corn; that the baker may take it, and into rolls make it, and bring us some hot in the morn. [illustration] jack be nimble, jack be quick, and jack jump over the candlestick. [illustration: ride a cock-horse.] ride a cock-horse to banbury cross, to see a fine lady upon a white horse. rings on her fingers, bells on her toes, she shall have music wherever she goes. [illustration] [illustration] the fox and the farmer. a fox jumped up on a moonlight night, the stars were shining, and all things bright; "oh, ho!" said the fox, "it's a very fine night for me to go through the town, heigho!" the fox when he came to yonder stile, he lifted his ears, and he listened awhile; "oh, ho!" said the fox, "it's but a short mile from this unto yonder town, heigho!" the fox when he came to the farmer's gate, whom should he see but the farmer's drake; "i love you well for your master's sake, and long to be picking your bones, heigho!" the grey goose ran right round the haystack. "oh, ho!" said the fox, "you are very fat; you'll do very well to ride on my back, from this into yonder town, heigho!" the farmer's wife she jumped out of bed, and out of the window she popped her head; "oh, husband! oh, husband! the geese are all dead, for the fox has been through the town, heigho!" the farmer he loaded his pistol with lead, and shot the old rogue of a fox through the head; "ah, ha!" said the farmer, "i think you're quite dead, and no more you'll trouble the town, heigho!" [illustration] [illustration] pease pudding hot, pease pudding cold, pease pudding in the pot, nine days old. some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot, nine days old. curly-locks, curly-locks, wilt thou be mine? thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine; but sit on a cushion, and sew a fine seam, and feed upon strawberries, sugar, and cream. margery mutton-pie, and johnny bo-peep, they met together in gracechurch street; in and out, in and out, over the way, oh! says johnny, 'tis chop-nose day. there was a rat, for want of stairs, went down a rope to say his prayers. [illustration] snail, snail, come put out your horn, to-morrow is the day to shear the corn. if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, if turnips were watches, i would wear one by my side. [illustration: hark, hark, the dogs do bark.] hark, hark, the dogs do bark, the beggars are coming to town; some in jags, some in rags, and some in velvet gown. one, two, buckle my shoe; three, four, shut the door; five, six, pick up sticks; seven, eight, lay them straight; nine, ten, a good fat hen; eleven, twelve, dig and delve; thirteen, fourteen, maids a-courting; fifteen, sixteen, maids in the kitchen; seventeen, eighteen, maids in waiting; nineteen, twenty, my plate is empty. [illustration] i had a little husband, no bigger than my thumb; i put him in a pint pot, and there i bid him drum. i bought a little horse that galloped up and down; i saddled him, and bridled him, and sent him out of town. i gave him some garters, to garter up his hose, and a little pocket-handkerchief to wipe his pretty nose. i have a little sister; they call her peep, peep, she wades the water, deep, deep, deep; she climbs the mountains, high, high, high. poor little thing! she has but one eye. [illustration: music: goosey, goosey, gander, whither shall i wander, up stairs, and down stairs, and in my lady's chamber. there i met an old man, who would not say his prayers, i took him by his left leg, and threw him down the stairs.] [illustration] handy spandy, jack-a-dandy, loves plum-cake and sugarcandy; he brought some at a grocer's shop, and out he came, hop-hop-hop. if all the world were water, and all the water were ink, what should we do for bread and cheese? what should we do for drink? hey, my kitten, my kitten, hey, my kitten, my deary; such a sweet pet as this was neither far nor neary. here we go up, up, up, here we go down, down, down; here we go backwards and forwards, and here we go round, round, round. [illustration] i had a little pony; they called him dapple-grey. i lent him to a lady, to ride a mile away. she whipped him, she slashed him, she rode him through the mire; i would not lend my pony now, for all the lady's hire. see, see. what shall i see? a horse's head where his tail should be. pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been? i've been to london to look at the queen. pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you do there? i frightened a little mouse under the chair. [illustration] little tommy tittlemouse lived in a little house; he caught fishes in other men's ditches. [illustration: "this is the house that jack built."] the house that jack built. this is the malt that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration] this is the rat that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration] this is the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration] this is the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration] this is the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration] this is the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration] this is the man all tattered and torn, that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration] this is the priest all shaven and shorn, that married the man all tattered and torn, that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration] this is the cock that crowed in the morn, that waked the priest all shaven and shorn, that married the man all tattered and torn, that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration] this is the farmer who sowed the corn, that kept the cock that crowed in the morn, that waked the priest all shaven and shorn, that married the man all tattered and torn, that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that jack built. [illustration] old mother widdle waddle jumped out of bed, and out of the casement she popped her head, crying, "the house is on fire, the grey goose is dead, and the fox has come to the town, oh!" [illustration] two legs sat upon three legs, with one leg in his lap; in comes four legs, and runs away with one leg; up jumps two legs, catches up three legs, throws it after four legs, and makes him bring one leg back. [illustration] a little boy went into a barn, and lay down on some hay; an owl came out and flew about, and the little boy ran away. [illustration] as i was going up primrose hill, primrose hill was dirty; there i met a pretty miss, and she dropped me a curtsey. little miss, pretty miss, blessings light upon you; if i had half-a-crown a day, i'd spend it all upon you. [illustration] i had a little hen, the prettiest ever seen, she washed me the dishes and kept the house clean; she went to the mill to fetch me some flour, she brought it home in less than an hour; she baked me my bread, she brewed me my ale, she sat by the fire and told many a fine tale. [illustration] there was a little man, and he had a little gun, and his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead; he shot johnny king through the middle of his wig, and knocked it right off his head, head, head. three straws on a staff, would make a baby cry and laugh. [illustration] multiplication is vexation, division is as bad; the rule of three perplexes me, and practice drives me mad. daffy-down-dilly has come up to town, in a yellow petticoat and a green gown. [illustration: the queen of hearts.] the queen of hearts she made some tarts all on a summer's day; the knave of hearts he stole those tarts, and took them clean away. the king of hearts called for the tarts, and beat the knave full sore; the knave of hearts brought back the tarts, and vowed he'd steal no more. there were three crows sat on a stone, fal la, la la lal de, two flew away, and then there was one, fal la, la la lal de, the other crow finding himself alone, fal la, la la lal de, he flew away, and then there was none, fal la, la la lal de. [illustration: "jack and jill went up the hill."] [illustration: music: jack and jill. . jack and jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water; jack fell down and broke his crown, and jill came tumbling after. . up jack got, and home did trot, as fast as he could caper; dame jill had the job to plaister his knob, with vinegar and brown paper. . jill came in and she did grin to see his paper plaister, mother vex'd did whip her next, for causing jack's disaster.] [illustration] when the wind is in the east, 'tis neither good for man nor beast; when the wind is in the north, the skilful fisher goes not forth; when the wind is in the south, it blows the bait in the fishes' mouth; when the wind is in the west, then 'tis at the very best. cry, baby, cry, put your finger in your eye, and tell your mother it wasn't i. [illustration: the turtle-dove's nest.] very high in the pine-tree, the little turtle-dove made a pretty little nursery, to please her little love. she was gentle, she was soft, and her large dark eye often turned to her mate, who was sitting close by. "coo," said the turtle-dove, "coo," said she; "oh, i love thee," said the turtle-dove. "and i love thee." in the long shady branches of the dark pine-tree, how happy were the doves in their little nursery! the young turtle-doves never quarrelled in the nest; for they dearly loved each other, though they loved their mother best. "coo," said the little doves. "coo," said she. and they played together kindly in the dark pine-tree. in this nursery of yours, little sister, little brother, like the turtle-dove's nest-- do you love one another? are you kind, are you gentle, as children ought to be? then the happiest of nests is your own nursery. peter white will ne'er go right, would you know the reason why? he follows his nose wherever he goes, and that stands all awry. [illustration] he that would thrive, must rise at five; he that hath thriven, may lie till seven; and he that by the plough would thrive, himself must either hold or drive. [illustration] hush-a-bye, baby, daddy is near; mamma is a lady, and that's very clear. [illustration: "there was an old woman who lived in a shoe."] there was an old woman who lived in a shoe, she had so many children she didn't know what to do she gave them some broth, without any bread, she whipped them all round, and sent them to bed. [illustration] one, two, three, i love coffee, and billy loves tea, how good you be. one, two, three, i love coffee, and billy loves tea. [illustration] there was an old woman called nothing-at-all, who lived in a dwelling exceedingly small; a man stretched his mouth to its utmost extent, and down at one gulp house and old woman went. [illustration] i had a little hobby horse, and it was dapple grey, its head was made of pea-straw, its tail was made of hay. i sold it to an old woman for a copper groat; and i'll not sing my song again without a new coat. eggs, butter, cheese, bread, stick, stock, stone, dead, stick him up, stick him down, stick him in the old man's crown. the frog's chorus. "yaup, yaup, yaup!" said the croaking voice of a frog: "a rainy day in the month of may, and plenty of room in the bog." "yaup, yaup, yaup!" said the frog as it hopped away: "the insects feed on the floating weed, and i'm hungry for dinner to-day." "yaup, yaup, yaup!" said the frog, as it splashed about: "good neighbours all, when you hear me call, it is odd that you do not come out." "yaup, yaup, yaup!" said the frogs; "it is charming weather; we'll come and sup, when the moon is up, and we'll all of us croak together." what's the news of the day, good neighbour, i pray? they say the balloon is gone up to the moon. [illustration] cross-patch, draw the latch, sit by the fire and spin; take a cup, and drink it up, and call your neighbours in. there was an old crow sat upon a clod. there's an end of my song, that's very odd. [illustration] [illustration: "ding, dong, bell."] ding, dong, bell, pussy's in the well. who put her in? little tommy green. who pulled her out? little tommy trout. what a naughty boy was that, thus to drown poor pussy cat. [illustration] nursery rhyme alphabet. a was the archer who shot at a frog. b was bo-peep, with her crook and her dog. c was the cow that jumped over the moon. d was the dish that ran off with the spoon. e was elizabeth, betsey, and bess. f was the forest where stood the bird's-nest. g gaffer longlegs; downstairs he'd a fall. h humpty dumpty that sat on the wall. i was that "_i_" who was going to st. ives. j jacky horner, on plum-pie he thrives. k was king cole with his fiddlers three. l little gold-hair, peeping, you see. m mother hubbard who thought her dog dead. n little netticoat, with a red head. o the old woman "upon market day;" p was the "pedlar" who passed by that way. q was the queen of hearts, tartlets she makes. r was red riding hood carrying the cakes. s simple simon, the pieman beside. t tommy tucker, for supper who cried. u was the unicorn, "beat round the town;" v was victoria--she fought for her crown. w whittington, who turned again, over great london as lord mayor to reign. x is a letter that here we can spare. y "yankee doodle," that went to the fair; z is the zany who laughed at him there. [illustration] swan, swan, over the sea; swim, swan, swim. swan, swan, back again; well, swan, swam. [illustration] one misty moisty morning, when cloudy was the weather, i met a little old man, clothed all in leather, clothed all in leather, with a strap below his chin. how do you do? and how do you do? and how do you do again? [illustration] deedle, deedle, dumpling, my son john, he went to bed with his stockings on; one shoe off, and one shoe on, deedle, deedle, dumpling, my son john. [illustration] the old woman must stand at the tub, tub, tub, the dirty clothes to rub, rub, rub; but when they are clean, and fit to be seen, i'll dress like a lady, and dance on the green. [illustration: "hickety, pickety, my black hen."] hickety, pickety, my black hen, she lays eggs for gentlemen; gentlemen come every day to see what my black hen doth lay. [illustration] i'll tell you a story, about john-a-nory: and now my story's begun. i'll tell you another, about jack and his brother: and now my story's done. i love sixpence. i love sixpence, pretty little sixpence, i love sixpence better than my life; i spent a penny of it, i spent another, and took fourpence home to my wife. oh, my little fourpence, pretty little fourpence, i love fourpence better than my life; i spent a penny of it, i spent another, and i took twopence home to my wife. oh, my little twopence, my pretty little twopence, i love twopence better than my life; i spent a penny of it, i spent another, and i took nothing home to my wife. oh, my little nothing, my pretty little nothing, what will nothing buy for my wife? i have nothing, i spend nothing, i love nothing better than my wife. [illustration] there was a fat man of bombay, who was smoking one sunshiny day, when a bird called a snipe flew away with his pipe, which vexed the fat man of bombay. [illustration: "when the pie was opened, the birds began to sing."] [illustration: music: sing a song of sixpence. sing a song of sixpence, a bag full of rye; four and twenty blackbirds; baked in a pie; when the pie was open'd, the birds began to sing, was not that a dainty dish to set before the king?] [illustration] the king was in his counting-house, counting out his money; [illustration] the queen was in the parlour, eating bread and honey; [illustration] the maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes; by came a little bird, and snapt off her nose. [illustration] little polly flinders sate among the cinders warming her pretty little toes! her mother came and caught her, and whipped her little daughter, for spoiling her nice new clothes. great a, little a, bouncing b, the cat's in the cupboard, and she can't see. [illustration] poor old robinson crusoe! poor old robinson crusoe! they made him a coat of an old nanny goat, i wonder how they could do so! with a ring-a-ting-tang, and a ring-a-ting-tang, poor old robinson crusoe! [illustration] bat, bat, come under my hat, and i'll give you a slice of bacon, and when i bake i'll give you a cake, if i am not mistaken. [illustration] the north wind doth blow, and we shall have snow, and what will poor robin do then? poor thing! he will hop to a barn, and to keep himself warm, will hide his head under his wing, poor thing! [illustration: the old woman buying her pig at market.] [illustration] the old woman and her pig. an old woman was sweeping her house, and she found a little crooked sixpence. "what," said she, "shall i do with this little sixpence? i will go to market, and buy a little pig." as she was coming home, she came to a stile: the piggy would not go over the stile. she went a little farther, and she met a dog. so she said to the dog-- "dog, dog, bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and i shan't get home to-night." but the dog would not. she went a little farther, and she met a stick. so she said-- "stick, stick, beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile, and i shan't get home to-night." but the stick would not. she went a little farther, and she met a fire. so she said-- "fire, fire, burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and i shan't get home to-night." but the fire would not. she went a little farther, and she met some water. so she said-- [illustration: "fire, fire, burn stick."] "water, water, quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and i shan't get home to-night." but the water would not. she went a little farther, and she met an ox. so she said-- "ox, ox, drink water; water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and i shan't get home to-night." but the ox would not. she went a little farther, and she met a butcher. so she said-- "butcher, butcher, kill ox; ox won't drink water; water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; [illustration: "butcher, butcher, kill ox."] stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and i shan't get home to-night." but the butcher would not. she went a little farther, and she met a rope. so she said-- "rope, rope, hang butcher; butcher won't kill ox; ox won't drink water; water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and i shan't get home to-night." but the rope would not. she went a little farther, and she met a rat. so she said-- "rat, rat, gnaw rope; rope won't hang butcher; butcher won't kill ox; ox won't drink water; [illustration: "rat, rat, gnaw rope."] water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and i shan't get home to-night." but the rat would not. she went a little farther, and she met a cat. so she said-- "cat, cat, kill rat; rat won't gnaw rope; rope won't hang butcher; butcher won't kill ox; ox won't drink water; water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and i shan't get home to-night." but the cat said to her, "if you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, i will kill the rat." so away went the old woman to the cow, and said-- [illustration: "cow, cow, give me a saucer of milk."] "cow, cow, give me a saucer of milk; cat won't kill rat; rat won't gnaw rope; rope won't hang butcher; butcher won't kill ox; ox won't drink water; water won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and i shan't get home to-night." but the cow said to her, "if you will go to yonder haymakers, and fetch me a wisp of hay, i'll give you the milk." so away the old woman went to the haymakers, and said-- "haymakers, give me a wisp of hay; cow won't give me milk; cat won't kill rat; rat won't gnaw rope; rope won't hang butcher; butcher won't kill ox; ox won't drink water; water won't quench fire; [illustration: "haymakers, give me a wisp of hay."] fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and i shan't get home to-night." but the haymakers said to her,--"if you will go to yonder stream, and fetch us a bucket of water, we'll give you the hay." so away the old woman went; but when she got to the stream, she found the bucket was full of holes. so she covered the bottom with pebbles, and then filled the bucket with water, and away she went back with it to the haymakers; and they gave her a wisp of hay. as soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk; and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. as soon as the cat had lapped up the milk-- the cat began to kill the rat; the rat began to gnaw the rope; the rope began to hang the butcher; the butcher began to kill the ox; the ox began to drink the water; the water began to quench the fire; the fire began to burn the stick; the stick began to beat the dog; the dog began to bite the pig; [illustration: "the cat began to kill the rat."] the little pig in a fright jumped over the stile; and so the old woman got home that night. [illustration: music dickery, dickery, dock. dickery, dickery, dock! the mouse ran up the clock; the clock struck one, and down the mouse ran, dickery, dickery, dock!] [illustration] a diller, a dollar, a ten o'clock scholar, what makes you come so soon? you used to come at ten o'clock, but now you come at noon. jacky, come give me thy fiddle, if ever thou mean to thrive. nay, i'll not give my fiddle to any man alive. if i should give my fiddle, they'll think that i'm gone mad; for many a joyful day my fiddle and i have had. [illustration: "tommy kept a chandler's shop."] tommy kept a chandler's shop, richard went to buy a mop, tommy gave him such a whop, that sent him out of his chandler's shop. [illustration] see a pin and pick it up, all the day you'll have good luck. see a pin and let it lay, bad luck you'll have all the day. [illustration] please to remember the fifth of november, the gunpowder treason plot; i see no reason why gunpowder treason, should ever be forgot. a stick and a stake for victoria's sake, hollo, boys! hollo, boys! god save the queen. leg over leg, as the dog went to dover, when he came to a stile, jump he went over. [illustration] ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, your children will burn. , , , , , i caught a hare alive; , , , , , i let her go again. this is the way the ladies go-- nim, nim, nim. this is the way the gentlemen go-- trot, trot, trot. this is the way the hunters go-- gallop, gallop, gallop. [illustration: "there was an old man of tobago."] there was an old man of tobago, who lived on rice, gruel, and sago; till, much to his bliss, [illustration] his physician said this-- "to a leg, sir, of mutton you may go." little miss muffett she sat on a tuffett, eating of curds and whey; there came a little spider, who sat down beside her, and frightened miss muffett away. [illustration] as tommy snooks and bessy brooks, were walking out one sunday, says tommy snooks to bessy brooks, wilt marry me on monday? [illustration] the cat sat asleep by the side of the fire, the mistress snored loud as a pig, jack took up his fiddle by jenny's desire, and struck up a bit of a jig. here am i, little jumping joan, when nobody's with me, i'm always alone. [illustration] good dobbin. oh! thank you, good dobbin, you've been a long track, and have carried papa all the way on your back; you shall have some nice oats, faithful dobbin, indeed, for you've brought papa home to his darling with speed. the howling wind blew, and the pelting rain beat, and the thick mud has covered his legs and his feet, but yet on he galloped in spite of the rain, and has brought papa home to his darling again. the sun it was setting a long while ago, and papa could not see the road where he should go, but dobbin kept on through the desolate wild, and has brought papa home again safe to his child. now go to the stable, the night is so raw, go, dobbin, and rest your old bones on the straw; don't stand any longer out here in the rain, for you've brought papa home to his darling again. [illustration: "away went gilpin, and away went postboy at his heels."] the diverting history of john gilpin. showing how he went farther than he intended, and came safe home again. john gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown, a train-band captain eke was he, of famous london town. john gilpin's spouse said to her dear, "though wedded we have been these twice ten tedious years, yet we no holiday have seen. "to-morrow is our wedding-day, and we will then repair unto the "bell" at edmonton, all in a chaise and pair. "my sister, and my sister's child, myself, and children three, will fill the chaise; so you must ride on horseback after we." he soon replied, "i do admire of womankind but one, and you are she, my dearest dear, therefore it shall be done. "i am a linendraper bold, as all the world doth know, and my good friend the calender will lend his horse to go." quoth mrs. gilpin, "that's well said; and for that wine is dear, we will be furnished with our own, which is both bright and clear." john gilpin kissed his loving wife; o'erjoyed was he to find, that though on pleasure she was bent, she had a frugal mind. [illustration] the morning came, the chaise was brought, but yet was not allowed to drive up to the door, lest all should say that she was proud. so three doors off the chaise was stayed, where they did all get in; six precious souls, and all agog to dash through thick and thin. smack went the whip, round went the wheels, were never folks so glad! the stones did rattle underneath, as if cheapside were mad. john gilpin at his horse's side seized fast the flowing mane, and up he got, in haste to ride, but soon came down again. for saddletree scarce reached had he, his journey to begin, when, turning round his head, he saw three customers come in. so down he came; for loss of time, although it grieved him sore, yet loss of pence, full well he knew, would trouble him much more. 'twas long before the customers were suited to their mind, when betty screaming came downstairs, "the wine is left behind!" "good lack!" quoth he, "yet bring it me, my leathern belt likewise, in which i bear my trusty sword when i do exercise." now mistress gilpin (careful soul!) had two stone bottles found, to hold the liquor that she loved, and keep it safe and sound. each bottle had a curling ear, through which the belt he drew, and hung a bottle on each side, to make his balance true. then over all, that he might be equipped from top to toe, his long red cloak, well brushed and neat, he manfully did throw. now see him mounted once again upon his nimble steed, full slowly pacing o'er the stones, with caution and good heed. but finding soon a smoother road beneath his well-shod feet, the snorting beast began to trot, which galled him in his seat. "so, fair and softly!" john he cried, but john he cried in vain; that trot became a gallop soon, in spite of curb and rein. so stooping down, as needs he must who cannot sit upright, he grasped the mane with both his hands, and eke with all his might. his horse, who never in that sort had handled been before, what thing upon his back had got, did wonder more and more. away went gilpin, neck or nought; away went hat and wig; [illustration] he little dreamt, when he set out, of running such a rig. the wind did blow, the cloak did fly like streamer long and gay, till, loop and button failing both, at last it flew away. then might all people well discern the bottles he had slung; a bottle swinging at each side, as hath been said or sung. the dogs did bark, the children screamed, up flew the windows all; and every soul cried out, "well done!" as loud as he could bawl. away went gilpin--who but he? his fame soon spread around: "he carries weight! he rides a race! 'tis for a thousand pound!" and still as fast as he drew near, 'twas wonderful to view how in a trice the turnpike-men their gates wide open threw. and now, as he went bowing down his reeking head full low, the bottles twain behind his back were shattered at a blow. down ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen, which made the horses flanks to smoke as they had basted been. but still he seemed to carry weight, with leathern girdle braced; for all might see the bottle-necks still dangling at his waist. thus all through merry islington these gambols he did play, until he came unto the wash of edmonton so gay; and there he threw the wash about on both sides of the way, just like unto a trundling mop, or a wild goose at play. at edmonton his loving wife from the balcony spied her tender husband, wondering much to see how he did ride. "stop, stop, john gilpin!--here's the house!" they all at once did cry; "the dinner waits, and we are tired;" said gilpin--"so am i!" but yet his horse was not a whit inclined to tarry there; for why?--his owner had a house full ten miles off, at ware. so like an arrow swift he flew, shot by an archer strong; so did he fly--which brings me to the middle of my song. away went gilpin out of breath and sore against his will, till at his friend the calender's, his horse at last stood still. the calender, amazed to see his neighbour in such trim, laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, and thus accosted him: [illustration] "what news? what news? your tidings tell; tell me you must and shall-- say why bareheaded you are come, or why you come at all?" now gilpin had a pleasant wit, and loved a timely joke; and thus unto the calender in merry guise he spoke: "i came because your horse would come: and, if i well forebode, my hat and wig will soon be here, they are upon the road." the calender, right glad to find his friend in merry pin, returned him not a single word, but to the house went in; whence straight he came with hat and wig, a wig that flowed behind, a hat not much the worse for wear, each comely in its kind. he held them up, and in his turn thus showed his ready wit, "my head is twice as big as yours, they therefore needs must fit. "but let me scrape the dirt away, that hangs upon your face; [illustration] and stop and eat, for well you may be in a hungry case." said john, "it is my wedding-day, and all the world would stare if wife should dine at edmonton, and i should dine at ware." so turning to his horse, he said, "i am in haste to dine; 'twas for your pleasure you came here, you shall go back for mine." ah! luckless speech, and bootless boast! for which he paid full dear; for while he spake, a braying ass did sing most loud and clear; whereat his horse did snort, as he had heard a lion roar, and galloped off with all his might, as he had done before. away went gilpin, and away went gilpin's hat and wig: he lost them sooner than at first, for why--they were too big. now mistress gilpin, when she saw her husband posting down into the country far away, she pulled out half-a-crown; [illustration] and thus unto the youth she said that drove them to the "bell," "this shall be yours when you bring back my husband safe and well." the youth did ride, and soon did meet john coming back amain; whom in a trice he tried to stop, by catching at his rein; but not performing what he meant, and gladly would have done, the frighted steed he frighted more, and made him faster run. away went gilpin, and away went postboy at his heels, the postboy's horse right glad to miss the lumbering of the wheels. six gentlemen upon the road, thus seeing gilpin fly, with postboy scampering in the rear, they raised the hue and cry. "stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!" not one of them was mute; and all and each that passed that way did join in the pursuit. and now the turnpike-gates again flew open in short space; [illustration] the toll-men thinking, as before, that gilpin rode a race. and so he did, and won it too, for he got first to town; nor stopped till where he had got up, he did again get down. now let us sing, long live the king, and gilpin, long live he; and when he next doth ride abroad, may i be there to see. [illustration] twinkle, twinkle, little star, how i wonder what you are! up above the world so high. like a diamond in the sky. when the blazing sun is gone, when he nothing shines upon, then you show your little light, twinkle, twinkle, all the night. then the traveller in the dark thanks you for your tiny spark: how could he see where to go, if you did not twinkle so? in the dark blue sky you keep, often through my curtains peep, for you never shut your eye, till the sun is in the sky. as your bright and tiny spark lights the traveller in the dark, though i know not what you are, twinkle, twinkle, little star. charley, charley, stole the barley out of the baker's shop; the baker came out, and gave him a clout, and made poor charley hop. [illustration] a, b, c, tumble down d, the cat's in the cupboard and can't see me. [illustration] elizabeth, elspeth, betsy, and bess, they all went together to seek a bird's nest, they found a bird's nest with five eggs in; they all took one, and left four in. [illustration] up hill and down dale, butter is made in every vale; and if nancy cook is a good girl, she shall have a spouse, and make butter anon, before her old grandmother grows a young man. [illustration] to market, to market, a gallop, a trot, to buy some meat to put in the pot; threepence a quarter, fourpence a side, if it hadn't been killed it must have died. apple-pie, pudding, and pancake, all begins with a. my little old man and i fell out; i'll tell you what 'twas all about,-- i had money and he had none, and that's the way the noise begun. [illustration] [illustration: music: georgie porgie. georgie porgie, pudding and pie, kiss'd the girls and made them cry. when the girls came out to play, georgie porgie ran away.] i love little pussy, her coat is so warm, and if i don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm. i'll sit by the fire, and give her some food, and pussy will love me, because i am good. [illustration] [illustration] taffy was a welshman, taffy was a thief, taffy came to my house, and stole a leg of beef. i went to taffy's house, taffy was not at home; taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone. i went to taffy's house, taffy was in bed; i took the marrow-bone, and broke taffy's head. [illustration: "a farmer went trotting upon his grey mare."] a farmer went trotting upon his grey mare, bumpety, bumpety, bump! with his daughter behind him so rosy and fair, lumpety, lumpety, lump! a raven cried croak! and they all tumbled down, bumpety, bumpety, bump! the mare broke her knees, and the farmer his crown, lumpety, lumpety, lump! [illustration] the mischievous raven flew laughing away, bumpety, bumpety, bump! and vowed he would serve them the same the next day, lumpety, lumpety, lump! [illustration] little betty blue lost her holiday shoe, what can little betty do? give her another to match the other, and then she may walk in two. hush-a-bye, baby, lie still with thy daddy, thy mammy is gone to the mill, to get some meal to bake a cake, so pray, my dear baby, lie still. you shall have an apple, you shall have a plum, you shall have a rattle-basket, when papa comes home. a man of words and not of deeds. a man of words and not of deeds is like a garden full of weeds; and when the weeds begin to grow, it's like a garden full of snow; and when the snow begins to fall, it's like a bird upon the wall; and when the bird away does fly, it's like an eagle in the sky; and when the sky begins to roar, it's like a lion at the door; and when the door begins to crack, it's like a stick across your back; and when your back begins to smart, it's like a penknife in your heart; and when your heart begins to bleed, you're dead, and dead, and dead indeed. [illustration] [illustration] poor dog bright, ran off with all his might, because the cat was after him, poor dog bright. poor cat fright, ran off with all her might, because the dog was after her, poor cat fright. [illustration] as i was going up pippin hill, pippin hill was dirty, there i met a pretty miss, and she dropped me a curtsey. [illustration] early to bed, and early to rise, is the way to be healthy, wealthy, and wise. [illustration] old woman, old woman, shall we go a-shearing? speak a little louder, sir, i am very thick o' hearing. old woman, old woman, shall i kiss you dearly? thank you, kind sir, i hear very clearly. the cuckoo's a bonny bird, she sings as she flies, she brings us good tidings, and tells us no lies. she sucks little birds' eggs, to make her voice clear, and never cries "cuckoo!" till spring-time of the year. [illustration] pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man, bake me a cake as fast as you can; prick it and pat it, and mark it with g; and put it in the oven for teddy and me. pussy-cat ate the dumplings, the dumplings; pussy-cat ate the dumplings. mamma stood by, and cried, "oh, fie! why did you eat the dumplings?" [illustration] needles and pins, needles and pins, when a man marries his trouble begins. [illustration] for every evil under the sun, there is a remedy, or there is none. if there be one, try and find it; if there be none, never mind it. [illustration] three children sliding on the ice, all on a summer's day, as it fell out they all fell in, the rest they ran away. now had these children been at home, or sliding on dry ground, ten thousand pounds to one penny they had not all been drowned. you parents all that children have, and you, too, that have none, if you would have them safe abroad, pray keep them safe at home. the wonderful derby ram. as i was going to derby all on a market day, i met the finest ram, sir, that ever was fed upon hay; upon hay, upon hay, upon hay; i met the finest ram, sir, that ever was fed upon hay. this ram was fat behind, sir, this ram was fat before; this ram was ten yards round, sir; indeed he was no more; no more, no more, no more; this ram was ten yards round, sir; indeed he was no more. the horns that grew on his head, sir, they were so wondrous high, as i've been plainly told, sir, they reached up to the sky; the sky, the sky, the sky; as i've been plainly told, sir, they reached up to the sky. the tail that grew from his back, sir, was six yards and an ell; and it was sent to derby to toll the market bell; the bell, the bell, the bell; and it was sent to derby to toll the market bell. [illustration] my lady wind, my lady wind, went round about the house, to find a chink to get her foot in; she tried the keyhole in the door, she tried the crevice in the floor, and drove the chimney soot in. and then one night when it was dark, she blew up such a tiny spark, that all the house was pothered; from it she raised up such a flame as flamed away to belting lane, and white cross folks were smothered. and thus when once, my little dears, a whisper reaches itching ears, the same will come, you'll find; take my advice, restrain your tongue, remember what old nurse has sung of busy lady wind. [illustration] bow-wow-wow! whose dog art thou? little tom tucker's dog. bow-wow-wow! [illustration] let us go to the woods, says this pig. what to do there? says this pig. to seek mamma, says this pig. what to do with her? says this pig. to kiss her, to kiss her, says this pig. jenny shall have a new bonnet. jenny shall have a new bonnet, and jenny shall go to the fair, and jenny shall have a blue ribbon to tie up her bonny brown hair. and why may not i love jenny? and why may not jenny love me? and why may not i love jenny, as well as another body? and here's a leg for a stocking, and here is a leg for a shoe, and she has a kiss for her daddy, and two for her mammy, i trow. and why may not i love jenny? and why may not jenny love me? and why may not i love jenny, as well as another body? [illustration] nievie, nievie, nicknack, which hand will ye tak'? tak' the right, or tak' the wrang, i'll beguile ye, if i can. [illustration] oh, mother, i'm to be married to mr. punchinello; to mr. pun, to mr. chin, to mr. nel, to mr. lo, mr. pun, mr. chin, mr. nel, mr. lo, to mr. punchinello. [illustration] rain, rain, go to spain, and never come back again. [illustration] up hill spare me, down hill 'ware me, on level ground spare me not, and in the stable forget me not. [illustration] when little fred went to bed, he always said his prayers; he kissed mamma, and then papa, and straightway went upstairs. bless you, bless you, bonny bee: say, when will your wedding be? if it be to-morrow day, take your wings and fly away. [illustration] jack sprat's pig, he was not very little, nor yet very big; he was not very lean, he was not very fat, he'll do well for a grunt, says little jack sprat. [illustration] rain, rain, go away, come again april day; little johnny wants to play. a little cock sparrow sat on a tree, looking as happy as happy could be, till a boy came by with his bow and arrow, says he, i will shoot the little cock sparrow. his body will make me a nice little stew, and his giblets will make me a little pie, too. says the little cock sparrow, i'll be shot if i stay, so he clapped his wings, and flew away. [illustration] [illustration] the rose is red, the violet's blue; the pink is sweet, and so are you. [illustration] "we'll go a-shooting," says robin to bobbin, "we'll go a-shooting," says richard to john; "we'll go a-shooting," says john, all alone; "we'll go a-shooting," says every one. [illustration] valentine, oh, valentine, curl your locks as i do mine; two before and two behind; good morrow to you, valentine. mr. isbister, and betsy his sister, resolve upon giving a treat; so letters they write, their friends to invite to their house in great camomile street. [illustration: "little bo-peep has lost her sheep, and can't tell where to find them."] [illustration: music: little bo-peep. little bo-peep has lost her sheep, and cannot tell where to find them; leave them alone, and they'll come home, and bring their tails behind them.] [illustration] little bo-peep fell fast asleep, and dreamt she heard them bleating; but when she awoke she found it a joke, for still they all were fleeting. [illustration] then up she took her little crook, determined for to find them; she found 'em indeed, but it made her heart bleed, for they'd left their tails behind 'em. [illustration] it happened one day, as bo-peep did stray unto a meadow hard by, there she espied their tails, side by side, all hung on a tree to dry. [illustration] then she heaved a sigh, and wiped her eye, and ran o'er hill and dale-o, and tried what she could, as a shepherdess should, to tack to each sheep its tail-o. [illustration] as i was going to st. ives, i met a man with seven wives, every wife had seven sacks, every sack had seven cats, every cat had seven kits. kits, cats, sacks, and wives, how many were there going to st. ives? go to bed first, a golden purse; go to bed second, a golden pheasant; go to bed third, a golden bird. [illustration] there was an old woman, and what do you think? she lived upon nothing but victuals and drink; victuals and drink were the chief of her diet, yet the plaguey old woman would never be quiet. she went to the baker's to buy some bread; and when she came home her husband was dead. she went to the clerk, to toll the great bell; and when she came back, her husband was well. [illustration] some little mice sat in a barn to spin, pussy came by, and she popped her head in. "shall i come in and cut your threads off?" "oh, no, kind sir, you will snap our heads off." [illustration] * * * * * transcriber's notes: there seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to which poems began with smallcaps, (represented in this text version as allcaps), and which did not. without a clear pattern to follow, this was retained as printed. page , word "a" added to text. original read (there was jockey) now reads (there was a jockey) page , "he" changed to "she" (she fought for her) file was produced from scans of public domain material produced by microsoft for their live search books site.) [illustration] confessions _of a_ caricaturist by oliver herford new york · charles scribner's sons copyright, , by charles scribner's sons published september, to william dean howells [illustration] contents page william dean howells napoleon dante theodore roosevelt rudyard kipling ignace jan paderewski daniel frohman charles w. eliot j. pierpont morgan gilbert k. chesterton guglielmo marconi george bernard shaw brander matthews john s. sargent arnold bennett shakespeare william howard taft g. k. chesterton david belasco henrik ibsen j. forbes-robertson john drew israel zangwill george bernard shaw peter dunne saint paul john d. rockefeller hiram maxim george ade christopher columbus f. w. hohenzollern hafiz confessions _of a_ caricaturist william dean howells not squirrels in the park alone his love and winter-kindness own. when literary fledglings try their wings, in first attempt to fly, they flutter down to franklin square, where howells in his "easy chair" like good saint francis scatters crumbs of hope, to each small bird that comes. and since bread, cast upon the main, must to the giver come again, i tender now, long overtime, this humble crumb of grateful rhyme. (see frontispiece) napoleon i like to draw napoleon best because one hand is in his vest, the other hand behind his back. (for drawing hands i have no knack.) [illustration] dante if you should ask me, whether dante drank benedictine or chianti, i should reply, "i cannot say, but i can draw him either way." [illustration] theodore roosevelt the ways of providence are odd. if theodore means "the gift of god," let us give thanks, at any rate, the gift was not a duplicate. _aside_ (to t. r) dear theodore, should it give you pain to read this rhyme, let me explain. if we 'exchanged' you, where on earth could we find one of equal worth? o. h. [illustration] rudyard kipling i seem to see a shining one, with eyes that gleam, now fierce, now tender, through goggles that reflect the sun "with more than oriental splendor"; i see him sitting on a chest heavy with padlocks, bolts, and cording, where untold treasures hidden rest, treasures of untold yarns he's hoarding. oh, rudyard, please unlock that chest! with hope deferred we're growing hoary; or was it all an empty jest your saying, "_that's another story_"? [illustration] ignace jan paderewski when paderewski is forgot, our children's children, like as not, will worship in the hall of fame, some great piano-maker's name. [illustration] daniel frohman i love to picture daniel frohman in costume of a noble roman. for dan has just the style of hair, that julius cæsar used to wear. [illustration] charles w. eliot and now comes dr. eliot stating that hell won't bear investigating. it looks like charlie's out to bust the great hell-fire insurance trust. [illustration] j. pierpont morgan in rome, when morgan came to town, they nailed the colosseum down. a great collector! once his fad was coins, but when in time he had collected all the coin in sight, to europe's art his thoughts took flight. but let not europe palpitate for fear of an art syndicate. there are more rembrandts, strange to say, than ever were in rembrandt's day; and statues "planted" in the sand will always equal the demand. [illustration] gilbert k. chesterton unless i'm very much misled, chesterton's easier done than said. i have not seen him, but his looks i can imagine from his books. [illustration] guglielmo marconi i like marconi best to see beneath a macaroni tree playing that nocturne in f sharp by chopin, on a wireless harp. [illustration] george bernard shaw the very name of bernard shaw fills me with mingled mirth and awe. mixture of mephistopheles, don quixote, and diogenes, the devil's wit, the don's romance joined to the cynic's arrogance. framed on pythagorean plan, a vegetable souperman. here you may see him crown with bay the greatest playwright of his day;[ ] observe the look of self distrust and diffidence--upon the bust. [ ] for "his" read any.--g. b. s. [illustration] brander matthews i'd best beware how i make free with brander matthews l. l. d. since prexy wilson's paved the way he may be president some day. [illustration] john s. sargent here's sargent doing the duchess x in pink velours and pea-green checks. "it helps," says he, "to lift your grace a bit above the commonplace." [illustration] arnold bennett 'tis very comforting to know that every other day or so a book by bennett will appear to charm the western hemisphere. i see him now, with zeal sublime, pounding from dawn to dinner-time four typewriters, with hands and feet. when the four novels are complete, he'll fold, and send _à grande vitesse_ his quadrumanuscript to press. p. s. just think how much we'd have to read if bennett were a centipede o. h. [illustration] shakespeare will shakespeare, the baconians say, was the belasco of his day-- others more plausibly maintain he was the double of hall caine. [illustration] william howard taft i'm sorry william taft is out of politics; without a doubt of all the presidential crew he was the easiest to do. [illustration] g. k. chesterton when plain folk, such as you or i, see the sun sinking in the sky, we think it is the setting sun, but mr. gilbert chesterton is not so easily misled. he calmly stands upon his head, and upside down obtains a new and chestertonian point of view, observing thus, how from his toes the sun creeps nearer to his nose, he cries with wonder and delight, "how grand the sunrise is to-night!" [illustration] david belasco behold belasco in his den, wielding the scissors, paste and pen, and writing with consummate skill a play by w. de mille. [illustration] henrik ibsen i once drew ibsen, looking bored across a deep norwegian fjord, and very nearly every one mistook him for the midnight sun. [illustration] j. forbes-robertson i'm told the artist who aspires to draw forbes-robertson requires a sargent's brush. dear me! how sad! i've lost the only one i had. [illustration] john drew for perfect form there are but few that can compare with mr. drew; a form most fittingly displayed in rôles from london, tailor-made by messrs. maughn, pinero, jones, in quiet, gentlemanly tones. the _nouveaux-riches_ flock, day by day, to learn from john how to display (without unnecessary gloom) the manners of the drawing-room. this possibly may be the cause (or one of them) why john drew draws. [illustration] israel zangwill this picture though it is not much like zangwill, is not void of worth it has one true zangwillian touch it looks like nothing else on earth. [illustration] george bernard shaw george bernard shaw--oh, yes, i know i did him not so long ago. but then, you see, i _like_ to do george bernard shaw (george likes it too). [illustration] peter dunne _by the harp_ "shpeaking of harps, sure me frind pete has got the harp of tara beat," said mr. dooley. "div'l a thing that boy can't play upon won shtring. for all the wurrld, to hear him play you'd think 'twas a whole orchestray. great shtatesmen come from far and near and shtop their talking, just to hear him harp upon the latest kinks in politics and social jinks. niver was such a music sharp, i'd orter know, sure _i'm_ the harp." [illustration] saint paul it saddens me to think saint paul such lengthy letters had to scrawl. and so to make his labor lighter i picture him with a typewriter. [illustration] john d. rockefeller few faces interest me less than rockefeller's, i confess. 'twould vastly better suit my whim to draw his bank account, than him. [illustration] hiram maxim from hiram maxim's hair you'd think his specialty was spilling ink-- you'd never dream he'd spilt more blood than any one man since the flood. [illustration] george ade somehow i always like to think of georgeade as a summer drink, sparkling and cool, with just a tang of pleasant effervescent slang; a wholesome tonic, without question, and cure for moral indigestion. in summer-time, beneath the shade, we find refreshment in georgeade. and 'mid the scorching city's roar we drink him up and call for more. i often wonder what the "trade" buys half so precious as georgeade. [illustration] christopher columbus columbus is an easy one to draw, for when the picture's done, where is the captious critic who can say the likeness is not true? [illustration] f. w. hohenzollern in things like this i've always tried to look upon the brighter side; and when i see the prince, i say "the crown's worth _something_ anyway." [illustration] [illustration: _picture of o. h. and hafiz, the "persian kitten," by james montgomery flagg._] [illustration] hafiz when hafiz saw the portrait free, by monty flagg, of him and me, he made remarks one can't repeat in any reputable sheet. perverted proverbs _a manual of immorals for the many_ by col. d. streamer author of "ruthless rhymes for heartless homes" "ballads of the boer war" "the baby's baedeker" [illustration: printer's logo] new york r. h. russell _copyright, , by robert howard russell_ published may, . perverted proverbs _perverted proverbs_ _dedicated to helen whitney_ do you recall those bygone days, when you received with kindly praise my bantling book of rhyme? praise undeserved, alas! and yet how sweet! for, tho' we had not met, (ah! what a waste of time!) i could the more enjoy such mercies since i delighted in _your_ verses. and when a poet stoops to smile on some one of the rank and file, (inglorious--if not mute,) some groundling bard who craves to climb, like me, the dizzy rungs of rhyme, to reach the golden fruit; for one in such a situation the faintest praise is no damnation. parnassus heights must surely pall; for simpler diet do you call, of nectar growing tired? these verses to your feet i bring, drawn from an unassuming spring, well-meant--if not inspired; o charming poet's charming daughter, descend and taste my toast and water! for you alone these lines i write, that, reading them, your brow may light beneath its crown of bays; your eyes may sparkle like a star, with friendship, that is dearer far than any breath of praise; the which a lucky man possessing can ask no higher human blessing. and, though the "salt estranging sea" be widely spread 'twixt you and me, we have what makes amends; and since i am so glad of you, be glad of me a little, too, because of being friends. and, if i earn your approbation, accept my humble dedication. h. g. _foreword_ the press may pass my verses by with sentiments of indignation, and say, like greeks of old, that i corrupt the youthful generation; i am unmoved by taunts like these-- (and so, i think, was socrates). howe'er the critics may revile, i pick no journalistic quarrels, quite realizing that my style makes up for any lack of morals; for which i feel no shred of shame-- (and byron would have felt the same). i don't intend a child to read these lines, which are not for the young; for, if i did, i should indeed feel fully worthy to be hung. (is "hanged" the perfect tense of "hang"? correct me, mr. andrew lang!) o young of heart, tho' in your prime, by you these verses may be seen! accept the moral with the rhyme, and try to gather what i mean. but, if you can't, it won't hurt me! (and browning would, i know, agree.) be reassured, i have not got the style of stephen phillips' heroes, nor henry jones's pow'r of plot, nor wit like arthur wing pinero's! (if so, i should not waste my time in writing you this sort of rhyme.) i strive to paint things as they are, of realism the true apostle; all flow'ry metaphors i bar, nor call the homely thrush a "throstle." such synonyms would make me smile. (and so they would have made carlyle.) my style may be at times, i own, a trifle cryptic or abstruse; in this i do not stand alone, and need but mention, in excuse, a thousand world-familiar names, from meredith to henry james. from these my fruitless fancy roams to seek the ade of modern fable, from doyle's or hemans' "stately ho(l)mes," to t'other of the breakfast table; like galahad, i wish (in vain) "my wit were as the wit of twain!" had i but whitman's rugged skill, (and managed to escape the censor), the accuracy of a mill, the reason of a herbert spencer, the literary talents even of sidney lee or leslie stephen. the pow'r of patmore's placid pen, or watson's gift of execration, the sugar of le gallienne, or algernon's alliteration. one post there is i'd not be lost in, --tho' i might find it most ex-austin'! some day, if i but study hard, the public, vanquished by my pen'll acclaim me as a minor bard, like norman gale or mrs. meynell, and listen to my lyre a-rippling imperial banjo-spasms like kipling. were i a syndicate like k. or flippant scholar like augustine; had i the style of pater, say, which ev'ryone would put their trust in, i'd love (as busy as a squirrel) to pate, to kipple, and to birrel. so don't ignore me. if you should, 'twill touch me to the very heart oh! to be as much misunderstood as once was andrea del sarto; unrecognized to toil away, like millet--not, of course, mill_ais_. and, pray, for morals do not look in this unique agglomeration, --this unpretentious little book of infelicitous quotation. i deem you foolish if you do, (and mr. russell thinks so, too). _"virtue is its own reward"_ virtue its own reward? alas! and what a poor one as a rule! be virtuous and life will pass like one long term of sunday-school. (no prospect, truly, could one find more unalluring to the mind.) you may imagine that it pays to practise goodness. not a bit! you cease receiving any praise when people have got used to it; 'tis generally understood you find it _easy_ to be good. the model child has got to keep his fingers and his garments white; in church he may not go to sleep, nor ask to stop up late at night. in fact he must not ever do a single thing he wishes to. he may not paddle in his boots, like naughty children, at the sea; the sweetness of forbidden fruits is not, alas! for such as he. he watches, with pathetic eyes, his weaker brethren make mud-pies. he must not answer back, oh no! however rude grown-ups may be, but keep politely silent, tho' he brim with scathing repartee; for nothing is considered worse than scoring off mamma or nurse. he must not eat too much at meals, nor scatter crumbs upon the floor; however vacuous he feels, he may not pass his plate for more; --not tho' his ev'ry organ ache for further slabs of christmas cake. he is enjoined to choose his food from what is easy to digest; a choice which in itself is good, but never what _he_ likes the best. (at times how madly he must wish for just _one_ real unwholesome dish!) and, when the wretched urchin plays with other little girls and boys, he has to show unselfish ways by giving them his choicest toys; his ears he lets them freely box, or pull his lubricated locks. his face is always being washed, his hair perpetually brushed, and thus his brighter side is squashed, his human instincts warped and crushed; small wonder that his early years are filled with "thoughts too deep for tears." he is commanded not to waste the fleeting hours of childhood's days by giving way to any taste for circuses or matinées; for him the entertainments planned are "lectures on the holy land." he never reads a story book by rider h. or winston c., in vain upon his desk you'd look for tales by richard harding d.; nor could you find upon his shelf the works of rudyard--or myself! he always fears that he may do some action that is _infra dig._, and so he lives his short life through in the most noxious rôle of prig. ("short life" i say, for it's agreed the good die very young indeed.) ah me! how sad it is to think he could have lived like me--or you! with practice and a taste for drink, our joys he might have known, he too! and shared the pleasure _we_ have had in being gloriously bad! the naughty boy gets much delight from doing what he should not do; but, as such conduct isn't right, he sometimes suffers for it, too. yet, what's a spanking to the fun of leaving vital things undone? if he's notoriously bad, but for a day should change his ways, his parents will be all so glad, they'll shower him with gifts and praise! (it pays a connoisseur in crimes to be a perfect saint at times.) of course there always lies the chance that he is charged with being ill, and all his innocent romance is ruined by a rhubarb pill. (alas! 'tis not alone the good that are so much misunderstood.) but, as a rule, when he behaves (evincing no malarial signs), his friends are all his faithful slaves, until he once again declines with easy conscience, more or less, to undiluted wickedness. the wicked flourish like the bay, at cards or love they always win, good fortune dogs their steps all day, they fatten while the good grow thin. the righteous man has much to bear; the bad becomes a bullionaire! for, though he be the greatest sham, luck favours him his whole life through; at "bridge" he always makes a slam after declaring "sans atout"; with ev'ry deal his fate has planned a hundred aces in his hand. and it is always just the same; he somehow manages to win, by mere good fortune, any game that he may be competing in. at golf no bunker breaks his club, for him the green provides no "rub." at billiards, too, he flukes away (with quite unnecessary "side"); no matter what he tries to play, for him the pockets open wide; he never finds both balls in baulk, or makes miss-cues for want of chalk. he swears; he very likely bets; he even wears a flaming necktie; inhales egyptian cigarettes and has a "mens inconscia recti"; yet, spite of all, one must confess that naught succeeds like his excess. there's no occasion to be just, no need for motives that are fine, to be director of a trust, or manager of a combine; your corner is a public curse, perhaps; but it will fill your purse. then stride across the public's bones, crush all opponents under you, until you "rise on stepping-stones of their dead selves"; and, when you do, the widow's and the orphan's tears shall comfort your declining years! but having had your boom in oil, and made your millions out of it, would you propose to cease from toil? great vanderfeller! not a bit! you've _got_ to labour, day and night, until you die--and serve you right! then, when you stop this frenzied race, and others in your office sit, you'll leave the world a better place, --the better for your leaving it! for there's a chance perhaps your heir may spend what you've collected there. myself, how lucky i must be, that need not fear so gross an end; since fortune has not favoured me with many million pounds to spend. (still, did that fickle dame relent, i'd show you how they _should_ be spent!) i am not saint enough to feel my shoulder ripen to a wing, nor have i wits enough to steal his title from the copper king; and there's a vasty gulf between the man i am and might have been; but tho' at dinner i may take too much of heidsieck (extra dry), and underneath the table make my simple couch just where i lie, my mode of roosting on the floor is just a trick and nothing more. and when, not wisely but too well, my thirst i have contrived to quench, the stories i am apt to tell may be, perhaps, a trifle french; (for 'tis in anecdote, no doubt, that what's bred in the beaune comes out.) it does not render me unfit to give advice, both wise and right, because i do not follow it myself as closely as i might; there's nothing that i wouldn't do to point the proper road to _you_. and this i'm sure of, more or less, and trust that you will all agree, the elements of happiness consist in being--just like me; no sinner, nor a saint perhaps, but--well, the very best of chaps. share the experience i have had, consider all i've known and seen, and don't be good, and don't be bad, but cultivate a golden mean. * * * * * what makes existence _really_ nice is virtue--with a dash of vice. "_enough is as good as a feast._" what is enough? an idle dream! one cannot have enough, i swear, of ices or meringues-and-cream, nougat or chocolate eclairs, of oysters or of caviar, of prawns or paté de foie _grar_! who would not willingly forsake kindred and home, without a fuss, for icing from a birthday cake, or juicy fat asparagus, and journey over countless seas for new potatoes and green peas? they say that a contented mind is a continual feast;--but where the mental frame, and how to find, which can with turtle soup compare? no mind, however full of ease, could be continual toasted cheese. for dinner have a sole to eat, (some perrier jouet, ' ,) an entrée then (and, with the meat, a bottle of lafitte will do), a quail, a glass of port (just one), liqueurs and coffee, and you've done. but should you want a hearty meal, and not this gourmet's lightsome snack, fill up with terrapin and teal, clam chowder, crabs and canvasback; with all varieties of sauce, and diff'rent wines for ev'ry course. your tastes may be of simpler type;-- a homely glass of "half-and-half," an onion and a dish of tripe, or headpiece of the kindly calf. (cruel perhaps, but then, you know, "_'faut tout souffrir pour être veau!_") 'tis a mistake to eat too much of any dishes but the best; and you, of course, should never touch a thing you _know_ you can't digest; for instance, lobster;--if you _do_, well,--i'm amayonnaised at you! let this be your heraldic crest, a bottle (chargé) of champagne, a chicken (gorged) with salad (dress'd), below, this motto to explain-- "enough is very good, may be; too much is good enough for me!" "_don't buy a pig in a poke._" unscrupulous pigmongers will attempt to wheedle and to coax the ignorant young housewife till she purchases her pigs in pokes; beasts that have got a lurid past, or else are far too good to last. so, should you not desire to be the victim of a cruel hoax, then promise me, ah! promise me, you will not purchase pigs in pokes! ('twould be an error just as big to poke your purchase in a pig.) too well i know the bitter cost, to turn this subject off with jokes; how many a fortune has been lost by men who purchased pigs in pokes. (ah! think on such when you would talk with mouths that are replete with pork!) and, after dinner, round the fire, astride of grandpa's rugged knee, implore your bored but patient sire to tell you what a poke may be. the fact he might disclose to you-- which is far more than _i_ can do. * * * * * the moral of the pigs and pokes is not to make your choice too quick. in purchasing a book of jokes, pray poke around and take your pick. who knows how rich a mental meal the covers of _this_ book conceal? "_learn to take things easily._" to these few words, it seems to me, a wealth of sound instruction clings; o learn to take things easily-- espeshly other people's things; and time will make your fingers deft at what is known as petty theft. your precious moments do not waste; take ev'rything that isn't tied! who knows but you may have a taste, a gift perhaps, for homicide,-- (a mania which, encouraged, thrives on taking other people's lives). "fools and their money soon must part!" and you can help this on, may be, if, in the kindness of your heart, you learn to take things easily; and be, with little education, a prince of misappropriation. "_a rolling stone gathers no moss._" i never understood, i own, what anybody (with a soul) could mean by offering a stone this needless warning not to roll; and what inducement there can be to gather moss i fail to see. i'd sooner gather anything, like primroses, or news perhaps, or even wool (when suffering a momentary mental lapse); but could forego my share of moss, nor ever realize the loss. 'tis a botanical disease, and worthy of remark as such; lending a dignity to trees, to ruins a romantic touch. a timely adjunct, i've no doubt, but not worth writing home about. of all the stones i ever met, in calm repose upon the ground, i really never found one yet with a desire to roll around; theirs is a stationary rôle,-- (a joke,--and feeble on the whole). but, if i were a stone, i swear i'd sooner move and view the world than sit and grow the greenest hair that ever nature combed and curled. i see no single saving grace in being known as "mossyface!" instead, i might prove useful for a weapon in the hand of crime, a paperweight, a milestone, or a missile at election time; in each capacity i could do quite incalculable good. when well directed from the pit, i might promote a welcome death, if fortunate enough to hit some budding hamlet or macbeth, who twice each day the playhouse fills,-- (for further notice see small bills). at concerts, too, if you prefer, i could prevent your growing deaf, by silencing the amateur before she reached that upper f.; or else, in lieu of half-a-brick, restrain some local kubelik. then, human stones, take my advice, (as you should always do, indeed); this proverb may be very nice, but don't you pay it any heed, and, tho' you make the critics cross, roll on, and never mind the moss. "_after dinner sit a while; after supper walk a mile._" after luncheon sit awhile, 'tis an admirable plan; after dinner walk a mile-- but make certain that you _can_. (were you not this maxim taught;-- "good is wrought by want of port.") after dinner think on this; join the ladies with a smile, and remember that a miss is as good as any mile. (thus you may be led to feel what amis felt for amile.) never fear of being shy at the houses where you dine; you'll recover by-and-bye, with the second glass of wine; and can recognize with bliss that a meal is not amiss. "_it is never too late to mend._" since it can never be too late to change your life, or else renew it, let the unpleasant process wait until you are _compelled_ to do it. the state provides (and gratis too) establishments for such as you. remember this, and pluck up heart, that, be you publican or parson, your ev'ry art must have a start, from petty larceny to arson; and even in the burglar's trade, the cracksman is not born, but made. so, if in your career of crime, you fail to carry out some "coup", then try again a second time, and yet again, until you _do_; and don't despair, or fear the worst, because you get found out at first. perhaps the battle will not go, on all occasions, to the strongest; you may be fairly certain tho' that he laughs last who laughs the longest. so keep a good reserve of laughter, which may be found of use hereafter. believe me that, howe'er well meant, a good resolve is always brief; don't let your precious hours be spent in turning over a new leaf. such leaves, like nature's, soon decay, and then are only in the way. the road to--well, a certain spot, (a road of very fair dimensions), has, so the proverb tells us, got a parquet-floor of good intentions. take care, in your desire to please, you do not add a brick to these. for there may come a moment when you shall be mended willy-nilly, with many more misguided men, whose skill is undermined with skilly. till then procrastinate, my friend; "it _never_ is too late to mend!" "_a bad workman complains of his tools._" this pen of mine is simply grand, i never loved a pen so much; this paper (underneath my hand) is really a delight to touch; and never in my life, i think, did i make use of finer ink. the subject upon which i write is everything that i could choose; i seldom knew my wits more bright, more cosmopolitan my views; nor ever did my head contain so surplus a supply of brain! _potpourri._ there are many more maxims to which i would like to accord a front place, but alas! i have got to omit a whole lot, for the lack of available space; and the rest i am forced to boil down and condense to the following essence of sound without sense: now the pitcher that journeys too oft to the well will get broken at last. but you'll find it a fact that, by using some tact, such a danger as this can be past. (there's an obvious way, and a simple, you'll own, which is, if you're a pitcher, to let well alone.) half a loafer is never well-bred, and self-praise is a dangerous thing. and the mice are at play when the cat is away, for a moment, inspecting a king. (tho' if care kills a cat, as the proverbs declare, it is right to suppose that the king will take care.) don't halloo till you're out of the wood, when a stitch in good time will save nine, while a bird in the hand is worth two, understand, in the bush that needs no good wine. (tho' the two, if they _can_ sing but won't, have been known, by an accurate aim to be killed with one stone.) never harness the cart to the horse; since the latter should be _à la carte_. and birds of a feather come flocking together, because they can't well flock apart. (you may cast any bread on the waters, i think, but, unless i'm mistaken, you can't make it sink.) it is only the fool who remarks that there can't be a fire without smoke; has he never yet learned how the gas can be turned on the best incombustible coke? (would you value a man by the checks on his suits, and forget "_que c'est le premier passbook qui coutts_?") now "_de mortuis nil nisi bo- num_," is latin, as ev'ryone owns; if your domicile be near a mortuaree, you should always avoid throwing bones. (i would further remark, if i could,--but i couldn't-- that people residing in glasshouses shouldn't.) you have heard of the punctual bird, who was first in presenting his bill; but i pray you'll be firm, and remember the worm had to get up much earlier still; (so that, if you _can't_ rise in the morning, then don't; and be certain that where there's a will there's a won't.) you can give a bad name to a dog, and hang him by way of excuse; whereas hunger, of course, is by far the best sauce for the gander as well as the goose. (but you shouldn't judge anyone just by his looks, for a surfeit of broth ruins too many cooks.) with the fact that necessity knows nine points of the law, you'll agree. there are just as good fish to be found on a dish as you ever could catch in the sea. (you should look ere you leap on a weasel asleep, and i've also remarked that still daughters run cheap.) the much trodden-on lane _will_ turn, and a friend is in need of a friend; but the wisest of saws, like the camel's last straws, or the longest of worms, have an end. so, before out of patience a virtue you make, a decisive farewell of these maxims we'll take. _envoi._ _"don't look a gifthorse in the mouth"_ i knew a man, who lived down south; he thought this maxim to defy; he looked a gifthorse in the mouth; the gifthorse bit him in the eye! and, while the steed enjoyed his bite, my southern friend mislaid his sight. now, had this foolish man, that day, observed the gifthorse in the _heel_, it might have kicked his brains away, but that's a loss he would not feel; because you see (need i explain?) my southern friend had got no brain. when anyone to you presents a poodle, or a pocketknife, a set of ping-pong instruments, a banjo or a lady-wife, 'tis churlish, as i understand, to grumble that they're second-hand. and he who termed ingratitude as "worser nor a servant's tooth" was evidently well imbued with all the elements of truth; (while he who said "uneasy lies the tooth that wears a crown" was wise). "one must be poor," george eliot said, "to know the luxury of giving;" so too one really should be dead to realize the joy of living. (i'd sooner be--i don't know which-- i'd _like_ to be alive and rich!) _this_ book may be a gifthorse too, and one you surely ought to prize; if so, i beg you, read it through with kindly and uncaptious eyes, not grumbling because this particular line doesn't happen to scan, and this one doesn't rhyme! _aftword._ 'tis done! we reach the final page, with feelings of relief, i'm certain; and there arrives at such a stage, the moment to ring down the curtain. (this metaphor is freely taken from shakespeare--or perhaps from bacon.) the book perused, our future brings a plethora of blank to-morrows, when memories of happier things will be our sorrow's crown of sorrows. (i trust you recognize this line as being tennyson's, not mine.) my verses may indeed be few, but are they not, to quote the poet, "the sweetest things that ever grew beside a human door"? i know it. (what an _in_human door would be, enquire of wordsworth, please, not me.) 'twas one of my most cherished dreams to write a moral book some day; what says the bard? "the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley!" (the bard here mentioned, by the bye, is robbie burns, of course--not i.) and tho' my pen records each thought as swift as the phonetic pitman, morality is not my "forte," o camarados! (_vide_ whitman) and, like the porcupine, i still am forced to ply a fretful quill. we may be master of our fate, (as henley was inspired to mention) yet am i but the second mate upon the ss. "good intention"; for me the course direct is lacking-- i have to do a deal of tacking. to seek for morals here's a task of which you well may be despairing; "what has become of them?" you ask, they've given us the slip--like waring. "look east!" said browning once, and i would make a similar reply. look east, where in a garret drear, the author works, without cessation, composing verses for a mere- ly nominal remuneration; and, while he has the strength to write 'em, will do so still--_ad infinitum_. finis. transcriber's notes: the words 'bo-num' and 'mere-ly' were retained hyphenated at the ends of lines to match the printed edition and maintain the poetical intent of the author. changed 'heidsick' to 'heidsieck.' _misrepresentative men_ [illustration: "_he might be seen, in any weather, in what is called 'the altogether.'_" _page _] misrepresentative men by harry graham ("col. d. streamer") _author of "ruthless rhymes for heartless homes," etc., etc._ illustrated by f. strothmann new york fox, duffield & company mcmv copyright, , by fox, duffield & company _published, september, _ printed in america _these verses are gratefully dedicated to_ [illustration] "_from quiet home and first beginning, out to the undiscovered ends, there's nothing worth the wear of winning, but laughter and the love of friends._" my verses in your path i lay, and do not deem me indiscreet, if i should say that surely they could find no haven half so sweet as at your feet. unworthy little rhymes are these, tread tenderly upon them, please! one single favour do i crave, which is that you regard my pen as your devoted humble slave. most fortunate shall i be then of mortal men; for what more happiness ensures than work in service such as yours? should you be pleased, at any time, to dip into this shallow brook of simple, unpretentious rhyme, or chance with fav'ring smile to look upon my book; don't mention such a fact out loud, or haply i shall grow too proud! accept these verses then, i pray, disarming press and public too, for what can hostile critics say? what else is left for them to do, because of you, but view with kindness this collection, which bears the seal of your protection? _contents_ page foreword theodore roosevelt bacon adam joan of arc paderewski william tell diogenes sir thomas lipton marat ananias nero aftword postlude _list of illustrations_ "_he might be seen in any weather in what is called the altogether_" frontispiece page "_the politician's grip of steel_" "_at six a.m. he shoots a bear_" "_when eve appeared upon the scene_" "_on concert platforms he perform_" "_altho' he raised a rasping voice to persons who his view obstructed_" "_but charlotte corday came along, intent to right her country's wrong_" _foreword_ all great biographers possess, besides a thirst for information, that talent which commands success, i mean of course imagination; combining with excessive tact a total disregard for fact. boswell and froude, and all the rest, with just sufficient grounds to go on, could only tell the world, at best, what great men did, and thought--and so on. but i, of course, can speak to you about the things they didn't do. i don't rely on breadth of mind, on wit or pow'rs of observation; carnegie's libraries i find a fruitful source of inspiration; the new encyclopædia brit. has helped me, too, a little bit. in any case i cannot fail, with such a range of mental vision, so deep a passion for detail, and such meticulous precision. i pity men like sidney lee; how jealous they must be of me! 'tis easy work to be exact, (i have no fear of contradiction), since it has been allowed that fact is stranger far than any fiction; but what demands the truest wit is knowing what one should omit. carlyle, for instance, finds no place among my list of lucubrations; because i have no wish to face the righteous wrath of his relations. whatever feud they have with froude, no one can say that _i_ was rude. this work is written to supply a long-felt want among beginners; a handbook where the student's eye may read the lives of saints and sinners, and learn, without undue expense, the fruits of their experience. a book to buy and give away, to fill the youthful with ambition, for even they may hope, some day, to share the author's erudition; so not in vain, nor void of gain, the work of his colossal brain. _theodore roosevelt_ alert as bird or early worm, yet gifted with those courtly ways which connoisseurs correctly term the _tout-c'qu'-il-y-a de louis seize_; he reigns, by popular assent, the people's peerless president! behold him! squarely built and small; with hands that would resemble liszt's, did they not forcibly recall the contour of fitzsimmons' fists; beneath whose velvet gloves you feel the politician's grip of steel. accomplished as a king should be, and autocratic as a czar, to him all classes bow the knee, in spotless washington afar; and while his jealous rivals scoff, he wears the smile-that-won't-come-off. [illustration: "_the politician's grip of steel._"] in him combined we critics find the diplomatic skill of choate, elijah dowie's breadth of mind, and chauncey's fund of anecdote; he joins the morals of susannah to dr. munyon's bedside manner. the rugged virtues of his race he softens with a dewey's tact, combining shafter's easy grace with all bourke cockran's love of fact; to dooley's pow'rs of observation he adds the charms of carrie nation. in him we see a devotee of what is called the "simpler life" (to tell the naked truth, and be contented with a single wife). luxurious living he abhors, and takes his pleasures out of doors. and, since his sole delight and pride are exercise and open air, his spirit chafes at being tied all day to an official chair; the bell-boys (in the room beneath) can hear him gnash his serried teeth. in summertime he can't resist a country gallop on his cob, so, like a thorough altruist, he lets another do his job; in winter he will work all day, but when the sun shines he makes hay. and thus, in spite of office ties, he manages to take a lot of healthy outdoor exercise, where other presidents have not; as i can prove by drawing your attention to his _carte du jour_. at a.m. he shoots a bear, at he schools a restive horse, from to he takes the air,-- (he doesn't take it all, of course); and then at o'clock, maybe, some colored man drops in to tea. at intervals throughout the day he sprints around the house, or if his residence is oyster bay, he races up and down the cliff; while seagulls scream about his legs, or hasten home to hide their eggs. [illustration: "_at six a. m. he shoots a bear._"] a man of deeds, not words, is he, who never stooped to roll a log; agile as fond gazelle or flea, sagacious as an indoor dog; in him we find a spacious mind, "uncribb'd, uncabin'd, unconfin'd." in martial exploits he delights, and has no fear of war's alarms; the hero of a hundred fights, since first he was a child (in arms); like battle-horse, when bugles bray, he champs his bit and tries to neigh. and if the army of the state is always in such perfect trim, well-organized and up to date, this grand result is due to him; for while his country reaped the fruit, 'twas he alone could reach the root. and spite of jeers that foes have hurled, no problems can his soul perplex; he lectures women of the world upon the duties of their sex, and with unfailing courage thrusts his spoke within the wheels of trusts. no private ends has he to serve, no dirty linen needs to wash; a man of quite colossal nerve, who lives _sans peur et sans reproche_; _in modo suaviter_ maybe, but then how _fortiter in re_! a lion is his crest, you know, columbia stooping to caress it, with _vi et armis_ writ below, _nemo impune me lacessit_; his motto, as you've read already, _semper paratus_--always teddy! _bacon_ in far elizabethan days (ho! by my halidome! gadzooks!) lord bacon wrote his own essays, and lots of other people's books; annexing as a pseudonym each author's name that suited him. all notoriety he'd shirk, nor sought for literary credit, although the best of shakespeare's work was his. (for mrs. gallup said it, and she, poor lady, i suppose, has read the whole of it, and knows.) such was his kind, unselfish plan, that he allowed a rude, unshaven, ill-educated actor man to style himself the bard of avon; altho' 'twas _he_ and not this fellow who wrote "the tempest" and "othello." for right throughout his works there is a cipher hid, which makes it certain that all pope's "iliad" is his, and the "anatomy" of burton; there's not a volume you can name to which he has not laid a claim. he is responsible, i wot, for euclid's lucid demonstrations, the early works of walter scott, and the aurelian "meditations"; also "the house with seven gables" and most of Æsop's (so-called) fables. and once, when he annoyed the queen, and wished to gain the royal pardon, he wrote his masterpiece; i mean that work about her german garden; and published, just before his death, the "visits of elizabeth." yet peradventure we are wrong, for just as probable the chance is that all these volumes may belong to someone else, and not to francis. i think,--tho' i may be mistaken,-- that shakespeare wrote the works of bacon. _moral_ if you approach the mosque of fame, and seek to climb its tallest steeple, just lodge a literary claim against the works of other people. and though the press may not receive it, a few old ladies will believe it. for instance, i of proof could bring sufficient to convince the layman that i had written ev'rything attributed to stanley weyman. in common justice i should pocket the royalties of s. r. crockett. and anyone can plainly see, without the wit of machiavelli, that "hall caines look alike to me," since i am ouida and corelli. yes, i am rudyard kipling, truly, and the immortal mr. dooley. _adam_ in history he holds a place unique, unparalleled, sublime; "the first of all the human race!" yes, that was adam, all the time. it didn't matter if he burst, he simply _had_ to get there first. a simple child of nature he, whose life was primitive and rude; his wants were few, his manners free, all kinds of clothing he eschewed,-- he might be seen in any weather, in what is called "the altogether!" the luxuries that we enjoy he never had, so never missed; appliances that we employ for saving work did not exist; he would have found them useless too, not having any work to do. he never wrote a business note; he had no creditors to pay; he was not pestered for his vote, not having one to give away; and, living utterly alone, he did not need a telephone. the joys of indolence he knew, in his remote and peaceful clime, he did just what he wanted to, nor ever said he "hadn't time!" (and this was natural becos he had whatever time there was.) his pulse was strong, his health was good, he had no fads of meat or drink, of tonic waters, breakfast food, or pills for persons who are pink; no cloud of indigestion lay across the sunshine of his day. and, when he went to bed each night, he made his couch upon the soil; the glow-worms gave him all his light, (he hadn't heard of standard oil);-- at dawn he woke,--then slept again, _he_ never had to catch a train! [illustration: "_when eve appeared upon the scene._"] a happy, solitary life! but soon he found it dull, i ween, so thought that he would like a wife,-- when eve appeared upon the scene. * * * and we will draw a kindly veil over the sequel to this tale. _moral_ ye bachelors, contented be with what the future holds for you; pity the married man, for he has _nothing_ to look forward to,-- to hunger for with bated breath!-- * * * (nothing, that is to say, but death!) _joan of arc_ from pimlico to central park, from timbuctoo to rotten row, who has not heard of joan of arc, his tragic tale who does not know? and how he put his life to stake, for principle and country's sake? this simple person of lorraine had thoughts for nothing but romance, and longed to see a king again upon the battered throne of france; (with charles the seventh crowned at rheims, he realized his fondest dreams.) then came the fight at compiègne, where he was captured by the foe, and lots of vulgar foreign men caught hold and wouldn't let him go. "please don't!" he begged them, in despair, "you're disarranging all my hair." unmoved by grace of form or face, these brutes, whose hearts were quite opaque, at rouen, in the market-place, secured him tightly to a stake; (behaviour which cannot be viewed as other than extremely rude.) poor joan of arc, of course, was bound to be the centre of the show, when, having piled the faggots round, they lit him up and let him go. (which surely strikes the modern mind as thoughtless, not to say unkind.) but tho' he died, his deathless name in hist'ry holds a noble place, and brings the blush of conscious shame to any anglo-saxon face. perfidious truly was the nation which caused his premature cremation! * * * i showed these verses to a friend, inviting him to criticise; he read them slowly to the end, then asked me, with a mild surprise, "what was your object," he began, "in making joan of arc a man?" i hastened to the library which kind carnegie gave the town, searched section b. (biography.) and took six bulky volumes down; then studied all one livelong night, and found (alas!) my friend was right. i'm sorry; for it gives me pain to think of such a waste of rhyme. i'd write the poem all again, only i can't afford the time; it's rather late to change it now,-- i can't be bothered anyhow. _paderewski_ while other men of "note" have had a certain local reputation, they never could compare with pad,-- (forgive this terse abbreviation),-- loot: orpheus may have been all right; cap: paderewski's out of sight! no lunatic, competing in the game of arctic exploration, can ever really hope to win more pleasures of anticipation than he who fixes as his goal so satisfactory a pole. the grand piano is his forte, and when he treads upon its pedals, weak women weep, and strong men snort, while cuban veterans (with medals) grow kind of bleary-eyed and soppy; and journalists forget their "copy." and as he makes the key-board smart, or softly on its surface lingers, he plays upon the public's heart, and holds it there beneath his fingers; caresses, teases, pokes or squeezes,-- does just exactly as he pleases. and oh! the hair upon his head! hay-coloured, with a touch of titian! he's under contract, so 'tis said, to keep it in this wild condition; all those who wish for thatch like pad's should buy-- (this space to let for ads.) on concert platforms he performs, where ladies, (matrons, maids or misses), surround his feet in perfect swarms, and try to waft him fat damp kisses; till he takes refuge in his hair, and sits serenely smiling there. he draws the tear-drop to the eye of dullest dude or quaintest quaker; the instrument he plays is by the very best piano-maker, whose name, i hope you won't forget, is-- (once again, this space to let.) [illustration: "_on concert platforms he performs._"] before the style of his technique, the science of his execution, the blackest criminal grows weak and makes a moral resolution; requiring all his strength of will before he even robs a till. rough soldiers, from the seat of war,-- (i never understood what "seat" meant)-- have ceased to swear or hit the jar after a course of rooski's treatment. 'tis more persuasive and as sure as (shall we say?) the water-cure! thus on triumphantly he goes,-- a long succession of successes,-- and nobody exactly knows just how much income he possesses; he makes sufficient (if not more) to keep the wolf from the stage-door. and when he plays a "polonaise," (his own unrivalled composition), the entertainment well repays the prices charged one for admission; but still, as ladies all declare, his crowning glory is his hair! _william tell_ all persons who, by way of joke, point loaded guns at one another, (a state of things which ends in smoke, and murder of an aunt or brother,) will find that it repays them well to note the tale of william tell. he was a patriotic swiss, whose skill was such with bow and arrow, he never had been known to miss a target, howsoever narrow; his archery could well defy the needle or the camel's eye. and when the hated austrian invaded his belovéd country, this simple man at once began to treat the foe with calm effront'ry, and gave a sporting exhibition, to which he charged ten cents admission. he set his son against a tree, upon his head an apple placing, next measured paces thirty-three, and turned about, his offspring facing, then chose an arrow, drew his bow,-- (and all the people murmured "oh!") no sound disturbed the morning air, (you could have heard a tea-tray falling,) save in the virgin forest, where a chipmunk to his mate was calling, where sang the giddy martingale, or snaffle woo'd the genial quail. but, drowning cry of beast or bird, there rose the hush of expectation; no whispered converse, not a word from the surrounding population; a tactful silence, as of death, while people held each other's breath. the bow rang out, the arrow sped! before a man could turn completely, all scatheless shone the offspring's head, the apple lay divided neatly! the ten-cent public gave a roar, and appleplectic shrieked "en-_core_." they kissed the hero, clasped his hand, in search of autographs pursued him, escorted with the local band, cheered, banqueted and interviewed him, demanding how he shot so well; but simple william would not tell. the austrians, without a word, retired at once across the border, and thence on william they conferred two medals and a foreign order, (and tactfully addressed the bill "hereditary arch-duke will.") and, in the piping times of peace, such luxury his life was wrapt in, he got the chief-ship of police, (and made his son a precinct captain), wore celluloid white cuffs and collars, and absolutely rolled in dollars. still, to the end, whenever will with fiscal problems had to grapple, he called to mind his offspring's skill at balancing the homely apple, and made him use his level head at balancing accounts instead. _diogenes_ he stopped inside a tub, from choice, but otherwise was well-conducted, altho' he raised a rasping voice to persons who his view obstructed, and threw a boot at anyone who robbed him of his patch of sun. and thus he lived, without expense, arrayed in somewhat scant apparel, his customary residence the limits of an empty barrel; (his spirits would perforce be good, maturing slowly "in the wood.") with lamp alight he sought at night for honest men, his ruling passion; but either he was short of sight, or honest men were out of fashion; he never found one, so he said;-- they probably were all in bed. [illustration: "_altho' he raised a rasping voice to persons who his view obstructed._"] at last, when he was very old, he got abducted by a pirate, and to a man of corinth sold, at an exorbitantly high rate; his owner called him "sunny jim," and made an indoor pet of him. and soon, as one may well suppose, he learnt the very choicest manners, could balance sugar on his nose, or sit right up and smoke havanas, or swim into the pond for sticks,-- there was no limit to his tricks. he never tasted wine nor meat, but ate, in full and plenteous measure, grape-nuts and force and shredded wheat, pretending that they gave him pleasure. at length, at eighty-nine, he died, of a too strenuous inside. had but this worthy cynic been a member of _our_ favoured nation, niagara he might have seen, and realised a new sensation, if he had set himself the task to brave the rapids in his cask. or if his ghost once more began, with lighted lamp, his ancient mission, and searched the city for a man whose honesty outsoared suspicion, we could provide him, in new york, a nice (if somewhat lengthy) walk. _moral._ tho' thumping tubs is easy work, with which no critic cares to quarrel, there may be charms about a turk, policemen even may be moral; and, tho' they never get found out, there are _some_ honest men about. _sir thomas lipton_ of all the sportsmen now afloat upon the waters of this planet, no better ever manned a boat, (or paid another man to man it,) and won a kindly public's heart like dear sir thomas lipton, bart. behind a counter, as a child, he woo'd dame fortune, fair but fickle, until at last one day she smiled upon his spices and his pickle; and all the world rejoiced to see plain thomas lipton made "sir tea." he won the trade, his name was made; in country-house or london gutter, all classes found his marmalade a perfect "substitute for butter." his jam in loudest praise was sung, his sauces were on ev'ry tongue. he built a yacht; that is to say, he paid another man to build it; with all the patents of the day, regardless of the cost, he filled it; and hired, which was expensive too, at least three captains and a crew. and, being properly brought up, a member of that sober nation, which ever loves to raise the cup that cheers without inebriation, he saw an op'ning if he took his lifting pow'rs to sandy hook. and there his hospitality was always welcome to the masses; as on the good ship "erin" he provided luncheons for all classes; where poets, publicans and peers, retained his spoons as souvenirs. but tho' each boat of his that sailed was like the last one, only better, to lift the cup she always failed,-- because the yankees wouldn't let her. (a state of things which was not quite, what englishmen would term, polite!) his efforts were alas! in vain, he couldn't beat the pot defender, again he tried, and yet again,-- he might as well have sailed a tender! at last he cried "i give it up! america can keep her cup!" "for she, and she alone, has got the proper breed of modern yachtsmen! if only _i_ had hired a lot of swedes, norwegians and scotsmen, i might have met, with calm defiance, the crew on which _she_ placed reliance. "but, as the matter stands, instead of knowing what a well-fought fight is, i'm fêted, dined and banqueted, until i get appendicitis! and probably shall end my life by marrying a yankee wife! "i felt it when the line was crost, i hold it true, whate'er befall, 'tis better to have luffed and lost, than never to have luffed at all! my shareholders must be content with such a good advertisement." _marat_ it is impossible to do three diff'rent kinds of things at once; a fact that must be patent to the brain-pan of the dullest dunce; yet marat somehow never knew it, and died in an attempt to do it. a revolutionist was he; the people's friend,--they called him so,-- and many such there used to be in france, a hundred years ago. (for further notice see carlyle,-- if you can grapple with his style.) his manners were so debonnair, he took a hip-bath ev'ry day; would sit and write his letters there, in quite an unselfconscious way; and, if you wished to interview him, his housekeeper would take you to him. [illustration: "_but charlotte corday came along, intent to right her country's wrong._"] but charlotte corday came along, a norman noble's nobler daughter, intent to right her country's wrong, and put an end to ceaseless slaughter; in marat she descried a victim,-- so bought a knife and promptly pricked him! poor marat, who (as was his wont) was planning further revolutions, the while he washed, exclaimed, "oh, don't! "you're interrupting my ablutions! "i can't escape; it isn't fair! "a sponge is all i have to wear!" but charlotte firmly answered "bosh!" (how could she so forget good breeding?) "while you sit there and calmly wash, the noblest hearts in france are bleeding!" then jabbed him in those vital places where ordinary men wear braces! so perished marat. in his way to prove a lesson, apt and scathing, from which young people of to-day may learn the dangers of mixed bathing, and shun the thankless operation of sponging on a rich relation. _moral_ ye democrats, who plan and plot schemes to decapitate your betters, remember that a bath is not the proper place for writing letters; nor one which providence intends for interviews with lady-friends. _ananias_ when golf was in its childhood still, and not the sport that now it is; when no-one knew of bunker hill, or spoke of boston tee-parties; one man there was who played the game, and ananias was his name. but little else of him we know, save that his grasp of facts was slack, and yet, as circumstances show, he was a golfomaniac, and thus biographers relate the story of his tragic fate:-- he occupied his final scene, (in golfing parlance so 'tis said), in "practising upon the _green_," and, after a "bad lie," "lay dead;" then came sapphira,--she, poor soul, after a worse "lie," "halved the hole." _nero_ the portrait that i seek to paint is of no ordinary hero, no customary plaster saint,-- for nothing of the sort was nero. (he was an emperor, but then he had his faults like other men.) and first, (a foolish thing to do), he turned his hand to matricide, and straight his agéd mother slew, the poor old lady promptly died! ('tis surely wrong to kill one's mother, since one can hardly get another.) he was a hearty feeder too, and onto his digestion thrust all kinds of fatty foods, and grew robust--with accent on the _bust_. ("sweets are"--i quote from memory-- "the uses of obesity!") he married twice; two ladies fair agreed in turn to be his wife, to board his slender barque and share his fate upon the stream of life. (forgive me if i mention this as being true canoebial bliss!) his talent on the violin he was for ever proud of showing; the tone that he produced was thin, nor could one loudly praise his "bowing;" but persons whom he played before were almost sure to ask for more. for he decreed that any who did not encore him or applaud, should be beheaded, cut in two, hanged, flayed alive, and sent abroad. (so it was natural that they who "came to cough remained to pray.") he felt no sympathy for those who had not lots to drink and eat, who wore unfashionable clothes, and strove to make the two ends meet; (they drew no tears, "the short and sim- ple flannels of the poor," from him.) to christians he was far from kind, they met with his disapprobation; the choicest tortures he designed for folks of their denomination. (and all historians insist that he was no philanthropist.) to lamp-posts he would oft attach a jew, immersed in paraffine, apply a patent safety match, and smile as he surveyed the scene. ('twas possible in rome at night to read a book by israelight.) and when occurred the famous fire, of which some say he was the starter, he roused the corporation's ire by playing braga's "serenata"; ('tis said that, when he changed to handel, the "play was hardly worth the scandal."[a]) he crowned his long career at last by one supreme and final action, which, after such a lurid past, gave universal satisfaction; and not one poor relation cried when he committed suicide. _aftword_ the feast is ended! (as we've seen.) 'tis time the vacant board to quit. by "vacant bored" i do not mean my host of readers, not a bit! for they, the mentally élite, are stimulated and replete. the fare that i provide is light, but don't, i pray, look down upon it! such verse is just as hard to write as any sentimental sonnet. it looks a simple task, maybe,-- well--try your hand at it, and see! don't fancy too that i dispense with study, or eschew research; sufficient books of reference i have, to fill the highest church. i've no dislike of work, i swear,-- it's _doing it_ that i can't bear! abuse or praise me, as you choose, there is no limit to my patience; my verse the _london daily news_ once styled "mephitic exhalations"! i lived that down,--(don't ask me how,)-- and nothing really hurts me now. for while my stricken soul survived, with wounded pride and dulled ambition, my humble book of verses thrived and quite outgrew the old edition! so now i have exhaled some more,-- mephitically, as before! _postlude_ the book is finished! with a sigh, my pen upon the desk i lay; the weary task is o'er, and i am off upon a holiday, to paris, lovely paris, where i have a little _ventr'-à-terre_.[b] and tho' my verses may be weak, and call for your severest strictures, the illustrations are unique,-- i really never saw such pictures! (at times, in my unthinking way, i almost hope i never may.) footnotes: [a] note.--"_lors, dit-on, quand il jouait handel le jeu ne valait pas la chandelle._" [b] publisher's reader--"_pied-a-terre_"? author--shut up! transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. new novels /- the question by parry truscott author of "catherine" the wicked world by alice maud meadows author of "the dukedom of portsea" john marvel by thomas nelson page author of "red rock" by mary gaunt the uncounted cost part author of "the silent ones" by halliwell sutcliffe a winter's comedy a tale of yorkshire by victoria cross the eternal fires contains portrait of author in colours by shan f. bullock master john author of "robert thorne" by stanley portal hyatt black sheep author of "the marriage of hilary carden" _biography_ _for_ _beginners_ [illustration] fine editions of this book are also issued at / net and /- net biography for beginners being a collection of miscellaneous examples for the use of upper forms edited by e. clerihew, b.a. with diagrams by g. k. chesterton london t. werner laurie clifford's inn list of contents introductory remarks sir christopher wren miguel de cervantes george bernard shaw sir humphrey davy j. s. mill françois liszt lord clive king edward the confessor the rev. john clifford, m.a., ll.b., d.d. messrs chapman & hall karl marx otto the great marconi david hume mr h. belloc job pizarro the duke of fife, k.t., p.c., g.c.v.o. the duke of wellington john bunyan george hirst erasmus and the humanists besant and rice tiziano vecelli professor james dewar, f.r.s. sir walter raleigh jane austen odo of bayeux david ricardo sir thomas à mallory mr alfred beit cimabue president roosevelt robert harley, earl of oxford sir alexander fuller acland-hood, m.p. mahomet edvard grieg jan van eyck mr t. werner laurie index of psychology introductory remarks the art of biography is different from geography. geography is about maps, but biography is about chaps. [illustration] sir christopher wren sir christopher wren said, "i am going to dine with some men. "if anybody calls "say i am designing st. paul's." [illustration] miguel de cervantes the people of spain think cervantes equal to half-a-dozen dantes: an opinion resented most bitterly by the people of italy. [illustration] george bernard shaw mr bernard shaw was just setting out for the war, when he heard it was a dangerous trade and demonstrably underpaid. [illustration] sir humphrey davy sir humphrey davy abominated gravy. he lived in the odium of having discovered sodium. [illustration] j. s. mill john stuart mill, by a mighty effort of will, overcame his natural bonhomie and wrote "principles of political economy." [illustration] franÇois liszt the abbé liszt hit the piano with his fist. that was the way he used to play. [illustration] lord clive what i like about clive is that he is no longer alive. there is a great deal to be said for being dead. [illustration] king edward the confessor edward the confessor slept under the dresser. when that began to pall, he slept in the hall. [illustration] the rev. john clifford m.a., ll.b., d.d. dr clifford and i have differed. he disapproves of gin: i disapprove of sin. [illustration] messrs chapman & hall chapman & hall swore not at all. mr chapman's yea was yea, and mr hall's nay was nay. [illustration] karl marx karl marx was completely wrapped up in his sharks. the poor creatures seriously missed him while he was attacking the capitalist system. [illustration] otto the great the great emperor otto could not decide upon a motto. his mind wavered between "l'etat c'est moi" and "ich dien." [illustration] marconi guglielmo marconi was brought up on macaroni, but when he gets it now there's no end of a row. [illustration] david hume that you have all heard of hume i tacitly assume; but you didn't know, perhaps, that his parents were lapps. [illustration] mr h. belloc mr hilaire belloc is a case for legislation ad hoc. he seems to think nobody minds his books being all of different kinds. [illustration] job it is understood that job never read "the globe;" but nothing could be higher than his opinion of leviathan. [illustration] pizarro the views of pizarro were perhaps a little narrow. he killed the caciques because (he said) they were sneaks. [illustration] the duke of fife k.t., p.c., g.c.v.o. it looked bad when the duke of fife left off using a knife; but people began to talk when he left off using a fork. [illustration] the duke of wellington the great duke of wellington reduced himself to a skellington. he reached seven stone two, and then----waterloo! [illustration] john bunyan i do not extenuate bunyan's intemperate use of onions, but if i knew a wicked ogress i would lend her "the pilgrim's progress." [illustration] george hirst when i faced the bowling of hirst i ejaculated, "do your worst!" he said, "right you are, sid." ----and he did. [illustration] erasmus and the humanists after dinner, erasmus told colet not to be "blas'mous" which colet, with some heat, requested him to repeat. [illustration] besant and rice sir (then mr) walter besant would never touch pheasant, but mr james rice thought it so nice. [illustration] tiziano vecelli when the great titian was in a critical condition, he was carefully nursed by francis the first. [illustration] professor james dewar, f.r.s. professor dewar is a better man than you are. none of you asses can condense gases. [illustration] sir walter raleigh sir walter raleigh bickered down the valley. but he could do better than the rill, for he could bicker up-hill. [illustration] jane austen the novels of jane austen are the ones to get lost in. * * * * * i wonder if labby has read "northanger abbey?" [illustration] odo of bayeux archbishop odo was just in the middle of "dodo," when he remembered that it was sunday. "sic transit gloria mundi." [illustration] david ricardo the intrepid ricardo with characteristic bravado, alluded openly to rent wherever he went. [illustration] sir thomas À mallory sir thomas à mallory always went to the gallery. he said, not without nous, that it was the best place in the house. [illustration] mr alfred beit mr alfred beit screamed suddenly in the night. when they asked him why he made no reply. [illustration] cimabue when they told cimabue he didn't know how to cooee, he replied, "perhaps i mayn't, but i do know how to paint." [illustration] president roosevelt if only mr roosevelt knew how officers in the blues felt, he wouldn't be so rife with his strenuous life. [illustration] robert harley, earl of oxford people wondered why harley sang "wae's me for prince charlie." "it is childish," they said, "to mourn for a person not yet born." [illustration] sir alexander fuller acland-hood, m.p. sir alexander acland-hood believed in free food: but he was eleusinian about this opinion. [illustration] mahomet i am not mahomet. ----far from it. that is the mistake all of you seem to make. [illustration] edvard grieg the musician grieg joined the primrose league. it gave him the idea of his chorus, "the unburied ichthyosaurus." [illustration] jan van eyck the younger van eyck was christened jan, and not mike. the thought of this curious mistake often kept him awake. [illustration] mr t. werner laurie mr werner laurie is not at all sorry he undertook the publication of this instructive compilation. [illustration] index of psychology. (_in all work of a biographic character it is important to make copious reference to as many as possible of the generally-recognised virtues, vices, good points, foibles, peculiarities, tricks, characteristics, little weaknesses, traits, imperfections, fads, idiosyncrasies, singularities, morbid symptoms, oddities, faults, and regrettable propensities set forth in the following table. the form of an alphabetic index, with references to the examples given in the preceding pages, has been chosen, so that the beginner who may be desirous, when trying his hand at work of this sort, of seeing how any given one of these subjects may best be treated, is enabled at once to turn to one or more model passages._) abominable deceit (wren). agitation, reluctance to explain (beit). allah, prophet of, refusal to admit identity with (mahomet). appearances, disregard of, by man of position (mallory). artistic temperament, the: its acute sensitiveness (van eyck); love of violent action (liszt); deliberate eccentricity (fife); naïf self-appreciation (cimabue); irresistibly attracted by the sublime (grieg); high value set upon it by frenchmen (tiziano). bankruptcy, moral (wren). blindness to obvious tendency of public opinion (belloc). cobdenism, qualified adherence to, hesitation to avow (acland-hood). conduct, disingenuous (wren). contentions and disagreements, love of (erasmus, besant and rice, clifford, raleigh). diet, morbid delicacy in matter of (davy, besant, marconi, but _cf._ bunyan). domestic servants, encouragement of dishonesty among (wren). efficiency (dewar, cimabue, hirst, liszt). escutcheon, blot on, action involving (wren). excisable commodity, unsympathetic attitude towards (clifford). fact, cynical perversion of (wren). frigidity of style, sometimes attributable to præ-natal influences (hume). funereal thoughts, predisposition to (harley). generalisations, sweeping, dangerous fondness for (pizarro). guile (wren). habits, repugnant personal, often found in association with fine spiritual gifts (bunyan). horizon, restricted mental (pizarro). hour of trial, fortitude in (acland-hood). hubbub, interminable, power to raise (marconi). hypocrisy, calculated (wren). ignoring, pointed, of literary rivals (job). information, insufficient, proneness to act upon (shaw, roosevelt). insomnia, liability to (van eyck, beit). integrity, low standard of (wren). jesuitical dealing (wren). justification, flimsy, of homicide (pizarro). kindness to animals (job, marx). knavery (wren). labouchere, mr, power to awaken interest in (austen). levity, irresponsible, of yorkshiremen (hirst). lie, bouncing, circulation of (wren). low company, penchant for (mallory). macchiavelli, unholy precepts of, tendency to act upon (wren). memory, lapse of (odo). mind, contented, blessing of a (mallory). nervous prostration, freedom from (laurie). "_noblesse oblige_," disregard of apothegm (wren). obesity, effective treatment of (wellington). openness, want of (wren). ordinary man, treatment of genius at hands of (davy, harley). oriental metaphor, distaste for (chapman and hall). ostentation, contempt for (mallory). output, delusions in regard to reception of literary (belloc). percussion, instrument of, habit of treating pianoforte as (liszt). principle, absence of (wren). ---- self-sacrificing devotion to (chapman & hall). prompt and decisive action, unfitness for position requiring (otto). psychology, complex and baffling, of contemporary genius (marconi). quickening, need of spiritual (wren). repartée, witty and pungent, gift of (hirst, cimabue). resemblance, confusing physical, sometimes noted among higher types of genius (mahomet). restoration, lax morality of, readiness to fall in with (wren). salvation army, sympathy with methods of (liszt). satanism, revolting display of (wren). self-effacement, public-spirited (clive). sense of proportion, lack of (pizarro). simple life, fondness for the (edward the confessor, mallory). statesmanship, qualities of: anticipation of coming problems (harley); readiness to sink own prejudices in interest of common weal (acland-hood); freedom from insomnia (edward the confessor). taboos, faithful observance of (odo). taciturnity of the strong, silent man (beit). tartufe, willingness to regard, as moral examplar (wren). treasury, parliamentary secretary to the, anxiety to remain (acland-hood). ugly, indifference to appearing (wellington). umbrage, quickness to take (erasmus). untruth, plausible, ability to frame (wren). utilitarianism, susceptibility to charms of (mill). utopian conditions, ill-judged efforts to realise (pizarro). valhalla, precipitate eagerness to qualify for (shaw). vaticanism, display of blighting effects of, upon human mind (liszt, pizarro). veracity, departure from (wren). watchword, insistence upon ill-chosen (roosevelt). world, the next, neglect of prospects in (wren). years, early, forgetfulness of habits inculcated in (marconi). y.m.c.a., unfitness for (wren). zealous pursuit of pleasure at expense of soul (wren). zenith of literary achievement, attainment of (austen). zulus, gradual adoption of social practices of (fife). printed by a. m. cowan & co., ltd. st john's hall, perth, n.b. transcriber's notes obvious punctuation errors repaired. page author of the "dukedom of portsea" has been replaced with author of "the dukedom of portsea" in the "list of contents", "jane austin" has been replaced with "jane austen". the ballad of blaster bill by nelson s. bond [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories summer . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] when you're hurtling 'round the sun on the perihelion run through the asteroids from jupiter to mars, you may chance to see a light in the everlasting night, an unwinking beacon, sister to the stars. then each member of the crew from the lowest wiper to the skipper on the bridge, a moment will drop all work and gravely, mute, raise his arm in full salute to the final resting place of blaster bill. afterward, if you are not just a nosey rankey-pot,[ ] and the thing that ticks within you isn't stone, you may learn from spacemens' lips tales of ancient days and ships, and why bill the blaster lies there all alone. ii surly jonathan mcneer was the master engineer on the wallowing old freighter, _dotty sue_. he was gruff, uncouth, unclean, and his language was obscene, but a better grease-pot never sheared the blue. he had nerves of tempered steel, and without a squawk or squeal he would plot a course to hades for a thrill; but his temper was like fire and the man who drew his ire, who tried his patience most, was--blaster bill. bill the blaster was a lazy, good-for-nothing (some said crazy), guy who didn't have a gray cell in his head. he had muscle in his shoulders, and his forearms were like boulders, but his cranium and can were filled with lead. without ever even trying he could make mcneer start crying down the wrath of baal upon his hapless dome. he and awkwardness were cousins, he broke things by scores and dozens just one look at him and tubes sang, "ohm, sweet ohm!" on the _dotty sue_, his duty was to keep all tutti-frutti the rocket-blasts, the motors and the rest of the intricate equipment which insures a speedy shipment to the planets that are buttons on sol's vest. but mcneer's deserved objection was--bill practiced vivisection every time he placed his thumbs (which numbered five) on a section of machinery. "he'd be better in a beanery!" was mcneer's complaint. "i'll skin the guy alive!" "now, there, jonathan!" the skipper used to say, "don't be a yipper. i'm sure bill does the best he can." but grief etched gray, fretful lines and horrid on mcneer's space-weathered forehead. "the best is none too good!" complained the chief. iii two months out of io city everything was running pretty, the asteroids were thirty hours away, when mcneer, to whom perfection was a sort of predilection, said, "bill, we'll take the hypos down today." well, the hypatomic motors are the energy-plus rotors that control a spaceship's motion in the void. when the ship is once free-wheeling 'neath the vast celestial ceiling, then's the time to clean the grit with which they're cloyed. so bill said, "yup. okey-dokey!" and with movements slow and pokey dismounted number one and got to work. "do a perfect job, you _globaar_![ ] or i'll crown you with a crow-bar!" warned mcneer--and then he vanished with a smirk. it was some two hours later as, upon his "sweet pertater" the chief engineer was tootling _venus nell_, that the second mate, half witless, out of breath and frightened spitless, burst in crying, "chief, we're on our way to hell!" "what, already?" drawled mcneer but the mate, pale green with fear, bawled, "go get the hypos working, without fail! and go do it on the double, 'cause we're in a peck of trouble! a rogue asteroid is riding on our tail!" iv now, in case you don't remember, a "rogue asteroid's" a member of the minor planet group that's slipped its cogs. wrenched by gravitational forces, it careens about its courses in an orbit not computable by logs. tons on tons of granite, metaled, by the tug of jove unsettled, weaving in, about, below its normal belt; is it any wonder why a spaceman fears this mad pariah? dreads the moment when its power may be felt? with a single, sharp, explosive word that acted as corrosive on the mate's embarrassed eardrums, raced mcneer to the engine-room where, peaceful, happy, busy, very grease-full, labored blaster bill, with grins from ear to ear. "bill!" mcneer cried, voice all blurry, "get that hypo in a hurry--" then his order strangled as he stared, aghast. "what is this?" he faltered weakly, "what is this?" and bill, quite meekly, said, "i thought i'd melt it down for a recast!" his imagination racing the chief gazed upon the casing of the hypatomic motor number three, now a pool of molten metal bubbling gently in a kettle. "goddlemighty!" yelled mcneer. "this thing can't be!" bill asked, "why the mad commotion?" then they glimpsed a sudden motion and the skipper's face was in the televise. "got the motors fixed, mcneer?" and the chief said, low and clear, "no. does someone know a prayer amongst you guys?" "why?" the skipper roared, distrait; the chief let him have it straight. "the hypatomic's melted into wax! but before that rogue gets near, i've a twelve pound hammer here to warp across my blaster's parallax!" "wait!" the captain cried, "not yet! we must cover every bet. i'm commander of this freighter while she rolls. we must somehow make a turn, shake that damn rogue off our stern. suppose you try the manual controls?" mcneer sadly shook his head as he saw the rusty red of the long neglected manuals, but yelled, "hop to it, bill, you dope! it's our last and only hope--" and then he stopped and gulped, "well, i'll be helled!" with his back arched neck to heel, bill was straining at the wheel; the year-old rust was breaking off in flakes. mcneer's eyes lit with joy, he shouted, "bill, my boy! see, there, lad? she gives! she shakes!" and true enough, the screw of the gallant _dotty sue_ was turning 'neath the blaster's mighty brawn. the c. e.'s voice was thunder, "we're getting out from under! just hold 'er, bill; the danger will be gone!" a moment, still as death, while bill the blaster's breath rasped through the rocking room in tortured sobs, then from the bridge rang out the skipper's warning shout, "too late! abandon ship, chief! don your lobs!" mcneer said, "too bad, bill, just hold 'er there until i get the lobs, and then we'll pull our freight." with firm, untrembling hands he took down from their stands two spacesuits, worn and old and out of date. but bill the blaster stood as motionless as wood; his arms like knotted oak in cords of strain. he slowly shook his head and to the chief he said, "if all break ship, we'll not see earth again." "i know--" began mcneer, but bill roared out, "stand clear!" his arms upon the wheel were like a vise. "break ship and wait outside, i'll make this baby ride! i'll hold 'er till the devil skates on ice!" then in the visiplate appeared the second mate, "all out below? did you break ship, mcneer?" mcneer said, "right away! come on, bill, don't delay!" but bill the blaster panted, "chief, stand clear!" "you fool, you're courting death!" bill answered, "save your breath," and grinned, "you'll need that oxygen outside!" and stood like frozen steel beside that bucking wheel, mcneer, reluctant, hovered at his side.... till bill cried, "you damn fool!" and grabbed a handy tool and slashed it 'cross his headpiece like a mace. there came a crashing roar, mcneer knew nothing more until he woke to find himself in space. v about him, staff and crew of the ill-starred _dotty sue_ were huddled, bitter, grim, but unafraid. a quarter mile away the last scene of the fray tween man and asteroid was being played. her stern jets flaming white against the endless night the bobbing ship was fighting, bolt and nail, to curve from underneath those looming tons of death that poised above her like a cosmic flail. mcneer cried, "no, bill! no!" and then his audio clacked with the skipper's thin, metallic voice, "there's nothing we can do but hope he pulls her through. he made his choice, mcneer; a hero's choice." as they watched tensely, all, the spaceship seemed to crawl an inch, a foot, a yard, another yard.... meanwhile, the massive rock raced blindly toward the shock with vast, colossal, cosmic disregard. and nearer yet they drew, to their strange _rendezvous_ in space; fate's balance hovered fine and thin. and then, "the lord be praised!" the crew a paean raised; mcneer's white lips cracked in a nerveless grin. imponderable mass and spaceship seemed to pass each other with a hair 'twixt hull and face; but then, as every voice roused in a loud rejoice, a single boulder slashed through empty space-- the spaceship buckled, bent; a gaping, white-fanged rent split stern plates, and mcneer's voice cracked with fear. "board ship, all hands!" he cried! "bill's dying there inside!" the wan sun watched the killer disappear. mcneer was first to kneel beside the shattered wheel and bill's pale, silent figure; gray with grief he cried, "he's breathing yet! here, skipper! help me get--" but bill said, "no--don't try to lift me, chief." "i look all right on top but ... better get ... a mop.... my underneath part's not so good...." a chill ran through his broken frame, but, to the last ditch game, "i held 'er to 'er course--" said blaster bill. vi so--hurtling 'round the sun on the perihelion run through the asteroids from jupiter to mars, you may chance to see a light in the everlasting night, an unwinking beacon, sister to the stars. and then, if you are not a lousy _rankey-pot_, with the instincts of the back end of a horse, you'll stand a moment, mute, arm raised in full salute to blaster bill--who held 'er to 'er course. * * * * * [footnote : _rankey-pot_--earthlubber; from the venusian "_renqui-pth_"] [footnote : _globaar_--shiftless person; ionian term of reproach] the ballad of venus nell by nelson s. bond [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories spring . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] oh, the science of man has narrowed the span between the near and the far, with thunderous roar the great ships soar from earth to the dimmest star; but though in their lust for gold they thrust from planet to asteroid the will of the great astronomer still is the will of the cosmic void. and from earth's own sol to the ebon hole of the coalsack's gaping maw though man may jet, he is subject yet to the universal law. _for whoever shall plot for another's lot,_ _be he brother or foe or friend_ _who seeks his gain of a fellowman's pain_ _has a price to pay in the end._ i now, dougal macneer was a pioneer. just one of a million such who labor and toil in unmapped soil with shovel and pick and hutch. he was six-foot-two, and a man whom few would care to engage in a fight, with shoulders as firm as a pachyderm; a tower of granite might. he had eyes of gray, and a quiet way of minding his own affairs; he never came down to a commerce town save for fueling or ship repairs. thus it was that he roused the _whys?_ and _hows?_ in the minds of the spaceport clique when he landed at krull[ ] with his tanks half full and rented a berth for a week. the cradle-monk[ ] stared, then boldly dared, "by golly, you've struck it rich! i always knew some day you'd come through, you lucky son-of-a----" "which," asked doug macneer with a smile sincere, "is the best joy-joint in krull? i've lived alone till my mind's ingrown; this prospecting life is dull. "i want to go play from the dusk of day till i waken to morning bells." the attendant said, with a nod of the head, "you amble to venus nell's. it's the hottest place in this end of space, just a couple of minutes' jaunt; nell's got music and games, and likker and dames --and anything else you want!" "thanks, that sounds great!" said mac. but, "wait!" begged the other, "gimme a break! help me out of this rut, macneer, and cut me in on a share of the take?" "the take?" asked doug with a little shrug, "but _i_ haven't made any find!" and he strolled away with a whistle gay while the monkey glowered behind. in a moment or two, doug wandered through the gaudily-neoned door of a feverish-gay, bright cabaret; below, on the mirrored floor of the dancehall swayed a cavalcade of every breed and race whose daughters and sons defy the suns to journey the ways of space. a miner from mars, pockmarked with scars pressed close to a woman from io, a jovian baby drawled lazily, "maybe--" to pleas of a tar from ohio; a vicious-mouthed slattern from faraway saturn sang ditties to make the hair curl. and then--curtains parted, and doug macneer started to see such a beautiful girl! [footnote : _krull, a mining town in n. campbell terr., mars. m. sw of sand city; pop. , ._] [footnote : _cradle-monkey; spaceport attendant._] ii venus nell was no saint, any preacher would paint a bad ending for her at a peek. but her worst enemy would be forced to agree there was nothing wrong with her physique. she was flat where it flattered, and curved where it mattered, a creature of streamline and bubbles; she had bright yaller hair, and a definite flair for taking men's minds off their troubles. she never had known the cap or the gown of grammar- or high-school or college, which didn't mean she couldn't win her a.b. in a certain and specialized knowledge. she had lure and illusion; creating confusion 'mongst men was but one of her tricks. doug's eyes opened wide when she strolled to his side --and he fell like a cargo of bricks! she drawled, "howdy, sailor!" and dougal turned paler, "h-howdy!" he managed to answer. then, in sudden alarm, "are you one of the charm- gals?" he questioned, "or only a dancer?" now, why an admission of her true position nell should at that moment decide to conceal is a mystery buried in history; whatever the reason, she lied. in fashion designed to make any man blind she lowered her lashes and blushed. (which was no mean achievement itself.) "oh, believe me! i'm no--entertainer," she gushed. "i sell cigarettes, and i sometimes take bets on the rocketship races--" macneer slowly nodded his head as he quietly said "a girl like you shouldn't be here! "i think we'd do well to get out of this hell of evil and vice," he decided. nell had to sit still and bite her lips till her inner amusement subsided. this curious sucker, it suddenly struck her, meant business! his motives were pure. to lead on the calf should be good for a laugh ... she smiled at him, shy and demure. "oh, i cannot do that," she replied, "but a chat in a quieter spot--?" and she led dougal out of the blare to a cool garden square with the stars burning high overhead. she gave orders by sign that a beaker of wine be served in their shady retreat, and wondered how long it would be ere this strong, handsome stranger acknowledged defeat. but strangest to tell, it was doug and not nell who emerged from that contest the victor. it was nothing he did, but a loneliness hid in her bosom that finally tricked her. for doug spoke of the night, and the glorious flight of ships through the reaches of space; of his hopes and his schemes--and his words wakened dreams that softened the lines of nell's face. iii he was just on the verge of confessing the urge that brought him back out of the void when a servant discreet appeared in their retreat and nell faced the fellow, annoyed. "well?" she icily said. the man bobbed his head. "a visiphone call on the rack." nell sighed as she rose. "some friend, i suppose. wait, dougal; i'll hurry right back." an expression surprisingly soft in her eyes, she answered the visiphone. her caller, however (the cradle-monk), never detected her altered tone. "hey, nell, there's a chump on his way to your dump, a big, quiet sort of a lout by name of macneer--" nell told him, "he's here; what's all the commotion about?" a hungry grimace of greed mottled the face of the vengeful space-harbor assistant. "do i get my percent for a tip on the gent?" he parried in accents insistent. "you mean--?" whispered nell. and, "surer than hell!" the answer came back, swift and eager, "i've just seen his log, and he's in from the bog with a claim-stake the size of omega!" now, for those who don't know their a. l. & o.[ ] the "bog" is a treacherous sector of planetoids legion, a tightly-packed region avoided by every prospector. none but the most daring do any space-faring in those lethal, whirlagig niches, but spacemen all claim that the bog is aflame with infinite, fabulous riches. 'twas thence that the crew of the l- returned with a cargo of ore that assayed ninety-one and a half to the ton --or maybe a little bit more. it was out of the bog that old space-weasel scrogg withdrew on his gravity-tractor the rock -omega, which brought such a figure scrogg set himself up as a factor. so it's easily seen why nell's new, serene complaisance should disappear rudely. she gasped and she started; her crimson lips parted; her eyes narrowed sharply and shrewdly. "you're positive?" slyly responded the spy, "why else would he put into krull with motors o.q., and flame-jets brand-new, and fuel-chambers more than half-full?" [footnote : a. l. & o.--astrogational loci and orbits, the space mariner's handbook.] iv now, though nelly was young, as has often been sung, her chosen profession was old. both instinct and habit advised her to "_grab it!_" whenever she heard the word "gold." she broke the connection, her vivid complexion more flushed, and with movements exotic returned to the glade in which dougal had stayed, her inner emotions chaotic. she studied macneer as she slowly drew near, appraising him in a new light. nell trusted her spy; he would not tell a lie-- but somehow it didn't seem right! macneer didn't act like a man who had cracked a cache of asteroid dough, and yet--venus nell smiled tightly--ah, well, she'd know in a minute or so. with a cute little shrug she curled on the rug and smiled into doug's sober face. "go on!" she implored, "and tell me some more about your adventures in space. have you ever struck gold in the terrible cold?" her voice was a query and taunt. doug grinned at her there as he fondled her hair. "i've found all the gold that _i_ want!" nell's eyes opened wide. "you have?" she replied, and suddenly somewhere within her a duel transpired 'tween the nell who admired this miner and nelly the sinner. which would have won out is a matter of doubt but dougal macneer, growing bolder, at that moment tossed dice with fate--and he lost! --by placing a hand on her shoulder. he bent to her ear, and, "nelly, my dear," he whispered, "come lift gravs with me to the skyways above ... i'll teach you to love ... how wonderfully happy we'll be...." and--that was a story to nell old and hoary; nell shrugged with a gesture resigned; a lustful and bestial man, just like the rest of his sex.... and she made up her mind. averting her face, she escaped his embrace and whispered, "wait here for a minute--" a prearranged sign brought a fresh jug of wine to doug--with a sleeping drug in it. dougal, gleaming of eye, the glass lifted high and drank it down, swiftly and deep; in no time at all, he lay there asprawl in impotent, stertorous sleep. v a pungent aroma jarred doug from his coma much later. he lifted his head to find he was not in the cool, shady grot but in some sort of workshop, instead. his senses were blurry, his tongue thick and furry; he gagged at the odor and choked. then, head still awhirl, he noticed the girl, and, "nelly, where are we?" he croaked. but the girl standing there with the bright yaller hair was hardly the girl of his dreams. she was distant and cold, her manner was bold, her eyes glistened brightly with schemes. with icy _élan_ she spoke to the man at dougal's side, "very well, gurk, he's come to his senses, let's drop the pretenses; its time we got down to our work." "work, nell?" dougal gasped, and confusedly clasped his hammering head in his hands. he learned, then, that he was bound, foot and knee, to his seat by unbreakable bands. nell said with a numb, deadly smile, "don't play dumb! be smart and you'll shorten this visit. we know from your log you struck gold in the bog; now, come clean and tell us--where is it?" "g-gold?" gulped macneer. "th-there's some mistake here!" he grinned, "aw, you're kidding me, honey! now, be a good sport--" the girl cut him short, "i don't think this matter is funny! i gave you a chance to go into your dance; if you won't, why--" she shifted her eyes to her white-coated aide. "well, gurk, i'm afraid he must talk through the _menavise_." as doug macneer's eyes opened wide in surprise gurk drew from a nearby cask a shimmering, fiery helmet of wire; a sinister sort of mask. doug never had seen the fantastic machine before, but he'd oftentimes heard of the dreaded and hated device that translated men's thoughts into spoken words! with a terrible cry of anger, on high he lifted his brawny fists, but an instrument clicked, and manacles snicked! like vises about his wrists. "well, _now_ will you tell us?" persisted nell. "there's nothing to tell!" he said. nell's warm lips drew fine, and she made a brief sign ... and the helmet dropped over his head! vi it was nell who depressed the stud that expressed in flaming, electric flood the current that boils its way through the coils of a menavisal hood. there was silence at first, then the silence burst in a moment of horror fraught, as doug macneer's voice babbled clear in fragments of tortured thought. "_i don't understand ... i can't move a hand ... head aches, and my brain is on fire.... stars ... nelly ... oh, lord!_" thus dougal's thoughts poured in words through the webwork of wire. "_must be a mistake ... i can't be awake the orbit of ceres is reckoned at three-oh-oh-ten...._" nell stepped forward then. "o.q., gurk--let up for a second!" the shimmering died, and to dougal she cried, "macneer, all we want to know is: _where is the gold?_ as soon as you've told we promise to let you go." "i've told you already," gasped doug, unsteady, "you're wrong if you think i'm rich--" nell's scarlet mouth curled. "fool! liar!" she snarled; she viciously closed the switch. once again sallow flame trembled hot through the frame of the _menavise_; once again electrical stresses probed deep the recesses of dougal's tormented brain. "_the torments of hell--but i never can tell ... a man must fight to the end ... my eyes--i've gone blind ... my head ... and my mind ... if i only ... could only ... bend...._" it is better to not reveal just what things dougal said and did in the hour or more that followed, for such secrets are better hid. he babbled of dreams, and hopes and schemes, and names long lost in the past; he spoke of flight through the endless night, and of cosmic reaches vast. but never he told of wealth or gold, though now he was growing weak; till finally the girl turned to her churl lips set, and as marble bleak. "he's stalled long enough!" she rasped. "he's tough, and he's held out for more than an hour; but i'm going to get that secret yet, if i have to turn on full power!" gurk shook his head, and warningly said, "i wouldn't attempt it, nell! 'twould be of no use, an ounce more juice would blister his mind to hell. he's weak as a cat; if you try that--" he frowned--"after all that he's had, another degree of power would be sufficient to drive him mad!" "that's up to him!" cried nell, and grim of eye she approached the side of doug macneer, and, "listen here, you obstinate fool!" she cried, as she pressed the key to the last degree, "you know very well you told me you'd found all the gold that a man could want --now, answer: _where is that gold?_" the _menavise_ flamed, the battered and maimed hulk standing before them jerked as the blistering pain seared dougal's brain, macneer's lips horribly worked.... and across the tomblike expanse of the room his feeble answer carried: "... _lonely as hell ... must ask sweet nell ... it's time i was getting married...._" "_i think that she ... and i could be ... so happy ... a golden prize.... but ... oh, the pain!_" and he screamed again, the light died out of his eyes. and nell stood aghast, to have seen at last the terrible answer bare: the gold of his dream was the glorious stream of her own bright yaller hair! vii so, stranger, if you should happen to drop jets in the city of krull by chance you may meet on a quiet street a man who with movements dull roams up and down through the little town like someone bewitched by a spell; and the one at his side, his companion and guide is the lady once known as nell. for the woman who made of love a trade and discovered true love too late has paid at last for the sins of her past with dougal macneer as her mate. her hair, that was gold, is streaked now with cold white tendrils, but still she sighs and she waits and she prays, through long, endless days, for the light to return to his eyes. for--man in his lust for raw gold may thrust from planet to asteroid, but the will of the great astronomer still is the will of the cosmic void. _and whoever shall plot for another's lot, be he brother or foe or friend, who seeks his gain of a fellowman's pain must pay a price in the end._ provided by the internet archive jack and the bean-stalk english hexameters by hallam tennyson illustrated by randolph caldecott london macmillan and co. and new york preface in his last letter to me caldecott wrote: 'i have been making several attempts at the giant, and have been cogitating over the illustrations to "jack" generally. during the winter i shall be able to show you some of my ideas.' the following unfinished sketches are the 'ideas,' which, with mrs. caldecott's kind permission, have been reproduced. h. t. to my father, in recognition of what this booklet owes to him, and to my nephews, 'golden-hair'd' ally, charlie, and michael, who have so far condescended as to honour it with their approbation. jack and the bean-stalk |jack was a poor widow's heir, but he lived as a drone ```in a beehive, `hardly a handstir a day did he work. to squander her ```earnings `seem'd to the poor widow hard, who raved and scolded ```him always. `nought in her house was left; not a cheese, not a loaf, ```not an onion; `nought but a cow in her yard, and that must go to the ```market. `"sell me the cow," cried she; then he sold it, gad! for a ```handful---- `only to think!------of beans. she shied them out thro' ```the window, `cursing him: hied to her bed, there slept, but awoke in ```amazement, `seeing a huge bean-stalk, many leaves, many pods, many ```flowers, `rise to the clouds more tall than a tall california pine- ```tree; `high as a lark was jack, scarce seen, and climbing away ```there. `"where an' o where," * he shrill'd; she beheld his boots ```disappearing; * "<i>where an' o where is my highland laddie gone?</i>" `pod by pod jack arose, till he came to a pod that alarm'd ```him. `bridge-like this long pod stretch'd out, and touch'd on an ```island `veil'd in vapour. a shape from the island waved him a ```signal, `waved with a shining hand, and jack with an humble ```obeisance `crawl'd to the shape, who remark'd, "i gave those beans ```to ye, darling. `i am a fairy, a friend to ye, jack; see yonder a giant `lives, who slew your own good father, see what a fortress! `enter it, have no fear, since i, your fairy, protect you." `jack march'd up to the gate, in a moment pass'd to the ```kitchen `led by the savoury smell. this giant's wife with a ladle `basted a young elephant (jack's namesake shriek'd and ```turn'd it). `back jack shrank in alarm: with fat cheeks peony-bulbous, `ladle in hand, she stood, and spake in a tone of amuse- ```ment: . `"oh! what a cramp'd-up, small, unsesquipedalian object!" `then from afar came steps, heavy tramps, as a pavior ```hamm'ring; `out of her huge moon-cheeks the redundant peony faded, `jack's lank hair she grabb'd, and, looking sad resolution, `popt him aghast in among her saucepans' grimy recesses. `then strode in, with a loud heavy-booted thunder of heel- ```taps, `he with a tiger at heel--her giant, swarthy, colossal: `"i smell flesh of a man; yea, wife, tho' he prove but a ```morsel, `man tastes good." she replied, "sure thou be'est failing ```in eyesight; `'tis but a young elephant, my sweetest lord, not a biped." `down he crook'd his monstrous knees, and rested his hip- ```bones, `call'd for his hen, said "lay so she, with a chuck cock- ```a-doodle, `dropt him an egg, pure gold, a refulgent, luminous ```oval,-- `that was her use:--when he push'd her aside, cried, ```"bring me the meat now," `gorged his enormous meal, fell prone, and lost recollection. `jack from a saucepan watch'd his broad chest's monstrous ```upheavals: `then to the chamber above both dame and tiger ascended. `"now for it, hist!" says jack--"coast clear, and none to ```behold me," `airily jack stole forth, and seized the plump, money- ```laying, `priceless, mystical hen; ran forth, sped away to the bean- ```stalk, `heard from afar, then near, heavy tramps, as a pavior ```hamm'ring, `sprang down pod by pod, with a bounding, grasshopper ```action, `left the colossus aghast at an edge of his own little ```island, `lighted on earth, whom she, that bare him, fondly ```saluting, `dropt a maternal tear, and dried that tear with her ```apron, `seeing him home and safe; and after it, all was a hey-day, `lots of loaves, and tons of cheeses, a barnful of onions; `cows and calves, and creams, and gold eggs piled to the ```ceilings: `horses, goats, and geese, and pigs, and pugs by the ```hundred. `ah! but he found in a while his life of laziness irk- ```some. `"climb me," the bean-stalk said with a whisper. jack, ```reascending, `swarm'd to the wonderful isle once more, and high ```habitation; `led by the fairy return'd to the fortress, pass'd to the ```kitchen, `unseen, hied him again to the saucepans' grimy recesses, `peep'd out into the room. the plump wife, peony- ```bulbous, `toasted a constrictor, which roll'd in vast revolutions. `then strode in, strong-booted again, with a roar, the ```colossus: `call'd for his harp, said "play." so this, with a sharp ```treble ting-tong, `play'd him an air, a delightful, long-drawn, national ```anthem, `play'd him an air, untouch'd, (the strings, by a fairy ```magician `wrought, were alive). then he shouted aloud, "wife, ```bring me the meat now," `gorged his elongate meal; the snake in warm revolutions, `making his huge bulk swell, disappear'd like man's ```macaroni: `after, he yawn'd and snored, fell prone, and lost recol- ```lection. `so jack seized the melodious harp, and bolted. a ```murmur `"master, master, a rascal, a rascal!" rang thro' the harp- ```strings. `quickly the monster awoke, and wielding a cudgel,-- ```an oak tree,-- `chased little jack with a shout of mighty, maniacal ```anger; `jack to the beanpod sprang with a leap, and desperate ```hurl'd his `limbs in a downward, furious, headlong pre-cipitation, `but for a wink up-glanced; his foeman's ponderous ```hob-nails `shone from aloft: down crash'd big pods, and bean ```avalanches. `"haste mother, haste mother, oh! mother, haste, and ```bring me the hatchet!" `cried jack, alighting on earth. she brought him an ```axe double-handed. `jack cleft clean thro' the haulm; that giant desperate ```hurl'd his. `limbs in a downward, roaring, thund'ring pre-cipitation, `crash'd to the ground stone-dead with a crash as a crag ```from a mountain. `"i'm your master now," said jack to the harp at his ```elbow; `"there's your old 'un! of him pray give your candid ```opinion!" `sweetly the mystical harp responded, "master, a rascal!" [illustration: ] jack and the bean-stalk `jack was a poor widow's heir, but he lived as a drone in ```a beehive, `hardly a handstir a day did he work. to squander her ```earnings `seem'd to the poor widow hard, who raved and scolded ```him always. [illustration: ] `nought in her house was left; not a cheese, not a loaf, ```not an onion; `nought but a cow in her yard, and that must go to the ```market. `"sell me the cow," cried she; then he sold it, gad! for ```a handful---- `only to think!------of beans. [illustration: ] [illustration: ] ````she shied them out thro' the window, `cursing him: hied to her bed, there slept, but awoke in ```amazement, `seeing a huge bean-stalk, many leaves, many pods, many ```flowers, `pod by pod jack arose, till he came to a pod that alarm'd ```him. `bridge-like this long pod stretch'd out, and touch'd on ```an island `veil'd in vapour. [illustration: ] ````a shape from the island waved him a signal, `waved with a shining hand, and jack with an humble ```obeisance `crawl'd to the shape, who remark'd, "i gave those beans ```to ye, darling. `i am a fairy, a friend to ye, jack; ````see yonder a giant `lives, who slew your own good father, see what a ```fortress! `enter it, have no fear, since i, your fairy, protect you." `jack march'd up to the gate, [illustration: ] ````in a moment pass'd to the kitchen `led by the savoury smell. this giant's wife with a ```ladle `basted a young elephant (jack's namesake shriek'd and ```turn'd it). `back jack shrank in alarm: with fat cheeks peony- ```bulbous, `ladle in hand, she stood, and spake in a tone of amuse- ```ment: `"oh! what a cramp'd-up, small, unsesquipedalian object!" [illustration: ] `then from afar came steps, heavy tramps, as a pavior ```hamm'ring; `out of her huge moon-cheeks the redundant peony faded, `jack's lank hair she grabb'd, and, looking sad resolution, `popt him aghast in among her saucepans' grimy ```recesses. `then strode in, with a loud heavy-booted thunder of ```heel-taps, `he with a tiger at heel--her giant, swarthy, colossal: [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] `"i smell flesh of a man; yea, wife, tho' he prove but a ```morsel, `man tastes good." ``she replied, "sure thou be'est failing in eyesight; `tis but a young elephant, my sweetest lord, not a biped." `down he crook'd his monstrous knees, and rested his hip- ```bones, [illustration: ] `call'd for his hen, said, "lay so she, with a chuck cock- ```a-doodle, `dropt him an egg, pure gold, a refulgent, luminous oval,-- `that was her use:--when he push'd her aside, cried, ```"bring me the meat now," `gorged his enormous meal, fell prone, and lost recollection. [illustration: ] `jack from a saucepan watch'd his broad chest's monstrous ```upheavals: `then to the chamber above both dame and tiger ascended. `"now for it, hist!" says jack--"coast clear, and none to ```behold me," `airily jack stole forth, and seized the plump, money- ```laying, `priceless, mystical hen; [illustration: ] [illustration: ] ``ran forth, sped away from the bean-stalk, `heard from afar, then near, heavy tramps, as a pavior ```hamm'ring, [illustration: ] [illustration: ] ````with a bounding, grasshopper action, `left the colossus aghast at an edge of his own little island, [illustration: ] `lighted on earth, whom she, that bare him, fondly saluting, `dropt a maternal tear, and dried that tear with her ```apron, `seeing him home and safe; and after it, all was a hey-day, [illustration: ] [illustration: ] `lots of loaves, and tons of cheeses, a barnful of onions; `cows and calves, and creams, and gold eggs piled to the ```ceilings: `horses, [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] and pigs, "idle jack" `ah! but he found in a while his life of laziness irksome. `"climb me," the bean-stalk said with a whisper. jack, ```reascending, `swarm'd to the wonderful isle once more, and high ```habitation; `led by the fairy return'd to the fortress, pass'd to the ```kitchen, `unseen, hied him again to the saucepans' grimy recesses, ```peep'd out into -the room. the plump wife, peony- `bulbous, `toasted a constrictor, which roll'd in vast revolutions. `then strode in, strong-booted again, with a roar, the ```colossus: `call'd for his harp, said "play." [illustration: ] ````so this, with a sharp treble ting-tong, `play'd him an air, a delightful, long-drawn, national ```anthem, `play'd him an air, untouch'd, (the strings, by a fairy ```magician `wrought, were alive). [illustration: ] [illustration: ] `then he shouted aloud, "wife, ``bring me the meat now," `gorged his elongate meal; the snake in warm revolutions, `making his huge bulk swell, disappear'd like man's ```macaroni: [illustration: ] `after, he yawn'd and snored, fell prone, and lost ```recollection. [illustration: ] [illustration: ] ```and bolted. a murmur `"master, master, a rascal, a rascal!" rang thro' the harp- ```strings. `quickly the monster awoke, and wielding a cudgel,-- ```an oak tree,-- `chased little jack [illustration: ] `with a shout of mighty, maniacal anger; [illustration: ] `jack to the beanpod sprang with a leap, and desperate ````hurl'd his `limbs in a downward, furious, headlong pre-cipitation, `but for a wink up-glanced; his foeman's ponderous ```hob-nails `shone from aloft: [illustration: ] `````down crash'd big pods, and bean ```avalanches. `"haste mother, haste mother, oh! mother, haste, and ```bring me the hatchet!" `cried jack, alighting on earth. she brought him an ```axe double-handed. `jack cleft clean thro' the haulm; that giant desperate ```hurl'd his `limbs in a downward, roaring, thund'ring pre-cipitation, [illustration: ] `crash'd to the ground stone-dead, with a crash as a crag ```from a mountain. `"i'm your master now," said jack to the harp at his ```elbow; `"there's your old 'un! of him pray give your candid ```opinion!" `sweetly the mystical harp responded, "master, a rascal!" [illustration: ] [illustration: ] the rubáiyát of bridge by carolyn wells with illustrations by may wilson preston [illustration: all's lost save honours] harper & brothers publishers new york and london :: mcmix copyright, , by harper & brothers. * * * * * _all rights reserved._ published april, . _printed in the united states of america._ the rubáiyát of bridge [illustration: all's lost save honors] now the new rubber rousing new desires, the thoughtful soul to doubling hearts aspires. =when the red hand of dummy is laid down, and even hope of the odd trick expires! [illustration] ah, make the most of what we yet may take, before we lose the lead, and let them make =trick after trick! while we throw down high cards, sans lead, sans score, sans honor, and sans stake! [illustration] a book of bridge rules underneath the bough, a score card, two new packs of cards, and thou =with two good players sitting opposite, oh, wilderness were paradise enow! [illustration] the card no question makes of ayes or noes, but high or low, as suits the player shows; =but he who stands beside you, looking on,-- he knows about it all! he knows!! **he knows!!!** [illustration] i sometimes think there's never such tirade as where some bridge game has been badly played. =when some one thinks you should have made no trump, and you have thriftily declared a spade! [illustration] myself, when young, did eagerly frequent bridge tournaments, and heard great argument =about this point and that. yet, after all, came out no better player than i went. [illustration] for i remember stopping by the way to watch four celebrated champions play. =they differed on the discard, make, and lead. whatever one said,--said the others, "nay!" [illustration] why, if a soul can fling the rules aside, and let his card=sense be his only guide, =were't not a shame, were't not a shame for him by street and elwell tamely to abide? [illustration] and if the card you hopefully finesse capture the trick,--your partner smiles! oh yes! =and you smile broadly! but, if it be caught by the fourth hand,--your smiles are somewhat less! [illustration] but if in vain down on the stubborn score you gaze; and make it no trumps, just once more,-- =with strength in every suit, but with no ace,-- how then,--when dummy calmly lays down four! [illustration] to them the heart convention did i show, and with mine own hand tried to make it go. =but this is all the wisdom that i reaped,-- "with more than three hearts, always lead the low!" [illustration] for, trump or no=trump, though with all the rules, of different masters and of different schools, =i've played with players of all sorts,--but i have never beaten anything,--but fools! [illustration] indeed, indeed--to quit it oft before i swore,--but did i mean it when i swore? =and then,--and then came three, and, cards in hand, i joined them, and they made me keep the score! [illustration] alas, how subtle bridge alluring woos! and robs me of my nightly beauty=snooze. =i often wonder what bridge players gain one=half so precious as the sleep they lose. [illustration] oh, threats of loss, and hopes of golden store, one thing in bridge is certain,--'tis not lore! =one thing is certain, and the rest is chance: the hand that holds the cards will win the score! [illustration] some for the gain of penny points, and some sigh for the lovely prizes yet to come. =oh, take the prize and let the pennies go, nor heed the winning of a paltry sum. [illustration] when you and i our last bridge game have played, the games will go right on by those who've stayed, =who of our coming and departure heed as the heart ace should heed a little spade. [illustration] we are no other than a moving row of magic dummy hands that come and go. =played to the last trump by the hand of fate, by whom our hearts are shuffled to and fro. [illustration] the end. love sonnets of an office boy [illustration] love sonnets of an office boy by samuel ellsworth kiser illustrated by john t. mccutcheon forbes & company boston and chicago _copyright, _ by samuel ellsworth kiser published by arrangement with the chicago record-herald colonial press: electrotyped and printed by c. h. simonds & co., boston, u.s.a. love sonnets of an office boy i. oh, if you only knowed how much i like to stand here, when the "old man" ain't around, and watch your soft, white fingers while you pound away at them there keys! each time you strike it almost seems to me as though you'd found some way, while writin' letters, how to play sweet music on that thing, because the sound is something i could listen to all day. you're twenty-five or six and i'm fourteen, and you don't hardly ever notice me-- but when you do, you call me willie! gee, i wisht i'd bundles of the old long green and could be twenty-eight or nine or so, and something happened to your other beau. ii. i heard the old man scoldin' yesterday because your spellin' didn't suit him quite; he said you'd better go to school at night, and you was rattled when he turned away; you had to tear the letter up and write it all again, and when nobody seen i went and dented in his hat for spite: that's what he got for treatin' you so mean. i wish that you typewrote for me and we was far off on an island, all alone; i'd fix a place up under some nice tree, and every time your fingers struck a key i'd grab your hands and hold them in my own, and any way you spelt would do for me. [illustration] iii. i wish a fire'd start up here, some day, and all the rest would run away from you-- the boss and that long-legged bookkeeper, too, that you keep smilin' at--and after they was all down-stairs you'd holler out and say: "won't no one come and save me? must i choke and die alone here in the heat and smoke? oh, cowards that they was to run away!" and then i'd come and grab you up and go out through the hall and down the stairs, and when i got you saved the crowd would cheer, and then they'd take me to the hospital, and so you'd come and stay beside me there and cry and say you'd hate to live if i would die. [illustration] iv. yesterday i stood behind your chair when you was kind of bendin' down to write, and i could see your neck, so soft and white, and notice where the poker singed your hair, and then you looked around and seen me there, and kind of smiled, and i could seem to feel a sudden empty, sinkish feelin' where i'm all filled up when i've just e't a meal. dear frankie, where your soft, sweet finger tips hit on the keys i often touch my lips, and wunst i kissed your little overshoe, and i have got a hairpin that you wore-- one day i found it on the office floor-- i'd throw my job up if they fired you. v. she's got a dimple in her chin, and, oh, how soft and smooth it looks; her eyes are blue; the red seems always tryin' to peep through the middle of her cheeks. i'd like to go and lay my face up next to hers and throw my arms around her neck, with just us two alone together, but not carin' who might scold if they should see us actin' so. if i would know that some poor girl loved me as much as i do her, sometimes i'd take her in my arms a little while and make her happy just for kindness, and to see the pleased look that acrost her face'd break, and hear the sighs that showed how glad she'd be. vi. when you're typewritin' and that long-legged clerk tips back there on his chair and smiles at you, and you look up and get to smilin', too, i'd like to go and give his chair a jerk and send him flyin' till his head went through the door that goes out to the hall, and when they picked him up he'd be all black and blue and you'd be nearly busted laughin' then. but if i done it, maybe you would run and hold his head and smooth his hair and say it made you sad that he got dumped that way, and i'd get h'isted out for what i done-- i wish that he'd get fired and you'd stay and suddenly i'd be a man some day. [illustration] vii. if i was grown to be a man, and you and all the others that are workin' here was always under me, and i could clear the place to-morrow if i wanted to, i'd buy an easy chair all nice and new and get a bird to sing above your head, and let you set and rest all day, instead of hammerin' them keys the way you do. i'd bounce that long-legged clerk and then i'd raise your wages and move up my desk beside where you'd be settin,' restin' there, and i'd not care about the weather--all the days would make me glad, and in the evenings then i'd wish't was time to start to work again. [illustration] viii. this morning when that homely, long-legged clerk come in he had a rose he got somewhere; he went and kind of leaned against her chair, instead of goin' on about his work, and stood around and talked to her awhile, because the boss was out,--and both took care to watch the door; and when he left her there he dropped the flower with a sickish smile. i snuck it from the glass of water she had stuck it in, and tore it up and put it on the floor and smashed it with my foot, when neither him nor her was watchin' me-- i'd like to rub the stem acrost his nose, and i wish they'd never be another rose. ix. yesterday i watched you when you set there with your little lunch-box in your lap; i seen you nibble at a ginger snap, and wished that where your lips had made it wet i'd have a chance to take a bite and let my mouth be right where yours was before; and after you had got your apple e't, and wasn't lookin', i picked up the core. i pressed my mouth against it then, and so it seemed almost the same as kissin' you, your teeth had touched it, and your red lips, too, and it was good and tasted sweet, and, oh, i wished you'd bring an apple every day and i could have the cores you'd throw away. x. i wish, when you was through your work some night and goin' home alone, and had your pay stuck in your stockin'--what you drew that day-- a robber'd come along with all his might and you'd be nearly scared to death, and right there in the street you'd almost faint and say: "good robber, please don't hurt me--go away!" and as he grabbed you then i'd come in sight. i wish i'd be as strong as two or three big giants then, and when i handed one out to him he'd be through, all in, and done, and then you'd look and see that it was me, and, thinkin' of the great escape you had, you'd snuggle in my arms and just be glad. [illustration] xi. her brother come this morning with a note what said that she was home and sick in bed; she's got an awful bad cold in her head-- they think it might run into the sore throat, and oh, what if she'd not come back again, and they would get some other girl instead of her to typewrite here, and she'd be dead? i wouldn't care no more for nothin' then. i wish i was the doctor that they'd get, and when i'd take her pulse i'd hold her hand and say "poor little girl!" to her, and set beside the bed awhile and kind of let my arm go 'round her, slow and careful, and say, "now put out your tongue a little, pet." xii. she's back to work again; i'm awful glad; when she was sick it seemed to me as though the clocks all got to goin' kind of slow, and every key she pounds looked kind of sad. it's tough to have to hear her coughin' so-- i wish that i could take her cold and she would know i took it, and not have to blow her nose no more, and be as well as me. she takes some kind of cough stuff in a spoon, i seen her lickin' it this morning when she took a dose and put it down again, and when the rest went out awhile at noon i got her spoon and licked it, and it seemed as though it all was something nice i dreamed. xiii. last night i dreamed about her in my sleep; i thought that her and me had went away out on some hill where birds sung 'round all day, and i had got a job of herdin' sheep. i thought that she had went along to keep me comp'ny, and we'd set around for hours just lovin', and i'd go and gather flowers and pile them at her feet, all in a heap. it seemed to me like heaven, bein' there with only her besides the sheep and birds, and us not sayin' anything but words about the way we loved. i wouldn't care to ever wake again if i could still dream we was there forever on the hill. [illustration] xiv. this morning when we come to work i got jammed in the elevator back of you, and there they made you stick your elbow in me where the mince pie lands; the lunch that i had brought was all smashed flat, but still i didn't care; you leaned against me, for you couldn't stand because the ones in front were crowdin', and my nose was pressed deep into your back hair. i wish we'd had to go ten times as high, or else that we'd be shootin' upward yet, and never stop no more until we'd get away above the clouds and in the sky, and you'd lean back forevermore and let your hairpins always jab me in the eye. xv. when her and me were here alone, at noon, and she had bit a pickle square in two, i set and watched and listened to her chew, and thought how sweet she was, and pretty soon she happened to look down at me and say: "you seem so sad, poor boy; what's wrong with you?" and then i got to shiverin' all through and wished that i was forty miles away. i tried to think of some excuse to make, but something seemed all whirly in my head, and so the first blame thing i knew i said: "it's nothin' only just the stummick ache." sometimes i almost wisht that i was dead for settin' there and makin' such a break. xvi. last night i heard jones astin' you to go to see the opery next thursday night, and you said yes--and he'll be settin' right beside you there all through the whole blamed show, and you'll be touchin' him with your elbow, and mebby he'll say things that tickle you and buy a box of chock'luts for you, too, and i'll not be around nor never know. i wish i'd be the hero on the stage, and you was the fair maiden that got stoled, and he would be the villain that would hold you frettin' like a song-bird in its cage-- and then i'd come along and smash him one, and you'd say: "take me, dear, for what you done." [illustration] xvii. when i was dustin' off her desk one day, and she was standin' there, i took the pad she writes on when she gets dictates and had a notion to tear off a leaf and lay it up against my heart at night, when they was something made her come to where i stood and say, "poor boy," as softly as she could-- it almost seemed to take my breath away. that night i couldn't sleep at all becuz the thoughts about them words that she had said kep' all the time a-goin' through my head with thoughts about how beautiful she wuz, and then i knowed she loved me, too, or she would not of cared how hard i worked, you see. xviii. i'd like to have a lock of her brown hair, for that would be a part of her, you know; and if she'd tie it with a little bow of ribbon, then i'd fasten it somewhere clear down inside, next to my heart, to wear, and fix it over every week or so, when i changed undershirts, or maw she'd go and raise a fuss because she found it there. one day when bizness wasn't on the boom she trimmed her finger-nails, and one piece flew to where i was, almost acrost the room; i watched the spot where it went tumblin' to, and now a piece of her is mine; it come right from the end of her dear little thumb. xix. i wish, some day, when she's typewritin' and i've took a note out for the boss somewhere, they'd be some outlaws sneak in here and scare that long-legged clerk to death and then the band would steal her, and nobody else would dare to try to save her, and they'd run away to where they had their cave, and keep her there, and ast more for her than her folks could pay. then i would get a gun and bowie-knife and take the name of buckskin bob or joe, and track them to their den, and then i'd go a-galley whoopin' in, and save her life, and she would say: "my hero's came at last!" and we'd stand there and hold each other fast. [illustration] xx. last night, when she'd got on her coat and hat and felt her dress behind and then her hair, to see if everything was all right there, she stopped and said: "well, now just look at that!" and then put out one foot a little bit, and says: "ain't that provokin'? i declare, the string's untied!" she put it on a chair, a-motionin' for me to fasten it. so then that long-legged clerk he pushed me back and grabbed the shoe-strings that were hangin' down-- i wish i was the strongest man in town-- oh, wouldn't i of let him have a whack! and i'd of kicked him so blamed hard i'll bet he'd wonder what he might come down on yet. xxi. my darling, often when you set and think of things that seem to kind of bother you, you put your pencil in your mouth and chew around the wood, and let your sweet teeth sink down in it till it's all marked up and split, and yesterday i seen you when you threw a stub away that you'd bit up; it flew behind the bookcase, where i gobbled it. i put it in my mouth, the way you'd done, and i could feel the little holes you made-- the places where your teeth sunk in--i laid my tongue tight up against them, every one, and shut my eyes, and then you seemed to be there with your lips on mine and kissin' me. xxii. when i was tellin' ma, two days ago, about our beautiful typewriter girl she dropped the dough and give a sudden whirl and said: "she's twic't as old as you, you know-- she must be twenty-five or six or so. don't think about her any more, my dear, and you and me'll be always happy here-- besides, she's nothing but an old scarecrow." it made me sad to hear her talk that way; my darling's just a little girl almost-- i can't see why ma give her such a roast, and i could hardly eat my lunch next day, for every time i took a bite of bread i almost hated ma for what she said. [illustration] xxiii. the other day a rusty pen got stuck away deep in her finger, and she held her poor, dear little hand up then and yelled for me to hurry over there and suck the poison out, and when i went i struck my toe against the old man's cuspidor and rolled about eight feet along the floor before i knew what happened, blame the luck! when i set up and looked around, at last that long-legged, homely clerk was there, and so he had her finger in his mouth, and, oh, i'll bet you i'd 'a' kicked him if i dast! i never seen the beat the way things go when there's a chance for me to stand a show. xxiv. that homely clerk took her out for a ride last sunday in a buggy, and they rode around all through the parks; i wisht i'd knowed about it, and the horse would kind of shied, and then got scared and run and kicked, and i'd of been a piece ahead and saw him jump and leave her hangin' on alone, the chump, and she'd of been so 'fraid she'd nearly died. then i'd of give a spring and caught the bit, and landed on the horse's back, where all the people there could see me doin' it, and when i got her saved the crowd would call three cheers for me, and then she'd come and fall against my buzzum, and he'd have a fit. xxv. i don't care if she's twic't as old as me, for i've been figgerin' and figgers shows that i'll grow older faster than she grows, and when i'm twenty-one or so, why, she won't be near twic't as old as me no more, and then almost the first thing that she knows i might ketch up to her some day, i s'pose, and both of us be gladder than before. when i get whiskers i can let them grow all up and down my cheeks and on my chin, and in a little while they might begin to make me look as old as her, and so she'd snuggle up to me and call me "paw." and then i'd call her "pet" instead of "maw." [illustration] xxvi. one morning when the boss was out somewhere and when the clerk was at the bank and me and her was here alone together, she let out a screech and jumped up in the air and grabbed her skirts and yelled: "a mouse!" and there one come a-runnin' right at her, and, gee! they wasn't a blame thing that i could see to whack it with, except an office chair. i grabbed one up and made a smash and hit her desk and broke a leg clear off somehow, and when the boss came back and looked at it he said that i would have to pay, and now, when ma finds out i know just what i'll git-- next pay-day there will be an awful row. xxvii. it's over now; the blow has fell at last; it seems as though the sun can't shine no more, and nothing looks the way it did before; the glad thoughts that i used to think are past. her desk's shut up to-day, the lid's locked fast; the keys where she typewrote are still; her chair looks sad and lonesome standin' empty there-- i'd like to let the tears come if i dast. this morning when the boss come in he found a letter that he'd got from her, and so he read it over twice and turned around and said: "the little fool's got married!" oh, it seemed as if i'd sink down through the ground, and never peep no more--i didn't, though. xxviii. the chap's a beau we didn't know she had he come from out of town somewhere, they say; i hope he's awful homely, and that they will fight like cats and dogs and both be sad. but still there's one thing makes me kind of glad: the long-legged clerk must stay and work away, and, though he keeps pretendin' to be gay, it's plain enough to see he's feelin' bad. i wish when i'm a man and rich and proud, she'd see me, tall and handsome then, and be blamed sorry that she didn't wait for me, and that she'd hear the people cheerin' loud when i went past, and down there in the crowd i'd see her lookin' at me sorrowf'ly. [illustration] _now in press_ ballads of the busy days by s. e. kiser price, $ . forbes & company, publishers boston and chicago a charming romance buell hampton by willis george emerson a tale of love, of surprises, of a mystery "'buell hampton' is a strong and original story."--_philadelphia north american._ "it is a good story in every particular. nothing better has been done in its line."--_the mirror_ (_st. louis_). "one of the leading books of the year. every page breathes; is alive with people who do things and say bright and witty things."--_chicago journal._ "as a distinctly american novel, 'buell hampton' has, for abundance of thrilling incident and pure interestingness, no superior."--_albany times-union._ "many a year has passed since so strong, so bright, and so clever a novel as 'buell hampton' has made its appearance. there are no dull patches in it. every page is filled with dewy freshness."--_opie read._ _printing choice and binding handsome. price, $ . _ forbes & company, publishers boston and chicago _now in twentieth thousand_ ben king's verse if i should die to-night if i should die to-night and you should come to my cold corpse and say, weeping and heartsick o'er my lifeless clay-- if i should die to-night and you should come in deepest grief and woe and say, "here's that ten dollars that i owe"-- i might arise in my large white cravat and say, "what's that?" if i should die to-night and you should come to my cold corpse and kneel, clasping my bier to show the grief you feel-- i say, if i should die to-night and you should come to me, and there and then just even hint 'bout payin' me that ten, i might arise the while; but i'd drop dead again. (_from "ben king's verse."_) "'ben king's verse' will be appreciated by all who enjoy good things."--_john kendrick bangs._ "ben king's verses may be recommended to those suffering from melancholy."--_the chicago daily news._ "lovers of real poetry and of quaint, whimsical humor will treasure 'ben king's verse' as a volume which can be read and re-read with pleasure, a companion for all moods and times."--_the journalist_ (_new york_). _beautifully made. pages. price, $ . _ forbes & company, publishers boston and chicago popular humorous verse by nixon waterman in merry mood,--a book of cheerful rhymes a book of verses "nixon waterman needs no introduction to the american public. one of our most natural and musical singers, his verses have been quoted in every newspaper in the land, and have gone straight to the heart of the great army of 'just common folks.' he is always an optimist. the world is better--both happier and better--for such verses as these of nixon waterman."--_chicago record-herald._ _price, each, $ . _ by fred emerson brooks pickett's charge and other poems old ace and other poems "fred emerson brooks is a great poet and a genius of great ability. humor and pathos abound throughout his poems, and many partake of the inspiration of the war-drum, but he is thoroughly at home in whatever strain of melody he chooses to adopt."--_atlanta constitution._ _price, each, $ . _ forbes & company p. o. box boston, mass. p. o. box chicago, ill. transcriber's notes: text in italics is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. the rubaiyat of a huffy husband mary b. little [illustration: arti et veritati] boston richard g. badger =the gorham press= _copyright, , by mary b. little_ _all rights reserved_ _the gorham press, boston, u. s. a._ the rubaiyat of a huffy husband i i wake, the sun does scatter into flight the dreams of happiness i have each night, o blessèd dreams--full of domestic bliss, too soon alas! they're banished with the light. ii i'm going to tell in just the briefest way the cause of all my anguish--if i may-- then one and all will know the reason why my mien is solemn, and i am not gay. iii on christmas day a good friend did present my wife a book; no doubt with best intent. the "rubaiyat of omar khayyam" 'twas. little i dreamed the woe of its advent. iv after the rush of holidays was o'er, and things had settled back in place once more, wife found the time to revel in that book, and told me how she loved its ancient lore. v she soon possessed the dreadful omar fad, which other husbands, i have learned, think bad. but unlike other fads which now are past, this has the power to make me very mad. vi the others which she tired of years before,-- collecting vases, fans, and spoons galore,-- did not affect the comfort of our home, therefore there was no reason to be sore. vii but now each time i come back to the house i find what was my former loving spouse so deep absorbed in omar's rubaiyat, she reads right on, and scarcely does arouse. viii or else i find her with her pen in hand, grinding out quatrains which mayhap are grand, she tries to make me listen: rest assured that i obey not any such command. ix had i but known just what my fate would be, inside a drawer to which i hold the key, that book forever would have disappeared and thereby would have gained some peace for me. x but ah, the irony of fate--that's how "a book of verses underneath the bough" is what i hear from morn to dewy eve. a wilderness _were_ paradise just now. xi sometimes when i am very tired, and plead to be amused, my wife says, "i will read." and this is what she tries to make me hear, "with earth's first clay they did the last man knead." xii but don't imagine while possessed of wit, that i assent, and therefore calmly sit. i take my hat, and hasten from the house, and come not back till think she's through with it. xiii i might have prayed, and possibly thereby have gained relief from somewhere in the sky. but wife says, omar's reckoning proves it "as impotently moves as you or i." xiv at least that is the doctrine he presents, although to me it is devoid of sense. my unbelief in what he says does make my wife's love for him only more intense. xv and thus it is--the rubaiyat's her creed. it is her comfort in all sorts of need. i tear my hair--i storm--i swear, and yet, 'tis only to dear omar she pays heed. xvi "some for the glories of this world; and some sigh for the prophet's paradise to come;" the greatest boon i ask for is, i may supplant this interloper as a chum. xvii now all the years that we have wedded been, not once had demon jealousy crept in until this omar--dead eight hundred years, did come and her affection from me win. xviii i feel chagrined to think, at this late date, a man so long since dead can alienate the fond devotion that's been mine alone. no wonder i cry out 'gainst such a fate. xix "the worldly hope men set their hearts upon turns ashes--or it prospers; and anon," just so those happy days of long ago were mine, for one sweet space of time then gone. xx the last few months i eagerly frequent my clubs; wherein i hear great argument regarding wives, and how to manage them. but come no wiser than when in i went. xxi strange, is it not? of all the husbands who before me passed this door of trouble through not one has left a word of good advice, nor e'en suggested what is best to do. xxii my friends can't help me, yet they laugh to scorn my downcast looks, and at the way i mourn. they do not know the anguish of my soul, bereft of wife--unhappy--and forlorn. xxiii but this i know, whether the one true light kindle to love, or wrath consume me quite, i'd rather have my former happiness, than to possess the whole great world outright. xxiv i oft' attempt to show wife where 'twill lead. she gets her book, and says i must take heed that--"the first morning of creation wrote what the last dawn of reckoning shall read." xxv one day i queried would she please to say how long, how long this fad was apt to stay? she smiled and said, "my dear, don't fret about 'unborn to-morrow and dead yesterday.'" xxvi "'the moving finger writes, and having writ moves on.'" "and surely, dear, you have the grit to be submissive to the hand of fate, when you can't help yourself a single bit." xxvii predestination--full of unbelief-- must i accept it, is there no relief? the very thought of it most drives me mad, and bows me to the very earth with grief. xxviii ah, if i only could some way conspire "to grasp the sorry scheme of things entire"; how soon i'd shatter it to bits--and then remould it nearer to my heart's desire. xxix or, would some wingèd angel ere too late "arrest the yet unfolded roll of fate" and make the stern recorder change the lines, and thus restore at once to me my mate. why they married text and illustrations by james montgomery flagg new york life publishing company _copyright _ life publishing company british copyright secured all rights reserved dedicated to several obliging married couples who have posed for some of these portraits don't be ashamed to let us know why you tried matrimony, for others brave the under-tow for reasons quite as funny; we give these little facts away, perhaps it is a treason, don't marry in an off-hand way, be sure "there's a reason!" the author [illustration: yellow dog] [illustration] stung! he was a gentle and sensitive chap, he married the forceful miss howe, he wanted her sympathy, did the poor yap-- he has everyone's sympathy now! [illustration] [illustration] she kept her word. maud hung onto straps in the subway and "l," no man ever said "take my seat!" she swore that she'd marry the first one who did-- the next day her husband did meet! [illustration: skiddoo] [illustration] skiddoo! when your wife jams her hat on and packs up her bag and says "i shall go back to mother!" if you sniff she will say, "just for that i will stay!" one excuse is as good as another. [illustration] [illustration] she looked so docile! john quincy tho' kindly and gentle, declared: "the man must be master, by gum!" but his outlook on life, is just what his dear wife lets him peer at from under her thumb! [illustration] [illustration] not a quitter. wilhemina's bridegroom failed to show up at the church so she yanked the driver off the wedding hack, and married him in lieu of john, who'd left her in the lurch for she would not send the wedding presents back. [illustration] [illustration] ever know it to fail? "i never could marry that kind of a man!" said miss sue of a fellow named sid-- so of course the gods heard her and laughed when they saw, 'twas exactly the kind that she did! [illustration] [illustration] how was she to know? the reason sweet alice got married to-day-- sweet alice, so prettily blushing, she hadn't the faintest idea that the gent had another wife over in flushing. [illustration] [illustration] a tonic. miss luella gloaming was naturally glum, so she married young grouch, the recluse; for she says when she's sad, she just looks at his face-- then she can't help but laugh like the deuce! [illustration: of clubs] [illustration] why they married. this couple before you are husband and wife, he looks sorry and just a bit harried; it took a mere two-spot to scare him for life, at least that's the reason he married! [illustration] [illustration] explained at last. mr. pinhead was worth eighty millions, miss nothingbutt had eighty-two; why do cash and spondulicks get married? spondulicks and cash always do! [illustration] [illustration] an open and shut game. they heard that people ought to wed their opposites in life; he finds an opposition where he thought he'd found a wife! [illustration] [illustration] really she did. you never can guess why she married this man, there's no use the matter to mince, she married him merely because he had hair like her lost pomeranian, "prince." [illustration: ta-da-de-da!] [illustration] and there you are! the reason walter applepie did wed his nancy fair, she liked the way his mouth curled up-- he liked her fuzzy hair! [illustration] [illustration] true companions. these people are mated exactly, and all that remains is to tell, that she is a bully good talker, and he listens equally well! [illustration: diamonds] [illustration] an advertising medium. the reason this chap in the box here made his lady friend mrs. van pelf, he had a whole car-load of diamonds and he couldn't well wear them himself! [illustration] [illustration] so thoughtful of father. again to the altar went widower brown, when his grief he could decently smother, he explained it to every acquaintance in town; "my poor children needed a mother." [illustration: $ . ] [illustration] old merger and mayme. why did they marry--december and june? old merger and mayme-out-of-school? mayme didn't care for those ready made frocks-- december was--just an old fool. [illustration] [illustration] now she's way above par. billy margin, a broker, did wed ysobel, her shape counted most in his eyes, now her figure's no more, and billy is sore, for he finds he had bought for a rise! [illustration] [illustration] averted danger. the reason jenks married, so we are told, he was 'fraid he'd be lonely when he got old! [illustration] [illustration] fate. the rector got married to annabel gauze, the rector was gentle and good; he made up his mind that he'd marry because she had made up her mind that he should! [illustration] [illustration] the sun do move. petkins wed her nobby boy in the year of our lord knows when-- he was once the mold of form and she was stylish then! [illustration] [illustration] a matter of taste. he married her because she didn't swagger like a man, nor did she stand with feet apart, toes in, she wasn't a "good fellow," thickly coated with a tan-- she was merely lovely, really feminine! [illustration] [illustration] stronger than mere love. the bond is a strong one that couples this pair, a case in which jill found her jack, this strong binding tie is the joy they both share, in ripping their friends up the back! [illustration] [illustration] in round figures. now here is a couple who seem of one mind, what on earth made them think they'd agree? why, he didn't care for the lean scraggly kind, and it's funny, but neither did she! [illustration: divorce mill] [illustration] akin to love. out of pity married chaucer, she had been upon the shelf, for same reason he'll divorce her, pity--this time for himself! [illustration] [illustration] sports! he thought she was wealthy; she thought he was too, not thinking each other a grafter, they found out between them there wasn't a sou-- so they laughed and lived happily after! [illustration: fate] [illustration] inevitable. this happy young bride is a girl we all know, who swore that she never would wed, when she'd been out of school a fortnight or so she accepted misogynist ned! [illustration: three one dime coins] [illustration] they _will_ do it! both poor as job's turkey and not overstrong-- hold a three dollar job the man couldn't-- we are forced to conclude that they married because there was every good reason they shouldn't! [illustration] [illustration] no falling off. paul told her lovely fairy tales when she was but a child, she loved him far above all other men. tho' they've been married quite a while, the tales he tells her now are quite as good as those he told her then! [illustration] [illustration] wanted a change. young twentyperr looked carefully before a wife he took, his wife would have to know a thing or two, he wanted to be certain that his spouse knew how to cook the way his mother didn't use to do! [illustration: this is a peach] [illustration] it's only too true. "that woman married!" i hear you exclaim, your knowledge of people is small, there is always some chump who will whisper "je t'aime!" while real peaches are left by the wall! [illustration: debt] [illustration] high finance. jonas granitt married and he knew that he was cute, a mrs. drudge, his housekeeper, no less, for he owed her two years wages--you'll admit he was astute, now he doesn't owe her anything, i guess! [illustration] [illustration] she got tired of it. they are married and maudie looks quite worn out, it's no wonder--he pestered her so, he proposed forty thousand and ninety-six times-- every time but the last she said "no!" [illustration] [illustration] side-tracked. these people wed in self-defense, all social life they missed, they found themselves outside the fence, for neither played bridge-whist! [illustration] [illustration] the butterfly and the anemone. mr. butterfly flitter was handsome and gay, why, he'd ne'er given marriage a thought, but he dallied too long by a flower one day, and before he could flit he was caught! [illustration] [illustration] aha! pious mary knew that jake gambled and drank rum too; she married to reform the rake-- now see what she has come to! [illustration] [illustration] mr. and mrs. john spratt. she fancied him because she felt a very piquant charm in the unexpected awful things he said-- on her remarks he could depend, they never caused alarm, so as they both were pleased, they wed! [illustration] [illustration] a pretty smooth gentleman. mary thought her husband was the finest anywhere, he was the satisfaction of her life. he knew too much to ever say, "why don't you dye your hair?" or praise another woman to his wife! [illustration: ding, dang, d-dang] [illustration] how absurdly absurd! mr. tootles rides on trolley cars a good bit of his life, his little wife goes with him for the ride; a friend asked why he married such a tiny little wife-- "she's so easy to get on with!" he replied. [illustration] [illustration] and, great scott, he likes it! steve looked for a captain and not for a mate and his friends all agree she was found, why, they say that the reason he's putting on weight is because she just ordered him 'round! [illustration] [illustration] do you see? intuition, deduction, observation as well, and a masterful knowledge of life, all figure as naught in our efforts to find why this pair became husband and wife! [illustration] [illustration] labor saving. when his wife died he married her sister, a practical man was mcgraw, "in this way," he said, "i've no trouble to break in a new mother-in-law." [illustration] [illustration] matter of fact. bert had known gladys from childhood, from the day of the doll and mud-pie, when the time came of course they got married, as one puts on one's coat or one's tie! [illustration] [illustration] a shame to take the $. young rebayte, jr. had a stack, a show girl he did wed, she married him behind his back, for she had turned his head! [illustration] [illustration] newport news. bernard de lancey and evelyn smarte disregarding good taste and the cost, got married again--an affair of the heart-- they were tired of being divorced! [illustration] [illustration] no objections. izzy morris fiddlebaum wed leah meyer rosen, for neither had a prejudice against what's called "the chosen"! [illustration: these lots will go to the man who marries me the owner] [illustration] he wanted the earth! joe married miss paula mcquaver, and altho' she was thin and passe, she really had lots in her favor-- about eight city lots on broadway! [illustration] [illustration] quite reckless. she loved him for he was so brave, yes, in that line quite peerless-- he married this widow with seven kids-- by gosh, was not that fearless? [illustration] [illustration] she had position. al higgins thought he married well when he got sally brown, for very well connected was his "poil," connected too with all the finest families in the town-- by telephone--she was a "hello-goil"! [illustration] [illustration] "don't." these foolish happy people here, mehitabel and harry, disdaining quite those words of "punch" to those about to marry! none provided by the internet archive southerly busters, by ironbark illustrated by alfred clint with additional illustrations by montagu scott. many of these scraps were originally contributed by the author to "the town and country journal," "sydney punch," "the illustrated sydney news," and other australian newspapers and magazines. john sands, printer [illustration: ] [illustration: ] notes. a. "billy," a tin pot for making tea in. b. young gentlemen getting their "colonial experience" in the bush are called "jackeroos" by the station-hands. the term is seldom heard except in the remote "back-blocks" of the interior. c. it was formerly the practice of squatters to give a ration of flour, mutton, and, occasionally, tea and sugar, to all persons travelling ostensibly in search of work. the custom, however, as might have been expected, became frightfully abused by loafers, and has of late fallen into disuse, to the intense disgust of the tramping fraternity in general. d. the yanko is a noted sheep-station in the murrumbidge district (the paradise of loafers), where travellers were, and, i believe, still are, feasted at the expense of the owners, on a scale of great magnificence, and somewhat mistaken liberality. e. the utterly refined and unsophisticated reader is informed that to "whip the cat" signifies, in nautical parlance, to weep or lament. author's preface. |i am assured that something in the way of an apologetic preface is always expected from a "new-chum" author who has had the hardihood to jump his pegasus over the paddock fence (so to speak), and drop, uninvited, into the field of letters; and so, having induced a publisher, in a moment of weakness, to bring me before the public, it behoves me to conciliate that long-suffering body by conforming to all established rules. i am aware that my excuse for inflicting this work on mankind is somewhat "thin" but, such as it is, i will proceed to state it, as a "plea in bar" against all active and offensive expressions of indignation on the part of outraged humanity. having "got me some ideas," as mr emmett says in the character of "fritz," and feeling the necessity for inflicting them on somebody imminent, i tried their effect on my own immediate circle of friends. it was not satisfactory. they listened, indeed, for a while, thinking that i was suffering from a slight mental derangement which would be best treated by judicious humouring. some even affected to be entertained, and laughed (what a hollow mockery of merriment it was! ) at atrocious puns; but i could see the look of hate steal over countenances which had hitherto beamed on me with interest and affection, and was not deceived. i saw that friendship would not long survive such a test and desisted; but it was too late. they perceived i had what artemus ward calls the "poetry disease;" feared that it might be infectious; knew that it was an insufferable bore to the afflicted party's circle of acquaintances; and--forgot to visit me. when their familiar knocks no longer resounded on the door of my lodging in -------- street, and their familiar footsteps ceased to crush the cockroaches on the dark and winding staircase leading to my apartment, i bethought me of that institution which i had always heard alluded to as the "kind and generous public." here, i thought (for i was unsophisticated), is the very friend i am in need of, which will receive me with its thousand arms, laugh with me with its thousand mouths, weep with me with its thousand eyes, and whose thousand hearts will beat in unison with mine whether my mood be one of sadness or of joy; behave itself, in fact, like a species of benevolent and sympathetic hydra, shorn of its terrors, and fit to take part in the innocent and arcadian recreations of the millenium, when the (literary) lion shall lie down with the critic, and newspapers shall not lie any more--even for money. during my hunt for that all essential auxiliary, a publisher, without whom the first step on the road to literary distinction (or extinction) cannot be taken, i learnt a few plain truths about my hydra-headed friend; amongst others that he was not to be hoodwinked, and would neither laugh, weep, nor sympathise unless he saw good and sufficient cause. i am in consequence not quite so sanguine as i was. however, i have gone too far to recede, and have concluded to throw myself on the bosom or bosoms of that animal and take my chances of annihilation. one of my unsympathising friends assured me the other day that my book would certainly send anyone to sleep who should attempt its perusal. i gave him a ballad to read, and watched him anxiously while he skimmed a page or two. _he_ did not sleep--not he, but a raging thirst overcame him at the fourteenth verse, and he begged me to send for a jug of "half-and-half" with such earnestness that a new and dreadful apprehension filled my breast. if this was to be the effect of my work on the public at large, i should empty the temperance hall, and fill the inebriate asylum in six months! as i had hitherto prided myself that my work was entirely free from any immoral tendency, i earnestly hoped that his organization was a peculiar one, and that its effect on him was exceptional, and not; likely to happen again. sleep, indeed! would that these pages might be found to possess the subtle power of inducing "tired nature's sweet restorer" to visit the weary eyelids of knocked-up humanity; that they might become a domestic necessity, like winslows "soothing-syrup," and "a blessing to mothers;" that the critic--pausing midway in a burst of scathing invective against their literary and metrical deficiencies--overcome by their drowsy influence--might sink in dreamless slumber, and wake to sing in praise of their narcotic properties, and chaunt their merits as a soporific. in conclusion, i would fain ask thee, gentlest of gentle readers, to look with leniency on the many defects and shortcomings of this volume, and to remember that the writer was long, if not an outcast, a homeless wanderer among the saltbush plains and and sandhills of australia, and the kauri and pouriri forests of new zealand; that, for seven years, the prototypes of "ancient bill," hereinafter mentioned, were his associates; and that, if these experiences have enabled him to touch with some degree of accuracy on matters relating to the bush, they have at the same time militated against the cultivation of those refinements of style and language which commend the modern author to his reader, and which are only to be acquired in the civilized atmosphere of a city. n.b.--i desire here to thank my friend, mr. henry wise, of sydney, to whom i am indebted for the design which adorns the cover of the book. |i beheld a shadow dodging, on the pavement 'neath my ``lodging, 'neath my unpretending lodging--opposite the very door: "'tis that prodigal," i muttered, "who enjoys the second ``floor-- ```he it is, and nothing more."= answering my thoughts, i stated, "'tis the artist that's located here, returning home belated, seeking entrance at the door-- coming back from where he's revelled, and, like me, with locks ``dishevelled, wits besotted and bedevilled, oft i've seen him so before; 'tis no rare unknown occurrence, but a customed thing of ``yore-- ```jones it is, and nothing more."= certain then 'twas no illusion, "sir," i said, in some ``confusion, "pardon my abrupt intrusion--mr. jones, we've met before; potent drinks have o'er me bubbled, and the fact is i was ``troubled, for your form seemed strangely doubled, and my brain is sick ``and sore-- let us seek my room and cupboard, and its mystery explore-- ```there is gin, if nothing more."= deep into the darkness glaring, i beheld a radiance flaring, and a pair of eyes were staring--eyes i'd never seen before-- and, my fear and dread enhancing, towards me came a form ``advancing, and the rays of light were dancing from a lantern which it ``bore-- 'twas a regulation bull's-eye--"'tis a (something) trap," i ``swore -- ```"'tis a trap, and nothing more."= glittering with the p. c. button, redolent of recent mutton, (fitting raiment for a glutton) was the garment which he ``wore; and his vast colossal figure, in the pride of manly vigour, looming larger, looming bigger, came betwixt me and the ``door-- cutting off my hopes of entrance to my home at number four-- ```stood, and stared, and nothing more.= and his features, grimly smiling, calm, unmoved, (intensely ``riling) i betake me to reviling, and a stream of chaff out*pour-- "say, thou grim and stately brother, has thy fond and doting ``mother got at home like thee another? art thou really one of four? did she, did she sell the mangle? tell me truly, i implore!" ```quoth the peeler, "hold your jawr!"= long i stood there fiercely glaring, most profanely cursing, ``swearing-- . and my right arm i was baring, meaning thus the trap to ``floor-- [illustration: ] straight he grabbed me by the collar, said 'twas worse than ``vain to holler, that his person i must foller to the gloomy prison door; "'tell me, robert," said i sadly, "must i go the bench ``before?" ```quoth the peeler, "'tis the lawr!"= "shall i be with felons banded, by the 'beak' be reprimanded, and with infamy be branded?--thou art versed in prison ``lore-- say not, robert, that my bread will 'ere be earned upon the ``tread-mill, that a filthy prison bed will echo to my fevered snore-- ever echo to the music of my wild unearthly snore!" ```quoth the peeler, "'tis the lawr!"= thought on thought of bitter sadness, dissipating hope and ``gladness, goading me to worse than madness, crowded on me by the ``score; ne'er before incarcerated, how that peeler's form i hated, cries for freedom, unabated--'wrenched from out my bosom's ``core'-- broke upon the midnight stillness, "robert, set me free ``once more!" ```quoth the peeler, "never more!"= never since the days of julian was there such a mass herculean clad in garments so cerulean, with so little brains in store; and i cursed his name, and number, and his form as useless ``lumber only fit to snore and slumber on a greasy kitchen floor-- on the slime bespattered boarding of a greasy kitchen floor-- ```fit for this and nothing more!= and my heart was heavy loaded with a sorrow which ``corroded, and my expletives exploded with a deep and muffled roar; but a sudden inspiration checked the clammy perspiration that 'till now, without cessation, streaming ran from every pore, and what checked the perspiration that ran streaming from ``each pore ```was a thought, and nothing more.= in my pocket was a shilling! could that giant form be ``willing, tempted by the hope of swilling beer, to set me free once ``more? tempted by the lust of riches, and the silver shilling ``which is in the pocket in my breeches, and my liberty restore? hastily that garment searching, from its depths i fiercely tore ```but a 'bob,' and nothing more.= wrenched it from my trousers' pocket, while his eye within the socket gleamed and sparkled like a ``rocket, ```grimly rolled, and gloated o'er, glared upon me--vainly mining in my pockets' depths-- ``repining that its worn and threadbare lining ```_it_ should press, ah! never more.= [illustration: ] said i, while the coin revealing, "robert, i've a tender ``feeling for the force there's no concealing, and thy manly form ``adore; thee i ne'er to hurt or slay meant; take, oh! take this ``humble payment-- take thy grasp from off my raiment, and thy person from ``my door; though i like thee past expression, though i venerate the ``corps, ```fain i'd bid thee '_au revoir!_'= and i view with approbation that official's hesitation, for his carnal inclination with his duty was at war; but that peeler, though he muttered, knew which side his ``bread was buttered, but a word or two he uttered, and his choking grasp fore- ``bore-- and he, when his clutching fingers from their choking grasp ``forebore, ```vanished, and was seen no more.= oft at night when i'm returning, and the foot-path scarce ``discerning-- whiskey-fumes within me burning like a molten reservoir-- in imagination kneeling, oft in fancy i'm appealing to the kind and manly feeling of that giant trap once more-- to the tender kindly feeling of the trap i saw before-- ```vanished now for ever more!= lines by a (pawn)broken-hearted youth. [illustration: ] oh! take back the ticket thou gavest, and give me my watch and my ring, and may every sixpence thou savest be armed with a centipede's sting! o ! uncle, i never expected `such grief would result from my calls, when, hard-up, depressed, and dejected, `i came to the three golden balls.= i noticed thy free invitation-- `enticing (though brief)--"money lent i came to thee, oh, my relation, `for succour, for mine was all spent.= thine int'rest in me was affecting-- `i noticed a tear in thine eye, without for a moment suspecting `how _int'rest_ would tell by and bye.= it's true i'd been doing the heavy, `and going a trifle too fast; i've been a most dutiful 'nevvy,'-- `but, uncle, i know thee at last;= i brought thee a gun, and a pistol, `and borrowed a couple of pound, then exit, and cheerfully whistle `in time to my heart's happy bound.= i thought thee a regular "trimmer," `i thought thee a generous man; i drank to thy health in a brimmer, `and pretty nigh emptied the can.= i went with a mob "to do evil," `i laughed, and i danced, and i sang; bid sorrow fly off to the devil, `and care and depression go hang.= i looked on the vintage that's ruby, `i "looked on the wine" that "is red," but 'twasn't mere looking o'erthrew me, `or made it get into my head.= in spite of the israelite's warning, `in spite of what solomon said, you may _look_ from the dusk to the dawning, `and still toddle sober to bed.= away with such hollow pretences! `it wasn't from _watching_ the cup i lost the control of my senses, `or, falling, i couldn't get up.= destruction again was before me, `and empty once more was my purse, but thoughts of mine uncle came o'er me, `and withered my half-uttered curse.= i thought that the mines of australia `i'd found in the meanest of men, and, smoking a fearful "regalia," `i sought thine iniquitous den.= my walk, though a little unsteady, `was dignity tempered with grace; i playfully asked for the "ready," `and smiled in thy villainous face.= i brought thee my best sunday beaver, `and gorgeous habiliments new; my watch--such a fine english lever!-- `i left, unbe_liever_, with you.= i brought thee a coat--such a vestment! `'twas newly constructed by poole; i've found it a losing in_vestment_-- `oh! how could i be such a fool?= i told thee i hadn't a "stiver;" `i said i'd been "cutting it fat," and coolly demanded a "fiver,"-- `how thou must have chuckled at that!= thou wee can'st remember the morning `succeeding thy sabbath, thou jew! when cursing the year i was born in, `i felt the first turn of the screw.= and, hope from my bosom departing, `like dew from the rays of the sun, my wits the sad news were imparting `how i'd been deluded and done.= and, borne on the telegraph wire, `a message came swiftly to me; it said that my grey-headed sire `was pining his offspring to see.= how face my infuriate father-- `my property mortgaged and gone? for darkly his anger will gather; `i've hardly a rag to put on.= thine int'rest i cannot repay thee, `and gone are my coat and my hat; thou hast all my duds--i could slay thee! `oh! how could i be such a flat?= i brought thee each gift of my mother, `each gift of my generous aunt; the pistol belonged to my brother-- `i'd like to restore it, but can't:= for, uncle, thy fingers are sticky, `and, if the sad truth be confessed, thy heart is as false as the "dicky," `which covers my sorrowful breast.= i've managed the needful to borrow, `my watch and my ring to redeem; i hope that the sight of my sorrow `may cause thee a horrible dream.= [illustration: ] 'twere joy should i hear that the pistol `had burst in thy villainous hand-- while smoking the "bird's eye" of bristol, `my breast would dilate and expand.= i leave thee, for vain is resistance, `and little thou heedest my slang, but i'd barter ten years of existence `for power to cause thee a pang.= o! had i the wand of a wizard, `a nemesis cruel i'd bribe to torture that israelite's gizzard, `and caution the rest of his tribe.= o! ye who are fond of excitement, `ye students of med'cine and law, be warned by this awful indictment, `and never give moses your paw!= from moses who spoiled the egyptian, `to moses who buys your old clo', they're all of the self-same description-- `they take, but they never let go.= ye sons of the man on the barrel `(that's bacchus)--ye "monks of the screw!" don't mortgage your wearing apparel, `or have any truck with a jew;= but take to cold water and virtue, `and never, whatever befalls, let any false logic convert you `to visit the "three golden balls."= the ancient shepherd [illustration: ] |the shadows of the river gums `were stretching long and black, as, far from sydney's busy hum, `i trod the narrow track.= i watched the coming twilight spread, `and thought on many a plan; i saw an object on ahead-- `it seemed to be a man.= a venerable party sat `upon a fallen log; upon him was a battered hat, `and near him was a dog.= the look that o'er his features hung `was anything but sweet; his swag and "billy"a lay among `the grass beneath his feet.= and white and withered was his hair, `and white and wan his face; i'd rather not have ipet the pair `in such a lonely place.= i thought misfortune's heavy hand `had done what it could do; despair seemed branded on the man, `and on the dingo too.= a hungry look that dingo wore-- `he must have wanted prog-- i think i never saw before `so lean and lank a dog.= i said--"old man, i fear that you `are down upon your luck; you very much resemble, too, `a pig that has been stuck."= his answer wasn't quite distinct-- `(i'm sure it wasn't true): he said i was (at least, i think,) `"a"--something--"jackeroo!"= he said he didn't want my chaff, `and (with an angry stamp) declared i made too free by half `"a-rushing of his camp."= i begged him to be calm, and not `apologise to me; he told me i might "go to pot" `(wherever that may be);= and growled a muttered curse or two `expressive of his views of men and things, and squatters too, `new chums and jackeroos.= but economical he was `with his melodious voice; i think the reason was because `his epithets were choice.= i said--"old man, i fain would know `the cause of thy distress; what sorrows cloud thine aged brow `i cannot even guess.= "there's anguish on thy wrinkled face, `and passion in thine eye, expressing anything but grace, `but why, old man, oh! why?= "a sympathising friend you'll find `in me, old man, d'ye see? so if you've aught upon your mind `just pour it into me."= he gravely shook his grizzled head `i rather touched him there-- and something indistinct he said `(i think he meant to swear).= he made a gesture with his hand, `he saw i meant him well; he said he was a shepherd, and `"a takin' of a spell."= he said he was an ill-used bird, `and squatters they might be ------ (he used a very naughty word `commencing with a d.)= i'd read of shepherds in the lore `of thessaly and greece, and had a china one at home `upon the mantelpiece.= i'd read about their loves and hates, `as hot as yankee stoves, and how they broke each other's pates `in fair arcadian groves;= but nothing in my ancient friend `was like arcadian types: no fleecy flocks had he to tend, `no crook or shepherds' pipes.= no shepherdess was near at hand, `and, if there were, i guessed she'd never suffer that old man `to take her to his breast!= no raven locks had he to fall, `and didn't seem to me to be the sort of thing at all `a shepherd ought to be.= i thought of all the history. `i'd studied when a boy-- of paris and Ã�none, and `the siege of ancient troy.= i thought, could helen contemplate `this party on the log, she would the race of shepherds' hate `like brahmins hate a dog.= it seemed a very certain thing `that, since the world began, no shepherd ever was like him, `from paris down to pan.= i said--"old man, you've settled now `another dream of youth; i always understood, i vow, `mythology was truth= "until i saw thy bandy legs `and sorrow-laden brow, but, sure as ever eggs is eggs, `i cannot think so now.= "for, an a shepherd thou should'st be, `then very sure am i the man who wrote mythology `was guilty of a lie.= "but never mind, old man," i said, `"to sorrow we are born, so tell us why thine aged head `is bended and forlorn?"= with face as hard as silas wegg's `he said, "young man, here goes." he lit his pipe, and crossed his legs, `and told me all his woes.= he said he'd just been "lammin'-down" `a flock of maiden-ewes, and then he'd had a trip to town `to gather up the news;= but while in bathurst's busy streets `he got upon the spree, and publicans was awful cheats `for soon "lamm'd down" was he.= he said he'd "busted up his cheque" `(what's that, i'd like to know?) and now his happiness was wrecked, `to work he'd got to go.= he'd known the time, not long ago, `when half the year he'd spend in idleness, and comfort too, `a-camping in a "bend."= no need to tread the weary track, `or work his strength away; he lay extended on his back `each happy summer day.= when sun-set comes and day-light flags, `and dusky looms the scrub, he'd bundle up his ration-bags `and toddle for his grub,= and to some station-store he'd go `and get the traveller's dower-- "a pint o' dust"--that was his low `expression meaning flour;= but now he couldn't cadge about, `for squatters wasn't game to give their tea and sugar out `to every tramp that came.= the country's strength, he thought, was gone, `or going very fast, and feeding tramps now ranked among `the glories of the past.= he'd seen the "yanko" in its pride, `when every night a host of hungry tramps at supper tried `for who could eat the most.= a squatter then had feelin's strong `and tender in his breast, and if a trav'ller came along `he'd ask him in to rest.= "but squatters now!"----he stamped the soil, `and muttered in his beard, he wished they'd got a whopping boil `for every sheep they sheared!= his language got so very bad-- `it couldn't well be worse, for every second word he had `now seemed to be a curse.= and shaking was his withered hand `with passion, not with age-- i never thought so old a man `could get in such a rage.= his eyes seemed starting from his head, `they glared in such a way; and half the wicked words he said `i shouldn't like to say;= but from his language i inferred `there wasn't one in three, of squatters worth that little word `commencing with a "d."= alas! for my poetic lore, `i fear it was astray, it never said that shepherds swore, `or talked in such a way.= the knotted cordage of his brow `was tightened in a frown-- he seemed the sort of party, now, `to burn a wool-shed down.= he told me, further, and his voice `grew very plaintive here, that now he'd got to make the choice `and _work_, or give up beer!= from heavy toil he'd always found `'twas healthiest to keep, and mostly stuck to cadgin' round, `and lookin' after sheep.= but shepherdin' was nearly "cooked"-- `i think he meant to say that shepherds' prospects didn't look `in quite a hopeful way.= a new career he must begin, `(and fresh it roused his ire) for squatters they was fencin' in `with that infernal wire;= and sheep was paddocked everywhere-- `'twas like them squatters' cheek!-- and shepherds now, for all they'd care, `might go to cooper's creek.= he said he couldn't use an axe, `and wouldn't if he could; he'd see 'em blistered on their backs `'fore he'd go choppin' wood;= that nappin' stones, or shovellin', `warn't good enough for he, and work it was a cussed thing `as didn't ought to be.= he'd known the lachlan, man and boy, `for close on forty year, but now they'd pisoned every joy, `he thought it time to clear.= they gave him sorrow's bitter cup, `and filled his heart with woe, and now at last his back was up, `he felt he ought to go.= he'd heard of regions far away `across the barren plains, where shepherds might be blythe and gay `and bust the squatters' chains.= to reach that land he meant to try, `he didn't care a cuss, if 'twasn't any better, why, `it couldn't be much wuss.= amongst the blacks, though old and grey, `existence he'd begin, and give his ancient hand away `in marriage to a "gin."= [illustration: ] he really was so old and grim, `the thought was in my mind, that any gin to marry him `would have to be stone blind.= 'twould make an undertaker smile: `what tickled me was this, the thought of such an ancient file `indulging in a kiss!= and, if it's true, as shakespeare said, `that equal justice whirls, he ought to think of nick instead `of thinking of the girls.= then drooped his grim and aged head, `and closed that glaring eye, and not another word he said `.except a grunt or sigh.= more lean he looks and still more lank `such changes o'er him pass, and down his ancient body sank `in slumber on the grass.= i thought, old chap, you're wearing out, `and not the sort of coon to lead a blushing bride about, `or spend a honeymoon;= or if, indeed, there were a bride `for such a withered stick, with such a tough and wrinkled hide, `that bride should be old nick.= as streaks of faintish light began `to mark the coming day, i left that grim and aged man `and slowly stole away.= and when the winter nights are rough, `and shrieking is the wind, or when i've eaten too much duff `and dreams afflict my mind,= i see that lean and withered hand, `and, 'mid the gloom of night, i see the face of that old man, `and horrid is the sight:= [illustration: ] while on my head in agony `up rises every hair, i see again his glaring eye-- `in fancy hear him swear.= at breakfast time, when i come down `to take that pleasant meal, with pallid face, and haggard frown, `into my place i steal;= and when they say i'm far from bright, `the truth i dare not tell: i say i've passed a sleepless night, `and don't feel very well.= [illustration: ] where is freedom? |oh! mother, say, for i long to know, where doth the tree of freedom grow, and strike its roots in the heart of man as deep and far as the famed banyan? is it 'mid those groups in the southern seas, in the coral isles, or the far fijis, where the restless billows seeth and toss 'neath the gleaming light of the southern cross? ``"not there--not there, my child."= then tell me, mother, can it be where the cry of "liberty" rends the air? where grow the maize and the maple tree, in the fertile "bottoms" of tennessee? or is it up where the north winds roar, away by the fair canadian shore, where the indians shriek with insane halloos-- as drunk as owls in their bark canoes? ``"not there--not there, my child." or is it back in the western states, where colt's revolver rules the fates, and judges lounge in a liquor shop while dean and adams's pistols pop? where justice is but a shrivelled ghost as deaf and blind as a stockyard post, and license sits upon freedom's chair-- oh, say, dear mother, can it be there? ``"not there--not there, my child."= is it on the banks of the wild paroo, where the emu stalks, and the kangaroo bounds o'er the sand-hills free and light, and the dingo howls through the sultry night; where the native gathers the nardoo-seed for his frugal meal; and the centipede-- while the worn-out traveller lies inert, invades the folds of his flannel shirt? ``"not there--not there, my child."= is it where yon death-like stillness reigns o'er the vast expanse of the salt-bush plains, where the shepherd leaveth his leicester ewes for the firm embrace of his noon-tide snooze, and the most enchanting visions come to his thirsty spirit of queensland rum, while the sun rays strike through his garments scant-- is it there, dear mother, this wond'rous plant? ``"not there--not there, my child."= or southward, down where our brethren hold those keys of power, rich mines of gold-- that land of rumour and vague reports, alluvial diggings, and reefs of quartz-- where brokers give you the straightest "tip," and let in in the way of "scrip;" where all men vapour, and vaunt, and boast, and manhood suffrage rules the roast? ``"not there--not there, my child."= is it where the blasts of the simoom fan, the blazing valleys of hindustan; where the dervish howls, and their dupes are fleeced by the swarth parsee, and the brahmin priest; where men believe in their toddy-bowls, and the transmigration of human souls, and the monkeys battle with countless fleas on the twisted boughs of the tamarind trees? ``"not there--not there, my child."= [illustration: ] or is it more to the northward, more toward the ice-bound rivers of labrador, where the glittering curtain of gleaming snow enshrouds the home of the esquimaux; or further still to the north, away where the bones of the artic heroes lay long, long on the icy surface bare, to bleach and dry in the frosty air? ``"not there--not there, my child."= then is it, mother, among the trees that shade the paths in the tuilleries, where the students walk with the pale grisettes, and scent the air with their cigarettes? or doth it bloom in that atmosphere of mild tobacco and lager beer, where gutteral curses mingle too with the croupiers patter of "_faites votre jeu?_" ``"not there--not there, my child."= "boy, 'tis a plant that loves to blow where the fading rays of the sunset go; up where the sun-light never sets, and angels tootle their flageolets; up through the fleecy clouds, and far beyond the track of the farthest star, where the silvery echoes catch no tone of a simmering sinner's stifling groan: 'tis there--'tis there, my child!" [illustration: ] [illustration: ] countless sheep and countless cattle ``o'er his vast enclosures roam; but you heard no children prattle ``'round that squatter's hearth and home.= older grew that squatter, older, ``solitary and alone, and they said his heart was colder ``than a granite pavin'-stone.= other squatters livin handy, ``wot had daughters in their prime. for that squatter "shouted" brandy ``in the township many a time;= and those gals kept introdoocin' ``in their toilets every art with the object of sedoocin' ``that old sinner's stony heart.= thus they often made exposures ``of their ankles, i'll be bound, when they, in his vast enclosures, ``met that squatter ridin' round.= their advances he rejected, ``scornin' both their hands and hearts, 'till one day a cove selected ``forty acres in those parts.= and that stalwart free-selector ``had the handsomest of gals; conduct couldn't be correcter ``than his youngest daughter sal's.= prettily her head she tosses-- ``loves a thing she don't regard; rides the most owdacious hosses ``wot was ever in a yard.= she was lithe and she was limber-- ``farmers daughter every inch-- not averse to sawin' timber ``with her father at a pinch.= in remotest dells and dingles, ``where most gals would be afraid, there she went a-splittin shingles, ``pretty tidy work she made.= [illustration: ] and that free selector's daughter, ``driving of her father's cart, made the very wildest slaughter ``in that wealthy squatter's heart.= he proposed, and wasn't blighted, ``took her to his residence, with his bride he was delighted ``for she saved him much expense.= older grew that aged squatter, ``white and grizzly grew his pate, 'till his weak rheumatic trotters ``couldn't bear their owner's weight.= then he grew more helpless, 'till he ``couldn't wash and couldn't shave, and one evening cold and chilly ``he was carried to his grave.= then that free selector's daughter ``came right slap "out of her shell;" calm and grave as folks had thought her, ``she becomes a howling swell.= to the neighb'ring township drove she ``in her chariot and pair, splendid dreams and visions wove she ``while she braided up her hair.= she peruses sydney papers, ``sees a paragraph which tells her benighted soul the capers ``cut down there by nobs and swells;= then she couldn't stop contented ``in a region such as this, while the atmosphere she scented ``of the great metropolis.= her intention she imparted ``to the neighbours round about; packed her duds, farewell'd, and started, ``and for sydney she set out.= now her pantin' bosom hankers ``spicily her form to deck, so she sought her husband's bankers ``and she drew a heavy cheque.= she, of course, in dress a part spent, ``satins, sables, silk and grebe, and she took some swell apartments ``situated near the glebe.= with the very highest classes ``in her heart she longed to jine-- her opinion placed the masses ``lower in the scale than swine.= but she found it wasn't easy ``climbin' up ambition's slope; slippy was the road, and greasy, ``to the summit of her hope.= if into a "set" she wriggled, ``she'd capsize some social rule, then those parties mostly giggled, ``loadin' her with ridicule.= many an awkward solecism-- ``many a breach of etiquette, (though she knew her catechism) ``often made her eyelids wet.= her plebeian early trainin' ``was a precious pull-back then, which prevented her from gainin' ``footin' with the "upper ten."= strugglin' after social fame was ``simply killin' her out-right, so she settled that the game was ``hardly worth the candle-light.= things got worse and things got worser, ``'till she had a vision strange, the forerunner and precurser ``of a most decided change.= in a dream she saw the station ``where her father now was boss, and his usual occupation ``was to ride a spavined hoss.= round inspectin' every shepherd ``with his penetratin' sight, and those underlings got peppered ``if he found things wasn't right.= when she saw her grey-haired sire ``"knockin' round" among the sheep, for her home a strong desire ``made her yell out in her sleep.= then she saw herself in fancy ``in her strange fantastic dream, with her elder sister nancy, ``yokin up the bullock team.= up out of her sleep she started, ``and the tears came to her eyes; she was almost broken-hearted, ``to her waitin' maid's surprise.= she was sad and penitential, ``like the prodigal of old, so she got a piece of pencil ``and her state of mind she told= to her grey and aged father ``in that far outlandish place; and she told him that she'd rather ``like to see his wrinkled face.= then that quondam free-selector ``shed the biggest tears of joy; when he knew he might expect her ``his was bliss without alloy.= home came sarah, just as one fine ``day in may was near its close, and the fadin' rays of sunshine ``glinted oil her father's nose.= she beheld it glowing brightly; ``filial yearning was intense; so she made a rush and lightly ``cleared the four-foot paddock fence. [illustration: ] hugged he her in fond embraces; ``kissed she him with many a kiss; and she busted her stay-laces ``in an ecstasy of bliss.= then she wept with sorrow, thinkin', ``from the colour of his face, that her parent had been drinkin', ``which was probably the case.= but he, when he found his coat all ``wet with many a filial tear, took a solemn pledge tee-total ``to abstain from rum and beer.= then she went and sought her sisters, ``judy, nancy, and the rest; on their faces she raised blisters ``with the kisses she impressed.= and she once more _con amore_ ``"cottoned " to the calves and sheep, likewise for her parent hoary ``she professed affection deep.= lavished on him fond caresses, ``stuck to him like cobbler's-wax, cut up all her stylish dresses ``into garments for the blacks.= all her talents were befitted ``to a rough-and-tumble life, and from sheep to sheep she flitted ``when the "scab" and "fluke" were rife.= sarah's heart was soft and tender, ``her repentance was complete, never sighed she more for splendour, ``for the "block" or george's-street.= many a "back-block" lady-killer, ``many a wealthy squatter's son, wanted her to "douse the wilier," ``but she wasn't to be won.= for that free-selector's daughter ``said, when settled in her home, she'd be (somethinged) if they caught her ``venturin' again to roam.= [illustration: ] the cattle muster. the night camp. |the song goes round, we yarn and chaff, and cheerily the bushman's laugh rolls through the forest glade. the hobbled horses feed around, we hear the horse-bell's tinkling sound; the sand beneath their feet is ground, as in the creek they wade. we hear them crunch the juicy grass-- the water gleams like polished glass, beneath the moon's bright ray. mosquitos form in solid cloud-- they sting and sing, both sharp and loud; around the prostrate forms they crowd, and keep repose at bay. we watch the stars shine over head, and lounge upon the bushman's bed-- a blanket on the ground. each feels himself dame nature's guest, our heads upon our saddles rest; at length, with weariness oppressed, we sink in sleep profound. we sleep as only weary ones among hard-handed labour's sons, with minds at rest from debts and duns-- as only these can do-- until the daylight's first faint streak has lightly touched the distant peak, and o'er us where the branches creak, is slowly creeping through. reluctantly with sleep we strive, and hear the call to "look alive"! we soon desert the camp. the horses caught and blankets rolled, the "super's" brief instructions told-- we mount, and scarce our steeds can hold, impatiently they stamp.= the muster. |we ford the creek and need no bridge, and climb a steep and scrubby ridge, and then, boys, there's a sight!-- the "gully," by the sun unkist, beneath lies rolled in gleaming mist and flowing waves of light; as yet untouched by noon-tide heat, like rocks where broken waters meet, 'tis wrapped as by a winding sheet in billows fleecy white. onward, and soon the sun's fierce rays will dissipate the morning haze-- he soars in fiery pomp. we skirt the shallow "clay-pan's" marge, force "lignum" thickets, dense and large, and often-times we briskly charge some dark "yapunya-swamp." we gather first a quiet lot, then off again with hurried trot upon our toilsome tramp. each gully, range, and hill we beat, charge every horned thing we meet-- with ringing shout and gallop fleet-- and "run" then "on the camp." the shaggy herd increases fast; we know by lengthened shadows cast time too has galloped hard; 'twill try our powers, howe'er we strive, this most rebellious mob to drive, e're night-fall, to the yard.= the run home. |the order comes,--"each to his place!" and homeward now at length we face. the frightened monsters roar; some tear the unresisting ground, and some with frantic rush and bound (half maddened by the stockwhip's sound) each other fiercely gore! we spread along the scattered line, some on the "wings," and some behind, and steer them as we can. there's but one pass through yonder hill; to guide them there will need some skill, and try both horse and man. some hidden object checks them there; the leaders snuff the wind, and glare, then bellowing with their tails in air, swerve madly to the right. a stockman hears our voices ring; with easy stretch and supple spring, his horse bears down along their wing, the living mass he wheels: too close he presses; at the sight one "breaks" and bellows with affright; dick swoops upon him, like a kite; the cutting thong he deals; it falls with heavy sounding thwack-- such din those mountain gullies black have scarce or never heard. he knows his work, that well-trained hack, nor heeds the stockwhip's echoing crack, and sullenly the bull turns back, to join the hurrying herd. "look out!" a warning voice has said, "there's 'mulga,' boys, and right ahead!" and now begins the rub; from some their garments will be stripped, and saddle-flaps and "knee-pads" ripped, and horses' feet in holes be tripped, before they clear the scrub. you, stockmen from the murray's side, who through the "mallee" boldly ride, beware the "mulga-stake!" 'tis strong and tough as bullock-hide, nor will, like "mallee," turn aside; but, in its savage, sylvan pride, will neither _bend_ nor _break!_ once through the scrub, we don't care how things go; we've got them steadied now and haven't lost a beast-- and, far as ranges human eye, the plains are level as a die-- our toil has nearly ceased. the sun goes down, the day-light fails, but now we near the stockyard rails-- we've one sharp struggle more. one half the mob have never been (forced from those gullies cool and green) in "branding-yard" before! we jam them at the open space; they ring around, and fear to face the widely open gate. whips crack, and voices shout in vain; the cattle "ring," and strive again to force a passage to the plain. impatiently we wait, till one old charger glares around, and snuffing cautiously the ground stalks through between the posts. with lowered heads the others "bore" and jam, and squeeze, and blindly gore; and with a hollow muttered roar pour in those horned hosts! those posts are fourteen inches through-- they creak, and groan, and tremble too, before that pouring rush! they're in at last, the gates are shut; and falls o'er paddock, yard, and hut, a calm nocturnal hush.= [illustration: ] in youth he met with sad rebuffs, ``hard, hard was william's lot, and most unnecessary cuffs ``and kicks he often got.= at length one night both dark and black ``a window he got through, and with fresh _weals_ upon his back ``he joined a whaler's crew.= he learnt to "hand," and "reef," and steer, ``and knew the compass pat; he learnt to honour and revere ``the boatswain and his "cat."= he went to every coral isle ``down in the southern seas, where dark-eyed beauties beam and smile ``beneath the bread-fruit trees.= his foot was firm upon the deck ``as norval's on his heath; he dared the tempest and the wreck ``for whale and walrus teeth.= he braved pacific foam and spray, ``for oil and bêche-le-mer, till he grew ugly, old, and grey, ``an ancient mariner.= his face got red, and blue, and pink ``with grog and weather stains; he looked much like the _missin_ link ``when in the _mizen_ chains.= [illustration: ] ii. |bill blubber's gone, and he'll be missed ``by all on british soil; be aisy now and hold your _whist_, ``he'll go no more for _hoyle!_= no more he'll see the billows curl ``in north atlantic gales; no more the keen harpoon he'll hurl ``at spermaceti whales.= ah! never more he'll heave the log-- ``a harsh decree was fate's; he took an over-dose of grog ``when up in _be(e)hring_ straits.= death blew a bitter blast and chill ``which struck his sails aback, and round the corse of workhouse bill ``they wound a _union_ jack.= a "longing, lingering look" they cast, ``then sewed him in a bag, and half way up the lofty mast ``they hoist the drooping flag.= his mess-mates crossways tossed the yards, ``askew they hung the sails, eschewed tobacco, rum, and cards, ``and filled the ship with wails= the grief-struck skipper drank some grog, ``of solace he had need, and made an entry in the log ``no livin' soul could read.= and then a ghastly laugh he laughed ``his spirits to exhalt, and then he called the boatswain aft ``and _mustered_ every _salt_= the whalers gave one final howl, ``and cursed their hard, hard lucks; they came, and though the wind was _foul,_ ``they wore their whitest _ducks._= [illustration: ] the captain--kindest, best of men-- ``strove hard his breath to catch; (crouched like an incubating hen, ``upon the after-_hatch_).= he said as how the time was come ``to bill to say good-bye; and tears of water and of rum, ``stood in each manly eye.= said he, "my lads, dispel this gloom, ``"bid grief and sorrow halt; "for if the sea must be his tomb, ``"d'ye see it aint his _f(v)ault_.= "' tis true we'll never see his like ``"at 'cutting in' a whale-- "at usin knife an' marlin-spike, ``"but _blubber_ won't _avail_.= "soh! steady lads, belay all that! ``"'vast heaving sobs and sighs; "don't never go to 'whip the cat' ``"for william, bless his eyes!= "i knew him lads when first he shipped, ``"and this is certain, that "though william by the 'cat ' was whipped, ``"he never '_whipped the cat!_" = the skipper read the service through, ``and snivelled in his sleeve, while calm and still, old work'us bill ``awaits the final heave.= he had no spicy hearse and three, ``no gay funereal car; but, at the word, souse in the sea ``they _pitch_ that luckless _tar_.= short-handed then those whalemen toil ``upon their oily cruise, and many and many a _cruse_ of oil ``for want of bill they lose.= the mate and captain in despair ``his cruel fate deplore; his mess-mates swore they never were ``in such a _mess_ before.= the crew, who had a bitter cup ``to drink with their salt-horse, when next they hauled the mainsel up, ``bewailed his _missin corse_. *= ```*mizen-course o' course. alas! his corpse had downward sunk, ``his soul hath upward sped, and will hath left a sailor's 'bunk' ``to share an oyster's bed.= we hope his resting place will suit-- ``we trust he's happy now-- laid where the pigs can never root, ``lulled by the ocean's sough.= [illustration: ] [illustration: ] _this_ christmas-eve? this stifling night? ``the leaves upon the trees? the temperature by farenheit ``some ninety odd degrees?= ah me! my thoughts were off at score ``to christmases i've passed, before upon this southern shore ``my weary lot was cast.= to christmases of ice and snow, ``and stormy nights and dark; to holly-boughs and mistletoe, ``and skating in the park= to vast yule-logs and yellow fogs ``of the vanished days of yore-- to the keen white frost, and the home that's lost, ``the home that's mine no more.= 'twas passing nice through snow and ice ``to drive to distant "hops," but here, alas! the only ice ``is in the bars and shops!= i've christmased since those palmy days ``in many a varied spot, and suffered many a weary phase ``of christmas cold and hot.= when cherished hopes were stricken down- ``hopes born but to be lost-- and when the world's chill blighting frown ``seemed colder than the frost.= 'tis hard to watch--when from within ``the heart all hope has flown-- the old year out, the new year in, ``unfriended and alone= when whispers seem to rise and tell ``of scenes you used to know-- you almost hear the very bells ``you heard so long ago.= i've christmased in a leaky tub ``where briny billows roll, and christmased in the mulga scrub ``beside a water-hole.= with ague in my aching joints, ``and in my quivering bones; my bed, the rough uneven points ``of sharp and jaggèd stones.= where life a weary burden was ``with all the varied breeds of creeping things with pointed stings, ``and snakes, and centipedes.= 'twas not a happy christmas that: ``how can one happy be with bull-dog ants inside your hat, ``and black ants in your tea?= australian child, what cans't thou know ``of christmas in its prime? not flower-wreathed, but wreathed in snow, ``as in yon northern clime.= thou hast not seen the vales and dells ``arrayed in gleaming white, nor heard the sledge's silver bells ``go tinkling through the night.= for thee no glittering snow-storm whirls; ``thou hast instead of this only the dust-storm's eddying swirls-- ``the hot-wind's scalding kiss!= what can'st thou know of frozen lakes, ``or hyde--that park divine? for, though by no means lacking _snakes_, ``thou hast no "_serpentine_."= thou hast not panted, yearned to cut ``strange figures out with skates, nor practised in the water-butt, ``nor heard those dismal "waits."= for thee no "waits" lugubrious voice ``breaks forth in plaintive wail; rejoice, australian child, rejoice! ``that balances the scale.= ***** i see in fancy once again ``the london streets at night-- trafalgar square, st. martin's lane-- ``each well remembered sight.= past twelve! and nature's winding-sheet ``is over street and square, and silently now fall the feet, ``of those who linger there.= i see a wretch with hunger bold ``(an ishmaelite 'mong men) crawl from some hovel dark and cold-- ``some foul polluted den--= a wretch who never learnt to pray, ``and wearily he drags his life along from day to day ``in wretchedness and rags.= i see a wandering carriage lamp ``glide silently and slow; the night-policeman's heavy tramp ``is muffled by the snow.= i hear the mournful chaunt ascend ``('tis meaningless to you) "we're frozen out, hard-working men, ``we've got no work to do!"= all, all the many sounds and sights ``come trooping through my brain of london streets, and winter nights, ``and pleasure mixed with pain.= be happy you who have a home, ``be happy while you may, for sorrow's ever quick to come, ``and slow to pass away.= your churches and your dwellings deck ``with ferns and flowers fair; i would not breathe a word to check ``the mirth i cannot share.= for, though my barque's a shattered hull, ``and i could be at best but like the famed egyptian skull, ``a mirth-destroying guest,= i would not play the cynic's part, ``nor at _thy_ pleasure sneer-- i wish thee, reader, from my heart, ``a happy, glad new year.= echo verses. |some years ago i chanced upon a magazine article containing a dissertation upon a now almost obsolete kind of versification, much affected by ben jonson and some of the last century poets, in which the first two or three lines of each verse ask a question, and the echo of the concluding words gives an answer more or less appropriate. an amusing example was given in the article above mentioned, which was equally rough on the great violinist of the past and his audience, thus: ``"what are they who pay six guineas ``to hear a string of paganini's?" ```(echo) "_pack 'o ninnies!_" i read this and a few other examples, and was straightway stricken with a desire to emulate this eccentric and somewhat difficult species of versification, and now with considerable diffidence, and a choking prayer for mercy at the hands of the critic, i lay my attempt before the reader. the following echo-verses are not on any account whatever to be understood as reflecting on the present or any past government of this colony. they are merely to be taken as shadowing forth a state of things possible in the remote future. what an echo told the author. author, musing: `our land hath peace, prosperity, and rhino, ``and legislators true, and staunch, and tried-- `what trait have they, that is not pure--divine oh? ```(echo interposing) "_i know!_" ``what is it, if thus closely thou hast pried? ```"_pride!_" `if thus into their hearts thou hast been prying, ``thy version of the matter prithee paint; `tell us, i pray, on what are they relying? ```"_lying!_" ``i thought their honour was without a taint-- ```"' _taint!_" `have they forgotten all their former glories? ``their virtue--what hath chanced its growth to stunt? `oh! wherefore should they change their ancient mores? ```"_more ease!_" ``what weapon makes the sword of justice blunt? ```"_blunt!_" * ```* coin thou would'st not speak thus, wert thou now before 'em: ``why do i heed, why listen to thy tale? can'st purchase, then, the honour of the forum? ```_for rum!_" ``and what would blind dame justice with her scale? ```"_ale!"_ beware! the fame of senators thou'rt crushing! ``too flippantly thou givest each retort. what are they doing while for their shame i'm blushing? ```"_lushing!_" ``and drinking?--pray continue thy report-- ```_port_ curse on these seeds of death, and those who sow them `but there's another thing i'd fain be told-- what of the masses, the canaille below them? ```"_b-low them!_" `thou flippant one! how is the mob consoled? "_sold!_" now, by stout alexander's sword, or `rather by his holiness the pope! ``by what means keep they matters in this order? ```"_sawder!_" ``with what do they sustain the people's hope? ```"_soap!_" take they indeed no passing thought, no care or `heed of what for safety should be done? what brought about this modern reign of terror? ```"_error!_" `is there no hope for thee, my land, mine own? ```"_none!"_ base love of liquor, ease, and lucre, this it `is which coileth round her, link on link; dark is her hope, e'en as the grave we visit! ```"`_is it?_" `of what black illustration can i think? ```"_ink!_" alas my country! shall i not undeceive her? `shall i not strike one patriotic blow? i'd help her had i but the means, the lever-- ```"_leave her!_" `may we not hope? speak echo, thou must know-- ```"_no!_" then shall be heard--when, round us slowly creeping, `shall come this adverse blast to fill our sails-- instead of mirth, while hope aside 'tis sweeping-- ```"_weeping!_" `instead of songs of praise in new south wales-- ```"_wails!_" [illustration: ] |the following ballad suggested itself to the author while in the remote interior and suffering from a severe attack of indigestion, he having rashly partaken of some damper made by a remorseless and inexperienced new-chum. those who do not know what ponderous fare this particular species of bush-luxury is when ill-made may possibly think the sub-joined incidents a little over-drawn. if a somewhat gloomy atmosphere be found pervading the narrative, it is to be attributed to the fact that all the horrors of dyspepsia shadowed the author's soul at the time it was written, and, if further extenuation be required, it may be stated that he had previously been going through a course of gloomy and marrow-freezing literature, commencing with edgar poe's "raven," and winding up with the crowning atrocity (or _alba_trossity) which saddened the declining years of coleridge's ancient mariner. the shepherd's vengeance, fytte the first. |the squatter kings of new south wales-- ``the squatter kings who reign o'er rocky hill, and scrubby ridge, o'er swamp, and salt-bush plain-- fenced in their runs, and coves applied for shepherding in vain.= the squatters said that closed should be ``to tramps each station-store; that parties on the "cadging suit" ``should ne'er have succour more; and when bill the shepherd heard the same ``he bowed his neck and swore.= now, though that ancient shepherd felt ``so mad he couldn't speak, no sighs escape his breast, no tears ``from out his eyelids leak, but he swore upon the human race ``a black revenge to wreak.= he brooded long, and a fiendish light ``lit up the face of bill; he saw the way to work on men ``a dark and grievous ill, and place them far beyond the aid ``of senna, salts, or pill.= he hied him to his lonely hut ``by a deep dark, lakelet's shore; he passed beneath its lowly roof-- ``he shut and locked the door; and he emptied out his flour bag ``upon the hard clay floor.= awhile he eyed the mighty mound ``with dark, malignant zeal, and then, a shovel having found, ``"their fates," said he, "i'll seal"; and he made a "damper" broad and round ``as a roman chariot-wheel.= he soddened it with water drawn ``from out that black lagoon, and he smiled to think that those who ate ``a piece of it would soon be where they'd neither see the light ``of sun, nor stars, nor moon.= f or when that damper came to be ``dug from its glowing bed, its fell specific gravity ``was far o'er gold or lead, and a look of satisfaction o'er ``that shepherd's features spread.= fytte the second. |the shepherd sat by the gloomy shore ``of the black and dark lagoon; his face was lit, and his elf-locks hoar ``by the rays of the rising moon.= [illustration: ] his hand was clenched, and his visage wore ``a deadly frown and black, and his eye-balls glare, for a stranger fair ``is wending down the track.= the shepherd hath bidden the stranger halt ``with courtesy and zeal, and hath welcomed him to his low roof-tree, ``and a share of his evening meal.= as the fare he pressed on his hungry guest, ``and thought of its deadly weight, with savage glee he smiled for he ``imagined his after fate.= the stranger hath eaten his fill i ween ``of that fell and gruesome cake, and hath hied him away in the moon-light's sheen ``for a stroll by the deep, dark lake;= for he thought he'd lave each stalwart limb ``in the wavelet's curling crest, and take a dive and a pleasant swim ``'ere he laid him down to rest.= the coat that covered his ample chest ``on the lakelet's marge he threw; his hat, his boots, and his flannel-vest, ``and his moleskin trowsers too.= he hummed a tune, and he paused awhile ``to hear the night-owl sing; his ears were cocked, and his palms were locked, ``prepared for the final spring.= an unsuspecting look he cast ``at the objects on the shore-- a splash! a thud! and beneath the flood ``he sank to rise no more!= the shepherd saw from his lonely hut ``the dread catastrophé; a notch on a withered stick he cut-- ``"that's number one," said he,= "but, if i live 'till to-morrow's sun ``"shall gild the blue-gum tree, "with more, i'll stake my soul, that cake ``"of mine will disagree."= then down he sat by his lonely hut ``that stood by the lonely track, to the lakelet nigh, and a horse came by ``with a horse-man on his back.= and lean and lank was the traveller's frame ``that sat on that horse's crup: 'twas long i ween since the wight had seen ``the ghost of a bite or sup.= "oh! give me food!" to the shepherd old ``with plaintive cry he cried; a mildewed crust or a pint o'dust * ``or a mutton cutlet fried.= "in sooth in evil case am i, ``fatigue and hunger too have played the deuce with my gastric juice, ``it's 'got no work to do.'= "i've come o'er ridges of burning sand ``that gasp for the cooling rain, where the orb of day with his blinding ray ``glares down on the salt-bush plain= * flour. "o'er steaming valley, lagoon, and marsh ``where the sun strikes down 'till, phew! the very eels in the water feels ``a foretaste of a stew.= "i hungered long 'till my wasting form ``was a hideous sight to view; but fit on a settler's fence to sit ``to scare the cockatoo.= "my hair grew rank, and my eyeballs sank ``'till--wasted, withered, and thin-- the ends and points of my jarring joints ``stuck out through my parched up skin.= "shrunk limb and thew, 'till at length i grew ``as thin as a gum-tree rail; at the horrid sight of my hideous plight ``each settler's face turned pale:= "and as i travelled the mulga scrubs, ``and forced a passage through i scared the soul of the native black ``a gathering his 'nardoo.'= "on snake or lizard i'd fain have fed, ``but piteous was my plight, and the whole of the brute creation fled ``in horror at the sight.= "scrub turkeys, emus, i appall; ``their eggs i longed to poach, but they _collared their eggs, their nests and all, ``and fled at my approach!_ [illustration: ] "and the possums 'streaked' it up the trees, ``and frightened the young gallârs, and all the hairs on the native-bears ``stood stiff as iron bars!"= the shepherd came from his low roof-tree ``and gazed at the shrunken wight; he gave him welcome courteously, ``and jested at his plight.= he led the traveller 'neath his roof, ``and gazed in his wan, worn face, where want was writ, and he bid him sit ``on an empty 'three-star' case.= and a smile of evil import played ``on the face of ancient bill as some of the damper down he laid, ``and bid him take his fill.= with mute thanksgiving in his breast ``the food the stranger tore; piece after piece he closely pressed ``down on the piece before.= and then--his heart fresh buoyed with hope-- ``essayed to mount his steed, but the horse shut flat as an opera-hat ``with the weight of his master's feed;= and horse and man sunk through the sod ``some sixty feet or less! no crust, i swear, of the earth could bear ``the weight of the gruesome mess!= [illustration: ] then the shepherd grinned with a grizzly grin ``as he notched his stick again; the night passed by and the sun rose high ``and glared on the salt-bush plain.= two "gins" set forth in a bark canoe ``to traverse the gloomy lake, and he bid them take enough for two, ``for lunch, of the deadly cake.= [illustration: ] enough for two! 'twas enough i ween ``to settle the hash of four, for the barque o'er-flowed with the crushing load-- ``they sank to rise no more.= and ever his fiendish lust for blood-- ``his thirst for vengeance grows; in sport he threw a crumb or two ``to the hawks and carrion crows;= and as they helpless, fluttering lay, ``his eldrich laughter rings; one crumb to bear through the lambent air ``was past the power of wings.= beside his door he sat 'till noon ``when a bullock-team came by; the echoes 'round with the whips resound, ``and the drivers' cheery cry.= upon the dray a piece he threw ``no bigger than your hand, of the cursed thing, 'twas enough to bring ``the bullocks to a stand.= and, though they bend their sinewy necks ``'till red with their crimson gore, and fiercely strain yoke, pole, and chain ``with savage, muttering roar,= the wheels sank down to the axle-tree-- ``through the hard baked clay they tore, and a single jot from out that spot ``they shifted never more.= then the shepherd called to the drivers, "ho! ``my frugal meal partake." and, though they ate but a crumb or two ``of the fell, unholy cake,= down, down they sank on the scorching track, ``immovable and prone, and _steel blue ants crawled up their pants ``and ate them to the bone!_= ***** for days by his lonely hut sat bill, ``the hut to the lakelet nigh, and he wrought his dark revengeful will ``on each traveller that came by.= and he eats nor drinks meat, bread, nor gruel, ``nor washes, nor combs, nor shaves, but he yelled, and he danced a wild pas seul ``o'er each of his victims' graves. [illustration: ] three weeks passed by, but his end was nigh-- ``his day was near its close, for rumour whispered his horrid deeds, ``and in arms the settlers rose.= they came, hinds, shepherds, and shearers too, ``and squatters of high degree; his hands they tied, and his case they tried ``'neath the shade of a blue gum tree.= they sentence passed, and they gripped him fast, ``though to tear their flesh he tried; his teeth he ground, but his limbs they bound ``with thongs of a wild bull's hide.= they laid him down on a "bull-dog's" nest, ``for the bull-dog ants to sting; on his withered chest they pile the rest ``of the damnèd cursèd thing.= they gather round and they stir the ground ``'till the insects swarm again, and the echoes wake by the gloomy lake ``with his cry of rage and pain.= o'er his writhing form the insects swarm-- ``o'er arm, o'er foot, and leg; the damper pressed on his heaving chest, ``and he couldn't move a peg.= 'till eve he lay in the scorching heat, ``and the rays of the blinding sun, then the black-ants came and they soon complete ``what the bull-dogs have begun.= [illustration: ] 'tis o'er at last, and his spirit passed ``with a yell of fiendish hate, and down by the shore of that black lagoon, ``where his victims met their fate--= where the "bunyip" glides, and the inky tides ``lip, lap on the gloomy shore, and the loathsome snake of the swamp abides, ``he wanders ever more.= and when the shadows of darkness fall ``(as hinds and stock-men tell) the plains around with his howls resound, ``and his fierce, blood-curdling yell.= the kangaroos come forth at night ``to feed o'er his lonely grave, and above his bones with disma' tones ``the dingos shriek and rave.= and when drovers camp with a wild-mob there ``they shiver with affright, and quake with dread if they hear his tread ``in the gloom of the ebon night!= &social evils. |i feel that any reader who has been long-suffering enough to accompany me thus far must be craving earnestly for a change of some sort, even though it but take the form of an oasis of indifferent prose in a monotonous sahara of verse; i want it myself, and i know that the reader must yearn for it, even as the bushman who has sojourned long among the flesh-pots of remote sheep and cattle stations yearneth after the pumpkins and cabbages of the mongolian market gardener. i am, therefore, going to write about social evils; not because i think i can say anything particularly original or striking about them, but because i must have a subject, and i know the craving of the colonial mind after practical ones. i commence diffidently, however; not on account of the barrenness of the theme--oh! dear no--it is its very fruitfulness which baffles me; its magnitude that appals me; its comprehensiveness which gets over me; and my inability to deal with it in such limited space which "knocks me into a cocked-hat". even as i write, things which may be legitimately called social evils rise up before me in spectral array, like banquo's issue, in sufficient numbers to stretch not only to the "crack of doom,"--wherever that mysterious fissure may be--but a considerable distance beyond it. unfortunately, too, each one, like the progeny of that philoprogenitive scotchman, "bears a glass which shows me many more," until i am as much flabbergasted as macbeth himself, and am compelled to take a glass of something myself to soothe my disordered nerves. if every one were permitted to give his notion of what constitutes a social evil my difficulties would be still more augmented, and the schedule swelled considerably. i know men who would put their wives down in the list as a matter of course; and others, fathers of families, who would include children. few married men would omit mothers-in-law; most domestics would include work and masters and mistresses; and hardly anybody would exclude tax-gatherers. fortunately, however, these well-meaning, but mistaken reformers, will have to take back seats on the present occasion, and leave me to touch on a few, at least, of what are legitimate and undeniable social evils. look at them, as they drag their mis-shapen forms past us in hideous review! adulteration of food, political dishonesty, "larrikinism," barbarism on the part of the police, lemonade and gingerbeerism in the stalls of theatres, peppermintlozengism in the dress circle, flunkeyism, itinerant preacherism in the parks--what a subject this last is, by the way, and how beautifully mixed up one's faith becomes after listening to half a dozen park preachers, of different denominations, in succession! after hearing the different views propounded by these self-constituted apostles, an intelligent islander from the pacific would receive the impression that the white man worshipped about seventy or eighty different and distinct gods (a theological complication with which his simple mind would be unable to grapple), and he would probably retire to enjoy the society of his graven image with an increased respect for that bit of carving, and any half-formed inclinations to dissent from the religion of his forefathers quenched for ever. i have neither space, ability, nor desire to tackle such stupendous subjects as political dishonesty or adulteration. they are so firmly grafted on our social system that nothing short of a literary torpedo could affect them in the slightest degree, but i _do_ feel equal to crushing the boy who sells oranges and lemonade in the pit--who when, in imagination, i am on the "blasted heath" enjoying the society of the weird sisters, or at a slave auction in the southern states, sympathising with the sufferings of the octoroon, ruthlessly drags me back to nineteenth century common places with his thrice damnable war- cry of "applesorangeslemonadeanabill!" a string of syllables which are in themselves death to romance, and annihilation to sentiment, irrespective of the tone and key in which they are uttered. if for one happy moment i have forgotten that hamlet is in very truth "a king of shreds and patches," or that ophelia is a complicated combination of rouge, paste, springs, padding, and pectoral improvers, i maintain that it is playing it particularly rough on me if i am to be recalled to a remembrance of all this by the bloodcurdling shibboleth of these soulless fruit merchants. can lemonade compensate me for the destruction of the airy castles i have been building? can ginger-beer steep my senses again in the elysium of romance and sentiment from which they have been thus ruthlessly awakened? or can an ocean of orange-juice wash away or obliterate the disagreeable consciousness that i am a clerk in a government office, or a reporter on the staff of a weekly paper, and am neither claud melnotte nor "a person of consequence in the th century?"--unhesitatingly no! and if, in addition, there be wafted towards me a whiff or two of a highly-flavoured peppermint lozenge from some antique female--on whose head be shame! and on whose false front rest eternal obliquy--my cup of sorrow is full, my enjoyment of the drama is destroyed, the recording angel has a lively time of it for an hour or so registering execrations, and i am plunged in an abyss of melancholy from which the arm of a hennessy (the one that holds the battle axe) or a kinahan can alone rescue me. and here, reader, i must conclude, for your patience is in all probability exhausted, and my washerwoman has called: she is a social evil of the most malignant type. jl. moral philosophy for little folks. |little grains of rhubarb, ```spatula'd with skill, ``make the mighty bolus ```and the little pill.= ``little pence and half-pence, ```hoarded up by stealth, ``make the mighty total ```of the miser's wealth= ``little trips to randwick, ```taking six to three, ``make the out-at-elbows ```seedy swells we see.= ``little sprees on oysters, ```bottled stout and ale, ``lead but to the cloisters ```of the gloomy gaol.= ``little tracts and tractlets, ```scattered here and there, ``lead the sinner's footsteps ```to the house of prayer.= ``little bits of paper, ```headed i.o.u., ``ever draw the christian ```closer to the jew.= ``little chords and octaves, ```little flats and sharps, ``make the tunes the angels ```play on golden harps.= ``little bouts with broom-sticks, ```carving forks and knives, ``make the stirring drama ```of our married lives.= ``little flakes of soap-suds, ```glenfield starch, and blue, ``make the saint's white shirt-fronts ```and the sinner's too.= ``little tiny insects, ```smaller than a flea, ``make the coral inlands ```in the southern sea.= ``little social falsehoods, ```such as "not at home," ``lead to realms of darkness ```where the wicked roam.= ``likewise little cuss words ```such as "blast," and "blow," ``quite as much as wuss words ```fill the place below.= [illustration: ] an ambitious dream. `|i walked about in wynyard square ``at four one afternoon; `i saw a stately peeler there, ``he softly hummed a tune.= `the sun-rays lit his buttons bright; ``he stalked with stately stride; `it was a fair and goodly sight-- ``the peeler in his pride= `and padded was his manly breast, ``such kingly mien had he, `and such a chest, i thought how blest ``that peeler's lot must be.= `i noted well his martial air, ``and settled that of course `he was the idol of the fair, ``the angel of the force.= `no cook or house-maid could resist, ``i felt, by any chance, `that dark moustache with cork-screw twist, ``that marrow-searching glance.= `and o'er each little news-boy's head ``he towered like a mast; `his voice, to match that stately tread, ``should shame a trumpet-blast!= `i pondered on the matter much ``and thought i'd like to be `escorted to the "dock" by such ``a demi-god as he.= `i gazed upon his form entranced-- ``he never noticed me, `for visions through his fancy danced ``of mutton cold for tea.= `he knew he hadn't long to stand ``'till--mary's labours o'er-- `she'd lead him gently by the hand ``inside the kitchen door.= `ensconced in some snug vantage-coign ``at ease he'd stretch each limb, `and feast on cutlet and sirloin, ``purloined for love of him.= [illustration: ] `i leant against a scaffold-beam-- ``i must have had a nap `i think, because i had a dream-- ``i dreamt i was a 'trap'!= `i thought i had allegiance sworn ``and that there was for _me_ `the regulation tile that's worn ``by every trap you see;= `the coat and thingumbobs as well, ``what joy could equal this? `no gillott's patent pens could tell ``my wild ecstatic bliss!= `i thought they portioned out my beat-- ``a foot i'm sure i grew, `and as i walked up hunter street ``i felt a match for two.= `i felt my bosom throb behind ``my coat of azure blue, `and trembled for the peace of mind ``of every girl i knew.= `i saw myself in future fights ``the populace enthrall, `while brightly blaze the city lights ``i cry "come one, come all!"= `to grab their leader see me try ``(though rent my lovely coat) `the light of battle in my eye, ``my hand upon his throat!= `the truncheon used with practised skill ``requites him for his sin, `in such a hand as mine it will ``abraise his rebel skin.= `i thought of each bush-ranging chap, ``and for a moment sighed `that i was not a mounted trap ``through tea-tree scrub to ride.= `but soon the notion i dismiss, ``for i can plainly see `that such a line of life as this ``much harder lines would be.= `beneath a bushel in the bush ``my shining light to hide, `i felt would be a gross misuse ``of sydney's hope and pride.= `my look alone would petrify ``a breaker of the peace, `and where i turned my searching eye ``dishonesty would cease.= `police reports my name should state, ``each deed of mine should be `a deed for traps to emulate, ``and try to be like me.= `my blushing honours should be worn ``with unobtrusive grace, `and energy and zeal adorn ``my calm heroic face.= `my beat was not in nasty slums ``where vulgar rowdies meet; `but see! the conquering hero comes-- ``the pride of george's street!= `i thought he'd be a hardy boy ``who'd shout in accents coarse `"who stole the mutton-pie, ahoy!" ``now i was in the force.= `or should a cabby ere presume ``to overcharge a fare, `my eagle glance it would consume ``that cabby then and there.= `now mercy light on yonder boy ``who blows the sportive pea! `his visage lit with fiendish joy-- ``for he'll get none from me.= `some power save him from my care, ``preserve him from my clutch, `or mutilated past repair ``he 'll have to use a crutch.= `his form, though supple as an eel, ``his mother wouldn't know `again if i'd a chance to deal ``one stiffening truncheon blow!= `no more his little idle hands ``will scatter orange peel `when fast enclosed in iron bands, ``or brightly polished steel.= `i'd marked a nice secluded seat, ``'twas somewhere in the park, `where i could slumber long and sweet ``as soon as it got dark.= `i spotted out each servant gal ``i'd let make love to me, `the houses where i'd take a "spell," ``and call and have my tea.= `i took the bearings of the doors, ``and windows front and back `where i, unseen, by vulgar boors, ``could go and have a "snack."= `fond, foolish women, at my feet ``in yearning worship fell, `and one, she was uncommon sweet, ``her name i'll never tell.= `i thought i'd never lived 'till now, ``or that i'd lived in vain; `it was a hardish rub, i vow, ``that i should wake again.= `fulfilment of a nobler plan ``ambition couldn't crave-- `i was a trap!--each common man ``seemed born to be my slave!= `but stay--whose hand is on me now? ``who dares to clutch my cape? `what light is this, and who art thou, ``thou shadowy, ghastly shape?= `a fearful light is shed around, ``i quake and dare not stir-- `a voice! and husky is its sound-- ``it says,--"'ullo! you, sir!"= `before me was the man i'd praised, ``and my illusion fled `when his infernal truncheon raised ``a blister on my head.= ***** `sometimes at midnight's solemn hour ``i dream this dream again, `and, thinking its _her_ form once more, ``the pillow tightly strain;= `or fiercely to the door i spring, ``and firmly grip the hasp, `and smile to think i've got again ``the truncheon in my grasp.= `the beads of sweat they gather fast, ``and from my nose they fall, `i wake, and find, alas! alas! ``i'm not a trap at all!= [illustration: ] ```* originally contributed to _sydney punch_. supernatural revelations of a fancy-goods man, or the diabolical demon of the deadly drain. |there lived in parramatta street ``a cove--his name was joe-- `who nightly sniffed its odours sweet ``(not very long ago.)= `its every scent right well he knew, ``they often made him frown, `and he was fancy-goods-man to ``a big firm here in town.= [illustration: ] `as joe lay down one night--he slept ``in summer far from from well-- `a nameless horror o'er him crept, ``of what he couldn't tell; `his hair was rising up he knew, ``he felt his blood grow cold; `he felt a little frightened, too, ``for joseph wasn't bold. [illustration: ] `and while he vainly seeking rest, ``lay tossing to and fro, `by name he heard himself addressed-- ``the unknown voice said, "joe!"= `"arise, oh joseph! from thy bed-- ``arise, and follow me! `hush! not a word," the spirit said, ``"for i'm a ghost, d'ye see?= `"bring kerosene, and bring thy lamp, ``and arm thee to the teeth, `for thou in yonder gloomy swamp ``shalt win a laurel wreath."`= [illustration: ] `"now follow me," the spirit said, ``"for well i know the track, `and thou shall slay the demon dread ``of wattle swamp the black."= `then toward the demon's dread abode ``the ghastly goblin flits-- `the spirit was to show the road, ``and joe to give him "fits."= `and silently they followed all ``the windings of the creek; `at times they heard a night-bird call-- ``at times a tom-cat shriek.= [illustration: ] `but of the voices of the night ``they took no heed as yet; `the ghost said, "joseph, are you right?" ``and joseph said, "you bet!"= `and thus began the demon-hunt: ``the road was dark and drear; `the ghost was mostly on in front, ``and joseph in the rear.= `at times they crawled along a trench ``that held joe's feet like glue; `and there was many a stifling stench, ``and many a cast off shoe.= [illustration: ] `and oft they waded deep in slime ``where rotting herbage grew; `the ghost said, "joseph, take your time," ``and joseph murmured, "ph--ew!"= `at length a dark and gloomy pond ``appeared to block the track; `the spirit was for goin' on, ``and joe for goin' back.= `before the breeze his shirt-tails blow, ``and though he's sore distressed, `the spirit said he had to go, ``and joseph gave him best.= `"young man!" the spirit said, "'tis vain ``to bandy words with me; `just stretch those _bandy_ legs again, ``for i'm a ghost, d'ye see?"= `and joseph, making answer soft, ``they thus resumed the track-- `the spirit bore the lamp aloft, ``and joseph on his back.= [illustration: ] `"yon demon dread," the spirit said, ``"has reaped his human crops, `and feasted, battened on the dead ``too long--we'll give him slops!"= `he ghost explained the shrieks which rose ``from out the inky tides `were made by disembodied coves ``with pains in their insides.= `e'en while he spoke a horrid smoke ``belched forth upon the air, `and forth fresh yells and shriekings broke, ``and up went joseph's hair.= `the spirit slid him from his back, ``but joseph trembled so, `and wished devoutly he was back ``with messrs. blank & co.= `"stand firm!" the spirit said, "drink this ``'tis strength and courage too; `we'll awe this great metropolis ``with deeds of 'derring-do.'"= [illustration: ] `then straightway rose before their sight ``the demon's war-like crest; `he's green and blue, and black and white, ``with plague-spots on his breast.= `i could not paint the demon's form-- ``distraught, convulsed with ire-- `his voice was like the thunder-storm, ``his eyes like lakes of fire.= `he breathed forth typhoid, boils and croup ``with every breath he drew; `his touch meant measles, whooping-cough ``and scarlatina too.= `he comes with measured steps and slow-- ``earth groaned beneath his tramp-- `and with one grinding, crashing blow, ``he shivered joseph's----lamp!= `he glared around him, and his eyes ``shone with a baleful light: `"who, who are ye," the demon cries, ``that wander through the night?= [illustration: ] `"who, who are ye, that dare to come ``my fair domain to haunt? `go, seek some more congenial slum, ``avaunt! d'ye hear? avaunt!"= `now joseph felt his courage rise ``from out his blucher boots, `and while the cautious curlew cries, ``and while the swamp-owl hoots--= `despite a lingering touch of cramp-- ``his muscles he did brace, `and hurled the fragments of the lamp ``slap in the demon's face!= `"who's this?" the demon said, said he, ``"a stalwart knight, i ween! `my eyes are blind, i cannot see, ``they're full of kero_seen_"= `then joseph's heart within him leapt-- ``the demon being blind-- `right gingerly he crawled and crept, ``and gave him one behind.= `the spirit used a two-edged sword ``(he used it like an axe) `and while that outraged giant roared, ``his right leg he attacks. `thus, thu close, that warlike pair, ``upon the slimy beach, `and joseph poked him here and there, ``wherever he could reach.= `and while the giant squirmeth from ``the toasting-fork of joe, `the ghost (clean peeled) came grimly on ``to strike the final blow.= [illustration: ] `then, joe, when he his tactics knew, ``attacked his other calf, `and swamp-owls' echoed as they flew ``the spirit's ghastly laugh.= `and soon, beneath those stalwart knocks ``which echo and resound, `the demon's severed person rocks ``and topples to the ground= `"go in and win," the spirit said-- ``"go in and win, old son!" `the demon he was nearly dead. ``so joe went in and won.= `that ghost full many a 'spotted-gum' ``had felled in life, you see, `and so they felled that spotted one, ``for foul and fell was he.= `"now fetch me wedges," quoth the ghost, ``"for here, i guess, we'll camp; `we'll blast his trunk, split rails and posts, ``and fence blackwattle swamp!"= ***** `but stay! what means that sounding thwack? ``that agonizing roar? `and how comes joseph on his back-- ``upon his bedroom floor?= `where's now the elevated head, ``the majesty and pomp `of him who slew the demon dread ``that lived in wattle swamp?= `mephitic odours filled the room, ``and, acting on his brain, `these made him dream of blackest gloom, ``and deadly demons slain.= `'till, rolling from his couch, he broke ``the silence with a scream, `he bumped upon the floor--then woke, * ``and found it all a dream!= `next morning, so tradition tells, ``his way to church joe took, `to curse the corporation swells ``with candle, bell, and book.= * justice compels me to state that the condition of the swamp referred to has been materially improved of late, and it is no longer the all-powerful and putrifying nuisance it was. `he prayed that they might cursèd be ``within the council hall, `at evening parties, breakfast, tea,-- ``at dinner most of all.= `that they might feast in woe and grief, ``on chicken with the croup; `that pleuro might infect their beef, ``and flies invade their soup;= [illustration: ] `that turtles, though so often "turned," ``might some day turn on them, `and that at last they might be burned, ``and fricasseed in-hem!= `and ne'er this curse shall lifted be ``from aldermanic back, `until from odours foul set free ``is wattle swamp the black.`= christmas. by a new chum. |what means that merry clanging chime ``which fills the air with melody? `they tell me that 'tis christmas time, ``but that i think can scarcely be.= `this explanation is, i say, ``a little bit too thin for me, `while fiercely strikes the solar ray ``through hat of straw and puggaree.= `the centigrade, i grieve to see, ``stands up at figures past belief, `and naught but frequent s and b ``gives my perspiring soul relief.= ``no veil of snow enwraps the lea, ``and as for skating in the park, `or sledging, one as well might be ``on ararat in noahs ark.= `where is the icy blast, and where ``the white hoar frost, and driving sleet? `at night i suffocate and swear ``with nothing on me but a sheet.= `mosquitoes hum the whole night through, ``and flies salute me when i wake `in numbers anything but few, ``and yesterday i saw a snake.= `no leaf decays; no flower dies; ``all nature seems as fair and bright `as, when beneath judean skies, ``the shepherds watched their flocks by night.= `[in fair judea's sunny clime, ``among its mountain gorges lone, `those shepherds had a rosy time, ``for wire-fencing wasn't known.= `they were not prone to "knocking-down" ``of cheques or going on the spree, `for "pubs" and "shanties" were not found ``beside the lake of galilee.= `they groaned not 'neath the squatters yoke; ``a life of pure arcadian ease `was theirs-ah! happy, happy blokes! ``for this digression, pardon, please.]= `_those_ christmas chimes, indeed! their notes ``awake no passing thought in me, `of flannel vests, and ulster coats, ``so christmas chimes they cannot be.= `a drowsy hum is in the air-- ``there's perspiration on my skin; `the locusts eat the grass-plots bare, ``and deafen with their noisy din.= `the folks were drinking summer drinks ``when first i landed here last "fall `tis summer still, alas! methinks ``they have no christmas here at all.= `but stay! that paper pile sublime-- ``of i o.u. and unpaid bill-- `breathes somewhat of the festive time ``of "peace on earth--to man good-will."= `there's starkey's bill for lemonade, ``and peape's and shaw's for summer suits, `a host of others, all unpaid, ``for ice, and cubas, and cheroots.= `enough! 'tis proof enough for me-- ``proof stronger far than christmas chime; `your pardon, friend, for doubting thee, ``beyond a doubt 'tis christmas time.= "the cataract." * |i stood by the trunk of a giant box and watched the cataract down the rocks ``with ceaseless thunder go. the boiling waters seethed and hissed, and glittering clouds of gleaming mist ``ascended from below.= the fading glow of the sunlight slants o'er the frowning cliff which the creeping plants, ``and moss, and lichens drape. the mist spread forth on the sultry air-- 'twas wreathed in figures, some foul, some fair; i traced the form of a spectre there ``of weird and ghastly shape.= there was silence, save for the summer breeze which swayed the tops of the mess-mate trees, ``and the torrent's noisy flow. awhile the figure seemed to stand, then waved a shadowy, spectral hand, ``and pointed down below.= * written for the town and country journal, march th, , with reference to the well-known cataract near berrima. with wild vague thoughts my fancy strove of hidden riches, and treasure trove, ``and gems and jewels bright; and what, thought i, if the omen's true? and thick and fast such fancies grew till rock, and torrent, and spectre too ``all faded from my sight= i saw the crust of the earth removed-- each wild conjecture fairly proved-- ``i saw, 'twas even so, peerless gems of price untold, piles on piles of glittering gold, and the moon-beams glinted clear and cold ``on the wealth that lay below.= ere long men came to that valley "fair; they sought for coal-black diamonds there, ``and they dragged them from below: and the furnace fires, the hiss of steam, and the whirr of fly-wheel, belt, and beam fulfilled that shadowy, golden dream ``i dreamt so long ago.= the stockman's grave. |tom the stockman's gone--he'll never ``use again his supple thong, `or, dashing madly through the mulga, ``urge the scattered herd along.= `o'er for tom is life's hard battle! ``well he rode, and nothing feared; `never more among the cattle ``shall his cheery voice be heard.= `liked he was with' all his failings; ``let no idle hand efface. `that rude ring of rough split palings, ``marking out his resting place.= `sadly have his comrades left him ``where the cane-grass, gently stirred `by the north wind, bends and quivers-- ``where the bell-bird's note is heard;= `where the tangled "boree" blossoms, ``where the "gidya" thickets wave, `and the tall yapunyah's * shadow ``rests upon the stockman's grave. * a species of eucalyptus which flourishes on the paroo and in the west of queensland. epitaph on a convivial shearer. |here thompson lies--good worthy man-- ``come, gentle reader, nearer; `he's now as quiet as a lamb ``though once he was a shearer.= `though many sheep in life he shore, ``he's now beyond retrieving! `he's _sheered_ off to that other _shore_ ``which surely there's no leaving.= `though he o'er ewes and wethers too ``was often bent, i'm thinking `rough _weather_ o'er him bends the _yew_-- ``he killed himself with drinking.= `no more in shed, or yard, or hut ``will thompson be appearing! `on wings of _down_ his soul flew _up_-- ``he's gone where there's no shearing.= `he often handled "ward and payne's,"* ``for he was often shearing! `alas! the pains of death reward ``his everlasting beering.= `and from his fingers dropped the shears, ``for nature's debt was pressing; `death nailed his body for arrears-- ``his spirit effervescing.= `though at his jokes we often roared, ``he's now a soundish sleeper! `his crop of chaff at length is floored ``by death, that mighty reaper.= * note.--ward and payne's sheep shears are or were most in use in the australian colonies when the above was written. a candidate for an early grave. |what makes me wear my boots so tight, ``and much pomatum buy, `toss restless on my bed at night, ``and like an earthquake sigh?= `i 've seen a maid, i'd fain persuade ``that girl to fancy me; `thrice happy fate with such a mate ``for life as polly c------!= `but then i can't without her aunt ``that damsel ever see; `why must there always be a "but" ``between my hopes and me?= `and polly c------ has got to be ``between me and my peace, `for though i can't endure the aunt, ``i idolize the neice.= `the aunt is forty-three at least, ``the neice but seventeen; `for her i pine, for her so greased ``my hair of late has been.= `for her my feet are close compressed ``in boots a deal too tight; `for her i sacrifice my rest, ``and get no sleep at night;= `for her i run that tailor's bill ``that makes my father swear, `and to the grave i fear it will ``bring down his grizzled hair.= ***** `we met, but 'twas not in a crowd, ``it was not at a ball, `nor where cascades with thunder loud ``from precipices fall;= `nor where the mountain torrents rush, ``or ocean billows heave; `nor at the railway terminus ``'mid cries of "by'r leave;"= `it was not in the forest wild, ``nor on the silent sea-- `romantic reader don't be riled-- ``'twas at a "spelling-bee."= [illustration: ] `'twas there i marked the jetty coil ``that crowned her classic head-- `the perfumes of macassar oil ``were all around her shed.= `and o'er the meaner spirits there ``her mighty soul arose; `her intellect and genius were ``aspiring--like her nose.= `and polly was the fairest there-- ``'the goddess of the class-- `among the _poly_syllables ``unscathed i saw her pass.= `examiners with piercing eye, ``and terror-striking frown `in vain to trip her up might try-- ``in vain to take her down.= `she triumphs, and the loud applause ``from roof to basement rings-- `each other girl with envy gnaws ``her hat and bonnet strings.= `sometimes (regardless of expense) ``i dressed and went to church; `one glimpse of her would recompense ``my eager longing search.= `and, while the swelling organ rent ``the air with solemn tunes, `on spelling-bees my thoughts were bent ``and happy honeymoons.= `and where i brooding sat alone ``the wildest dreams i dreamt, `and swore to win her for my own ``or "bust' in the attempt.= ***** `we met at parties, and our toes ``whirl in the dreamy waltz, `and if at times a thought arose-- ``could hair like that be false?= `i sniffed the reassuring coil ``that shamed the damask rose, `and could not breathe a thought disloyal ``while that was near my nose.= [illustration: ] `at length her aunt--the summer gone-- ``the influenza got; `to see my polly to her home ``it oft became my lot.= `and if i took the longest way ``the fraud was never known, `for organ of "locality" ``my darling she had none.= `one night, about the supper hour, ``thanks to some kindly fate, `we reached the entrance to her bower-- ``i mean the garden gate.= `it was a gloomy night and wet ``with rain and driving sleet, `and more than common risk beset ``pedestrians in the street.= `from harm from wheel of cab or cart ``i'd kept my darling free, `and in the fulness of her heart ``she asked me in to tea.= `her aunt, that stately dame and grand, ``looked knives and forks at me; `she'd "butter's spelling" in her hand, ``and "webster" on her knee.= `her bead-like eyes gleamed bright behind ``the spectacles she wore; `of intellect and strength of mind ``she had enough for four.= `and tall her figure was, and spare, ``and bony were her joints; `orthography and grammar were ``the strongest of her points.= `a morbid taste this virgin chaste ``for dictionaries had; `though polly c. might perfect be, ``her aunt was spelling mad.= `i felt that if an angel bright ``to earth from oether fell, `she'd either give that son of light ``some heavy word to spell,= `or else she'd get him on to parse, ``'till sick of earthly things, `he'd work his passage to the stars ``upon his downy wings.= [illustration: ] `at dr. blank's academy, ``i never took the lead; `my grammar and orthography ``were very weak indeed,= `and oft those academic walls ``have echoed to my howls, `responsive to the doctor's calls ``for consonants and vow'ls.= `his rules respecting "q's" and "p's" ``were graven on our backs, `and though we had no spelling-bees, ``i got my share of _whacks_.= `for what the doctor failed to see ``impressed upon the mind, `was certain very soon to be ``impressed in full _behind_.= `but still, despite the scathing look, ``and cane of dr. blank. `my spelling powers never took ``an elevated rank.= `and if my hopes of polly hung ``upon so frail a thread, `my life was blighted 'ere begun-- ``my hopes, scarce born, were dead.= `all silent through that evening meal ``i sat with bended head, `and now and then a glance i steal ``at polly while she fed;= `but though her eyes i often seek, ``i only look at most; `my heart's too full of love to speak, ``my mouth too full of toast.= `oh! sweet love-feast!--too sweet to last-- ``oh! bitter after-cud! `oh! spinster grim why didst thou blast ``love's blossom in the bud?= `for, ere one happy hour could pass, ``that virgin grim and fell `invited me to join the class ``where polly went to spell;= `and though i trembled in my shoes, ``in hopeless agony, `could i the aunt of her refuse ``whose _spell_ was over me?= `at length arrived the dreaded hour, ``and primed with _eau de vie_, `i sought that orthographic bower ``where met the spelling-bee.= `no hope of prizes lured me toward ``those hundred gleaming eyes, `for me there was but one reward, ``and polly was the prize.= `for her my dull ambition leapt, ``in literary lists `to cope with lunatics who slept ``with "webster" in their fists.= `vague dread forebodings cloud my brow, ``and make my cheek grow pale, `oh! dr. johnson help me now-- ``my hopes are in the scale!= `my frame with apprehension shook; ``to nerve me for the task, `with tender, longing, yearning look ``i eyed my pocket-flask,= `and tempted by the spirit bright ``that dwelt within its lips, `i put the contents out of sight ``in two convulsive sips.= `a stony-eyed examiner ``came in and took the chair; `i knew a place that's spelt with "h," ``and wished that he was there.= `i softly cursed his form erect, ``his "specs" with golden rim, `and prayed that doctors might dissect ``his body limb from limb.= `but soon the spirit's subtle fume ``obfusticates my view; `the common objects of the room ``seem multiplied by two.= `my breast, the late abode of funk, ``with courage was embued; `i was a little less than drunk, ``and something more than screwed.= `and while my heart beat loud and fast ``with wild convulsive pants, `i saw _two_ pollys, and alas! ``a _pair_ of polly's aunts! `i fail to solve the mystery ``which polly i prefer, `but thought i'd like _poly_gamy ``with duplicates of her. `involved in intellectual gloom, ``i found the a. b. c. `had vanished, vanquished by the fumes ``of henessey's p. b. `and when that stony-looking one ``applied at length to me, `i spelt "consumption" with a "k," ``and "kangaroo" with "c"! `i will not paint these harrowing scenes, ``nor keep thee, reader, long, `nor tell thee how i shocked the "bee" ``by breaking forth in song.= [illustration: ] `two orthographic youths arose, ``and dragged me from the room, `despite my wild and aimless blows, ``into the outer gloom.= [illustration: ] `with force, and tender soothing tones ``they led me from the hall, `and laid me on the cold, cold stones ``beneath the bare brick wall.= `they spread for me no blanket warm. ``no cloak or 'possum-rug, `and peelers bore my helpless form ``in triumph to the "jug."= `next day i found the "summons-_sheet_" ``a _blanket_ cold indeed; `i felt that liberty was sweet, ``i wanted to be freed:= `but peelers' hearts are solid rock, ``they wouldn't hear me speak, `they dragged me to the felon's dock ``before a hook-nosed "beak."= `he offered me--that hook-nosed "beak"-- ``the option of a fine, `in place of many a weary week ``of punishment condign.= `i mutely pointed to my sire, ``the fount of my supplies, `and then bereft of joy i left ``the court with tearful eyes.= `i could not read again and live ``the note i got 'ere long, `from polly's single relative ``anent my goings on.= `she told me it would be as well ``our intercourse should cease-- `that one who drank, and couldn't spell ``should never have her niece.= `she recommended frugal fare, ``and lexicons, and pumps, `but when i think of polly's hair ``my own comes out in lumps!= `oh! tell me not a "spelling-bee's" ``a sweet and pleasant thing; `i've drunk of sorrow's bitter lees-- ``i've felt that insect's sting.= `my hopes are dead, despair hath spread ``o'er me its blackest pall; `the honey and the wine of life. ``are turned to bitter gall.= `although i'm barely twenty-one ``my crop of care is ripe! `no joy have i in moon or sun, ``or in my meerchaum pipe.= `oh! where are now the happy days, ``when first i learnt to smoke? `when life seemed one long holiday-- ``existence but a joke?= `when i'd no other thought or care ``except my cane to gnaw, `and train the soft incipient hair ``that grew upon my jaw?= `they've passed away those happy day ``and now i only crave `a brief, brief life--an early death, ``a requiem, and a grave.= `and billiards now i never play; ``not long my father will `be troubled by me to defray ``that tailor's lengthened bill.= `i never wink at bar-maids now, ``but soberly i tread `as walketh one whose home's among ``the cold and silent dead.= `one debt lies heavy on my breast ``i'd like to pay but can't; `i'd like, before i go to rest, ``to settle polly's aunt.= `i hope they'll take her where the time ``counts not by days and weeks-- `the place of which 'tis wrong to rhyme, ``and no one ever speaks!= `'tis where the letters that she loves-- ``the consonants and vow'ls-- `are _melted down in patent stoves, ``and moulded into howls!_= [illustration: ] [illustration: ] a peeler's appeal against the helmet of modern times. |i was a peeler of a kind `that's seldom met with now; ``i used to part my hair behind, ```it clustered o'er my brow= ``in glossy ringlets, crisp and dark; ```i had a massive chest, ``and oft i lit love's fatal spark ```within the female breast.= ``the buttons on my coat of blue ```shone with effulgent light, ``and cooks with eyes of dazzling hue ```fell prostrate at the sight. [illustration: ] ``at almost every kitchen door ```they met me with a smile; ``but then in modest pride i wore ```the regulation tile.= ``no more they come with outstretched arms ```my person to enwrap; ``no more they hold the mutton cold ```as sacred to the trap.= ``they never asks me into sup; ```no smoking joints they bile; ``they hates this cursed new-come-up-- ```this 'elmet mean and vile.= [illustration: ] ``the boys what vends the "evenin' news,'" ```when i comes stalkin' by, ``awakes each alley, lane and mews, ```with, "crikey! 'ere's a guy!"= ``the cabbies stare so hard at me, ```no wonder i gets huffed; ``they grins, and axes who i be, ```and if i'm "real or stuffed"= [illustration: ] ``and when i walks about my beat ```the hosses dreads the sight; ``they stands up endways in the street ```a snortin' with affright.= ``the 'bus-conductors winks and leers, ```and holds their sides and splits; ``and kids of very tender years ```i frightens into fits.= ``i once was right at forty-four ```for supper, lunch, and tea; ``upon this bosom susan swore ```she'd never love but me.= ``alas! for that inconstant cook ```the 'elmet 'ad no charms; ``a most sanguineous butcher took ```my susan to his arms.= ``my susan's cheeks were fair and sleek-- ```so were the chops she cooked; ``but on her chops, and on her cheek, ```my last i fear i've looked.= [illustration: ] ``that butcher said as how 'twas _meat_ ```that me and she should part, ``and never more for me will beat ```that culinary 'eart.= ``now listen you who've got to fix ```what bobbies is to wear, ``and if your 'earts aim 'ard as bricks, ```oh! 'ear a peelers prayer.= [illustration: ] ``oh! take the elmet from my brow-- ```the curse from off my 'ed; ``you aint no sort o' notion ow ```i wishes i wos dead.= ``there's nothing calculated more ```a cove's good looks to spile; ``oh! if you've 'carts, restore, restore, ```the regulation tile!= ``you can't give back that cook's fond 'eart-- ```her chops, her cheek, her smile; ``but if you'd make amends in part, ```restore, restore my tile! [illustration: ] |the following verses will probably be more intelligible to the bush reader than the metropolitan one. the latter is at liberty to "pass":-- [illustration: ] the old hand. |i'm forty years in new south wales, `and knows a thing or two; ``can build a hut, and train a slut, ```and chaff a "jackeroo." * ````* see reference b. ``i chiefly sticks to splittin' rails-- ```it's contract work, d'ye see; ``i hates to ave a station-boss ```a-overlookin' me.= ``i left my country for its good, ```but not my own, i fear; ``i makes big cheques a splittin' wood, ```and knocks 'em down in beer.= ``i knows the murrumbidgee's bends, ```though not a "whaler" * now, ``and many a score of sheep i've shore ```for good old jacky dow.= ``i used to knock about on farms, ```and plough a "land" or two; ``but now for me that has no charms-- ```i hates a "cockatoo." **= * murrumbidgee whalers are a class of loafers who work for about six months in the year--i.e. during shearing and harvest, and camp the rest of the time in bends of rivers, and live by fishing and begging. ** a small farmer. ``i'm splittin' for a squatter now ```down here upon the creek; ``he often says as how i've got ```a sight too much o' cheek.= ``they've got a new-chum over there-- ```i hates new-chums, i do; ``i often tries to take a rise ```out of that jackeroo.= ``one day when we was in the yard ```a draftin' out some ewes, ``we axed him for to lend a hand, ```he couldn't well refuse.= ``i watched 'un for a minute just ```to see what he would do; ``bless'd if he warn't a chuckin' out ```a lot o' wethers too!= ``he keeps the store and sarves the "dust"--* ```i only wish he'd slope; ``i knows he often books to me ```too many bars o' soap.= ``in them it ain't no sort o' use ```instruction to infuse; ``there ain t a gleam o' intellect ```in new-chum jackeroos.= ``as soon as july fogs is gone ```i chucks my axe up there, ``and gets a stock of ward and payne's* ```at six and six a pair.= ``i've been a shearin' off an' on ```for such a precious while, ``i knows most every shearin' shed, ```and each partickler style.= ``i'm able for to shear 'em clean, ```and level as a die; ``but i prefers to 'tommy-hawk," ```and make the "daggers" fly.= ``they mostly says that to the skin ```they means to have 'em shore; ``i alius knocks off skin an' all ```when they begins to jawr.= * ward and payne's sheep-shears. ``my tally's eighty-five a day-- ```a hundred i could go, ``if coves would let me "open out" ```and take a bigger "blow."= ``i allus roughs 'em when the boss ```ain't on the shearin' floor; ``it wouldn't pay to shear 'em clean ```for three and six a score.= ``but when i see the super come ```paradin' down the "board," ``i looks as meek as any lamb ```that ever yet was shored. ``for, though by knockin' sheep about ```you're causin' him a loss, ``it's 'ard to have a squatter come ``and mark 'em with a cross. *= ``they say us shearers sulks and growls-- ```i'm swearing half the day, ``because them blasted "pickers-up" ```won't take the wool away.= * sheep badly shorn are marked with a cross in red chalk, and are not paid for ``at sundown to the hut we goes; ```the young 'uns lark and fun; ``the cook and i exchanges blows ```if supper isn't done.= ``and when the tea and mutton's gone, ```and each has had enough, ``we shoves the plates and pints away, ```and has a game o' "bluff." *= ``i works a little "on the cross," ```i never trusts to luck; ``i hates to have to "ante-up," ```and likes to "pass the buck."= ``i've got a way of dealin' cards ```as ain't exactly square; ``i does some things with jacks and kings ```as makes the young 'uns stare.= ``i've mostly got four aces though, ```or else a "routine flush ``i wins their cash and 'bacca, and ```they pays for all my lush.= * "poker." ``i likes to get 'em in my debt ```for what their cheque ' clear; ``i've got a sort o' interest then ```in every sheep they shear.= ``i'm cunnin', and my little games ```they never does detect; ``but i never was partickler green ```as i can recollect.= &preface to the pic-nic papers, |if i were asked to state the most noticeable feature of the social economy of sydney--the thing which pre-eminently distinguishes her from other metropolises--i should, unhesitatingly, say pic-nics. i once held the proud position of occasional reporter to a weekly paper, and my mental calibre not being considered heavy enough, or my temperament sufficiently stolid to do justice to parliamentary debates, i was sent to report the pic-nics. in sydney every trade gives one, and every private family about six in the course of the summer. carpenters, butchers, barbers, blacksmiths, undertakers, even grave-diggers, all give their pic-nic during the season; and why should they not? is it for me to ridicule the practice? shall i, who have been received as an honoured guest at all (and retired to make three half-pence a line out of an account of the proceedings), splinter my puny lance of satire against a firmly-rooted and meritorious custom? i who have hobnobbed with the publicans, waltzed with the wheelwrights, done the _lard_ i da with the pork-butchers' wives and daughters, danced _coat_illions with the tailors, and indulged in _soot_able amusements with the sweeps? never! i have retired from the pic-nic business now, and though my reports were not masterpieces of descriptive writing, and never wrung even the smallest tribute of gratitude from those they were intended to immortalize, i give a specimen or two to serve as models to those who hereafter may be called upon to report pic-nics for journals, religious or otherwise. the butcher's pic-nic. |this event came off with an unusual amount of eclat; merchants, members of parliament, and people of all kinds, were present; and if they were not all butchers, they all became squatters when the grassy plateaux of correy's gardens were reached. the pic-nic took place appropriately under a _ewe_-tree, and fortunately the _wether_ was remarkably fine. saws (wise ones excepted), axes, steels, and all other implements used in the trade, were, by common consent, left behind, and the only killing done was that accomplished by several fascinating young slaughter-men, whose hair and accents were oily not to say greasy in the extreme. one of these, who went in heavily for euphuism, told his inamorata that her heart was harder than his father's block, and the satire of her tongue keener than the edge of a certain cleaver in his parent's possession. sir loin oxborough, fifth baron (of beef), estates strictly _entailed_, was unanimously voted to a deserted "bull-dog's" nest, which did duty for a chair. he occupied this position with dignity, and made a speech, _interlarding_ his discourse with several choice _cuts_ from _steel_ and other poets; e.g., "_reveal, reveal_ the light of truth to me!" "_steak_ not thine all upon the die!" &c. he said they were met to enjoy themselves, and by their _joint_ exertions to banish dull care; adversity might come, but what of that? he had always found that a round of afflictions, or a dark cloud had a silver lining, or rather a "silver-side," like a round of beef. he had often been in trouble himself--cut down, as it were, by the cleaver of adversity; reduced, he might say, to mince-meat by the sausage-machine of ill-luck; and he and his family had been once or twice regularly salted down in the harness-cask of fate; but, thanks to his natural buoyancy, or (_butcher_)-boy-ancy of spirits, he had risen like a bladder to the surface of the sea of despondency, and lived to pluck the skewers of affliction from his heart. he advocated morality and sobriety. he might say he had lived a moral and sober life, for though he had been a free and generous _liver_, he had always done his duty to his fellow-men according to his _lights_. his motto was "live and let live," except where dumb animals were concerned--those he killed on principle, as a matter of business; and he respected all religious sects, except vegetarians. he had been cut up by sorrow, and cast down by depression of trade as often as most men. he had seen beef at tuppence a pound, hides at s. d. each, and tallow at nothing at all (warm weather, and no colds in the head prevalent), but he had never lost heart; from a boy, hopefulness had always been a meat-tray (he begged pardon, he meant a _sweet_ trait) in his character; he had persevered, worked hard, and had eventually carved his way to wealth, fame, and fortune, through bone, gristle, flesh, skin, sinew and all. he was prosperous, but he owed his rise more to shoulders of mutton than the shoulders of his friends. he had been self-reliant, just, and generous; and though he had flayed many a beast, he had never yet attempted to _skin a flint_. (cheers.) he was not democratic, and he believed more in the horny-headed monsters than the horny-handed masses; still he liked to see a man rise by his own exertions; and, inasmuch as a king--charles the first to wit--had shewn how easy was the transition from the throne to the block, he did not see why an ascent from the block to the throne might not be equally possible. in conclusion, he recommended his friends to take the fat with the lean through life, and not to grumble because some one else appeared to have all the prime-cuts of fortune, and all the rich fat of prosperity, and they only the fag-end and the bone. he sat down (on the deserted ant's nest) amid loud and reiterated applause. festivities then commenced the guests sat on their haunches and drank the blood of the grape out of hogs' heads. the toasts drunk were the "gallus"--not the gallows; the block and cleaver, &c. the juniors played "_round_ers," and (_raw_) "_hide_ and seek." dancing was kept up with animation until a late hour. old tommy hawk danced a _porka_, and his peculiar _shambling_ gait called forth rounds of applause. several games of chance were played for beef _stakes_. a butcher who dealt largely in _goat's_ flesh sang the touching scotch ballad, "oh, nanny, wilt thou gang wi me," and old pork chops sang "those evening _chines_" in a most affecting manner. the festivities continued until they could not very well continue any longer, and every body returned home perfectly satisfied. the oystermen's and fishmongers' pic-nic. |mon day was a great day. though the bosom of the ocean was apparently unruffled by a zephyr, terror and excitement raged beneath its surface. influential members of the finny tribe darted hither and thither in a manner which indicated that something unusual was afloat, and the piscatorial republic was shaken to its very centre. the military (that is, the sword-fish) were under arms, or rather fins, at an early hour, and formed a roe in martial array. the less warlike betrayed their agitation in a variety of ways. sawfish from the gulf of carpentaria left their usual occupation of cutting the water, rose to the surface, and sawed the air in an agony of in tench excitement; mercantile fish abandoned their scales and took their weigh to places of security; limpets, becoming enervated, relaxed their hold upon the rock; oysters tossed restlessly on their beds, and even the jelly-fish trembled. nor was this surprising; for were not the fishmongers and oystermen about to hold carnival--to celebrate the rites and ceremonies of their order? and, knowing this, could any member of the finny tribe remain unmoved, or even a molusc be calm? in spite, perhaps unconscious, of all this, the jubilant fishmongers proceeded to the enjoyment of their pic-nic with light hearts. the oystermen, most of whom were natives, were appropriately clothed in shell-jackets, and wore barnacles. miss annet snapperton, resplendent in a sea-green fishu, with cochineel trimmings, and a sea-anemone in her hair, proved an irresistible bait to young codlington, a susceptible periwinkler and oysterman. he swore by the beard of the sacred oyster that she was an angel--called her his turtle and his pet (limpet, in fact)--and, while he besought her to fly with him and share a "grotter of hyster shells," he stated his intention of adhering to her heart like a limpet to its native rock, or the teeth of a skate to the finger of a too-confiding fisherman. at the conclusion of the banquet a speech was called for, and old grampus rose. he said:--"fishmongers and fellow-oystermen (hear, hear), to meat you here on this ausfishous occasion" [he lisped a bit after eating salmon] "eels the wounded spirit and warms the cockles of this heart. star-fish and stingarees! may i be scolloped if this aint the proudest moment of my life!" (cheers.) he proceeded to state his views on things in general--regretted that a more able speaker had not been chosen to offishiate--hoped they wouldn't expect along speech from him, as he wasn't a parson--in fact he understood more about the curing of herrings, than the cure of soles--and the only school he ever attended was a "school" of mackerel which appeared off the coast one sunday morning when he was a boy at home. his father had on that occasion taken him by the hand, and together they attended that sunday-school. subsequent proceedings made such an impression on his mind that he henceforth resolved to become a fish-dealer, and became one accordingly. he had read his bible, and had heard about the "miraculous draught of fishes"--thought it must have been a brandy-p(r)awnee--always thought fish were something to eat before, though lie had known fishermen drink their whole week's catch on saturday night--was a sober man himself, and didn't go in for mackarelous "draughts" of that kind. if not a religious man, he always strove to do his duty! though he had been a fisherman in his time, he had never been a plaice hunter, and, ecod! he thought few m.p's. could say that. what were his religious principles? well, he wasn't a mussle-man, and though he dealt, in shell-fish, he abhorred shellfishness. he had heard about some all-fired heathens who worshipped zorooyster (? zoroaster); he couldn't say as he was acquainted with that mollusc, and wouldn't worship him if he were. oysters was good things if you didn't put brandy a top of 'em, and he believed in cockles (the molluscs, not the pills), but worship a hoyster! thank'eaven, he wasn't so far gone as that! such ideas was incongerous. he sat down amid applause, and musical and terpsichorean festivities commenced. somebody danced the fishmongers' hornpipe. "sets" were formed, and the (s)caly-donians gone through with great spirit. a gloomy-looking fish-dealer, with a bass voice, sang "my sole is dark and a blighted-looking young oyster-opener gave them, "shells of the ocean," and "oh, shell we never part," alluding to the monotony of his occupation. young codlington sang "(t)winkle, (t)winkle, little star-fish" with great taste and feeling. fun and frolic became general, and it was late ere the (r)oysterers returned home, thoroughly wearied, but happy. &the wheelwrights' pic-nic. |the man who cannot sympathize with a wheelwright in his joys and sorrows ought to be treated to a taste of lynch (or lynch-pin) law. no one with a properly regulated mind can fail to admire their round-about way of doing things, and their untiring energy; and no rightly thinking person could be otherwise than rejoiced on hearing the other day that these jolly good felleys had made up their minds to have a trundle down the harbour, and an afternoon's enjoyment of course the party started from the circular quay, and took with them a plentiful supply of weal and ham pies and roly-poly puddings. they reached their destination in safety, and after a short walk along the beach, the order was given to "right-wheel," and they found themselves in a delightful glade, where the blue gum waved its giant branches in the summer air, and the luxuriant axel-tree cast a grateful shade over the holiday-keepers. the ladies--with complexions of a smoothness only to be attained by sand-paper in experienced hands--looked as fresh as paint, and shone like varnish. they were at tired, in elegant and becoming costumes. spokes was nearly missing the affair altogether, as he woke late, and then had to dress, wash, and (spoke)-shave himself in a hurry. old wheels--and a wideawake old fly-wheel he was--drove down in his buggy with mrs. wheels and the four miss wheels, and, what with the front and hind wheels of the trap, the wheals inflicted by the avenging hand of old wheels on the horse's behind, and the young wheels--segments of the parent wheels--clinging on wherever they could get hand or foot-hold, it was estimated that there couldn't have been less than sixty or seventy wheels to the turn-out. talking of traps, the four miss wheels constituted a four-wheeled trap for the hearts of men of a most dangerous description; and, after they had all partaken plentifully of the weal pies, there was weal within wheels, and a complicated state of things which set mathematical and digestive theories at defiance. old wheels delivered an address, in which he stated that a bond of unity was the best tire for the public weal, and that if the felleys in the house wern't such a lot of (k)naves, they'd run truer, stick closer together, and endeavour to axelerate public business more than they did. he was proceeding to demonstrate that ------ was no more use in the house than the "fifth wheel of a coach," when one of the younger wheels began to squeak in an agonizing manner. it was immediately greased with some strawberrys and cream, and its (s)creams subsided into chuckles of gratification. dancing, of the "turnabout, and wheel-about, and jump jim crow" order, then commenced, and kiss-in-the-ring, rounders, and other circular amusements, became general. a musical young wheelwright, on being called on for a song, suspended his occupation of picking his teeth with a lynch-pin, and gave them "weel may the keel row," and axelcior." spokes proved himself a capital speaker, and made the speech of the day, full of beautifully rounded sentences and quotations from spokeshave. but all things must have an end unfortunately, and when at length the whistle of the steam-boat sounded for departure, the wheelwrights took their way homeward, happy, but thoroughly tired. the undertaker's pic-nic. |we have a special regard for undertakers. watching funerals was the first species of dissipation we indulged in in early youth. we have witnessed shakesperian tragedies since with less satisfaction, and have respected undertakers proportionately in consequence. but for them we should never have known how much of the latent spirit of tragedy there is in horses' tails and feathers, and we especially admire the dramatic style in which they proclaim to the world the fact that another saint has gone to occupy his reserved seat in the celestial dress circle, or another sinner sneaked into his place in that "pit" which is notoriously bottomless, and where the free-list is by no means "confined to gentlemen of the press." holding these views, we were naturally pleased to hear that our friends meditated a pic-nic, and we are still more gratified to be able to lay before the public the only reliable report of the proceedings in existence. the day was everything that could be desired. huge masses of black cloud lay piled away to the south'ard, imparting a sombre and funereal aspect to everything, and the spirits of the excursionists rose in proportion. the picturesque cemetery of haslem's creek was the spot chosen for the celebration of the festivities, and the cheerful recesses of its cypress-shaded labyrinths that day re-echoed outbursts of merriment which must have been particularly trying to misanthropic ghosts. every available hearse and mourning-coach was pressed into the service to convey the holiday-keepers to the mortuary railway station, from which a special train was to start at nine sharp, and the party in full gala costume--hat-bands, gloves, plumes and feathers--presented quite a lively appearance as the cortège moved down brickfield hill, the band playing "the dead march in saul." arrived at the scene of the intended festivities, a luxurious _al fresco_ banquet was set forth, the numerous marble slabs in the vicinity making the most delightful substitutes for tables imaginable, and the epitaphs and inscriptions forming an agreeable mental repast after the grosser bodily appetites had been subdued. messrs. compagnoni, on this occasion, surpassed themselves, and the black-puddings, and other funereal delicacies--served on (brass)-plates--were decorated with "in memory of," "requiescat in pace," and other appropriate mottoes calculated to raise the spirits of the party, and promote hilarity in the highest degree. old elmplank said he hadn't had such a lively time, or felt in such good spirits, since the measles were around that time three years. meanwhile the young folks were: enjoying themselves, and fun and flirtation wore carried on in a decorous manner, out of respect to the emblems of mortality by which they were surrounded. an amiable young coffin-maker, with the most fascinating hearse-suit appendages, made great inroads on the heart of miss grace bugles. he requested her to enter his heart, which he compared to an unoccupied tomb, and reside there rent free. should love like his, he asked, be "coffined, cribbed, confined" within the narrow limits of a flannel waistcoat? no; he invited her to come to his arms, shroud herself in his bosom, and stop the process of cremation which was going on in his heart. songs and recitations were in the programme. miss bugles sang "those funeral bells," and "the old elm tree," and her admirer gave them a bacchanalian, or rather a coffin-nailian ditty, with a chorus of "bier, bier, beautiful bier," and a skull and thigh-bones accompaniment, which provoked thunders of applause; and when old tassels, of the mourning livery-stables sang, ```"but one golden tress of her hair i'll twine ```in my hearse's sable plume," there was scarcely a dry eye in the assembly. there were no healths drunk, such a custom being considered out of character with the proceedings, and not conducive to the prosperity of business generally. undertakers who were sociably disposed took each other's measures, composed epitaphs, and talked about cremation. old elmplank, in his speech, said that any allusion to such a mode of disposing of the dead wounded him to the quick. "introduce that process," he said, "and the whole romance of a funeral was done away with. the invention," he added, "was worthy of a cove as was mean enough to drink another cove's ealth." but even undertakers cannot keep up at the high-pressure pitch of hilarity for ever, and as evening drew on, the rain having been falling heavily for several hours, the cemetery was by common consent voted damp, and a general move was made for the railway station. the party returned to sydney, well satisfied with their outing, and the number of colds caught must have made business lively for the next six months. the hairdressers' pic-nic. |even barbers require change of (h)air occasionally; consequently there were no dissentient voices when potts proposed an excursion, and suggested the gap, where the "yesty waves" seem never to tire of their monotonous occupation of shampooing the south head. the pic-nic took place eventually among the romantic glades in the immediate vicinity of pearl (-powder) bay, where the "maidenhair" (capillis veneris) grew luxuriantly--having been neither cut by the north-east wind, nor brushed by machinery--while the rabbit and false-hare frisked fearlessly among solitudes seldom disturbed by the presence of man, and that beautiful bird the antimacassowary flew with well-oiled pinions from branch to branch of the eucalipsalve. it might be imagined by ignorant people that hairdressers, who pay so much attention to the adornment of the outward man, would be apt to forget the requirements of the inner entirely; this, however, was not the case, jugged hairs and barbercues being among the least of the delicacies provided. of course there were speeches. that old demagogue--bearsgrease, shampooed, no, pooh! poohed everything, everybody else. being a wig-maker, it was natural that in politics he should be a whig; and though, as he said, he had never appeared as a candidate for parliamentary honors, or been at the head of an electioneering poll, he knew as much about heads and polls as some who had. but why enlarge on all this? can we not imagine how young potts led miss glycerina crimpington for a stroll by the sounding sea, and directed her attention to the magnificent crests of the billows, fresh from the curling-tongs of nature, tumbling over one another, and doubling themselves into such exquisite "frizettes" and "waterfalls" that they were enough to excite envy in the breast of any young lady, especially if she happened to be a hair-dresser's daughter. can we not picture to ourselves the thousand and one incidents which go to make up what is called a pic-nic? how some were stricken hungry, and others sentimental; how some satisfied their cravings with kisses, others with pie; how potts charmed the ear of his adored crimpington with recitations from "locksley hall," and the "hair of redcliffe;" how the young folks danced the kalydorians (arranged by rowlands); and last, not least, how the old folks got maudlin on limejuice and glycerine, and talked of the days when their feet were as light, and their chevleures as heavy as those of any young scalp-lock trimmer present we can, i think, imagine all this so it will not be necessary to say more than that the whole thing was a thorough success, especially potts's song of "(h)airy spirts round us hover," with a comb accompaniment, after which a general stampede was made for the boats. the great cricket match. brewers v. publicans. ``the day was wet, down poured the rain ```in torrents from the sky; ``great coats, umbrellas, were in vain, ```but every lip was dry.= ``the clouds seemed disinclined to part, ```the wind was from the _west_, ``yet worked each brewer's manly heart ```like (y) _east_ within his breast.= ``along the road each brewer spent ```his coin in frequent drains, ``f or mere external moisture went ```against those brewers' _grains_.= ``and with a bright triumphant flush, ```their captain, mr. staves, ``swore they should crush those sons of lush ```who dealt in "tidal-waves"= * tidal-wave--a large glass of colonial beer. ``for, speaking of the l. v. a.,* ```the brewers said, and laughed, ``"a most efficient team were they ```for purposes of draught." ``'twas thus they talked upon the way ```until they reached the ground; ``but in their friends the l. v. a., ```rum customers they found.= ``i havn't space to speak of all ```the glories of the match-- ``of every well-delivered ball, ```and every well-caught catch.= ``i fain would tell of mr. keggs ```(they spiled and bunged his eye) ``of barley-corn, and how his legs ```got twisted all a rye;= ``how stoups, the umpire, stood too near, ```and came to grief and harm; ``how, when he fell they gave him beer, ```which acted like a barm;= * licensed victuallers' association. ``of hope, who keeps the anchor bar ```and vendeth flowing bowls ``(my feet have often been that far ```and anchored fast their soles)= ``mark how he bustles, snorts, and spits-- ```his brow he mops and wipes, ``and though i couldn't praise his hits, ```i'll gladly praise his "swipes;"= ``of corks, who funked the second ball, ```and by a sudden turn ``received the straightest one of all ```upon his ample stern.= ``he raised a loud and fearful roar-- ```with fury he was blind, ``and, though they called it "leg-before" ```he felt it most behind!= ``of marks, the scorer--best of men! ```sure everybody talks; ``he chalked the runs correctly when ```he couldn't walk his chalks.= ``despite the flasks of monstrous size ```he'd emptied to the dregs, ``he scored "wides," "overthrows," "leg-byes," ```and runs attained by legs.= ``for all the ceaseless rain which flows, ```the rival teams care naught; ``though runs were made by many a nose, ```and many a cold was caught.= ``inside and out they all got wet-- ```each drank what he could hold; ``i'm sure a bowl was overset ```for every over bowled.= ``the daylight fails; at length 'tis gone: ```there's little left to tell; ``for as the shades of eve drew on ```the stumps were drawn as well.= ``then to the tent each man resorts: ```on food intent were they. ``who won the sports? the pints and quarts-- ```the gallant l. v. a.= ``beneath the canvas let us pass-- ```old bottle-brush was there, ``and well he filled his empty glass, ```and well he filled the "chair."= ``at length the maltsters cleared the tent, ```and several hops ensued; ``but stay! both time and space are spent-- ```in truth, i must conclude.= ``a vict'ler rose amid the host-- ```a burly man was he-- ``"my lads," he said, "i'll give a toast, ```and here's my toast d'ye see:= ``"john barley-corn, the king of seeds!" ```and round the glasses go, ``"for that's a corn that ne'er impedes ```the light fantastic toe!"= |if any reader has conscientiously borne with me even unto the end, he may be ready to exclaim--"but where are the 'southerly busters?' no allusion to them except in the title and frontispiece. it's been a dead calm all the way." gentlest of a proverbially gentle class, what you say is perfectly true; but i have excellent precedent for this inconsistency. no one, not even an evangelical parson, sticks to his text now-a-days; and the gentleman who objected to being told "in mournful numbers" that "things are not what they seem," was a self-deceiving visionary who wanted to close his eyes to what everyone else knows to be an established fact. an m.p.'s speech on free trade seldom alludes to the subject; the daring feats and marvellous situations depicted outside a circus are never seen inside; light literature, advertised as such, is proverbially heavy; --------'s "vermin destroyer" has rather a nutritious and invigorating effect on vermin than otherwise, according to my experience; young's "night thoughts" were written in broad day-light; and few can have failed to remark the absence of pork and the presence of cat in a restaurant pork-sausage. the author of the most confused piece of literary mechanism that ever was printed, calls it "bradshaw's guide." [illustration: ] did it ever guide anyone anywhere except to outer darkness? did it ever awaken any other feeling in the bosom of a deluded traveller than a thirst for revenge? bradshaw merely followed the universal rule of contraries when he christened his mystifying treatise a "guide," for none knew better than he that "throwing a light on a subject" means involving it in gloom and obscurity, as surely as that "just one glass more, and then straight home," means twenty, and the most circuitous route the neighbourhood will admit of. i trust i have said enough to vindicate the somewhat obscure and deceptive title of this book; or, at any rate, to avert the worst catastrophe an author can dread--that of being blown to atoms by a southerly buster of public opinion. this ebook was produced by david schwan <davidsch@earthlink.net>. the rubáiyát of omar khayyám jr. translated from the original bornese into english verse by wallace irwin author of "the love sonnets of a hoodlum," with eight illustrations and cover design by gelett burgess introduction since the publication of edward fitzgerald's classic translation of the rubaiyat in - or rather since its general popularity several years later - poets minor and major have been rendering the sincerest form of flattery to the genius of the irishman who brought persia into the best regulated families. unfortunately there was only one omar and there were scores of imitators who, in order to make the astronomer go round, were obliged to draw him out to the thinness of balzac's magic skin. while all this was going on, the present editor was forced to conclude that the burning literary need was not for more translators, but for more omars to translate; and what was his surprise to note that the work of a later and superior omar khayyam was lying undiscovered in the wilds of borneo! here, indeed, was a sensation in the world of letters - a revelation as thrilling as the disinterment of ossian's forgotten songs - the discovery of an unsubmerged atlantis. while some stout cortez more worthy than the editor might have stood on this new darien and gazed over the sleeping demesne of omar khayyam, jr., he had, so to speak, the advantage of being first on the ground, and to him fell the duty, nolens volens, of lifting the rare philosophy out of the erebus that had so long cloaked it in obscurity. it is still a matter of surprise to the editor that the discovery of these rubaiyat should have been left to this late date, when in sentiment and philosophy they have points of superiority over the quatrains of the first omar of naishapur. the genius of the east has, indeed, ever been slow to reveal itself in the west. it took a crusade to bring to our knowledge anything of the schöner geist of the orient; and it was not until the day of matthew arnold that the epic of persia[ ] was brought into the proper realm of english poesy. what wonder, then, that not until the first omaric madness had passed away were the rubaiyat of omar khayyam, jr., lifted into the light after an infinity of sudor et labor spent in excavating under the , irregular verbs, declensions, and exceptions to every rule which go to make the ancient mango-bornese dialect in which the poem was originally written, foremost among the dead languages! although little is known of the life of omar khayyam the elder, the details of his private career are far more complete than those of his son, omar khayyam, jr. in fact, many historians have been so careless as to have entirely omitted mention of the existence of such a person as the younger omar. comparative records of the two languages, however, show plainly how the mantle was handed from the father to the son, and how it became the commendable duty of the second generation to correct and improve upon the first. omar khayyam died in the early part of the eleventh century, having sold his poems profitably, with the proceeds of which he established taverns throughout the length and breadth of persia. omar died in the height of his popularity, but shortly after his death the city of naishapur became a temperance town. even yet the younger omar might have lived and sung at naishapur had not a fanatical sect of sufi women, taking advantage of the increasing respectability of the once jovial city, risen in a body against the house of omar and literally razed it to the ground with the aid of hatchets, which were at that time the peculiar weapon of the sex and sect. it is said that the younger omar, who was then a youth, was obliged to flee from the wrath of the good government propagandists and to take abode in a distant city. for some time he wandered about persia in a destitute condition, plying the hereditary trade of tent-maker, but at length poverty compelled him to quit his native country for good and to try his fortunes in a land so remote that the dissolute record of his parent could no longer hound him. borneo was the island to which the poet fled, and here the historian finds him some years later prospering in the world's goods and greatly reverenced by the inhabitants. although omar, jr., was undoubtedly the greatest man that borneo has yet produced, he must not be confused in the mind of the reader with the wild man of borneo, who, although himself a poet, was a man of far less culture than the author of the present rubaiyat. while not a good templar, the younger omar showed a commendable tendency toward reform. the sensitive soul of the poet was ever cankered with the thought that his father's jovial habits had put him in a false position, and that it was his filial duty to retrieve the family reputation. it was his life work to inculcate into the semi-barbaric minds of the people with whom he had taken abode the thought that the alcoholic pleasures of his father were false joys, and that (as sung in number vi), - "there's comfort only in the smoking car." in tobacco the son found a lasting and comparatively harmless substitute for the wine, which, none can doubt, caused the elder omar to complain so bitterly, - "indeed, the idols i have loved so long have done my credit in men's eyes much wrong.'' note the cheerfulness with which the son answers the father in a stanza which may be taken as a key to his reformatory philosophy, "o foozied poetasters, fogged with wine, who to your orgies bid the muses nine, go bid them then, but leave to me, the tenth whose name is nicotine, for she is mine!'' quite in accordance with his policy of improving on his father's rakish muse was the frequent endorsement of the beautiful and harmless practice of kissing. the kiss is mentioned some forty-eight times in the present work, and in the nine hundred untranslated rubaiyat, two hundred and ten more kisses occur, making a grand total of two hundred and fifty-eight omaric kisses - "enough! - of kisses can there be enough?" it may be truly said that the father left the discovery of woman to his son, for nowhere in the rubaiyat of naishapur's poet is full justice done to the charms of the fair. even in his most ardent passages old omar uttered no more than a eulogy to friendship. where the philosophy of the elder omar was bacchanalian and epicurean, that of the son was tobacchanalian and eclectic, allowing excess only in moderation, as it were, and countenancing nothing more violent than poetic license. however, we are led to believe that the tastes of his time called for a certain mild sensuality as the gustatio to a feast of reason, and had omar khayyam lived in our own day he would doubtless have agreed with a reverend erlington and bosworth professor in the university of cambridge who boldly asserts that the literature redolent of nothing but the glories of asceticism "deserves the credit due to goodness of intention, and nothing else." due doubtless to the preservative influence of smoke omar khayyam, jr., was enabled to live to the hale age of one hundred and seven, and to go to an apotheosis fully worthy his greatness. among the native chroniclers the quatrain (number xcviii) - "then let the balmed tobacco be my sheath, the ardent weed above me and beneath, and let me like a living incense rise, a fifty-cent cigar between my teeth," has been the source of much relentless debate. by some it is held that this stanza is prophetic in its nature, foreseeing the transcendent miracle of the poet's death; by others it is as stoutly maintained that the poet in the above lines decreed that his work should be preserved and handed down to posterity in a wrapping of tobacco. the editor is inclined to the belief that there is much truth in both opinions, for the parchment, when it came to hand, was stained and scented from its wrappings of virginia and perique; and the manner of the poet's death marks number xci as another remarkable instance of the clairvoyance of the muse. to quote from the quaint words of the native chronicler: - "for while the volcanic singer was seated one day in the shade of a banyan tree, fresh cigars and abandoned stumps surrounding him like the little hills that climb the mountain, he nodded and fell asleep, still puffing lustily at a panatella, sweet and black. now the poet's beard was long and his sleep deep, and as the weed grew shorter with each ecstatic puff, the little brand of fire drew closer and closer to the beautiful hairy mantle that fell from the poet's chin. that day the island was wrapped in a light gauze of blue mist, an exotic smoke that was a blessing to the nostrils. it suffused the whole island from end to end, and reminded the happy inhabitants of the cigars of nirvana, grown in some plantation of the blessed. when the smoke had passed and our heads were cleared of the narcotic fumes, we hastened to the spot where our good master had loved to sit; but there naught remained but a great heap of white ashes, sitting among the pipes and cigars that had inspired his song. thus he died as he lived, an ardent smoker." w. i. [ ] "sohrab and rustam'' being a fragment of the persian epic. the rubáiyát of omar khayyám, jr. he lets me have good tobacco, and he does not sophisticate it with sack-lees or oil, nor washes it in muscadel and grains, nor buries it in gravel underground, wrapped up in greasy leather or sour clouts; but keeps it in fine lily-pots, that, opened, smell like conserve of roses or french beans. jonson. (the alchemist.) therefore, o love, because to all life's plans and projects some promotion thou impartest, thou still hast many zealous artisans, tho' not one artist. owen meredith. (marah.) the rubáiyát of omar khayyám, jr. i avaunt, acerbid brat of death, that sours the milk of life and blasts the nascent flowers! back to your morbid, mouldering cairns, and let me do my worrying in office hours! ii what though gorgona at the portal knocks and charms the squamiest serpent in her locks - i wear tobacchanalian wreaths of smoke and there are more perfectos in the box. iii now the new year, reviving old desires, the craving phoenix rises from its fires. indeed, indeed repentance oft i swore, but last year's pledge with this new year expires. iv mark how havana's sensuous-philtred mead dispels the cackling hag of night at need, and, foggy-aureoled, the smoke reveals the poppy flowers that blossom from the weed. v come, fill the pipe, and in the fire of spring the cuban leaves upon the embers fling, that in its incense i may sermonize on woman's ways and all that sort of thing. vi while the tired dog watch hailed the sea-merged star i heard the voice of travellers from afar making lament with many an ivory yawn, "there's comfort only in the smoking car!" vii see, heavenly zamperina, damselish, the day has broken night's unwholesome dish, the lark is up betimes to hail the dawn, the early worm is up to catch the fish. viii let us infest the lintel of the gloam and chase the steeds from morning's hippodrome, and let aurora's wastrel wanderings be a good excuse to stay away from home. ix ah, love, th' invisible buskin at the gate illumes your eyes that languored gaze and wait and in their incandescence seem to ask the world-old question: "is my hat on straight?" x than basilisk or nenuphar more fair, your locks with countless glistening pendants glare, then as the fountain patters to the brim a hundred hairpins tumble from your hair. xi so let them scatter, jangled in duress. what reckons love of hairpins more or less? guard well your heart and let the hairpins go - to lose your heart were arrant carelessness. xii acephalous time to febrous lengths bestirred strips the lush blossom and outstrips the bird, makes sweet the wine - i cannot say the same of women or of songs that i have heard. xiii with me along that mezzotinted zone where hymen spring is hymning to his own - see how grave mahmud gambols on the glebe and hangs the sign to let upon his throne! xiv a grand piano underneath the bough, a gramophone, a chinese gong, and thou trying to sing an anthem off the key - oh, paradise were wilderness enow? xv chromatic catches troll from yonder hill where bill to beak the wren and whip-poor-will in deed and truth beshrew the beldam life who kisses first and then presents the bill. xvi as one who by the sphinx delays a space and on her shoulder finds a resting place, breathes an awed question in her stupored ear. and lights a sulphur match upon her face, xvii so unto venus' oracle in turn i leaned the secret of my love to learn. the answering riddle came: "she loves you, yes, in just proportion to the sum you earn." xviii some by eolian aloes borne along swound on the dulcimer's reverbrant thong; but i, who make my mecca in a kiss, begrudge the lips that waste their time in song. xix some clamour much for kisses, some for few, others deep sup, their thirstings to renew, and mumble into maunderings, but i, in kissing, scorn the how much for the who. xx svelte zamperina's lips incarnadine, and languored lifting, fasten unto mine, their rubric message giving hint and clew how frequently a kiss in time saves nine. xxi then swart gorgona rears her snaky zone demanding sip of lip in poisonous tone while back abaft i cower, for well i wot a face like that needs not a chaperone. xxii the fair of vanity has many a booth to sell its spangled wares of age and youth; and there have i beheld the wordlings buy their paris gowns to clothe the naked truth. xxiii but cannot beauty render sin the less when aphroditan damosels transgress, making the error lovely with the thought - a dimple is its own forgiviness? xxiv into your soul may truculent daemons pass all hugger-mugger in that dun morass, but while the rouge is mantling to your cheek, nothing will chide you in your looking-glass. xxv unto the glass gorgona torques her eye beholding there ten myriad fragments fly, the parts dispersing with lugubrious din - who will invent a mirror that will lie? xxvi oft have i heard the cant of flattering friend admire my forehead's apollonic bend, then to the glass i've wreathed my sad regard - the looking-glass is candid to the end. xxvii look to the rose who, as i pass her by, breathes the fond attar-musk up to the sky, spreading her silken blushes - does she know that i have come to smell and not to buy? xxviii ah, rose, assume a gentle avarice and hoard the soft allurements that entice; for one will come who holds the golden means to buy your blushes at the standard price. xxix down to the deeps of sheol, anguish-torn, i've hurtled beauty to a state forlorn, beauty the curse, - yet if a curse it be, with what an equanimity 'tis borne! xxx what shallow guerdon of terrestrial strife, for him who quits this donjon keep of life, to read the world's expectant epitaph: "he left a handsome widow in his wife!" xxxi before the dawn's encroachment i awoke and heard again the bodeful adage spoke: society engagements are like eggs - you know not what's inside them till they're broke. xxxii creation stands between the won't and will, yes, and that doubt infinitude might fill - it took nine tailors once to make a man; it took nine more to make him pay the bill. xxxiii the thunderbolts of heaven's potent sway gather and break, but never can dismay when indestructible resistless meets, the please remit confronts the cannot pay. xxxiv and true as star and star pursue their course must rapture crumb to ashes of remorse: how many a marriage license that is writ has proved a legal permit to divorce! xxxv myself when young did eagerly frequent a woman's club and heard great argument of crazy cults and creeds; but evermore 'twas by much gossip of the fashions rent. xxxvi in them the seed of wisdom did i sow, speaking of things a woman ought to know. "better than years with ibsen spent," i said, "one evening with my friend, boccacio." xxxvii and that same bard who strews rhythmatic daisies and many a female heart discreetly crazes, seek him not out, fair maid, for oftentimes his head is vastly balder than his phrases. xxxviii upon the book of time the autocrat has writ in stars the fiery idem stat, lettered the riddle in the lambent suns - rather write than read a book like that. xxxix better a meager tome to sow the seed of errant thought and fancy's lantern feed; better a penny dreadful than the book that sends you into slumber when you read. xl and better still than these gorglorious things the briar's gracious narcotine that clings to my ambrosial temples till i wear a halo-crown of vapoured vortex rings. xli virginia for the pipe's sweet charity, havana for cigars to solace me, and turkey for the transient cigarette - was all i learned of my geography. xlii cigars i puff devoutly when i may, and when i can the pipe, another day, and when i must i browse on cigarettes - then, as you love me, take the stubs away! xliii waste not your weed, the leaves are all too few it's nectar to defile as others do - ah, shun the solecism and the plug for cattle-kings and stevedores to chew. xliv once in a dream 'twas granted unto me the open gates of paradise to see, while israfel loud chanted from the void, "this vision comes of pie; not piety!" xlv belovèd, smoke my amber pipe awhile and from its bowl narcotic joys beguile, suck lethe from its stem - what though i trace a certain greenish pallour in your smile? xlvi strange is it not that, oft her dolour cloaking in hurried puffs with nonchalance provoking, no woman reads that apodictic ode "how to be happy even though you're smoking?" xlvii look not so wild, the fit will pass away - no barbèd anguish chooses long to stay, and only in the pipe is friendship found that waxes strong and stronger day by day. xlviii come, rest your head if earth rotative seems and close your lids from these o'er wakeful gleams - although your palate cringe you shall not shrink within the kitchen of the house of dreams. xlix murkly i muse on that transcendent state where all my pasts within the future wait - if i for heavenly marriages am marked, oh what a turk i'll be beyond the gate! l minnie and maud across my flight will wing, birdie and bess and gwendolyn will bring a score of other pasts and make a scene, to say the least, a bit embarrassing. li some i have known are jabbering in hell, others have passed in heaven's reward to dwell; so, when my soul has flitted, must i find the same bland bores, the same old tales to tell. lii there is the thought beneath whose vampire tooth the soul outshrieks at such unseemly sooth: the solemn bore still waits beyond the grave - ah, let me stay and taste undying youth! liii into some secret, migrant realm without, by the dun cloak of darkness wrapped about, or by ringed saturn's swirl thou may'st be hid in vain: be sure the bore will find you out. liv were't not a shame, were't not a shame i say, that in this sorry brotherhood of clay no necromance the philtre can distil to keep mosquitoes, death and bores away? lv northly or southly may i ride or walk beneath the glacial crag or fronded stalk, but still the spectre gibbers in my ears and drowns my spirits in a sea of talk. lvi the noun and verb he scatters without end and adjectives to pronouns horror lend - ah, fumid pipe, i thank you hour by hour that you have never learned to talk, my friend! lvii better the pleasaunce-breathing pipe for me than lodgment in that great menagerie where birds of aureate plumage preen their quills and social lions growl above their tea. lviii the tea, that in the magic of its flow anoints the tongue to wag of so-and-so, to gabble garbled garrulousness ere you lay the cup and saucer down and go. lix and we that now make madness in the room where last week's lion had his little boom ourselves must go and leave that flattering din and let them brew another tea - for whom? lx they say the lion and the ladies keep the court where johnson jested and drank deep; now minor poets label new cigars and sell their reputations passing cheap. lxi o foozled poetasters, fogged with wine, who to your orgies bid the muses nine, go bid them, then, but leave to me the tenth, whose name is nicotine, for she is mine! lxii peace to the pipe, that silent infidel, whose spiral-twisted coils discretion spell! how many kisses has he seen me give, how many take - and yet he will not tell. lxiii dumbly he saw the rosy-tinted bliss when zamperina kissed her maiden kiss, her innocence betraying in the cry, "oh, how can you respect me after this?" lxiv another time, all dalliant and slow, to those deluscious lips i bended low, and at the second kiss she only said, "do you do this to every girl you know?" lxv unto that flowery cup i bent once more; again she showed no seeming to abhor, but at the third kiss all she asked or wist was, "is this all you come to see me for?" lxvi but one there is more sage in that caress, raising no mawkish pennant of distress, but when i tip the osculative brim accepts the kiss in silent thankfulness. lxvii her lips no questions ask - content is hers if her artistic spirit wakes and stirs, nor recks of those romances heretofore - engagements where i won my brazen spurs. lxviii a microbe lingers in a kiss, you say? yes, but he nibbles in a pleasant way. rather than in the cup and telephone better to catch him kissing and be gay. lxix enough of kisses, whose ecstatic stuff endures an age and flickers in a puff, that undeservèd web of foibled toys, enough - of kisses can there be enough? lxx what, then, of him in dizzy heights profound who scans the zenith's constellated round? alas! who goes ballooning to the stars too often runs his trade into the ground. lxxi little we learn beyond the a b c - except d e f g h i it be, or j k l m n o p q r and then s t u v w x y z. lxxii a solon ponders till his years are great on sway of power and magnitude of state, then in his age he leaves the questions to the wisdom of the sweet girl graduate. lxxiii the delphic gaberdine avails me not when laurels fester into loathly rot, and in his starry shroud the poet starves while growing roses in a cabbage lot. lxxiv forgive, ye wise, the oaf who nothing knows and glories in the bubbles that he blows, and while you wrestle blindly with the world, he whistles on his fingers and his toes. lxxv what good to dread the storm's impending black with woful ululation and "alack!" - the garbled tenor of a sore despite can never bring your lost umbrella back. lxxvi so what of secrets mouthed beneath the rose, rumorous badinage of these and those? - the lady lodger in the flat upstairs knows all you do and say - she knows - she knows! lxxvii she knows, but though her cavernous ears are sage, nought can she fathom of one glyphic page, nought from a woman's record can she tell - i still must guess at zamperina's age. lxxviii time only knows, whose spinning axes quake the astral turrets where the patient wake to count the stars and planets as they pass - oh, what a task for one to undertake! lxxix ask not behind my moated soul austere one moment on my secret self to peer - already you have seen sufficient there to keep me in a wholesome state of fear. lxxx nay, zamperina, save those agate eyes from shrewd empiric paths where knowledge lies; throw truth to the unlovely, when to you it were a rash unwisdom to be wise. lxxxi oh, like the smoke that rises and is gone, let your own spirit lift from dawn to dawn and so bestartle ennui that at last even the grave will quite forget to yawn! * * * * * * * lxxxii as hooded eve behind her rosy bars her soft kinoon betinkled to the stars, again to the tobacconist's i came and stood among the stogies and cigars. lxxxiii some were whose scent exhaled the asphodel, and some whose smoke gave forth a roseate smell, and some poor weeds that told you at a whiff how they were made to give away, not sell. lxxxiv one said, "and can no wiser law revoke the edict that foredestined me to smoke, my stump to be a byword and a jest? - but if a jest i fail to see the joke." lxxxv a second murmured, "surely we might learn some undiminished anodyne to burn, for ne'er a smoker puffed a good cigar but wished another like it might return." lxxxvi after a momentary silence spake a stogie of a bileful pittsburg make; "the one who puffs my wrappings to the end will never ask my memory to awake." lxxxvii then spake a panatela finely rolled, "if to a fiery doom i must be sold, then let it be my happy fate to find a high-born mouth whose teeth are filled with gold." lxxxviii an auburn weed uprose as one surprised. "if for a martyr's death i so am prized, may not my hallowed ashes be preserved that saint cigar i may be canonized?" lxxxix "well," murmured one, "when in my ashen shroud my stump descends to meet the shrieking crowd, i yet may know that in the fire of hell there stands no placard, 'smoking not allowed.'" xc and while this corvine clatter still endured a lambent flame, by fragrant promise lured, crept in, as all the inmates cried amain, "the shop's afire and we are uninsured!" xci arise, then, zamperina, day grows old, the shepherd pipes his sundered flocks to fold, your garments quail and ripple in the chill, your pagan nose empurples with the cold. xcii the how is swiftly mingling with the when, the what describes its orbit's round, and then of why or which nor mite nor mote delays to fall in line and get mixed up again. xciii i must not heed that elemental whirl where arc on arc the trainèd planets swirl - the astronomic marvels have no charm for him who walks the gloaming with his girl. xciv the keeper of the sky has hasped his doors, forgetting zal's accumulative roars, and drunk with night's elixir, prone he lies in warp of dreamless sleep - and woof of snores. xcv so must i those soporic echoes woo when, all my intermittent joyaunce through, each thrill must be a threnod, as i know that they who kiss can teach me nothing new. xcvi indeed, indeed, repentance oft before i swore, but was i smoking when i swore? and ever and anon i made resolve and sealed the holy pledge - with one puff more. xcvii o thou who sought our fathers to enslave and ev'n the pipe to walter raleigh gave, i love you still for your redeeming vice and shower tobacco leaves upon your grave! xcviii then let the balmed tobacco be my sheath, the ardent weed above me and beneath, and let me like a living incense rise, a fifty-cent cigar between my teeth. xcix havana's witch-fog murks my horoscope until my dream-enamoured senses grope towards the light, where in her opal shrine smiles hopefulness, the great reward of hope. * * * * * * * c let those who to this daedal valley throng and by my tumid ashes pass along, let them be glad with this consoling thought: i got a market value for my song. ci and some expectant devotee who knocks at that poor house where once i rent my locks, in vain may seek a last cigar and find my muse asleep within an empty box. hammam notes i - "sours the milk of life;" thunderstorms, earthquakes and artificial commotions of the earth are popularly and quasi-scientifically believed to have the effect of turning milk from sweet to sour; so here the milk of life is soured by the sudden advent of the brat of death (care, perhaps, who is said to have killed a cat on one occasion). by some critics it is held that the figure might have been enrichened by the substitution of the cream of life for the milk of life. ii- gorgona is referred to but three times in the present work, in rubs ii, xxi and xxvi. number ii would lead us to believe that the poet used her figuratively as sorrow or remorse; but the text of xxi and xxvi point another conclusion. the latter rubaiyat tell us forcefully that gorgona was but too real and that her unloveliness was a sore trial to the fine attunement of the poet's nerves. ii - such words as "tobacchanalian" (compounded from tobacco and bacchanalian) lewis carrol claimed as his own under the title of "portmanteau words," - another example of the antiquity of modernity. vii - "the early worm is up to catch the fish;" the worm, caught as bait, will in turn serve as captor for some luckless fish. this, possibly, is the bornese version of our own proverb, "the early bird catches the worm." ix - "the invisible buskin at the gate" probably refers to the shoe left outside of temples and mosques in the orient. the temple here meant is doubtless the temple of love, and the fact of the buskin being invisible illumes the eyes of the damosel who knows that the devotee is worshiping at the shrine of love. x - than basilisk or nenuphar; the poet has given us in two words the dual aspect of woman; flowerlike in repose, serpentine in action. x - pendants; who has not noted a hairpin in the act of falling, hanging for a moment, as though loth to leave its gentle habitation? omar khayyam, jr., was an observer of small things as well as great. x - a hundred hairpins; aspirates are used liberally in this line, probably to give the effect of falling hairpins. xiii - hymen spring; hymen, while not the god of husbandry, was the accepted deity of marriage; hence spring, the incorrigible match-maker, may very, easily be identified with hymen. note the pleasing alliteration of the words hymen and hymning brought so close together. xviii - eolian aloes; aloes, according to oscar wilde in the picture of dorian grey, have the power of banishing melancholy wherever their perfume penetrates. eolian aloes may be the exotic melodies that drive care from the mind. xxiii - forgiviness; the reader will probably regard this spelling of forgiveness somewhat unusual, and the editor freely confesses that he has no authority for such usage. but since fitzgerald has coined enow for the sake of a rhyme, the editor hopes that he will be forgiven his forgiviness. xxix - with what an equanimity; there is an untranslated quatrain to the effect that ugliness is the only sin that can make a woman ashamed to look her mirror in the face. xxv - the breaking of the glass at the gaze of gorgona, as well as the squamiest serpent in her locks, mentioned in ii, give us a clew as to the derivation of her name from that of the gorgon, medusa, whose uncomeliness was so intense as to petrify all that met her gaze. on the other hand, the glance of gorgona seemed to be rather explosive than congealing. xxv - torques; this word (like squamiest) is derived directly from the latin, to be used in this work. they are not properly english words, but the editor intends they shall become so in the near future. xxvi - wreathed is used in obsolete english and especially in spenser, to mean turned or bent. xxvii - attar-musk; attar is the persian word for druggist, but we hesitate to believe that the poet would attribute an artificial perfume to the rose. xxxv - myself when young; this stanza is supposed to be biographical in its intent. it is known that before the anti-omaric uprising in naishapur, and even during his errant tour through persia, the younger omar was socially lionized,, becoming much sought after. it may seem improbable that omar, jr., as a member of the sterner sex, should have been admitted as a regular frequenter of women's clubs, but it must be remembered that then, even as in our own day, men were eagerly prized as lecturers on subjects of interest to women. omar, jr., appeared for several seasons before the women's clubs of naishapur, giving recitations and readings from his father's works. xxxvi - ibsen - boccacio; for a persian poet of so remote a date, omar khayyam, jr., showed a remarkable knowledge of modern as well as mediaeval literature. lvii - that great menagerie; another reference to his experience as a social lion is found here, as in the three rubaiyat following. the gabble garbled garrulousness (the familiar "gobble, gabble and git, crystallized into the higher form of expression) indicates that the narcotic effect of tea on womankind was much the same in omar's time as in ours. lxi - leave to me the tenth; the discovery of a tenth muse puts the younger omar on an equal footing with his father in science as well as in poetry. the editor has found that upon quitting forever his native persia, omar khayyam, jr., brought to borneo many of the more refined sciences. in his hereditary profession, astronomy, he claims the rare distinction of having first made observations through the medium of a wine-glass. his long fidelity to this method was rewarded by some remarkable results, for his private journals show that on several occasions he was able to discern as many as eight sister satellites swimming in eccentric orbits around the moon - a discovery which our much-vaunted modern science has never been able to equal or even to approach. lxvii - her lips no questions ask; "lips with kissing forfeit no favour; nay, they increase as the moon doth ever." boccacio. (decameron.) lxxi - the a b c; this rubái'y, though indescribably beautiful in the original, is somewhat too involved for us to grasp the meaning at one reading. perhaps, in thus weaving the alphabet into his numbers, it was the purpose of the poet to give promise of the ultimate attainment of the alpha and omega of knowledge. perhaps the stanza, on the other hand, was merely intended as a pretty poetical conceit, an exercise in metrical ingenuity. if the latter theory holds good, what a pity it would seem that these rubaiyat were not originally written in chinese, the infinite alphabet of which language would have furnished material for the present work and several revised editions also! lxxiii - while growing roses in a cabbage lot; confusing, perhaps at first reading, but here again may the student employ the device of symbolism with great advantage. the roses may be taken for the flowers of fancy, the cabbage lot for the field of sordid reality. as a staple vegetable, the rose can never compete with the cabbage. lxxiv - he whistles on his fingers and his toes; there are many who may very justly consider this line as undignified and unrefined; but such readers should always remember that these quatrains may be taken as purely symbolical. thus the fingers and toes may be regarded as mental aspects and the whistle as whatever best suits the reader. lxxxiii - asphodel; the fabled flower of immortality; also a brand of cigar much favoured by the younger omar. lxxxv - anodyne; some translations have this iodine. xciii - the how is swiftly mingling with the when, etc.; the great questions, how, what and when, are being withdrawn unanswered by the dnulovpec, who is responsible for their propounding. more peers verses by h. belloc pictures by b. t. b. [illustration] london: duckworth & co. printed in great britain at _the mayflower press, plymouth_. william brendon & son, ltd. contents page i. edward, first earl of roehampton in the county of surrey, deceased ii. archibald, fifteenth baron calvin of peebles in north britain iii. henry de la tour albert st. john chase, commonly known as lord henry chase iv. thomas, second baron heygate of bayswater in the county of london v. percy, first earl of epsom, in the county of surrey vi. arthur weekes, commonly known as lord finchley, eldest son and heir of charles, first baron hendon vii. ali-baba, first (and last) baron ali-baba of salonika viii. george punter, commonly known as lord hippo, eldest son and heir of peter, sixth earl of potamus ix. baron uncle tom of maarfontein in the britains over seas x. william, eighth earl lucky, subsequently fifth duke of bradford xi. christopher, sixth baron canton xii. alcibiades, third baron abbott of brackley in southamptonshire lord roehampton [illustration] during a late election lord roehampton strained a vocal chord from shouting, very loud and high, to lots and lots of people why the budget in his own opin- -ion should not be allowed to win. he [illustration] sought a specialist, who said: "you have a swelling in the head: your larynx is a thought relaxed and you are greatly over-taxed." "i am indeed! on every side!" the earl (for such he was) replied [illustration] in hoarse excitement.... "oh! my lord, you jeopardize your vocal chord!" broke in the worthy specialist. "come! here's the treatment! i insist! to bed! to bed! and do not speak a single word till wednesday week, when i will come and set you free (if you are cured) and take my fee." on wednesday week the doctor hires a brand-new car with brand-new tyres and brand-new chauffeur all complete for visiting south audley street. * * * * * but what is this? no union jack floats on the stables at the back! no toffs escorting ladies fair perambulate the gay parterre. a 'scutcheon hanging lozenge-wise and draped in crape appals his eyes upon the mansion's ample door, to which he wades through [illustration] heaps of straw,[a] and which a butler [a] this is the first and only time that i have used this sort of rhyme. [illustration] drowned in tears, on opening but confirms his fears: "oh! sir!--prepare to hear the worst!... last night my kind old master burst. and what is more, i doubt if he has left enough to pay your fee. the budget----" with a dreadful oath, the specialist, [illustration] denouncing both the budget _and_ the house of lords, buzzed angrily bayswaterwards. * * * * * and ever since, as i am told, gets it beforehand; and in gold. lord calvin lord calvin thought the bishops should not sit as peers of parliament. [illustration] and _argued_ it! in spite of which, for years, and years, and years, they went on sitting with their fellow-peers. lord henry chase what happened to lord henry chase? he got into a [illustration] libel case! _the daily howl_ had said that he-- but could not prove it perfectly to judge or jury's satisfaction: his lordship, therefore, [illustration] won the action. but, as the damages were small, [illustration] he gave them to a hospital. lord heygate [illustration] lord heygate had a troubled face, his furniture was commonplace-- the sort of peer who well might pass for someone of the middle class. i do not think you want to hear about this unimportant peer, so let us leave him to discourse about lord epsom and his horse. lord epsom [illustration] a horse, lord epsom did bestride with mastery and quiet pride. he dug his spurs into its hide. the horse, [illustration] discerning it was pricked, incontinently [illustration] bucked and kicked, a thing that no one could predict! lord epsom clearly understood the high-bred creature's nervous mood, [illustration] as only such a horseman could. dismounting, [illustration] [illustration] he was heard to say that it was kinder to delay his pleasure to a future day * * * * * he had the hunter led away. lord finchley [illustration] lord finchley tried to mend the electric light himself. [illustration] it struck him dead: and serve him right! it is the business of the wealthy man to give employment to the artisan. lord ali-baba lord ali-baba was a turk who hated every kind of work, and would repose for hours at ease with [illustration] houris seated on his knees. a happy life!--until, one day [illustration] mossoo alphonse effendi bey (a younger turk: the very cream and essence of the new regime) dispelled this oriental dream by granting him a place at court, high coffee-grinder to the porte, unpaid:-- [illustration] in which exalted post his lordship yielded up the ghost. lord hippo lord hippo suffered fearful loss [illustration] by putting money on a horse which he believed, if it were pressed, would run far faster than the rest: for someone who was in the know [illustration] had confidently told him so. but [illustration] on the morning of the race it only took [illustration] the _seventh_ place! [illustration] picture the viscount's great surprise! he scarcely could believe his eyes! he sought the individual who had laid him odds at to , suggesting as a useful tip that they should enter partnership and put to joint account the debt arising from his foolish bet. [illustration] but when the bookie--oh! my word, i only wish you could have heard the way he roared he did not think, and hoped that they might strike him pink! lord hippo simply turned and ran from this infuriated man. despairing, maddened and distraught he utterly collapsed and sought his sire, [illustration] the earl of potamus, and brokenly addressed him thus: "dread sire--to-day--at ascot--i ..." his genial parent made reply: come! come! come! come! don't look so glum! trust your papa and name the sum.... what? [illustration] ... _fifteen hundred thousand?_... hum! however ... stiffen up, you wreck; boys will be boys--so here's the cheque! lord hippo, feeling deeply--well, more grateful than he cared to tell-- punted the lot on little nell:-- and got a telegram at dinner to say [illustration] that he had backed the winner! lord uncle tom lord uncle tom was different from what other nobles are. for they are yellow or pink, i think, but he was black as tar. [illustration] he had his father's debonair and rather easy pride: but his complexion and his hair [illustration] were from the mother's side. he often mingled in debate and latterly displayed [illustration] experience of peculiar weight upon the cocoa-trade. but now he speaks no more. the bill which he could not abide, it preyed upon his mind until he sickened, paled, and died. lord lucky lord lucky, by a curious fluke, became a most important duke. from living in a vile hotel [illustration] a long way east of camberwell he rose, in less than half an hour, to riches, dignity and power. it happened in the following way:-- the real duke went out one day to shoot with several people, one [illustration] of whom had never used a gun. this gentleman (a mr. meyer of rabley abbey, rutlandshire), as he was scrambling through the brake, [illustration] discharged his weapon by mistake, and plugged about an ounce of lead piff-bang into his grace's head---- who naturally fell down dead. his heir, lord ugly, roared, "you brute! [illustration] take that to teach you how to shoot!" whereat he volleyed, left and right; but being somewhat short of sight, his right-hand barrel only got the second heir, lord poddleplot; the while the left-hand charge (or choke) accounted for another bloke, who stood with an astounded air bewildered by the whole affair --and was the third remaining heir. after the [illustration] execution (which is something rare among the rich) lord lucky, while of course he needed some [illustration] help to prove their claim, succeeded. --but after his succession, though all this was over years ago, he only once indulged the whim of asking meyer to lunch with him. lord canton the reason that [illustration] the present lord canton succeeded lately to his brother john was that his brother john, the elder son, died rather suddenly at forty-one. the insolence of an italian guide [illustration] appears to be the reason that he died. lord abbott lord abbott's coronet was far too small, so small, that as he sauntered down white hall even the youthful proletariat (who probably mistook it for a hat) remarked on its exiguous extent. [illustration] here is a picture of the incident. poetical ingenuities and eccentricities. _post vo, cloth limp, s. d. per volume._ the mayfair library. the new republic. by w. h. mallock. the new paul and virginia. by w. h. mallock. the true history of joshua davidson. by e. lynn linton. old stories re-told. by walter thornbury. puniana. by the hon. hugh rowley. more puniana. by the hon. hugh rowley. thoreau: his life and aims. by h. a. page. by stream and sea. by william senior. jeux d'esprit. collected and edited by henry s. leigh. gastronomy as a fine art. by brillat-savarin. the muses of mayfair. edited by h. cholmondeley pennel. puck on pegasus. by h. cholmondeley pennel. original plays by w. s. gilbert. first series. containing--the wicked world, pygmalion and galatea, charity, the princess, the palace of truth, trial by jury. original plays by w. s. gilbert. second series. containing--broken hearts, engaged, sweethearts, dan'l druce, gretchen, tom cobb, the sorcerer, h.m.s. pinafore, the pirates of penzance. carols of cockayne. by henry s. leigh. literary frivolities, fancies, follies, and frolics. by w. t. dobson. pencil and palette. by robert kempt. the book of clerical anecdotes. by jacob larwood. the speeches of charles dickens. the cupboard papers. by fin-bec. quips and quiddities. selected by w. davenport adams. melancholy anatomised: a popular abridgment of "burton's anatomy of melancholy." the agony column of "the times," from to . edited by alice clay. pastimes and players. by robert macgregor. curiosities of criticism. by henry j. jennings. the philosophy of handwriting. by don felix de salamanca. latter-day lyrics. edited by w. davenport adams. balzac's comÉdie humaine and its author. with translations by h. h. walker. leaves from a naturalist's note-book. by andrew wilson, f.r.s.e. the autocrat of the breakfast-table. by oliver wendell holmes. illustrated by j. g. thomson. _other volumes are in preparation._ chatto and windus, piccadilly, w. poetical ingenuities and eccentricities selected and edited by william t. dobson author of "literary frivolities," etc. london chatto and windus, piccadilly [_all rights reserved_] preface. the favourable reception of "literary frivolities" by the press has led to the preparation of this work as a sequel, in which the only sin so far charged against the "frivolities"--that of omission--will be found fully atoned for. those curious in regard to the historical and literary accounts of several of the various phases of composition exemplified in this work, will find these fully enough noticed in "literary frivolities," in which none of the examples were strictly original, and had been gathered from many outlying corners of the world of literature. in the present work, however, will be found a number of pieces which have not hitherto been "glorified in type," and these have been furnished by various literary gentlemen, among whom may be named professor e. h. palmer and j. appleton morgan, ll.d., of new york. assistance in "things both new and old" has also been given by charles g. leland, esq. (hans breitmann), w. bence jones, esq., j. f. huntingdon, esq. (cambridge, u.s.); whilst particular thanks are due to mr. lewis carroll for a kindly and courteous permission to quote from his works. with regard to a few of the extracts, the difficulty of finding their authors has been a bar to requesting permission to use them; but in every case endeavour has been made to acknowledge the source whence they are derived. contents. page the parody chain or concatenation verse macaronic verse linguistic verse technical verse single-rhymed verse anagrams the acrostic alliterative and alphabetic verse nonsense verse lipograms centones or mosaics echo verses watch-case verses prose poems miscellaneous index poetical ingenuities and eccentricities. _the parody._ parody is the name generally given to a humorous or burlesque imitation of a serious poem or song, of which it so far preserves the style and words of the original as that the latter may be easily recognised; it also may be said to consist in the application of high-sounding poetry to familiar objects, should be confined within narrow limits, and only adapted to light and momentary occasions. though by no means the highest kind of literary composition, and generally used to ridicule the poets, still many might think their reputation increased rather than diminished by the involuntary applause of imitators and parodists, and have no objection that their works afford the public double amusement--first in the original, and afterwards in the travesty, though the parodist may not always be intellectually up to the level of his prototype. parodies are best, however, when short and striking--when they produce mirth by the happy imitation of some popular passage, or when they mix instruction with amusement, by showing up some latent absurdity or developing the disguises of bad taste. the invention of this humoristic style of composition has been attributed to the greeks, from whose language the name itself is derived (_para_, beside; _ode_, a song); the first to use it being supposed to be hegemon of thasos, who flourished during the peloponnesian war; by others the credit of the invention is given to hipponax, who in his picture of a glutton, parodies homer's description of the feats of achilles in fighting with his hero in eating. this work begins as follows: "sing, o celestial goddess, eurymedon, foremost of gluttons, whose stomach devours like charybdis, eater unmatched among mortals." the battle of the frogs and mice (the "batrachomyomachia"), also a happy specimen of the parody is said to be a travesty of homer's "iliad," and numerous examples will be found in the comedies of aristophanes. among the romans this form of literary composition made its appearance at the period of the decline, and all the power of nero could not prevent persius from parodying his verses. the french among modern nations have been much given to it, whilst in the english language there are many examples, one of the earliest being the parodying of milton by john philips, one of the most artificial poets of his age ( - ). he was an avowed imitator of milton, and certainly evinced considerable talent in his peculiar line. philips wrote in blank verse a poem on the victory of blenheim, and another on cider, the latter in imitation of the georgics. his best work, however, is that from which there follows a quotation, a parody on "paradise lost," considered by steele to be the best burlesque poem extant. the splendid shilling. "'sing, heavenly muse! things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme,' a shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire. happy the man, who, void of care and strife, in silken or in leathern purse retains a splendid shilling: he nor hears with pain new oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale; but with his friends, when nightly mists arise, to juniper's _magpie_, or _town-hall_[ ] repairs: where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye transfixed his soul, and kindled amorous flames, chloe or phillis, he each circling glass wishes her health, and joy, and equal love. meanwhile he smokes, and laughs at merry tale, or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint. but i, whom griping penury surrounds, and hunger, sure attendant upon want, with scanty offals, and small acid tiff, wretched repast! my meagre corpse sustain: then solitary walk, or doze at home in garret vile, and with a warming puff regale chilled fingers; or from tube as black as winter chimney, or well-polished jet, exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent: not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, smokes cambro-briton (versed in pedigree, sprung from cadwallader and arthur, kings full famous in romantic tale) when he o'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff, upon a cargo of famed cestrian cheese, high over-shadowing rides, with a design to vend his wares, or at th' avonian mart, or maridunum, or the ancient town yclep'd brechinia, or where vaga's stream encircles ariconium, fruitful soil! whence flows nectareous wines, that well may vie with massic, setin, or renowned falern. thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow with looks demur, and silent pace, a dun, horrible monster! hated by gods and men, to my aërial citadel ascends: with vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate; with hideous accent thrice he calls; i know the voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound. what should i do? or whither turn? amazed, confounded, to the dark recess i fly of wood-hole; straight my bristling hairs erect through sudden fear: a chilly sweat bedews my shuddering limbs, and (wonderful to tell!) my tongue forgets her faculty of speech; so horrible he seems! his faded brow intrenched with many a frown, and conic beard, and spreading band, admired by modern saints, disastrous acts forebode; in his right hand long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves, with characters and figures dire inscribed, grievous to mortal eyes (ye gods, avert such plagues from righteous men!) behind him stalks another monster, not unlike himself, sullen of aspect, by the vulgar called a catchpoll, whose polluted hands the gods with force incredible, and magic charms, first have endued: if he his ample palm should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay of debtor, straight his body, to the touch obsequious (as whilom knights were wont), to some enchanted castle is conveyed, where gates impregnable, and coercive chains in durance strict detain him, till, in form of money, pallas sets him free. beware, ye debtors! when ye walk, beware, be circumspect; oft with insidious ken this caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave, prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch with his unhallowed touch. so (poets sing) grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn an everlasting foe, with watchful eye lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap, portending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice sure ruin. so her disembowelled web arachne, in a hall or kitchen, spreads obvious to vagrant flies: she secret stands within her woven cell; the humming prey, regardless of their fate, rush on the toils inextricable; nor will aught avail their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue: the wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, and butterfly, proud of expanded wings distinct with gold, entangled in her snares, useless resistance make: with eager strides she towering flies to her expected spoils: then, with envenomed jaws, the vital blood drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave their bulky carcasses triumphant drags."... perhaps the best english examples of the true parody--the above being more of an imitation--are to be found in the "rejected addresses" of the brothers james and horace smith. this work owed its origin to the reopening of drury lane theatre in , after its destruction by fire. the managers, in the true spirit of tradesmen, issued an advertisement calling for addresses, one of which should be spoken on the opening night. forty-three were sent in for competition. overwhelmed by the amount of talent thus placed at their disposal, the managers summarily rejected the whole, and placed themselves under the care of lord byron, whose composition, after all, was thought by some to be, if not unworthy, at least ill-suited for the occasion. mr. ward, the secretary of the theatre, having casually started the idea of publishing a series of "rejected addresses," composed by the most popular authors of the day, the brothers smith eagerly adopted the suggestion, and in six weeks the volume was published, and received by the public with enthusiastic delight. they were principally humorous imitations of eminent authors, and lord jeffrey said of them in the _edinburgh review_: "i take them indeed to be the very best imitations (and often of difficult originals) that ever were made; and, considering their great extent and variety, to indicate a talent to which i do not know where to look for a parallel. some few of them descend to the level of parodies; but by far the greater part are of a much higher description." the one which follows is in imitation of crabbe, and was written by james smith, and jeffrey thought it "the best piece in the collection. it is an exquisite and masterly imitation, not only of the peculiar style, but of the taste, temper, and manner of description of that most original author." crabbe himself said regarding it, that it "was admirably done." the theatre. "'tis sweet to view, from half-past five to six, our long wax candles, with short cotton wicks, touched by the lamplighter's promethean art, start into light, and make the lighter start; to see red phoebus through the gallery-pane tinge with his beam the beams of drury lane; while gradual parties fill our widen'd pit, and gape, and gaze, and wonder, ere they sit. at first, while vacant seats give choice and ease, distant or near, they settle where they please; but when the multitude contracts the span, and seats are rare, they settle where they can. now the full benches to late-comers doom no room for standing, miscalled _standing-room_. hark! the check-taker moody silence breaks, and bawling 'pit full!' gives the check he takes; yet onward still the gathering numbers cram, contending crowders shout the frequent damn, and all is bustle, squeeze, row, jabbering, and jam. see to their desks apollo's sons repair-- swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair! in unison their various tones to tune, murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon; in soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, tang goes the harpsichord, too-too the flute, brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, winds the french horn, and twangs the tingling harp; till, like great jove, the leader, figuring in, attunes to order the chaotic din. now all seems hushed; but no, one fiddle will give, half ashamed, a tiny flourish still. foiled in his crash, the leader of the clan reproves with frowns the dilatory man: then on his candlestick thrice taps his bow, nods a new signal, and away they go. perchance, while pit and gallery cry 'hats off!' and awed consumption checks his chided cough, some giggling daughter of the queen of love drops, reft of pin, her play-bill from above; like icarus, while laughing galleries clap, soars, ducks, and dives in air the printed scrap; but, wiser far than he, combustion fears, and, as it flies, eludes the chandeliers; till, sinking gradual, with repeated twirl, it settles, curling, on a fiddler's curl, who from his powdered pate the intruder strikes, and, for mere malice, sticks it on the spikes. say, why these babel strains from babel tongues? who's that calls 'silence!' with such leathern lungs! he who, in quest of quiet, 'silence!' hoots, is apt to make the hubbub he imputes. what various swains our motley walls contain!-- fashion from moorfields, honour from chick lane; bankers from paper buildings here resort, bankrupts from golden square and riches court; from the haymarket canting rogues in grain, gulls from the poultry, sots from water lane; the lottery-cormorant, the auction shark, the full-price master, and the half-price clerk; boys who long linger at the gallery-door, with pence twice five--they want but twopence more; till some samaritan the twopence spares, and sends them jumping up the gallery-stairs. critics we boast who ne'er their malice balk, but talk their minds--we wish they'd mind their talk; big-worded bullies, who by quarrels live-- who give the lie, and tell the lie they give; jews from st. mary axe, for jobs so wary, that for old clothes they'd even axe st. mary; and bucks with pockets empty as their pate, lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait; who oft, when we our house lock up, carouse with tippling tipstaves in a lock-up house. yet here, as elsewhere, chance can joy bestow where scowling fortune seem'd to threaten woe. john richard william alexander dwyer was footman to justinian stubbs, esquire; but when john dwyer listed in the blues, emanuel jennings polished stubbs's shoes; emanuel jennings brought his youngest boy up as a corn-cutter--a safe employ; in holywell street, st. pancras, he was bred (at number twenty-seven, it is said), facing the pump, and near the granby's head; he would have bound him to some shop in town, but with a premium he could not come down. pat was the urchin's name--a red-haired youth, fonder of purl and skittle-grounds than truth. silence, ye gods! to keep your tongues in awe, the muse shall tell an accident she saw. pat jennings in the upper gallery sat, but, leaning forward, jennings lost his hat; down from the gallery the beaver flew, and spurned the one to settle in the two. how shall he act? pay at the gallery-door two shillings for what cost, when new, but four? or till half-price, to save his shilling, wait, and gain his hat again at half-past eight? now, while his fears anticipate a thief, john mullens whispered, 'take my handkerchief.' 'thank you,' cries pat; 'but one won't make a line.' 'take mine,' cried wilson; and cried stokes, 'take mine.' a motley cable soon pat jennings ties, where spitalfields with real india vies. like iris' bow down darts the painted clue, starred, striped, and spotted, yellow, red, and blue, old calico, torn silk, and muslin new. george green below, with palpitating hand, loops the last 'kerchief to the beaver's band-- upsoars the prize! the youth, with joy unfeigned, regained the felt, and felt what he regained; while to the applauding galleries grateful pat made a low bow, and touched the ransomed hat!" from the same work is taken this parody on a beautiful passage in southey's "kehama:" "midnight, yet not a nose from tower hill to piccadilly snored! midnight, yet not a nose from indra drew the essence of repose. see with what crimson fury, by indra fann'd, the god of fire ascends the walls of drury! the tops of houses, blue with lead, bend beneath the landlord's tread; master and 'prentice, serving-man and lord, nailor and tailor, grazier and brazier, through streets and alleys poured, all, all abroad to gaze, and wonder at the blaze. thick calf, fat foot, and slim knee, mounted on roof and chimney; the mighty roast, the mighty stew to see, as if the dismal view were but to them a mighty jubilee." the brothers smith reproduced byron in the familiar "childe harold" stanza, both in style and thought: "for what is hamlet, but a hare in march? and what is brutus but a croaking owl? and what is rolla? cupid steeped in starch, orlando's helmet in augustin's cowl. shakespeare, how true thine adage, 'fair is foul!' to him whose soul is with fruition fraught, the song of braham is an irish howl, thinking is but an idle waste of thought, and nought is everything, and everything is nought." moore, also, was imitated in the same way, as in these verses: "the apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowledge by women were plucked, and she still wears the prize, to tempt us in theatre, senate, or college-- i mean the love-apples that bloom in the eyes. there, too, is the lash which, all statutes controlling, still governs the slaves that are made by the fair; for man is the pupil who, while her eye's rolling, is lifted to rapture or sunk in despair." from the parody on sir walter scott, it is difficult to select, being all good; calling from scott himself the remark, "i must have done this myself, though i forget on what occasion." a tale of drury lane. by w. s. "as chaos which, by heavenly doom, had slept in everlasting gloom, started with terror and surprise, when light first flashed upon her eyes: so london's sons in nightcap woke, in bedgown woke her dames, for shouts were heard mid fire and smoke, and twice ten hundred voices spoke, 'the playhouse is in flames.' and lo! where catherine street extends, a fiery tail its lustre lends to every window pane: blushes each spout in martlet court, and barbican, moth-eaten fort, and covent garden kennels sport a bright ensanguined drain; meux's new brewhouse shows the light, rowland hill's chapel, and the height where patent shot they sell: the tennis court, so fair and tall, partakes the ray, with surgeons' hall, the ticket porters' house of call, old bedlam, close by london wall, wright's shrimp and oyster shop withal, and richardson's hotel. nor these alone, but far and wide, across the thames's gleaming tide, to distant fields the blaze was borne; and daisy white and hoary thorn, in borrowed lustre seemed to sham the rose or red sweet wil-li-am. to those who on the hills around beheld the flames from drury's mound, as from a lofty altar rise; it seemed that nations did conspire, to offer to the god of fire some vast stupendous sacrifice! the summoned firemen woke at call, and hied them to their stations all. starting from short and broken snooze, each sought his ponderous hobnailed shoes; but first his worsted hosen plied, plush breeches next in crimson dyed, his nether bulk embraced; then jacket thick of red or blue, whose massy shoulders gave to view the badge of each respective crew, in tin or copper traced. the engines thundered through the street, fire-hook, pipe, bucket, all complete, and torches glared and clattering feet along the pavement paced. * * * * * e'en higginbottom now was posed, for sadder scene was ne'er disclosed; without, within, in hideous show, devouring flames resistless glow, and blazing rafters downward go, and never halloo 'heads below!' nor notice give at all: the firemen, terrified, are slow to bid the pumping torrent flow, for fear the roof should fall. back, robins, back! crump, stand aloof! whitford, keep near the walls! huggins, regard your own behoof, for, lo! the blazing rocking roof down, down in thunder falls! an awful pause succeeds the stroke, and o'er the ruins volumed smoke, rolling around its pitchy shroud, concealed them from the astonished crowd. at length the mist awhile was cleared, when lo! amid the wreck upreared gradual a moving head appeared, and eagle firemen knew 'twas joseph muggins, name revered, the foreman of their crew. loud shouted all in signs of woe, 'a muggins to the rescue, ho!' and poured the hissing tide: meanwhile the muggins fought amain, and strove and struggled all in vain, for, rallying but to fall again, he tottered, sunk, and died! did none attempt, before he fell, to succour one they loved so well? yes, higginbottom did aspire (his fireman's soul was all on fire) his brother chief to save; but ah! his reckless generous ire served but to share his grave! 'mid blazing beams and scalding streams, through fire and smoke he dauntless broke, where muggins broke before. but sulphury stench and boiling drench destroying sight, o'erwhelmed him quite; he sunk to rise no more. still o'er his head, while fate he braved, his whizzing water-pipe he waved; 'whitford and mitford, ply your pumps; you, clutterbuck, come, stir your stumps; why are you in such doleful dumps? a fireman, and afraid of bumps! what are they feared on? fools,--'od rot 'em!' were the last words of higginbottom!"... canning and frere, the two chief writers in the "anti-jacobin," had great merit as writers of parody. there is hardly a better one to be found than the following on southey's verses regarding henry martin the regicide, the fun of which is readily apparent even to those who do not know the original: inscription (for the door of the cell in newgate where mrs. brownrigg, the prentice-cide, was confined previous to her execution). "for one long term, or e'er her trial came, here brownrigg lingered. often have these cells echoed her blasphemies, as with shrill voice she screamed for fresh geneva. not to her did the blithe fields of tothill, or thy street, st. giles, its fair varieties expand, till at the last, in slow-drawn cart, she went to execution. dost thou ask her crime? she whipped two female prentices to death, and hid them in the coal-hole. for her mind shaped strictest plans of discipline. sage schemes! such as lycurgus taught, when at the shrine of the orthyan goddess he bade flog the little spartans; such as erst chastised our milton, when at college. for this act did brownrigg swing. harsh laws! but time shall come when france shall reign, and laws be all repealed." the following felicitous parody on wolfe's "lines on the burial of sir john moore" is taken from thomas hood: "not a laugh was heard, nor a joyous note, as our friend to the bridal we hurried; not a wit discharged his farewell joke, as the bachelor went to be married. we married him quickly to save his fright, our heads from the sad sight turning; and we sighed as we stood by the lamp's dim light, to think him not more discerning. to think that a bachelor free and bright, and shy of the sex as we found him, should there at the altar, at dead of night, be caught in the snares that bound him. few and short were the words we said, though of cake and wine partaking; we escorted him home from the scene of dread, while his knees were awfully shaking. slowly and sadly we marched adown from the top to the lowermost story; and we have never heard from nor seen the poor man whom we left alone in his glory." mr. barham has also left us a parody on the same lines: "not a sou had he got,--not a guinea, or note, and he looked most confoundedly flurried, as he bolted away without paying his shot, and the landlady after him hurried. we saw him again at dead of night, when home from the club returning; we twigged the doctor beneath the light of the gas lamp brilliantly burning. all bare, and exposed to the midnight dews, reclined in the gutter we found him, and he looked like a gentleman taking a snooze, with his marshall cloak around him. 'the doctor is as drunk as the d--l,' we said, and we managed a shutter to borrow, we raised him, and sighed at the thought that his head would confoundedly ache on the morrow. we bore him home and we put him to bed, and we told his wife and daughter to give him next morning a couple of red herrings with soda-water. loudly they talked of his money that's gone, and his lady began to upbraid him; but little he reck'd, so they let him snore on 'neath the counterpane, just as we laid him. we tuck'd him in, and had hardly done, when beneath the window calling we heard the rough voice of a son of a gun of a watchman 'one o'clock' bawling. slowly and sadly we all walk'd down from his room on the uppermost story, a rushlight we placed on the cold hearth-stone, and we left him alone in his glory." in the examples which follow, the selection has been made on the principle of giving only those of which the prototypes are well known and will be easily recognised, and here is another of hood's, written on a popular ballad: "we met--'twas in a mob--and i thought he had done me-- i felt--i could not feel--for no watch was upon me; he ran--the night was cold--and his pace was unaltered, i too longed much to pelt--but my small-boned legs faltered. i wore my brand new boots--and unrivalled their brightness, they fit me to a hair--how i hated their tightness! i called, but no one came, and my stride had a tether, oh, _thou_ hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather! and once again we met--and an old pal was near him, he swore, a something low--but 'twas no use to fear him, i seized upon his arm, he was mine and mine only, and stept, as he deserved--to cells wretched and lonely: and there he will be tried--but i shall ne'er receive her, the watch that went too sure for an artful deceiver; the world may think me gay--heart and feet ache together, oh, _thou_ hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather!" here is another upon an old favourite song: the bandit's fate. "he wore a brace of pistols the night when first we met, his deep-lined brow was frowning beneath his wig of jet, his footsteps had the moodiness, his voice the hollow tone, of a bandit chief, who feels remorse, and tears his hair alone-- i saw him but at half-price, but methinks i see him now, in the tableau of the last act, with the blood upon his brow. a private bandit's belt and boots, when next we met, he wore; his salary, he told me, was lower than before; and standing at the o. p. wing he strove, and not in vain, to borrow half a sovereign, which he never paid again. i saw it but a moment--and i wish i saw it now-- as he buttoned up his pocket, with a condescending bow. and once again we met; but no bandit chief was there; his rouge was off, and gone that head of once luxuriant hair: he lodges in a two-pair back, and at the public near, he cannot liquidate his 'chalk,' or wipe away his beer. i saw him sad and seedy, yet methinks i see him now, in the tableau of the last act, with the blood upon his brow." goldsmith's "when lovely woman stoops to folly," has been thus parodied by shirley brooks: "when lovely woman, lump of folly, would show the world her vainest trait,-- would treat herself as child her dolly, and warn each man of sense away,-- the surest method she'll discover to prompt a wink in every eye, degrade a spouse, disgust a lover, and spoil a scalp-skin, is--to dye!" examples like these are numerous, and may be found in the "bon gaultier ballads" of theodore martin and professor aytoun; "the ingoldsby legends" of barham; and the works of lewis carroll. one of the "bon gaultier" travesties was on macaulay, and was called "the laureate's journey;" of which these two verses are part: "'he's dead, he's dead, the laureate's dead!' thus, thus the cry began, and straightway every garret roof gave up its minstrel man; from grub street, and from houndsditch, and from farringdon within, the poets all towards whitehall poured in with eldritch din. loud yelled they for sir james the graham: but sore afraid was he; a hardy knight were he that might face such a minstrelsie. 'now by st. giles of netherby, my patron saint, i swear, i'd rather by a thousand crowns lord palmerston were here!'" it is necessary, however, to confine our quotations within reasonable limits, and a few from the modern writers must suffice. the next is by henry s. leigh, one of the best living writers of burlesque verse. only seven.[ ] (a pastoral story, after wordsworth.) "i marvelled why a simple child, that lightly draws its breath, should utter groans so very wild, and look as pale as death. adopting a parental tone, i asked her why she cried; the damsel answered with a groan, 'i've got a pain inside. i thought it would have sent me mad, last night about eleven.' said i, 'what is it makes you bad? how many apples have you had?' she answered, 'only seven!' 'and are you sure you took no more, my little maid,' quoth i. 'oh, please, sir, mother gave me four, but they were in a pie.' 'if that's the case,' i stammered out, 'of course you've had eleven.' the maiden answered with a pout, 'i ain't had more nor seven!' i wondered hugely what she meant, and said, 'i'm bad at riddles, but i know where little girls are sent for telling tarradiddles. now if you don't reform,' said i, 'you'll never go to heaven!' but all in vain; each time i try, the little idiot makes reply, 'i ain't had more nor seven!' postscript. to borrow wordsworth's name was wrong, or slightly misapplied; and so i'd better call my song, 'lines from ache-inside.'" mr. swinburne's alliterative style lays him particularly open to the skilful parodist, and he has been well imitated by mr. mortimer collins, who, perhaps, is as well known as novelist as poet. the following example is entitled "if." "if life were never bitter, and love were always sweet, then who would care to borrow a moral from to-morrow? if thames would always glitter, and joy would ne'er retreat, if life were never bitter, and love were always sweet. if care were not the waiter, behind a fellow's chair, when easy-going sinners sit down to richmond dinners, and life's swift stream goes straighter-- by jove, it would be rare, if care were not the waiter behind a fellow's chair. if wit were always radiant, and wine were always iced, and bores were kicked out straightway through a convenient gateway: then down the year's long gradient 'twere sad to be enticed, if wit were always radiant; and wine were always iced." the next instance, by the same author, is another good imitation of mr. swinburne's style. it is a recipe for salad. "oh, cool in the summer is salad, and warm in the winter is love; and a poet shall sing you a ballad delicious thereon and thereof. a singer am i, if no sinner, my muse has a marvellous wing, and i willingly worship at dinner the sirens of spring. take endive--like love it is bitter, take beet--for like love it is red; crisp leaf of the lettuce shall glitter and cress from the rivulet's bed; anchovies, foam-born, like the lady whose beauty has maddened this bard; and olives, from groves that are shady, and eggs--boil 'em hard." the "shootover papers," by members of the oxford university, contains this parody, written upon the "procuratores," a kind of university police: "oh, vestment of velvet and virtue, oh, venomous victors of vice, who hurt men who never hurt you, oh, calm, cold, crueller than ice. why wilfully wage you this war, is all pity purged out of your breast? oh, purse-prigging procuratores, oh, pitiless pest! we had smote and made redder than roses, with juice not of fruit nor of bud, the truculent townspeople's noses, and bathed brutal butchers in blood; and we all aglow in our glories, heard you not in the deafening din; and ye came, oh ye procuratores, and ran us all in!" in the same book a certain school of poets has been hit at in the following lines: "mingled, aye, with fragrant yearnings, throbbing in the mellow glow, glint the silvery spirit burnings, pearly blandishments of woe. ay! for ever and for ever, while the love-lorn censers sweep; while the jasper winds dissever, amber-like, the crystal deep; shall the soul's delicious slumber, sea-green vengeance of a kiss, reach despairing crags to number blue infinities of bliss." the "diversions of the echo club," by bayard taylor, contains many parodies, principally upon american poets, and gives this admirable rendering of edgar a. poe's style: the promissory note. "in the lonesome latter years, (fatal years!) to the dropping of my tears danced the mad and mystic spheres in a rounded, reeling rune, 'neath the moon, to the dripping and the dropping of my tears. ah, my soul is swathed in gloom, (ulalume!) in a dim titanic tomb, for my gaunt and gloomy soul ponders o'er the penal scroll, o'er the parchment (not a rhyme), out of place,--out of time,-- i am shredded, shorn, unshifty, (oh, the fifty!) and the days have passed, the three, over me! and the debit and the credit are as one to him and me! 'twas the random runes i wrote at the bottom of the note (wrote and freely gave to greeley), in the middle of the night, in the mellow, moonless night, when the stars were out of sight, when my pulses like a knell, (israfel!) danced with dim and dying fays o'er the ruins of my days, o'er the dimeless, timeless days, when the fifty, drawn at thirty, seeming thrifty, yet the dirty lucre of the market, was the most that i could raise! fiends controlled it, (let him hold it!) devils held for me the inkstand and the pen; now the days of grace are o'er, (ah, lenore!) i am but as other men: what is time, time, time, to my rare and runic rhyme, to my random, reeling rhyme, by the sands along the shore, where the tempest whispers, 'pay him!' and i answer, 'nevermore!'"[ ] bret harte also has given a good imitation of poe's style in "the willows," from which there follows an extract: "but mary, uplifting her finger, said, 'sadly this bar i mistrust,-- i fear that this bar does not trust. oh, hasten--oh, let us not linger-- oh, fly--let us fly--ere we must!' in terror she cried, letting sink her parasol till it trailed in the dust,-- in agony sobbed, letting sink her parasol till it trailed in the dust,-- till it sorrowfully trailed in the dust. then i pacified mary and kissed her, and tempted her into the room, and conquered her scruples and gloom; and we passed to the end of the vista, but were stopped by the warning of doom,-- by some words that were warning of doom. and i said, 'what is written, sweet sister, at the opposite end of the room?' she sobbed as she answered, 'all liquors must be paid for ere leaving the room.'" mr. calverley is perhaps one of the best of the later parodists, and he hits off tennyson, mrs. browning, coventry patmore, and others most inimitably. we give a couple of verses from one, a parody of his upon a well-known lyric of tennyson's, and few we think after perusing it would be able to read "the brook" without its murmur being associated with the wandering tinker: "i loiter down by thorp and town; for any job i'm willing; take here and there a dusty brown and here and there a shilling. * * * * * thus on he prattled, like a babbling brook, then i; 'the sun has slept behind the hill, and my aunt vivian dines at half-past six.' so in all love we parted: i to the hall, they to the village. it was noised next noon that chickens had been missed at syllabub farm." mr. tennyson's "home they brought her warrior dead," has likewise been differently travestied by various writers. one of these by mr. sawyer is given here: the recognition. "home they brought her sailor son, grown a man across the sea, tall and broad and black of beard, and hoarse of voice as man may be. hand to shake and mouth to kiss, both he offered ere he spoke; but she said, 'what man is this comes to play a sorry joke?' then they praised him--call'd him 'smart,' 'tightest lad that ever stept;' but her son she did not know, and she neither smiled nor wept. rose, a nurse of ninety years, set a pigeon-pie in sight; she saw him eat--''tis he! 'tis he!'-- she knew him--by his appetite!" "the may-queen" has also suffered in some verses called "the biter bit," of which these are the last four lines: "you may lay me in my bed, mother--my head is throbbing sore; and, mother, prithee let the sheets be duly aired before; and if you'd do a kindness to your poor desponding child, draw me a pot of beer, mother--and, mother, draw it mild!" mr. calverley has imitated well also the old ballad style, as in this one, of which we give the opening verses: "it was a railway passenger, and he leapt out jauntilie. 'now up and bear, thou proud portèr, my two chattels to me. * * * * * 'and fetch me eke a cabman bold, that i may be his fare, his fare: and he shall have a good shilling, if by two of the clock he do me bring to the terminus, euston square.' 'now,--so to thee the saints alway, good gentlemen, give luck,-- as never a cab may i find this day, for the cabmen wights have struck: and now, i wis, at the red post inn, or else at the dog and duck, or at unicorn blue, or at green griffin, the nut-brown ale and the fine old gin right pleasantlie they do suck.'"... the following imitation of the old ballad form is by mr. lewis carroll, who has written many capital versions of different poems: ye carpette knyghte. "i have a horse--a ryghte good horse-- ne doe i envie those who scoure ye plaine in headie course, tyll soddaine on theyre nose they lyghte wyth unexpected force-- it ys--a horse of clothes. i have a saddel--'say'st thou soe? wyth styrruppes, knyghte, to boote?' i sayde not that--i answere 'noe'-- yt lacketh such, i woot-- yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe! parte of ye fleecie brute. i have a bytte--a right good bytte-- as schall be seen in time. ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte-- yts use ys more sublyme. fayre syr, how deemest thou of yt? yt ys--thys bytte of rhyme." in "alice in wonderland,"[ ] by the same gentleman, there is this new version of an old nursery ditty: "'will you walk a little faster?' said a whiting to a snail, 'there's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail. see how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance! they are waiting on the shingle--will you come and join the dance? will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance? will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance? 'you can really have no notion how delightful it will be when they take us up and throw us with the lobsters out to sea!' but the snail replied, 'too far, too far!' and gave a look askance, said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance. would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance, would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance. 'what matters it how far we go?' his scaly friend replied; 'there is another shore, you know, upon the other side. the farther off from england the nearer is to france-- then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance? will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance? will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?'" mr. carroll's adaptation of "you are old, father william," is one of the best of its class, and here are two verses: "'you are old, father william,' the young man said, 'and your hair has become very white; and yet you incessantly stand on your head-- do you think, at your age, it is right?' 'in my youth,' father william replied to his son, 'i feared it might injure the brain; but now i am perfectly sure i have none-- why, i do it again and again!' 'you are old,' said the youth, 'and your jaws are too weak for anything tougher than suet; yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak-- pray, how do you manage to do it?' 'in my youth,' said his father, 'i took to the law, and argued each case with my wife; and the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw has lasted the rest of my life.'"[ ] mr. h. cholmondeley-pennell in "puck on pegasus" gives some good examples, such as that on the "hiawatha" of longfellow, the "song of in-the-water," and also that on southey's "how the waters come down at lodore," the parody being called "how the daughters come down at dunoon," of which these are the concluding lines: "feathers a-flying all--bonnets untying all-- crinolines rapping and flapping and slapping all, balmorals dancing and glancing entrancing all,-- feats of activity-- nymphs on declivity-- sweethearts in ecstasies-- mothers in vextasies-- lady-loves whisking and frisking and clinging on, true lovers puffing and blowing and springing on, flushing and blushing and wriggling and giggling on, teasing and pleasing and wheezing and squeezing on, everlastingly falling and bawling and sprawling on, flurrying and worrying and hurrying and skurrying on, tottering and staggering and lumbering and slithering on, any fine afternoon about july or june-- that's just how the daughters come down at dunoon!" "twas ever thus," the well-known lines of moore, has also been travestied by mr. h. c. pennell: "wus! ever wus! by freak of puck's my most exciting hopes are dashed; i never wore my spotless ducks but madly--wildly--they were splashed! i never roved by cynthia's beam, to gaze upon the starry sky; but some old stiff-backed beetle came, and charged into my pensive eye: and oh! i never did the swell in regent street, amongst the beaus, but smuts the most prodigious fell, and always settled on my nose!" moore's lines have evidently been tempting to the parodists, for mr. calverley and mr. h. s. leigh have also written versions: mr. leigh's begins thus-- "i never reared a young gazelle (because, you see, i never tried), but had it known and loved me well, no doubt the creature would have died. my sick and aged uncle john has known me long and loves me well, but still persists in living on-- i would he were a young gazelle." shakespeare's soliloquy in hamlet has been frequently selected as a subject for parody; the first we give being the work of mr. f. c. burnand in "happy thoughts": "to sniggle or to dibble, that's the question! whether to bait a hook with worm or bumble, or to take up arms of any sea, some trouble to fish, and then home send 'em. to fly--to whip-- to moor and tie my boat up by the end to any wooden post, or natural rock we may be near to, on a preservation devoutly to be fished. to fly--to whip-- to whip! perchance two bream;--and there's the chub!" cremation. "to urn, or not to urn? that is the question: whether 'tis better in our frames to suffer the shows and follies of outrageous custom, or to take fire against a sea of zealots, and, by consuming, end them? to urn--to keep-- no more: and while we keep, to say we end contagion, and the thousand graveyard ills that flesh is heir to--'tis a consume-ation devoutly to be wished! to burn--to keep-- to keep! perchance to lose--ay, there's the rub! for in the course of things what duns may come, or who may shuffle off our dresden urn, must give us pause. there's the respect that makes inter-i-ment of so long use; for who would have the pall and plumes of hire, the tradesman's prize--a proud man's obsequies, the chaffering for graves, the legal fee, the cemetery beadle, and the rest, when he himself might his few ashes make with a mere furnace? who would tombstones bear, and lie beneath a lying epitaph, but that the dread of simmering after death-- that uncongenial furnace from whose burn no incremate returns--weakens the will, and makes us rather bear the graves we have than fly to ovens that we know not of?" the next, on the same subject, is from an american source, where it is introduced by the remark: "i suppose they'll be wanting us to change our language as well as our habits. our years will have to be dated a.c., in the year of cremation; and 'from creation to cremation' will serve instead of 'from the cradle to the grave.' we may expect also some lovely elegies in the future--something in the following style perhaps, for, of course, when gravediggers are succeeded by pyre-lighters, the grave laments of yore will be replaced by lighter melodies": "above your mantel, in the new screen's shade, where smokes the coal in one dull, smouldering heap, each in his patent urn for ever laid, the baked residue of our fathers sleep. the wheezy call of muffins in the morn, the milkman tottering from his rushy sled, the help's shrill clarion, or the fishman's horn, no more shall rouse them from their lofty bed. for them no more the blazing fire-grate burns, or busy housewife fries her savoury soles, though children run to clasp their sires' red urns, and roll them in a family game of bowls. perhaps in this deserted pot is laid some heart once pregnant with celestial fire, hands that the rod paternal may have swayed, or waked to ecstasy the living liar." the well-known lady traveller, mrs. burton, in one of her volumes gives the following amusing verses: "what is the black man saying, brother, the whole day long? methinks i hear him praying ever the self-same song-- _sa'b meri bakshish do_! brother, they are not praying, they are not doing so; the only thing they're saying is _sa'b meri bakshish do_. (gi'e me a 'alfpenny do.)" to give specimens of all the kinds of parody were impossible, and we can only refer to the prose parodies of thackeray's "novels by eminent hands," and bret harte's "condensed novels."[ ] renderings of popular ballads in this way are common enough in our comic periodicals, as _punch_, _fun_, &c. indeed, one appeared in _punch_ a number of years ago, called "ozokerit," a travesty of tennyson's "in memoriam," which has been considered one of the finest ever written. they are to be found, too, in many of those burlesques and extravaganzas which are put upon the stage now, and these the late mr. planchè had a delightful faculty of writing, the happiness and ring of which have rarely been equalled. take, for instance, one verse of a parody in "jason" on a well-known air in the "waterman:" "now farewell my trim-built argo, greece and fleece and all, farewell, never more as supercargo shall poor jason cut a swell." and here is the opening verse of another song by the same author: "when other lips and other eyes their tales of love shall tell, which means the usual sort of lies you've heard from many a swell; when, bored with what you feel is bosh, you'd give the world to see a friend whose love you know will wash, oh, then, remember me!" another very popular song has been parodied in this way by mr. carroll: "beautiful soup, so rich and green, waiting in a big tureen! who for such dainties would not stoop! soup of the evening, beautiful soup! soup of the evening, beautiful soup!" american papers put in circulation many little verses, such as this-- "the melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year; too warm, alas! for whiskey punch, too cold for lager beer." and this, in reference to the centennial exhibition: "breathes there a yank, so mean, so small, who never says, 'wall, now, by gaul, i reckon since old adam's fall there's never growed on this 'ere ball a nation so all-fired tall as we centennial yankees." a number of periodicals nowadays make parody and other out-of-the-way styles of literary composition a feature in their issues by way of competition for prizes, and one of these is given here. the author signs himself "hermon," and the poem was selected by the editor of "truth" (november , ) for a prize in a competition of parodies upon "excelsior." it is called "that thirty-four!" having reference, it is perhaps hardly necessary to state, to the american puzzle of that name which has proved so perplexing an affair to some people. that thirty-four. "chill august's storms were piping loud, when through a gaping london crowd, there passed a youth, who still was heard to mutter the perplexing word, 'that thirty-four!' his eyes were wild; his brow above was crumpled like an old kid-glove; and like some hoarse crow's grating note that word still quivered in his throat, 'that thirty-four!' 'oh, give it up!' his comrades said; 'it only muddles your poor head; it is not worth your finding out.' he answered with a wailing shout, 'that thirty-four!' 'art not content,' the maiden said, 'to solve the "fifteen"-one instead?' he paused--his tearful eyes he dried-- gulped down a sob, then sadly sighed, 'that thirty-four!' at midnight, on their high resort, the cats were startled at their sport to hear, beneath one roof, a tone gasp out, betwixt a snore and groan, 'that thirty-four!'" _chain verse._ this ingenious style of versification, where the last word or phrase in each line is taken for the beginning of the next, is sometimes also called "concatenation" verse. the invention of this mode of composition is claimed by m. lasphrise, a french poet, who wrote the following: "falloit-il que le ciel me rendit amoreux, amoreux, jouissant d'une beauté craintive, craintive à recevoir la douceur excessive, excessive au plaisir que rend l'amant heureux? heureux si nous avions quelques paisibles lieux, lieux où plus surement l'ami fidèle arrive, arrive sans soupçon de quelque ami attentive, attentive à vouloir nous surprendre tous deux." the poem which follows is from a manuscript furnished by an american gentleman, who states that he has never seen it in print, and knows not the author's name. the "rhythm somewhat resembles the ticking of a clock," from whence the poem derives its name of the musical clock. "wing the course of time with music, music of the grand old days-- days when hearts were brave and noble, noble in their simple ways. ways, however rough, yet earnest, earnest to promote the truth-- truth that teaches us a lesson, lesson worthy age and youth. youth and age alike may listen-- listen, meditate, improve-- improve in happiness and glory, glory that shall heavenward move. move, as music moves, in pathos, pathos sweet, and power sublime, sublime to raise the spirit drooping, drooping with the toils of time. time reveals, amid its grandeur, grandeur purer, prouder still-- still revealing dreams of beauty, beauty that inspires the will-- will a constant sighing sorrow, sorrow full of tears restore, restore but for a moment, pleasure? pleasure dead can live no more. no more, then, languish for the buried, buried calmly let it be. be the star of promise heaven, heaven has sweeter joys for thee. for thee perchance, though dark the seeming, seeming dark, may yet prove bright, bright through mortal cares, shall softly, softly dissipate the night. night shall not endure for ever,-- ever! no, the laws of earth, earth inconstant, shall forbid it-- bid it change from gloom to mirth. mirth and grief, are light and shadow-- shadows light to us are dear. dear the scene becomes by contrast-- contrast there, in beauty here. here, through sun and tempest many, many shall thy being pass-- pass without a sigh of sorrow, sorrow wins not by alas! alas! we pardon in a maiden, maiden when her heart is young, young and timid, but in manhood, manhood should be sterner strung, strung as though his nerves were iron, iron tempered well to bend-- bend, mayhap, but yielding never, never, when despair would rend-- rend the pillars from the temple, temple in the human breast, breast that lonely grief has chosen, chosen for her place of rest-- rest unto thy spirit, only, only torment will she bring. bring, oh man! the lyre of gladness, gladness frights the harpy's wing!" the following two pieces are similar in style to some of our seventeenth-century poets: ad mortem. "the longer life, the more offence; the more offence, the greater pain; the greater pain, the less defence; the less defence, the greater gain-- wherefore, come death, and let me die! the shorter life, less care i find, less care i take, the sooner over; the sooner o'er, the merrier mind; the merrier mind, the better lover-- wherefore, come death, and let me die! come, gentle death, the ebb of care; the ebb of care, the flood of life; the flood of life, i'm sooner there; i'm sooner there--the end of strife-- the end of strife, that thing wish i-- wherefore, come death, and let me die!" truth. "nerve thy soul with doctrines noble, noble in the walks of time, time that leads to an eternal an eternal life sublime; life sublime in moral beauty, beauty that shall ever be; ever be to lure thee onward, onward to the fountain free-- free to every earnest seeker, seeker for the fount of youth-- youth exultant in its beauty, beauty of the living truth." the following hymn appears in the irish church hymnal, and is by mr. j. byrom: "my spirit longs for thee within my troubled breast, though i unworthy be of so divine a guest. of so divine a guest unworthy though i be, yet has my heart no rest, unless it come from thee. unless it come from thee, in vain i look around; in all that i can see no rest is to be found. no rest is to be found. but in thy blessèd love; oh, let my wish be crowned and send it from above." dr., as he was commonly called, byrom, seems to have been an amiable and excellent man, and his friends after his death in september collected and published all the verses of his they could lay hands on, in vols. mo, at manchester in . a more complete edition was issued in . many of byrom's poems evince talent, but a great part are only calculated for private perusal: his "diary" and "remains" were published by the chetham society ( - ). byrom was the inventor of a successful system of shorthand. he was a decided jacobite, and his mode of defending his sentiments on this point are still remembered and quoted: "god bless the king! i mean the faith's defender; god bless--no harm in blessing--the pretender! but who pretender is, or who the king, god bless us all--that's quite another thing!" _macaronic verse._ macaronic verse is properly a system of latin inflections joined to words of a modern vernacular, such as english, french, german, &c.; some writers, however, choose to disregard the strictness of this definition, and consider everything macaronic which is written with the aid of more than one language or dialect. dr. geddes (born ; died ), considered one of the greatest of english macaronic writers, says: "it is the characteristic of a macaronic poem to be written in latin hexameters; but so as to admit occasionally vernacular words, either in their native form, or with a latin inflection--other licenses, too, are allowed in the measure of the lines, contrary to the strict rules of prosody." broad enough reservations these, of which dr. geddes in his own works was not slow in availing himself, and as will be seen in the specimens given, his example has been well followed, for the strict rule that an english macaronic should consist of the vernacular made classical with latin terminations has been as much honoured in the breach as in the observance. another characteristic in macaronics is that these poems recognise no law in orthography, etymology, syntax, or prosody. the examples which here follow are confined exclusively to those which have their basis, so to speak, in the english language, and, with the exception of a few of the earlier ones, the majority of the selections in this volume have their origin in our own times. "the earliest collection of english christmas carols supposed to have been published," says hone's "every day book," "is only known from the last leaf of a volume printed by wynkyn worde in . there are two carols upon it: 'a carol of huntynge' is reprinted in the last edition of juliana berners' 'boke of st. alban's;' the other, 'a carol of bringing in the bore's head,' is in dibdin's edition of 'ames,' with a copy of the carol as it is now sung in queen's college, oxford, every christmas day." dr. bliss of oxford printed a few copies of this for private circulation, together with anthony wood's version of it. the version subjoined is from a collection imprinted at london, "in the poultry, by richard kele, dwelling at the long shop vnder saynt myldrede's chyrche," about : a carol bringing in the bore's head. "caput apri defero reddens laudes domino. the bore's heed in hande bring i, with garlands gay and rosemary, i pray you all synge merelye qui estis in convivio. the bore's heed i understande is the thefte service in this lande, take wherever it be fande, servite cum cantico. be gladde lordes both more and lasse, for this hath ordeyned our stewarde, to cheere you all this christmasse, the bore's heed with mustarde. caput apri defero reddens laudes domino." another version of the last verse is: "our steward hath provided this in honour of the king of bliss: which on this clay to be served is, in regimensi atrio. caput apri defero reddens laudes domino." skelton, who was the poet-laureate about the end of the fifteenth century, has in his "boke of colin clout," and also in that of "philip sparrow," much macaronic verse, as in "colin clout," when he is speaking of the priests of those days, he says: "of suche vagabundus speaking totus mundus, how some syng let abundus, at euerye ale stake with welcome hake and make, by the bread that god brake, i am sory for your sake. i speake not of the god wife but of their apostles lyfe, cum ipsis vel illis qui manent in villis est uxor vel ancilla, welcome jacke and gilla, my prety petronylla, an you wil be stilla you shall haue your willa, of such pater noster pekes all the world speakes," &c. in harsnett's "detection" are some curious lines, being a curse for "the miller's eeles that were stolne": "all you that stolne the miller's eeles, laudate dominum de coelis, and all they that have consented thereto, benedicamus domino." in "literary frivolities" there was a notice of and quotation from ruggles' _jeu d'esprit_ of "ignoramus," and here follows a short scene from this play, containing a humorous burlesque of the old norman law-latin, in which the elder brethren of the legal profession used to plead, and in which the old reporters come down to the bar of to-day--if, indeed, that venerable absurdity can be caricatured. it would be rather difficult to burlesque a system that provided for a writ _de pipâ vini carriandâ_--that is, "for negligently carrying a pipe of wine!" ignoramus. actus i.--scena iii. argumentum. ignoramus, clericis suis vocatis dulman & pecus, amorem suum erga rosabellam narrat, irredetque musÆum quasi hominem academicum. _intrant_ ignoramus, dulman, pecus, musÆus. _igno._ phi, phi: tanta pressa, tantum croudum, ut fui pene trusus ad mortem. habebo actionem de intrusione contra omnes et singulos. aha mounsieurs, voulez voz intruder par joint tenant? il est playne case, il est point droite de le bien seance. o valde caleor: o chaud, chaud, chaud: precor deum non meltavi meum pingue. phi, phi. in nomine dei, ubi sunt clerici mei jam? dulman, dulman. _dul._ hìc, magister ignoramus, vous avez dulman. _igno._ meltor, dulman, meltor. rubba me cum towallio, rubba. ubi est pecus? _pec._ hìc, sir. _igno._ fac ventum, pecus. ita, sic, sic. ubi est fledwit? _dul._ non est inventus. _igno._ ponite nunc chlamydes vestras super me, ne capiam frigus. sic, sic. ainsi, bien faict. inter omnes poenas meas, valde lætor, et gaudeo nunc, quod feci bonum aggreamentum, inter anglos nostros: aggreamentum, quasi aggregatio mentium. super inde cras hoysabimus vela, et retornabimus iterum erga londinum: tempus est, nam huc venimus octabis hillarii, et nunc fere est quindena pasche. _dul._ juro, magister, titillasti punctum legis hodie. _igno._ ha, ha, he! puto titillabam. si le nom del granteur, ou granté soit rased, ou interlined en faict pol, le faict est grandement suspicious. _dul._ et nient obstant, si faict pol, &c., &c. oh illud etiam in covin. _igno._ ha, ha, he! _pec._ at id, de un faict pendu en le smoak, nunquam audivi titillatum melius. _igno._ ha, ha, he! quid tu dicis, musæe? _mus._ equidem ego parum intellexi. _igno._ tu es gallicrista, vocatus a coxcomb; nunquam faciam te legistam. _dul._ nunquam, nunquam; nam ille fuit universitans. _igno._ sunt magni idiotæ, et clerici nihilorum, isti universitantes: miror quomodo spendisti tuum tempus inter eos. _mus._ ut plurimum versatus sum in logicâ. _igno._ logica? quæ villa, quod burgum est logica? _mus._ est una artium liberalium. _igno._ liberalium? sic putabam. in nomine dei, stude artes parcas et lucrosas: non est mundus pro artibus liberalibus jam. _mus._ deditus etiam fui amori philosophiæ. _igno._ amori? quid! es pro bagaschiis et strumpetis? si custodis malam regulam, non es pro me, sursum reddam te in manus parentum iterum. _mus._ dii faxint. _igno._ quota est clocka nunc? _dul._ est inter octo et nina. _igno._ inter octo et nina? ite igitur ad mansorium nostrum cum baggis et rotulis.--quid id est? videam hoc instrumentum; mane petit, dum calceo spectacula super nasum. o ho, ho, scio jam. hæc indentura, facta, &c., inter rogerum rattledoke de caxton in comitatu brecknocke, &c. o ho, richard fen, john den. o ho, proud buzzard, plaintiff, adversus peakegoose, defendant. o ho, vide hic est defalta literæ; emenda, emenda; nam in nostra lege una comma evertit totum placitum. ite jam, copiato tu hoc, tu hoc ingrossa, tu universitans trussato sumptoriam pro jorneâ. [_exeunt clerici._ ignoramus _solus_. hi, ho! rosabella, hi ho! ego nunc eo ad veneris curiam letam, tentam hic apud torcol: vicecomes ejus cupido nunquam cessavit, donec invenit me in balivâ suâ: primum cum amabam rosabellam nisi parvum, misit parvum cape, tum magnum cape, et post, alias capias et pluries capias, & capias infinitas; & sic misit tot capias, ut tandem capavit me ut legatum ex omni sensu et ratione meâ. ita sum sicut musca sine caput; buzzo & turno circumcirca, et nescio quid facio. cum scribo instrumentum, si femina nominatur, scribo rosabellam; pro corpus cum causâ, corpus cum caudâ; pro noverint universi, amaverint universi; pro habere ad rectum, habere ad lectum; et sic vasto totum instrumentum. hei, ho! ho, hei, ho! the following song by o'keefe, is a mixture of english, latin, and nonsense: "amo, amas, i love a lass, as cedar tall and slender; sweet cowslip's grace is her nominative case, and she's of the feminine gender. _chorus._ rorum, corum, sunt di-vorum, harum, scarum, divo; tag-rag, merry-derry, periwig and hatband, hic, hoc, horum genitivo. can i decline a nymph so divine? her voice like a flute is dulcis; her oculus bright, her manus white and soft, when i tacto her pulse is. _chorus._ o how bella, my puella i'll kiss in secula seculorum; if i've luck, sir, she's my uxor, o dies benedictorum." _chorus._ of the many specimens written by the witty and versatile dr. maginn we select this one the second epode of horace. "blest man, who far from busy hum, ut prisca gens mortalium, whistles his team afield with glee solutus omni fenore; he lives in peace, from battles free, neq' horret irratúm mare; and shuns the forum, and the gay potentiorum limina, therefore to vines of purple gloss atlas maritat populos. or pruning off the boughs unfit feliciores inserit; or, in a distant vale at ease prospectat errantes greges; or honey into jars conveys aut tondet infirmas oves. when his head decked with apples sweet auctumnus agris extulit, at plucking pears he's quite _au fait_ certant, et uvam purpuræ. some for priapus, for thee some sylvare, tutor finium! beneath an oak 'tis sweet to be mod' in tenaci gramine: the streamlet winds in flowing maze queruntur in silvis aves; the fount in dulcet murmur plays somnos quod invitet leves. but when winter comes, (and that imbres nivesque comparat,) with dogs he forces oft to pass apros in obstantes plagas; or spreads his nets so thick and close turdis edacibus dolos; or hares, or cranes, from far away jucunda captat præmia: the wooer, love's unhappy stir, hæc inter obliviscitur, his wife can manage without loss domum et parvos liberos; (suppose her sabine, or the dry pernicis uxor appali,) who piles the sacred hearthstone high lassi sub adventúm viri, and from his ewes, penned lest they stray, distenta siccet ubera; and this year's wine disposed to get dapes inemtas apparet. oysters to me no joys supply, magisve rhombus, aut scari, (if when the east winds boisterous be hiems ad hoc vertat mare;) your turkey pout is not to us, non attagen ionicus, so sweet as what we pick at home oliva ramis arborum! or sorrel, which the meads supply, malvæ salubres corpori-- or lamb, slain at a festal show vel hædus ereptus lupo. feasting, 'tis sweet the creature's dumb, videre prop'rantes domum, or oxen with the ploughshare go, collo trahentes languido; and all the slaves stretched out at ease, circum renidentes lares! alphius the usurer, babbled thus, jam jam futurus rusticus, called in his cast on th' ides--but he quærit kalendis ponere!" there is a little bit by barham ("ingoldsby legends") which is worthy of insertion: "what horace says is eheu fugaces anni labuntur, postume! postume! years glide away and are lost to me--lost to me! now when the folks in the dance sport their merry toes, taglionis and ellslers, duvernays and ceritos, sighing, i murmured, 'o mihi pretæritos!'" the following bright _carmen macaronicum_ appeared in an american periodical in : rex midas. "vivit a rex in persia land, a potens rex was he; suum imperium did extend o'er terra and o'er sea. rex midas habuit multum gold, tamen he wanted plus; 'non satis est,' his constant cry-- ergo introit fuss. silenus was inebrius,-- id est, was slightly tight, as he went vagus through the urbs, it was a tristis sight. rex midas equitavit past on suum dromedary, vidit silenus on his spree, sic lætus et sic merry. his costume was a wreath of leaves, and those were multum battered; urchins had stoned him, and the ground cum lachrymis was scattered. rex midas picked hunc senem up, and put him on his pony, et bore him ad castellum grand quod cost him multum money. dedit silenum mollem care: cum bacchus found his ubi promisit midas quod he asked. rex midas fuit--booby. for aurum was his gaudium, rogavit he the favour ut quid he touched might turn to gold; ab this he'd nunquam never. carpsit arose to try the charm, et in eodem minute it mutat into flavum gold, ridet as spectat in it. his filia rushed to meet her sire, he osculavit kindly; she lente stiffened into gold-- vidit he'd acted blindly. spectavit on her golden form, and in his brachia caught her: 'heu me! sed tamen breakfast waits, my daughter, oh! my daughter!' venit ad suum dining-hall, et coffeam gustavit, liquatum gold his fauces burned,-- loud he vociferavit: 'triste erat amittere my solam filiam true, pejus to lose my pabulam. eheu! eheu!! eheu!!!' big lachrymæ bedewed his cheeks-- 'o potens bacchus lazy, prende ab me the power you gave, futurum, ut i'll praise thee.' benignus bacchus audiens groans, misertus est our hero; dixit ut the pactolian waves ab hoc would cleanse him--vero. infelix rex was felix then, et cum hilarious grin, ruit unto the river's bank, et fortis plunged in. the nefas power was washed away; sed even at this hour pactolus' sands are tinged with gold, testes of bacchus' power. a tristis sed a sapiens vir rex midas fuit then; et gratus to good bacchus said, 'non feram sic again.' hæc fable docet, plain to see, quamquam the notion's old, hoc verum est, ut girls and grub much melior sunt than gold." the following well-known lines are from the "comic latin grammar," a remarkably clever and curious work, full of quaint illustrations: "patres conscripti--took a boat and went to philippi. trumpeter unus erat qui coatum scarlet habebat, stormum surgebat, et boatum overset--ebat, omnes drownerunt, quia swimaway non potuerunt, excipe john periwig tied up to the tail of a dead pig." a treatise on wine. "the best tree, if ye take intent, inter ligna fructifera, is the vine tree by good argument, dulcia ferens pondera. saint luke saith in his gospel, arbor fructu noscitur, the vine beareth wine as i you tell, hinc aliis præponitur. the first that planted the vineyard manet in coelio gaudio, his name was noe, as i am learned genesis testimonio. god gave unto him knowledge and wit, a quo procedunt omnia, first of the grape wine for to get propter magna mysteria. the first miracle that jesus did, erat in vino rubeo, in cana of galilee it betide testante evangelio. he changed water into wine aquæ rubescunt hydriæ, and bade give it to archetcline, ut gustet tunc primarie. like as the rose exceedeth all flowers, inter cuncta florigera, so doth wine all other liquors, dans multa salutifera. david, the prophet, saith that wine lætificat cor hominis, it maketh men merry if it be fine, est ergo digni nominis. it nourisheth age if it be good, facit ut esset juvenis, it gendereth in us gentle blood, nam venas purgat sanguinis. by all these causes, ye should think quæ sunt rationabiles, that good wine should be the best of drink, inter potus potabiles. wine drinkers all, with great honour, semper laudate dominum, the which sendeth the good liquor propter salutem hominum. plenty to all that love good wine donet deus larguis, and bring them some when they go hence, ubi non sitient amplius." --_richard hilles_ ( ). the two which follow are identical in theme, and show that the wags and wits of about thirty years ago were busy poking their fun at what was then their latest sensation, much as they do now. they both treat of the sea-serpent; the first being from an american source: the sea-serpent. "sed tempus necessit, and this was all over, cum illi successit another gay rover, nam cum navigaret, in his own cutter portentum apparet, which made them all flutter. est horridus anguis which they behold; haud dubio sanguis within them ran cold; trigenta pedes his head was upraised et corporis sedes in secret was placed. sic serpens manebat, so says the same joker, et sese ferebat as stiff as a poker; tergum fricabat against the old lighthouse; et sese liberabat of scaly detritus. tunc plumbo percussit, thinking he hath him, at serpens exsiluit full thirty fathom; exsiluit mare with pain and affright, conatus abnare as fast as he might. neque illi secuti--no, nothing so rash, terrore sunt multi, he'd make such a splash, sed nunc adierunt, the place to inspect, et squamus viderunt, the which they collect. quicunque non credat aut doubtfully rails ad locum accedat, they'll show him the scales, quas, sola trophæa, they brought to the shore,-- et causa est ea they couldn't get more." the death of the sea-serpent. by publius jonathan virgilius jefferson smith. "arma virumque cano, qui first in monongahela tarnally squampushed the sarpent, mittens horrentia tella, musa, look sharp with your banjo! i guess to relate this event, i shall need all the aid you can give; so nunc aspirate canenti. mighty slick were the vessels progressing, jactata per æquora ventis, but the brow of the skipper was sad, cum solicitudine mentis; for whales had been scarce in those parts, and the skipper, so long as he'd known her, ne'er had gathered less oil in a cruise to gladden the heart of her owner. 'darn the whales,' cried the skipper at length, with a telescope forte videbo aut pisces, aut terras. while speaking, just two or three points on the lee bow, he saw coming toward them as fast as though to a combat 'twould tempt 'em, a monstrum horrendum informe (qui lumen was shortly ademptum), on the taffrail up jumps in a hurry, dux fortis, and seizing a trumpet, blows a blast that would waken the dead, mare turbat et æra rumpit-- 'tumble up, all you lubbers,' he cries, 'tumble up, for careering before us is the real old sea-sarpent himself, cristis maculisque decorus.' 'consarn it,' cried one of the sailors, 'if e'er we provoke him he'll kill us, he'll certainly chaw up hos morsu, et longis, implexibus illos.' loud laughs the bold skipper, and quick premit alto corde dolorem; (if he does feel like running, he knows it won't do to betray it before 'em.) 'o socii,' inquit. 'i'm sartin you're not the fellers to funk, or shrink from the durem certamen, whose fathers fit bravely at bunker; you, who have waged with the bears, and the buffalo, proelia dura, down to the freshets and licks of our own free enlightened missourer; you, who could whip your own weight, catulis sævis sine telo, get your eyes skinned in a twinkling, et ponite tela phæsello!' talia voce refert, curisque ingentibus æger, marshals his cute little band, now panting their foe to beleaguer. swiftly they lower the boats, and swiftly each man at the oar is, excipe britanni timidi duo, virque coloris. (blackskin, you know, never feels how sweet 'tis pro patri mori; ovid had him in view when he said 'nimium ne crede colori.') now swiftly they pull towards the monster, who seeing the cutter and gig nigh, glares at them with terrible eyes, suffectis sanguine et igni, and, never conceiving their chief will so quickly deal him a floorer, opens wide to receive them at once, his linguis vibrantibis ora; but just as he's licking his lips, and gladly preparing to taste 'em, straight into his eyeball the skipper stridentem conjicit hastam. straight as he feels in his eyeball the lance, growing mightily sulky, at 'em he comes in a rage, ora minax, lingua trusulca. 'starn all,' cry the sailors at once, for they think he has certainly caught 'em, præsentemque viris intentant omnia mortem. but the bold skipper exclaims, 'o terque quaterque beati! now with a will dare viam, when i want you, be only parati; this hoss feels like raising his hair, and in spite of his scaly old cortex, full soon you shall see that his corpse rapidus vorat æquore vortex.' hoc ait, and choosing a lance, 'with this one i think i shall hit it,' he cries, and straight into his mouth, ad intima viscera millit, screeches the creature in pain, and writhes till the sea is commotum, as if all its waves had been lashed in a tempest per eurum et notum. interea terrible shindy neptunus sensit, et alto prospiciens sadly around, wiped his eye with the cuff of his paletôt; and, mad at his favourite's fate, of oaths uttered one or two thousand, such as 'corpo di bacco! mehercle! sacre! mille tonnerres! potztausend!' but the skipper, who thought it was time to this terrible fight dare finem, with a scalping knife jumps on the neck of the snake secat et dextrâ crinem, and, hurling the scalp in the air, half mad with delight to possess it, shouts, 'darn it--i've fixed up his flint, for in ventos vita recessit!'" --_punch._ st. george et his dragon. "hæc fabulam's one of those stories, which the italians say, 'ought to be true,' sed which modern wiseacres have scattered among les illusions perdus! st. george eques errans erat qui vibrat a seven-foot sword, und er würde eher be all up a tree, than be caught a-breaking his word. assuetus au matin to ride out pour chercher quelquechose for to lick, cap à pie en harness--and to see him whack a rusticus pauvre was chic. perequitat thousands of peasants, et mantled in armour complete-- cædat the whole huddle confestim et could make them ausgespielt. si ce n'est que, sans doute, they were willing, to get up and solemnly swear that the very last fraulein he'd seen was la plus belle dans tout la terre. ein morgen he saw à le trottoir puella formosissima très implicans amplexus draconæ, so she couldn't get out of his way. the dragon--donc voilà le tableau! had eyes sanguine suffectis alæ comme les lutins in 'paradise lost,' et was, on the whole, insuavis. for beauté miserable was there ever eques who would not do and die? st. george his hastam projecit right into the dragon--his eye! il coupe sa tête mit sein schwert gut-- ses ailes, il coupe mit sein couteau il coupe sa queu mit his hache des arms, et la demoiselle let go. in genua procumbit the ladye, et dixit, 'you've saved my life-- pour toute ma vie i'm your'n,' said she, 'i'm your regular little wife.' 'm'ami,' says he, 'i does these jobs in jocum--get up from your knees, would you offer outright to requite a knight? mon garçon, _he_ takes the fees!'" --_j. a. m._ the polka. "qui nunc dancere vult modo, wants to dance in the fashion, oh! discere debit ought to know, kickere floor cum heel and toe. one, two, three come hop with me-- whirligig, twirligig, rapidee. polkam, jungere, virgo vis? will you join in the polka, miss? liberius, most willingly, sic agemus, then let us try. nunc vide, skip with me. whirlabout, roundabout, celere. tum læva cito tum dextra, first to the left, then t'other way; aspice retro in vultu, you look at her, she looks at you. das palmam, change hands, ma'am, celere, run away, just in sham." --_gilbert abbot a'becket._ clubbis noster. "sunt quidam jolly dogs, saturday qui nocte frequentant, antiqui stephanon, qui stat prope moenia drury, where they called for saccos cum prog distendere bellies, indulgere jocis, nec non baccho atque tobacco; in mundo tales non fellows ante fuere magnanionam heroum celebrabe carmine laudeo, posthæ illustres ut vivant omne per ævum, altior en stephano locus est, snug, cosy recessus, hic quarters fixere suos, conclave tenet hic, hic dapibus cumulata, hic mahogany mensa, pascuntur varies, roast beef cum pudding of yorkshire, interdum, sometimes epulis quis nomen agrestes boiled leg of mutton and trimmings imposuere hic double x haurit, barclay and perkins ille. sic erimus drunki, deel care! aras dat mendicinum nec desuit mixtis que sese polibus implent. quus 'offnoff' omnes consuescunt dicere waiters. postquam, exempta fames grubbo mappaque remota. pro cyathio clarmet, qui goes sermone vocantur. vulgari, of whiskey, rum, gin and brandy, sed ut sunt; coelicolumqui punch ('erroribus absque') liquore gaudent; et panci vino quod proebet opporto, quod certi black-strap dicunt nicknomine graii, haustibus his pipe, communis et adjiciuntur, shag, reditus, cubæ, silvæ, cheroots et havanæ, 'festina viri,' bawls one, 'nunc ludito verbis,' alter 'foemineum sexum' propinquat et 'hurrah!' respondet pot house concessu plausibus omni. nunc similes, veteri versantur winky lepores omnibus exiguus nec. jingoteste tumultus, exoritur quoniam summâ, nituntur opum vi rivales [greek: halloi] top sawyers' [greek: hemmenai hallôn], est genus injenui lusûs quod nomine burking. notem est, vel burko, qui claudere cuncta solebat ora olim, eloquio, pugili vel forsitan isto deaf un, vel burko pueros qui burxit ad illud, plausibus aut fictis joculatorem excipiendo, aut bothering aliquid referentem, constat amicum. hoc parvo excutitur multus conamine risus. nomina magnorum referebam nunc pauca viorum, marcus et henricus punchi duo lumina magna (whacks his aristoteleam, sophoclem, brown wollopeth ille) in clubbum adveniunt, juvenalis et advenit acer qui veluti paddywhack for love conlundit amicos; ingentesque animos non parvo in corpore versans tullius; et matutini qui sidus heraldi est georgius; albertus magnus; vesterque poeta. præsidet his nestor qui tempore vixit in annæ, credetur et vidisse jophet, non youngster at ullos. in chaff, audaci certamine, vinceret illum, ille jocus mollit dictis, et pectora mulcet, ni faciat tumblers, et goes, et pocula pewter, quippe aliorum alii jactarent forsan in aures." --_punch._ little red riding hood. "you ask me to tell you the story of the terrible atra wood, of the lupi diri, [greek: mikro pai, kai] parvula red riding hood. patruus trux, he gave her a deux larrons pravi; et dear little robins came and cut up cum the folii. and then he scandit beanstalk, and giant cædit tall et virgo grandis marri-ed et rem is prodegit all! for, semble, une felis was left him-- (seulement, calamitas!) il emit chat zwei ocreæ et was marquis de carrabas! [greek: kai êen] de lady et ursus (you've heard this much, at least), et foemina on l'appèle beauté, and the beast they called a beast! obdormivit, et amittit ses moutons and couldn't find 'em, so she never did nothing whatever at all, et voila! cum caudis behind 'em! comme des toutes les demoiselles charmantes illæ the only lass who could yank her foot nitide dans le pantoufle de glass! et straw she nevit in auribus, et finally--child did win de expiscere arcanum name nami erat rumplestiltzskin! [greek: trike oikade mikro pai]: ciel! c'est time you should! ad lectum to dream of the story of little red riding hood!" --_j. a. m._ "ich bin dein." "in tempus old a hero lived, qui loved puellas deux; he ne pouvait pas quite to say which one amabat mieux. dit-il lui-meme, un beau matin, 'non possum both avoir, sed si address amanda ann, then kate and i have war. 'amanda habet argent coin, sed kate has aureas curls: et both sunt very [greek: agatha], et quite formosa girls. enfin, the youthful anthropos, [greek: philoun] the duo maids, resolved proponere ad kate devant cet evening's shades. procedens then to kate's domo, il trouve amanda there; [greek: kai] quite forgot his good resolves, both sunt so goodly fair. sed, smiling on the new tapis, between puellas twain, coepit to tell his flame to kate dans un poetique strain. mais, glancing ever and anon at fair amanda's eyes, illæ non possunt dicere, pro which he meant his sighs. each virgo heard the demi vow with cheeks as rouge as wine, and offering each a milk-white hand, both whispered, 'ich bin dein!'" contenti abeamus. "come, jocund friends, a bottle bring, and push around the jorum; we'll talk and laugh, and quaff and sing, nunc suavium amorum. while we are in a merry mood, come, sit down ad bibendum; and if dull care should dare intrude, we'll to the devil send him. a moping elf i can't endure while i have ready rhino; and all life's pleasures centre still in venere ac vino. be merry then, my friends, i pray, and pass your time in joco, for it is pleasant, as they say, desipere in loco. he that loves not a young lass, is sure an arrant stultus, and he that will not take a glass deserves to be sepultus. pleasure, music, love and wine, res valde sunt jocundæ, and pretty maidens look divine, provided ut sunt mundæ. i hate a snarling, surly fool, qui latrat sicut canis, who mopes and ever eats by rule, drinks water and eats panis. give me the man that's always free, qui finit molli more, the cares of life, whate'er they be, whose motto still is 'spero.' death will turn us soon from hence, nigerrimas ad sedes; and all our lands and all our pence ditabunt tunc heredes. why should we then forbear to sport? dum vivamus, vivamus, and when the fates shall cut us down, contenti abeamus." de leguleio. "jurisconsultus juvenis solus, sat scanning his tenuem docket-- volo, quoth he, some bonus Æolus inspiret fees to my pocket. he seized in manua sinistra ejus a tome of noy, or fortescue; here's a case, said he, terrible tedious-- fortuna veni to my rescue! lex scripta's nought but legal diluvium, defluxum streams of past ages, and lawyers sit like ducks in a pluvium, under law's reigning adages. lex non scripta's good for consciences tender, persequi the light internal; sed homines sæpius homage render ad lucem that burns infernal. effodi the said diluvium over, as do all legal beginners, et crede vivere hence in clover, that's sown by quarrelsome sinners. some think the law esse hum scarabeum, and lawyers a useless evil, and statute claim of tuum and meum is but a device of the devil; sed pravi homines sunt so thick that, without restrictio legis, esset crime plusquam one could shake stick at, by order diaboli regis. et good men, rari gurgite vasto, are digni the law's assistance, defendere se, et aid them so as to keep nefas et vim at a distance. the lawyer's his client's rights' defender, and bound laborare astute, videre that quæquæ res agenda dignitate et virtute. sed ecce! a case exactly ad punctum-- id scribam, ante forget it, negotium illud nunc perfunctum, feliciter, i have met it. he thrust out dextræ digitos manus, his pennam ad ink ille dedit; et scripsit,--but any homo sanus would be nonsuit ere he could read it." --_a. b. ely._ chanson without music. by the professor emeritus of dead and living languages. "you bid me sing--can i forget the classic odes of days gone by-- how belle fifine and jeune lisette exclaimed, 'anacreon [greek: gerôn ei]?' 'regardez donc,' those ladies said-- 'you're getting bald and wrinkled too: when summer's roses are all shed, love's nullum ite, voyez vous!' in vain ce brave anacreon's cry, 'of love alone my banjo sings' ([greek: erôta mounon]). 'etiam si,-- eh bien?' replied those saucy things-- 'go find a maid whose hair is grey, and strike your lyre--we shan't complain; but parce nobis, s'il vous plait,-- voila adolphe! voila eugene!' ah, jeune lisette! ah, belle fifine! anacreon's lesson all must learn: [greek: ho kairos oxus]; spring is green, but acer hiems waits his turn! i hear you whispering from the dust, 'tiens, mon cher, c'est toujours so,-- the brightest blade grows dim with rust, the fairest meadow white with snow!' you do not mean it? not encore? another string of play-day rhymes? you've heard me--nonne est?--before, multoties,--more than twenty times; non possum--vraiment--pas du tout, i cannot, i am loath to shirk; but who will listen if i do, my memory makes such shocking work? [greek: gignôskô]. scio. yes, i'm told some ancients like my rusty lay, as grandpa noah loved the old red-sandstone march of jubal's day. i used to carol like the birds, but time my wits have quite unfixed, et quoad verba--for my words-- ciel!--eheu!--whe-ew! how they're mixed! mehercle! [greek: zeu]. diable! how my thoughts were dressed when i was young. but tempus fugit--see them now half clad in rags of every tongue! [greek: o philoi], fratres, chers amis! i dare not court the youthful muse, for fear her sharp response should be-- 'papa anacreon, please excuse!' adieu! i've trod my annual track how long!--let others count the miles-- and peddled out my rhyming pack to friends who always paid in smiles; so laissez moi! some youthful wit no doubt has wares he wants to show, and i am asking 'let me sit' dum ille clamat "[greek: dos pou stô]." --_dr. holmes, atlantic monthly, nov. ._ during the late american civil war, slidell and mason, two of the confederate commissioners, were taken by an admiral of the u.s. navy from a british ship, and this came near causing an issue between the two countries. seward was the american premier at the time. this is that affair done up in a macaronic: slidell and mason. "slidell, qui est rerum cantor publicarum, atque lincoln. vir excelsior, mitigantur-- a delightful thing to think on! blatant plebs americanum, quite impossible to bridle, nihil refert, navis cana bring back mason atque slidell. scribat nunc amoene russell; lætus lapis claudit fiscum, nunc finiter all this bustle-- slidell--mason--pax vobiscum!" a valentine. "geist und sinn mich beutzen über vous zu dire das ich sie liebé? das herz que vous so lightly spurn to you und sie allein will turn unbarmherzig--pourquoir scorn mon coeur with love and anguish torn; croyez vous das my despair votre bonheur can swell or faire? schönheit kann nicht cruel sein mefris ist kein macht divine, then, oh then, it can't be thine. glaube das mine love is true, changeless, deep wie himmel's blue-- que l'amour that now i swear, zue dir ewigkeit i'll bear glaube das de gentle rays, born and nourished in thy gaze, sur mon coeur will ever dwell comme à l'instant when they fell-- mechante! that you know full well." very felis-itous. "felis sedit by a hole, intente she, cum omni soul, predere rats. mice cucurrerunt trans the floor, in numero duo tres or more, obliti cats. felis saw them oculis, 'i'll have them,' inquit she, 'i guess, dum ludunt.' tunc illa crepit toward the group, 'habeam,' dixit, 'good rat soup-- pingues sunt.' mice continued all ludere, intenti they in ludum vere, gaudeuter. tunc rushed the felis into them, et tore them omnes limb from limb, violenter. moral. mures omnes, nunc be shy, et aurem præbe mihi-- benigne: sic hoc satis--"verbum sat," avoid a whopping thomas cat studiose." --_green kendrick._ ce meme vieux coon. "ce meme vieux coon n'est pas quite mort, il n'est pas seulement napping: je pense, myself, unless j'ai tort cette chose est yet to happen. en dix huit forty-four, je sais, vous'll hear des curious noises; he'll whet ces dents against some clay, et scare des loco--bois-es! you know que quand il est awake, et quand il scratch ces clawses, les locos dans leurs souliers shake, et, sheepish, hang leurs jaws-es. ce meme vieux coon, je ne sais pas why, le mischief's come across him, il fait believe he's going to die, quand seulement playing possum. mais wait till nous le want encore, nous'll stir him with une pole; he'll bite as mauvais as before nous pulled him de son hole!" --_relic of henry clay campaign of ._ malum opus. "prope ripam fluvii solus a senex silently sat; super capitem ecce his wig, et wig super, ecce his hat. blew zephyrus alte, acerbus, dum elderly gentleman sat; et a capite took up quite torve et in rivum projecit his hat. tunc soft maledixit the old man, tunc stooped from the bank where he sat, et cum scipio poked in the water, conatus servare his hat. blew zephyrus alte, acerbus, the moment it saw him at that; et whisked his novum scratch wig in flumen, along with his hat. ab imo pectore damnavit in coeruleus eye dolor sat; tunc despairingly threw in his cane nare cum his wig and his hat. l'envoi. contra bonos mores, don't swear, it est wicked, you know (verbum sat), si this tale habet no other moral, mehercle! you're gratus to that!" --_j. a. m._ carmen ad terry. (written while general terry, u.s.a., with his black soldiers, was in command at richmond, virginia, after its evacuation by the confederate troops.) "terry, leave us, sumus weary: jam nos tædet te videre, si vis nos with joy implere, terry in hac terra tarry, diem nary. for thy domum long'st thou nonne? habes wife et filios bonny? socios afros magis ton-y? haste thee, terry, mili-terry, pedem ferre. forte thaddeus may desire thee, sumner, et id. om., admire thee, nuisance nobis, not to ire thee, we can spare thee, magne terry, freely, very. hear the prex's proclamation, nos fideles to the nation, gone est nunc thy place and station terry-sier momen-terry sine query. yes, thy doom est scriptum--'mene,' longer ne nos naso tene, thou hast dogged us, diu bene, loose us, terrible bull terry-er, we'll be merrier. but the dulces afros, vale, pompey, scipio et sally, seek some back new haven alley, terry, quit this territory con amore. sed verbum titi, abituro, pay thy rent-bills, et conjuro, tecum take thy precious bureau terry, turner, blue-coat hom'nes abhinc omnes!" --_horace milton._ lydia green. "in republican jersey, there nunquam was seen puella pulchrior, ac lydia green; fascinans quam bellis vel lilium, et id., et jacobus brown was 'ladles'[ ] on lyd. ad jacobum brown semel lydia, loquitur: 'si fidem violaris, i'd lay down and die, sir.' 'si my lydia dear i should ever forget'-- tum respondit: 'i hope to be roasted and ate.' sed, though jacob had sworn pro aris et focis, he went off and left lydia deserta, lachrymosis. in lachrymis solvis she sobbed and she sighed; and at last, corde fracta, turned over and died. tunc jacobus brown, se expedire pains that gnawed his chords cordis, went out on the plains, and quum he got there. [greek: oi barbaroi] met him, accenderunt ignem et roasted et ate him." --_j. a. m._ am rhein. "oh the rhine, the rhine, the rhine-- comme c'est beau! wie schön, che bello! he who quaffs thy lust and wein, morbleu! is a lucky fellow. how i love thy rushing streams, groves and ash and birch and hazel, from schaffhausen's rainbow beams jusqu'à l'echo d'oberwesel! oh, que j'aime thy brüchen, when the crammed dampfschiff gaily passes! love the bronzed pipes of thy men, and the bronzed cheeks of thy lasses! oh! que j'aime the 'oui,' the 'bah!' from the motley crowd that flow, with the universal 'ja,' and the allgemeine 'so!'" "serve-um-right." "'eh! dancez-vous?' dixit mein herr. 'oui, oui!' the charming maid replied: vidit ille at once the snare, looked downas quick, et etiam sighed. das mädchen knew each bona art stat ludicrans superba sweet; simplex homo perdit his heart declares eros ad ejus feet. 'mein liebchen,' here exclaims de herr, 'lux of mein life, ein rayum shed, dein oscula let amor share, si non, alas! meum be dead.' ludit das girlus gaily then, cum scorna much upon her lip: quid stultuses sunt all you men, funus to give you omnes slip. mein herr uprose cum dignas now, et melius et wiser man, der nubis paina on his brow, to his dark domus cito ran. nunc omnes you qui eager hear meas tell of cette falsa maid, of fascinatus girl beware lest votre folly sic be paid." to a friend at parting. "i often wished i had a friend, dem ich mich anvertraun könnt, a friend in whom i could confide, der mit mir theilte freud und leid; had i the riches of girard-- ich theilte mit ihm haus und heerd: for what is gold? 'tis but a passing metal, der henker hol' für mich den ganzen bettel. could i purchase the world to live in it alone, ich gäb', däfur nich eine noble bohn'; i thought one time in you i'd find that friend, und glaubte schon mein sehnen hät ein end; alas! your friendship lasted but in sight, doch meine grenzet an die ewigkeit." ad professorem linguÆ germanicÆ. "oh why now sprechen sie deutsch? what pleasure say can sie haben? you cannot imagine how much you bother unfortunate knaben. liebster freund! give bessere work, nicht so hard, ein kurtzerer lesson, oh then we will nicht try to shirk und unser will geben sie blessin'. oh, ask us nicht now to decline 'meines bruders grössere häuser;' 'die fasser' of 'alt rother wein' can give us no possible joy, sir. der müller may tragen ein rock eat schwartz brod und dem käsè, die gans may be hängen on hoch, but what can it matter to me, sir? return zu ihr own native tongue, leave dutch und sauer kraut to the dutchmen; and seek not to teach to the young the sprache belonging to such men. und now 'tis my solemn belief that if you nicht grant this petition, sie must schreiben mein vater ein brief, to say that ich hab' ein condition.'" --_yale courant._ pome of a possum. "the nox was lit by lux of luna, and 'twas nox most opportuna to catch a possum or a coona; for nix was scattered o'er this mundus, a shallow nix, et non profundus. on sic a nox with canis unus, two boys went out to hunt for coonus. unis canis, duo puer, nunquam braver, nunquam truer, quam hoc trio unquam fuit, if there was i never knew it. the corpus of this bonus canis, was full as long as octo span is, but brevior legs had canis never quam had hic dog; et bonus clever some used to say, in stultum jocum, quod a field was too small locum for sic a dog to make a turnus circum self from stem to sternus. this bonus dog had one bad habit, amabat much to tree a rabbit-- amabat plus to chase a rattus, amabat bene tree a cattus. but on this nixy moonlight night, this old canis did just right. nunquam treed a starving rattus, nunquam chased a starving cattus, but cucurrit on, intentus on the track and on the scentus, till he treed a possum strongum, in a hollow trunkum longum; loud he barked, in horrid bellum, seemed on terra venit pellum; quickly ran the duo puer, mors of possum to secure; quum venerit, one began to chop away like quisque man; soon the axe went through the truncum, soon he hit it all kerchunkum; combat deepens; on ye braves! canis, pueri et staves; as his powers non longuis tarry, possum potest non pugnare, on the nix his corpus lieth, down to hades spirit flieth, joyful pueri, canis bonus, think him dead as any stonus. now they seek their pater's domo, feeling proud as any homo, knowing, certe, they will blossom into heroes, when with possum they arrive, narrabunt story, plenus blood et plenior glory. pompey, david, samson, cæsar, cyrus, blackhawk, shalmaneser! tell me where est now the gloria, where the honours of victoria? quum ad domum narrent story, plenus sanguine, tragic, gory. pater praiseth, likewise mater, wonders greatly younger frater. possum leave they on the mundus, go themselves to sleep profundus, somniunt possums slain in battle, strong as ursæ, large as cattle. when nox gives way to lux of morning-- albam terram much adorning,-- up they jump to see the varmen, of the which this is the carmen. lo! possum est resurrectum! ecce pueri dejectum. ne relinquit track behind him, et the pueri never find him. cruel possum! bestia vilest, how the pueros thou beguilest; pueri think non plus of cæsar, go ad orcum, shalmaneser, take your laurels, cum the honour, since ista possum is a goner!" the following "society verses" of mortimer collins are given here by way of introducing an imitation of them in macaronic verse: ad chloen, m.a. (fresh from her cambridge examination.) "lady, very fair are you, and your eyes are very blue, and your nose; and your brow is like the snow; and the various things you know goodness knows. and the rose-flush on your cheek, and your algebra and greek perfect are; and that loving lustrous eye recognises in the sky every star. you have pouting, piquant lips, you can doubtless an eclipse calculate; but for your cerulean hue, i had certainly from you met my fate. if by an arrangement dual i were adams mixed with whewell, the same day i, as wooer, perhaps may come to so sweet an artium magistra." to the fair "come-outer." "lady! formosissima tu! cæruleis oculis have you, ditto nose! et vous n'avez pas une faute-- and that you are going to vote, goodness knows! and the roseus on your cheek, and your algebra and greek, are parfait! and your jactus oculi knows each star that shines in the milky way! you have pouting, piquant lips, sans doute vous pouvez an eclipse calculate! ne cærulum colorantur, i should have in you, instanter, met my fate! si, by some arrangement dual, i at once were kant and whewell; it would pay-- procus noti then to come to so sweet an artium magistra! or, jewel of consistency, si possem clear-starch, cookere, votre learning might the leges proscribere-- do the pro patria mori, i, the churning!" here are a few juvenile specimens, the first being a little-known old nursery ballad: the four brothers. "i had four brothers over the sea, perrimerri dictum, domine: and each one sent a present to me; partum quartum, peredecentum, perrimerri dictum, domine. the first sent a cherry without any stone; perrimerri dictum, domine: the second a chicken without any bone, partum quartum, peredecentum, perrimerri dictum, domine. the third sent a blanket without any thread; perrimerri dictum, domine: the fourth sent a book that no man could read; partum quartum, peredecentum, perrimerri dictum, domine. when the cherry's in the blossom, it has no stone; perrimerri dictum, domine: when the chicken's in the egg, it has no bone; partum quartum, peredecentum, perrimerri dictum, domine. when the blanket's in the fleece, it has no thread; perrimerri dictum, domine: when the book's in the press, no man can it read; partum quartum, peredecentum, perrimerri dictum, domine." little bo-peep. "parvula bo-peep amisit her sheep, et nescit where to find 'em; desere alone, et venient home, cum omnibus caudis behind 'em." jack and jill. "jack cum amico jill, ascendit super montem; johannes cecedit down the hill, ex forte fregit frontem." the teetotum. "fresh from his books, an arch but studious boy, twirl'd with resilient glee his mobile toy; and while on single pivot foot it set, whisk'd round the board in whirring pirouette, shriek'd, as its figures flew too fast to note 'em, _te totum amo, amo te, teetotum_." schoolboys and college youths not unfrequently adorn their books with some such macaronic as this: "si quisquis furetur, this little libellum, per bacchum, per jovem, i'll kill him, i'll fell him; in venturum illius i'll stick my scalpellum, and teach him to steal my little libellum." inscriptions and epitaphs are often the vehicles of quaint and curious diction, and of these we give some instances: the sign of the "gentle shepherd of salisbury plain." (_on the road from cape town to simon's bay, cape of good hope._) "multum in parvo, pro bono publico; entertainment for man or beast all of a row. lekker host as much as you please; excellent beds without any fleas; nos patrum fugimus--now we are here, vivamus, let us live by selling beer on donne à boire et á manger ici; come in and try it, whoever you be." in the visitors' book at niagara falls. "tres fratres stolidii, took a boat at niagri; stormus arose et windus erat, magnum frothum surgebat, et boatum overturnebat, et omnes drowndiderunt quia swimmere non potuerunt!" in the visitors' book of mount kearsarge house. (_summit of mount kearsarge, north conway, n.h._) "sic itur ad astra, together; but much as we aspire, no purse of gold, this summer weather, could hire us to go higher!" the following epitaph is to be found in northallerton churchyard: "hic jacet walter gun, sometime landlord of the _sun_, sic transit gloria mundi! he drank hard upon friday, that being an high day, took his bed and died upon sunday!" there are no macaronic authors nowadays, though poems of this class are still to be had in colleges and universities; but everything pertaining to college life is ephemeral, coming in with freshman and going out with senior. college students are the prolific fathers of a kind of punning latin composition, such as: "o _unum_ sculls. you _damnum_ sculls. _sic transit_ drove a _tu pone tandem temo ver_ from the north." "he is visiting his _ante_, mrs. _dido etdux_, and intends stopping here till _ortum_." "he _et super_ with us last evening, and is a terrible fellow. he _lambda_ man almost to death the other evening, but he got his match--the other man _cutis nos_ off for him and _noctem_ flat _urna_ flounder." "doctores! ducum nex mundi nitu panes; tritucum at ait. expecto meta fumen, and eta beta pi. super attente one--dux, hamor clam pati; sum parates, homine, ices, jam, etc. sideror hoc." in a similar dialect to this, dean swift and dr. sheridan used to correspond. in this way: "is his honor sic? præ letus felis pulse." the dean once wrote to the doctor: "mollis abuti, no lasso finis, has an acuti, molli divinis." to which the doctor responded: "i ritu a verse o na molli o mi ne, asta lassa me pole, a lædis o fine; i ne ver neu a niso ne at in mi ni is, a manat a glans ora sito fer diis. de armo lis abuti, hos face an hos nos is as fer a sal illi, as reddas aro sis, ac is o mi molli is almi de lite, illo verbi de, an illo verbi nite." at this the dean settles the whole affair by-- "apud in is almi de si re, mimis tres i ne ver re qui re; alo' ver i findit a gestis, his miseri ne ver at restis." sydney smith proposed as a motto for a well-known fish-sauce purveyor the following line from virgil (_Æn._ iv. i): "_gravi jam_dudum _saucia_ curâ." when two students named payne and culpepper were expelled from college, a classmate wrote: "_poen_ia perire potest; _culpa per_ennis est." and dr. johnson wrote the following epitaph on his cat: "_mi-cat_ inter omnes." a gentleman at dinner helped his friend to a potato, saying--"i think that is a good mealy one." "thank you," was the reply, "it could not be _melior_." another gentleman while driving one day was asked by a lady if some fowls they passed were ducks or geese. one of the latter at the moment lifting up its voice, the gentleman said, "that's your _anser_!" "well, tom, are you sick again?" asked a student of his friend, and was answered in english and in latin, "_sic sum_." victor hugo was once asked if he could write english poetry. "certainement," was the reply, and he sat down and wrote this verse: "pour chasser le spleen j'entrai dans un inn; o, mais je bus le gin, god save the queen!" in the "innocents abroad" of mark twain he gives a letter written by his friend mr. blucher to a parisian hotel-keeper, which was as follows: "'monsieur le landlord: sir--_pourquoi_ don't you _mettez_ some _savon_ in your bed-chambers? _est-ce-que-vous pensez_ i will steal it? _le nuit passeé_ you charged me _pour deux chandelles_ when i only had one; _hier vous avez_ charged me _avec glace_ when i had none at all; _tout les jours_ you are coming some fresh game or other upon me, _mais vous ne pouvez pas_ play this _savon_ dodge on me twice. _savon_ is a necessary _de la vie_ to anybody but a frenchman, _et je l'aurai hors de cette hotel_ or make trouble. you hear me.--_allons._ blucher.'" "i remonstrated," says mr. twain, "against the sending of this note, because it was so mixed up that the landlord would never be able to make head or tail of it; but blucher said he guessed the old man could read the french of it, and average the rest." productions like the preceding, and like that with which we conclude are continually finding their way into print, and are always readable, curious, and fresh for an idle hour. pocahontas and captain smith. (jamestown, a.d. .) "johannes smithus, walking up a streetus, met two ingentes ingins et parvulus ingin. ingins non capti sunt ab johanne, sed johannes captus est ab ingentibus inginibus. parvulus ingin run off hollerin, et terrifficatus est most to death. big ingin removit johannem ad tentem, ad campum, ad marshy placem, papoosem, pipe of peacem, bogibus, squawque. quum johannes examinatus est ab inginibus, they condemnati sunt eum to be cracked on capitem ab clubbibus. et a big ingin was going to strikaturus esse smithum with a clubbe, quum pocahontas came trembling down, et hollerin, 'don't ye duit, don't ye duit!' sic johannes non periit, sed grew fat on corn bread et hominy." _linguistic verse._ one of the most curious efforts in the way of teaching a language was that attempted by a work published originally in paris, in , entitled "o novo guia em portuguez e inglez. par jose de fonseca e pedro carolina," or the new guide to conversation in portuguese and english. mr. g. c. leland writes us that fonseca "manufactured" this work by procuring a book of french dialogues, which he put word by word into english--(by the aid of a dictionary)--"of which he knew not a word, and what is strangest, did not learn a word, even while writing his _guide_. that he really humbugged his bookseller appears from this that he induced the poor victim to publish a large english dictionary!" this book has been reprinted, as a literary curiosity, and may be had at quaritch's, piccadilly, london, under the title of "a new guide to the english," by pedro carolina; fonseca having taken his name out, and dating the book from "pekin,"--this being a mere joke. however, the original was a serious work, and by way of introduction to a poem in the fonseca english, kindly given us by professor e. h. palmer, we give a few particulars of and extracts from the work itself, and here is the preface: "a choice of familiar dialogues, clean of gallicisms and despoiled phrases, it was missing yet to studious portuguese and brazilian youth; and also to persons of other nations that wish to know the portuguese language. we sought all we may do, to correct that want, composing and divising the present little work in two parts. the first includes a greatest vocabulary proper names by alphabetical order; and the second forty-three dialogues adapted to the usual precisions of the life. for that reason we did put, with a scrupulous exactness, a great variety own expressions to english and portugues idioms; without to attach us selves (as make some others) almost at a literal translation; translation what only will be for to accustom the portuguese pupils, or foreign, to speak very bad any of the mentioned idioms. we were increasing this second edition with a phraseology, in the first part, and some familiar letters, anecdotes, idiotisms, proverbs, and to second a coin's index. "the _works_ which we were confering for this labour, find use us for nothing; but those what were publishing to portugal, or out. they were almost all composed for some foreign, or for some national little acquainted in the spirit of both languages. it was resulting from that corelessness to rest these _works_ fill of imperfections and anomalies of style; in spite of the infinite typographical faults which sometimes invert the sense of the periods. it increase not to contain any of those _works_ the figured pronunciation of the english words, nor the prosodical accent in the portugese: indispensable object whom wish to speak the english and portuguese languages correctly. "we expect then who the little book (for the care what we wrote him, and for her typographical correction) that may be worth the acceptance of the studious persons, and especially of the youth, at which we dedicate him particularly." the "greatest vocabulary proper names" is in three columns--the first giving the portuguese, the second the english words, and the third the english pronunciation: dô múndo. of the world. ove thi ueurlde. os astros. the stars. thi esters. môça. young girl. yeun-gue guerle. o relâmpago. the flash of lightning. thi flax ove lait eningue. the vocabulary fills about fifty pages, and is followed by a series of "familiar phrases," of which a few are here given: "do which is that book? do is so kind to tell me it. let us go on ours feet. having take my leave, i was going. this trees make a beauty shade. this wood is full of thief's. these apricots make me & to come water in mouth. i have not stricken the clock. the storm is go over, the sun begin to dissape it. i am stronger which him. that place is too much gracious. that are the dishes whose you must be and to abstain." then come the dialogues, and one we give is supposed to take place at a morning call, which commences first with the visitor and the servant: "'is your master at home?'--'yes, sir.' 'is it up?'--'no, sir, he sleep yet. i go make that he get up.' 'it come in one's? how is it you are in bed yet?'--'yesterday at evening i was to bed so late that i may not rising me soon that morning.'" this is followed by a description of the dissipation which led to these late hours--"singing, dancing, laughing, and playing"-- "'what game?'--'to the picket.' 'who have prevailed upon?'--'i have gained ten lewis.' 'till at what o'clock its had play one?'--'untill two o'clock after midnight.'" but these conversations or dialogues, however amusing, are as nothing when compared with the anecdotes which are given by fonseca, of which we transcribe a few: "john ii., portugal king, had taken his party immediately. he had in her court castillians ambassadors coming for treat of the pease. as they had keeped in leng the negotiation he did them two papers in one from which he had wrote _peace_ and on the other _war_--telling them 'choice you!'" "philip, king's macedonia, being fall, and seeing the extension of her body drawed upon the dust was cry--'greats gods! that we may have little part in this univers!'" "one eyed was laied against a man which had good eyes that he saw better than him. the party was accepted. 'i had gain over,' said the one eyed; 'why i see you two eyes, and you not look me who one!'" "the most vertious of the pagans, socrates, was accused from impiety, and immolated to the fury of the envy and the fanaticism. when relates one's him self that he has been condemned to death for the athenians--'and then told him, they are it for the nature,--but it is an unjustly,' cried her woman 'would thy replied-him that might be justify?'" "cæsar seeing one day to roma, some strangers, very riches, which bore between her arms little dogs and little monkeies and who was carressign them too tenderly was ask, with so many great deal reason, whether the women of her country don't had some children?" "two friends who from long they not were seen meet one's selves for hazard. 'how do is there?' told one of the two. 'no very well, told the other, and i am married from that i saw thee.' 'good news.' 'not quit, because i had married with a bad woman.' 'so much worse.' 'not so much great deal worse; because her dower was from two thousand lewis.' 'well, that confort.' 'not absolutely, why i had emplored this sum for to buy some muttons which are all deads of the rot.' 'that is indeed very sorry.' 'not so sorry, because the selling of hers hide have bring me above the price of the muttons.' 'so you are indemnified.' 'not quit, because my house where i was disposed my money, finish to be consumed by the flames.' 'oh, here is a great misfortune!' 'not so great nor i either, because my wife and my house are burned together!'" the concluding portion of this guide is devoted to "idiotisms and proverbs," of some of which it is rather difficult to recognise the original, as "to take time by the forelock," is rendered "it want to take the occasion for the hairs!" here are a few others: "the walls have hearsay." "four eyes does see better than two." "there is not any ruler without a exception." "the mountain in work put out a mouse." "he is like the fish into the water." "to buy a cat in a pocket." "to come back at their muttons." "he is not so devil as he is black." "keep the chestnut of the fire with the hand of the cat." "what come in to me for an ear yet out for another." "take out the live coals with the hand of the cat." "these roses do button at the eyesight." enough perhaps has been given about this amusing guide, and we here introduce professor e. h. palmer's verses: the parterre. a poetry as the fonseca. "i don't know any greatest treat as sit him in a gay parterre, and sniff one up the perfume sweet of every roses buttoning there. it only want my charming miss who make to blush the self red rose; oh! i have envy of to kiss the end's tip of her splendid nose. oh! i have envy of to be what grass neath her pantoffle push, and too much happy seemeth me the margaret which her vestige crush. but i will meet her nose at nose, and take occasion for the hairs, and indicate her all my woes, that she in fine agree my prayers. the envoy. i don't know any greatest treat as sit him in a gay parterre, with madame who is too more sweet than every roses buttoning there." pidgin english is the name given to the dialect extensively used in the seaport towns of china as a means of communication between the natives and english and americans, and is a very rude jargon in which english words are very strangely distorted. it is very limited, the chinese learning pidgin with only the acquirement of a few hundred words, the pronunciation and grammar of which have been modified to suit those of their own language. the word pidgin itself is derived through a series of changes in the word _business_. early traders made constant use of this word, and the chinaman contracted it first to _busin_, and then through the change to _pishin_ it at length assumed the form of _pidgin_, still retaining its original meaning. this at once shows the difficulty which a chinaman has in mastering the pronunciation of english words, and as business or commerce is the great bond of union between the chinese and the foreign residents, it is not to be wondered at that this word should give name to the jargon formed in its service. the chinese have great difficulty in using the letter _r_, pronouncing it almost always like _l_, as _loom_ for _room_, _cly_ for _cry_; and for the sake of euphony often add _ee_ or _lo_ to the end of words. _galaw_ or _galow_ is a word of no meaning, being used as a kind of interjection; _chop, chop_, means quick, quick; _maskee_, don't mind; _chop b'long_, of a kind; _topside galow_, excelsior, or "hurrah for topside"; _chin chin_, good-bye; _welly culio_, very curious; _joss-pidgin-man_, priest. with these few hints the reader may understand better the following version of "excelsior," which originally appeared in _harpers' magazine_ in ,--the moral, however, belongs solely to the chinese translator: topside-galow. "that nightee teem he come chop chop one young man walkee, no can stop; colo maskee, icee maskee; he got flag; chop b'long we_ll_y cu_l_io, see-- topside-galow! he too muchee so_ll_y; one piecee eye looksee sharp--so fashion--alla same my: he talkee largee, talkee st_l_ong, too muchee cu_l_io; alla same gong-- topside-galow! inside any housee he can see light, any piecee _l_oom got fire all _l_ight; he looksee plenty ice more high, inside he mouf he plenty c_l_y-- topside-galow! 'no can walkee!' olo man speakee he; 'bimeby _l_ain come, no can see; hab got water we_ll_y wide!' maskee, my must go topside-- topside-galow! 'man-man,' one galo talkee he; 'what for you go topside look-see?' 'nother teem,' he makee plenty c_l_y, maskee, alla teem walkee plenty high-- topside-galow! 'take care that spilum t_l_ee, young man, take care that icee!' he no man-man, that coolie chin-chin he 'good-night;' he talkee, 'my can go all _l_ight'-- topside-galow! joss-pidgin-man chop chop begin, morning teem that joss chin-chin, no see any man, he plenty fear, cause some man talkee, he can hear-- topside-galow! young man makee die; one largee dog see too muchee bobbe_l_y, findee hee. hand too muchee colo, inside can stop alla same piecee flag, got cu_l_io chop-- topside-galow! moral. you too muchee laugh! what for sing? i think so you no savey t'hat ting! supposey you no b'long clever inside, more betta _you_ go walk topside! topside-galow!" in connection with these linguistic curiosities we take the following from an old number of _harpers' magazine_: "a practical parent objects to the silliness of our nursery rhymes, for the reason that the doggerel is rendered pernicious by the absence of a practical moral purpose, and as introducing infants to the realities of life through an utterly erroneous medium. they are taught to believe in a world peopled by little bo-peeps and goosey, goosey ganders, instead of a world of new york central, erie, north-western preferred, &c. &c. it is proposed, therefore, to accommodate the teaching of the nursery to the requirements of the age, to invest children's rhymes with a moral purpose. instead, for example, of the blind wonderment as to the nature of astronomical bodies inculcated in that feeble poem commencing 'twinkle, twinkle, little star,' let the child be indoctrinated into the recent investigations of science, thus: 'wrinkles, wrinkles, solar star, i obtain of what you are, when unto the noonday sky i the spectroscope apply; for the spectrum renders clear gaps within your photosphere, also sodium in the bar which your rays yield, solar star.' "then, again, there is the gastronomic career of little jack homer, which inculcates gluttony. it is practicable that this fictitious hero should familiarise the child with the principles of the _delectus_: 'studious john homer, of latin no scorner, in the second declension did spy how nouns there are some which ending in _um_ do _not_ make their plural in _i_.' "the episode of jack and jill is valueless as an educational medium. but it might be made to illustrate the arguments of a certain school of political economists: 'jack and jill have studied mill, and all that sage has taught, too. now both promote jill's claim to vote, as every good girl ought too.' "even the pleasures of life have their duties, and the child needs to be instructed in the polite relaxation of society. the unmeaning jingle of 'hey diddle diddle,' might be invested with some utility of a social kind: 'i did an idyl on joachim's fiddle, at a classical soiree in june, while jolly dogs laughed at themes from spöhr, and longed for a popular tune.' "and the importance of securing a good _parti_, of rejecting ineligible candidates, and of modifying flirtations by a strict regard to the future, might be impressed upon the female mind at an early age in the following moral: 'little miss muffit sat at a buffet eating a _bonbon sucre_; a younger son spied her, and edged up beside her, but she properly frowned him away.'" the preceding is all very well, but there are others which have been travestied and changed also--"mary's little lamb," for instance, will never be allowed to rest in its true saxon garb, but is being constantly dressed in every tongue and dialect. but recently one has arisen bold enough to doubt the story altogether, and throw discredit on the song. mr. baring gould, and iconoclasts like him, strive to show that william tell and other ancient heroes never did live, but we never expected to doubt the existence of "mary's little lamb," yet a correspondent to a magazine sent not long ago what he says is the "true story of mary and her lamb," hoping it will take the place of the garbled version hitherto received as authentic: "mary had a little lamb, whose fleece was white as snow, and every place that mary went, the lamb it would _not_ go. so mary took that little lamb, and beat it for a spell; the family had it fried next day, and it went very well." we have still another way of it, in what may be termed an exaggerated synonymic adherence to the central idea of the ballad: "mary possessed a diminutive sheep, whose external covering was as devoid of colour as the aqueous fluid which sometimes presents unsurmountable barriers on the sierras. and everywhere mary peregrinated this juvenile southdown would be sure to get up and go right after her. it followed her to the alphabet dispensary one day, which was contrary to the d subdivision of the th article of the constitution of that academy of erudition; it caused the adolescent disciples there assembled to titillate their risibles and indulge in interludes of sportive hilarity," &c. &c. linguistic renderings of many of these ancient songs may be found in the works of the rev. francis mahoney (father prout), dr. maginn, &c., as well as in the "arundines cami" of the rev. h. drury. of these here follow a few: little bo-peep. "petit bo-peep a perdu ses moutons et ne sait pas que les a pris, o laisses les tranquilles ill viendront en ville et chacun sa que apres lui." ba, ba, black sheep. "ba, ba, mouton noir, avez vous de laine? oui monsieur, non monsieur, trois sacs pleine. un pour mon maitre, un pour ma dame, pas un pour le jeune enfant que pleure dan le chemin." here is a song of mahoney's, which is given complete: "quam pulchra sunt ova cum alba et nova, in stabulo scite leguntur; et a margery bella, quæ festiva puella! pinguis lardi cum frustris coquuntur. ut belles in prato, aprico et lato sub sole tam lacte renident; ova tosta in mensa mappa bene extensa, nittidissima lanse consident." which, put into english, is: "oh! 'tis eggs are a treat, when so white and so sweet from under the manger they're taken; and by fair margery (och! 'tis she's full of glee!) they are fried with fat rashers of bacon. just like daisies all spread, o'er a broad sunny mead, in the sunbeams so gaudily shining, are fried eggs, when displayed on a dish, when we've laid the cloth, and are thinking of dining!" the last of these we give is from the "arundines cami": twinkle, twinkle, little star. "mica, mica, parva stella, miror, quænam sis tam bella! splendens eminus in illo alba velut gemma, coelo." this familiar nursery rhyme has also been "revised" by a committee of eminent preceptors and scholars, with this result: "shine with irregular, intermitted light, sparkle at intervals, diminutive, luminous, heavenly body. how i conjecture, with surprise, not unmixed with uncertainty, what you are, located, apparently, at such a remote distance from, and at a height so vastly superior to this earth, the planet we inhabit, similar in general appearance and refractory powers to the precious primitive octahedron crystal of pure carbon, set in the aërial region surrounding the earth." dr. lang, in his book on "queensland," &c., is wroth against the colonists for the system of nomenclature they have pursued, in so far as introducing such names as deptford, codrington, greenwich, and so on. conceding that there may be some confusion by the duplication in this way of names from the old country, they are surely better than the jaw-breaking native names which are strung together in the following lines: "i like the native names, as parramatta, and illawarra and wooloomooloo, tongabbee, mittagong, and coolingatta, euranania, jackwa, bulkomatta, nandowra, tumbwumba, woogaroo; the wollondilly and the wingycarribbeo, the warragumby, dalby, and bungarribbe." the following _jeu d'esprit_, in which many of the absurd and unpronounceable names of american towns and villages are happily hit off, is from the _orpheus c. kerr_ (office-seeker) _papers_, by r. h. newell, a work containing many of those humorous, semi-political effusions, which were so common in the united states during the civil war: the american traveller. "to lake aghmoogenegamook, all in the state of maine, a man from wittequergaugaum came one evening in the rain. 'i am a traveller,' said he, 'just started on a tour, and go to nomjamskillicook to-morrow morn at four.' he took a tavern-bed that night, and with the morrow's sun, by way of sekledobskus went, with carpet-bag and gun. a week passed on; and next we find our native tourist come to that sequester'd village called genasagarnagum. from thence he went to absequoit, and there--quite tired of maine-- he sought the mountains of vermont, upon a railroad train. dog hollow, in the green mount state, was his first stopping-place, and then skunk's misery displayed its sweetness and its grace. by easy stages then he went to visit devil's den; and scrabble hollow, by the way, did come within his ken. then _via_ nine holes and goose green, he travelled through the state, and to virginia, finally, was guided by his fate. within the old dominion's bounds, he wandered up and down; to-day at buzzard roost ensconced, to-morrow at hell town. at pole cat, too, he spent a week, till friends from bull ring came, and made him spend the day with them in hunting forest game. then, with his carpet-bag in hand, to dog town next he went; though stopping at free negro town, where half a day he spent. from thence, into negationburg his route of travel lay, which having gained, he left the state and took a southward way. north carolina's friendly soil he trod at fall of night, and, on a bed of softest down, he slept at hell's delight. morn found him on the road again, to lousy level bound; at bull's tail, and lick lizard too, good provender he found. the country all about pinch gut so beautiful did seem, that the beholder thought it like a picture in a dream. but the plantations near burnt coat were even finer still, and made the wond'ring tourist feel a soft delicious thrill. at tear shirt, too, the scenery most charming did appear, with snatch it in the distance far, and purgatory near. but spite of all these pleasant scenes, the tourist stoutly swore that home is brightest after all, and travel is a bore. so back he went to maine, straightway a little wife he took; and now is making nutmegs at moosehicmagunticook." a rhyme for musicians. "haendel, bendel, mendelssohn, brendel, wendel, jadasshon, muller, hiller, heller, franz, blothow, flotow, burto, gantz. meyer, geyer, meyerbeer, heyer, weyer, beyer, beer, lichner, lachnar, schachner, dietz, hill, will, bruell, grill drill, reiss, reitz. hansen, jansen, jensen, kiehl, siade, gade, laade, stiehl, naumann, riemann, diener, wurst, niemann, kiemann, diener wurst. kochler, dochler, rubenstein, himmel, hummel, rosenkyn, lauer, bauer, kleincke, homberg, plomberg, reinecke." --_e. lemke._ surnames. by james smith, one of the authors of "rejected addresses." "men once were surnamed for their shape or estate (you all may from history learn it), there was louis the bulky, and henry the great, john lackland, and peter the hermit. but now, when the doorplates of misters and dames are read, each so constantly varies; from the owner's trade, figure, and calling, surnames seem given by the rule of contraries. mr. wise is a dunce, mr. king is a whig, mr. coffin's uncommonly sprightly, and huge mr. little broke down in a gig, while driving fat mrs. golightly. at bath, where the feeble go more than the stout, (a conduct well worthy of nero,) over poor mr. lightfoot, confined with the gout, mr. heavyside danced a bolero. miss joy, wretched maid, when she chose mr. love, found nothing but sorrow await her; she now holds in wedlock, as true as a dove, that fondest of mates, mr. hayter. mr. oldcastle dwells in a modern-built hut; miss sage is of madcaps the archest; of all the queer bachelors cupid e'er cut, old mr. younghusband's the starchest. mr. child, in a passion, knock'd down mr. rock; mr. stone like an aspen-leaf shivers; miss pool used to dance, but she stands like a stock ever since she became mrs. rivers. mr. swift hobbles onward, no mortal knows how, he moves as though cords had entwined him; mr. metcalf ran off upon meeting a cow, with pale mr. turnbull behind him. mr. barker's as mute as a fish in the sea, mr. miles never moves on a journey, mr. gotobed sits up till half after three, mr. makepeace was bred an attorney. mr. gardener can't tell a flower from a root, mr. wild with timidity draws back; mr. ryder performs all his journeys on foot, mr. foot all his journeys on horseback. mr. penny, whose father was rolling in wealth, consumed all the fortune his dad won; large mr. le fever's the picture of health; mr. goodenough is but a bad one. mr. cruikshank stept into three thousand a year by showing his leg to an heiress: now i hope you'll acknowledge i've made it quite clear surnames ever go by contraries." the next verses are somewhat similar, and are taken from an old number of the _european magazine_: coincidences and contrarieties. "tis curious to find, in this overgrown town, while through its long streets we are dodging, that many a man is in trade settled down, whose name don't agree with his lodging! for instance, jack munday in friday street dwells, mr. pitt in fox court is residing; mr. white in black's buildings green-grocery sells, while east in west square is abiding! mr. lamb in red lion street perks up his head, to lamb's, conduit street, lyon goes courting; mr. boxer at battle bridge hires a bed, while moon is in sun street disporting. bill brown up to green street to live now is gone, in stanhope mews dennet keeps horses; doctor low lives in high street, saint mary-le-bone, in brown street one johnny white's door sees. but still much more curious it is, when the streets accord with the names of their tenants; and yet with such curious accordance one meets, in taking a town-tour like pennant's. for instance, in crown street george king you may note, to booth, in mayfair, you go shopping; and porter, of brewer street, goes in a boat to waters, of river street, wapping! mr. sparrow in bird street has feathered his nest, mr. archer in bow street wooes sally: mr. windham in air street gets zephyr'd to rest, mr. dancer resides in ball alley. mr. fisher on finsbury fixes his views, mrs. foote in shoe lane works at carding; mr. hawke has a residence close to the mews, and winter puts up at spring gardens! in orange street, lemon vends porter and ale, in hart street, jack deer keeps a stable; in hill street located you'll find mr. dale, in blue anchor row, mr. cable. in knight-rider street, you've both walker and day, in castle street, champion and spearman; in blackman street, lillywhite makes a display, in cheapside lives sweet mrs. dearman. in paradise row, mr. adam sells figs, eve, in apple tree yard, rooms has taken; mr. coltman, in foley street, fits you with wigs, in hog lane you call upon bacon. old homer in greek street sells barrels and staves, while pope, in cross lane, is a baker; in liquorpond street, mr. drinkwater shaves, in cow lane lives a. veal, undertaker." the english language. "a pretty deer is dear to me, a hare with downy hair; i love a hart with all my heart, but barely bear a bear. 'tis plain that no one takes a plane to pare a pair of pears; a rake, though, often takes a rake to tear away the tares. all rays raise thyme, time razes all; and, through the whole, hole wears. a writ, in writing 'right,' may write it 'wright,' and still be wrong-- for 'wright' and 'rite' are neither 'right,' and don't to 'write' belong. beer often brings a bier to man, coughing a coffin brings; and too much ale will make us ail, as well as other things. the person lies who says he lies when he is but reclining; and when consumptive folks decline, they all decline declining. a quail don't quail before a storm-- a bough will bow before it; we cannot rein the rain at all-- no earthly powers reign o'er it; the dyer dyes awhile, then dies; to dye he's always trying, until upon his dying bed he thinks no more of dyeing. a son of mars mars many a sun; all deys must have their days, and every knight should pray each night to him who weighs his ways. 'tis meet that man should mete out meat to feed misfortune's son; the fair should fare on love alone, else one cannot be won. a lass, alas! is something false; of faults a maid is made; her waist is but a barren waste-- though stayed she is not staid. the springs spring forth in spring, and shoots shoot forward one and all; though summer kills the flowers, it leaves the leaves to fall in fall. i would a story here commence, but you might find it stale; so let's suppose that we have reached the tail end of our tale." spelling reform. "with tragic air the love-lorn heir once chased the chaste louise; she quickly guessed her guest was there to please her with his pleas. now at her side he kneeling sighed, his sighs of woeful size; 'oh, hear me here, for lo, most low i rise before your eyes. 'this soul is sole thine own, louise-- 'twill never wean, i ween, the love that i for aye shall feel, though mean may be its mien!' 'you know i cannot tell you no,' the maid made answer true; 'i love you aught, as sure i ought-- to you 'tis due i do!' 'since you are won, oh fairest one, the marriage rite is right-- the chapel aisle i'll lead you up this night,' exclaimed the knight." --_yonkers' gazette, u.s._ owed to my creditors. "in vain i lament what is past, and pity their woe-begone looks, though they grin at the credit they gave, i know i am in their best books. to my _tailor_ my _breaches_ of faith, on my conscience now but lightly sit, for such lengths in his _measures_ he's gone, he has given me many a _fit_. my bootmaker, finding at _last_ that my _soul_ was too stubborn to suit, _waxed_ wroth when he found he had got anything but the _length of my foot_. my hatmaker cunningly _felt_ he'd seen many like me before, so _brimful_ of insolence, vowed on credit he'd crown me no more. my baker was _crusty_ and _burnt_, when he found himself quite _overdone_ by a _fancy-bred_ chap like myself,-- ay, as _cross_ as a _good friday's bun_. next, my laundress, who washed pretty clean, in behaviour was dirty and bad; for into hot water she popped all the shirts and the dickies i had. then my butcher, who'd little at _stake_, most surlily opened his _chops_, and swore my affairs out of _joint_, so on to my carcase he pops. in my lodgings exceedingly high, though low in the rent to be sure, without warning my landlady seized, took my things and the key of the door. thus cruelly used by the world, in the bench i can smile at its hate; for a time i must alter my _style_, for i cannot get out of the _gate_." an original love story. "he struggled to kiss her. she struggled the same to prevent him, so bold and undaunted; but, as smitten by lightning, he heard her exclaim, 'avaunt, sir!' and off he avaunted. but when he returned, with the fiendishest laugh, showing clearly that he was affronted, and threatened by main force to carry her off, she cried 'don't!' and the poor fellow donted. when he meekly approached, and sat down at her feet, praying aloud, as before he had ranted, that she would forgive him and try to be sweet, and said, 'can't you!' the dear girl recanted. then softly he whispered, 'how could you do so? i certainly thought i was jilted; but come thou with me, to the parson we'll go; say, wilt thou, my dear?' and she wilted." prevalent poetry. "a wandering tribe, called the siouxs, wear moccasins, having no shiouxs. they are made of buckskin, with the fleshy side in, embroidered with beads of bright hyiouxs. when out on the war-path, the siouxs march single file--never by tiouxs-- and by 'blazing' the trees can return at their ease, and their way through the forests ne'er liouxs. all new-fashioned boats he eschiouxs, and uses the birch-bark caniouxs; these are handy and light, and, inverted at night, give shelter from storms and from dyiouxs. the principal food of the siouxs is indian maize, which they briouxs and hominy make, or mix in a cake, and eat it with fork, as they chiouxs." --_scribner's magazine._ a temperance sermon. "if for a stomach ache you tache each time some whisky, it will break you down and meak you sheak and quache, and you will see a horrid snache. much whisky doth your wits beguile, your breath defuile, yourself make vuile; you lose your style, likewise your pyle, if you erewhyle too often smuile. but should there be, like now, a drought, when water and your strength give ought, none will your good name then malign if you confign your drink to wign." --_h. c. dodge._ "there was a young man in bordeaux, he said to himself--'oh, heaux! the girls have gone back on me seaux, what to do i really don't kneaux.'" _technical verse._ anticipatory dirge on professor buckland, the geologist. by bishop shuttleworth. "mourn, ammonites, mourn o'er his funeral urn, whose neck ye must grace no more; gneiss, granite, and slate!--he settled your date, and his ye must now deplore. weep, caverns, weep! with infiltering drip, your recesses he'll cease to explore; for mineral veins or organic remains no stratum again will he bore. oh! his wit shone like crystal!--his knowledge profound from gravel to granite descended; no trap could deceive him, no slip could confound, nor specimen, true or pretended. he knew the birth-rock of each pebble so round, and how far its tour had extended. his eloquence rolled like the deluge retiring, which mastodon carcases floated; to a subject obscure he gave charms so inspiring young and old on geology doated. he stood forth like an outlier; his hearers admiring in pencil each anecdote noted. where shall we our great professor inter, that in peace may rest his bones? if we hew him a rocky sepulchre, he'll rise up and break the stones, and examine each stratum that lies around, for he's quite in his element underground. if with mattock and spade his body we lay in the common alluvial soil; he'll start up and snatch those tools away of his own geological toil; in a stratum so young the professor disdains that embedded should be his organic remains. then, exposed to the drip of some case-hard'ning spring, his carcase let stalactite cover; and to oxford the petrified sage let us bring, when he is encrusted all over, there, mid mammoths and crocodiles, high on a shelf, let him stand as a monument raised to himself." when professor buckland's grave was being dug in islip churchyard, in august , the men came unexpectedly upon the solid limestone rock, which they were obliged to blast with gunpowder. the coincidence of this fact with some of the verses in the above anticipatory dirge is somewhat remarkable. the following is by jacob f. henrici, and appeared originally in _scribner' s magazine_ for november : a microscopic serenade. "oh come, my love, and seek with me a realm by grosser eye unseen, where fairy forms will welcome thee, and dainty creatures hail thee queen. in silent pools the tube i'll ply, where green conferva-threads lie curled, and proudly bring to thy bright eye the trophies of the protist world. we'll rouse the stentor from his lair, and gaze into the cyclops' eye; in chara and nitella hair the protoplasmic stream descry, for ever weaving to and fro with faint molecular melody; and curious rotifers i'll show, and graceful vorticellidæ. where melicertæ ply their craft we'll watch the playful water-bear, and no envenomed hydra's shaft shall mar our peaceful pleasure there; but while we whisper love's sweet tale we'll trace, with sympathetic art, within the embryonic snail the growing rudimental heart. where rolls the volvox sphere of green, and plastids move in brownian dance-- if, wandering 'mid that gentle scene, two fond amoebæ shall perchance be changed to one beneath our sight by process of biocrasis, we'll recognise, with rare delight, a type of our prospective bliss. oh dearer thou by far to me in thy sweet maidenly estate than any seventy-fifth could be, of aperture however great! come, go with me, and we will stray through realm by grosser eye unseen, where protophytes shall homage pay, and protozoa hail thee queen." the epitaph following was written by the learned and witty dr. charles smith, author of the histories of cork and waterford. it was read at a meeting of the dublin medico-philosophical society on july , , and is a very curious specimen of the "terminology of chemistry:" "boyle godfrey, chymist and doctor of medicine. epitaphium chemicum. here lieth to digest, macerate, and amalgamate with clay, in balneo arenæ, stratum super stratum, the residuum, terra damnata, and caput mortuum, of boyle godfrey, chimist, and m.d. a man who in this earthly laboratory pursued various processes to obtain arcanum vitæ, or the secret to live; also aurum vitæ, or the art of getting, rather than making, gold. alchemist like, all his labour and propition, as mercury in the fire, evaporated in fumo. when he dissolved to his first principles, he departed as poor as the last drops of an alembic; for riches are not poured on the adepts of this world. thus, not solar in his purse, neither lunar in his disposition, nor jovial in his temperament; being of saturnine habit, venereal conflicts had left him, and martial ones he disliked. with nothing saline in his composition, all salts but two were his nostrums. the attic he did not know, and that of the earth he thought not essential; but, perhaps, his had lost its savour. though fond of news, he carefully avoided the fermentation, effervescence, and decupilation of this life. full seventy years his exalted essence was hermetically sealed in its terrene matrass; but the radical moisture being exhausted, the elixir vitæ spent, inspissated and exsiccated to a cuticle, he could not suspend longer in his vehicle, but precipitated gradatim per companum to his original dust. may that light, brighter than bolognian phosphorus, preserve him from the incineration and concremation of the athanor, empyreuma, and reverberatory furnace of the other world, depurate him, like tartarus regeneratus, from the foeces and scoria of this; highly rectify and volatilize his etherial spirit, bring it over the helm of the retort of this globe, place in a proper recipient, or crystalline orb, among the elect of the flowers of benjamin, never to be saturated till the general resuscitation, deflagration, and calcination of all things, when all the reguline parts of his comminuted substance shall be again concentrated, revivified, alcoholized, and imbibe its pristine archeses; undergo a new transmutation, eternal fixation, and combination of its former aura; be coated over and decorated in robes more fair than the majestie of bismuth, more sparkling than cinnabar, or aurum mosaicum. and being found proof spirit, then to be exalted and sublimed together into the concave dome of the highest aludel in paradise." to clara morchella deliciosa. (a mycological serenade.) by mr. a. stephen wilson, north kinmundy, aberdeenshire, and read at a meeting of the cryptogamic society at glasgow in . "oh, lovely clara, hie with me where cryptogams in beauty spore, corticiums creep on trunk and tree, and fairy rings their curves restore; mycelia there pervade the ground, and many a painted pileus rear, agarics rend their veils around the ranal overture to hear. where gay pezizæ flaunt their hues, a microscopic store we'll glean, to sketch with camera the views in which the ascus may be seen. beneath our millemetric gaze sporidia's length will stand revealed, and eyes like thine will trace the maze in each hymenium concealed. Æstivum tubers we shall dig, like suidæ in fagian shade, and many a sphæria-sheltering twig will in our vascula be laid. for hard sclerotia we shall peer, in barks and brassicaceous leaves, and trace their progress through the year, like bobbies on the track of thieves. while sages deem solanum sent to succour homo's hungry maw, we'll prize it for development of swelling peronospora. we'll mount the myxogastre's threads to watch plasmodium's vital flow, while capillitia lift their heads generic mysteries to show. i'll bring thee where the chantarelles inspire a mycologic theme, where phallus in the shadow smells, and scarlet amanita gleam; and lead thee where m'moorlan's rye is waving black with ergot spurs, and many a trichobasian dye gives worth to corn and prickly burs. and when the beetle calls us home, we'll gather on our lingering way the violaceous inolome and russet alutacea, the brown boletus edulis our fishing baskets soon will fill-- we'll dine on fungi fried in bliss, nor dread the peck of butcher's bill." to the pliocene skull. (a geological address.) "'speak, o man, less recent! fragmentary fossil! primal pioneer of pliocene formation, hid in lowest drifts below the earliest stratum of volcanic tufa! 'older than the beasts, the oldest palæotherium; older than the trees, the oldest cryptogami; older than the hills, those infantile eruptions of earth's epidermis! 'eo--mio--plio--whatso'er the "cene" was that those vacant sockets filled with awe and wonder,-- whether shores devonian or silurian beaches,-- tell us thy strange story! 'or has the professor slightly antedated by some thousand years thy advent on this planet, giving thee an air that's somewhat better fitted for cold-blooded creatures? 'wert thou true spectator of that mighty forest when above thy head the stately sigillaria reared its columned trunks in that remote and distant carboniferous epoch? 'tell us of that scene,--the dim and watery woodland, songless, silent, hushed, with never bird or insect, veiled with spreading fronds and screened with tall club-mosses, lycopodiacea,-- 'when beside thee walked the solemn plesiosaurus, and around thee crept the festive ichthyosaurus, while from time to time above thee flew and circled cheerful pterodactyls. 'tell us of thy food,--those half-marine refections, crinoids on the shell and brachiopods _au naturel_,-- cuttlefish to which the _pieuvre_ of victor hugo seems a periwinkle. 'speak, thou awful vestige of the earth's creation,-- solitary fragment of remains organic! tell the wondrous secret of thy past existence,-- speak! thou oldest primate!' even as i gazed, a thrill of the maxilla, and a lateral movement of the condyloid process, with post-pliocene sounds of healthy mastication, ground the teeth together. and, from that imperfect dental exhibition, stained with express juices of the weed nicotian, came these hollow accents, blent with softer murmurs of expectoration: 'which my name is bowers, and my crust was busted falling down a shaft in calaveras county, but i'd take it kindly if you'd send the pieces home to old missouri!'" --_bret harte._ the following verses are from "notes and queries," and evidently refer to a case of "breach of promise": knox ward, king-at-arms, disarmed at law. "ye fair injured nymphs, and ye beaus who deceive 'em, who with passion engage, and without reason leave 'em, draw near and attend how the hero i sing was foiled by a girl, though at arms he was king. _crest_, _mottoes_, _supporters_, and _bearings_ knew he, and deeply was studied in old pedigree. he would sit a whole evening, and, not without rapture, tell who begat who to the end of the chapter. in forming his _tables_ nought grieved him so sorely that the man died _coelebs_, or else _sine prole_. at last, having traced other families down, he began to have thoughts of increasing his own. a damsel he chose, not too slow of belief, and fain would be deemed her admirer _in chief_. he _blazoned_ his suit, and the sum of his tale was his _field_ and her _field_ joined _party per pale_. in different style, to tie faster the noose, he next would attack her in soft _billet doux_. his _argent_ and _sable_ were laid aside quite, plain _english_ he wrote, and in plain black and white. against such _atchievements_ what beauty could fence? or who would have thought it was all but _pretence_?-- his pain to relieve, and fulfil his desire, the lady agreed to join hands with the squire. the squire, in a fret that the jest went so far, considered with speed how to put in a _bar_. his words bound not him, since hers did not confine her: and that is plain law, because miss is a _minor_. miss briskly replied that the law was too hard, if she, who's a _minor_, may not be a _ward_. in law then confiding, she took it upon her, by justice to mend those foul breaches of honour. she handled him so that few would, i warrant, have been in his _coat_ on so _sleeveless_ an errant. she made him give bond for stamped _argent_ and _or_, and _sabled_ his shield with _gules_ blazoned before. ye heralds produce, from the time of the normans, in all your records such a _base_ non-performance; or if without instance the case is we touch on, let this be set down as a _blot_ in his _scutcheon_." lament of an unfortunate druggist, a member of the pharmaceutical society, whose matrimonial speculations have been disappointed. "you that have charge of wedded love, take heed to keep the vessel which contains it air-tight; so that no oxygen may enter there! lest (like as in a keg of elder wine, the which, when made, thy careless hand forgot to bung securely down) full soon, alas! acetous fermentation supervene and winter find thee wineless, and, instead of wine, afford thee nought but vinegar. thus hath it been with me: there was a time when neither rosemary nor jessamine, cloves or verbena, maréchale, resedé, or e'en great otto's self, were more delicious unto my nose, than betsy to mine eyes; and, in our days of courtship, i have thought that my career through life, with her, would be bright as my own show-bottles; but, ah me! it was a vision'd scene. from what she _was_ to what she _is_, is as the pearliness of creta præp. compared with antim. nig. there was a time she was all almond-mixture (a bland emulsion; i can recommend it to him who hath a cold), but now, woe! woe! she is a fierce and foaming combination of turpentine with vitriolic oil. oh! name not sulphur, when you speak of her, for she is brimstone's very incarnation, she is the bitter-apple of my life, the scillæ oxymel of my existence, that knows no sweets with her. what shall i do?--where fly?--what hellebore can ease the madness that distracts my brain! what aromatic vinegar restore the drooping memory of brighter days! they bid me seek relief in prussic acid; they tell me arsenic holds a mighty power to put to flight each ill and care of life: they mention opium, too; they say its essence, called battley's sedative, can steep the soul chin-deep in blest imaginings; till grief changed by its chemic agency, becomes one lump of blessed saccharum;--these things they tell to _me_--_me_, who for twelve long years have triturated drugs for a subsistence, from seven i' th' morn until the midnight hour. i have no faith in physic's agency e'en when most 'genuine,' for i have seen and analysed its nature, and i know that humbug is its active principle, its ultimate and elemental basis. what then is left? no more to fate i'll bend: i will rush into chops! and stout shall be--my end!!" --_punch_ ( .) ode to "davies' analytical" "charming chaos, glorious puddle, ethics opaque, book of bliss; through thy platitudes i waddle, o thou subtle synthesis! to thy soft consideration, give i talents, give i time; though 'perpetual occultation' shuts me from thy balmy clime. as unto the sea-tossed trader, is the guiding polar star; thou'rt my 'zenith' and my 'nadir,' still 'so near and yet so far.' sancho never loved his gravies as i love thy sunny face; sheep-bound master-piece of davies, benefactor of his race! man nor god, not even 'ox-eyed juno,' could me from thee part; my 'enthymeme,' my sweet 'protoxide,' thou'rt the 'zeugma' of my heart. when were built the rocks azoic, sat'st thou on the granite hill; and with constancy heroic, to _me_ thou art azoic still. my 'syzygy,' i'll ne'er leave thee, thou shalt ne'er from me escheat; i will cherish thee, believe me, pythagorean obsolete. bless me in the midnight watches, ever by my pillow keep ruler, chalk, and black-board scratches, lovely nightmare, while i sleep. be 'co-ordinate' for ever, for ever my 'abscissa' be; the fates can overwhelm me never, whilst _thou_ art in 'perigee.'" man and the ascidian. a morality in the queen anne manner. "the ancestor remote of man, says d--w--n, is th' ascidian, a scanty sort of water-beast that, , , years at least before gorillas came to be, went swimming up and down the sea. their ancestors the pious praise, and like to imitate their ways how, then, does our first parent live, what lesson has his life to give? th' ascidian tadpole, young and gay, doth life with one bright eye survey, his consciousness has easy play. he's sensitive to grief and pain, has tail, and spine, and bears a brain, and everything that fits the state of creatures we call vertebrate. but age comes on; with sudden shock he sticks his head against a rock! his tail drops off, his eye drops in, his brain's absorbed into his skin; he does not move, nor feel, nor know the tidal water's ebb and flow, but still abides, unstirred, alone, a sucker sticking to a stone. and we, his children, truly we in youth are, like the tadpole, free. and where we would we blithely go, have brain and hearts, and feel and know. then age comes on! to habit we affix ourselves and are not free; th' ascidian's rooted to a rock, and we are bond-slaves of the clock; our rock is medicine--letters--law, from these our heads we cannot draw: our loves drop off, our hearts drop in, and daily thicker grows our skin. we scarcely live, we scarcely know the wide world's moving ebb and flow, the clanging currents ring and shock, but we are rooted to the rock. and thus at ending of his span, blind, deaf, and indolent, does man revert to the ascidian." --_st. james's gazette (july )._ a geological madrigal. "i have found out a gift for my fair; i know where the fossils abound, where the footprints of _aves_ declare the birds that once walked on the ground; oh, come, and--in technical speech-- we'll walk this devonian shore, or on some silurian beach we'll wander, my love, evermore. i will show thee the sinuous track by the slow-moving annelid made, or the trilobite that, farther back, in the old potsdam sandstone was laid; thou shalt see in his jurassic tomb, the plesiosaurus embalmed; in his oolitic prime and his bloom iguanodon safe and unharmed! you wished--i remember it well, and i loved you the more for that wish-- for a perfect cystedian shell and a _whole_ holocephalic fish. and oh, if earth's strata contains in its lowest silurian drift, or palæozoic remains the same--'tis your lover's free gift. then come, love, and never say nay, but calm all your maidenly fears; we'll note, love, in one summer's day the record of millions of years; and though the darwinian plan your sensitive feelings may shock, we'll find the beginning of man-- our fossil ancestors, in rock!" --_bret harte._ the husband's complaint. "will she thy linen wash and hosen darn?"--gay. "i'm utterly sick of this hateful alliance which the ladies have formed with impractical science! they put out their washing to learn hydrostatics, and give themselves airs for the sake of pneumatics. they are knowing in muriate, and nitrate, and chlorine, while the stains gather fast on the walls and the flooring-- and the jellies and pickles fall woefully short, with their chemical use of the still and retort. our expenses increase (without drinking french wines), for they keep no accounts, with their tangents and sines?-- and to make both ends meet they give little assistance, with their accurate sense of the squares of the distance. they can name every spot from peru to el arish, except just the bounds of their own native parish; and they study the orbits of venus and saturn, while their home is resigned to the thief and the slattern. chronology keeps back the dinner two hours, the smoke-jack stands still while they learn motive powers; flies and shells swallow up all our everyday gains, and our acres are mortgaged for fossil remains. they cease to reflect with their talk of refraction-- they drive us from home by electric attraction-- and i'm sure, since they've bothered their heads with affinity i'm repulsed every hour from my learned divinity. when the poor stupid husband is weary and starving, anatomy leads them to give up the carving; and we drudges the shoulder of mutton must buy, while they study the line of the _os humeri_. if we 'scape from our troubles to take a short nap, we awake with a din about limestone and trap; and the fire is extinguished past regeneration, for the women were wrapt in the deep-coal formation. 'tis an impious thing that the wives of the laymen should use pagan words 'bout a pistil and stamen; let the heir break his head while they foster a dahlia, and the babe die of pap as they talk of mammalia. the first son becomes half a fool in reality, while the mother is watching his large ideality; and the girl roars unchecked, quite a moral abortion, for we trust her benevolence, order, and caution. i sigh for the good times of sewing and spinning, ere this new tree of knowledge had set them a sinning; the women are mad, and they'll build female colleges,-- so here's to plain english!--a plague on their 'ologies!" homoeopathic soup. "take a robin's leg (mind! the drumstick merely), put it in a tub filled with water nearly; set it out of doors, in a place that's shady, let it stand a week (three days if for a lady). drop a spoonful of it in a five-pail kettle, which may be made of tin or any baser metal; fill the kettle up, set it on a boiling, strain the liquor well, to prevent its oiling; one atom add of salt, for the thickening one rice kernel, and use to light the fire the homoeopathic journal. let the liquor boil half an hour or longer (if 'tis for a man, of course you'll make it stronger). should you now desire that the soup be flavoury, stir it once around with a stalk of savory. when the broth is made, nothing can excel it: then three times a day let the patient _smell_ it. if he chance to die, say 'twas nature did it; if he chance to live, give the soup the credit." a billet-doux. by a country schoolmaster, chiddingly, sussex. "accept, dear miss, this _article_ of mine, (for what's _indefinite_, who can _define_?) my _case_ is singular, my house is rural, wilt thou, indeed, consent to make it _plural_? something, i feel, pervades my system through, i can't describe, yet _substantively_ true. thy form so _feminine_, thy mind reflective, where all's _possessive_ good, and nought _objective_, i'm _positive_ none can _compare_ with thee in wit and worth's _superlative_ degree. _first person_, then, _indicative_ but prove, let thy soft _passive_ voice exclaim, 'i love!' _active_, in cheerful _mood_, no longer _neuter_, i'll leave my cares, both _present_, _past_, and _future_. but ah! what torture must i undergo till i obtain that little 'yes' or 'no!' spare me the _negative_--to save compunction, oh, let my _preposition_ meet _conjunction_. what could excite such pleasing recollection, at hearing thee pronounce this _interjection_, 'i will be thine! thy joys and griefs to share, till heaven shall please to _point_ a _period_ there'!" --_family friend_ ( ). cumulative verse--in which one newspaper gives a few lines, and other papers follow it up--like that which follows, is very common in american newspapers, which, however profound or dense, invariably have a corner for this kind of thing. it has been said that the reason why no purely comic paper, like _punch_ or _fun_, succeeds in the united states, is because all their papers have a "funny" department. the arab and his donkey. an arab came to the river side, with a donkey bearing an obelisk; but he would not try to ford the tide, for he had too good an *. --_boston globe._ so he camped all night by the river side, and remained till the tide had ceased to swell, for he knew should the donkey from life subside, he never would find its ||. --_salem sunbeam._ when the morning dawned, and the tide was out, the pair crossed over 'neath allah's protection; and the arab was happy, we have no doubt, for he had the best donkey in all that §. --_somerville journal._ you are wrong, they were drowned in crossing over, though the donkey was bravest of all his race; he luxuriates now in horse-heaven clover, and his master has gone to the prophet's _em_[symbol] --_elevated railway journal._ these assinine poets deserved to be "blowed," their rhymes being faulty and frothy and beery; what really befell the ass and its load will ever remain a desolate ?. --_paper and print._ our yankee friends, with all their ---- for once, we guess, their mark have missed; and with poetry _paper and print_ is rash in damming its flow with its editor's [symbol] in parable and moral leave a [symbol] between, [_space_] for reflection, or your wits fall out of joint; the "arab," ye see, is a printing machine, and the donkey is he who can't see the . --_british and colonial printer._ an ohio poet thus sings of the beginning of man: evolution. "o sing a song of phosphates, fibrine in a line, four and twenty follicles in the van of time. when the phosphorescence evoluted brain, superstition ended, man began to reign." _single-rhymed verse._ the following lines are from a book written by m. halpine, under the sobriquet of "private miles o'reilly," during the civil war in the united states. they have some merit apart from their peculiar versification, and the idea of comparing the "march past" of veteran troops in war time with the parade of the old gladiators is a happy one. morituri te salutant. "'_morituri te salutant!_' say the soldiers as they pass; not in uttered words they say it, but we feel it as they pass-- 'we, who are about to perish, we salute thee as we pass!' nought of golden pomp and glitter mark the veterans as they pass-- travel-stained, but bronzed and sinewy, firmly, proudly, how they pass; and we hear them, '_morituri te salutant!_' as they pass. on his pawing steed, the general marks the waves of men that pass, and his eyes at times are misty, now are blazing, as they pass, for his breast with pride is swelling, as the stalwart veterans pass, gallant chiefs their swords presenting, trail them proudly as they pass-- battle banners, torn and glorious, dip saluting as they pass; brazen clangours shake the welkin, as the manly squadrons pass. oh, our comrades! gone before us, in the last review to pass, never more to earthly chieftain dipping colours as you pass, heaven accord you gentle judgment when before the throne you pass!" "about the year there was a performer named cervetti in the orchestra of drury lane theatre, to whom, the gods had given the appropriate name of nosey, from his enormous staysail, that helped to carry him before the wind. 'nosey!' shouted from the galleries, was the signal, or word of command, for the fiddlers to strike up. this man was originally an italian merchant of good repute; but failing in business, he came over to england, and adopted music for a profession. he had a notable knack of loud yawning, with which he sometimes unluckily filled up garrick's expressive pauses, to the infinite annoyance of garrick and the laughter of the audience. in the summer of he played at vauxhall, at the age of ninety-eight." upon such another nose was the following lines written: the roman nose. "that roman nose! that roman nose! has robbed my bosom of repose; for when in sleep my eyelids close, it haunts me still, that roman nose! between two eyes as black as sloes the bright and flaming ruby glows: that roman nose! that roman nose! and beats the blush of damask rose. i walk the streets, the alleys, rows; i look at all the jems and joes; and old and young, and friends and foes, but cannot find a roman nose! then blessed be the day i chose that nasal beauty of my beau's; and when at last to heaven i goes, i hope to spy his roman nose!" --_merrie england._ mrs. thrale, on her thirty-fifth birthday, remarked to dr. johnson, that no one would send her verses now that she had attained that age, upon which the doctor, without the least hesitation, recited the following lines: thirty-five. "oft in danger, yet alive, we are come to thirty-five; long may better years arrive, better years than thirty-five. could philosophers contrive life to stop at thirty-five, time his hours should never drive o'er the bounds of thirty-five. high to soar, and deep to dive, nature gives at thirty-five; ladies, stock and tend your hive, trifle not at thirty-five; for, howe'er we boast and strive, life declines from thirty-five; he that ever hopes to thrive, must begin by thirty-five; and all who wisely wish to wive, must look on thrale at thirty-five." moore, in his "life of sheridan," says that he (sheridan) "had a sort of hereditary fancy for difficult trifling in poetry; particularly to that sort which consists in rhyming to the same word through a long string of couplets, till every rhyme that the language supplies for it is exhausted," a task which must have required great patience and perseverance. moore quotes some dozen lines entitled "to anne," wherein a lady is made to bewail the loss of her trunk, and she thus rhymes her lamentations: "have you heard, my dear anne, how my spirits are sunk? have you heard of the cause? oh, the loss of my trunk! from exertion or firmness i've never yet slunk, but my fortitude's gone with the loss of my trunk! stout lucy, my maid, is a damsel of spunk, yet she weeps night and day for the loss of my trunk! i'd better turn nun, and coquet with a monk, for with whom can i flirt without aid from my trunk? * * * * * * * accursed be the thief, the old rascally hunks, who rifles the fair, and lays hold on their trunks! he who robs the king's stores of the least bit of junk, is hanged--while he's safe who has plundered my trunk! there's a phrase among lawyers when _nunc_'s put for _tunc_; but _nunc_ and _tunc_ both, must i grieve for my trunk! huge leaves of that great commentator, old brunck, perhaps was the paper that lined my poor trunk!" &c. &c. from another of these trifles of sheridan, moore gives the following extracts: "muse, assist me to complain, while i grieve for lady jane; i ne'er was in so sad a vein, deserted now by lady jane. lord petre's house was built by payne, no mortal architect made jane. if hearts had windows, through the pane of mine, you'd see lady jane. at breakfast i could scarce refrain from tears at missing lady jane; nine rolls i ate, in hope to gain the roll that might have fallen to jane." john skelton, a poet of the fifteenth century, in great repute as a wit and satirist, was inordinately fond of writing in lines of three or four syllables, and also of iteration of rhyme. this perhaps was the cause of his writing much that was mere doggerel, as this style scarcely admits of the conveyance of serious sentiment. occasionally, however, his miniature lines are interesting, as in this address to mrs. margaret hussey: "merry margaret, as midsummer flower, gentle as falcon, or hawk of the tower, with solace and gladness, much mirth and no madness, all good and no badness, so joyously, so maidenly, so womanly, her demeaning, in everything far, far passing that i can indite or suffice to write of merry margaret, as midsummer flower, gentle as falcon, or hawk of the tower." the following national pasquinade we find in egerton brydges' "censura literaria restituta," written in commemoration of the failure of spain by her invincible armada to invade britain. the iteration of metre is all that approaches in it to the style of skelton, of whose verse it is an imitation: "a skeltonical salutation or condign gratulation, at the just vexation of the spanish nation, that in a bravado spent many a crusado in setting forth an armado england to invado. pro cujus memoria ye may well be soria, full small may be your gloria when ye shall hear this storia, then will ye cry and roria, we shall see her no moria. o king of spaine! is it not a paine to thy hearte and braine, and every vaine, to see thy traine for to sustaine withouten gaine, the world's disdaine; which despise as toies and lies, with shoutes and cries, thy enterprise; as fitter for pies and butterflies then men so wise? o waspish king! where's now thy sting. the darts or sling, or strong bowstring, that should us wring, and under bring? who every way thee vexe and pay and beare the sway by night and day, to thy dismay in battle array, and every fray? o pufte with pride! what foolish guide made thee provide to over-ride this land so wide, from side to side; and then untride, away to slide, and not to abide; but all in a ring away to fling?" &c. &c. epitaph on dr. william maginn. "here, early to bed, lies kind william maginn, who with genius, wit, learning, life's trophies to win, had neither great lord, nor rich cit of his kin, nor discretion to set himself up as to tin; so his portion soon spent, like the poor heir of lynn, he turned author, ere yet there was beard on his chin; and whoever was out, or whoever was in, for your tories his fine irish brains he would spin; who received prose and verse with a promising grin, 'go a-head, you queer fish, and more power to your fin!' but to save from starvation stirr'd never a pin. light for long was his heart, tho' his breeches were thin, else his acting, for certain, was equal to quin: but at last he was beat, and sought help of the bin: (all the same to the doctor, from claret to gin!) which led swiftly to gaol, with consumption therein. it was much, when the bones rattled loose in the skin, he got leave to die here, out of babylon's din.[ ] barring drink and the girls, i ne'er heard of a sin,-- many worse, better few, than bright, broken maginn!" the musical ass. "the fable which i now present, occurred to me by accident: and whether bad or excellent, is merely so by accident. a stupid ass this morning went into a field by accident: and cropped his food, and was content, until he spied by accident a flute, which some oblivious gent had left behind by accident; when, sniffing it with eager scent, he breathed on it by accident, and made the hollow instrument emit a sound by accident. 'hurrah, hurrah!' exclaimed the brute, 'how cleverly i play the flute!' a fool, in spite of nature's bent, may shine for once,--by accident." the above is a translation from the "fabulas litterarias" of tomaso de yriarte ( - ). yriarte conceived the idea of making moral truths the themes for fables in the style of Æsop, and these he composed in every variety of verse which seemed at all suitable. even when the leading idea presents no remarkable incident, yriarte's fables please by their simplicity. boxiana. "i hate the very name of box; it fills me full of fears; it minds me of the woes i've felt since i was young in years. they sent me to a yorkshire school, where i had many knocks; for there my schoolmates box'd my ears, because i could not box. i packed my box; i picked the locks, and ran away to sea; and very soon i learnt to box the compass merrily. i came ashore; i called a coach and mounted on the box: the coach upset against a post, and gave me dreadful knocks. i soon got well; in love i fell, and married martha box; to please her will, at famed box hill i took a country box. i had a pretty garden there, all bordered round with box; but ah! alas! there lived next door a certain captain knox. he took my wife to see the play;-- they had a private box: i jealous grew, and from that day i hated captain knox. i sold my house; i left my wife; and went to lawyer fox, who tempted me to seek redress all from a jury-box. i went to law, whose greedy maw soon emptied my strong box; i lost my suit, and cash to boot, all through that crafty fox. the name of box i therefore dread, i've had so many shocks; they'll never end; for when i'm dead they'll nail me in a box." the ruling power. "gold! gold! gold! gold! bright and yellow, hard and cold, molten, graven, hammered, and rolled; heavy to get, and light to hold; hoarded, bartered, bought and sold, stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled; spurned by the young, but hugged by the old, to the very verge of the churchyard mould; price of many a crime untold; gold! gold! gold! gold! good or bad, a thousandfold!" --_t. hood._ nahum fay on the loss of his wife. "just eighteen years ago this day, attired in all her best array-- for she was airy, young, and gay, and loved to make a grand display, while i the charges would defray-- my _cara sposa_ went astray; by night eloping in a sleigh, with one whose name begins with j, resolved with me she would not stay, and be subjected to my sway; because i wish'd her to obey, without reluctance or delay, and never interpose her nay, nor any secrets e'er betray. but wives will sometimes have their way, and cause, if possible, a fray; then who so obstinate as they? she therefore left my house for aye, before my hairs had turned to gray, or i'd sustained the least decay, which caused at first some slight dismay: for i considered it foul play. now where she's gone i cannot say, for i've not seen her since the day when johnston took her in his sleigh, to his seductive arts a prey, and posted off to canada. now when her conduct i survey, and in the scale of justice weigh, who blames me, if i do inveigh against her to my dying day? but live as long as live i may, i've always purposed not to pay (contract whatever debts she may) a shilling for her; but i pray that when her body turns to clay, if mourning friends should her convey to yonder graveyard, they'll not lay her body near to nahum fay." the radenovitch. a song of a new dance. "are you anxious to bewitch? you must learn the radenovitch! would you gain of fame a niche? you must dance the radenovitch! 'mong the noble and the rich, all the go's the radenovitch! it has got to such a pitch, all must dance the radenovitch! if without a flaw or hitch you can dance the radenovitch, though you've risen from the ditch (yet have learned the radenovitch), you'll get on without a hitch, dancing of the radenovitch. if for glory you've an itch, learn to dance the radenovitch; and, though corns may burn and twitch, while you foot the radenovitch; in your side though you've a stitch, all along o' the radenovitch, you will gain an eminence which you will owe the radenovitch! therefore let the maitre's switch teach your toes the radenovitch!" footman joe. "would you see a man that's slow? come and see our footman joe: most unlike the bounding roe, or an arrow from a bow, or the flight direct of crow, is the pace of footman joe; crabs that hobble to and fro, in their motions copy joe. snails, contemptuous as they go, look behind and laugh at joe. an acre any man may mow, ere across it crawleth joe. trip on light fantastic toe, ye that tripping like, for joe; measured steps of solemn woe better suit with solid joe. danube, severn, trent, and po, backward to their source will flow ere despatch be made by joe. letters to a plenipo send not by our footman joe. would you job's full merit know, ring the bell, and wait for joe; whether it be king or no, 'tis just alike to lazy joe. legal process none can show, if your lawyer move like joe. death, at last, our common foe, must trip up the heels of joe; and a stone shall tell--'below, hardly changed, still sleepeth joe. loud shall the final trumpet blow, but the last corner will be joe!'" --_g. hebert._ to a lady who asked for a poem of ninety lines. "task a horse beyond his strength and the horse will fail at length; whip a dog, the poor dog whines-- yet you ask for ninety lines. though you give me ninety quills, built me ninety paper-mills, showed me ninety inky rhines, i could not write ninety lines. ninety miles i'd walk for you, till my feet were black and blue; climb high hills, and dig deep mines, but i can't write ninety lines. though my thoughts were thick as showers, plentiful as summer flowers, clustering like italian vines, i could not write ninety lines. when you have drunk up the sea, floated ships in cups of tea, plucked the sun from where it shines, then i'll write you ninety lines. even the bard who lives on rhyme, teaching silly words to chime, seldom sleeps, and never dines,-- he could scarce write ninety lines. well you know my love is such, you could never ask too much; yet even love itself declines such a work as ninety lines. though you frowned with ninety frowns, bribed me with twice ninety towns, offered me the starry signs, i could not write ninety lines. many a deed i've boldly done since my race of life begun; but my spirit peaks and pines when it thinks of ninety lines. long i hope for thee and me will our lease of this world be; but though hope our fate entwines, death will come ere ninety lines. ninety songs the birds will sing, ninety beads the child will string; but his life the poet tines, if he aims at ninety lines. ask me for a thousand pounds, ask me for my house and grounds; levy all my wealth in fines, but don't ask for ninety lines. i have ate of every dish-- flesh of beast, and bird, and fish; briskets, fillets, knuckles, chines, but eating won't make ninety lines. i have drunk of every cup, till i drank whole vineyards up; german, french, and spanish wines, but drinking won't make ninety lines. since, then, you have used me so, to the holy land i'll go; and at all the holy shrines i shall pray for ninety lines. ninety times a long farewell, all my love i could not tell, though 'twas multiplied by nines, ninety times these ninety lines." --_h. g. bell._ we give the following curious old ballad a place here, not only on account of the iteration of rhyme, but also as the original of the macaronic verses on p. : the wig and the hat. "the elderly gentleman's here, with his cane, his wig, and his hat; a good-humoured man all declare, but then he's o'erloaded with fat. by the side of a murmuring stream this elderly gentleman sat on the top of his head was his wig, and a-top of his wig was his hat. the wind it blew high and blew strong, as this elderly gentleman sat, and bore front his head in a trice and plunged in the river his hat. the gentleman then took his cane, which lay on his lap as he sat, and dropped in the river his wig in attempting to get out his hat. cool reflection at length came across, while this elderly gentleman sat; so he thought he would follow the stream, and look for his fine wig and hat. his breast it grew cold with despair, and full in his eye madness sat; so he flung in the river his cane, to swim with his wig and his hat. his head, being thicker than common, o'er-balanced the rest of his fat, and in plunged this son of a woman to follow his wig, cane, and hat. a newfoundland dog was at hand-- no circumstance could be more pat-- the old man he brought safe to land, then fetched out his wig, cane, and hat. the gentleman, dripping and cold, seem'd much like a half-drowned rat, but praised his deliverer so bold, then adjusted his cane, wig, and hat. now homeward the gentleman hied, but neither could wear wig or hat; the dog followed close at his side, fawn'd, waggled his tail, and all that. the gentleman, filled with delight, the dog's master hastily sought; two guineas set all things to right, for that sum his true friend he bought. from him the dog never would part, but lived much caressed for some years; till levelled by death's fatal dart, when the gentleman shed many tears. then buried poor tray in the green. and placed o'er the grave a small stone, whereon a few lines may be seen, expressive of what he had done." _anagrams._ anagrams are curious and frequently clever examples of formal literary trifling. camden, in his "remains," gave to the world a treatise showing that in his day anagrams were endowed with an undue and superstitious importance, being regarded as nothing less than the occult and mysterious finger of fate, revealed in the names of men. "the only quintessence," says this old writer, "that hitherto the alchemy of wit could draw out of names, is _anagrammatisme_ or _metagrammatisme_, which is the dissolution of a name, truly written, into the letters as its elements, and a new connection of it by artificial transposition, without addition, subtraction, or change of any letter, into different words, making some perfect sense applicable to the person named." precise anagrammatists adhere strictly to these rules, with the exception of omitting or retaining the letter _h_ according to their convenience, alleging that _h_ cannot claim the rights of a letter; others, again, think it no injury sometimes to use _e_ for _æ_, _v_ for _w_, _s_ for _z_, _c_ for _k_, and contrariwise, and several of the instances which follow will be found variously imperfect. camden calls the charming difficulty of making an anagram, "the whetstone of patience to them that shall practise it; for some have been seen to bite their pen, scratch their head, bend their brows, bite their lips, beat the board, tear their paper, when the names were fair for somewhat, and caught nothing therein,--yet, notwithstanding the sour sort of critics, good anagrams yield a delightful comfort and pleasant motion to honest minds." camden places the origin of the anagram as far back as the time of moses, and conjectures that it may have had some share in the mystical traditions, afterwards called the "cabala," communicated by the jewish lawgiver. one part of the art of the cabalists lay in what they called _themuru_--that is, changing--or finding the hidden and mystical meaning in names, which they did by transposing and fantastically combining the letters in those names. thus of the letters of noah's name in hebrew they made _grace_, and of the messiah's _he shall rejoice_. whether the above origin be theoretical or not, the anagram can be traced to the age of lycophron, a greek writer, who flourished about b.c. among the moderns, the french have most cultivated the anagram. camden says: "they exceedingly admire the anagram, for the deep and far-fetched antiquity and mystical meaning therein. in the reign of francis the first (when learning began to revive), they began to distil their wits therein." there is a curious anecdote of an anagrammatist who presented a king of france with the two following upon his name of bourbon: borbonius, borbonius, _bonus orbi_; or _orbus boni_; that is, "bourbon good to the world;" or "bourbon destitute of good;" while on another celebrated frenchman we have-- voltaire, _o alte vir_. southey, in his "doctor," says that "anagrams are not likely ever again to hold so high a place among the prevalent pursuits of literature as they did in the seventeenth century. but no person," he continues, "will ever hit upon an apt one without feeling that degree of pleasure with which any odd coincidence is remarked." in that century, indeed, the artifice appears to have become the fashionable literary passion of the day--the amusement of the learned and the wise, who sought "to purchase fame, in keen iambics and mild anagram." while andreas rudiger was yet a student at college, and intending to become a physician, he one day pulled the latinised form of his name to pieces, andreas rudigeras, and borrowing an _i_, transposed it into _arare rus dei dignus_ ("worthy to cultivate the land of god"). he fancied from this that he had a divine call to become an ecclesiastic, and thereupon gave up the study of medicine for theology. soon after, rudiger became tutor in the family of the philosopher thomasius, who one day told him "that he would greatly benefit the journey of his life by turning it towards physic." rudiger confessed that his tastes lay rather in that direction than to theology, but having looked upon the anagram of his name as an indication of a divine call, he had not dared to turn away from theology. "how simple you have been," replied thomasius; "it is just that very anagram which calls you towards medicine--'_rus dei_,' the land of god (god's acre), what is that but the cemetery--and who labours so bravely for the cemetery as a physician does?" rudiger could not resist this, returned to medicine, and became famous as a physician. an anagram on monk, afterwards duke of albemarle on the restoration of charles ii., forms also a chronogram, including the date of the event it records-- georgius monke, dux de aumarle-- _ego regem reduxi, anno sa_ mdclvv. in this anagram the _c_ takes the place of the _k_. the old puritan biographer, cotton mather, claims for john wilson--the subject of one of his lives--the kingship of anagrammatising. "of all the anagrammatisers," he says in the third book of his "magnalia christi americana," "that have been trying their fancies for the years that have run out since the days of lycophron, or the more than since the days of our first father, i believe there never was a man that made so many, or so nimbly, as our mr. wilson; who, together with his quick turns upon the names of his friends, would ordinarily _fetch_, and rather than _lose_, would even _force_, devout instructions out of his anagrams. as one, upon hearing my father (increase mather) preach, mr. wilson immediately gave him that anagram upon his name 'crescentius matherus,' _eu! christus merces tua_ (lo! christ is thy reward). there would scarcely occur the name of any remarkable person without an anagram raised thereupon." this said john wilson "forced instruction" out of his own name--first rendering it into latin, johannes wilsonus, he found this anagram in it, "_in uno jesu nos salvi_" (we are saved in one jesus). this mode of latinising names was common enough among those who liked this literary folly; thus we have sir robert viner, or robertus vinerus, rendered "_vir bonus et rarus_" (a good and rare man). the disciples of descartes made a perfect anagram upon the latinised name of their master, "renatus cartesius," one which not only takes up every letter, but which also expresses their opinion of that master's speciality--"_tu scis res naturæ_" (thou knowest the things of nature). pierre de st. louis became a carmelite monk on discovering that his name yielded a direction to that effect: ludovicus bartelemi-- _carmelo se devolvit_. and, in the seventeenth century, andré pujom, finding that his name spelled _pendu à riom_, fulfilled his destiny by cutting somebody's throat in auvergne, and was actually hung at riom, the seat of justice in that province. occasionally when the anagram of a name did not make sense, there was added a rhyme to bring out a meaning. thus, in a sermon preached by dr. edward reynolds upon peter whalley, and entitled "death's advantage," every letter of the name is to be found in the first line of this verse: "_they reap well_, that heaven obtain; who sow like thee, ne'er sow in vain." in this sermon peter whalley is also anagrammatised into _a whyte perle_--this would not be a bad one, if orthography were of as little consequence as many of the old triflers in this way used to account it. we read that when alexander the great was baffled before the walls of tyre, and was about to raise the siege, he had a dream wherein he saw a satyr leaping about and trying to seize him. he consulted his sages, who read in the word satyrus (the greek for satyr), "_sa tyrus_"--"tyre is thine!" encouraged by this interpretation, alexander made another assault and carried the city. in a "new help to discourse" (london, ), there is one with a very quaint exposition: toast--a sott. "a _toast_ is like _a sot_; or what is most comparative, _a sot_ is like a _toast_; for when their substances in liquor sink, both properly are said to be in drink." it will be seen, however, that anagrams have chiefly been made upon proper names, and a reversing of their letters may sometimes pay the owner a compliment; as of the poet waller: "his brows with laurel need not to be bound, since in his _name_ with _laurel_ he is crowned." george thompson, the well-known anti-slavery advocate, was at one time solicited to go into parliament for the more efficient serving of the cause he had so much at heart. the question whether he would comply with this request or not was submitted to his friends, and one of them gave the following for answer: george thompson, _o go, the negro's m.p._! this clever instance was given in "notes and queries" a short time ago: thomas carlyle, _a calm holy rest_. the following are additional instances. sir francis bacon, lord keeper-- _is born and elect for a rich speaker_. when, at the general peace of , prussia absorbed a portion of saxony, the king issued a new coinage of rix dollars, with their german name, _ein reichstahler_, impressed on them. the saxons, by dividing the word, _ein reich stahl er_, made a sentence of which the meaning is, "he stole a kingdom!" a good one is-- henry john templeton, viscount palmerston, _only the tiverton m.p. can help in our mess_. if we take from the words, _la revolution française_, the word _veto_, known as the first prerogative of louis xiv., the remaining letters will form "_un corse la finira_"--_a corsican shall end it_, and this may be regarded as an extraordinary coincidence, if nothing more. many anagrams were made upon the name of napoleon by superstitious persons, as-- napoleon bonaparte {_bona rapta, leno, pone._ {_no, appear not at elba._ louis napoleon bonaparte. _arouse, albion, an open plot._ a very apt anagram is the one founded upon--sir edmundbury godfrey, _i find murdered by rogues_. evil. "if you transpose what ladies wear, _veil._ 'twill plainly show what bad folks are; _vile._ again if you transpose the same, you'll see an ancient hebrew name; _levi._ change it again, and it will show what all on earth desire to do; _live._ transpose the letters yet once more, what bad men do you'll then explore." _evil._ the following are very apposite-- sir robert peel, _terrible poser_. christianity, _it's in charity_. poorhouse, _o sour hope_. soldiers, _lo! i dress_. notes and queries, _a question sender_. solemnity, _yes, milton_. determination, _i mean to rend it_. elegant, _neat leg_. matrimony, _into my arm_. misanthrope, _spare him not_. radical reform, _rare mad frolic_. melodrama, _made moral_. arthur wellesley, _truly he'll see war_. the field marshall the duke, _the duke shall arm the field_. monarch, _march on_. charades, _hard case_. david livingstone, _go (d. v.) and visit the nile_. stones, _notes_. _the acrostic._ acrostic is the greek name given to a poem the first letters of the lines in which taken together form a complete word or sentence, but most frequently a name. the invention of this kind of composition cannot be traced to any particular individual, but it is believed to have originated on the decline of pure classic literature. the early french poets, from the time of francis i. to that of louis xiv., practised it, but it was carried to its greatest perfection by the elizabethan poets. sir john davies has no fewer than twenty-six poems entitled "hymns to astræa," every one of which is an acrostic on the words, "elizabetha regina." traces of something akin are to be found in the poetry of the jews,--for example, the th psalm,--and also in the greek "anthology." here it may be noted that in greek the word _adam_ is compounded of the initial letters of the four cardinal points: arktos = north, dusis = west, anatolê = east, mesembria = south; and that the hebrew word, adm forms the acrostic of a[dam], d[avid], m[essiah]. it is hardly necessary to give many specimens of this kind of literary composition in these days, since there are so many periodicals continually giving acrostics and relative verses, and a very few instances may suffice. the following old verses were originally written in a copy of parkhurst's poems presented by the author to thomas buttes, who himself wrote this acrostic on his own name: "_t_he longer lyfe that man on earth enjoyes, _h_is god so much the more hee dooth offende; _o_ffending god, no doubt, mannes soule destroyes; _m_annes soule destroyed, his torments have no ende; _a_nd endles torments sinners must endure, _s_ith synne gods wrath agaynst us doth procure. _b_eware, therefore, o wretched sinfull wight, _u_se well thy toongue, doo well, think not amysse; _t_o god praye thou to guyde thee by his spright, _t_hat thou mayest treade the path of perfect blisse. _e_mbrace thou christe, by faythe and fervent love, _s_o shalt thou reyne with hym in heaven above. thomas buttes havying the first letter of everie lyne begynnyng with a letter of his name." a song of rejoysing for the prosperous reigne of our most gratious soveraigne lady, queene elizabeth. "g geve laude unto the lorde, and prayse his holy name o o let us all with one accorde now magnifie the same d due thanks unto him yeeld who evermore hath beene s so strong defence buckler and shielde to our most royall queene. a and as for her this daie each where about us rounde v up to the skie right solemnelie the bells doe make a sounde e even so let us rejoice before the lord our king t to him let us now frame our voyce with chearefull hearts to sing. h her majesties intent by thy good grace and will e ever o lorde hath bene most bent thy lawe for to fulfil q quite thou that loving minde with love to her agayne u unto her as thou hast beene kinde o lord so still remaine. e extende thy mightie hand against her mortall foes e expresse and shewe that thou wilt stand with her against all those n nigh unto her abide upholde her scepter strong e eke graunt us with a joyfull guide she may continue long. amen." the next is from planché's "songs and poems:" to beatrice. "_b_eauty to claim, amongst the fairest place, _e_nchanting manner, unaffected grace, _a_rch without malice, merry but still wise, _t_ruth ever on her lips as in her eyes; _r_eticent not from sullenness or pride, _i_ntensity of feeling but to hide; _c_an any doubt such being there may be? _e_ach line i pen, points, matchless maid, to thee!" mdlle. rachel was the recipient of the most delicate compliment the acrostic has ever been employed to convey. a diadem was presented to her, so arranged that the initial of the name of each stone was also the initial of one of her principal _rôles_, and in their order formed her name-- _r_uby, _r_oxana, _a_methyst, _a_menaide, _c_ornelian, _c_amille, _h_ematite, _h_ermione, _e_merald, _e_milie, _l_apis lazuli, _l_aodice. the following is an ingenious combination of acrostic and telestic combined: "_u_nite and untie are the same--so say yo_u_ _n_ot in wedlock, i ween, has the unity bee_n_ _i_n the drama of marriage, each wandering gou_t_ _t_o a new face would fly--all except you and _i_ _e_ach seeking to alter the _spell_ in their scen_e_." edgar a. poe was the author of a complicated poem of this class, in which the first letter in the lady's name is the first in the first line; the second, second in the second line; the third, third in the third line, and so on-- a valentine. (_frances sargent osgood._) "for her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, brightly expressive as the twins of leda, shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. search narrowly the lines!--they hold a treasure divine--a talisman--an amulet that must be worn _at heart_. search well the measure-- the words--the syllables! do not forget the trivialest point, or you may lose your labour! and yet there is in this no gordian knot which one might not undo without a sabre, if one could merely comprehend the plot. enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering eye's scintillating soul, there lie _perdus_ three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing of poets by poets--as the name is a poet's, too, its letters, although naturally lying like the knight pinto--mendez ferdinando-- still form a synonym for truth. cease trying! you will not read the riddle, though you do the best you _can_ do!" _alliterative and alphabetic verse._ there are some clever lines which illustrate this style on the bunker hill monument celebration: "americans arrayed and armed attend beside battalions bold, bright beauties blend, chiefs, clergy, citizens, conglomerate,-- detesting despots,--daring deeds debate; each eye emblazoned ensigns entertain,-- flourishing from far, fan freedom's flame. guards greeting guards grown gray,--guest greeting guest. high-minded heroes hither homeward haste, ingenuous juniors join in jubilee, kith kenning kin, kind knowing kindred key. lo, lengthened lines lend liberty liege love, mixed masses, marshalled, monumentward move. note noble navies near--no novel notion oft our oppressors overawed old ocean; presumptuous princes pristine patriots paled, queen's quarrel questing quotas, quondam quailed. rebellion roused, revolting ramparts rose. stout spirits, smiting servile soldiers, strove. these thrilling themes, to thousands truly told, usurpers' unjust usages unfold. victorious vassals, vauntings vainly veiled, where, whilesince, webster warlike warren wailed. 'xcuse 'xpletives, 'xtra queer 'xpressed, yielding yankee yeomen zest." prince charles after culloden. "all ardent acts affright an age abased by brutal broils, by braggart bravery braced. craft's cankered courage changed culloden's cry; 'deal deep' deposed 'deal death'--'decoy'--'defy!' enough. ere envy enters england's eyes, fancy's false future fades, for fortune flies. gaunt, gloomy, guarded, grappling giant griefs, here hunted hard, his harassed heart he heaves; in impious ire incessant ills invests, judging jove's jealous judgments, jaundiced jests! kneel kirtled knight! keep keener kingcraft known, let larger lore life's levelling lesson's loan; marauders must meet malefactors' meeds. no nation noisy nonconformists needs. o, oracles of old! our orb ordain peace's possession--plenty's palmy plain! quiet quixotic quests; quell quarrelling; rebuke red riot's resonant rifle ring. slumber seems strangely sweet since silence smote the threatening thunders throbbing through their throat. usurper! under uniform unwont vail valour's vaguest venture, vainest vaunt. well wot we which were wise. war's wildfire won ximenes, xerxes, xavier, xenophon: yet you, ye yearning youth, your young years yield zuinglius' zealous zest--zinzendorf zion-zealed." an animal alphabet. "alligator, beetle, porcupine, whale, bobolink, panther, dragon-fly, snail, crocodile, monkey, buffalo, hare, dromedary, leopard, mud-turtle, bear, elephant, badger, pelican, ox, flying-fish, reindeer, anaconda, fox, guinea-pig, dolphin, antelope, goose, humming-bird, weasel, pickerel, moose, ibex, rhinoceros, owl, kangaroo, jackal, opossum, toad, cockatoo, kingfisher, peacock, anteater, bat, lizard, ichneumon, honey-bee, rat, mocking-bird, camel, grasshopper, mouse, nightingale, spider, cuttle-fish, grouse, ocelot, pheasant, wolverine, auk, periwininkle, ermine, katydid, hawk, quail, hippopotamus, armadillo, moth, rattlesnake, lion, woodpecker, sloth, salamander, goldfinch, angleworm, dog, tiger, flamingo, scorpion, frog, unicorn, ostrich, nautilus, mole, viper, gorilla, basilisk, sole, whippoorwill, beaver, centipede, fawn, xantho, canary, polliwog, swan, yellowhammer, eagle, hyena, lark, zebra, chameleon, butterfly, shark." of affected alliteration as used by modern poets, there is a very good imitation of swinburne's style in bayard taylor's "diversions of the echo club,"[ ] where galahad chants "in rare and rhythmic redundancy, the viciousness of virtue:" the lay of macaroni. "as a wave that steals when the winds are stormy from creek to cove of the curving shore, buffeted, blown, and broken before me, scattered and spread to its sunlit core. as a dove that dips in the dark of maples, to sip the sweetness of shelter and shade, i kneel in thy nimbus, o noon of naples, i bathe in thine beauty, by thee embayed. what is it ails me that i should sing of her? the queen of the flashes and flames that were! yea, i have felt the shuddering sting of her, the flower-sweet throat and the hands of her! i have swayed and sung to the sound of her psalters, i have danced her dances of dizzy delight, i have hallowed mine hair to the horns of her altars, between the nightingale's song and the night! what is it, queen, that now i should do for thee? what is it now i should ask at thine hands? blow of the trumpets thine children once blew for thee break from thine feet and thine bosom the bands? nay, as sweet as the songs of leone leoni, and gay as her garments of gem-sprinkled gold, she gives me mellifluous, mild macaroni, the choice of her children when cheeses are old! and over me hover, as if by the wings of it, frayed in the furnace by flame that is fleet, the curious coils and the strenuous strings of it, dropping, diminishing down, as i eat; lo! and the beautiful queen, as she brings of it, lifts me the links of the limitless chain, bidding mine mouth chant the splendidest things of it, out of the wealth of my wonderful brain! behold! i have done it; my stomach is smitten with sweets of the surfeit her hands have enrolled. italia, mine cheeks with thine kisses are bitten: i am broken with beauty, stabbed, slaughtered, and sold! no man of thy millions is more macaronied, save mighty mazzini, than musical me: the souls of the ages shall stand as astonied, and faint in the flame i am fanning for thee!" the above reminds of the anecdote told of mrs. crawford, who is said to have written one line of her "kathleen mavourneen," on purpose to confound the cockney warblers, who would sing it-- "the 'orn of the 'unter is 'eard on the 'ill;" and again, in moore's "ballad stanzas": "if there's peace to be found in the world, a 'eart that was 'umble might 'ope for it 'ere!" or-- "ha helephant heasily heats hat his hease hunder humbrageous humbrella trees!" in the number of "society" for april , , there appeared several excellent specimens of alliterative verse, in compliance with a competition instituted by that paper for certain prizes--the selected verses all begin with the letter _b_: "bloom, beauteous blossoms, budding bowers beneath! behold, boreas' bitter blast by brief bright beams becalmed; balmy breezes breathe, banishing blight, bring bliss beyond belief. build, bonny birds! by bending birchen bough, by bush, by beech, by buttressed branches bare, by bluebell-brightened bramble-brake; bestow bespeckled broods; but bold bad boys beware! babble, blithe brooklet! barren borders breach, bathe broomy banks, bright buttercups bedew, briskly by bridge, by beetling bluff, by beach, beckoned by bravely bounding billows blue!" --_sir patrick fells._ "brimming brooklets bubble, buoyant breezes blow, baby-billows breaking bashfully below. blossom-burdened branches, briared banks betide, bright bewitching bluebells blooming bend beside. but beyond be breakers, bare blasts brooding black, bitterly bemoaning broken barks borne back." --_a. m. morgan._ "beverage by bibbers blest, balmy beer--bewitching bane, british brewings, boasted best, blunting bacchus' brandied brain. bonny bumpers brimmed by beads, barley-born, bring blind relief, bubbling bass-brewed burton breed bland beguilement, bright but brief. bar-bought beer--bah! bitter brine-- barrel-broaching braves, beware! bid bavaria, benign, better brews bold britons bear." --_w. h. evans._ mr. swinburne, of whose style there has been given an imitation, is not the only poet who is prone to alliteration--in fact, all poets are given more or less to it, though not to the same extent. when used excessively it is as disagreeable as any other excess, yet its occasional use unquestionably adds to grace and style. pope says on this point in the following lines, which are also alliterative-- "'tis not enough no harshness gives offence, the sound must seem an echo to the sense. soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, and the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; but when loud surges lash the sounding shore, the hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar." we find this example in tennyson: "the splendour falls on castle walls, and snowy summits old in story; the long light shakes across the lakes, and the wild cataract leaps in glory. blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying; blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying." crabbe also used this ornament profusely, as: "then 'cross the bounding brook they make their way o'er its rough bridge, and there behold the bay; the ocean smiling to the fervid sun, the waves that faintly fall and slowly run, the ships at distance, and the boats at hand, and now they walk upon the seaside sand, counting the number, and what kind they be, ships softly sinking in the sleepy sea." take also this from shelley's "ode to a skylark:" "teach me half the gladness that my brain must know, such harmonious madness from my lips would flow, the world should listen then, as i am listening now. * * * * * waking or asleep, thou of death must deem things more true and deep than we mortals dream, or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?" in the numbers of "truth" for november , there appeared a variety of excellent examples of alphabetic verses in the course of a competition, and of these there follows one: a yacht alphabet. "a was the anchor which held fast our ship; b was the boatswain, with whistle to lip; c was the captain, who took the command; d was the doctor, with physic at hand; e was the euchre we played on the quiet; f was the fellow who kicked up a riot; g was the girl who was always so ill; h was the hammock from which i'd a spill i was the iceberg we passed on our way; j was the jersey i wore all the day; k was the keel, which was stuck on the shore; l was the lubber we all thought a bore; m was the mate, no one better i'd wish; n was the net in which i caught a fish; o was the oar which i broke--'twas so weak; p was the pennon which flew at our peak; q was the quoit which was made out of rope; r was the rat which would eat all our soap; s was the sailor who got very tight; t was the tempest which came on one night; u was the uproar the night of the storm; v was the vessel we spoke in due form; w's the watch which the crew kept in turn; x was xantippe, whom each one did spurn; y was our yacht, which flew through the foam; z was the zany who wouldn't leave home." _nonsense verse._ the following lines have been kindly sent us by professor e. h. palmer, who wrote them after a cruise on a friend's yacht, and are an abortive attempt to get up a knowledge of nautical terms. the shipwreck. "upon the poop the captain stands, as starboard as may be; and pipes on deck the topsail hands to reef the top-sail-gallant strands across the briny sea. 'ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!' the captain loudly cried; 'ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay! for we must luff for falmouth bay before to-morrow's tide.' the good ship was a racing yawl, a spare-rigged schooner sloop, athwart the bows the taffrails all in grummets gay appeared to fall, to deck the mainsail poop. but ere they made the foreland light, and deal was left behind; the wind it blew great gales that night, and blew the doughty captain tight, full three sheets in the wind. and right across the tiller head the horse it ran apace, whereon a traveller hitched and sped along the jib and vanishéd to heave the trysail brace. what ship could live in such a sea! what vessel bear the shock? 'ho! starboard port your helm-a-lee! ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree, with many a running block!' and right upon the scilly isles the ship had run aground; when lo! the stalwart captain giles mounts up upon the gaff and smiles, and slews the compass round. 'saved! saved!' with joy the sailors cry, and scandalise the skiff; as taut and hoisted high and dry they see the ship unstoppered lie upon the sea-girt cliff. and since that day in falmouth bay, as herring-fishers trawl, the younkers hear the boatswains say how captain giles that awful day preserved the sinking yawl." mr. charles g. leland sends the following, with the remark that he thinks the lines "the finest and daintiest nonsense" he ever read: "thy heart is like some icy lake, on whose cold brink i stand; oh, buckle on my spirit's skate, and lead, thou living saint, the way to where the ice is thin-- that it may break beneath my feet and let a lover in!" a short time ago in the new series of _household words_, a prize was offered for the writing of nonsense verses of eight lines. of the lines sent in by the competitors we give three specimens: "how many strive to force a way where none can go save those who pay, to verdant plains of soft delight the homage of the silent night, when countless stars from pole to pole around the earth unceasing roll in roseate shadow's silvery hue, shine forth and gild the morning dew." --_arym._ "and must we really part for good, but meet again here where we've stood? no more delightful trysting-place, we've watched sweet nature's smiling face. no more the landscape's lovely brow, exchange our mutual breathing vow. then should the twilight draw around no loving interchange of sound." --_culver._ "less for renown than innate love, these to my wish must recreant prove; nor whilst an impulse here remain, can ever hope the soul to gain; for memory scanning all the past, relaxes her firm bonds at last, and gives to candour all the grace the heart can in its temple trace." --_dum spiro spero._ the curious style of some versifiers has been well imitated in the following ballad of the period. "an auld wife sat at her ivied door (_butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_); a thing she had frequently done before; and her knitting reposed on her aproned knees. the piper he piped on the hill-top high (_butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_); till the cow said, 'i die,' and the goose said, 'why?' and the dog said nothing but searched for fleas. the farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair (_butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_); and i've met a ballad, i can't tell where, which mainly consisted of lines like these." w. s. gilbert has some verses which are true nonsense, of which this is one: "sing for the garish eye, when moonless brandlings cling! let the froddering crooner cry, and the braddled sapster sing. for never and never again, will the tottering beechlings play, for bratticed wrackers are singing aloud, and the throngers croon in may!" mr. lewis carroll's "hunting of the snark"[ ] is a very curious little book, full of the most delicate fun and queer nonsense, with delightful illustrations. it gives an account of how a bellman, boots, barrister, broker, billiard-marker, banker, beaver, baker, and butcher go a-hunting after a mythical beast called a "snark." it is difficult to detach a passage for quotation, but the following few lines will show how the "quest of the snark" was purposed to be carried on: "to seek it with thimbles, to seek it with care: to pursue it with forks and hope; to threaten its life with a railway share; to charm it with smiles and soap! for the snark's a peculiar creature, that won't be caught in a commonplace way; do all that you know, and try all that you don't: not a chance must be wasted to-day!" the verses which follow are from the "comic latin grammar," and if they are not nonsense they show at least how thin the partition line is between true nonsense verse and many of those pieces which were wont to be known by the name of album verses: lines by a fond lover. "lovely maid, with rapture swelling, should these pages meet thine eye, clouds of absence soft dispelling;-- vacant memory heaves a sigh. as the rose, with fragrance weeping, trembles to the tuneful wave, so my heart shall twine unsleeping, till it canopies the grave. though another's smile's requited, envious fate my doom should be; joy for ever disunited, think, ah! think, at times on me! oft, amid the spicy gloaming, where the brakes their songs instil, fond affection silent roaming, loves to linger by the rill-- there, when echo's voice consoling, hears the nightingale complain, gentle sighs my lips controlling, bind my soul in beauty's chain. oft in slumber's deep recesses, i thy mirror'd image see; fancy mocks the vain caresses i would lavish like a bee! but how vain is glittering sadness! hark, i hear distraction's knell! torture gilds my heart with madness! now for ever fare thee well!" _lipograms._ the reading of lope de vega's five novels, in each of which a different vowel is omitted, led to lord holland writing the following curious production, in which no vowel is used but _e_: eve's legend. "men were never perfect; yet the three brethren veres were ever esteemed, respected, revered, even when the rest, whether the select few, whether the mere herd, were left neglected. "the eldest's vessels seek the deep, stem the element, get pence; the keen peter when free, wedded hester green,--the slender, stern, severe, erect hester green. the next, clever ned, less dependent, wedded sweet ellen heber. stephen, ere he met the gentle eve, never felt tenderness: he kept kennels, bred steeds, rested where the deer fed, went where green trees, where fresh breezes greeted sleep. there he met the meek, the gentle eve; she tended her sheep, she ever neglected self; she never heeded pelf, yet she heeded the shepherds even less. nevertheless, her cheek reddened when she met stephen; yet decent reserve, meek respect, tempered her speech, even when she showed tenderness. stephen felt the sweet effect: he felt he erred when he fled the sex, yet felt he defenceless when eve seemed tender. she, he reflects, never deserved neglect; she never vented spleen; he esteems her gentleness, her endless deserts; he reverences her steps; he greets her: "tell me whence these meek, these gentle sheep,--whence the yet meeker, the gentler shepherdess?" "'well bred, we were eke better fed, ere we went where reckless men seek fleeces. there we were fleeced. need then rendered me shepherdess, need renders me sempstress. see me tend the sheep, see me sew the wretched shreds. eve's need preserves the steers, preserves the sheep; eve's needle mends her dresses, hems her sheets; eve feeds the geese; eve preserves the cheese.' "her speech melted stephen, yet he nevertheless esteems, reveres her. he bent the knee where her feet pressed the green; he blessed, he begged, he pressed her. "'sweet, sweet eve, let me wed thee; be led where hester green, where ellen heber, where the brethren vere dwell. free cheer greets thee there; ellen's glees sweeten the refreshments; there severer hester's decent reserve checks heedless jests. be led there, sweet eve.' "'never! we well remember the seer. we went where he dwells--we entered the cell--we begged the decree,-- "'where, whenever, when, 'twere well eve be wedded? eld seer, tell! "'he rendered the decree; see here the sentence decreed!' then she presented stephen the seer's decree. the verses were these: "'_ere the green be red, sweet eve, be never wed; ere be green the red cheek, never wed thee, eve meek._' "the terms perplexed stephen, yet he jeered them. he resented the senseless credence, 'seers never err.' then he repented, knelt, wheedled, wept. eve sees stephen kneel, she relents, yet frets when she remembers the seer's decree. her dress redeems her. these were the events: "her well-kempt tresses fell: sedges, reeds beckoned them. the reeds fell, the edges met her cheeks; her cheeks bled. she presses the green sedge where her cheek bleeds. red then bedewed the green reed, the green reed then speckled her red cheek. the red cheek seems green, the green reed seems red. these were the terms the eld seer decreed stephen vere. here endeth the legend." the following curious lines run in quite an opposite way to the preceding, for each verse has been written so as to include every letter in the alphabet but the vowel _e_: the fate of nassan. "bold nassan quits his caravan, a hazy mountain grot to scan; climbs jaggy rocks to spy his way, doth tax his sight, but far doth stray. not work of man, nor sport of child, finds nassan in that mazy wild; lax grows his joints, limbs toil in vain-- poor wight! why didst thou quit that plain vainly for succour nassan calls, know, zillah, that thy nassan falls; but prowling wolf and fox may joy, to quarry on thy arab boy." here follows a fugitive verse, written with _ease_ without _e's_: "a jovial swain may rack his brain, and tax his fancy's might, to quiz in vain, for 'tis most plain, that what i say is right." _centones or mosaics._ of this formerly favourite amusement of the learned we give several examples, only noting here that the word "cento" primarily signified a cloak made of patches. . i only knew she came and went, . like troutlets in a pool; . she was a phantom of delight, . and i was like a fool. . one kiss, dear maid, i said, and sighed, . out of those lips unshorn, . she shook her ringlets round her head . and laughed in merry scorn. . ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, . you heard them, o my heart; . 'tis twelve at night by the castle clock, . beloved, we must part. . "come back, come back!" she cried in grief, . my eyes are dim with tears-- . how shall i live through all the days? . all through a hundred years? . 'twas in the prime of summer time, . she blessed me with her hand; . we strayed together, deeply blest, . into the dreaming land. . the laughing bridal roses blow, . to dress her dark-brown hair; . my heart is breaking with my woe, . most beautiful! most rare! . i clasped it on her sweet, cold hand, . the precious golden link! . i calmed her fears, and she was calm, . "drink, pretty creature, drink!" . and so i won my genevieve, . and walked in paradise; . the fairest thing that ever grew . atween me and the skies! . powell; . hood; . wordsworth; . eastman; . coleridge; . longfellow; . stoddard; . tennyson; . tennyson; . alice cary; . coleridge; . alice cary; . campbell; . bayard taylor; . osgood; . t. s. perry; . hood; . hoyt; . edwards; . cornwall; . patmore; . bayard taylor; . tennyson; . read; . browning; . smith; . coleridge; . wordsworth; . coleridge; . hervey; . wordsworth; . osgood. the next appeared a short time ago in one of the edinburgh newspapers, signed r. fleming, and is a mosaic compilation from poems written to the memory of robert burns: . immortal bard, immortal burns! . whose lines are mottoes of the heart; . affection loves and memory learns . thy songs "untaught by rules of art." . for dear as life--as heaven--will be, . as years on years successive roll; . fair types of thy rich harmony . who wrote to humanise the soul. . his lyre was sweet, majestic, grand, . the pride and honour of the north; . his song was of bold freedom's land, . brave scotland, freedom's throne on earth. . oft by the winding banks of ayr; . with sinewy arm he turned the soil; . he painted scotland's daughters fair, . through twilight shades of good and ill. . his native wild enchanting strains, . like dear memories round the hearth, . immortalise the poet's name, . and few have won a greener wreath. . from john o'groat's to 'cross the tweed . what heart hath ever matched his flame? . though rough and dark the path he trod, . long shall old scotland keep his name. . great master of our doric rhyme, . though here thy course was but a span; . the pealing rapturous notes sublime . binds man with fellow-man. . peace to the dead--in scotia's choir-- . yes, future bards shall pour the lay, . warmed with a "spark of nature's fire," . while years insidious steal away. . bennoch; . campbell; . imlach; . gray; . glen; . paul; . m'laggan; . tannahill; . glen; . allan; . gilfillan; . park; . wallace; . roscoe; . vedder; . wordsworth; . reid; . glass; . paul; . halleck; . macindoe; . ainslie; . halleck; . kelly; . gray; . mercer; . vedder; . imlach; . montgomery; . gray; . rushton; . gilfillan. the three following verses are very good: . when first i met thee, warm and young, . my heart i gave thee with my hand; . my name was then a magic spell, . casting a dim religious light. . but now, as we plod on our way, . my heart no more with rapture swells; . i would not, if i could, be gay, . when earth is filled with cold farewells! . the heath this night must be my bed, . ye vales, ye streams, ye groves, adieu? . farewell for aye, e'en love is dead, . would i could add, remembrance too! . moore; . morris; . norton; . milton; . percival; . m'naughton; . rogers; . patmore; . scott; . pope; . procter; . byron. the following is copied from "fireside amusements," published by the messrs. chambers, every line being taken from a different poet: "on linden when the sun was low, a frog he would a-wooing go; he sighed a sigh, and breathed a prayer, none but the brave deserve the fair. a gentle knight was pricking o'er the plain, remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow; gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain, or who would suffer being here below. the younger of the sister arts was born on the open sea; the rest were slain at chevy chase, under the greenwood tree. at morn the blackcock trims his jetty wings, and says--remembrance saddening o'er each brow-- awake, my st. john! leave all meaner things! who would be free themselves must strike the blow! it was a friar of orders gray, still harping on my daughter: sister spirit, come away, across this stormy water. on the light fantastic toe, othello's occupation's gone; maid of athens, ere i go, were the last words of marmion. there was a sound of revelry by night in thebes' streets three thousand years ago; and comely virgins came with garlands dight to censure fate, and pious hope forgo. oh! the young lochinvar came out of the west, an underbred fine-spoken fellow was he; a back dropping in, an expansion of chest, far more than i once could foresee." _echo verses._ a gentle echo on woman. (in the doric manner.) _shepherd._ echo, i ween, will in the woods reply, and quaintly answer questions: shall i try? _echo._ try. _shep._ what must we do our passion to express? _echo._ press. _shep._ how shall i please her, who ne'er loved before? _echo._ before. _shep._ what most moves women when we them address? _echo._ a dress. _shep._ say, what can keep her chaste whom i adore? _echo._ a door. _shep._ if music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre. _echo._ liar. _shep._ then teach me, echo, how shall i come by her? _echo._ buy her. _shep._ when bought, no question i shall be her dear? _echo._ her dear. _shep._ but deer have horns: how must i keep her under? _echo._ keep her under. _shep._ but what can glad me when she's laid on bier? _echo._ beer. _shep._ what must i do when women will be kind? _echo._ be kind. _shep._ what must i do when women will be cross? _echo._ be cross. _shep._ lord, what is she that can so turn and wind? _echo._ wind. _shep._ if she be wind, what stills her when she blows? _echo._ blows. _shep._ but if she bang again, still should i bang her? _echo._ bang her. _shep._ is there no way to moderate her anger? _echo._ hang her. _shep._ thanks, gentle echo! right thy answers tell what woman is and how to guard her well. _echo._ guard her well. echo and the lover. _lover._ echo! mysterious nymph, declare of what you're made, and what you are. _echo._ air. _lover._ 'mid airy cliffs and places high; sweet echo! listening love, you lie. _echo._ you lie. _lover._ thou dost resuscitate dead sounds-- hark! how my voice revives, resounds! _echo._ zounds! _lover._ i'll question thee before i go-- come, answer me more apropos! _echo._ poh! poh! _lover._ tell me, fair nymph, if ere you saw so sweet a girl as phoebe shaw? _echo._ pshaw! _lover._ say what will turn that frisking coney into the toils of matrimony? _echo._ money! _lover._ has phoebe not a heavenly brow? is not her bosom white as snow? _echo._ ass! no! _lover._ her eyes! was ever such a pair? are the stars brighter than they are. _echo._ they are. _lover._ echo, thou liest! but canst deceive me. _echo._ leave me. _lover._ but come, thou saucy, pert romancer, who is as fair as phoebe? answer! _echo._ ann, sir. the latest good verses of this class are attributed to an echo that haunts the sultan's palace at constantinople. abdul hamid is supposed to question it as to the intentions of the european powers and his own resources: "l'angleterre? erre. l'autriche? triche. la prusse? russe. mes principautés? otées. mes cuirasses? assez. mes pashas? achats. et suleiman? ment." --_the athenæum._ _watch-case verses._ when thick watches with removable cases were in fashion, and before the introduction of the present compact form, the outer case of the old-fashioned "turnip" was frequently the repository of verses and sundry devices, generally placed there by the watchmaker. others, again, consisted of the maker's name and address, with some appropriate maxim, and were printed on satin or worked with the needle, and occasionally so devised as to appear in a circle without a break, as in the following: "onward perpetually moving these faithful hands are proving how soft the hours steal by; this monitory pulse-like beating, is oftentimes methinks repeating, 'swift, swift, the hours do fly.' ready! be ready! perhaps before these hands have made one revolution more, life's spring is snapt,-- you die!" a watch-paper described by a writer in "notes and queries" gave the address of bowen, tichborne street, piccadilly, on a pedestal surmounted by an urn. on the other side of the label was a winged figure, holding in one hand a watch at arm's length, and in the other a book. at her feet lay a sickle and a serpent with his tail in his mouth--the emblems of time and eternity. round the circumference of the label were these lines-- "little monitor, impart some instruction to the heart; show the busy and the gay life is wasting swift away. follies cannot long endure, life is short and death is sure. happy those who wisely learn truth from error to discern: truth, immortal as the soul, and unshaken as the pole." the bottom of the case was lined with rose-coloured satin, on which was a device in lace-paper--the central portion representing two hearts transfixed by arrows, and surmounted by a dove holding a wreath in its bill. a circular band enclosed the device, and bore the motto-- "joined by friendship, crowned by love." the lines next given are by mr. j. byrom, common called dr. byrom, whom we have previously referred to: "could but our tempers move like this machine, not urged by passion, nor delayed by spleen; but true to nature's regulating power, by virtuous acts distinguish every hour: then health and joy would follow, as they ought, the laws of motion and the laws of thought: on earth would pass the pleasant moments o'er to rest in heaven when time shall be no more!" the last lines of this watch-paper have been occasionally varied to-- "sweet health to pass the pleasant moments o'er and everlasting joy when time shall be no more." a watchmaker named adams, who practised his craft many years ago in church street, hackney, was fond of putting scraps of poetry in the outer case of watches sent him for repair. one of his effusions follow: "to-morrow! yes, to-morrow! you'll repent a train of years in vice and folly spent. to-morrow comes--no penitential sorrow appears therein, for still it is to-morrow; at length to-morrow such a habit gains that you'll forget the time that heaven ordains; and you'll believe that day too soon will be when more to-morrows you're denied to see." another old engraved specimen contained this verse: "content thy selfe withe thyne estat, and sende no poore wight from thy gate; for why, this councell i thee give, to learne to dye, and dye to lyve." the following lines by pope, occurring in his epistle to the earl of oxford, have been used in this way: "absent or dead still let a friend be dear. the absent claims a sigh, the dead a tear. may angels guard the friend i love." milman's poems have furnished a verse for this purpose: "it matters little at what hour o' the day the righteous fall asleep; death cannot come to him untimely who is fit to die. the less of this cold world, the more of heaven; the briefer life, the earlier immortality." various other examples of watch-case verses follow: the watch's moments. "see how the moments pass, how swift they fly away! in the instructive glass behold thy life's decay. oh! waste not then thy prime in sin's pernicious road; redeem thy misspent time, acquaint thyself with god. so when thy pulse shall cease its throbbing transient play, the soul to realms of bliss may wing its joyful way." "deign, lady fair, this watch to wear, to mark how moments fly; for none a moment have to spare, who in a moment die." to a lady with the present of a watch. "with me while present, may thy lovely eyes, be never turned upon this golden toy; think every pleasing hour too swiftly flies, and measure time by joy succeeding joy. but when the cares that interrupt our bliss, to me not always will thy sight allow, then oft with fond impatience look on this, then every minute count--as i do now." "time is thou hast, employ the portion small; time past is gone, thou canst not it recall; time future is not, and may never be; time present is the only time for thee." "watch against evil thoughts watch against idle words; watch against sinful ways; watch against wicked actions. what i say unto you i say unto all, watch." the following lines have a sand-glass engraved between the first four and the last four lines: "mark the rapid motion of this timepiece; hear it say, man, attend to thy salvation; time does quickly pass away. why, heedless of the warning which my tinkling sound doth give, do forget, vain frame adorning, man thou art not born to live?" on a sun-dial the following verse has been found engraved: "once at a potent leader's voice it stayed; once it went back when a good monarch prayed; mortals! howe'er ye grieve, howe'er deplore, the flying shadow shall return no more." this was found under an hour-glass in a grotto near water: "this babbling stream not uninstructive flows, nor idly loiters to its destined main; each flower it feeds that on its margin grows, now bids thee blush, whose days are spent in vain. nor void of moral, though unheeded glides time's current, stealing on with silent haste; for lo! each falling sand _his_ folly chides, who lets one precious moment run to waste." _prose poems._ several pages of this kind appeared at the end of an early volume of "cornhill magazine," of which this is the beginning: to correspondents. "'tis in the middle of the night; and as with weary hand we write, 'here endeth c. m. volume seven,' we turn our grateful eyes to heaven. the fainting soul, oppressèd long, expands and blossoms into song; but why 'twere difficult to state, for here commenceth volume eight. "and ah! what mischiefs him environ who claps the editorial tiar on! 'tis but a paper thing, no doubt; but those who don it soon find out the weight of lead--ah me, how weary!--one little foolscap sheet may carry. pleasing, we hear, to gods and man was mr. william gladstone when he calmed the paper duty fuss; but oh, 'twas very hard on us. before he took the impost off, one gentleman was found enough (he _was_ herculean, but still!--) to bear the letters from cornhill: two men are needed now, and these are clearly going at the knees. yet happy hearts had we to-day if one in fifteen hundred, say, of all the packets, white and blue, which we diurnally go through, yielded an ounce of sterling brains, or ought but headache for our pains. ah, could the correspondent see the editor in his misery, no more injurious ink he'd shed, but tears of sympathy instead. what is this tale of straws and bricks? a hen with fifty thousand chicks clapt in sahara's sandy plain to peck the wilderness for grain--in that unhappy fowl is seen the despot of a magazine. only one difference we find; but that is most important, mind. instinct compels _her_ patient beak; ours--in all modesty we speak--is kept by conscience (sternly chaste) pegging the literary waste. our barns are stored, our garners--well, the stock in them's considerable; yet when we're to the desert brought, again comes back the welcome thought that somewhere in its depths may hide one little seed, which, multiplied in our half-acre on cornhill, might all the land with gladness fill. experience then no more we heed; but, though we seldom find the seed, we read, and read, and read, and read." &c. &c. this is also an instance of this hidden verse in the beginning of one of macaulay's letters to his sister hannah: "my darling,--why am i such a fool as to write to a gipsy at liverpool, who fancies that none is so good as she if she sends one letter for my three? a lazy chit, whose fingers tire in penning a page in reply to a quire! there, miss, you read all the first sentence of my epistle, and never knew that you were reading verse." when mr. coventry patmore's "angel in the house" was first published, the "athenæum" furnished the following unique criticism: "the gentle reader we apprise, that this new angel in the house contains a tale not very wise, about a person and a spouse. the author, gentle as a lamb, has managèd his rhymes to fit, and haply fancies he has writ another 'in memoriam.' how his intended gathered flowers, and took her tea and after sung, is told in style somewhat like ours, for delectation of the young. but, reader, lest you say we quiz the poet's record of his she, some little pictures you shall see, not in our language but in his: 'while thus i grieved and kissed her glove, my man brought in her note to say papa had bid her send his love, and hoped i dine with them next day; they had learned and practised purcell's glee, to sing it by to-morrow night: the postscript was--her sisters and she inclosed some violets blue and white. * * * * * 'restless and sick of long exile, from those sweet friends i rode, to see the church repairs, and after a while waylaying the dean, was asked to tea. they introduced the cousin fred i'd heard of, honor's favourite; grave, dark, handsome, bluff, but gently bred, and with an air of the salt wave.' fear not this saline cousin fred; he gives no tragic mischief birth; there are no tears for you to shed, unless they may be tears of mirth. from ball to bed, from field to farm, the tale flows nicely purling on; with much conceit there is no harm, in the love-legend here begun. the rest will come another day, if public sympathy allows; and this is all we have to say about the 'angel in the house.'" the printer. "the printer-man had just set up a 'stickful' of brevier, filled with italic, fractions, signs, and other things most queer; the type he lifted from the stick, nor dreamt of coming woes, when lo! a wretched wasp thought fit to sting him on the nose: the printer-man the type let fall, as quick as quick could be, and gently murmured a naughty word beginning with a d." my love. "i seen her out a-walking in her habit de la rue, and it ain't no use a-talking, but she's pumpkins and a few. she glides along in glory like a duck upon a lake, and i'd be all love and duty, if i only were her drake!" the solo. "he drew his breath with a gasping sob, with a quivering voice he sang, but his voice leaked out and could not drown the accompanist's clamorous bang. he lost his pitch on the middle a, he faltered on the lower d, and foundered at length like a battered wreck adrift on the wild high c." pony lost. _on feb. st, , this devil bade me adieu._ "lost, stolen, or astray, not the least doubt but run away, a mare pony that is all bay,--if i judge pretty nigh, it is about eleven hands high; full tail and mane, a pretty head and frame; cut on both shoulders by the collar, not being soft nor hollow; it is about five years old, which may be easily told; for spirit and for speed, the devil cannot her exceed." an excellent specimen of this kind of literary work is to be found in j. russell lowell's "fable for critics," of which the title-page and preface are written in this fashion, and there is here given an extract from the latter: "having scrawled at full gallop (as far as that goes) in a style that is neither good verse nor bad prose, and being a person whom nobody knows, some people will say i am rather more free with my readers than it is becoming to be, that i seem to expect them to wait on my leisure in following wherever i wander at pleasure,--that, in short, i take more than a young author's lawful ease, and laugh in a queer way so like mephistopheles, that the public will doubt, as they grope through my rhythm, if in truth i am making fun _at_ them or _with_ them. "so the excellent public is hereby assured that the sale of my book is already secured. for there is not a poet throughout the whole land, but will purchase a copy or two out of hand, in the fond expectation of being amused in it, by seeing his betters cut up and abused in it. now, i find, by a pretty exact calculation, there are something like ten thousand bards in the nation, of that special variety whom the review and magazine critics call _lofty_ and _true_, and about thirty thousand (_this_ tribe is increasing) of the kinds who are termed _full of promise_ and _pleasing_. the public will see by a glance at this schedule, that they cannot expect me to be over-sedulous about courting _them_, since it seems i have got enough fuel made sure of for boiling my pot. "as for such of our poets as find not their names mentioned once in my pages, with praises or blames, let them send in their cards, without further delay, to my friend g. p. putnam, esquire, in broadway, where a list will be kept with the strictest regard to the day and the hour of receiving the card. then, taking them up as i chance to have time (that is, if their names can be twisted in rhyme), i will honestly give each his proper position, at the rate of one author to each new edition. thus, a premium is offered sufficiently high (as the magazines say when they tell their best lie) to induce bards to club their resources and buy the balance of every edition, until they have all of them fairly been run through the mill." &c. &c. that which is considered, however, one of the best of prose poems is the following, which appeared originally in _fraser's magazine_, and will also be found in maclise and maginn's "gallery of illustrious literary characters,"[ ] being part of the introductory portion of a notice of the late earl of beaconsfield, then mr. disraeli, and known at the time as an aspirant to literary and political fame: "o reader dear! do pray look here, and you will spy the curly hair, and forehead fair, and nose so high, and gleaming eye, of benjamin d'is-ra-e-li, the wondrous boy who wrote _alroy_ in rhyme and prose, only to show how long ago victorious judah's lion-banner rose. in an earlier day he wrote _vivian grey_--a smart enough story, we must say, until he took his hero abroad, and trundled him over the german road; and taught him there not to drink beer, and swallow schnapps, and pull mädschen's caps, and smoke the cigar and the meersham true, in alehouse and lusthaus all fatherland through, until all was blue, but talk secondhand that which, at the first, was never many degrees from the worst,--namely, german cant and high dutch sentimentality, maudlin metaphysics, and rubbishing reality. but those who would find how vivian wined with the marchioness of puddledock, and other great grandees of the kind, and how he talked æsthetic, and waxed eloquent and pathetic, and kissed his italian puppies of the greyhound breed, they have only to read--if the work be still alive--vivian grey, in volumes five. "as for his tentative upon the _representative_, which he and john murray got up in a very great hurry, we shall say nothing at all, either great or small; and all the wars that thence ensued, and the moravian's deadly feud; nor much of that fine book, which is called 'the young duke,' with his slippers of velvet blue, with clasps of snowy-white hue, made out of the pearl's mother, or some equally fine thing or other; and 'fleming' (_contarini_), which will cost ye but a guinea; and 'gallomania' (get through it, can you?) in which he made war on (assisted by a whiskered baron--his name was von haber, whose germanical jabber, master ben, with ready pen, put into english smart and jinglish), king philippe and his court; and many other great works of the same sort--why, we leave them to the reader to peruse; that is to say, if he should choose. "he lately stood for wycombe, but there colonel grey did lick him, he being parcel tory and parcel radical--which is what in general mad we call; and the latest affair of his we chanced to see, is 'what is he?' a question which, by this time, we have somewhat answered in this our pedestrian rhyme. as for the rest,--but writing rhyme is, after all, a pest; and therefore"---- _miscellaneous odds and ends._ some years ago _punch_ gave "revised versions" of a few of the old popular songs, and, referring to the one we have chosen as a specimen, says that "its simplicity, its truthfulness, and, above all, its high moral, have recommended it to him for selection. it is well known to the million--of whose singing, indeed, it forms a part. perhaps it will be recognised; perhaps not." a polished poem. _air._--"if i had a donkey vot vouldn't go, do you think i'd wallop," &c. "had i an ass averse to speed, deem'st thou i'd strike him? no, indeed! mark me, i'd try persuasion's art, for cruelty offends my heart: had all resembled me, i ween, martin, thy law had needless been of speechless brutes from blows to screen the poor head; for had i an ass averse to speed i ne'er would strike him, no, indeed! i'd give him hay, and cry, 'proceed,' and 'go on, edward!' why speak i thus? this very morn, i saw that cruel william burn, whilst crying 'greens' upon his course, assail his ass with all his force; he smote him o'er the head and thighs, till tears bedimmed the creature's eyes! oh! 'twas too much, my blood 'gan rise and i exclaimed, 'had i an,' &c. burn turn'd and cried, with scornful eye, 'perchance thou'rt one of martin's fry, and seek'st occasion base to take, the vile informer's gain to make.' word of denial though i spoke, full on my brow his fury broke, and thus, while i return'd the stroke, i exclaimed, 'had i an,' &c. to us, infringing thus the peace, approach'd his guardians--the police; and, like inevitable fate, bore us to where stern justice sate; her minister the tale i told; and to support my word, made bold to crave he would the ass behold: 'for,' i declared, 'had i an,' &c. they called the creature into court where, sooth to say, he made some sport, with ears erect, and parted jaws, as though he strove to plead his cause: i gained the palm of feelings kind; the ass was righted; william fined. for justice, one with me in mind, exclaimed, by her minister, 'had i an,' &c. cried william to his judge, ''tis hard (think not the fine that i regard), but things have reached a goodly pass-- one may not beat a stubborn ass!' nought spoke the judge, but closed his book; so william thence the creature took, eyeing me--ah! with what a look, as gently whispering in his ear, i said, 'william, had i an,' &c." cumulative parodying. there was a young damsel; oh, bless her, it cost very little to dress her; she was sweet as a rose in her everyday clothes, but had no young man to caress her. --_meridien recorder._ there was a young turkey; oh, bless her: it cost very little to dress her; some dry bread and thyme, about thanksgiving time, and they ate the last bit from the dresser. --_american punch._ a newspaper poet; oh, dang him! and pelt him and club him and bang him! he kept writing away, till the people one day rose up and proceeded to hang him. --_detroit free press._ blank verse in rhyme. (a nocturnal sketch.) "even is come; and from the dark park, hark the signal of the setting sun--one gun! and six is sounding from the chime, prime time to go and see the drury-lane dane slain,-- or hear othello's jealous doubt spout out,-- or macbeth raving at that shade-made blade, denying to his frantic clutch much touch; or else to see ducrow with wide stride ride four horses as no other man can span; or in the small olympic pit, sit split laughing at liston, while you quiz his phiz. anon night comes, and with her wings brings things such as, with his poetic tongue, young sung; the gas up-blazes with its bright white light, and paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl, about the streets, and take up pall mall sal, who hastening to her nightly jobs, robs fobs. now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash, past drowsy charley, in a deep sleep, creep, but frightened by policeman b , flee, and while they're going whisper low, 'no go!' now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads, and sleepers waking, grumble--'drat that cat!' who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will. now bulls of bashan, of a prize-size, rise in childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor georgey, or charles, or billy, willy-nilly; but nursemaid in a nightmare rest, chest-pressed, dreameth of one of her old flames, james games, and that she hears--what faith is man's!--ann's banns and his, from reverend mr. rice, twice, thrice; white ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out, that upward goes, shows rose knows those bows' woes!" --_thomas hood._ the following excellent specimen of mono-syllabic verse comes from an old play in the garrick collection: song. "let us sip, and let it slip, and go which way it will a; let us trip, and let us skip, and let us drink our fill a. take the cup, and drink all up, give me the can to fill a; every sup, and every cup, hold here and my good will a. gossip mine and gossip thine; now let us gossip still a; here is good wine, this ale is fine, now drink of which you will a. round about, till all be out, i pray you let us swill a; this jolly grout is jolly and stout, i pray you stout it still a. let us laugh and let us quaff, good drinkers think none ill a; here is your bag, here is your staffe, be packing to the mill a." elessdÉ. "in a certain fair island, for commerce renown'd, whose fleets sailed in every sea, a set of fanatics, men say, there was found, who set up an island and worship around, and called it by name elessdé. many heads had the monster, and tails not a few, of divers rare metals was he and temples they built him right goodly to view, where oft they would meet, and, like idolists true, pay their vows to the great elessdé. moreover, at times would their frenzy attain ('twas nought less) to so high a degree, that his soul-blinded votaries did not complain, but e'en laid down their lives his false favour to gain-- so great was thy power, elessdé. as for morals, this somewhat unscrupulous race were lax enough, 'twixt you and me; men would poison their friends with professional grace, and of the fell deed leave behind ne'er a trace, for the sake of the fiend, elessdé. then forgery flourished, and rampant and rife was each form of diablerie; while the midnight assassin, with mallet and knife, would steal on his victim and rob him of life, and all for thy love, elessdé. there were giants of crime on the earth in that day, the like of which we may not see: although, peradventure, some sceptic will say there be those even now who acknowledge the sway of the god of the world--_£ s. d._" earth. "what is earth, sexton?--a place to dig graves. what is earth, rich man?--a place to work slaves. what is earth, greybeard?--a place to grow old. what is earth, miser?--a place to dig gold. what is earth, schoolboy?--a place for my play. what is earth, maiden?--a place to be gay. what is earth, seamstress?--a place where i weep. what is earth, sluggard?--a good place to sleep. what is earth, soldier?--a place for a battle. what is earth, herdsman?--a place to raise cattle. what is earth, widow?--a place of true sorrow. what is earth, tradesman?--i'll tell you to-morrow. what is earth, sick man?--'tis nothing to me. what is earth, sailor?--my home is the sea. what is earth, statesman?--a place to win fame. what is earth, author?--i'll write there my name. what is earth, monarch?--for my realm it is given. what is earth, christian?--the gateway of heaven." index. acrostics, ad chloen, m.a., addresses, the rejected, ad mortem, ad professorem linguæ germanicæ, "alice in wonderland," verses from, , alliterative verses from "society," american traveller, the, am rhein, analytical, ode to davies', angel in the house, the, animal alphabet, an, anticipatory dirge, an, arab and his donkey, the, arundines cami, the, , ba, ba, black sheep, ballad of the period, a, ballads, the bon gualtier, bandit's fate, the, barham, mr., parody by, ; macaronic by, battle of frogs and mice, the, bayard taylor, lines by, billet-doux, a, biter bit, the, blank verse in rhyme, boke of colin clout, bonaparte, anagram on, , bon gaultier ballads, the, bore's head, bringing in the, boxiana, boyle godfrey, epitaph on, breach of promise, lines on a, bret harte, verses by, , , brook, the, parody on, brooks, shirley, lines by, brownrigg, mrs., lines on, buckland, professor, dirge on, bunker hill, alliterative lines on, burial of sir john moore, parodies on, , burnand, f. c., parody by, burns, mosaic poem on, burton, mrs., parody by, buttes, thomas, acrostic by, byrom, mr., hymn by, ; lines by, byron, parody on style of, calverly, mr., , camden on anagrams, canning and frere, captain smith and pocahontas, carlyle, thomas, anagram on, carmen ad terry, carol, christmas, carpette, knyghte, ye, carroll, lewis, parodies by, , , ; lines by, ce meme vieux coon, centennial exhibition, the, lines on, chain verses, chanson without music, chinese english, clara morchella deliciosa, to, clock, the musical, clubbis noster, coincidences and contrarieties, colin clout, boke of, college macaronics, , collins, mortimer, lines by, , , comic latin grammar, lines from, concatenation verse, contenti abeamus, correspondents, to, cotton mather, crabbe, parody on, crawford, mrs., cremation, , cumulative parodying, davies' analytical, ode to, dean swift, death of the sea-serpent, de leguleo, "detection," harsnett's, dirge on professor buckland, disraeli, benjamin, diversions of the echo club, doctor, southey's, druggist, lament of an unfortunate, drury lane, a tale of, drury rev. h., earth, echo club, diversions of the, echo and the lover, echo on woman, a gentle, elessdè, elizabeth, queen, acrostic on, english language, the, epitaph, macaronic, epitaph on dr. maginn, epode of horace, the second, eve's legend, evil, anagram on, evolution, fable for critics, the, fair "come-outer," the, fate of nassan, the, felis-itous, very, fireside amusements, poem from, fonseca's guide to english, footman joe, four brothers, the, friend at parting, to a, geddes, dr., gentle echo on woman, "gentle shepherd," the sign of the, geological address, a, geological madrigal, a, gilbert, w. s., lines by, goldsmith, parody on lines by, guide to english, a new, harte, bret, verses by, , , hegemon of thasos, henry martin the regicide, hey diddle diddle, new version of, holland, lord, holmes, dr., macaronic by, homoeopathic soup, hone's every-day book, hood, thomas, parody by, , ; verses by, horace, second epode of, household words, lines from, how the daughters come down at dunoon, hunting of the snark, husband's complaint, the, hussey, mrs. margaret, hymn, by mr. byrom, ich bin dein, "if," by mortimer collins, ignoramus, scene from play of, inscription on mrs. brownrigg's cell, jack and jill, ; new version of, jack horner, new version of, jeffrey, lord, johnson, dr., , kehama, parody on southey's, knox ward, lady, to a, lament of an unfortunate druggist, lang, dr., lasphrise, m., laureate's journey, the, lay of macaroni, the, leguleo, de, leigh, henry s., , leland, mr. charles g., , . lines by a fond lover, little bo-peep, ; new rendering of, little miss muffit, new version of, little red riding hood, love story, an original, lowell, j. russell, lydia green, macaulay, travesty on, ; a letter of, maginn, dr., ; epitaph on, mahony, rev. francis, malum opus, man and the ascidian, mark twain, "mary's little lamb," new versions of, , microscopic serenade, milman, lines from, milton, parody on, moments, the watch's, monk, duke of albemarle, monosyllabic song, moore, parodies on, , , , morituri te salutant, mosaic poems, musical ass, the, musical clock, the, mycological serenade, a, my love, nahum fay on the loss of his wife, native names, new versions of nursery rhymes, - nursery rhymes, new versions of, - ode to davies' analytical, ode to a skylark, shelley's, o'keefe, song by, only seven, original love story, orpheus c. kerr papers, the, owed to my creditors, palmer, professor e. h., verses by, , palmerston, lord, anagram on, parterre, the, patmore, mr. coventry, pennell, h. c., parody by, , philips, john, pidgin english, planché, mr., songs by, ; acrostic by, pliocene skull, to the, pocahontas and captain smith, poe, edgar a., parodies on, , ; acrostic by, polished poem, a, polka, the, pome of a possum, pony lost, pope, alliterative lines by, prevalent poetry, prince charles after culloden, printer, the, procuratores, lines on the, promissory note, the, radenovitch, the, recipe for salad, a, recognition, the, red riding hood, little, rejected addresses, the, rex midas, rhyme for musicians, a, rhymes, nursery, new versions of, - robert burns, mosaic poem on, roman nose, the, rudiger, andreas, ruggles' ignoramus, ruling power, the, st. george et his dragon, salad, recipe for, scott, sir walter, parody on, sea-serpent, the, serenade, microscopic, serenade, mycological, sermon, a temperance, "serve-um-right," sheridan, dr., ; lines by, , shipwreck, the, shootover papers, the, skelton, poet-laureate, , slidell and mason, smith, dr. charles, epitaph by, smith, james and horace, smith, sydney, soliloquy in hamlet, parodies on, , solo, the, song from garrick collection, southey's kehama, parody on, spelling reform, splendid shilling, the, sun-dial, lines on a, surnames, swift, dean, tale of drury lane, a, taylor, bayard, lines by, teetotum, the, temperance sermon, a, tennyson, parodies on, , that thirty-four! theatre, the, thirty-five, thompson, george, anagram on, to a friend at parting, to a lady with a watch, toast--a sott, topside-galow, treatise on wine, a, truth, chain verse on, "truth," parody from, twinkle, twinkle, little star, new versions of, , unfortunate druggist, lament of an, valentine, a, very felis-itous, victor hugo, lines by, viner, sir robert, visitors' books, lines from, watch-case verses, "we met," &c., whalley, peter, anagram on, wig and the hat, the, , wilson, john, wine, a treatise on, wordsworth, parody on, yacht alphabet, a, "you are old, father william," yriarte, tomaso de, _printed by ballantyne, hanson & co. edinburgh and london._ footnotes: [ ] two well-known alehouses in oxford, about . [ ] from the "carols of cockayne." [ ] "'what do you mean by the reference to greeley?' "'i thought everybody had heard that greeley's only autograph of poe was a signature to a promissory note for fifty dollars. he offers to sell it for half the money.'"--_diversions of the echo club._ [ ] macmillan & co., london. [ ] see "alice in wonderland." [ ] reference may also be made here to a recent work, "the heptalogia; or the seven against sense," a book wholly devoted to parody, the merits of which could not be shown by extracts, but requires to be read at length to be properly estimated. [ ] "ladles"--_i.e._, very spooney. [ ] maginn died at walton-on-thames, st august . he was one of the gayest, brightest, and wittiest of those reckless litterateurs who half a century ago worshipped with equal devotion at the shrines of apollo and bacchus. [ ] chatto and windus, london. [ ] macmillan & co., london. [ ] london: chatto & windus. extracts from notices of "_literary frivolities, fancies, follies, and frolics_." (uniform with the present volume, post vo, cloth limp, s. d.) "this is a new volume of the popular mayfair library, and it well deserves its place. in such a book selection and arrangement are everything.... mr. dobson really knows what to choose and what to reject; he has also a feeling for good arrangement, and has made a most attractive volume.... for an odd half-hour or for a long journey we could hardly imagine anything better, and we trust the book may find the encouragement it so well deserves."--_british quarterly review._ "'literary frivolities' is an absolutely delightful companion for an unoccupied half-hour. it is a book which may with equal pleasure be read all through or dipped into at any point, and the collection of literary triflings it supplies is admirably ample."--_gentleman's magazine._ "this is a pleasant and amusing little volume. it contains a great deal of curious information, and shows a very creditable amount of research.... we may end as we began, by commending 'literary frivolities' as a capital book of its sort."--_athenæum._ "this latest volume of the bright little 'mayfair library' is an entertaining contribution to the literature of 'inert hours,' and will sufficiently initiate its readers into all the mysteries of bouts-rimés, palindromes, lipograms, centones and figurate poems."--_notes and queries._ "a more delightful little work it has seldom been our lot to take in hand. mr. dobson has made a study of all the eccentricities and frivolities which have from time to time been perpetrated by writers in prose and verse.... mr. dobson had gone into his work in a catholic spirit, and has done it with great neatness and ability. it would be difficult to commend the book too highly. it is a volume alike for holiday purposes, and for other purposes more serious in connection with literature."--_scotsman._ "mr. dobson has done his work well.... the book is very interesting and entertaining, and has a still higher claim to our regard as a curious chapter in the history of literature."--_examiner._ "not a few of the pages will raise a hearty laugh, and this fact alone disposes us to regard the book with marked favour. a good index has not been forgotten, and the volume in all ways reflects high credit on its author."--_brief._ "this is a queer collection of interesting nothings, a record of some of the literary playthings wherewith men have sought at one time and another to beguile the road towards the darkness. here are quips and cranks, strange forms of prose and verse; monstrosities of rhythms. it is all very interesting, and shows a heavy amount of research on the part of the compiler."--_vanity fair._ "great fun is shown in almost every page of 'literary frivolities.'... the 'mayfair library' will do well if it gives us many books like mr. dobson's."--_graphic._ "it is quite certain that there have been thousands of not only intelligent, but grave and learned persons who have taken pride as well as pleasure in the accomplishment of such exploits, and that there are tens of thousands who will be greatly entertained, if not roused to emulation, by the pretty little volume consecrated to the commemoration and to illustrative samples of those exploits.... it is provided with an index, a very useful addition, and it is undoubtedly a bright, amusing, and not altogether uninstructive publication."--_illustrated london news._ "mr. dobson deserves credit for the pains he has taken."--_spectator._ "a miscellaneous and highly amusing collection of literary curiosities."--_bookseller._ "an amusing volume.... an account of a great many of those curious puzzles and tasks in which the literary mind delights."--_teacher._ "a collection, a most exhaustive one, of the vagaries indulged in from remote ages down to the present day by literary triflers."--_whitehall review._ "a very entertaining little book.... exceedingly interesting, and may be heartily recommended."--_nottingham guardian._ "a capital little book.... a cheap and neat volume which no editor or printer should be without."--_printing times and lithograther._ "one of the most quaintly amusing books we have seen for a long time."--_edinburgh evening express._ "for a man or woman endowed with literary tastes, and who, for want of regular work to do, sometimes longs for new methods of 'killing time,' this collection of frivolities and oddities might prove a fruitful source of amusement. its author is a scholarly and well-read man; and in preparing this book he must have put himself to an infinitude of pains."--_edinburgh daily review._ "the little volume is pleasantly and learnedly written."--_one and all._ chatto and windus, piccadilly, w. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. the original text contains a few letters with diacritical marks that are not represented in this text version. the original text includes greek characters. for this text version these letters have been replaced with transliterations. the original text includes various symbols that are represented as [symbol] in this text version. none [illustration] _to stern critics_ here's to stern critics! may they some day learn the forward lookout's better than the stern! [illustration] here's to her shadow! may it mark the hours upon the sundial of her life--in flowers! * * * * * happy days by oliver herford and john cecil clay new york mitchell kennerley copyright, , by mitchell kennerley the·plimpton·press norwood·mass·u·s·a * * * * * _contents_ page to stern critics to her shadow to fashion to the typewriter the floor to music to the publisher here's looking the dove of peace to the clock to hope to liberty stairs: a toast to lady nicotine oh, editor, editor! to the creditor to neptune to the waiter to temptation to the maid with fancy free to our sweethearts to our readers * * * * * [illustration:] fashion! lovely dame! pledge in sparkling wine! let us add her name to the muses' nine! though the lovely nin all should pass away why should woman pine, if but fashion stay? tho' the muses' lore molder on the shelf, still may she adore in fashion's glass--herself. [illustration:] _to the typewriter_ here's to the typewriter! health to her type! whether blond or brunette or budding or ripe. if she be the right type be she buxom or slight, when she doesn't type wrong she is sure to typewrite. [illustration] the floor here's to the floor, our best friend of all, who sticks to us close in the time of our fall. when benches are fickle and tables betray and rugs are revolving, he meets us half-way. our stay and support, when we can't stand alone, with the floor for a backer, we'll never be thrown. here's to our friend, in life's every stage! dry nurse of infancy, wet nurse of age! _a health_ to our floor! supporter and stay; though he often be full, may he never give way! [illustration] [illustration:] _to music_ here's to music, joy of joys! one man's music's another man's noise. [illustration:] [illustration:] to the publisher!--drink! let his virtue be shown in the _good works_ of others if not in his own. to the publisher [illustration:] here's looking at you, dear! though i should pour a sea of wine, my eyes would thirst for more. [illustration:] here's to the dove of peace! may she find a mate some day, and may her tribe increase as fast as she can lay! <tb> with cooing doves galore then may the sky be dark until the dogs of war can't see each other bark! [illustration:] here's to the clock! whose hands, we pray heaven, when we come home at three, have stopped at eleven! to the clock [illustration] here's to hope, the child of care, and pretty sister of despair! here's hoping that hope's children shan't take after their grandma or aunt! [illustration] to liberty here's to our goddess, liberty, idol of bronze and stone! may she awake to life some day and let her charms be known. [illustration] stairs a toast here's to the man who invented stairs and taught our feet to soar! he was the first who ever burst into a second floor. the world would be downstairs to-day had he not found the key; so let his name go down to fame, whatever it may be. [illustration] to our lady nicotine here's to lady nicotine! saint and sorceress and queen! saint, whose purple halo rings lift our eyes from earthly things; witch, whose wand of scented briar transmutes dead weeds to fragrant fire; queen, whose rod her slaves adore! what can freedom offer more? [illustration] oh, editor, editor, awful and grand, who holdest our fate in the palm of thy hand, dost ever reflect how one day thy ghost to an editor awf'ler and grander will post? before him a great golden scroll is spread wide, and a bottomless waste-basket yawns at his side. with a swift searching glance he reads through thy soul, then he looks at the basket, then looks at the scroll; he purses his lips and nibbles his pen, and frowns for one long awful moment--and then-- oh, editor!--think! if thy poor crumpled soul fall into the basket and not in the scroll! [illustration] _to the creditor_ here's to the creditor, long may he reign! may his faith never waver, his trust never wane. may the lord make him gentle and gracious and gay, yet quick to resent the least offer of pay: may he soften his heart as he softened, we're told, to the israelite's 'touch,' the egyptian of old; and when on his last long account he shall look, the angel will say as he closes the book: "the lord gives you credit for credit you gave"! so here's to the creditor-- long may he waive. [illustration] to neptune a health to king neptune, the boss of the wave! who sits on the ocean and makes it behave. come fill up your bumpers and take a long pull! when he's calm he's not dry-- when he rolls, he's not full. whether sober or rough, he's always a sport, and we'll never stop toasting him till we're in port. a jolly old salt, though he smile or he frown. so here's to king neptune! fill up! drink her down! [illustration] we drink your health, o waiter! and may you be preserved from old age, gout, or sudden death!-- at least till supper's served. to the waiter [illustration] here's to temptation! give us strength and grace against her witching smile, to set our face! [illustration] here's to the maid with fancy free; if cupid's necromancy imprison not her heart, maybe, it will arrest her fancy. [illustration] to our sweethearts and wives, the joy of our lives! may our wives be our sweethearts-- our sweethearts, our wives. _to our readers_ here's to our readers, health! good looks! and joy _ad infinitum_ and may they live to read our books as long as we may write 'em. [illustration] more misrepresentative men by harry graham _author of "ruthless rhymes for heartless homes," "misrepresentative men," "ballads of the boer war," "verse and worse," etc., etc._ pictures by malcolm strauss new york fox, duffield & company mcmv copyright, , by fox, duffield & company published in september, to e. b. _contents_ author's foreword publisher's preface robert burns william waldorf astor henry viii alton b. parker euclid j. m. barrie omar khayyam andrew carnegie king cophetua joseph f. smith sherlock holmes aftword _authors foreword_ (_to the publisher_) when honest men are all in bed, we poets at our desks are toiling, to earn a modicum of bread, and keep the pot a-boiling; we weld together, bit by bit, the fabric of our laboured wit. we see with eyes of frank dismay the coming of this autumn season, when bards are driven to display their feast of rhyme and reason; with hectic brain and loosened collar, we chase the too-elusive dollar. while publishers, in search of grist, despise our masterly inaction, and shake their faces in our fist, demanding satisfaction, we view with vague or vacant mind the grim agreements we have signed. for though a willing public gives its timely share of cash assistance, the author (like the dentist) lives a hand-to-mouth existence; and publishers, those modern circes, make pig's-ear purses of his verses. behold! how ill, how thin and pale, the features of the furtive jester! compelled by contracts to curtail his moments of siesta! a true white knight is he to-day (_nuit blanche_, as stevenson would say). ah, surely he has laboured well, constructing this immortal sequel,-- a work which no one could excel, and very few can equal,-- a volume which, i dare to say, is epoch-making, in its way. when other poets' work is not, these verses shall retain their label; when herford is a thing forgot, and ade an ancient fable; when goops no longer give a sign of burgess's empurpled kine. my publishers, i love you so! your well-secreted virtues viewing; who never let your right hand know whom your left hand is doing; who hold me firmly in your grip, and crack your cheque-book, like a whip! my publishers, make no mistake, you have in me an _avis rara_, so write a princely cheque, and make it payable to bearer; i love you, as i said before, but oh! i love your money more! _publisher's preface_ (_to the author_) voracious author, gorged with gold, your grasping greed shall not avail! in vain you venture to unfold your false prehensile tale! i view in scorn (unmixed with awe) the width of your capacious maw. on me the onus has to fall of your malevolent effusions; 'tis i who bear the brunt of all your libellous allusions; to bolster up your turgid verse, i jeopardise my very purse! you do not hesitate to fleece the publisher you scorn to thank, and when you manage to decrease his balance at the bank, your face is lighted up with greed, and you are lantern-jawed indeed! yet will i still heap coals of fire, until your coiffure is imbedded, and you at last, perchance, shall tire of growing so hot-headed, and realise that being funny is not a mere affair of money. and so, in honour of your pow'rs, a fragrant bouquet will i pick, of rare exotics, blossoms, flow'rs of speech and rhetoric; i'll add a thistle, if i may, and, round the whole, a wreath of bay. the blossoms for your button-hole, to mark your affluent condition, exotics to inspire your soul to further composition. come, set the bays upon your brow! * * * * * well, eat the thistle, anyhow! _robert burns_ the jingling rhymes of dr. watts excite the reader's just impatience, he wearies of sir walter scott's melodious verbal collocations, and with advancing years he learns to love the simpler style of burns. too much the careworn critic knows of that obscure robustious diction, which like a form of fungus grows amid the kailyard school of fiction; in crockett's cryptic caves one sighs for burns's clear and spacious skies. tho' no aspersions need be cast on barrie's wealth of wit fantastic, creator of that unsurpass'd if most minute ecclesiastic; yet even here the eye discerns no master-hand like that of burns. the works of campbell and the rest exhale a sanctimonious odour, their vintage is but schnapps, at best, their scotch is simply scotch-and-sodour! they cannot hope, like burns, to win that "touch which makes the whole world kin." tho' some may sing of neil munro, and virtues in maclaren see, or want but little here below, and want that little lang, maybe; each renegade at length returns, to praise the peerless pow'rs of burns. his verse, as all the world declares, and tennyson himself confesses, the radiance of the dewdrop shares, the berry's perfect shape possesses; and even william wordsworth praises the magic of his faultless phrases. but he, whose books bedeck our shelves, whose lofty genius we adore so, was only human, like ourselves,-- perhaps, indeed, a trifle more so! and joined a thirst that nought could quench to morals which were frankly french. and ev'ry night he made his way, with boon companions, bent on frolic, to inns of ill-repute, where lay refreshments--chiefly alcoholic! (but i decline to raise your gorges, describing these nocturnal orgies.) of love-affairs he knew no end, so long and ardently he flirted, and e'en the least suspicious friend would feel a trifle disconcerted, when burns was sitting with his "_sposa_," "as thick as thieves on vallombrosa!" a cockney chiel who found him thus, and showed some conjugal alarm, when burns implored him not to fuss, enquiring calmly, "where's the harm?" replied at once, with perfect taste, "the _h_arm is round my consort's waist!" "a poor thing but my own," said he, his fair but fickle bride denoting, and she, with scathing repartee, assented, wilfully misquoting, (tho' carefully brought up, like jonah), "a poorer thing--and yet my owner!" the most bucolic hearts were burnt by burns' amatory glances; the most suburban spinsters learnt to welcome his abrupt advances; when burns was on his knee, 'twas said, they wished that _they_ were there instead! they loved him from the first, in spite of angry parents' interference; they deemed his courtship so polite, so captivating his appearance; so great his charm, so apt his wit, in local parlance, burns was it! the rustic maids from far and wide, encouraged his unwise flirtations; for love of burns they moped and sighed, and, while their nearest male relations were up in arms, the sad thing is that they themselves were up in his! his crest a mug, with open lid, the kind in vogue with ancient druids,-- inscribed "amari aliquid," (which means "i'm very fond of fluids!"), on either side, as meet supporters, the village blacksmith's lovely daughters. "men were deceivers ever!" true, as shakespeare says (hey nonny! nonny!), but one should always keep in view that "_tout comprendr' c'est tout pardonny_"; in judging poets it suffices to scan their verses, not their vices. . . . . . . the poets of the present time attempt their feeble imitations; are economical of rhyme, and lavish with reiterations; the while a patient public swallows a "border ballad" much as follows:-- _jamie lad, i lo'e ye weel, jamie lad, i lo'e nae ither, jamie lad, i lo'e ye weel, like a mither._ _jamie's ganging doon the burn, jamie's ganging doon, whateffer, jamie's ganging doon the burn, to strathpeffer!_ _jamie's comin' hame to dee, jamie's comin' hame, i'm thinkin', jamie's comin' hame to dee, dee o' drinkin'!_ _hech! jamie! losh! jamie! dinna greet sae sair! gin ye canna, winna, shanna see yer lassie mair! wha' hoo! wha' hae! strathpeffer!_ i give you now, as antidote, some lines which i myself indited. carnegie, when he read them, wrote to say that he was quite delighted; their pathos cut him to the quick, their humour almost made him sick. _the queys are moopin' i' the mirk, an' gin ye thole ahin' the kirk, i'll gar ye tocher hame fra' work, sae straught an' primsie; in vain the lavrock leaves the snaw, the sonsie cowslips blithely blaw, the elbucks wheep adoon the shaw, or warl a whimsy. the cootie muircocks crousely craw, the maukins tak' their fud fu' braw, i gie their wames a random paw, for a' they're skilpy; for wha' sae glaikit, gleg an' din, to but the ben, or loup the linn, or scraw aboon the tirlin'-pin sae frae an' gilpie?_ _och, snood the sporran roun' ma lap, the cairngorm clap in ilka cap, och, hand me o'er ma lang claymore, twa, bannocks an' a bap, wha hoo! twa bannocks an' a bap!_ . . . . . . o fellow scotsman, near and far, renowned for health and good digestion, for all that makes you what you are,-- (but are you really? that's the question)-- be grateful, while the world endures, that burns was countryman of yours. and hand-in-hand, in alien land, foregather with your fellow cronies, to masticate the haggis (cann'd) at scottish conversaziones, where, flushed with wine and auld lang syne, you worship at your country's shrine! _william waldorf astor_ how blest a thing it is to die for country's sake, as bards have sung! how sweet "pro patria mori," (to quote the vulgar latin tongue); and yet to him the palm we give who for his fatherland can _live_. historians have explained to us, in terms that never can grow cold, how well the bold horatius played bridge in the brave days of old; and we can read of hosts of others, from spartan boys to roman mothers. but nowhere has the student got, from poet, pedagogue, or pastor, the picture of a patriot so truly typical as astor; and none has ever shown a greater affection for his alma mater. with loyalty to fatherland his heart inflexible as starch is, whene'er he hears upon a band the too prolific sousa's marches; and from his eyes a tear he wipes, each time he sees the stars and stripes. tho' others roam across the foam to european health resorts, the fact that "there's no place like home" is foremost in our hero's thoughts; and all in vain have people tried to lure him from his "ain fireside." let tourists travel near or far, by wayward breezes widely blown, _he_ stops at the astoria, "a poor thing" (shakespeare), "but his own;" and nothing that his friends may do can drag him from fifth avenue. the western heiress is content to scale, as a prospective bride, the bare six-story tenement where foreign pauper peers reside; but men like astor all disparage the so-called morgan-attic marriage. the rich chicago millionaire may buy a mansion in belgravia, have footmen there with powdered hair and frigidly correct behaviour; but marble stairs and plate of gold leave astor absolutely cold. the lofty ducal residence, that fronts some surrey riverside, would wound his socialistic sense, and pain his patriotic pride; he would not change for castles highland his cabbage-patch on coney island. a statue in some roman street, a palace of venetian gilding, appear to him not half so sweet as any modern vanderbuilding; he views, without an envious throe, the wolf that suckled romeo! roast beef, or frogs, or sauerkraut, their mead of praise from some may win; our hero cannot do without peanuts and clams and terrapin; away from home, his soul would lack the cocktail and the canvasback. not his to walk the crowded strand; 'mid busy london's jar and hum. on quiet broadway he would stand, saying "americanus sum!" his smile so tranquil, so seraphic,-- small wonder that it stops the traffic! who would not be a man like he, (this lapse of grammar pray forgive,) so simply satisfied to be, contented with his lot to live,-- whether or not it be, i wot, a little lot,--or quite a lot? content with any kind of fare, with any tiny piece of earth, so long as he can find it there within the land that gave him birth; content with simple beans and pork, if he may eat them in new york! o persons who have made your pile, and spend it far across the seas, like landlords of the em'rald isle, denounced notorious absentees, i pray you imitate the master, and stay at home like mr. astor! but if you go abroad at all, and leave your fatherland behind you, without an effort to recall the sentimental ties that bind you, i should be grateful if you could contrive to stay away for good! _henry viii_ with stevenson we must agree, who found the world so full of things, that all should be, or so said he, as happy as a host of kings; yet few so fortunate as not to envy bluff king henry's lot. a polished monarch, through and through, tho' somewhat lacking in religion, who joined a courtly manner to the figure of a pouter pigeon; and was, at time of feast or revel a ... well ... a perfect little devil! but tho' his vices, i'm afraid, are hard for modern minds to swallow, two lofty virtues he displayed, which we should do our best to follow:-- a passion for domestic life, a cult for what is called the wife. he sought his spouses, north and south. six times (to make a misquotation) he managed, at the canon's mouth, to win a bubble reputation; and ev'ry time, from last to first, his matrimonial bubble burst! six times, with wide, self-conscious smile and well-blacked, button boots, he entered the abbey's bust-congested aisle, with ev'ry eye upon him centred; six times he heard, and not alone, the march of mr. mendelssohn. six sep'rate times (or three times twice), in order to complete the marriage, 'mid painful show'rs of boots and rice, he sought the shelter of his carriage; six times the bride, beneath her veil, looked "beautiful, but somewhat pale." within the limits of one reign, six females of undaunted bearing, two annes, three kath'rines, and a jane, enjoyed the privilege of sharing a conjugal career so chequer'd it almost constitutes a record! yet sometimes it occurs to me that henry missed his true vocation; a husband by profession he, a widower by occupation; and, honestly, it seems a pity he didn't live in salt lake city. for there he could have put in force his plural marriage views, unbaffled; nor had recourse to dull divorce, nor sought the service of the scaffold; nor looked for peace, nor found release, in any partner's predecease. had henry been alive to-day, he might have hired a timely motor, and sent each wife in turn to stay within the confines of dakota; that state whose rigid marriage-law, is eulogised by bernard shaw. but henry's simple days are done, and, in the present generation, a wife is seldom woo'd and won by prospects of decapitation. for nowadays when woman weds, it is the _men_ who lose their heads! _alton b. parker_ those roman fathers, long ago, established a sublime tradition, who gave the man behind the hoe his proud proconsular position; when cincinnatus left his hens, and beat his ploughshares into pens. his modern prototype we see, descended from some humble attic, the presidential nominee of those whose views are democratic; from millionaire to billiard marker they plumped their votes for central parker. a member of the sterner sex, possessing neither wealth nor beauty, but gifted with a really ex-- --traordinary sense of duty; in honour's list i place him first,-- with cæsar's wife and mr. hearst. from childhood's day this son of toil, since first he laid aside his rattle, was wont to cultivate the soil, or milk his father's kindly cattle; to groom the pigs, drive crows away, or teach the bantams how to lay. this sprightly lad, his parents' pet, with tastes essentially bucolic, eschewed the straightcut cigarette, and shunned refreshments alcoholic; his simple pleasure 'twas to plumb the deep-laid joys of chewing gum. as local pedagogue he next attained to years of indiscretion, to preach the solomonian text so popular with that profession, which honours whom (and what) it teaches more in th' observance than the breeches. the sprightly parker soon one sees, head of a legal institution, enjoying huge retaining fees as counsel for the prosecution. (advice to lawyers, _meum non est_,-- get on, get honour, then get honest!) behold him, then, like comet, shoot beyond the bounds of birth or station, and gain, as jurist of repute, a continental reputation. (don't mix him with that "triple star" which lights a more unworthy "bar.") a proud position now is his, a judge, arrayed in moral ermine, as from the bench he sentences his fellow-man, and other vermin, and does his duty to his neighbour, by giving him six months' hard labour. on knotty questions of finance he bears aloft the golden standard, for he whose motto is "advance!" to baser coin has never pandered. no eulogist of war is he, "retrenchment!" is his _dernier cri_. but tho', to his convictions true, with strength like concentrated eno, he did his very utmost to emancipate the filipino, a fickle public chose another, who called the coloured coon his brother. _euclid_ when egypt was a first-class pow'r-- when ptolemy was king, that is, whose benefices used to show'r on all the local charities, and by his liberal subscriptions was always spoiling the egyptians-- the alexandrine school enjoyed a proud and primary position for training scholars not devoid of geometric erudition; where arithmetical fanatics could even _live_ in (mathem)-attics. the best informed historians name this institution the possessor of one who occupied with fame the post of principal professor, who had a more expansive brain than any man--before hall caine. no complex sums of huge amounts perplexed his algebraic knowledge; with ease he balanced the accounts of his (at times insolvent) college; he was, without the least romance, a very blondin of finance. in pencil, on his shirt-cuff, he, without a moment's hesitation, elucidated easily the most elab'rate calculation (his washing got, i needn't mention, the local laundry's best attention). behind a manner mild as mouse, blue-spectacled and inoffensive, he hid a judgment and a _nous_ as overwhelming as extensive, and cloaked a soul immune from wrong beneath an ample ong-bong-pong. to rows of conscientious youths, whom 'twas his duty to take care of, he loved to prove the truth of truths which they already were aware of; they learnt to look politely bored, where modern students would have snored. to show that two and two make four, that all is greater than a portion, requires no dialectic lore, nor any cerebral contortion; the public's faith in facts was steady, before the days of mrs. eddy. but what was hard to overlook (from which society still suffers) was all the trouble euclid took to teach the game of bridge to duffers. insisting, when he got a quorum, on "_pons_" (he called it) "_asinorum_." the guileless methods of his game provoked his partner's strongest strictures; he hardly knew the cards by name, but realised that some had pictures; exhausting ev'rybody's patience by his perpetual revocations. for weary hours, in deep concern, o'er dummy's hand he loved to linger, denoting ev'ry card in turn, with timid indecisive finger; and stopped to say, at each delay, "i really don't know _what_ to play!" he sought, at any cost, to win his ev'ry suit in turn unguarding; he trumped his partner's "best card in," his own egregiously discarding; remarking sadly, when in doubt, "i quite forgot the king was out!" alert opponents always knew, by what the look upon his face was, when safety lay in leading through, and where, of course, the fatal ace was; assuring the complete successes of bold but hazardous "finesses." but nowadays we find no trace, from distant assouan to cairo, to mark the place where dwelt a race mistaught by so absurd a tyro; and nothing but occult inscriptions recall the sports of past egyptians. yes, "_autre temps_" and "_autre moeurs_," "_où sont_ indeed _les neiges d'antan_?" the modern native much prefers debauching in some _café chantant_, nor ever shows the least ambition to solve a single proposition. o euclid, luckiest of men! you knew no english interloper; for allah's garden was not then the pleasure-ground of alleh sloper, nor (broth-like) had your country's looks been spoilt by an excess of "cooks." the nile to your untutored ears discoursed in dull but tender tones; not yours the modern dahabeahs, supplied with strident gramophones, imploring, in a loud refrain, bill bailey to come home again. your cars, the older-fashioned sort, and drawn, perhaps, by alligators, were not the modern juggernaut- child-dog-and-space-obliterators, those "stormy petrols" of the land which deal decease on either hand. no european tourist wags defiled the desert's dusky face with orange peel and paper bags, those emblems of a cultured race; or cut the noble name of jones, on tombs which held a monarch's bones. o euclid! could you see to-day the sunny clime you once frequented, and note the way we moderns play the game you thoughtfully invented, the knowledge of your guilt would force yer to feelings of internal nausea! _j. m. barrie_ the briny tears unbidden start, at mention of my hero's name! was ever set so huge a heart within so small a frame? so much of tenderness and grace confined in such a slender space? (o tiniest of tiny men! so wise, so whimsical, so witty! whose magic little fairy-pen is steeped in human pity; whose humour plays so quaint a tune, from peter pan to pantaloon!) so wide a sympathy has he, such kindliness without an end, that children clamber on his knee, and claim him as a friend; they somehow know he understands, and doesn't mind their sticky hands. and so they swarm about his neck, with energy that nothing wearies, assured that he will never check their ceaseless flow of queries, and grateful, with a warm affection, for his avuncular protection. and when his watch he opens wide, or beats them all at blowing bubbles, they tell him how the dormouse died, and all their tiny troubles; and drag him, if he seems deprest, to see the baby squirrel's nest. for hidden treasure he can dig, pursue the indians in the wood, feed the prolific guinea-pig with inappropriate food; do all the things that mattered so in happy days of long ago. all this he can achieve, and more! for, 'neath the magic of his brain, the young are younger than before, the old grow young again, to dream of beauty and of truth for hearts that win eternal youth. fat apoplectic men i know, with well-developed little marys, look almost human when they show their faith in barrie's fairies; their blank lethargic faces lighten in admiration of his crichton. to lovers who, with fingers cold, attempt to fan some dying ember, he brings the happy days of old, and bids their hearts remember; recalling in romantic fashion the tenderness of earlier passion. and modern matrons who can find so little leisure for the nurs'ry, whose interest in babykind is eminently curs'ry, new views on motherhood acquire from alice-sitting-by-the-fire! while men of every sort and kind, at times of sunshine or of trouble, in sentimental tommy find their own amazing double; to each in turn the mem'ry comes of some belov'd forgotten thrums. to barrie's literary art that strong poetic sense is clinging which hears, in ev'ry human heart, a "late lark" faintly singing, a bird that bears upon its wing the promise of perpetual spring. materialists may labour much at problems for the modern stage; his simpler methods reach and touch the young of ev'ry age; and first and second childhood meet on common ground at barrie's feet! _omar khayyam_ though many a great philosopher has earned the epicure's diploma, not one of them, as i aver, so much deserved the prize as omar; for he, without the least misgiving, combined high thinking and high living. he lived in persia, long ago, upon a somewhat slender pittance; and persia is, as you may know, the home of shahs and fubsy kittens, (a quite consistent _habitat_, since "shah," of course, is french for "cat.") he lived--as i was saying, when you interrupted, impolitely-- not loosely, like his fellow-men, but, _vicê versâ_, rather tightly; and drank his share, so runs the story, and other people's, _con amore_. a great astronomer, no doubt, he often found some constellation which others could not see without profuse internal irrigation; and snakes he saw, and crimson mice, until his colleagues rang for ice. omar, who owned a length of throat as dry as the proverbial "drummer," and quite believed that (let me quote) "one swallow does not make a summer," supplied a model to society of frank, persistent insobriety. * * * * * ah, fill the cup with nectar sweet, until, when indisposed for more, your puzzled, inadhesive feet elude the smooth revolving floor. what matter doubts, despair or sorrow? to-day is yesterday to-morrow! oblivion in the bottle win, let finger-bowls with vodka foam, and seek the open port within some dignified inebriates' home; assuming there, with kingly air, a crown of vine-leaves in your hair! a book of verse (my own, for choice), a slice of cake, some ice-cream soda, a lady with a tuneful voice, beside me in some dim pagoda! a cellar--if i had the key,-- would be a paradise to me! in cosy seat, with lots to eat, and bottles of lafitte to fracture (and, by-the-bye, the word la-feet recalls the mode of manufacture)-- i contemplate, at easy distance, the troublous problems of existence. for even if it could be mine to change creation's partial scheme, to mould it to a fresh design, more nearly that of which i dream, most probably, my weak endeavour would make more mess of it than ever! so let us stock our cellar shelves with balm to lubricate the throttle; for "heav'n helps those who help themselves," so help yourself, and pass the bottle! . . . . . . what! would you quarrel with my moral? (waiter! leshavanotherborrel!) _andrew carnegie_ in caledonia, stern and wild, whence scholars, statesmen, bards have sprung, where ev'ry little barefoot child correctly lisps his mother-tongue, and lingual solecisms betoken that scotch is drunk, as well as spoken, there dwells a man of iron nerve, a millionaire without a peer, possessing that supreme reserve which stamps the caste of vere de vere, and marks him out to human ken as one of nature's noblemen. like other self-made persons, he is surely much to be excused, since they have had no choice, you see, of the material to be used; but when his noiseless fabric grew, he builded better than he knew. a democrat, whose views are frank, to him success alone is vital; he deems the wealthy cabman's "rank" as good as any other title; to him the post of postman betters the trade of other men of letters. the relative who seeks to wed some nice but indigent patrician, he urges to select instead a coachman of assured position, since safety-matches, you'll agree, strike only on the box, says he. at skibo castle, by the sea, a splendid palace he has built, equipped with all the luxury of plush, of looking-glass, and gilt; a style which ruskin much enjoyed, and christened "early german lloyd." with milking-stools and ribbon'd screens the floor is covered, well i know; the walls are thick with tambourines, hand-painted many years ago; ah, how much taste our forbears had! and nearly all of it was bad. each flow'r-embroidered boudoir suite, each "cosy corner" set apart, was modelled in the regent street emporium of suburban art. "o liberty!" (i quote with shame) "the crimes committed in thy name!" but tho' his mansion now contains a swimming-bath, a barrel-organ, electric light, and even drains, as good as those of mr. morgan, there was a time when andrew c. was not obsessed by l. s. d. across the seas he made his pile, in pittsburg, where, i've understood, you have to exercise some guile to do the very slightest good; but he kept doing good by stealth, and doubtless blushed to find it wealth. and now his private hobby 'tis to meet a starving people's need by making gifts of libraries to those who never learnt to read; rich mental banquets he provides for folks with famishing insides. in education's hallowed name he pours his opulent libations; his vast deserted halls of fame increase the gaiety of nations. but still the slums are plague-infested, the hospitals remain congested. . . . . . . carnegie, should your kindly eye this foolish book of verses meet, please order an immense supply, to make your libraries complete, and register its author's name within your princely halls of fame! _king cophetua_ to sing of king cophetua i am indeed unwilling, for none of his adventures are particularly thrilling; nor, as i hardly need to mention, am i addicted to invention. the story of his roving eye, you must already know it, since it has been narrated by lord tennyson, the poet; i could a moving tale unfold, but it has been so often told. but since i wish my friends to see my early education, if tennyson will pardon me a somewhat free translation, i'll try if something can't be sung in someone else's mother-tongue. "cophetua and the beggar maid!" so runs the story's title (an explanation, i'm afraid, is absolutely vital), express'd, as i need hardly mench: in a.m. (or early) french:-- _les bras posés sur la poitrine lui fait l'apparence divine,-- enfin elle a très bonne mine,-- elle arrive, ne portant pas de sabots, ni même de bas, pieds-nus, au roi cophetua._ _le roi lors, couronne sur tête, vêtu de ses robes de fête, va la rencontrer, et l'arrête. on dit, "tiens, il y en a de quoi!" "je ferais ça si c'était moi!" il saits s'amuser donc, ce roi!_ _ainsi qu'la lune brille aux cieux, cette enfant luit de mieux en mieux, quand même ses habits soient vieux. en voilà un qui loue ses yeux, un autre admire ses cheveux, et tout le monde est amoureux._ _car on n'a jamais vu là-bas un charme tel que celui-là alors le bon cophetua jure, "la pauvre mendiante, si séduisante, si charmante, sera ma femme,--ou bien ma tante!"_ _joseph f. smith_ though, to the ordinary mind, the weight of marriage ties is such that many mere, male, mortals find one wife enough,--if not too much; i see no no reason to abuse a person holding other views. though most of us, at any rate, have not acquired the plural habits, which we are apt to delegate to eastern potentates,--or rabbits; we should regard with open mind the more uxoriously inclined. in salt lake city dwells a man who deems monogamy a myth; (one of that too prolific clan which glories in the name of smith); a "prophet, seer, and revelator," with the appearance of a waiter. this hoary patriarch contrives to thrive in manner most bewild'rin', with close on half a dozen wives, and nearly half a hundred children; and views with unaffrighted eyes the burden of domestic ties. to him all spouses seem the same-- each one a model of the graces; he knows his children all by name, but cannot recollect their faces; a minor point, since, i suppose, each one has got its popper's nose! they are denied to me and you: such old-world luxuries as his, when, after work, he hastens to the bosoms of his families (each offspring joining with the others in, "what is home without five mothers?"). such strange surroundings would retard most ordinary men's digestions; five ladies all conversing hard, and fifty children asking questions! besides (the tragic final straw), five se-pa-rate mamas-in-law! what difficulties there must be to find a telescopic mansion; for each successive family the space sufficient for expansion. ("but that," said kipling, in his glory-- "but that is quite another storey!") the sailor who, from lack of thought, or else a too diffuse affection, has, for a wife in ev'ry port, an unappeasing predilection, would designate as "simply great!" the mode of life in utah state. the gay lothario, too, who makes his mad but meaningless advances to more than one fair maid, and takes a large variety of chances, need have no fear, in such a place, of any breach-of-promise case. with mormons of the latter-day i have no slightest cause for quarrel; nor do i doubt at all that they are quite exceptionally moral; their president has told us so, and he, if anyone, should know. but tho' of folks in utah state, but percent lead plural lives, perhaps the other are just--their children and their wives! o stern, ascetic congregation, resisting all--except temptation! well, i, for one, can see no harm, unless for trouble one were looking, in having wives on either arm, and one downstairs--to do the cooking. a touching scene; with nought to dim it. but fifty children!--that's the limit! some middle course would i explore; incur a merely dual bond; one wife, brunette, to scrub the floor, and one for outdoor use, a blonde; thus happily could i exist, a moral mormonogamist! _sherlock holmes_ the french "filou" may raise his "bock," the "green-goods man" his cocktail, when he toast gaboriau's le coq, or pinkerton's discreet young men; but beer in british bumpers foams around the name of sherlock holmes! come, boon companions, all of you who (woodcock-like) exist by suction, uplift your teeming tankards to the great professor of deduction! who is he? you shall shortly see if (watson-like) you "follow me." in london (on the left-hand side as you go in), stands baker street, exhibited with proper pride by all policemen on the beat, as housing one whose predilection is private criminal detection. the malefactor's apt disguise presents to him an easy task; his placid, penetrating eyes can pierce the most secretive mask; and felons ask a deal too much who fancy to elude his clutch. no slender or exiguous clew too paltry for his needs is found; no knot too stubborn to undo, no prey too swift to run to ground; no road too difficult to travel, no skein too tangled to unravel. for holmes the ash of a cigar, a gnat impinging on his eye, possess a meaning subtler far than humbler mortals can descry. a primrose at the river's brim no simple primrose is to him! to holmes a battered brahma key, combined with blurred articulation, displays a man's capacity for infinite ingurgitation; obliquity of moral vision betrays the civic politician. i had an uncle, who possessed a marked resemblance to a bloater, whom sherlock, by deduction, guessed to be the victim of a motor; whereas, his wife (or so he swore) had merely shut him in the door! my brother's nose, whose hectic hue recalled the sun-kissed autumn leaf, though friends attributed it to some secret or domestic grief, revealed to holmes his deep potations, and _not_ the loss of loved relations! i had a poodle, short and fat, who proved a conjugal deceiver; her offspring were a maltese cat, two dachshunds and a pink retriever! her husband was a pure-bred skye; and sherlock holmes alone knew why! when after-dinner speakers rise, to plunge in anecdotage deep, at once will sherlock recognise each welcome harbinger of sleep: that voice which torpid guests entrances, that immemorial voice of chauncey's! not his, suppose hall caine should walk all unannounced into the room, to say, like pressmen of new york, "er--mr. shakespeare, i presoom?" by name "the manxman" holmes would hail, observing that he _had no tale_. in vain, amid the lonely state of zion, dreariest of havens, does bashful dowie emulate the prophet who was fed by ravens; to holmes such affluence betrays a prophet who is fed by _jays_! . . . . . . with holmes there lived a foolish man, to whom i briefly must allude, who gloried in possessing an abnormal mental hebetude; one could describe the grossest _bétise_ to this (forgive the rhyme) achates. 'twas doctor watson, human mole, obtusely, painfully polite; who played the unambitious rôle of parasitic satellite; inevitably bound to bore us, like aristophanes's chorus. . . . . . . but london town is sad to-day, and preternaturally solemn; the fountains murmur "let us spray" to nelson on his lonely column; big ben is mute, her clapper crack'd is, for holmes has given up his practice. no more in silence, as the snake, will he his sinuous path pursue, till, like the weasel (when awake), or deft, resilient kangaroo, he leaps upon his quivering quarry, before there's time to say you're sorry. no more will criminals, at dawn, effecting some burglarious entry, (while sherlock, on the garden lawn, enacts the thankless rôle of sentry), discover, to their bitter cost, that felons who are found--are lost! no more on holmes shall watson base the chronicles he proudly fabled; the violin and morphia-case are in the passage, packed and labelled; and holmes himself is at the door, departing--to return no more. he bids farewell to baker street, though watson clings about his knees; he hastens to his country seat, to spend his dotage keeping bees; and one of them, depend upon it, shall find a haven in his bonnet! but though in grief our heads are bowed, and tears upon our cheeks are shining, we recognise that ev'ry cloud conceals somewhere a silver lining; and hear with deep congratulation of watson's timely termination. _aftword_ ye critics, who with bilious eye peruse my incoherent medley, prepared to let your arrows fly, with cruel aim and purpose deadly, desist a moment, ere you spoil the harvest of a twelvemonth's toil! remember, should you scent afar the crusted jokes of days gone by, what conscious plagiarists we are: molière and seymour hicks and i, for, as my bearded chestnuts prove, _je prends mon bien où je le trouve!_ my wealth of wit i never waste on chestertonian paradox; my humour, in the best of taste, like miss corelli's, never shocks; for sacred things my rev'rent awe resembles that of bernard shaw. behold how tenderly i treat each victim of my pen and brain, and should i tread upon his feet, how lightly i leap off again; observe with what an airy grace i fling my inkpot in his face! and those who seek at christmas time, an inexpensive gift for mother, will fine this foolish book of rhyme as apposite as any other, and suitable for presentation to any poor or near relation. to those whose intellect is small, this work should prove a priceless treasure; to persons who have none at all, a never-ending fount of pleasure; a mental stimulus or tonic to all whose idiocy is chronic. and you, my readers (never mind which category you come under), will, after due reflection, find my verse a constant source of wonder; 'twill make you _think_, i dare to swear-- but _what_ you think i do not care! none from the michigan state university online digital collection http://digital.lib.msu.edu/onlinecolls/collection.cfm?cid= fables for the frivolous _(with apologies to la fontaine)_ by guy wetmore carryl with illustrations by peter newell fables for the frivolous to my father note: i have pleasure in acknowledging the courteous permission the editors to reprint in this form such of the following fables were originally published in harper's periodicals, in _life_, and _munsey's magazine_. g. w. c. contents the ambitious fox and the unapproachable grapes the persevering tortoise and the pretentious hare the patrician peacocks and the overweening jay the arrogant frog and the superior bull the domineering eagle and the inventive bratling the iconoclastic rustic and the apropos acorn the unusual goose and the imbecilic woodcutter the rude rat and the unostentatious oyster the urban rat and the suburban rat the impecunious cricket and the frugal ant the pampered lapdog and the misguided ass the vainglorious oak and the modest bulrush the inhuman wolf and the lamb sans gene the sycophantic fox and the gullible raven the microscopic trout and the machiavelian fisherman the confiding peasant and the maladroit bear the precipitate cock and the unappreciated pearl the abbreviated fox and his sceptical comrades the hospitable caledonian and the thankless viper the impetuous breeze and the diplomatic sun illustrations "the fox retreated out of range" "he strove to grow rotunder" "an acorn fell abruptly" "said she, 'get up, you brute you!'" "'_j'admire_,' said he, '_ton beau plumage'_" "and so a weighty rock she aimed" the ambitious fox and the unapproachable grapes a farmer built around his crop a wall, and crowned his labors by placing glass upon the top to lacerate his neighbors, provided they at any time should feel disposed the wall to climb. he also drove some iron pegs securely in the coping, to tear the bare, defenceless legs of brats who, upward groping, might steal, despite the risk of fall, the grapes that grew upon the wall. one day a fox, on thieving bent, a crafty and an old one, most shrewdly tracked the pungent scent that eloquently told one that grapes were ripe and grapes were good and likewise in the neighborhood. he threw some stones of divers shapes the luscious fruit to jar off: it made him ill to see the grapes so near and yet so far off. his throws were strong, his aim was fine, but "never touched me!" said the vine. the farmer shouted, "drat the boys!" and, mounting on a ladder, he sought the cause of all the noise; no farmer could be madder, which was not hard to understand because the glass had cut his hand. his passion he could not restrain, but shouted out, "you're thievish!" the fox replied, with fine disdain, "come, country, don't be peevish." (now "country" is an epithet one can't forgive, nor yet forget.) the farmer rudely answered back with compliments unvarnished, and downward hurled the _bric-a-brac_ with which the wall was garnished, in view of which demeanor strange, the fox retreated out of range. "i will not try the grapes to-day," he said. "my appetite is fastidious, and, anyway, i fear appendicitis." (the fox was one of the _elite_ who call it _site_ instead of _seet_.) the moral is that if your host throws glass around his entry you know it isn't done by most who claim to be the gentry, while if he hits you in the head you may be sure he's underbred. the persevering tortoise and the pretentious hare once a turtle, finding plenty in seclusion to bewitch, lived a _dolce far niente_ kind of life within a ditch; rivers had no charm for him, as he told his wife and daughter, "though my friends are in the swim, mud is thicker far than water." one fine day, as was his habit, he was dozing in the sun, when a young and flippant rabbit happened by the ditch to run: "come and race me," he exclaimed, "fat inhabitant of puddles. sluggard! you should be ashamed. such a life the brain befuddles." this, of course, was banter merely, but it stirred the torpid blood of the turtle, and severely forth he issued from the mud. "done!" he cried. the race began, but the hare resumed his banter, seeing how his rival ran in a most unlovely canter. shouting, "terrapin, you're bested! you'd be wiser, dear old chap, if you sat you down and rested when you reach the second lap." quoth the turtle, "i refuse. as for you, with all your talking, sit on any lap you choose. _i_ shall simply go on walking." now this sporting proposition was, upon its face, absurd; yet the hare, with expedition, took the tortoise at his word, ran until the final lap, then, supposing he'd outclassed him, laid him down and took a nap and the patient turtle passed him! plodding on, he shortly made the line that marked the victor's goal; paused, and found he'd won, and laid the flattering unction to his soul. then in fashion grandiose, like an after-dinner speaker, touched his flipper to his nose, and remarked, "ahem! eureka!" and the moral (lest you miss one) is: there's often time to spare, and that races are (like this one) won not always by a hair. the patrician peacocks and the overweening jay once a flock of stately peacocks promenaded on a green, there were twenty-two or three cocks, each as proud as seventeen, and a glance, however hasty, showed their plumage to be tasty; wheresoever one was placed, he was a credit to the scene. now their owner had a daughter who, when people came to call, used to say, "you'd reelly oughter see them peacocks on the mall." now this wasn't to her credit, and her callers came to dread it, for the way the lady said it wasn't _recherche_ at all. but a jay that overheard it from his perch upon a fir didn't take in how absurd it was to every one but her; when they answered, "you don't tell us!" and to see the birds seemed zealous he became extremely jealous, wishing, too, to make a stir. as the peacocks fed together he would join them at their lunch, culling here and there a feather till he'd gathered quite a bunch; then this bird, of ways perfidious, stuck them on him most fastidious till he looked uncommon hideous, like a judy or a punch. but the peacocks, when they saw him, one and all began to haul, and to harry and to claw him till the creature couldn't crawl; while their owner's vulgar daughter, when her startled callers sought her, and to see the struggle brought her, only said, "they're on the maul." it was really quite revolting when the tumult died away, one would think he had been moulting so dishevelled was the jay; he was more than merely slighted, he was more than disunited, he'd been simply dynamited in the fervor of the fray. and the moral of the verses is: that short men can't be tall. nothing sillier or worse is than a jay upon a mall. and the jay opiniative who, because he's imitative, thinks he's highly decorative is the biggest jay of all. the arrogant frog and the superior bull once, on a time and in a place conducive to malaria, there lived a member of the race of _rana temporaria_; or, more concisely still, a frog inhabited a certain bog. a bull of brobdingnagian size, too proud for condescension, one morning chanced to cast his eyes upon the frog i mention; and, being to the manner born, surveyed him with a lofty scorn. perceiving this, the bactrian's frame with anger was inflated, till, growing larger, he became egregiously elated; for inspiration's sudden spell had pointed out a way to swell. "ha! ha!" he proudly cried, "a fig for this, your mammoth torso! just watch me while i grow as big as you--or even more so!" to which magniloquential gush his bullship simply answered "tush!" alas! the frog's success was slight, which really was a wonder, in view of how with main and might he strove to grow rotunder! and, standing patiently the while, the bull displayed a quiet smile. [illustration: "he strove to grow rotunder"] but ah, the frog tried once too oft and, doing so, he busted; whereat the bull discreetly coughed and moved away, disgusted, as well he might, considering the wretched taste that marked the thing. the moral: everybody knows how ill a wind it is that blows. the domineering eagle and the inventive bratling o'er a small suburban borough once an eagle used to fly, making observations thorough from his station in the sky, and presenting the appearance of an animated v, like the gulls that lend coherence unto paintings of the sea. looking downward at a church in this attractive little shire, he beheld a smallish urchin shooting arrows at the spire; in a spirit of derision, "look alive!" the eagle said; and, with infinite precision, dropped a feather on his head. then the boy, annoyed distinctly by the freedom of the bird, voiced his anger quite succinctly in a single scathing word; and he sat him on a barrow, and he fashioned of this same eagle's feather such an arrow as was worthy of the name. then he tried his bow, and, stringing it with caution and with care, sent that arrow singing, winging towards the eagle in the air. straight it went, without an error, and the target, bathed in blood, lurched, and lunged, and fell to _terra firma_, landing with a thud. "bird of freedom," quoth the urchin, with an unrelenting frown, "you shall decorate a perch in the menagerie in town; but of feathers quite a cluster i shall first remove for ma: thanks to you, she'll have a duster for her precious _objets d'art_." and the moral is that pride is the precursor of a fall. those beneath you to deride is not expedient at all. howsoever meek and humble your inferiors may be, they perchance may make you tumble, so respect them. q. e. d. the iconoclastic rustic and the apropos acorn reposing 'neath some spreading trees, a populistic bumpkin amused himself by offering these reflections on a pumpkin: "i would not, if the choice were mine, grow things like that upon a vine, for how imposing it would be if pumpkins grew upon a tree." like other populists, you'll note, of views enthusiastic, he'd learned by heart, and said by rote a creed iconoclastic; and in his dim, uncertain sight whatever wasn't must be right, from which it follows he had strong convictions that what was, was wrong. as thus he sat beneath an oak an acorn fell abruptly and smote his nose: whereat he spoke of acorns most corruptly. "great scott!" he cried. "the dickens!" too, and other authors whom he knew, and having duly mentioned those, he expeditiously arose. then, though with pain he nearly swooned, he bathed his organ nasal with arnica, and soothed the wound with extract of witch hazel; and surely we may well excuse the victim if he changed his views: "if pumpkins fell from trees like that," he murmured, "where would i be at?" of course it's wholly clear to you that when these words he uttered he proved conclusively he knew which side his bread was buttered; and, if this point you have not missed, you'll learn to love this populist, the only one of all his kind with sense enough to change his mind. the moral: in the early spring a pumpkin-tree would be a thing most gratifying to us all, but how about the early fall? the unusual goose and the imbecilic woodcutter a woodcutter bought him a gander, or at least that was what he supposed, as a matter of fact, 'twas a slander as a later occurrence disclosed; for they locked the bird up in the garret to fatten, the while it grew old, and it laid there a twenty-two carat fine egg of the purest of gold! there was much unaffected rejoicing in the home of the woodcutter then, and his wife, her exuberance voicing, proclaimed him most lucky of men. "'tis an omen of fortune, this gold egg," she said, "and of practical use, for this fowl doesn't lay any old egg, she's a highly superior goose." twas this creature's habitual custom, this laying of superfine eggs, and they made it their practice to dust 'em and pack them by dozens in kegs: but the woodcutter's mind being vapid and his foolishness more than profuse, in order to get them more rapid he slaughtered the innocent goose. he made her a gruel of acid which she very obligingly ate, and at once with a touchingly placid demeanor succumbed to her fate. with affection that passed the platonic they buried her under the moss, and her epitaph wasn't ironic in stating, "we mourn for our loss." and the moral: it isn't much use, as the woodcutter found to be true, to lay for an innocent goose just because she is laying for you. the rude rat and the unostentatious oyster upon the shore, a mile or more from traffic and confusion, an oyster dwelt, because he felt a longing for seclusion; said he: "i love the stillness of this spot. it's like a cloister." (these words i quote because, you note, they rhyme so well with oyster.) a prying rat, believing that she needed change of diet, in search of such disturbed this much- to-be-desired quiet. to say the least, this tactless beast was apt to rudely roister: she tapped his shell, and called him--well, a name that hurt the oyster. "i see," she cried, "you're open wide, and, searching for a reason, september's here, and so it's clear that oysters are in season." she smiled a smile that showed this style of badinage rejoiced her, advanced a pace with easy grace, and _sniffed_ the silent oyster. the latter's pride was sorely tried, he thought of what he _could _say, reflected what the common lot of vulgar molluscs _would_ say; then caught his breath, grew pale as death, and, as his brow turned moister, began to close, and nipped her nose! superb, dramatic oyster! we note with joy that oi polloi, whom maidens bite the thumb at, are apt to try some weak reply to things they should be dumb at. the moral, then, for crafty men is: when a maid has voiced her contemptuous heart, don't think you're smart, but shut up--like the oyster. the urban rat and the suburban rat a metropolitan rat invited his country cousin in town to dine: the country cousin replied, "delighted." and signed himself, "sincerely thine." the town rat treated the country cousin to half a dozen kinds of wine. he served him terrapin, kidneys devilled, and roasted partridge, and candied fruit; in little neck clams at first they revelled, and then in pommery, _sec_ and _brut_; the country cousin exclaimed: "such feeding proclaims your breeding beyond dispute!" but just as, another bottle broaching, they came to chicken _en casserole_ a ravenous cat was heard approaching, and, passing his guest a finger-bowl, the town rat murmured, "the feast is ended." and then descended the nearest hole. his cousin followed him, helter-skelter, and, pausing beneath the pantry floor, he glanced around at their dusty shelter and muttered, "this is a beastly bore. my place as an epicure resigning, i'll try this dining in town no more. "you must dine some night at my rustic cottage; i'll warn you now that it's simple fare: a radish or two, a bowl of pottage, and the wine that's known as _ordinaire_, but for holes i haven't to make a bee-line, no prowling feline molests me there. "you smile at the lot of a mere commuter, you think that my life is hard, mayhap, but i'm sure than you i am far acuter: i ain't afraid of no cat nor trap." the city rat could but meekly stammer, "don't use such grammar, my worthy chap." he dined next night with his poor relation, and caught dyspepsia, and lost his train, he waited an hour in the lonely station, and said some things that were quite profane. "i'll never," he cried, in tones complaining, "try entertaining that rat again." it's easy to make a memorandum about the moral these verses teach: _de gustibus non est disputandum;_ the meaning of which etruscan speech is wheresoever you're hunger quelling pray keep your dwelling in easy reach. the impecunious cricket and the frugal ant there was an ant, a spinster ant, whose virtues were so many that she became intolerant of those who hadn't any: she had a small and frugal mind and lived a life ascetic, nor was her temperament the kind that's known as sympathetic. i skip details. suffice to say that, knocking at her wicket, there chanced to come one autumn day a common garden cricket so ragged, poor, and needy that, without elucidation, one saw the symptoms of a bat of several months' duration. he paused beside her door-step, and, with one pathetic gesture, he called attention with his hand to both his shoes and vesture. "i joined," said he, "an opera troupe. they suddenly disbanded, and left me on the hostel stoop, lugubriously stranded. "i therefore lay aside my pride and frankly ask for clothing." "begone!" the frugal ant replied. "i look on you with loathing. your muddy shoes have spoiled the lawn, your hands have soiled the fence, too. if you need money, go and pawn your watch--if you have sense to." the moral is: albeit lots of people follow dr. watts, the sluggard, when his means are scant, should seek an uncle, not an ant! the pampered lapdog and the misguided ass a woolly little terrier pup gave vent to yelps distressing, whereat his mistress took him up and soothed him with caressing, and yet he was not in the least what one would call a handsome beast. he might have been a javanese, he might have been a jap dog, and also neither one of these, but just a common lapdog, the kind that people send, you know, done up in cotton, to the show. at all events, whate'er his race, the pretty girl who owned him caressed his unattractive face and petted and cologned him, while, watching her with mournful eye, a patient ass stood silent by. "if thus," he mused, "the feminine and fascinating gender is led to love, i, too, can win her protestations tender." and then the poor, misguided chap sat down upon the lady's lap. then, as her head with terror swam, "this method seems to suit you," observed the ass, "so here i am." said she, "get up, you brute you!" and promptly screamed aloud for aid: no ass was ever more dismayed. [illustration: "said she, 'get up, you brute you!'"] they took the ass into the yard and there, with whip and truncheon, they beat him, and they beat him hard, from breakfast-time till luncheon. he only gave a tearful gulp, though almost pounded to a pulp. the moral is (or seems, at least, to be): in etiquette you will find that while enough's a feast a surplus will upset you. _toujours, toujours la politesse_, if the quantity be not excessive. the vainglorious oak and the modest bulrush a bulrush stood on a river's rim, and an oak that grew near by looked down with cold _hauteur_ on him, and addressed him this way: "hi!" the rush was a proud patrician, and he retorted, "don't you know, what the veriest boor should understand, that 'hi' is low?" this cutting rebuke the oak ignored. he returned, "my slender friend, i will frankly state that i'm somewhat bored with the way you bow and bend." "but you quite forget," the rush replied, "it's an art these bows to do, an art i wouldn't attempt if i'd such boughs as you." "of course," said the oak, "in my sapling days my habit it was to bow, but the wildest storm that the winds could raise would never disturb me now. i challenge the breeze to make me bend, and the blast to make me sway." the shrewd little bulrush answered, "friend, don't get so gay." and the words had barely left his mouth when he saw the oak turn pale, for, racing along south-east-by-south, came ripping a raging gale. and the rush bent low as the storm went past, but stiffly stood the oak, though not for long, for he found the blast no idle joke. * * * * * * * * imagine the lightning's gleaming bars, imagine the thunder's roar, for that is exactly what eight stars are set in a row here for! the oak lay prone when the storm was done, while the rush, still quite erect, remarked aside, "what under the sun could one expect?" and the moral, i'd have you understand, would have made la fontaine blush, for it's this: some storms come early, and avoid the rush! the inhuman wolf and the lamb sans gene a gaunt and relentless wolf, possessed of a quite insatiable thirst, once paused at a stream to drink and rest, and found that, bound on a similar quest, a lamb had arrived there first. the lamb was a lamb of a garrulous mind and frivolity most extreme: in the fashion common to all his kind, he cantered in front and galloped behind. and troubled the limpid stream. "my friend," said the wolf, with a winsome air, "your capers i can't admire." "go to!" quoth the lamb. (though he said not where, he showed what he meant by his brazen stare and the way that he gambolled higher.) "my capers," he cried, "are the kind that are invariably served with lamb. remember, this is a public bar, and i'll do as i please. if your drink i mar, i don't give a tinker's ----." he paused and glanced at the rivulet, and that pause than speech was worse, for his roving eye a saw-mill met, and, near it, the word which should be set at the end of the previous verse. said the wolf: "you are tough and may bring remorse, but of such is the world well rid. i've swallowed your capers, i've swallowed your sauce, and it's plain to be seen that my only course is swallowing you." he did. the moral: the wisest lambs they are who, when they're assailed by thirst, keep well away from a public bar; for of all black sheep, or near, or far, the public bar-lamb's worst! the sycophantic fox and the gullible raven a raven sat upon a tree, and not a word he spoke, for his beak contained a piece of brie, or, maybe, it was roquefort: we'll make it any kind you please-- at all events, it was a cheese. beneath the tree's umbrageous limb a hungry fox sat smiling; he saw the raven watching him, and spoke in words beguiling. "_j'admire_," said he, "_ton beau plumage_." (the which was simply persiflage.) two things there are, no doubt you know, to which a fox is used: a rooster that is bound to crow, a crow that's bound to roost, and whichsoever he espies he tells the most unblushing lies. "sweet fowl," he said, "i understand you're more than merely natty, i hear you sing to beat the band and adelina patti. pray render with your liquid tongue a bit from 'gotterdammerung.'" this subtle speech was aimed to please the crow, and it succeeded: he thought no bird in all the trees could sing as well as he did. in flattery completely doused, he gave the "jewel song" from "faust." [illustration: "'_j'admire_,' said he, '_ton beau plumage_'"] but gravitation's law, of course, as isaac newton showed it, exerted on the cheese its force, and elsewhere soon bestowed it. in fact, there is no need to tell what happened when to earth it fell. i blush to add that when the bird took in the situation he said one brief, emphatic word, unfit for publication. the fox was greatly startled, but he only sighed and answered "tut." the moral is: a fox is bound to be a shameless sinner. and also: when the cheese comes round you know it's after dinner. but (what is only known to few) the fox is after dinner, too. the microscopic trout and the machiavelian fisherman a fisher was casting his flies in a brook, according to laws of such sciences, with a patented reel and a patented hook and a number of other appliances; and the thirty-fifth cast, which he vowed was the last (it was figured as close as a decimal), brought suddenly out of the water a trout of measurements infinitesimal. this fish had a way that would win him a place in the best and most polished society, and he looked at the fisherman full in the face with a visible air of anxiety: he murmered "alas!" from his place in the grass, and then, when he'd twisted and wriggled, he remarked in a pet that his heart was upset and digestion all higgledy-piggledy. "i request," he observed, "to be instantly flung once again in the pool i've been living in." the fisherman said, "you will tire out your tongue. do you see any signs of my giving in? put you back in the pool? why, you fatuous fool, i have eaten much smaller and thinner fish. you're not salmon or sole, but i think, on the whole, you're a fairly respectable dinner-fish." the fisherman's cook tried her hand on the trout and with various herbs she embellished him; he was lovely to see, and there isn't a doubt that the fisherman's family relished him, and, to prove that they did, both his wife and his kid devoured the trout with much eagerness, avowing no dish could compare with that fish, notwithstanding his singular meagreness. and the moral, you'll find, is although it is kind to grant favors that people are wishing for, still a dinner you'll lack if you chance to throw back in the pool little trout that you're fishing for; if their pleading you spurn you will certainly learn that herbs will deliciously vary 'em: it is needless to state that a trout on a plate beats several in the aquarium. the confiding peasant and the maladroit bear a peasant had a docile bear, a bear of manners pleasant, and all the love she had to spare she lavished on the peasant: she proved her deep affection plainly (the method was a bit ungainly). the peasant had to dig and delve, and, as his class are apt to, when all the whistles blew at twelve he ate his lunch, and napped, too, the bear a careful outlook keeping the while her master lay a-sleeping. as thus the peasant slept one day, the weather being torrid, a gnat beheld him where he lay and lit upon his forehead, and thence, like all such winged creatures, proceeded over all his features. the watchful bear, perceiving that the gnat lit on her master, resolved to light upon the gnat and plunge him in disaster; she saw no sense in being lenient when stones lay round her, most convenient. and so a weighty rock she aimed with much enthusiasm: "oh, lor'!" the startled gnat exclaimed, and promptly had a spasm: a natural proceeding this was, considering how close the miss was. [illustration: and so a weighty rock she aimed] now by his dumb companion's pluck, which caused the gnat to squall so, the sleeping man was greatly struck (and by the bowlder, also). in fact, his friends who idolized him remarked they hardly recognized him. of course the bear was greatly grieved, but, being just a dumb thing, she only thought: "i was deceived, but still, i did hit _something!_" which showed this masculine achievement had somewhat soothed her deep bereavement. the moral: if you prize your bones beware of females throwing stones. the precipitate cock and the unappreciated pearl a rooster once pursued a worm that lingered not to brave him, to see his wretched victim squirm a pleasant thrill it gave him; he summoned all his kith and kin, they hastened up by legions, with quaint, expressive gurgles in their oesophageal regions. just then a kind of glimmering attracting his attention, the worm became too small a thing for more than passing mention: the throng of hungry hens and rude he skilfully evaded. said he, "i' faith, if this be food, i saw the prize ere they did." it was a large and costly pearl, belonging in a necklace, and dropped by some neglectful girl: some people are so reckless! the cock assumed an air forlorn, and cried, "it's really cruel. i thought it was a grain of corn: it's nothing but a jewel." he turned again to where his clan in one astounding tangle with eager haste together ran to slay the helpless angle, and sighed, "he was of massive size. i should have used discretion. too late! around the toothsome prize a bargain-sale's in session." the worm's remarks upon his plight have never been recorded, but any one may know how slight diversion it afforded; for worms and human beings are unanimous that, when pecked, to be the prey of men they far prefer to being hen-pecked. the moral: when your dinner comes don't leave it for your neighbors, because you hear the sound of drums and see the gleam of sabres; or, like the cock, you'll find too late that ornaments external do not for certain indicate a bona fide kernel. the abbreviated fox and his sceptical comrades a certain fox had a grecian nose and a beautiful tail. his friends were wont to say in a jesting way a divinity shaped his ends. the fact is sad, but his foxship had a fault we should all eschew: he was so deceived that he quite believed what he heard from friends was true. one day he found in a sheltered spot a trap with stalwart springs that was cunningly planned to supply the demand for some of those tippet things. the fox drew nigh, and resolved to try the way that the trap was set: (when the trap was through with this interview there was one less tippet to get!) the fox returned to his doting friends and said, with an awkward smile, "my tail i know was _comme il faut_, and served me well for a while." when his comrades laughed at his shortage aft he added, with scornful bow, "pray check your mirth, for i hear from worth they're wearing them shorter now." but one of his friends, a bookish chap, replied, with a thoughtful frown, "you know to-day the publishers say that the short tale won't go down; and, upon my soul, i think on the whole, that the publishers' words are true. i should hate, good sir, to part my fur in the middle, as done by you." and another added these truthful words in the midst of the eager hush, "we can part our hair 'most anywhere so long as we keep the brush." the moral is this: it is never amiss to treasure the things you've penned: preserve your tales, for, when all else fails, they'll be useful things--in the end. the hospitable caledonian and the thankless viper a caledonian piper who was walking on the wold nearly stepped upon a viper rendered torpid by the cold; by the sight of her admonished, he forbore to plant his boot, but he showed he was astonished by the way he muttered "hoot!" now this simple-minded piper such a kindly nature had that he lifted up the viper and bestowed her in his plaid. "though the scot is stern, at least he no unhappy creature spurns, 'sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,'" quoth the piper (quoting burns). this was unaffected kindness, but there was, to state the fact, just a slight _soupcon_ of blindness in his charitable act. if you'd watched the piper, shortly you'd have seen him leap aloft, as this snake, of ways uncourtly, bit him suddenly and oft. there was really no excuse for this, the viper's cruel work, and the piper found a use for words he'd never learned at kirk; but the biting was so thorough that although the doctors tried, not the best in edinburgh could assist him, and he died. and the moral is: the piper of the matter made a botch; one can hardly blame the viper if she took a nip of scotch, for she only did what he did, and _his_ nippie wasn't small, otherwise, you see, he needed not have seen the snake at all. the impetuous breeze and the diplomatic sun a boston man an ulster had, an ulster with a cape that fluttered: it smacked his face, and made him mad, and polyglot remarks he uttered: "i bought it at a bargain," said he, "i'm tired of the thing already." the wind that chanced to blow that day was easterly, and rather strong, too: it loved to see the galling way that clothes vex those whom they belong to: "now watch me," cried this spell of weather, "i'll rid him of it altogether." it whirled the man across the street, it banged him up against a railing, it twined the ulster round his feet, but all of this was unavailing: for not without resource it found him: he drew the ulster closer round him. "my word!" the man was heard to say, "although i like not such abuse, it's not strange the wind is strong to-day, it always is in massachusetts. such weather threatens much the health of inhabitants this commonwealth of." the sun, emerging from a rift between the clouds, observed the victim, and how the wind beset and biffed, belabored, buffeted, and kicked him. said he, "this wind is doubtless new here: 'tis quite the freshest ever blew here." and then he put forth all his strength, his warmth with might and main exerted, till upward in its tube at length the mercury most nimbly spurted. phenomenal the curious sight was, so swift the rise in fahrenheit was. the man supposed himself at first the prey of some new mode of smelting: his pulses were about to burst, his every limb seemed slowly melting, and, as the heat began to numb him, he cast the ulster wildly from him. "impulsive breeze, the use of force," observed the sun, "a foolish act is, perceiving which, you see, of course. how highly efficacious tact is." the wondering wind replied, "good gracious! you're right about the efficacious." the moral deals, as morals do, with tact, and all its virtues boasted, but still i can't forget, can you, that wretched man, first chilled, then roasted? bronchitis seized him shortly after, and that's no cause for vulgar laughter. the end