summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/23972.txt
diff options
context:
space:
mode:
Diffstat (limited to '23972.txt')
-rw-r--r--23972.txt43927
1 files changed, 43927 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/23972.txt b/23972.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3bec6a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/23972.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,43927 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Book of Humorous Verse, by Various,
+Edited by Carolyn Wells
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Book of Humorous Verse
+
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Carolyn Wells
+
+Release Date: December 22, 2007 [eBook #23972]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF HUMOROUS VERSE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Hilary Caws-Elwitt, Huub Bakker, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+ Some text styles have been preserved in this text by enclosing
+ between special characters. Italics uses _underlines_ and small
+ caps uses |pipes|. Font sizes are not preserved.
+
+ The oe-ligature is represented by "[oe]".
+
+
+
+
+
+THE BOOK OF HUMOROUS VERSE
+
+Compiled by
+
+CAROLYN WELLS
+
+|Author of| "|Such Nonsense|,"
+"|The Whimsey Anthology|,"
+|etc.|, |etc.|
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+New York
+George H. Doran Company
+
+Printed in the United States of America
+
+
+
+
+ TO
+ ROBERT CHAPMAN SPRAGUE
+
+
+
+
+ INTRODUCTION
+
+
+A hope of immortality and a sense of humor distinguish man from the
+beasts of the field.
+
+A single exception may be made, perhaps, of the Laughing Hyena, and, on
+the other hand, not every one of the human race possesses the power of
+laughter. For those who do, this volume is intended.
+
+And since there can be nothing humorous about an introduction, there
+can be small need of a lengthy one.
+
+Merely a few explanations of conditions which may be censured by
+captious critics.
+
+First, the limitations of space had to be recognized. Hence, the book
+is a compilation, not a collection. It is representative, but not
+exhaustive. My ambition was toward a volume to which everyone could go,
+with a surety of finding any one of his favorite humorous poems between
+these covers. But no covers of one book could insure that, so I
+reluctantly gave up the dream for a reality which I trust will make it
+possible for a majority of seekers to find their favorites here.
+
+The compiler's course is a difficult one. The Scylla of Popularity
+lures him on the one hand, while the Charybdis of the Classical charms
+him on the other. He has nothing to steer by but his own good taste,
+and good taste, alack, is greatly a matter of opinion.
+
+And no opinion seemeth good unto an honest compiler, save his own.
+Wherefore, the choice of these selections, like kissing, went by favor.
+As to the arrangement of them, every compiler will tell you that
+Classification is Vexation. And why not? When many a poem may be both
+Parody and Satire,--both Romance and Cynicism. Wherefore, the compiler
+sorted with loving care the selections here presented striving to do
+justice to the verses themselves, and taking a chance on the tolerant
+good nature of the reader.
+
+For,
+
+ "A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
+ Of him that hears it.
+ Never in the tongue
+ Of him that makes it."
+
+Which made me all the more careful to do my authors justice, leaving
+the prosperity of the jests to the hearers.
+
+|Carolyn Wells.|
+
+
+
+
+ ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
+
+
+The compiler is indebted to the publisher or author, as noted below,
+for the use of copyright material included in this volume. Special
+arrangements have been made with the authorized publishers of those
+American poets, whose works in whole or in part have lapsed copyright.
+All rights of these poems have been reserved by the authorized
+publisher, author or holder of the copyright as indicated in the
+following:
+
+Little, Brown & Company: For selections from the Poems and Limericks of
+Edward Lear.
+
+The Macmillan Company: For selections from the Poems of Lewis Carroll
+and Verses from "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" and "Through the
+Looking Glass."
+
+Harr Wagner Publishing Company: For permission to reprint from "The
+Complete Poems" of Joaquin Miller "That Gentle Man From Boston Town,"
+"That Texan Cattle Man," "William Brown of Oregon."
+
+Frederick A. Stokes Company: "Bessie Brown, M.D." and "A Kiss in the
+Rain," by Samuel Minturn Peck.
+
+Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company: For the inclusion of the following
+Poems by Sam Walter Foss: "The Meeting of the Clabberhuses," "A
+Philosopher" and "The Prayer of Cyrus Brown" from "Dreams in Homespun,"
+copyright, 1897. "Then Agin--" and "Husband and Heathen," from "Back
+Country Poems," copyright, 1894. "The Ideal Husband to His Wife," from
+"Whiffs from Wild Meadows," copyright, 1895.
+
+Forbes & Company: "How Often?" "If I Should Die To-night," and "The
+Pessimist," by Ben King.
+
+The Century Company: For permission to reprint from _St. Nicholas
+Magazine_ the following poems by Ruth McEnery Stuart: "The Endless
+Song" and "The Hen-Roost Man"; and by Tudor Jenks: "An Old Bachelor";
+and by Mary Mapes Dodge: "Home and Mother," "Life in Laconics," "Over
+the Way" and "The Zealless Xylographer."
+
+Thomas L. Masson: For permission to reprint "The Kiss" from "Life."
+
+E. P. Button & Company: "The Converted Cannibals" and "The Retired
+Pork-Butcher and the Spook," by G. E. Farrow.
+
+Houghton Mifflin Company: With their permission and by special
+arrangement, as authorized publishers of the following authors' works,
+are used: Selections from Nora Perry, John Townsend Trowbridge, Charles
+E. Carryl, Oliver Wendell Holmes, John Greenleaf Whittier, Ralph Waldo
+Emerson, Bret Harte, James Thomas Fields, John G. Saxe, James Russell
+Lowell and Bayard Taylor.
+
+A. P. Watt & Son and Doubleday, Page & Company: For their permission to
+use "Divided Destinies," "Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink," and
+"Commonplaces," by Rudyard Kipling.
+
+G. P. Putnam's Sons: Selections from the Poems of Eugene Fitch Ware and
+"The Wreck of the 'Julie Plante,'" by William Henry Drummond.
+
+Henry Holt & Company: Two Parodies from "----and Other Poets," by Louis
+Untermeyer.
+
+Dodd, Mead & Company: "The Constant Cannibal Maiden," "Blow Me Eyes"
+and "A Grain of Salt," by Wallace Irwin.
+
+John Lane Company: For Poems by Owen Seaman, Anthony C. Deane and G. K.
+Chesterton.
+
+The Smart Set: "Dighton is Engaged," and "Kitty Wants to Write," by
+Gelett Burgess.
+
+Small, Maynard & Company: For selections from Holman F. Day, Richard
+Hovey and Clinton Scollard.
+
+The Bobbs-Merrill Company: For special permission to reprint from the
+Biographical Edition of the Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley
+(copyright, 1913) the following Poems: "Little Orphant Annie," "The
+Lugubrious Whing-Whang," "The Man in the Moon," "The Old Man and Jim,"
+"Prior to Miss Belle's Appearance," "Spirk Throll-Derisive," "When the
+Frost is on the Punkin."
+
+The Bobbs-Merrill Company: For permission to use the following Poems by
+Robert J. Burdette, from "Smiles Yoked with Sighs" (copyright, 1900),
+"Orphan Born," "The Romance of the Carpet," "Soldier, Rest!", "Songs
+without Words," "What Will We Do?".
+
+Charles Scribner's Sons: For permission to use "The Dinkey-Bird,"
+"Dutch Lullaby," "The Little Peach," "The Truth About Horace," by
+Eugene Field.
+
+
+
+
+ CONTENTS
+
+
+ I: BANTER
+ PAGE
+The Played-Out Humorist _W. S. Gilbert_ 25
+The Practical Joker _W. S. Gilbert_ 26
+To Ph[oe]be _W. S. Gilbert_ 28
+Malbrouck _Father Prout_ 29
+Mark Twain: A Pipe Dream _Oliver Herford_ 30
+From a Full Heart _A. A. Milne_ 31
+The Ultimate Joy _Unknown_ 32
+Old Fashioned Fun _W. M. Thackeray_ 33
+When Moonlike Ore the Hazure Seas _W. M. Thackeray_ 34
+When the Frost is on the Punkin _James Whitcomb Riley_ 34
+Two Men _Edwin Arlington Robinson_ 35
+A Familiar Letter to Several
+ Correspondents _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 36
+The Height of the Ridiculous _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 38
+Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe _H. C. Bunner_ 40
+A Rondelay _Peter A. Motteux_ 41
+Winter Dusk _R. K. Munkittrick_ 42
+Comic Miseries _John G. Saxe_ 42
+Early Rising _John G. Saxe_ 44
+To the Pliocene Skull _Bret Harte_ 46
+Ode to Work in Springtime _Thomas R. Ybarra_ 47
+Old Stuff _Bert Leston Taylor_ 48
+To Minerva _Thomas Hood_ 49
+The Legend of Heinz Von Stein _Charles Godfrey Leland_ 49
+The Truth About Horace _Eugene Field_ 50
+Propinquity Needed _Charles Battell Loomis_ 51
+In the Catacombs _Harlan Hoge Ballard_ 52
+Our Native Birds _Nathan Haskell Dole_ 53
+The Prayer of Cyrus Brown _Sam Walter Foss_ 54
+Erring in Company _Franklin P. Adams_ 55
+Cupid _William Blake_ 56
+If We Didn't Have to Eat _Nixon Waterman_ 57
+To My Empty Purse _Geoffrey Chaucer_ 58
+The Birth of Saint Patrick _Samuel Lover_ 58
+Her Little Feet _William Ernest Henley_ 59
+School _James Kenneth Stephen_ 60
+The Millennium _James Kenneth Stephen_ 60
+"Exactly So" _Lady T. Hastings_ 61
+Companions _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 63
+The Schoolmaster _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 64
+A Appeal for Are to the Sextant of the
+ old Brick Meetinouse _Arabella Willson_ 66
+Cupid's Darts _Unknown_ 67
+A Plea for Trigamy _Owen Seaman_ 68
+The Pope _Charles Lever_ 70
+All at Sea _Frederick Moxon_ 70
+Ballad of the Primitive Jest _Andrew Lang_ 72
+Villanelle of Things Amusing _Gelett Burgess_ 73
+How to Eat Watermelons _Frank Libby Stanton_ 73
+A Vague Story _Walter Parke_ 74
+His Mother-in-Law _Walter Parke_ 75
+On a Deaf Housekeeper _Unknown_ 76
+Hom[oe]opathic Soup _Unknown_ 76
+Some Little Bug _Roy Atwell_ 77
+On the Downtown Side of an Uptown
+ Street _William Johnston_ 79
+Written After Swimming from Sestos to
+ Abydos _Lord Byron_ 80
+The Fisherman's Chant _F. C. Burnand_ 81
+Report of an Adjudged Case _William Cowper_ 82
+Prehistoric Smith _David Law Proudfit_ 83
+Song _George Canning_ 84
+Lying _Thomas Moore_ 86
+Strictly Germ-Proof _Arthur Guiterman_ 87
+The Lay of the Lover's Friend _William B. Aytoun_ 88
+Man's Place in Nature _Unknown_ 89
+The New Version _W. J. Lampton_ 90
+Amazing Facts About Food _Unknown_ 91
+Transcendentalism _Unknown_ 92
+A "Caudal" Lecture _William Sawyer_ 92
+Salad _Sydney Smith_ 93
+Nemesis _J. W. Foley_ 94
+"Mona Lisa" _John Kendrick Bangs_ 95
+The Siege of Djklxprwbz _Eugene Fitch Ware_ 96
+Rural Bliss _Anthony C. Deane_ 97
+An Old Bachelor _Tudor Jenks_ 98
+Song _J. R. Planche_ 99
+The Quest of the Purple Cow _Hilda Johnson_ 100
+St. Patrick of Ireland, My Dear! _William Maginn_ 101
+The Irish Schoolmaster _James A. Sidey_ 103
+Reflections on Cleopathera's Needle _Cormac O'Leary_ 105
+The Origin of Ireland _Unknown_ 106
+As to the Weather _Unknown_ 107
+The Twins _Henry S. Leigh_ 108
+
+
+ II: THE ETERNAL FEMININE
+
+He and She _Eugene Fitch Ware_ 109
+The Kiss _Tom Masson_ 109
+The Courtin' _James Russell Lowell_ 110
+Hiram Hover _Bayard Taylor_ 113
+Blow Me Eyes! _Wallace Irwin_ 115
+First Love _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 116
+What Is a Woman Like? _Unknown_ 118
+Mis' Smith _Albert Bigelow Paine_ 119
+Triolet _Paul T. Gilbert_ 120
+Bessie Brown, M.D. _Samuel Minturn Peck_ 120
+A Sketch from the Life _Arthur Guiterman_ 121
+Minguillo's Kiss _Unknown_ 122
+A Kiss in the Rain _Samuel Minturn Peck_ 123
+The Love-Knot _Nora Perry_ 124
+Over the Way _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 125
+Chorus of Women _Aristophanes_ 126
+The Widow Malone _Charles Lever_ 126
+The Smack in School _William Pitt Palmer_ 128
+'Spaecially Jim _Bessie Morgan_ 129
+Kitty of Coleraine _Edward Lysaght_ 130
+Why Don't the Men Propose? _Thomas Haynes Bayly_ 130
+A Pin _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ 132
+The Whistler _Unknown_ 133
+The Cloud _Oliver Herford_ 134
+Constancy _John Boyle O'Reilly_ 137
+Ain't it Awful, Mabel? _John Edward Hazzard_ 137
+Wing Tee Wee _J. P. Denison_ 139
+Phyllis Lee _Oliver Herford_ 139
+The Sorrows of Werther _W. M. Thackeray_ 140
+The Unattainable _Harry Romaine_ 141
+Rory O'More; or, Good Omens _Samuel Lover_ 141
+A Dialogue from Plato _Austin Dobson_ 142
+Dora Versus Rose _Austin Dobson_ 144
+Tu Quoque _Austin Dobson_ 146
+Nothing to Wear _William Allen Butler_ 148
+My Mistress's Boots _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 153
+Mrs. Smith _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 155
+A Terrible Infant _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 156
+Susan _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 157
+"I Didn't Like Him" _Harry B. Smith_ 157
+My Angeline _Harry B. Smith_ 158
+Nora's Vow _Sir Walter Scott_ 159
+Husband and Heathen _Sam Walter Foss_ 160
+The Lost Pleiad _Arthur Reed Ropes_ 161
+The New Church Organ _Will Carleton_ 162
+Larrie O'Dee _William W. Fink_ 165
+No Fault in Women _Robert Herrick_ 166
+A Cosmopolitan Woman _Unknown_ 167
+Courting in Kentucky _Florence E. Pratt_ 168
+Any One Will Do _Unknown_ 169
+A Bird in the Hand _Frederic E. Weatherly_ 170
+The Belle of the Ball _Winthrop Mackworth Praed_ 171
+The Retort _George Pope Morris_ 174
+Behave Yoursel' Before Folk _Alexander Rodger_ 174
+The Chronicle: A Ballad _Abraham Cowley_ 176
+Buxom Joan _William Congreve_ 179
+Oh, My Geraldine _F. C. Burnand_ 180
+The Parterre _E. H. Palmer_ 180
+How to Ask and Have _Samuel Lover_ 181
+Sally in Our Alley _Henry Carey_ 182
+False Love and True Logic _Laman Blanchard_ 183
+Pet's Punishment _J. Ashby-Sterry_ 184
+Ad Chloen, M.A. _Mortimer Collins_ 184
+Chloe, M.A. _Mortimer Collins_ 185
+The Fair Millinger _Fred W. Loring_ 186
+Two Fishers _Unknown_ 188
+Maud _Henry S. Leigh_ 188
+Are Women Fair? _Francis Davison_ 189
+The Plaidie _Charles Sibley_ 190
+Feminine Arithmetic _Charles Graham Halpine_ 191
+Lord Guy _George F. Warren_ 191
+Sary "Fixes Up" Things _Albert Bigelow Paine_ 192
+The Constant Cannibal Maiden _Wallace Irwin_ 194
+Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles _Frances M. Whitcher_ 195
+Under the Mistletoe _George Francis Shults_ 196
+The Broken Pitcher _William E. Aytoun_ 196
+Gifts Returned _Walter Savage Landor_ 198
+
+
+ III: LOVE AND COURTSHIP
+
+Noureddin, the Son of the Shah _Clinton Scollard_ 199
+The Usual Way _Frederic E. Weatherly_ 200
+The Way to Arcady _H. C. Bunner_ 201
+My Love and My Heart _Henry S. Leigh_ 204
+Quite by Chance _Frederick Langbridge_ 205
+The Nun _Leigh Hunt_ 206
+The Chemist to His Love _Unknown_ 206
+Categorical Courtship _Unknown_ 207
+Lanty Leary _Samuel Lover_ 208
+The Secret Combination _Ellis Parker Butler_ 209
+Forty Years After _H. H. Porter_ 210
+Cupid _Ben Jonson_ 211
+Paring-Time Anticipated _William Cowper_ 212
+Why _H. P. Stevens_ 214
+The Sabine Farmer's Serenade _Father Prout_ 214
+I Hae Laid a Herring in Saut _James Tytler_ 216
+The Clown's Courtship _Unknown_ 217
+Out Upon It _Sir John Suckling_ 218
+Love is Like a Dizziness _James Hogg_ 218
+The Kitchen Clock _John Vance Cheney_ 220
+Lady Mine _H. E. Clarke_ 221
+Ballade of the Golfer in Love _Clinton Scollard_ 222
+Ballade of Forgotten Loves _Arthur Grissom_ 223
+
+
+ IV: SATIRE
+
+A Ballade of Suicide _G. K. Chesterton_ 224
+Finnigan to Flannigan _S. W. Gillinan_ 225
+Study of an Elevation in Indian Ink _Rudyard Kipling_ 226
+The V-a-s-e _James Jeffrey Roche_ 227
+Miniver Cheevy _Edwin Arlington Robinson_ 229
+The Recruit _Robert W. Chambers_ 230
+Officer Brady _Robert W. Chambers_ 232
+Post-Impressionism _Bert Leston Taylor_ 235
+To the Portrait of "A Gentleman" _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 236
+Cacoethes Scribendi _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 238
+Contentment _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 238
+A Boston Lullaby _James Jeffrey Roche_ 240
+A Grain of Salt _Wallace Irwin_ 241
+Song _Richard Lovelace_ 241
+A Philosopher _Sam Walter Foss_ 242
+The Meeting of the Clabberhuses _Sam Walter Foss_ 244
+The Ideal Husband to His Wife _Sam Walter Foss_ 246
+Distichs _John Hay_ 247
+The Hen-roost Man _Ruth McEnery Stuart_ 247
+If They Meant All They Say _Alice Duer Miller_ 247
+The Man _Stephen Crane_ 248
+A Thought _James Kenneth Stephen_ 248
+The Musical Ass _Tomaso de Yriarte_ 249
+The Knife-Grinder _George Canning_ 249
+St. Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes _Abraham a Sancta-Clara_ 251
+The Battle of Blenheim _Robert Southey_ 252
+The Three Black Crows _John Byrom_ 254
+To the Terrestrial Globe _W. S. Gilbert_ 256
+Etiquette _W. S. Gilbert_ 256
+A Modest Wit _Selleck Osborn_ 260
+The Latest Decalogue _Arthur Hugh Clough_ 261
+A Simile _Matthew Prior_ 262
+By Parcels Post _George R. Sims_ 262
+All's Well That Ends Well _Unknown_ 264
+The Contrast _Captain C. Morris_ 265
+The Devonshire Lane _John Marriott_ 266
+A Splendid Fellow _H. C. Dodge_ 267
+If _H. C. Dodge_ 268
+Accepted and Will Appear _Parmenas Mix_ 268
+The Little Vagabond _William Blake_ 269
+Sympathy _Reginald Heber_ 270
+The Religion of Hudibras _Samuel Butler_ 271
+Holy Willie's Prayer _Robert Burns_ 272
+The Learned Negro _Unknown_ 274
+True to Poll _F. C. Burnand_ 275
+Trust in Women _Unknown_ 276
+The Literary Lady _Richard Brinsley Sheridan_ 278
+Twelve Articles _Dean Swift_ 279
+All-Saints _Edmund Yates_ 280
+How to Make a Man of Consequence _Mark Lemon_ 280
+On a Magazine Sonnet _Russell Hilliard Loines_ 281
+Paradise _George Birdseye_ 281
+The Friar of Orders Gray _John O'Keefe_ 282
+Of a Certain Man _Sir John Harrington_ 282
+Clean Clara _W. B. Rands_ 283
+Christmas Chimes _Unknown_ 284
+The Ruling Passion _Alexander Pope_ 285
+The Pope and the Net _Robert Browning_ 286
+The Actor _John Wolcot_ 287
+The Lost Spectacles _Unknown_ 287
+That Texan Cattle Man _Joaquin Miller_ 288
+Fable _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 290
+Hoch! Der Kaiser _Rodney Blake_ 291
+What Mr. Robinson Thinks _James Russell Lowell_ 292
+The Candidate's Creed _James Russell Lowell_ 294
+The Razor Seller _John Wolcot_ 297
+The Devil's Walk on Earth _Robert Southey_ 298
+Father Molloy _Samuel Lover_ 307
+The Owl-Critic _James Thomas Fields_ 309
+What Will We Do? _Robert J. Burdette_ 311
+Life in Laconics _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 311
+On Knowing When to Stop _L. J. Bridgman_ 312
+Rev. Gabe Tucker's Remarks _Unknown_ 312
+Thursday _Frederic E. Weatherly_ 313
+Sky-Making _Mortimer Collins_ 314
+The Positivists _Mortimer Collins_ 315
+Martial in London _Mortimer Collins_ 316
+The Splendid Shilling _John Philips_ 316
+After Horace _A. D. Godley_ 320
+Of a Precise Tailor _Sir John Harrington_ 322
+Money _Jehan du Pontalais_ 323
+Boston Nursery Rhymes _Rev. Joseph Cook_ 324
+Kentucky Philosophy _Harrison Robertson_ 325
+John Grumlie _Allan Cunningham_ 326
+A Song of Impossibilities _Winthrop Mackworth Praed_ 327
+Song _John Donne_ 330
+The Oubit _Charles Kingsley_ 330
+Double Ballade of Primitive Man _Andrew Lang_ 331
+Phillis's Age _Matthew Prior_ 332
+
+
+ V: CYNICISM
+
+Good and Bad Luck _John Hay_ 334
+Bangkolidye _Barry Pain_ 334
+Pensees De Noel _A. D. Godley_ 336
+A Ballade of an Anti-Puritan _G. K. Chesterton_ 337
+Pessimism _Newton Mackintosh_ 338
+Cynical Ode to an Ultra-Cynical Public _Charles Mackay_ 339
+Youth and Art _Robert Browning_ 339
+The Bachelor's Dream _Thomas Hood_ 342
+All Things Except Myself I Know _Francois Villon_ 343
+The Joys of Marriage _Charles Cotton_ 344
+The Third Proposition _Madeline Bridges_ 345
+The Ballad of Cassandra Brown _Helen Gray Cone_ 345
+What's in a Name? _R. K. Munkittrick_ 347
+Too Late _Fits Hugh Ludlow_ 348
+The Annuity _George Outram_ 350
+K. K.--Can't Calculate _Frances M. Whitcher_ 353
+Northern Farmer _Lord Tennyson_ 354
+Fin de Siecle _Unknown_ 357
+Then Ag'in _Sam Walter Foss_ 357
+The Pessimist _Ben King_ 358
+Without and Within _James Russell Lowell_ 359
+Same Old Story _Harry B. Smith_ 360
+
+
+ VI: EPIGRAMS
+
+Woman's Will _John G. Saxe_ 362
+Cynicus to W. Shakespeare _James Kenneth Stephen_ 362
+Senex to Matt. Prior _James Kenneth Stephen_ 362
+To a Blockhead _Alexander Pope_ 362
+The Fool and the Poet _Alexander Pope_ 363
+A Rhymester _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 363
+Giles's Hope _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 363
+Cologne _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 363
+An Eternal Poem _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 364
+On a Bad Singer _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 364
+Job _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 364
+Reasons for Drinking _Dr. Henry Aldrich_ 364
+Smatterers _Samuel Butler_ 365
+Hypocrisy _Samuel Butler_ 365
+To Doctor Empiric _Ben Jonson_ 365
+A Remedy Worse than the Disease _Matthew Prior_ 365
+A Wife _Richard Brinsley Sheridan_ 366
+The Honey-Moon _Walter Savage Landor_ 366
+Dido _Richard Porson_ 366
+An Epitaph _George John Cayley_ 366
+On Taking a Wife _Thomas Moore_ 367
+Upon Being Obliged to Leave a Pleasant
+ Party _Thomas Moore_ 367
+Some Ladies _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 367
+On a Sense of Humor _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 367
+On Hearing a Lady Praise a Certain
+ Rev. Doctor's Eyes _George Outram_ 368
+Epitaph Intended for His Wife _John Dryden_ 368
+To a Capricious Friend _Joseph Addison_ 368
+Which is Which _John Byrom_ 368
+On a Full-Length Portrait of Beau
+ Marsh _Lord Chesterfield_ 369
+On Scotland _Cleveland_ 369
+Mendax _Lessing_ 369
+To a Slow Walker and Quick Eater _Lessing_ 369
+What's My Thought Like? _Thomas Moore_ 370
+Of All the Men _Thomas Moore_ 370
+On Butler's Monument _Rev. Samuel Wesley_ 370
+A Conjugal Conundrum _Unknown_ 371
+
+
+ VII: BURLESQUE
+
+Lovers and a Reflection _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 372
+Our Hymn _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 374
+"Soldier, Rest!" _Robert J. Burdette_ 374
+Imitation _Anthony C. Deane_ 375
+The Mighty Must _W. S. Gilbert_ 376
+Midsummer Madness _Unknown_ 377
+Mavrone _Arthur Guiterman_ 378
+Lilies _Don Marquis_ 379
+For I am Sad _Don Marquis_ 379
+A Little Swirl of Vers Libre _Thomas R. Ybarra_ 380
+Young Lochinvar _Unknown_ 381
+Imagiste Love Lines _Unknown_ 383
+Bygones _Bert Lesion Taylor_ 383
+Justice to Scotland _Unknown_ 384
+Lament of the Scotch-Irish Exile _James Jeffrey Roche_ 385
+A Song of Sorrow _Charles Battell Loomis_ 386
+The Rejected "National Hymns" _Robert H. Newell_ 387
+The Editor's Wooing _Robert H. Newell_ 389
+The Baby's Debut _James Smith_ 390
+The Cantelope _Bayard Taylor_ 393
+Never Forget Your Parents _Franklin P. Adams_ 394
+A Girl was Too Reckless of Grammar _Guy Wetmore Carryl_ 395
+Behold the Deeds! _H. C. Bunner_ 397
+Villon's Straight Tip to All Cross
+ Coves _William Ernest Henley_ 399
+Culture in the Slums _William Ernest Henley_ 400
+The Lawyer's Invocation to Spring _Henry Howard Brownell_ 402
+North, East, South, and West _Unknown_ 403
+Martin Luther at Potsdam _Barry Pain_ 404
+An Idyll of Phatte and Leene _Unknown_ 406
+The House that Jack Built _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 407
+Palabras Grandiosas _Bayard Taylor_ 407
+A Love Playnt _Godfrey Turner_ 408
+Darwinity _Herman C. Merivale_ 409
+Select Passages from a Coming Poet _F. Anstey_ 410
+The Romaunt of Humpty Dumpty _Henry S. Leigh_ 411
+The Wedding _Thomas Hood, Jr._ 412
+In Memoriam Technicam _Thomas Hood, Jr._ 413
+"Songs Without Words" _Robert J. Burdette_ 413
+At the Sign of the Cock _Owen Seaman_ 414
+Presto Furioso _Owen Seaman_ 417
+To Julia in Shooting Togs _Owen Seaman_ 418
+Farewell _Bert Leston Taylor_ 419
+Here is the Tale _Anthony C. Deane_ 421
+The Willows _Bret Harte_ 423
+A Ballad _Guy Wetmore Carryl_ 426
+The Translated Way _Franklin P. Adams_ 427
+Commonplaces _Rudyard Kipling_ 427
+Angelo Orders His Dinner _Bayard Taylor_ 428
+The Promissory Note _Bayard Taylor_ 429
+Camerados _Bayard Taylor_ 430
+The Last Ride Together _James Kenneth Stephen_ 431
+Imitation of Walt Whitman _Unknown_ 434
+Salad _Mortimer Collins_ 436
+If _Mortimer Collins_ 436
+The Jabberwocky of Authors _Harry Persons Taber_ 437
+The Town of Nice _Herman C. Merivale_ 438
+The Willow-Tree _W. M. Thackeray_ 439
+A Ballade of Ballade-Mongers _Augustus M. Moore_ 441
+
+
+ VIII: BATHOS
+
+The Confession _Richard Harris Barham_ 443
+ ["_Thomas Ingoldsby_"]
+If You Have Seen _Thomas Moore_ 444
+Circumstance _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 444
+Elegy _Arthur Guiterman_ 445
+Our Traveler _H. Cholmondeley-Pennell_ 445
+Optimism _Newton Mackintosh_ 445
+The Declaration _N. P. Willis_ 446
+He Came to Pay _Parmenas Mix_ 447
+The Forlorn One _Richard Harris Barham_ 449
+ ["_Thomas Ingoldsby_"]
+Rural Raptures _Unknown_ 450
+A Fragment _Unknown_ 450
+The Bitter Bit _William E. Aytoun_ 451
+Comfort in Affliction _William E. Aytoun_ 453
+The Husband's Petition _William E. Aytoun_ 454
+Lines Written After a Battle _Unknown_ 456
+Lines _Unknown_ 456
+The Imaginative Crisis _Unknown_ 457
+
+
+ IX: PARODY
+
+The Higher Pantheism in a Nut-Shell _Algernon Charles Swinburne_ 458
+Nephelidia _Algernon Charles Swinburne_ 459
+Up the Spout _Algernon Charles Swinburne_ 460
+In Memoriam _Cuthbert Bede_ 463
+Lucy Lake _Newton Mackintosh_ 463
+The Cock and the Bull _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 464
+Ballad _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 467
+Disaster _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 469
+Wordsworthian Reminiscence _Unknown_ 470
+Inspect Us _Edith Daniell_ 471
+The Messed Damozel _Charles Hanson Towne_ 471
+A Melton Mowbray Pork-Pie _Richard le Gallienne_ 472
+Israfiddlestrings _Unknown_ 472
+After Dilettante Concetti _H. D. Traill_ 474
+Whenceness of the Which _Unknown_ 476
+The Little Star _Unknown_ 476
+The Original Lamb _Unknown_ 477
+Sainte Margerie _Unknown_ 477
+Robert Frost _Louis Untermeyer_ 479
+Owen Seaman _Louis Untermeyer_ 480
+The Modern Hiawatha _Unknown_ 482
+Somewhere-in-Europe-Wocky _F. G. Hartswick_ 482
+Rigid Body Sings _J. C. Maxwell_ 483
+A Ballad of High Endeavor _Unknown_ 484
+Father William _Lewis Carroll_ 485
+The Poets at Tea _Barry Pain_ 486
+How Often _Ben King_ 489
+If I Should Die To-Night _Ben King_ 489
+"The Day is Done" _Phoebe Cary_ 490
+Jacob _Phoebe Cary_ 491
+Ballad of the Canal _Phoebe Cary_ 492
+"There's a Bower of Beanvines" _Phoebe Cary_ 493
+Reuben _Phoebe Cary_ 493
+The Wife _Phoebe Cary_ 494
+When Lovely Woman _Phoebe Cary_ 494
+John Thomson's Daughter _Phoebe Cary_ 494
+A Portrait _John Keats_ 496
+Annabel Lee _Stanley Huntley_ 497
+Home Sweet Home with Variations _H. C. Bunner_ 498
+An Old Song by New Singers _A. C. Wilkie_ 506
+More Impressions _Oscuro Wildgoose_ 509
+Nursery Rhymes a la Mode _Unknown_ 509
+A Maudle-In Ballad _Unknown_ 510
+Gillian _Unknown_ 511
+Extracts from the Rubaiyat of Omar
+ Cayenne _Gelett Burgess_ 512
+Diversions of the Re-Echo Club _Carolyn Wells_ 515
+Styx River Anthology _Carolyn Wells_ 521
+Answer to Master Wither's Song,
+ "Shall I, Wasting in Despair?" _Ben Jonson_ 526
+Song of the Springtide _Unknown_ 527
+The Village Choir _Unknown_ 528
+My Foe _Unknown_ 529
+Nursery Song in Pidgin English _Unknown_ 530
+Father William _Unknown_ 531
+A Poe-'em of Passion _C. F. Lummis_ 532
+How the Daughters Come Down at Dunoon _H. Cholmondeley-Pennell_ 533
+To an Importunate Host _Unknown_ 534
+Cremation _William Sawyer_ 534
+An Imitation of Wordsworth _Catharine M. Fanshawe_ 535
+The Lay of the Love-Lorn _Aytoun and Martin_ 537
+Only Seven _Henry S. Leigh_ 543
+'Twas Ever Thus _Henry S. Leigh_ 544
+Foam and Fangs _Walter Parke_ 544
+
+
+ X: NARRATIVE
+
+Little Billee _W. M. Thackeray_ 546
+The Crystal Palace _W. M. Thackeray_ 547
+The Wofle New Ballad of Jane Roney and
+ Mary Brown _W. M. Thackeray_ 552
+King John and the Abbot _Unknown_ 554
+On the Death of a Favorite Cat _Thomas Gray_ 557
+Misadventures at Margate _Richard Harris Barham_ 558
+ ["_Thomas Ingoldsby_"]
+The Gouty Merchant and the Stranger _Horace Smith_ 563
+The Diverting History of John Gilpin _William Cowper_ 564
+Paddy O'Rafther _Samuel Lover_ 571
+Here She Goes and There She Goes _James Nack_ 572
+The Quaker's Meeting _Samuel Lover_ 576
+The Jester Condemned to Death _Horace Smith_ 578
+The Deacon's Masterpiece _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 580
+The Ballad of the Oysterman _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 583
+The Well of St. Keyne _Robert Southey_ 584
+The Jackdaw of Rheims _Richard Harris Barham_ 586
+ ["_Thomas Ingoldsby_"]
+The Knight and the Lady _Richard Harris Barham_ 590
+ ["_Thomas Ingoldsby_"]
+An Eastern Question _H. M. Paull_ 598
+My Aunt's Spectre _Mortimer Collins_ 600
+Casey at the Bat _Ernest Lawrence Thayer_ 601
+The Pied Piper of Hamelin _Robert Browning_ 603
+The Goose _Lord Tennyson_ 611
+The Ballad of Charity _Charles Godfrey Leland_ 613
+The Post Captain _Charles E. Carryl_ 615
+Robinson Crusoe's Story _Charles E. Carryl_ 617
+Ben Bluff _Thomas Hood_ 619
+The Pilgrims and the Peas _John Wolcot_ 621
+Tam O'Shanter _Robert Burns_ 623
+That Gentleman from Boston Town _Joaquin Miller_ 629
+The Yarn of the "Nancy Bell" _W. S. Gilbert_ 632
+Ferdinando and Elvira _W. S. Gilbert_ 635
+Gentle Alice Brown _W. S. Gilbert_ 639
+The Story of Prince Agib _W. S. Gilbert_ 641
+Sir Guy the Crusader _W. S. Gilbert_ 644
+Kitty Wants to Write _Gelett Burgess_ 646
+Dighton is Engaged _Gelett Burgess_ 647
+Plain Language from Truthful James _Bret Harte_ 648
+The Society Upon the Stanisalaus _Bret Harte_ 650
+"Jim" _Bret Harte_ 652
+William Brown of Oregon _Joaquin Miller_ 653
+Little Breeches _John Hay_ 657
+The Enchanted Shirt _John Hay_ 658
+Jim Bludso _John Hay_ 661
+Wreck of the "Julie Plante" _William Henry Drummond_ 662
+The Alarmed Skipper _James T. Fields_ 664
+The Elderly Gentleman _George Canning_ 665
+Saying Not Meaning _William Basil Wake_ 666
+Hans Breitmann's Party _Charles Godfrey Leland_ 668
+Ballad by Hans Breitmann _Charles Godfrey Leland_ 669
+Grampy Sings a Song _Holman F. Day_ 670
+The First Banjo _Irwin Russell_ 672
+The Romance of the Carpet _Robert J. Burdette_ 674
+Hunting of the Snark, The _Lewis Carroll_ 676
+The Old Man and Jim _James Whitcomb Riley_ 678
+A Sailor's Yarn _James Jeffrey Roche_ 680
+The Converted Cannibals _G. E. Farrow_ 683
+The Retired Pork-Butcher and the spook _G. E. Farrow_ 685
+Skipper Ireson's Ride _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 688
+Darius Green and His Flying-Machine _John Townsend Trowbridge_ 690
+A Great Fight _Robert H. Newell_ 697
+The Donnybrook Jig _Viscount Dillon_ 700
+Unfortunate Miss Bailey _Unknown_ 702
+The Laird o' Cockpen _Lady Nairne_ 703
+A Wedding _Sir John Suckling_ 704
+
+
+ XI: TRIBUTE
+
+The Ahkond of Swat _Edward Lear_ 708
+The Ahkoond of Swat _George Thomas Lanigan_ 710
+Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal _George Thomas Lanigan_ 712
+The Ballad of Bouillabaisse _W. M. Thackeray_ 714
+Ould Doctor Mack _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 717
+Father O'Flynn _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 719
+The Bald-headed Tyrant _Vandyne, Mary E._ 720
+Barney McGee _Richard Hovey_ 721
+Address to the Toothache _Robert Burns_ 724
+A Farewell to Tobacco _Charles Lamb_ 726
+John Barleycorn _Robert Burns_ 730
+Stanzas to Pale Ale _Unknown_ 732
+Ode to Tobacco _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 732
+Sonnet to a Clam _John G. Saxe_ 734
+To a Fly _John Wolcot_ 734
+Ode to a Bobtailed Cat _Unknown_ 737
+
+
+ XII: WHIMSEY
+
+An Elegy _Oliver Goldsmith_ 740
+Parson Gray _Oliver Goldsmith_ 741
+The Irishman and the Lady _William Maginn_ 742
+The Cataract of Lodore _Robert Southey_ 743
+Lay of the Deserted Influenzaed _H. Cholmondeley-Pennell_ 746
+Bellagcholly Days _Unknown_ 747
+Rhyme of the Rail _John G. Saxe_ 748
+Echo _John G. Saxe_ 750
+Song _Joseph Addison_ 751
+A Gentle Echo on Woman _Dean Swift_ 752
+Lay of Ancient Rome _Thomas R. Ybarra_ 753
+A New Song _John Gay_ 754
+The American Traveller _Robert H. Newell_ 757
+The Zealless Xylographer _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 759
+The Old Line Fence _A. W. Bellaw_ 760
+O-U-G-H _Charles Battell Loomis_ 761
+Enigma on the Letter H _Catherine M. Fanshawe_ 762
+Travesty of Miss Fanshawe's Enigma _Horace Mayhew_ 763
+An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog _Oliver Goldsmith_ 764
+An Epitaph _Matthew Prior_ 765
+Old Grimes _Albert Gorton Greene_ 766
+The Endless Song _Ruth McEnery Stuart_ 768
+The Hundred Best Books _Mostyn T. Pigott_ 769
+The Cosmic Egg _Unknown_ 771
+Five Wines _Robert Herrick_ 772
+A Rhyme for Musicians _E. Lemke_ 772
+My Madeline _Walter Parke_ 773
+Susan Simpson _Unknown_ 774
+The March to Moscow _Robert Southey_ 775
+Half Hours with the Classics _H. J. DeBurgh_ 779
+On the Oxford Carrier _John Milton_ 780
+Ninety-Nine in the Shade _Rossiter Johnson_ 781
+The Triolet _William Ernest Henley_ 782
+The Rondeau _Austin Dobson_ 782
+Life _Unknown_ 783
+Ode to the Human Heart _Laman Blanchard_ 784
+A Strike Among the Poets _Unknown_ 785
+Whatever Is, Is Right _Laman Blanchard_ 786
+Nothing _Richard Porson_ 786
+Dirge _Unknown_ 787
+O D V _Unknown_ 788
+A Man of Words _Unknown_ 790
+Similes _Unknown_ 791
+No! _Thomas Hood_ 792
+Faithless Sally Brown _Thomas Hood_ 792
+Tim Turpin _Thomas Hood_ 795
+Faithless Nelly Gray _Thomas Hood_ 797
+Sally Simpkin's Lament _Thomas Hood_ 800
+Death's Ramble _Thomas Hood_ 801
+Panegyric on the Ladies _Unknown_ 803
+Ambiguous Lines _Unknown_ 804
+Surnames _James Smith_ 804
+A Ternary of Littles, Upon a Pipkin of
+ Jelly Sent to a Lady _Robert Herrick_ 806
+A Carman's Account of a Law Suit _Sir David Lindesay_ 807
+Out of Sight, Out of Mind _Barnaby Googe_ 807
+Nongtongpaw _Charles Dibdin_ 808
+Logical English _Unknown_ 809
+Logic _Unknown_ 809
+The Careful Penman _Unknown_ 810
+Questions with Answers _Unknown_ 810
+Conjugal Conjugations _A. W. Bellaw_ 810
+Love's Moods and Senses _Unknown_ 812
+The Siege of Belgrade _Unknown_ 813
+The Happy Man _Gilles Menage_ 814
+The Bells _Unknown_ 816
+Takings _Thomas Hood, Jr._ 817
+A Bachelor's Mono-Rhyme _Charles Mackay_ 817
+The Art of Bookkeeping An Invitation
+ to the Zoological _Laman Blanchard_ 818
+Gardens _Unknown_ 822
+A Nocturnal Sketch _Thomas Hood_ 823
+Lovelilts _Marion Hill_ 824
+Jocosa Lyra _Austin Dobson_ 824
+To a Thesaurus _Franklin P. Adams_ 825
+The Future of the Classics _Unknown_ 826
+Cautionary Verses _Theodore Hook_ 828
+The War: A-Z _John R. Edwards_ 829
+Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon _Unknown_ 830
+To My Nose _Alfred A. Forrester_ 832
+A Polka Lyric _Barclay Philips_ 832
+A Catalectic Monody _Unknown_ 833
+Ode for a Social Meeting _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 833
+The Jovial Priest's Confession _Leigh Hunt_ 834
+Limericks _Carolyn Wells_ 835
+
+
+ XIII: NONSENSE
+
+Lunar Stanzas _Henry Coggswell Knight_ 841
+The Whango Tree _Unknown_ 842
+Three Children _Unknown_ 843
+'Tis Midnight _Unknown_ 843
+Cossimbazar _Henry S. Leigh_ 843
+An Unexpected Fact _Edward Cannon_ 844
+The Cumberbunce _Paul West_ 844
+Mr. Finney's Turnip _Unknown_ 847
+Nonsense Verses _Charles Lamb_ 848
+Like to the Thundering Tone _Bishop Corbet_ 848
+Aestivation _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 849
+Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim _Charles Farrar Browne_ 849
+ ["_Artemus Ward_"]
+A Tragic Story _W. M. Thackeray_ 850
+Sonnet Found in a Deserted Mad House _Unknown_ 851
+The Jim-Jam King of the Jou-Jous _Alaric Bertrand Stuart_ 851
+To Marie _John Bennett_ 852
+My Dream _Unknown_ 853
+The Rollicking Mastodon _Arthur Macy_ 853
+The Invisible Bridge _Gelett Burgess_ 855
+The Lazy Roof _Gelett Burgess_ 855
+My Feet _Gelett Burgess_ 855
+Spirk Troll-Derisive _James Whitcomb Riley_ 855
+The Man in the Moon _James Whitcomb Riley_ 856
+The Lugubrious Whing-Whang _James Whitcomb Riley_ 858
+The Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo _Edward Lear_ 859
+The Jumbles _Edward Lear_ 862
+The Pobble Who Has no Toes _Edward Lear_ 865
+The New Vestments _Edward Lear_ 866
+The Two Old Bachelors _Edward Lear_ 868
+Jabberwocky _Lewis Carroll_ 869
+Ways and Means _Lewis Carroll_ 870
+Humpty Dumpty's Recitation _Lewis Carroll_ 872
+Some Hallucinations _Lewis Carroll_ 874
+Sing for the Garish Eye _W. S. Gilbert_ 875
+The Shipwreck _E. H. Palmer_ 876
+Uffia _Harriet R. White_ 877
+'Tis Sweet to Roam _Unknown_ 878
+Three Jovial Huntsmen _Unknown_ 878
+King Arthur _Unknown_ 879
+Hyder Iddle _Unknown_ 879
+The Ocean Wanderer _Unknown_ 879
+Scientific Proof _J. W. Foley_ 880
+The Thingumbob _Unknown_ 882
+Wonders of Nature _Unknown_ 882
+Lines by an Old Fogy _Unknown_ 882
+A Country Summer Pastoral _Unknown_ 883
+Turvey Top _William Sawyer_ 884
+A Ballad of Bedlam _Unknown_ 886
+
+
+ XIV: NATURAL HISTORY
+
+The Fastidious Serpent _Henry Johnstone_ 887
+The Legend of the First Cam-u-el _Arthur Guiterman_ 888
+Unsatisfied Yearning _R. K. Munkittrick_ 889
+Kindly Advice _Unknown_ 890
+Kindness to Animals _J. Ashby-Sterry_ 891
+To Be or Not To Be _Unknown_ 891
+The Hen _Matthew Claudius_ 892
+Of Baiting the Lion _Owen Seaman_ 893
+The Flamingo _Lewis Gaylord Clark_ 894
+Why Doth a Pussy Cat? _Burges Johnson_ 895
+The Walrus and the Carpenter _Lewis Carroll_ 896
+Nirvana _Unknown_ 900
+The Catfish _Oliver Herford_ 900
+War Relief _Oliver Herford_ 901
+The Owl and the Pussy-Cat _Edward Lear_ 901
+Mexican Serenade _Arthur Guiterman_ 902
+Orphan Born _Robert J. Burdette_ 903
+Divided Destinies _Rudyard Kipling_ 904
+The Viper _Hilaire Belloc_ 906
+The Llama _Hilaire Belloc_ 906
+The Yak _Hilaire Belloc_ 906
+The Frog _Hilaire Belloc_ 907
+The Microbe _Hilaire Belloc_ 907
+The Great Black Crow _Philip James Bailey_ 907
+The Colubriad _William Cowper_ 909
+The Retired Cat _William Cowper_ 910
+A Darwinian Ballad _Unknown_ 913
+The Pig _Robert Southey_ 914
+A Fish Story _Henry A. Beers_ 916
+The Cameronian Cat _Unknown_ 917
+The Young Gazelle _Walter Parke_ 918
+The Ballad of the Emeu _Bret Harte_ 921
+The Turtle and Flamingo _James Thomas Fields_ 923
+
+
+ XV: JUNIORS
+
+Prior to Miss Belle's Appearance _James Whitcomb Riley_ 925
+There Was a Little Girl _Unknown_ 926
+The Naughty Darkey Boy _Unknown_ 927
+Dutch Lullaby _Eugene Field_ 928
+The Dinkey-Bird _Eugene Field_ 929
+The Little Peach _Eugene Field_ 931
+Counsel to Those that Eat _Unknown_ 932
+Home and Mother _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 932
+Little Orphant Annie _James Whitcomb Riley_ 934
+A Visit From St. Nicholas _Clement Clarke Moore_ 935
+A Nursery Legend _Henry S. Leigh_ 937
+A Little Goose _Eliza Sproat Turner_ 938
+Leedle Yawcob Strauss _Charles Follen Adams_ 940
+A Parental Ode to My Son, Aged Three
+ Years and Five Months _Thomas Hood_ 941
+Little Mamma _Charles Henry Webb_ 943
+The Comical Girl _M. Pelham_ 946
+Bunches of Grapes _Walter Ramal_ 947
+
+
+ XVI: IMMORTAL STANZAS
+
+The Purple Cow _Gelett Burgess_ 948
+The Young Lady of Niger _Unknown_ 948
+The Laughing Willow _Oliver Herford_ 948
+Said Opie Reed _Julian Street_ and _James_
+ _Montgomery Flagg_ 948
+Manila _Eugene F. Ware_ 949
+On the Aristocracy of Harvard _Dr. Samuel G. Bushnell_ 949
+On the Democracy of Yale _Dean Jones_ 949
+The Herring _Sir Walter Scott_ 949
+If the Man _Samuel Johnson_ 949
+The Kilkenny Cats _Unknown_ 950
+Poor Dear Grandpapa _D'Arcy W. Thompson_ 950
+More Walks _Richard Harris Barham_ 950
+ ["_Thomas Ingoldsby_"]
+Indifference _Unknown_ 950
+Madame Sans Souci _Unknown_ 950
+A Riddle _Unknown_ 951
+If _Unknown_ 951
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE BOOK OF
+
+ HUMOROUS VERSE
+
+
+
+
+
+ I
+
+ BANTER
+
+
+ THE PLAYED-OUT HUMOURIST
+
+
+Quixotic is his enterprise and hopeless his adventure is,
+ Who seeks for jocularities that haven't yet been said;
+The world has joked incessantly for over fifty centuries,
+ And every joke that's possible has long ago been made.
+I started as a humourist with lots of mental fizziness,
+ But humour is a drug which it's the fashion to abuse;
+For my stock-in-trade, my fixtures and the good-will of the business
+ No reasonable offer I am likely to refuse.
+ And if anybody choose
+ He may circulate the news
+ That no reasonable offer I am likely to refuse.
+
+Oh, happy was that humourist--the first that made a pun at all--
+ Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and mean,
+Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at all--
+ How popular at dinners must that humourist have been!
+Oh, the days when some step-father for a query held a handle out,--
+ The door-mat from the scraper, is it distant very far?
+And when no one knew where Moses was when Aaron put the candle out,
+ And no one had discovered that a door could be a-jar!
+ But your modern hearers are
+ In their tastes particular,
+ And they sneer if you inform them that a door can be a jar!
+
+In search of quip and quiddity I've sat all day alone, apart--
+ And all that I could hit on as a problem was--to find
+Analogy between a scrag of mutton and a Bony-part,
+ Which offers slight employment to the speculative mind.
+For you cannot call it very good, however great your charity--
+ It's not the sort of humour that is greeted with a shout--
+And I've come to the conclusion that my mine of jocularity,
+ In present Anno Domini is worked completely out!
+ Though the notion you may scout,
+ I can prove beyond a doubt
+ That my mine of jocularity is worked completely out!
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ THE PRACTICAL JOKER
+
+
+Oh, what a fund of joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes!
+ What keen enjoyment springs
+ From cheap and simple things!
+What deep delight from sources trite inventive humour coaxes,
+ That pain and trouble brew
+ For every one but you!
+
+Gunpowder placed inside its waist improves a mild Havana,
+ Its unexpected flash
+ Burns eyebrows and moustache.
+When people dine no kind of wine beats ipecacuanha,
+ But common sense suggests
+ You keep it for your guests--
+
+Then naught annoys the organ boys like throwing red hot coppers.
+ And much amusement bides
+ In common butter slides;
+And stringy snares across the stairs cause unexpected croppers.
+
+ Coal scuttles, recollect,
+ Produce the same effect.
+
+ A man possessed
+ Of common sense
+ Need not invest
+ At great expense
+
+ It does not call
+ For pocket deep,
+ These jokes are all
+ Extremely cheap.
+
+If you commence with eighteenpence--it's all you'll have to pay;
+You may command a pleasant and a most instructive day.
+
+A good spring gun breeds endless fun, and makes men jump like rockets--
+
+ And turnip heads on posts
+ Make very decent ghosts.
+
+Then hornets sting like anything, when placed in waistcoat pockets--
+
+ Burnt cork and walnut juice
+ Are not without their use.
+
+No fun compares with easy chairs whose seats are stuffed with needles--
+
+ Live shrimps their patience tax
+ When put down people's backs.
+
+Surprising, too, what one can do with a pint of fat black beetles--
+
+ And treacle on a chair
+ Will make a Quaker swear!
+
+ Then sharp tin tacks
+ And pocket squirts--
+ And cobbler's wax
+ For ladies' skirts--
+
+ And slimy slugs
+ On bedroom floors--
+ And water jugs
+ On open doors--
+
+Prepared with these cheap properties, amusing tricks to play
+Upon a friend a man may spend a most delightful day.
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ TO PH[OE]BE
+
+
+"Gentle, modest little flower,
+ Sweet epitome of May,
+Love me but for half an hour,
+ Love me, love me, little fay."
+Sentences so fiercely flaming
+ In your tiny, shell-like ear,
+I should always be exclaiming
+ If I loved you, Ph[oe]be dear.
+
+"Smiles that thrill from any distance
+ Shed upon me while I sing!
+Please ecstaticize existence,
+ Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!"
+Words like these, outpouring sadly,
+ You'd perpetually hear,
+If I loved you fondly, madly;--
+ But I do not, Ph[oe]be dear.
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ MALBROUCK
+
+
+Malbrouck, the prince of commanders,
+Is gone to the war in Flanders;
+His fame is like Alexander's;
+ But when will he come home?
+
+Perhaps at Trinity Feast, or
+Perhaps he may come at Easter.
+Egad! he had better make haste, or
+ We fear he may never come.
+
+For Trinity Feast is over,
+And has brought no news from Dover;
+And Easter is past, moreover,
+ And Malbrouck still delays.
+
+Milady in her watch-tower
+Spends many a pensive hour,
+Not well knowing why or how her
+ Dear lord from England stays.
+
+While sitting quite forlorn in
+That tower, she spies returning
+A page clad in deep mourning,
+ With fainting steps and slow.
+
+"O page, prithee, come faster!
+What news do you bring of your master?
+I fear there is some disaster,
+ Your looks are so full of woe."
+
+"The news I bring, fair lady,"
+With sorrowful accent said he,
+"Is one you are not ready
+ So soon, alas! to hear.
+
+"But since to speak I'm hurried,"
+Added this page, quite flurried,
+"Malbrouck is dead and buried!"
+ (And here he shed a tear.)
+
+"He's dead! he's dead as a herring!
+For I beheld his 'berring,'
+And four officers transferring
+ His corpse away from the field.
+
+"One officer carried his sabre,
+And he carried it not without labour,
+Much envying his next neighbour,
+ Who only bore a shield.
+
+"The third was helmet-bearer--
+That helmet which on its wearer
+Filled all who saw with terror,
+ And covered a hero's brains.
+
+"Now, having got so far, I
+Find that (by the Lord Harry!)
+The fourth is left nothing to carry;
+ So there the thing remains."
+
+ Translated by _Father Prout._
+
+
+
+
+ MARK TWAIN: A PIPE DREAM
+
+
+Well I recall how first I met
+ Mark Twain--an infant barely three
+Rolling a tiny cigarette
+ While cooing on his nurse's knee.
+
+Since then in every sort of place
+ I've met with Mark and heard him joke,
+Yet how can I describe his face?
+ I never saw it for the smoke.
+
+At school he won a _smokership_,
+ At Harvard College (Cambridge, Mass.)
+His name was soon on every lip,
+ They made him "smoker" of his class.
+
+Who will forget his smoking bout
+ With Mount Vesuvius--our cheers--
+When Mount Vesuvius went out
+ And didn't smoke again for years?
+
+The news was flashed to England's King,
+ Who begged Mark Twain to come and stay,
+Offered him dukedoms--anything
+ To smoke the London fog away.
+
+But Mark was firm. "I bow," said he,
+ "To no imperial command,
+No ducal coronet for me,
+ My smoke is for my native land!"
+For Mark there waits a brighter crown!
+ When Peter comes his card to read--
+He'll take the sign "No Smoking" down,
+ Then Heaven will be Heaven indeed.
+
+ _Oliver Herford._
+
+
+
+
+ FROM A FULL HEART
+
+
+In days of peace my fellow-men
+ Rightly regarded me as more like
+A Bishop than a Major-Gen.,
+ And nothing since has made me warlike;
+But when this age-long struggle ends
+ And I have seen the Allies dish up
+The goose of Hindenburg--oh, friends!
+ I shall out-bish the mildest Bishop.
+
+_When the War is over and the Kaiser's out of print
+I'm going to buy some tortoises and watch the beggars sprint;
+When the War is over and the sword at last we sheathe
+I'm going to keep a jelly-fish and listen to it breathe._
+
+I never really longed for gore,
+ And any taste for red corpuscles
+That lingered with me left before
+ The German troops had entered Brussels.
+In early days the Colonel's "'Shun!"
+ Froze me; and as the war grew older
+The noise of some one else's gun
+ Left me considerably colder.
+
+_When the War is over and the battle has been won
+I'm going to buy a barnacle and take it for a run;
+When the War is over and the German fleet we sink
+I'm going to keep a silkworm's egg and listen to it think._
+
+The Captains and the Kings depart--
+ It may be so, but not lieutenants;
+Dawn after weary dawn I start
+ The never ending round of penance;
+One rock amid the welter stands
+ On which my gaze is fixed intently:
+An after-life in quiet lands
+ Lived very lazily and gently.
+
+_When the War is over and we've done the Belgians proud
+I'm going to keep a chrysalis and read to it aloud;
+When the War is over and we've finished up the show
+I'm going to plant a lemon pip and listen to it grow_.
+
+Oh, I'm tired of the noise and turmoil of battle,
+And I'm even upset by the lowing of cattle,
+And the clang of the bluebells is death to my liver,
+And the roar of the dandelion gives me a shiver,
+And a glacier, in movement, is much too exciting,
+And I'm nervous, when standing on one, of alighting--
+Give me Peace; that is all, that is all that I seek....
+ Say, starting on Saturday week.
+
+ _A. A. Milne._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ULTIMATE JOY
+
+
+I have felt the thrill of passion in the poet's mystic book
+And I've lingered in delight to catch the rhythm of the brook;
+I've felt the ecstasy that comes when prima donnas reach
+For upper C and hold it in a long, melodious screech.
+And yet the charm of all these blissful memories fades away
+As I think upon the fortune that befell the other day,
+As I bring to recollection, with a joyous, wistful sigh,
+That I woke and felt the need of extra covers in July.
+
+Oh, eerie hour of drowsiness--'twas like a fairy spell,
+That respite from the terrors we have known, alas, so well,
+The malevolent mosquito, with a limp and idle bill,
+Hung supinely from the ceiling, all exhausted by his chill.
+And the early morning sunbeam lost his customary leer
+And brought a gracious greeting and a prophecy of cheer;
+A generous affability reached up from earth to sky,
+When I woke and felt the need of extra covers in July.
+
+In every life there comes a time of happiness supreme,
+When joy becomes reality and not a glittering dream.
+'Tis less appreciated, but it's worth a great deal more
+Than tides which taken at their flood lead on to fortune's shore.
+How vain is Art's illusion, and how potent Nature's sway
+When once in kindly mood she deigns to waft our woes away!
+And the memory will cheer me, though all other pleasures fly,
+Of how I woke and needed extra covers in July.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ OLD FASHIONED FUN
+
+
+When that old joke was new,
+ It was not hard to joke,
+And puns we now pooh-pooh,
+ Great laughter would provoke.
+
+True wit was seldom heard,
+ And humor shown by few,
+When reign'd King George the Third,
+ And that old joke was new.
+
+It passed indeed for wit,
+ Did this achievement rare,
+When down your friend would sit,
+ To steal away his chair.
+
+You brought him to the floor,
+ You bruised him black and blue,
+And this would cause a roar,
+ When your old joke was new.
+
+ _W. M. Thackeray._
+
+
+
+
+WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS
+
+
+When moonlike ore the hazure seas
+ In soft effulgence swells,
+When silver jews and balmy breaze
+ Bend down the Lily's bells;
+When calm and deap, the rosy sleap
+ Has lapt your soal in dreems,
+R Hangeline! R lady mine!
+ Dost thou remember Jeames?
+
+I mark thee in the Marble all,
+ Where England's loveliest shine--
+I say the fairest of them hall
+ Is Lady Hangeline.
+My soul, in desolate eclipse,
+ With recollection teems--
+And then I hask, with weeping lips,
+ Dost thou remember Jeames?
+
+Away! I may not tell thee hall
+ This soughring heart endures--
+There is a lonely sperrit-call
+ That Sorrow never cures;
+There is a little, little Star,
+ That still above me beams;
+It is the Star of Hope--but ar!
+ Dost thou remember Jeames?
+
+ _W. M. Thackeray._
+
+
+
+
+ WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN
+
+
+When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
+And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
+And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
+And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
+O it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
+With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
+As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock,
+When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
+
+They's something kindo' hearty-like about the atmosphere,
+When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here--
+Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
+And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
+But the air's so appetisin'; and the landscape through the haze
+Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
+Is a pictur that no painter has the colorin' to mock--
+When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
+
+The husky, rusty rustle of the tossels of the corn,
+And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
+The stubble in the furries--kindo' lonesome-like, but still
+A-preachin' sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill;
+The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
+The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover overhead!--
+O, it sets my heart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
+When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!
+
+ _James Whitcomb Riley._
+
+
+
+
+ TWO MEN
+
+
+There be two men of all mankind
+ That I should like to know about;
+But search and question where I will,
+ I cannot ever find them out.
+
+Melchizedek he praised the Lord,
+ And gave some wine to Abraham;
+But who can tell what else he did
+ Must be more learned than I am.
+
+Ucalegon he lost his house
+ When Agamemnon came to Troy;
+But who can tell me who he was--
+ I'll pray the gods to give him joy.
+
+There be two men of all mankind
+ That I'm forever thinking on;
+They chase me everywhere I go,--
+ Melchizedek, Ucalegon.
+
+ _Edwin Arlington Robinson._
+
+
+
+
+ A FAMILIAR LETTER TO SEVERAL CORRESPONDENTS
+
+
+Yes, write if you want to--there's nothing like trying;
+ Who knows what a treasure your casket may hold?
+I'll show you that rhyming's as easy as lying,
+ If you'll listen to me while the art I unfold.
+
+Here's a book full of words: one can choose as he fancies,
+ As a painter his tint, as a workman his tool;
+Just think! all the poems and plays and romances
+ Were drawn out of this, like the fish from a pool!
+
+You can wander at will through its syllabled mazes,
+ And take all you want--not a copper they cost;
+What is there to hinder your picking out phrases
+ For an epic as clever as "Paradise Lost"?
+
+Don't mind if the index of sense is at zero;
+ Use words that run smoothly, whatever they mean;
+Leander and Lillian and Lillibullero
+ Are much the same thing in the rhyming machine.
+
+There are words so delicious their sweetness will smother
+ That boarding-school flavour of which we're afraid;
+There is "lush" is a good one and "swirl" is another;
+ Put both in one stanza, its fortune is made.
+
+With musical murmurs and rhythmical closes
+ You can cheat us of smiles when you've nothing to tell;
+You hand us a nosegay of milliner's roses,
+ And we cry with delight, "Oh, how sweet they do smell!"
+
+Perhaps you will answer all needful conditions
+ For winning the laurels to which you aspire,
+By docking the tails of the two prepositions
+ I' the style o' the bards you so greatly admire.
+
+As for subjects of verse, they are only too plenty
+ For ringing the changes on metrical chimes;
+A maiden, a moonbeam, a lover of twenty,
+ Have filled that great basket with bushels of rhymes.
+
+Let me show you a picture--'tis far from irrelevant--
+ By a famous old hand in the arts of design;
+'Tis only a photographed sketch of an elephant;
+ The name of the draughtsman was Rembrandt of Rhine.
+
+How easy! no troublesome colours to lay on;
+ It can't have fatigued him, no, not in the least;
+A dash here and there with a haphazard crayon,
+ And there stands the wrinkled-skinned, baggy-limbed beast.
+
+Just so with your verse--'tis as easy as sketching;
+ You can reel off a song without knitting your brow,
+As lightly as Rembrandt a drawing or etching;
+ It is nothing at all, if you only know how.
+
+Well, imagine you've printed your volume of verses;
+ Your forehead is wreathed with the garland of fame;
+Your poem the eloquent school-boy rehearses;
+ Her album the school-girl presents for your name.
+
+Each morning the post brings you autograph letters;
+ You'll answer them promptly--an hour isn't much
+For the honour of sharing a page with your betters,
+ With magistrates, members of Congress, and such.
+
+Of course you're delighted to serve the committees
+ That come with requests from the country all round;
+You would grace the occasion with poems and ditties
+ When they've got a new school-house, or poor-house, or pound.
+
+With a hymn for the saints, and a song for the sinners,
+ You go and are welcome wherever you please;
+You're a privileged guest at all manner of dinners;
+ You've a seat on the platform among the grandees.
+
+At length your mere presence becomes a sensation;
+ Your cup of enjoyment is filled to its brim
+With the pleasure Horatian of digitmonstration,
+ As the whisper runs round of "That's he!" or "That's him!"
+
+But, remember, O dealer in phrases sonorous,
+ So daintily chosen, so tunefully matched,
+Though you soar with the wings of the cherubim o'er us,
+ The ovum was human from which you were hatched.
+
+No will of your own, with its puny compulsion,
+ Can summon the spirit that quickens the lyre;
+It comes, if at all, like the sibyl's convulsion,
+ And touches the brain with a finger of fire.
+
+So, perhaps, after all, it's as well to be quiet,
+ If you've nothing you think is worth saying in prose,
+As to furnish a meal of their cannibal diet
+ To the critics, by publishing, as you propose.
+
+But it's all of no use, and I'm sorry I've written;
+ I shall see your thin volume some day on my shelf;
+For the rhyming tarantula surely has bitten,
+ And music must cure you, so pipe it yourself.
+
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
+
+
+
+
+ THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS
+
+
+I wrote some lines once on a time
+ In wondrous merry mood,
+And thought, as usual, men would say
+ They were exceeding good.
+
+They were so queer, so very queer,
+ I laughed as I would die;
+Albeit, in the general way,
+ A sober man am I.
+
+I called my servant, and he came;
+ How kind it was of him,
+To mind a slender man like me,
+ He of the mighty limb!
+
+"These to the printer," I exclaimed,
+ And, in my humorous way,
+I added (as a trifling jest),
+ "There'll be the devil to pay."
+
+He took the paper, and I watched,
+ And saw him peep within;
+At the first line he read, his face
+ Was all upon a grin.
+
+He read the next, the grin grew broad,
+ And shot from ear to ear;
+He read the third, a chuckling noise
+ I now began to hear.
+
+The fourth, he broke into a roar;
+ The fifth, his waistband split;
+The sixth, he burst five buttons off,
+ And tumbled in a fit.
+
+Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,
+ I watched that wretched man,
+And since, I never dare to write
+ As funny as I can.
+
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
+
+
+
+
+SHAKE, MULLEARY AND GO-ETHE
+
+
+ I
+
+I have a bookcase, which is what
+Many much better men have not.
+There are no books inside, for books,
+I am afraid, might spoil its looks.
+But I've three busts, all second-hand,
+Upon the top. You understand
+I could not put them underneath--
+Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe.
+
+ II
+
+Shake was a dramatist of note;
+He lived by writing things to quote,
+He long ago put on his shroud:
+Some of his works are rather loud.
+His bald-spot's dusty, I suppose.
+I know there's dust upon his nose.
+I'll have to give each nose a sheath--
+Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe.
+
+ III
+
+Mulleary's line was quite the same;
+He has more hair, but far less fame.
+I would not from that fame retrench--
+But he is foreign, being French.
+Yet high his haughty head he heaves,
+The only one done up in leaves,
+They're rather limited on wreath--
+Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe.
+
+ IV
+
+Go-ethe wrote in the German tongue:
+He must have learned it very young.
+His nose is quite a butt for scoff,
+Although an inch of it is off.
+He did quite nicely for the Dutch;
+But here he doesn't count for much.
+They all are off their native heath--
+Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe.
+
+ V
+
+They sit there, on their chests, as bland
+As if they were not second-hand.
+I do not know of what they think,
+Nor why they never frown or wink,
+But why from smiling they refrain
+I think I clearly can explain:
+They none of them could show much teeth--
+Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe.
+
+ _H. C. Bunner._
+
+
+
+
+ A RONDELAY
+
+
+Man is for woman made,
+ And woman made for man:
+As the spur is for the jade,
+As the scabbard for the blade,
+ As for liquor is the can,
+So man's for woman made,
+ And woman made for man.
+
+As the sceptre to be sway'd,
+As to night the serenade,
+ As for pudding is the pan,
+ As to cool us is the fan,
+So man's for woman made,
+ And woman made for man.
+
+Be she widow, wife, or maid,
+Be she wanton, be she staid,
+Be she well or ill array'd,
+So man's for woman made,
+ And woman made for man.
+
+ _Peter A. Motteux._
+
+
+
+
+ WINTER DUSK
+
+
+The prospect is bare and white,
+ And the air is crisp and chill;
+While the ebon wings of night
+ Are spread on the distant hill.
+
+The roar of the stormy sea
+ Seem the dirges shrill and sharp
+That winter plays on the tree--
+ His wild AEolian harp.
+
+In the pool that darkly creeps
+ In ripples before the gale,
+A star like a lily sleeps
+ And wiggles its silver tail.
+
+ _R. K. Munkittrick._
+
+
+
+
+ COMIC MISERIES
+
+
+My dear young friend, whose shining wit
+ Sets all the room a-blaze,
+Don't think yourself a "happy dog,"
+ For all your merry ways;
+But learn to wear a sober phiz,
+ Be stupid, if you can,
+It's such a very serious thing
+ To be a funny man!
+
+You're at an evening party, with
+ A group of pleasant folks,--
+You venture quietly to crack
+ The least of little jokes,--
+A lady doesn't catch the point,
+ And begs you to explain--
+Alas for one that drops a jest
+ And takes it up again!
+
+You're talking deep philosophy
+ With very special force,
+To edify a clergyman
+ With suitable discourse,--
+You think you've got him--when he calls
+ A friend across the way,
+And begs you'll say that funny thing
+ You said the other day!
+
+You drop a pretty _jeu-de-mot_
+ Into a neighbor's ears,
+Who likes to give you credit for
+ The clever thing he hears,
+And so he hawks your jest about,
+ The old authentic one,
+Just breaking off the point of it,
+ And leaving out the pun!
+
+By sudden change in politics,
+ Or sadder change in Polly,
+You, lose your love, or loaves, and fall
+ A prey to melancholy,
+While everybody marvels why
+ Your mirth is under ban,--
+They think your very grief "a joke,"
+ You're such a funny man!
+
+You follow up a stylish card
+ That bids you come and dine,
+And bring along your freshest wit
+ (To pay for musty wine),
+You're looking very dismal, when
+ My lady bounces in,
+And wonders what you're thinking of
+ And why you don't begin!
+
+You're telling to a knot of friends
+ A fancy-tale of woes
+That cloud your matrimonial sky,
+ And banish all repose--
+solemn lady overhears
+ The story of your strife,
+And tells the town the pleasant news:
+ You quarrel with your wife!
+
+My dear young friend, whose shining wit
+ Sets all the room a-blaze,
+Don't think yourself "a happy dog,"
+ For all your merry ways;
+But learn to wear a sober phiz,
+ Be stupid, if you can,
+It's such a very serious thing
+ To be a funny man!
+
+ _John G. Saxe._
+
+
+
+
+ EARLY RISING
+
+
+"God bless the man who first invented sleep!"
+ So Sancho Panza said, and so say I:
+And bless him, also, that he didn't keep
+ His great discovery to himself; nor try
+To make it--as the lucky fellow might--
+A close monopoly by patent-right!
+
+Yes--bless the man who first invented sleep,
+ (I really can't avoid the iteration;)
+But blast the man, with curses loud and deep,
+ Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station,
+Who first invented, and went round advising,
+That artificial cut-off--Early Rising!
+
+"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed,"
+ Observes some solemn, sentimental owl;
+Maxims like these are very cheaply said;
+ But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,
+Pray just inquire about his rise and fall,
+And whether larks have any beds at all!
+
+The time for honest folks to be a-bed
+ Is in the morning, if I reason right;
+And he who cannot keep his precious head
+ Upon his pillow till it's fairly light,
+And so enjoy his forty morning winks,
+Is up to knavery; or else--he drinks!
+
+Thompson, who sung about the "Seasons," said
+ It was a glorious thing to _rise_ in season;
+But then he said it--lying--in his bed,
+ At ten o'clock A.M.,--the very reason
+He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is
+His preaching wasn't sanctioned by his practice.
+
+'Tis, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake,--
+ Awake to duty, and awake to truth,--
+But when, alas! a nice review we take
+ Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth,
+The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep
+Are those we passed in childhood or asleep!
+
+'Tis beautiful to leave the world awhile
+ For the soft visions of the gentle night;
+And free, at last, from mortal care or guile,
+ To live as only in the angel's sight,
+In sleep's sweet realm so cosily shut in,
+Where, at the worst, we only _dream_ of sin!
+
+So let us sleep, and give the Maker praise.
+ I like the lad who, when his father thought
+To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase
+ Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,
+Cried, "Served him right!--it's not at all surprising;
+The worm was punished, sir, for early rising!"
+
+ _John G. Saxe._
+
+
+
+
+ TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL
+
+
+"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 Palaeotherium;
+Older than the trees, the oldest Cryptogami;
+Older than the hills, those infantile eruptions
+ Of earth's epidermis!
+
+"Eo--Mio--Plio--whatsoe'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 all 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 Brachipods _au naturel_,--
+Cuttle-fish 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 expressed 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._
+
+
+
+
+ ODE TO WORK IN SPRINGTIME
+
+
+Oh, would that working I might shun,
+ From labour my connection sever,
+That I might do a bit--or none
+ Whatever!
+
+That I might wander over hills,
+ Establish friendship with a daisy,
+O'er pretty things like daffodils
+ Go crazy!
+
+That I might at the heavens gaze,
+ Concern myself with nothing weighty,
+Loaf, at a stretch, for seven days--
+ Or eighty.
+
+Why can't I cease a slave to be,
+ And taste existence beatific
+On some fair island, hid in the
+ Pacific?
+
+Instead of sitting at a desk
+ 'Mid undone labours, grimly lurking--
+Oh, say, what is there picturesque
+ In working?
+
+But no!--to loaf were misery!--
+ I love to work! Hang isles of coral!
+(To end this otherwise would be
+ Immoral!)
+
+ _Thomas R. Ybarra._
+
+
+
+
+ OLD STUFF
+
+
+If I go to see the play,
+ Of the story I am certain;
+Promptly it gets under way
+ With the lifting of the curtain.
+Builded all that's said and done
+ On the ancient recipe--
+'Tis the same old Two and One:
+ _A and B in love with C_.
+
+If I read the latest book,
+ There's the mossy situation;
+One may confidently look
+ For the trite triangulation.
+Old as time, but ever new,
+ Seemingly, this tale of Three--
+Same old yarn of One and Two:
+ _A and C in love with B_.
+
+If I cast my eyes around,
+ Far and near and middle distance,
+Still the formula is found
+ In our everyday existence.
+Everywhere I look I see--
+ Fact or fiction, life or play--
+Still the little game of Three:
+ _B and C in love with A._
+
+While the ancient law fulfills,
+ Myriad moons shall wane and wax.
+Jack must have his pair of Jills,
+ Jill must have her pair of Jacks.
+
+ _Bert Leston Taylor._
+
+
+
+
+ TO MINERVA
+
+
+My temples throb, my pulses boil,
+ I'm sick of Song and Ode and Ballad--
+So Thyrsis, take the midnight oil,
+ And pour it on a lobster salad.
+
+My brain is dull, my sight is foul,
+ I cannot write a verse, or read--
+Then Pallas, take away thine Owl,
+ And let us have a Lark instead.
+
+ _Thomas Hood._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LEGEND OF HEINZ VON STEIN
+
+
+Out rode from his wild, dark castle
+ The terrible Heinz von Stein;
+He came to the door of a tavern
+ And gazed on its swinging sign.
+
+He sat himself down at a table,
+ And growled for a bottle of wine;
+Up came with a flask and a corkscrew
+ A maiden of beauty divine.
+
+Then, seized with a deep love-longing,
+ He uttered, "O damosel mine,
+Suppose you just give a few kisses
+ To the valorous Ritter von Stein!"
+
+But she answered, "The kissing business
+ Is entirely out of my line;
+And I certainly will not begin it
+ On a countenance ugly as thine!"
+
+Oh, then the bold knight was angry,
+ And cursed both coarse and fine;
+And asked, "How much is the swindle
+ For your sour and nasty wine?"
+
+And fiercely he rode to the castle
+ And sat himself down to dine;
+And this is the dreadful legend
+ Of the terrible Heinz von Stein.
+
+ _Charles Godfrey Leland._
+
+
+
+
+ THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE
+
+
+It is very aggravating
+To hear the solemn prating
+Of the fossils who are stating
+ That old Horace was a prude;
+When we know that with the ladies
+He was always raising Hades,
+And with many an escapade his
+ Best productions are imbued.
+
+There's really not much harm in a
+Large number of his carmina,
+But these people find alarm in a
+ Few records of his acts;
+So they'd squelch the muse caloric,
+And to students sophomoric
+They'd present as metaphoric
+ What old Horace meant for facts.
+
+We have always thought 'em lazy;
+Now we adjudge 'em crazy!
+Why, Horace was a daisy
+ That was very much alive!
+And the wisest of us know him
+As his Lydia verses show him,--
+Go, read that virile poem,--
+ It is No. 25.
+
+He was a very owl, sir,
+And starting out to prowl, sir,
+You bet he made Rome howl, sir,
+ Until he filled his date;
+With a massic-laden ditty
+And a classic maiden pretty,
+He painted up the city,
+ And Maecenas paid the freight!
+
+ _Eugene Field._
+
+
+
+
+ PROPINQUITY NEEDED
+
+
+Celestine Silvousplait Justine de Mouton Rosalie,
+A coryphee who lived and danced in naughty, gay Paree,
+Was every bit as pretty as a French girl e'er can be
+ (Which isn't saying much).
+
+Maurice Boulanger (there's a name that would adorn a king),
+But Morris Baker was the name they called the man I sing.
+He lived in New York City in the Street that's labeled Spring
+ (Chosen because it rhymed).
+
+Now Baker was a lonesome youth and wanted to be wed,
+And for a wife, all over town he hunted, it is said;
+And up and down Fifth Avenue he ofttimes wandered
+ (He was a peripatetic Baker, he was).
+
+And had he met Celestine, not a doubt but Cupid's darts
+Would in a trice have wounded both of their fond, loving hearts;
+But he has never left New York to stray in foreign parts
+ (Because he hasn't the price).
+
+And she has never left Paree and so, of course, you see
+There's not the slightest chance at all she'll marry Morris B.
+For love to get well started, really needs propinquity
+ (Hence my title).
+
+ _Charles Battell Loomis._
+
+
+
+
+ IN THE CATACOMBS
+
+
+Sam Brown was a fellow from way down East,
+Who never was "staggered" in the least.
+No tale of marvellous beast or bird
+Could match the stories he had heard;
+No curious place or wondrous view
+"Was ekil to Podunk, I tell yu."
+
+If they told him of Italy's sunny clime,
+"Maine kin beat it, every time!"
+If they marvelled at AEtna's fount of fire,
+They roused his ire:
+With an injured air
+He'd reply, "I swear
+I don't think much of a smokin' hill;
+We've got a moderate little rill
+Kin make yer old volcaner still;
+Jes' pour old Kennebec down the crater,
+'N' I guess it'll cool her fiery nater!"
+
+They showed him a room where a queen had slept;
+"'Twan't up to the tavern daddy kept."
+They showed him Lucerne; but he had drunk
+From the beautiful Molechunkamunk.
+They took him at last to ancient Rome,
+And inveigled him into a catacomb:
+Here they plied him with draughts of wine,
+Though he vowed old cider was twice as fine,
+Till the fumes of Falernian filled his head,
+And he slept as sound as the silent dead;
+They removed a mummy to make him room,
+And laid him at length in the rocky tomb.
+
+They piled old skeletons round the stone,
+Set a "dip" in a candlestick of bone,
+And left him to slumber there alone;
+Then watched from a distance the taper's gleam,
+Waiting to jeer at his frightened scream,
+When he should wake from his drunken dream.
+
+After a time the Yankee woke,
+But instantly saw through the flimsy joke;
+So never a cry or shout he uttered,
+But solemnly rose, and slowly muttered:
+"I see how it is. It's the judgment day,
+We've all been dead and stowed away;
+All these stone furreners sleepin' yet,
+An' I'm the fust one up, you bet!
+Can't none o' you Romans start, I wonder?
+_United States ahead, by thunder!_"
+
+ _Harlan Hoge Ballard._
+
+
+
+
+ OUR NATIVE BIRDS
+
+
+Alone I sit at eventide;
+ The twilight glory pales,
+And o'er the meadows far and wide
+ I hear the bobolinks--
+ (We have no nightingales!)
+
+Song-sparrows warble on the tree,
+ I hear the purling brook,
+And from the old manse on the lea
+ Flies slow the cawing crow--
+ (In England 'twere a rook!)
+
+The last faint golden beams of day
+ Still glow on cottage panes,
+And on their lingering homeward way
+ Walk weary laboring men--
+ (Alas! we have no swains!)
+
+From farmyards, down fair rural glades
+ Come sounds of tinkling bells,
+And songs of merry brown milkmaids
+ Sweeter than catbird's strains--
+ (I should say Philomel's!)
+
+I could sit here till morning came,
+ All through the night hours dark,
+Until I saw the sun's bright flame
+ And heard the oriole--
+ (Alas! we have no lark!)
+
+We have no leas, no larks, no rooks,
+ No swains, no nightingales,
+No singing milkmaids (save in books)
+ The poet does his best:--
+ It is the rhyme that fails.
+
+ _Nathan Haskell Dole._
+
+
+
+
+ THE PRAYER OF CYRUS BROWN
+
+
+"The proper way for a man to pray,"
+ Said Deacon Lemuel Keyes,
+"And the only proper attitude
+ Is down upon his knees."
+
+"No, I should say the way to pray,"
+ Said Rev. Doctor Wise,
+"Is standing straight with outstretched arms
+ And rapt and upturned eyes."
+
+"Oh, no; no, no," said Elder Slow,
+ "Such posture is too proud:
+A man should pray with eyes fast closed
+ And head contritely bowed."
+
+"It seems to me his hands should be
+ Austerely clasped in front.
+With both thumbs pointing toward the ground,"
+ Said Rev. Doctor Blunt.
+
+"Las' year I fell in Hodgkin's well
+ Head first," said Cyrus Brown,
+"With both my heels a-stickin' up,
+ My head a-pinting down;
+
+"An' I made a prayer right then an' there--
+ Best prayer I ever said,
+The prayingest prayer I ever prayed,
+ A-standing on my head."
+
+ _Sam Walter Foss._
+
+
+
+
+ ERRING IN COMPANY
+
+
+"If I have erred, I err in company with Abraham Lincoln."
+ --_Theodore Roosevelt_.
+
+If e'er my rhyming be at fault,
+ If e'er I chance to scribble dope,
+If that my metre ever halt,
+ I err in company with Pope.
+
+An that my grammar go awry,
+ An that my English be askew,
+Sooth, I can prove an alibi--
+ The Bard of Avon did it too.
+
+If often toward the bottled grape
+ My errant fancy fondly turns,
+Remember, leering jackanape,
+ I err in company with Burns.
+
+If now and then I sigh "Mine own!"
+ Unto another's wedded wife,
+Remember, I am not alone--
+ Hast ever read Lord Byron's Life?
+
+If frequently I fret and fume,
+ And absolutely will not smile,
+I err in company with Hume,
+ Old Socrates and T. Carlyle.
+
+If e'er I fail in etiquette,
+ And foozle on The Proper Stuff
+Regarding manners, don't forget
+ A. Tennyson's were pretty tough.
+
+Eke if I err upon the side
+ Of talking overmuch of Me,
+I err, it cannot be denied,
+ In most illustrious company.
+
+ _Franklin P. Adams._
+
+
+
+
+ CUPID
+
+
+Why was Cupid a boy,
+ And why a boy was he?
+He should have been a girl,
+ For aught that I can see.
+
+For he shoots with his bow,
+ And the girl shoots with her eye;
+And they both are merry and glad,
+ And laugh when we do cry.
+
+Then to make Cupid a boy
+ Was surely a woman's plan,
+For a boy never learns so much
+ Till he has become a man.
+
+And then he's so pierced with cares,
+ And wounded with arrowy smarts,
+That the whole business of his life
+ Is to pick out the heads of the darts.
+
+ _William Blake._
+
+
+
+
+ IF WE DIDN'T HAVE TO EAT
+
+
+Life would be an easy matter
+ If we didn't have to eat.
+ If we never had to utter,
+ "Won't you pass the bread and butter,
+Likewise push along that platter
+ Full of meat?"
+ Yes, if food were obsolete
+ Life would be a jolly treat,
+If we didn't--shine or shower,
+Old or young, 'bout every hour--
+ Have to eat, eat, eat, eat, eat--
+ 'Twould be jolly if we didn't have to eat.
+
+We could save a lot of money
+ If we didn't have to eat.
+ Could we cease our busy buying,
+ Baking, broiling, brewing, frying,
+Life would then be oh, so sunny
+ And complete;
+ And we wouldn't fear to greet
+ Every grocer in the street
+If we didn't--man and woman,
+Every hungry, helpless human--
+ Have to eat, eat, eat, eat, eat--
+ We'd save money if we didn't have to eat.
+
+All our worry would be over
+ If we didn't have to eat.
+ Would the butcher, baker, grocer
+ Get our hard-earned dollars? No, Sir!
+We would then be right in clover
+ Cool and sweet.
+ Want and hunger we could cheat,
+ And we'd get there with both feet,
+If we didn't--poor or wealthy,
+Halt or nimble, sick or healthy--
+ Have to eat, eat, eat, eat, eat,
+ We could get there if we didn't have to eat.
+
+ _Nixon Waterman._
+
+
+
+
+ TO MY EMPTY PURSE
+
+
+To you, my purse, and to none other wight,
+Complain I, for ye be my lady dere;
+I am sorry now that ye be light,
+For, certes, ye now make me heavy chere;
+Me were as lefe be laid upon a bere,
+For which unto your mercy thus I crie,
+Be heavy againe, or els mote I die.
+
+Now vouchsafe this day or it be night,
+That I of you the blissful sowne may here,
+Or see your color like the sunne bright,
+That of yellowness had never pere;
+Ye are my life, ye be my hertes stere,
+Queen of comfort and of good companie,
+Be heavy againe, or els mote I die.
+
+Now purse, thou art to me my lives light,
+And saviour, as downe in this world here,
+Out of this towne helpe me by your might,
+Sith that you will not be my treasure,
+For I am slave as nere as any frere,
+But I pray unto your curtesie,
+Be heavy againe, or els mote I die.
+
+ _Geoffrey Chaucer._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BIRTH OF SAINT PATRICK
+
+
+On the eighth day of March it was, some people say,
+That Saint Pathrick at midnight he first saw the day;
+While others declare 'twas the ninth he was born,
+And 'twas all a mistake between midnight and morn;
+For mistakes _will_ occur in a hurry and shock,
+And some blam'd the baby--and some blam'd the clock--
+Till with all their cross-questions sure no one could know,
+If the child was too fast--or the clock was too slow.
+
+Now the first faction fight in ould Ireland, they say,
+Was all on account of Saint Pathrick's birthday,
+Some fought for the eighth--for the ninth more would die.
+And who wouldn't see right, sure they blacken'd his eye!
+At last, _both_ the factions so positive grew,
+That _each_ kept a birthday, so Pat then had _two_,
+Till Father Mulcahy, who showed them their sins,
+Said, "No one could have two birthdays but a _twins_."
+
+Says he, "Boys, don't be fightin' for eight or for nine,
+Don't be always dividin'--but sometimes combine;
+Combine eight with nine, and seventeen is the mark,
+So let that be his birthday."--"Amen," says the clerk.
+"If he wasn't a _twins_, sure our hist'ry will show--
+That, at least, he's worth any _two_ saints that we know!"
+Then they all got blind dhrunk--which complated their bliss,
+And we keep up the practice from that day to this.
+
+ _Samuel Lover._
+
+
+
+
+ HER LITTLE FEET
+
+
+Her little feet!... Beneath us ranged the sea,
+ She sat, from sun and wind umbrella-shaded,
+One shoe above the other danglingly,
+ And lo! a Something exquisitely graded,
+Brown rings and white, distracting--to the knee!
+
+The band was loud. A wild waltz melody
+ Flowed rhythmic forth. The nobodies paraded.
+And thro' my dream went pulsing fast and free:
+ Her little feet.
+
+Till she made room for some one. It was He!
+ A port-wine flavored He, a He who traded,
+Rich, rosy, round, obese to a degree!
+A sense of injury overmastered me.
+ Quite bulbously his ample boots upbraided
+ Her little feet.
+
+ _William Ernest Henley._
+
+
+
+
+ SCHOOL
+
+
+If there is a vile, pernicious,
+ Wicked and degraded rule,
+Tending to debase the vicious,
+ And corrupt the harmless fool;
+If there is a hateful habit
+ Making man a senseless tool,
+With the feelings of a rabbit
+ And the wisdom of a mule;
+It's the rule which inculcates,
+It's the habit which dictates
+The wrong and sinful practice of going into school.
+
+If there's anything improving
+ To an erring sinner's state,
+Which is useful in removing
+ All the ills of human fate;
+If there's any glorious custom
+ Which our faults can dissipate,
+And can casually thrust 'em
+ Out of sight and make us great;
+It's the plan by which we shirk
+Half our matu-ti-nal work,
+The glorious institution of always being late.
+
+ _James Kenneth Stephen._
+
+
+
+
+ THE MILLENNIUM
+
+ TO R. K.
+
+
+_As long I dwell on some stupendous
+And tremendous (Heaven defend us!)
+Monstr'-inform'-ingens-horrendous
+Demoniaco-seraphic
+Penman's latest piece of graphic._
+ --|Robert Browning|.
+
+Will there never come a season
+ Which shall rid us from the curse
+Of a prose which knows no reason
+ And an unmelodious verse:
+When the world shall cease to wonder
+ At the genius of an Ass,
+And a boy's eccentric blunder
+ Shall not bring success to pass:
+
+When mankind shall be delivered
+ From the clash of magazines,
+And the inkstand shall be shivered
+ Into countless smithereens:
+When there stands a muzzled stripling,
+ Mute, beside a muzzled bore:
+When the Rudyards cease from Kipling
+ And the Haggards Ride no more?
+
+ _James Kenneth Stephen._
+
+
+
+
+ "EXACTLY SO"
+
+
+A |speech|, both pithy and concise,
+Marks a mind acute and wise;
+What speech, my friend, say, do you know,
+Can stand before "Exactly so?"
+
+I have a dear and witty friend
+Who turns this phrase to every end;
+None can deny that "Yes" or "No"
+Is meant in this "Exactly so."
+
+Or when a bore his ear assails,
+Good-humour in his bosom fails,
+No response from his lips will flow,
+Save, now and then, "Exactly so."
+
+Is there remark on matters grave
+That he may wish perchance to waive,
+Or thinks perhaps is rather slow,
+He stops it by "Exactly so."
+
+It saves the trouble of a thought--
+No sour dispute can thence be sought;
+It leaves the thing in _statu quo_,
+This beautiful "Exactly so."
+
+It has another charm, this phrase,
+For it implies the speaker's praise
+Of what has just been said--_ergo_--
+It pleases, this "Exactly so."
+
+Nor need the conscience feel distress,
+By answ'ring wrongly "No" or "Yes;"
+It 'scapes a falsehood, which is low,
+And substitutes "Exactly so."
+
+Each mortal loves to think he's right,
+That his opinion, too, is bright;
+Then, Christian, you may soothe your foe
+By chiming in "Exactly so."
+
+Whoe'er these lines may chance peruse,
+Of this famed word will see the use,
+And mention where'er he may go,
+The praises of "Exactly so."
+
+Of this more could my muse relate,
+But you, kind reader, I'll not sate;
+For if I did you'd cry "Hallo!
+I've heard enough"--"Exactly so."
+
+ _Lady T. Hastings._
+
+
+
+
+ COMPANIONS
+
+ A TALE OF A GRANDFATHER
+
+I know not of what we ponder'd
+ Or made pretty pretence to talk,
+As, her hand within mine, we wander'd
+ Tow'rd the pool by the lime-tree walk,
+While the dew fell in showers from the passion flowers
+ And the blush-rose bent on her stalk.
+
+I cannot recall her figure:
+ Was it regal as Juno's own?
+Or only a trifle bigger
+ Than the elves who surround the throne
+Of the Faery Queen, and are seen, I ween,
+ By mortals in dreams alone?
+
+What her eyes were like, I know not:
+ Perhaps they were blurr'd with tears;
+And perhaps in your skies there glow not
+ (On the contrary) clearer spheres.
+No! as to her eyes I am just as wise
+ As you or the cat, my dears.
+
+Her teeth, I presume, were "pearly":
+ But which was she, brunette or blonde?
+Her hair, was it quaintly curly,
+ Or as straight as a beadle's wand?
+That I fail'd to remark;--it was rather dark
+ And shadowy round the pond.
+
+Then the hand that reposed so snugly
+ In mine,--was it plump or spare?
+Was the countenance fair or ugly?
+ Nay, children, you have me there!
+_My_ eyes were p'r'aps blurr'd; and besides I'd heard
+ That it's horribly rude to stare.
+
+And I--was I brusque and surly?
+ Or oppressively bland and fond?
+Was I partial to rising early?
+ Or why did we twain abscond,
+All breakfastless, too, from the public view,
+ To prowl by a misty pond?
+
+What pass'd, what was felt or spoken--
+ Whether anything pass'd at all--
+And whether the heart was broken
+ That beat under that shelt'ring shawl--
+(If shawl she had on, which I doubt)--has gone,
+ Yes, gone from me past recall.
+
+Was I haply the lady's suitor?
+ Or her uncle? I can't make out--
+Ask your governess, dears, or tutor.
+ For myself, I'm in hopeless doubt
+As to why we were there, who on earth we were,
+ And, what this is all about.
+
+ _Charles Stuart Calverley._
+
+
+
+
+ THE SCHOOLMASTER
+
+ ABROAD WITH HIS SON
+
+
+O what harper could worthily harp it,
+ Mine Edward! this wide-stretching wold
+(Look out _wold_) with its wonderful carpet
+ Of emerald, purple and gold!
+Look well at it--also look sharp, it
+ Is getting so cold.
+
+The purple is heather (_erica_);
+ The yellow, gorse--call'd sometimes "whin."
+Cruel boys on its prickles might spike a
+ Green beetle as if on a pin.
+You may roll in it, if you would like a
+ Few holes in your skin.
+
+You wouldn't? Then think of how kind you
+ Should be to the insects who crave
+Your compassion--and then, look behind you
+ At yon barley-ears! Don't they look brave
+As they undulate--(_undulate_, mind you,
+ From _unda, a wave_).
+
+The noise of those sheep-bells, how faint it
+ Sounds here--(on account of our height)!
+And this hillock itself--who could paint it,
+ With its changes of shadow and light?
+Is it not--(never, Eddy, say "ain't it")--
+ A marvelous sight?
+
+Then yon desolate eerie morasses.
+ The haunts of the snipe and the hern--
+(I shall question the two upper classes
+ On _aquatiles_, when we return)--
+Why, I see on them absolute masses
+ Of _filix_ or fern.
+
+How it interests e'en a beginner
+ (Or _tiro_) like dear little Ned!
+Is he listening? As I am a sinner
+ He's asleep--he is wagging his head.
+Wake up! I'll go home to my dinner,
+ And you to your bed.
+
+The boundless ineffable prairie;
+ The splendor of mountain and lake
+With their hues that seem ever to vary;
+ The mighty pine forests which shake
+In the wind, and in which the unwary
+ May tread on a snake;
+
+And this wold with its heathery garment--
+ Are themes undeniably great.
+But--although there is not any harm in't--
+ It's perhaps little good to dilate
+On their charms to a dull little varmint
+ Of seven or eight.
+
+ _Charles Stuart Calverley._
+
+
+
+
+A APPEAL FOR ARE TO THE SEXTANT OF THE OLD BRICK MEETINOUSE
+
+ BY A GASPER
+
+
+The sextant of the meetinouse, which sweeps
+And dusts, or is supposed too! and makes fiers,
+And lites the gas and sometimes leaves a screw loose,
+in which case it smells orful--worse than lampile;
+And wrings the Bel and toles it when men dyes
+to the grief of survivin pardners, and sweeps pathes;
+And for the servases gits $100 per annum,
+Which them that thinks deer, let em try it;
+Getting up be foar star-lite in all weathers and
+Kindlin-fires when the wether it is cold
+As zero, and like as not green wood for kindlers;
+I wouldn't be hired to do it for no some--
+But o sextant! there are 1 kermoddity
+Which's more than gold, wich doant cost nothin,
+Worth more than anything exsep the Sole of Man.
+i mean pewer Are, sextent, i mean pewer are!
+O it is plenty out o dores, so plenty it doant no
+What on airth to dew with itself, but flys about
+Scaterin levs and bloin of men's hatts;
+in short, jest "fre as are" out dores.
+But o sextant, in our church its scarce as piety,
+scarce as bank bills wen agints beg for mischuns,
+Wich some say purty often (taint nothin to me,
+Wat I give aint nothin to nobody), but o sextant,
+u shut 500 mens wimmen and children,
+Speshally the latter, up in a tite place,
+Some has bad breths, none aint 2 swete,
+some is fevery, some is scrofilus, some has bad teeth,
+And some haint none, and some aint over clean;
+But every 1 on em breethes in and out and out and in,
+Say 50 times a minit, or 1 million and a half breths an our,
+Now how long will a church ful of are last at that rate,
+I ask you, say 15 minutes, and then wats to be did?
+Why then they must brethe it all over agin.
+And then agin, and so on, till each has took it down,
+At least ten times, and let it up again, and wats more
+The same individible don't have the privilege
+of brethen his own are, and no one's else;
+Each one mus take whatever comes to him,
+O sextant, don't you know our lungs is bellusses,
+To blo the fier of life, and keep it from
+goin out; and how can bellusses blow without wind,
+And aint wind _are_? i put it to your conscens.
+Are is the same to us as milk to babes,
+Or water to fish, or pendlums to clox--
+Or roots and airbs unto an injun Doctor,
+Or little pils to an omepath,
+Or boys to gurls. Are is for us to brethe,
+Wat signifies who preeches if i cant brethe?
+Wats Pol? Wats Pollus? to sinners who are ded?
+Ded for want of breth? why sextant, when we die
+Its only coz we cant brethe no more--that's all.
+And now, O sextant, let me beg of you
+2 let a little are into our church.
+(Pewer are is sertin proper for the pews)
+And do it weak days and Sundays tew--
+It aint much trouble--only make a hole
+And the are will come in itself;
+(It luvs to come in whare it can git warm):
+And o how it will rouse the people up
+And sperrit up the preacher, and stop garbs,
+And yawns and figgits as effectooal
+As wind on the dry Boans the Profit tells of.
+
+ _Arabella Willson._
+
+
+
+
+ CUPID'S DARTS
+
+ WHICH ARE A GROWING MENACE TO THE PUBLIC
+
+Do not worry if I scurry from the grill room in a hurry,
+ Dropping hastily my curry and retiring into balk;
+Do not let it cause you wonder if, by some mischance or blunder,
+ We encounter on the Underground and I get out and walk.
+
+If I double as a cub'll when you meet him in the stubble,
+ Do not think I am in trouble or attempt to make a fuss;
+Do not judge me melancholy or attribute it to folly
+ If I leave the Metropolitan and travel 'n a bus.
+
+Do not quiet your anxiety by giving me a diet,
+ Or by base resort to _vi et armis_ fold me to your arms,
+And let no suspicious tremor violate your wonted phlegm or
+ Any fear that Harold's memory is faithless to your charms.
+
+For my passion as I dash on in that disconcerting fashion
+ Is as ardently irrational as when we forged the link
+When you gave your little hand away to me, my own Amanda
+ As we sat 'n the veranda till the stars began to wink.
+
+And I am in such a famine when your beauty I examine
+ That it lures me as the jam invites a hungry little brat;
+But I fancy that, at any rate, I'd rather waste a penny
+ Then be spitted by the many pins that bristle from your hat.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ A PLEA FOR TRIGAMY
+
+
+I've been trying to fashion a wifely ideal,
+ And find that my tastes are so far from concise
+That, to marry completely, no fewer than three'll
+ Suffice
+
+I've subjected my views to severe atmospheric
+ Compression, but still, in defiance of force,
+They distinctly fall under three heads, like a cleric
+ Discourse.
+
+My _first_ must be fashion's own fancy-bred daughter,
+ Proud, peerless, and perfect--in fact, _comme il faut_;
+A waltzer and wit of the very first water--
+ For _show_.
+
+But these beauties that serve to make all the men jealous,
+ Once face them alone in the family cot,
+Heaven's angels incarnate (the novelists tell us)
+ They're _not_.
+
+But so much for appearances. Now for my _second_,
+ My lover, the wife of my home and my heart:
+Of all fortune and fate of my life to be reckon'd
+ A part.
+
+She must know all the needs of a rational being,
+ Be skilled to keep counsel, to comfort, to coax;
+And, above all things else, be accomplished at seeing
+ My jokes.
+
+I complete the menage by including the other
+ With all the domestic prestige of a hen:
+As my housekeeper, nurse, or it may be, a mother
+ Of men.
+
+Total _three!_ and the virtues all well represented;
+ With fewer than this such a thing can't be done;
+Though I've known married men who declare they're contented
+ With one.
+
+Would you hunt during harvest, or hay-make in winter?
+ And how can one woman expect to combine
+Certain qualifications essentially inter-
+ necine?
+
+You may say that my prospects are (legally) sunless;
+ I state that I find them as clear as can be:--
+I will marry _no_ wife, since I can't do with one less
+ Than three.
+
+ _Owen Seaman._
+
+
+
+
+ THE POPE
+
+
+The Pope he leads a happy life,
+He fears not married care nor strife.
+He drinks the best of Rhenish wine,--
+I would the Pope's gay lot were mine.
+
+But yet all happy's not his life,
+He has no maid, nor blooming wife;
+No child has he to raise his hope,--
+I would not wish to be the Pope.
+
+The Sultan better pleases me,
+His is a life of jollity;
+He's wives as many as he will,--
+I would the Sultan's throne then fill.
+
+But even he's a wretched man,
+He must obey the Alcoran;
+He dare not drink one drop of wine--
+I would not change his lot for mine.
+
+So here I'll take my lowly stand,
+I'll drink my own, my native land;
+I'll kiss my maiden fair and fine,
+And drink the best of Rhenish wine.
+
+And when my maiden kisses me
+I'll think that I the Sultan be;
+And when my cheery glass I tope,
+I'll fancy then I am the Pope.
+
+ _Charles Lever._
+
+
+
+
+ ALL AT SEA
+
+ THE VOYAGE OF A CERTAIN UNCERTAIN SAILORMAN
+
+
+I saw a certain sailorman who sat beside the sea,
+And in the manner of his tribe he yawned this yarn to me:
+"'Twere back in eighteen-fifty-three, or mebbe fifty-four,
+I skipped the farm,--no, 't were the shop,--an' went to Baltimore.
+I shipped aboard the _Lizzie_--or she might ha' bin the _Jane;_
+Them wimmin names are mixey, so I don't remember plain;
+But anyhow, she were a craft that carried schooner rig,
+(Although Sam Swab, the bo'sun, allus swore she were a brig);
+We sailed away from Salem Town,--no, lemme think;--'t were _Lynn_,--
+An' steered a course for Africa (or Greece, it might ha' bin);
+But anyway, we tacked an' backed an' weathered many a storm--
+Oh, no,--as I recall it now, that week was fine an' warm!
+Who did I say the cap'n was? I _didn't_ say at all?
+Wa-a-ll now, his name were 'Lijah Bell--or was it Eli Ball?
+I kinder guess 't were Eli. He'd a big, red, bushy beard--
+No-o-o, come to think, he allus kept _his_ whiskers nicely sheared.
+
+But anyhow, that voyage was the first I'd ever took,
+An' all I had to do was cut up cabbage for the cook;
+But come to talk o' cabbage just reminds me,--that there trip
+Would prob'ly be my _third_ one, on a Hong Kong clipper-ship.
+
+The crew they were a jolly lot, an' used to sing '_Avast_,'
+I think it were, or else '_Ahoy_,' while bailing out the mast.
+And as I recollect it now,--"
+ But here I cut him short,
+And said: "It's time to tack again, and bring your wits to port;
+I came to get a story both adventurous and _true_,
+And here is how I started out to write the interview:
+'I saw a _certain_ sailorman,' but you turn out to be
+The most _un_-certain sailorman that ever sailed the sea!"
+He puffed his pipe, and answered, "Wa-a-ll, I _thought_ 'twere mine, but
+ still,
+_I must ha' told the one belongs to my twin brother Bill_!"
+
+ _Frederick Moxon._
+
+
+
+
+BALLAD OF THE PRIMITIVE JEST
+
+
+I am an ancient Jest!
+Paleolithic man
+In his arboreal nest
+The sparks of fun would fan;
+My outline did he plan,
+And laughed like one possessed,
+'Twas thus my course began,
+I am a Merry Jest.
+
+I am an early Jest!
+Man delved and built and span;
+Then wandered South and West
+The peoples Aryan,
+_I_ journeyed in their van;
+The Semites, too, confessed,--
+From Beersheba to Dan,--
+I am a Merry Jest.
+
+I am an ancient Jest,
+Through all the human clan,
+Red, black, white, free, oppressed,
+Hilarious I ran!
+I'm found in Lucian,
+In Poggio, and the rest,
+I'm dear to Moll and Nan!
+I am a Merry Jest!
+
+
+ |envoy|:
+
+Prince, you may storm and ban--
+Joe Millers _are_ a pest,
+Suppress me if you can!
+I am a Merry Jest!
+
+ _Andrew Lang._
+
+
+
+
+ VILLANELLE OF THINGS AMUSING
+
+
+These are the things that make me laugh--
+ Life's a preposterous farce, say I!
+And I've missed of too many jokes by half.
+
+The high-heeled antics of colt and calf,
+ The men who think they can act, and try--
+These are the things that make me laugh.
+
+The hard-boiled poses in photograph,
+ The groom still wearing his wedding tie--
+And I've missed of too many jokes by half!
+
+These are the bubbles I gayly quaff
+ With the rank conceit of the new-born fly--
+These are the things that make me laugh!
+
+For, Heaven help me! I needs must chaff,
+ And people will tickle me till I die--
+And I've missed of too many jokes by half!
+
+So write me down in my epitaph
+As one too fond of his health to cry--
+These are the things that make me laugh,
+And I've missed of too many jokes by half!
+
+ _Gelett Burgess._
+
+
+
+
+ HOW TO EAT WATERMELONS
+
+
+When you slice a Georgy melon you mus' know what you is at
+ An' look out how de knife is gwine in.
+Put one-half on dis side er you--de yuther half on dat,
+ En' den you gits betwixt 'em, en begin!
+ Oh, melons!
+ Honey good ter see;
+ But we'en it comes ter sweetness,
+ De melon make fer me!
+En den you puts yo' knife up, en you sorter licks de blade,
+ En never stop fer sayin' any grace;
+But eat ontell you satisfy--roll over in de shade,
+ En sleep ontell de sun shine in yo' face!
+ Oh, melons!
+ Honey good ter see;
+ But we'en it comes ter sweetness,
+ De melon make fer me!
+
+ _Frank Libby Stanton._
+
+
+
+
+ A VAGUE STORY
+
+
+Perchance it was her eyes of blue,
+ Her cheeks that might the rose have shamed,
+Her figure in proportion true
+ To all the rules by artists framed;
+Perhaps it was her mental worth
+ That made her lover love her so,
+Perhaps her name, or wealth, or birth--
+ I cannot tell--I do not know.
+
+He may have had a rival, who
+ Did fiercely gage him to a duel,
+And, being luckier of the two,
+ Defeated him with triumph cruel;
+Then _she_ may have proved false, and turned
+ To welcome to her arms his foe,
+Left _him_ despairing, conquered, spurned--
+ I cannot tell--I do not know.
+
+So oft such woes will counteract
+ The thousand ecstacies of love,
+That you may fix on base of fact
+ The story hinted at above;
+But all on earth so doubtful is,
+ Man _knows_ so little here below,
+That, if you ask for proof of this,
+ I cannot tell--I do not know.
+
+ _Walter Parke._
+
+
+
+
+ HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW
+
+
+He stood on his head by the wild seashore,
+ And danced on his hands a jig;
+In all his emotions, as never before,
+ A wildly hilarious grig.
+
+And why? In that ship just crossing the bay
+ His mother-in-law had sailed
+For a tropical country far away,
+ Where tigers and fever prevailed.
+
+Oh, now he might hope for a peaceful life
+ And even be happy yet,
+Though owning no end of neuralgic wife,
+ And up to his collar in debt.
+
+He had borne the old lady through thick and thin,
+ And she lectured him out of breath;
+And now as he looked at the ship she was in
+ He howled for her violent death.
+
+He watched as the good ship cut the sea,
+ And bumpishly up-and-downed,
+And thought if already she qualmish might be,
+ He'd consider his happiness crowned.
+
+He watched till beneath the horizon's edge
+ The ship was passing from view;
+And he sprang to the top of a rocky ledge
+ And pranced like a kangaroo.
+
+He watched till the vessel became a speck
+ That was lost in the wandering sea;
+And then, at the risk of breaking his neck,
+ Turned somersaults home to tea.
+
+ _Walter Parke._
+
+
+
+
+ ON A DEAF HOUSEKEEPER
+
+
+Of all life's plagues I recommend to no man
+To hire as a domestic a deaf woman.
+I've got one who my orders does not hear,
+Mishears them rather, and keeps blundering near.
+Thirsty and hot, I asked her for a _drink_;
+She bustled out, and brought me back some _ink_.
+Eating a good rump-steak, I called for _mustard_;
+Away she went, and whipped me up a _custard_.
+I wanted with my chicken to have _ham_;
+Blundering once more, she brought a pot of _jam_.
+I wished in season for a cut of _salmon_;
+And what she brought me was a huge fat _gammon_.
+I can't my voice raise higher and still higher,
+As if I were a herald or town-crier.
+'T would better be if she were deaf outright;
+But anyhow she quits my house this night.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ HOM[OE]OPATHIC 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 Hom[oe]opathic Journal."
+ Let the liquor boil
+Half an hour, no 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 savoury.
+ When the broth is made,
+Nothing can excell 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.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ SOME LITTLE BUG
+
+
+In these days of indigestion
+It is oftentimes a question
+ As to what to eat and what to leave alone;
+For each microbe and bacillus
+Has a different way to kill us,
+ And in time they always claim us for their own.
+There are germs of every kind
+In any food that you can find
+ In the market or upon the bill of fare.
+Drinking water's just as risky
+As the so-called deadly whiskey,
+ And it's often a mistake to breathe the air.
+
+Some little bug is going to find you some day,
+Some little bug will creep behind you some day,
+ Then he'll send for his bug friends
+ And all your earthly trouble ends;
+Some little bug is going to find you some day.
+
+The inviting green cucumber
+Gets most everybody's number,
+ While the green corn has a system of its own;
+Though a radish seems nutritious
+Its behaviour is quite vicious,
+ And a doctor will be coming to your home.
+Eating lobster cooked or plain
+Is only flirting with ptomaine,
+ While an oyster sometimes has a lot to say,
+But the clams we cat in chowder
+Make the angels chant the louder,
+ For they know that we'll be with them right away.
+
+Take a slice of nice fried onion
+And you're fit for Dr. Munyon,
+ Apple dumplings kill you quicker than a train.
+Chew a cheesy midnight "rabbit"
+And a grave you'll soon inhabit--
+ Ah, to eat at all is such a foolish game.
+Eating huckleberry pie
+Is a pleasing way to die,
+ While sauerkraut brings on softening of the brain.
+When you eat banana fritters
+Every undertaker titters,
+ And the casket makers nearly go insane.
+
+Some little bug is going to find you some day,
+Some little bug will creep behind you some day,
+ With a nervous little quiver
+ He'll give cirrhosis of the liver;
+Some little bug is going to find you some day.
+
+When cold storage vaults I visit
+I can only say what is it
+ Makes poor mortals fill their systems with such stuff?
+Now, for breakfast, prunes are dandy
+If a stomach pump is handy
+ And your doctor can be found quite soon enough.
+Eat a plate of fine pigs' knuckles
+And the headstone cutter chuckles,
+ While the grave digger makes a note upon his cuff.
+Eat that lovely red bologna
+And you'll wear a wooden kimona,
+ As your relatives start scrappin 'bout your stuff.
+
+Some little bug is going to find you some day,
+Some little bug will creep behind you some day,
+ Eating juicy sliced pineapple
+ Makes the sexton dust the chapel;
+Some little bug is going to find you some day.
+
+All those crazy foods they mix
+Will float us 'cross the River Styx,
+ Or they'll start us climbing up the milky way.
+And the meals we eat in courses
+Mean a hearse and two black horses
+ So before a meal some people always pray.
+Luscious grapes breed 'pendicitis,
+And the juice leads to gastritis,
+ So there's only death to greet us either way;
+And fried liver's nice, but, mind you,
+Friends will soon ride slow behind you
+ And the papers then will have nice things to say.
+
+Some little bug is going to find you some day,
+Some little bug will creep behind you some day
+ Eat some sauce, they call it chili,
+ On your breast they'll place a lily;
+Some little bug is going to find you some day.
+
+ _Roy Atwell._
+
+
+
+
+ ON THE DOWNTOWN SIDE OF AN UPTOWN STREET
+
+
+On the downtown side of an uptown street
+Is the home of a girl that I'd like to meet,
+ But I'm on the uptown,
+ And she's on the downtown,
+On the downtown side of an uptown street.
+On the uptown side of the crowded old "L,"
+I see her so often I know her quite well,
+ But I'm on the downtown
+ When she's on the uptown,
+On the uptown side of the crowded old "L."
+
+On the uptown side of a downtown street
+This girl is employed that I'd like to meet,
+ But I work on the downtown
+ And she on the uptown,
+The uptown side of a downtown street.
+
+On a downtown car of the Broadway line
+Often I see her for whom I repine,
+ But when I'm on a uptown
+ She's on a downtown,
+On a downtown car of the Broadway line.
+
+Oh, to be downtown when I am uptown,
+Oh, to be uptown when I am downtown,
+ I work at night time,
+ She in the daytime,
+Never the right time for us to meet,
+Uptown or downtown, in "L," car or street.
+
+ _William Johnston._
+
+
+
+
+WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS
+
+
+If, in the month of dark December,
+ Leander, who was nightly wont
+(What maid will not the tale remember?)
+ To cross thy stream broad Hellespont.
+
+If, when the wint'ry tempest roar'd,
+ He sped to Hero nothing loth,
+And thus of old thy current pour'd,
+ Fair Venus! how I pity both!
+
+For _me_, degenerate, modern wretch,
+ Though in the genial month of May,
+My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,
+ And think I've done a feat to-day.
+
+But since he crossed the rapid tide,
+ According to the doubtful story,
+To woo--and--Lord knows what beside,
+ And swam for Love, as I for Glory;
+
+'T were hard to say who fared the best:
+ Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you!
+He lost his labor, I my jest;
+ For he was drowned, and I've the ague.
+
+ _Lord Byron._
+
+
+
+
+ THE FISHERMAN'S CHANT
+
+
+Oh, the fisherman is a happy wight!
+He dibbles by day, and he sniggles by night.
+He trolls for fish, and he trolls his lay--
+He sniggles by night, and he dibbles by day.
+ Oh, who so merry as he!
+ On the river or the sea!
+ Sniggling,
+ Wriggling
+ Eels, and higgling
+ Over the price
+ Of a nice
+ Slice
+ Of fish, twice
+ As much as it ought to be.
+
+Oh, the fisherman is a happy man!
+He dibbles, and sniggles, and fills his can!
+With a sharpened hook, and a sharper eye,
+He sniggles and dibbles for what comes by,
+ Oh, who so merry as he!
+ On the river or the sea!
+Dibbling
+Nibbling
+Chub, and quibbling
+Over the price
+Of a nice
+Slice
+Of fish, twice
+As much as it ought to be.
+
+ _F. C. Burnand._
+
+
+
+
+ REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE
+
+ NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS
+
+
+Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,
+ The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
+The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
+ To which the said spectacles ought to belong.
+
+So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause
+ With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning;
+While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
+ So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.
+
+In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear,
+ And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find,
+That the Nose has had spectacles always to wear,
+ Which amounts to possession time out of mind.
+
+Then holding the spectacles up to the court--
+ Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle
+As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short,
+ Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.
+
+Again, would your lordship a moment suppose
+ ('Tis a case that has happened, and may be again)
+That the visage or countenance had not a nose,
+ Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then!
+
+On the whole it appears, and my argument shows
+ With a reasoning the court will never condemn,
+That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
+ And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.
+
+Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how),
+ He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes;
+But what were his arguments few people know,
+ For the court did not think they were equally wise.
+
+So his lordship decreed with a grave solemn tone,
+ Decisive and clear, without one _if_ or _but_--
+That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
+ By daylight or candlelight--Eyes should be shut!
+
+ _William Cowper._
+
+
+
+
+ PREHISTORIC SMITH
+
+QUATERNARY EPOCH--POST-PLIOCENE PERIOD
+
+
+A man sat on a rock and sought
+ Refreshment from his thumb;
+A dinotherium wandered by
+ And scared him some.
+
+His name was Smith. The kind of rock
+ He sat upon was shale.
+One feature quite distinguished him--
+ He had a tail.
+
+The danger past, he fell into
+ A revery austere;
+While with his tail he whisked a fly
+ From off his ear.
+
+"Mankind deteriorates," he said,
+ "Grows weak and incomplete;
+And each new generation seems
+ Yet more effete.
+
+"Nature abhors imperfect work,
+ And on it lays her ban;
+And all creation must despise
+ A tailless man.
+
+"But fashion's dictates rule supreme,
+ Ignoring common sense;
+And fashion says, to dock your tail
+ Is just immense.
+
+"And children now come in the world
+ With half a tail or less;
+Too stumpy to convey a thought,
+ And meaningless.
+
+"It kills expression. How can one
+ Set forth, in words that drag,
+The best emotions of the soul,
+ Without a wag?"
+
+Sadly he mused upon the world,
+ Its follies and its woes;
+Then wiped the moisture from his eyes,
+ And blew his nose.
+
+But clothed in earrings, Mrs. Smith
+ Came wandering down the dale;
+And, smiling, Mr. Smith arose,
+ And wagged his tail.
+
+ _David Law Proudfit._
+
+
+
+
+ SONG
+
+ OF ONE ELEVEN YEARS IN PRISON
+
+
+ I
+
+Whene'er with haggard eyes I view
+ This dungeon that I'm rotting in,
+I think of those companions true
+Who studied with me at the U
+ niversity of Gottingen,
+ niversity of Gottingen.
+
+[Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he wipes his eyes;
+gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds--
+
+ II
+
+Sweet kerchief, check'd with heavenly blue,
+ Which once my love sat knotting in!--
+Alas! Matilda _then_ was true!
+ At least I thought so at the U
+ niversity of Gottingen,
+ niversity of Gottingen.
+
+[At the repetition of this line he clanks his chains in cadence.
+
+ III
+
+Barbs! Barbs! alas! how swift you flew,
+ Her neat post-wagon trotting in!
+Ye bore Matilda from my view;
+ Forlorn I languish'd at the U
+ niversity of Gottingen,
+ niversity of Gottingen.
+
+ IV
+
+This faded form! this pallid hue!
+ This blood my veins is clotting in,
+My years are many--they were few
+ When first I entered at the U
+ niversity of Gottingen,
+ niversity of Gottingen.
+
+ V
+
+There first for thee my passion grew,
+ Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottengen!
+Thou wast the daughter of my tu
+ tor, law professor at the U
+ niversity of Gottingen,
+ niversity of Gottingen.
+
+ VI
+
+Sun, moon and thou, vain world, adieu,
+ That kings and priests are plotting in;
+Here doom'd to starve on water gru
+ el, never shall I see the U
+ niversity of Gottingen,
+ niversity of Gottingen.
+
+[During the last stanza he dashes his head repeatedly against the walls
+of his prison; and, finally, so hard as to produce a visible contusion;
+he then throws himself on the floor in an agony. The curtain drops; the
+music still continuing to play till it is wholly fallen.
+
+ _George Canning._
+
+
+
+
+ LYING
+
+
+I do confess, in many a sigh,
+My lips have breath'd you many a lie,
+And who, with such delights in view,
+Would lose them for a lie or two?
+
+Nay--look not thus, with brow reproving:
+Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving!
+If half we tell the girls were true,
+If half we swear to think and do,
+Were aught but lying's bright illusion,
+The world would be in strange confusion!
+If ladies' eyes were, every one,
+As lovers swear, a radiant sun,
+Astronomy should leave the skies,
+To learn her lore in ladies' eyes!
+Oh no!--believe me, lovely girl,
+When nature turns your teeth to pearl,
+Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire,
+Your yellow locks to golden wire,
+Then, only then, can heaven decree,
+That you should live for only me,
+Or I for you, as night and morn,
+We've swearing kiss'd, and kissing sworn.
+
+And now, my gentle hints to clear,
+For once, I'll tell you truth, my dear!
+Whenever you may chance to meet
+A loving youth, whose love is sweet,
+Long as you're false and he believes you,
+Long as you trust and he deceives you,
+So long the blissful bond endures;
+And while he lies, his heart is yours:
+But, oh! you've wholly lost the youth
+The instant that he tells you truth!
+
+ _Thomas Moore._
+
+
+
+
+ STRICTLY GERM-PROOF
+
+
+The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup
+Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;
+They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised;--
+It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized.
+
+They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease;
+They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees;
+They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope
+And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap.
+
+In sulphureted hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears;
+They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears;
+They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand
+And 'lected it a member of the Fumigated Band.
+
+There's not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play;
+They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day;
+And each imbibes his rations from a Hygienic Cup--
+The Bunny and the Baby and the Prophylactic Pup.
+
+ _Arthur Guiterman._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND
+
+
+|Air|--"_The days we went a-gipsying_."
+
+I would all womankind were dead,
+ Or banished o'er the sea;
+For they have been a bitter plague
+ These last six weeks to me:
+It is not that I'm touched myself,
+ For that I do not fear;
+No female face hath shown me grace
+ For many a bygone year.
+ But 'tis the most infernal bore,
+ Of all the bores I know,
+ To have a friend who's lost his heart
+ A short time ago.
+
+Whene'er we steam it to Blackwall,
+ Or down to Greenwich run,
+To quaff the pleasant cider cup,
+ And feed on fish and fun;
+Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill,
+ To catch a breath of air:
+Then, for my sins, he straight begins
+ To rave about his fair.
+ Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore,
+ Of all the bores I know,
+ To have a friend who's lost his heart
+ A short time ago.
+
+In vain you pour into his ear
+ Your own confiding grief;
+In vain you claim his sympathy,
+ In vain you ask relief;
+In vain you try to rouse him by
+ Joke, repartee, or quiz;
+His sole reply's a burning sigh,
+ And "What a mind it is!"
+ O Lord! it is the greatest bore,
+ Of all the bores I know,
+ To have a friend who's lost his heart
+ A short time ago.
+
+I've heard her thoroughly described
+ A hundred times, I'm sure;
+And all the while I've tried to smile,
+ And patiently endure;
+He waxes strong upon his pangs,
+ And potters o'er his grog;
+And still I say, in a playful way--
+ "Why you're a lucky dog!"
+ But oh! it is the heaviest bore,
+ Of all the bores I know,
+ To have a friend who's lost his heart
+ A short time ago.
+
+I really wish he'd do like me
+ When I was young and strong;
+I formed a passion every week,
+ But never kept it long.
+But he has not the sportive mood
+ That always rescued me,
+And so I would all women could
+ Be banished o'er the sea.
+ For 'tis the most egregious bore,
+ Of all the bores I know,
+ To have a friend who's lost his heart
+ A short time ago.
+
+ _William E. Aytoun._
+
+
+
+
+ MAN'S PLACE IN NATURE
+
+DEDICATED TO DARWIN AND HUXLEY
+
+
+They told him gently he was made
+ Of nicely tempered mud,
+That man no lengthened part had played
+ Anterior to the Flood.
+'Twas all in vain; he heeded not,
+ Referring plant and worm,
+Fish, reptile, ape, and Hottentot,
+ To one primordial germ.
+
+They asked him whether he could bear
+ To think his kind allied
+To all those brutal forms which were
+ In structure Pithecoid;
+Whether he thought the apes and us
+ Homologous in form;
+He said, "Homo and Pithecus
+ Came from one common germ."
+
+They called him "atheistical,"
+ "Sceptic," and "infidel."
+They swore his doctrines without fail
+ Would plunge him into hell.
+But he with proofs in no way lame,
+ Made this deduction firm,
+That all organic beings came
+ From one primordial germ.
+
+That as for the Noachian flood,
+ 'Twas long ago disproved,
+That as for man being made of mud,
+ All by whom truth is loved
+Accept as fact what, _malgre_ strife,
+ Research tends to confirm--
+That man, and everything with life,
+ Came from one common germ.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE NEW VERSION
+
+
+A soldier of the Russians
+ Lay japanned at Tschrtzvkjskivitch,
+There was lack of woman's nursing
+ And other comforts which
+Might add to his last moments
+ And smooth the final way;--
+But a comrade stood beside him
+ To hear what he might say.
+The japanned Russian faltered
+ As he took that comrade's hand,
+And he said: "I never more shall see
+ My own, my native land;
+Take a message and a token
+ To some distant friends of mine,
+For I was born at Smnlxzrskgqrxzski,
+ Fair Smnlxzrskgqrxzski on the Irkztrvzkimnov."
+
+ _W. J. Lampton._
+
+
+
+
+ AMAZING FACTS ABOUT FOOD
+
+
+ The Food Scientist tells us: "A deficiency of iron, phosphorus,
+ potassium, calcium and the other mineral salts, colloids and
+ vitamines of vegetable origin leads to numerous forms of physical
+ disorder."
+
+I yearn to bite on a Colloid
+ With phosphorus, iron and Beans;
+I want to be filled with Calcium, grilled,
+ And Veg'table Vitamines!
+
+I yearn to bite on a Colloid
+ (Though I don't know what it means)
+To line my inside with Potassium, fried,
+ And Veg'table Vitamines.
+
+I would sate my soul with spinach
+ And dandelion greens.
+No eggs, nor ham, nor hard-boiled clam,
+ But Veg'table Vitamines.
+
+Hi, Waiter! Coddle the Colloids
+ With phosphorus, iron and Beans;
+Though Mineral Salts may have some faults,
+ Bring on the Vitamines.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ TRANSCENDENTALISM
+
+
+It is told, in Buddhi-theosophic schools,
+ There are rules.
+By observing which, when mundane labor irks
+One can simulate quiescence
+By a timely evanescence
+From his Active Mortal Essence,
+ (Or his Works.)
+
+The particular procedure leaves research
+ In the lurch,
+But, apparently, this matter-moulded form
+ Is a kind of outer plaster,
+ Which a well-instructed Master
+ Can remove without disaster
+ When he's warm.
+
+And to such as mourn an Indian Solar Clime
+ At its prime
+'Twere a thesis most immeasurably fit,
+ So expansively elastic,
+ And so plausibly fantastic,
+ That one gets enthusiastic
+ For a bit.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ A "CAUDAL" LECTURE
+
+
+Philosophy shows us 'twixt monkey and man
+ One simious line in unbroken extendage;
+Development only since first it began--
+ And chiefly in losing the caudal appendage.
+
+Our ancestors' holding was wholly _in tail_,
+ And the loss of this feature we claim as a merit;
+But though often at tale-bearing people we rail,
+ 'Tis rather a loss than a gain we inherit.
+
+The tail was a rudder--a capital thing
+ To a man who was half--or a quarter--seas over;
+And as for a sailor, by that he could cling,
+ And use for his hands and his feet both discover.
+
+In the Arts it would quickly have found out a place;
+ The painter would use it to steady his pencil;
+In music, how handy to pound at the bass!
+ And then one could write by its coilings prehensile.
+
+The Army had gained had the fashion endured--
+ 'Twould carry a sword, or be good in saluting;
+If the foe should turn tail, they'd be quickly secured;
+ Or, used as a lasso, 'twould help in recruiting.
+
+To the Force 'twould add force--they could "run 'em in" so
+ That one to three culprits would find himself equal;
+He could collar the two, have the other in tow--
+ A very good form of the Tale and its Sequel.
+
+In life many uses 'twould serve we should see--
+ A man with no bed could hang cosily snoozing;
+'Twould hold an umbrella, hand cups round at tea,
+ Or a candle support while our novel perusing.
+
+In fact, when one thinks of our loss from of old,
+ It makes us regret that we can't go in for it, or
+Wish, like the Dane, we a _tail_ could unfold,
+ Instead of remaining each one a _stump_ orator.
+
+ _William Sawyer._
+
+
+
+
+ SALAD
+
+
+To make this condiment, your poet begs
+The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;
+Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen-sieve,
+Smoothness and softness to the salad give;
+Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,
+And, half-suspected, animate the whole.
+Of mordant mustard add a single spoon,
+Distrust the condiment that bites so soon;
+But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault,
+To add a double quantity of salt.
+And, lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss
+A magic soup-spoon of anchovy sauce.
+Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous treat!
+'Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat;
+Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul,
+And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl!
+Serenely full, the epicure would say,
+Fate can not harm me, I have dined to-day!
+
+ _Sydney Smith._
+
+
+
+
+ NEMESIS
+
+
+The man who invented the women's waists that button down behind,
+And the man who invented the cans with keys and the strips that will
+ never wind,
+Were put to sea in a leaky boat and with never a bite to eat
+But a couple of dozen of patent cans in which was their only meat.
+
+And they sailed and sailed o'er the ocean wide and never they had a
+ taste
+Of aught to eat, for the cans stayed shut, and a peek-a-boo shirtwaist
+Was all they had to bale the brine that came in the leaky boat;
+And their tongues were thick and their throats were dry, and they barely
+ kept afloat.
+
+They came at last to an island fair, and a man stood on the shore.
+So they flew a signal of distress and their hopes rose high once more,
+And they called to him to fetch a boat, for their craft was sinking
+ fast,
+And a couple of hours at best they knew was all their boat would last.
+
+So he called to them a cheery call and he said he would make haste,
+But first he must go back to his wife and button up her waist,
+Which would only take him an hour or so and then he would fetch a boat.
+And the man who invented the backstairs waist, he groaned in his swollen
+ throat.
+
+The hours passed by on leaden wings and they saw another man
+In the window of a bungalow, and he held a tin meat can
+In his bleeding hands, and they called to him, not once but twice and
+ thrice,
+And he said: "Just wait till I open this and I'll be there in a trice!"
+
+And the man who invented the patent cans he knew what the promise meant,
+So he leaped in air with a horrid cry and into the sea he went,
+And the bubbles rose where he sank and sank and a groan choked in the
+ throat
+Of the man who invented the backstairs waist and he sank with the leaky
+ boat!
+
+ _J. W. Foley._
+
+
+
+
+ "MONA LISA"
+
+
+ Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa!
+Have you gone? Great Julius Caesar!
+Who's the Chap so bold and pinchey
+Thus to swipe the great da Vinci,
+Taking France's first Chef d'oeuvre
+Squarely from old Mr. Louvre,
+Easy as some pocket-picker
+Would remove our handkerchicker
+As we ride in careless folly
+On some gaily bounding trolley?
+
+ Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa,
+Who's your Captor? Doubtless he's a
+Crafty sort of treasure-seeker--
+Ne'er a Turpin e'er was sleeker--
+But, alas, if he can win you
+Easily as I could chin you,
+What is safe in all the nations
+From his dreadful depredations?
+He's the style of Chap, I'm thinkin',
+Who will drive us all to drinkin'!
+
+ Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa,
+Next he'll swipe the Tower of Pisa,
+Pulling it from out its socket
+For to hide it in his pocket;
+Or perhaps he'll up and steal, O,
+Madame Venus, late of Milo;
+Or maybe while on the grab he
+Will annex Westminster Abbey,
+And elope with that distinguished
+Heap of Ashes long extinguished.
+
+ Maybe too, O Mona Lisa,
+He will come across the seas a--
+Searching for the style of treasure
+That we have in richest measure.
+Sunset Cox's brazen statue,
+Have a care lest he shall catch you!
+Or maybe he'll set his eye on
+Hammerstein's, or the Flatiron,
+Or some bit of White Wash done
+By those lads at Washington--
+
+Truly he's a crafty geezer,
+Is your Captor, Mona Lisa!
+
+ _John Kendrick Bangs._
+
+
+
+
+ THE SIEGE OF DJKLXPRWBZ
+
+
+Before a Turkish town
+ The Russians came.
+And with huge cannon
+ Did bombard the same.
+
+They got up close
+ And rained fat bombshells down,
+And blew out every
+ Vowel in the town.
+
+And then the Turks,
+ Becoming somewhat sad,
+Surrendered every
+ Consonant they had.
+
+ _Eugene Fitch Ware._
+
+
+
+
+ RURAL BLISS
+
+
+The poet is, or ought to be, a hater of the city,
+ And so, when happiness is mine, and Maud becomes my wife,
+We'll look on town inhabitants with sympathetic pity,
+ For we shall lead a peaceful and serene Arcadian life.
+
+Then shall I sing in eloquent and most effective phrases,
+ The grandeur of geraniums and the beauty of the rose;
+Immortalise in deathless strains the buttercups and daisies--
+ For even I can hardly be mistaken as to those.
+
+The music of the nightingale will ring from leafy hollow,
+ And fill us with a rapture indescribable in words;
+And we shall also listen to the robin and the swallow
+ (I wonder if a swallow sings?) and ... well, the other birds.
+
+Too long I dwelt in ignorance of all the countless treasures
+ Which dwellers in the country have in such abundant store;
+To give a single instance of the multitude of pleasures--
+ The music of the nighting--oh, I mentioned that before.
+
+And shall I prune potato-trees and artichokes, I wonder,
+ And cultivate the silo-plant, which springs (I hope it springs?)
+In graceful foliage overhead?--Excuse me if I blunder,
+ It's really inconvenient not to know the name of things!
+
+No matter; in the future, when I celebrate the beauty
+ Of country life in glowing terms, and "build the lofty rhyme"
+Aware that every Englishman is bound to do his duty,
+ I'll learn to give the stupid things their proper names in time!
+
+Meanwhile, you needn't wonder at the view I've indicated,
+ The country life appears to me indubitably blest,
+For, even if its other charms are somewhat overstated,
+ As long as Maud is there, you see,--what matters all the rest?
+
+ _Anthony C. Deane._
+
+
+
+
+ AN OLD BACHELOR
+
+
+'Twas raw, and chill, and cold outside,
+ With a boisterous wind untamed,
+But I was sitting snug within,
+ Where my good log-fire flamed.
+ As my clock ticked,
+ My cat purred,
+ And my kettle sang.
+
+I read me a tale of war and love,
+ Brave knights and their ladies fair;
+And I brewed a brew of stiff hot-scotch
+ To drive away dull care.
+ As my clock ticked,
+ My cat purred,
+ And my kettle sang.
+
+At last the candles sputtered out,
+ But the embers still were bright,
+When I turned my tumbler upside down,
+ An' bade m'self g' night!
+ As th' ket'l t-hic-ked,
+ The clock purred,
+ And the cat (hic) sang!
+
+ _Tudor Jenks._
+
+
+
+
+ SONG
+
+
+Three score and ten by common calculation
+ The years of man amount to; but we'll say
+He turns four-score, yet, in my estimation,
+ In all those years he has not lived a day.
+
+Out of the eighty you must first remember
+ The hours of night you pass asleep in bed;
+And, counting from December to December,
+ Just half your life you'll find you have been dead.
+
+To forty years at once by this reduction
+ We come; and sure, the first five from your birth,
+While cutting teeth and living upon suction,
+ You're not alive to what this life is worth.
+
+From thirty-five next take for education
+ Fifteen at least at college and at school;
+When, notwithstanding all your application,
+ The chances are you may turn out a fool.
+
+Still twenty we have left us to dispose of,
+ But during them your fortune you've to make;
+And granting, with the luck of some one knows of,
+ 'Tis made in ten--that's ten from life to take.
+
+Out of the ten yet left you must allow for
+ The time for shaving, tooth and other aches,
+Say four--and that leaves, six, too short, I vow, for
+ Regretting past and making fresh mistakes.
+
+Meanwhile each hour dispels some fond illusion;
+ Until at length, sans eyes, sans teeth, you may
+Have scarcely sense to come to this conclusion--
+ You've reached four-score, but haven't lived a day!
+
+ _J. R. Planche._
+
+
+
+
+ THE QUEST OF THE PURPLE COW
+
+
+He girded on his shining sword,
+ He clad him in his suit of mail,
+He gave his friends the parting word,
+ With high resolve his face was pale.
+They said, "You've kissed the Papal Toe,
+ To great Moguls you've made your bow,
+Why will you thus world-wandering go?"
+ "I never saw a purple cow!"
+
+"I never saw a purple cow!
+ Oh, hinder not my wild emprise--
+Let me depart! For even now
+ Perhaps, before some yokel's eyes
+The purpling creature dashes by,
+ Bending its noble, horned brow.
+They see its glowing charms, but I--
+ I never saw a purple cow!"
+
+"But other cows there be," they said,
+ "Both cows of high and low degree,
+Suffolk and Devon, brown, black, red,
+ The Ayrshire and the Alderney.
+Content yourself with these." "No, no,"
+ He cried, "Not these! Not these! For how
+Can common kine bring comfort? Oh!
+ I never saw a purple cow!"
+
+He flung him to his charger's back,
+ He left his kindred limp and weak,
+They cried: "He goes, alack! alack!
+ The unattainable to seek."
+But westward still he rode--pardee!
+ The West! Where such freaks be; I vow,
+I'd not be much surprised if he
+ Should some day see
+ A
+ Purple
+ Cow!
+
+ _Hilda Johnson._
+
+
+
+
+ ST. PATRICK OF IRELAND, MY DEAR!
+
+
+A fig for St. Denis of France--
+ He's a trumpery fellow to brag on;
+A fig for St. George and his lance,
+ Which spitted a heathenish dragon;
+And the saints of the Welshman or Scot
+ Are a couple of pitiful pipers,
+Both of whom may just travel to pot,
+ Compared with that patron of swipers--
+ St. Patrick of Ireland, my dear!
+
+He came to the Emerald Isle
+ On a lump of a paving-stone mounted;
+The steamboat he beat by a mile,
+ Which mighty good sailing was counted.
+Says he, "The salt water, I think,
+ Has made me most bloodily thirsty;
+So bring me a flagon of drink
+ To keep down the mulligrubs, burst ye!
+ Of drink that is fit for a saint!"
+
+He preached, then, with wonderful force,
+ The ignorant natives a-teaching;
+With a pint he washed down his discourse,
+ "For," says he, "I detest your dry preaching."
+The people, with wonderment struck
+ At a pastor so pious and civil,
+Exclaimed--"We're for you, my old buck!
+ And we pitch our blind gods to the devil,
+ Who dwells in hot water below!"
+
+This ended, our worshipful spoon
+ Went to visit an elegant fellow,
+Whose practice, each cool afternoon,
+ Was to get most delightfully mellow.
+That day with a black-jack of beer,
+ It chanced he was treating a party;
+Says the saint--"This good day, do you hear,
+ I drank nothing to speak of, my hearty!
+ So give me a pull at the pot!"
+
+The pewter he lifted in sport
+ (Believe me, I tell you no fable);
+A gallon he drank from the quart,
+ And then placed it full on the table.
+"A miracle!" every one said--
+ And they all took a haul at the stingo;
+They were capital hands at the trade,
+ And drank till they fell; yet, by jingo,
+ The pot still frothed over the brim.
+
+Next day, quoth his host, "'Tis a fast,
+ And I've nought in my larder but mutton;
+And on Fridays who'd made such repast,
+ Except an unchristian-like glutton?"
+Says Pat, "Cease your nonsense, I beg--
+ What you tell me is nothing but gammon;
+Take my compliments down to the leg,
+ And bid it come hither a salmon!"
+ And the leg most politely complied.
+
+You've heard, I suppose, long ago,
+ How the snakes, in a manner most antic,
+He marched to the county Mayo,
+ And trundled them into th' Atlantic.
+Hence, not to use water for drink,
+ The people of Ireland determine--
+With mighty good reason, I think,
+ Since St. Patrick has filled it with vermin
+ And vipers, and other such stuff!
+
+Oh, he was an elegant blade
+ As you'd meet from Fairhead to Kilcrumper;
+And though under the sod he is laid,
+ Yet here goes his health in a bumper!
+I wish he was here, that my glass
+ He might by art magic replenish;
+But since he is not--why, alas!
+ My ditty must come to a finish,--
+ Because all the liquor is out!
+
+ _William Maginn._
+
+
+
+
+ THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER
+
+
+"Come here, my boy; hould up your head,
+ And look like a jintleman, Sir;
+Jist tell me who King David was--
+ Now tell me if you can, Sir."
+"King David was a mighty man,
+ And he was King of Spain, Sir;
+His eldest daughter 'Jessie' was
+ The 'Flower of Dunblane,' Sir."
+
+"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,
+ And look like a jintleman, Sir;
+Sir Isaac Newton--who was he?
+ Now tell me if you can, Sir."
+"Sir Isaac Newton was the boy
+ That climbed the apple-tree, Sir;
+He then fell down and broke his crown,
+ And lost his gravity, Sir."
+
+"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,
+ And look like a jintleman, Sir;
+Jist tell me who ould Marmion was--
+ Now tell me if you can, Sir."
+"Ould Marmion was a soldier bold,
+ But he went all to pot, Sir;
+He was hanged upon the gallows tree,
+ For killing Sir Walter Scott, Sir."
+
+"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,
+ And look like a jintleman, Sir;
+Jist tell me who Sir Rob Roy was;
+ Now tell me if you can, Sir."
+"Sir Rob Roy was a tailor to
+ The King of the Cannibal Islands;
+He spoiled a pair of breeches, and
+ Was banished to the Highlands."
+
+"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,
+ And look like a jintleman, Sir;
+Then, Bonaparte--say, who was he?
+ Now tell me if you can, Sir."
+"Ould Bonaparte was King of France
+ Before the Revolution;
+But he was kilt at Waterloo,
+ Which ruined his constitution."
+
+"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,
+ And look like a jintleman, Sir;
+Jist tell me who King Jonah was;
+ Now tell me if you can, Sir."
+"King Jonah was the strangest man
+ That ever wore a crown, Sir;
+For though the whale did swallow him,
+ It couldn't keep him down, Sir."
+
+"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,
+ And look like a jintleman, Sir;
+Jist tell me who that Moses was;
+ Now tell me if you can, Sir."
+"Shure Moses was the Christian name
+ Of good King Pharaoh's daughter;
+She was a milkmaid, and she took
+ A _profit_ from the water."
+
+"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,
+ And look like a jintleman, Sir;
+Jist tell me now where Dublin is;
+ Now tell me if you can, Sir."
+"Och, Dublin is a town in Cork,
+ And built on the equator;
+It's close to Mount Vesuvius,
+ And watered by the 'craythur.'"
+
+"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,
+ And look like a jintleman, Sir;
+Jist tell me now where London is;
+ Now tell me if you can, Sir."
+"Och, London is a town in Spain;
+ 'Twas lost in the earthquake, Sir;
+The cockneys murther English there,
+ Whenever they do spake, Sir."
+
+"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,
+ Ye're now a jintleman, Sir;
+For in history and geography
+ I've taught you all I can, Sir.
+And if any one should ask you now,
+ Where you got all your knowledge,
+Jist tell them 'twas from Paddy Blake,
+ Of Bally Blarney College."
+
+ _James A. Sidey._
+
+
+
+
+ REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATHERA'S NEEDLE
+
+
+So that's Cleopathera's Needle, bedad,
+ An' a quare lookin' needle it is, I'll be bound;
+What a powerful muscle the queen must have had
+ That could grasp such a weapon an' wind it around!
+
+Imagine her sittin' there stitchin' like mad
+ Wid a needle like that in her hand! I declare
+It's as big as the Round Tower of Slane, an', bedad,
+ It would pass for a round tower, only it's square!
+
+The taste of her, ordherin' a needle of granite!
+ Begorra, the sight of it sthrikes me quite dumb!
+An' look at the quare sort of figures upon it;
+ I wondher can these be the thracks of her thumb!
+
+I once was astonished to hear of the faste
+ Cleopathera made upon pearls; but now
+I declare, I would not be surprised in the laste
+ If ye told me the woman had swallowed a cow!
+
+It's aisy to see why bould Caesar should quail
+ In her presence, an' meekly submit to her rule;
+Wid a weapon like that in her fist I'll go bail
+ She could frighten the sowl out of big Finn MacCool!
+
+But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women are now,
+ Compared with the monsthers they must have been then!
+Whin the darlin's in those days would kick up a row,
+ Holy smoke, but it must have been hot for the men!
+
+Just think how a chap that goes courtin' would start
+ If his girl was to prod him wid that in the shins!
+I have often seen needles, but bouldly assart
+ That the needle in front of me there takes the pins!
+
+O, sweet Cleopathera! I'm sorry you're dead;
+ An' whin lavin' this wondherful needle behind
+Had ye thought of bequathin' a spool of your thread
+ An' yer thimble an' scissors, it would have been kind.
+
+But pace to your ashes, ye plague of great men,
+ Yer strength is departed, yer glory is past;
+Ye'll never wield sceptre or needle again,
+ An' a poor little asp did yer bizzness at last!
+
+ _Cormac O'Leary._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ORIGIN OF IRELAND
+
+
+With due condescension, I'd call your attention
+To what I shall mention of Erin so green,
+And without hesitation I will show how that nation
+Became of creation the gem and the queen.
+
+'Twas early one morning, without any warning,
+That Vanus was born in the beautiful say,
+And by the same token, and sure 'twas provoking,
+Her pinions were soaking and wouldn't give play.
+
+Old Neptune, who knew her, began to pursue her,
+In order to woo her--the wicked old Jew--
+And almost had caught her atop of the water--
+Great Jupiter's daughter!--which never would do.
+
+But Jove, the great janius, looked down and saw Vanus,
+And Neptune so heinous pursuing her wild,
+And he spoke out in thunder, he'd rend him asunder--
+And sure 'twas no wonder--for tazing his child.
+
+A star that was flying hard by him espying,
+He caught with small trying, and down let it snap;
+It fell quick as winking, on Neptune a-sinking,
+And gave him, I'm thinking, a bit of a rap.
+
+That star it was dry land, both low land and high land,
+And formed a sweet island, the land of my birth;
+Thus plain is the story, that sent down from glory,
+Old Erin asthore as the gem of the earth!
+
+Upon Erin nately jumped Vanus so stately,
+But fainted, kase lately so hard she was pressed--
+Which much did bewilder, but ere it had killed her
+Her father distilled her a drop of the best.
+
+That sup was victorious, it made her feel glorious--
+A little uproarious, I fear it might prove--
+So how can you blame us that Ireland's so famous
+For drinking and beauty, for fighting and love?
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ AS TO THE WEATHER
+
+
+I remember, I remember,
+ Ere my childhood flitted by,
+It was cold then in December,
+ And was warmer in July.
+In the winter there were freezings--
+ In the summer there were thaws;
+But the weather isn't now at all
+ Like what it used to was!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE TWINS
+
+
+In form and feature, face and limb,
+ I grew so like my brother,
+That folks got taking me for him,
+ And each for one another.
+It puzzled all our kith and kin,
+ It reach'd an awful pitch;
+For one of us was born a twin,
+ Yet not a soul knew which.
+
+One day (to make the matter worse),
+ Before our names were fix'd,
+As we were being wash'd by nurse
+ We got completely mix'd;
+And thus, you see, by Fate's decree,
+ (Or rather nurse's whim),
+My brother John got christen'd _me_,
+ And I got christen'd _him_.
+
+This fatal likeness even dogg'd
+ My footsteps when at school,
+And I was always getting flogg'd,
+ For John turned out a fool.
+I put this question hopelessly
+ To every one I knew--
+What _would_ you do, if you were me,
+ To prove that you were _you_?
+
+Our close resemblance turn'd the tide
+ Of my domestic life;
+For somehow my intended bride
+ Became my brother's wife.
+In short, year after year the same
+ Absurd mistakes went on;
+And when I died--the neighbors came
+ And buried brother John!
+
+ _Henry S. Leigh._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ II
+
+ THE ETERNAL FEMININE
+
+
+
+
+ HE AND SHE
+
+
+When I am dead you'll find it hard,
+ Said he,
+To ever find another man
+ Like me.
+
+What makes you think, as I suppose
+ You do,
+I'd ever want another man
+ Like you?
+
+ _Eugene Fitch Ware._
+
+
+
+
+ THE KISS
+
+
+"What other men have dared, I dare,"
+ He said. "I'm daring, too:
+And tho' they told me to beware,
+ One kiss I'll take from you.
+
+"Did I say one? Forgive me, dear;
+ That was a grave mistake,
+For when I've taken one, I fear,
+ One hundred more I'll take.
+
+"'Tis sweet one kiss from you to win,
+ But to stop there? Oh, no!
+One kiss is only to begin;
+ There is no end, you know."
+
+The maiden rose from where she sat
+ And gently raised her head:
+"No man has ever talked like that--
+ You may begin," she said.
+
+ _Tom Masson._
+
+
+
+
+ THE COURTIN'
+
+
+God makes sech nights, all white an' still
+ Fur 'z you can look or listen,
+Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
+ All silence an' all glisten.
+
+Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown
+ An' peeked in thru' the winder,
+An' there sot Huldy all alone,
+ 'Ith no one nigh to hender.
+
+A fireplace filled the room's one side
+ With half a cord o' wood in--
+There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)
+ To bake ye to a puddin'.
+
+The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out
+ Towards the pootiest, bless her,
+An' leetle flames danced all about
+ The chiny on the dresser.
+
+Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,
+ An' in amongst 'em rusted
+The ole queen's-arm that Gran'ther Young
+ Fetched back f'om Concord busted.
+
+The very room, coz she was in,
+ Seemed warm f'om floor to ceilin',
+An' she looked full ez rosy agin
+ Ez the apples she was peelin'.
+
+'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look
+ On sech a blessed cretur;
+A dogrose blushin' to a brook
+ Ain't modester nor sweeter.
+
+He was six foot o' man, A 1,
+ Clear grit an' human natur';
+None couldn't quicker pitch a ton
+ Nor dror a furrer straighter.
+
+He'd sparked it with full twenty gals,
+ He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em,
+Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells--
+ All is, he couldn't love 'em.
+
+But long o' her his veins 'ould run
+ All crinkly like curled maple;
+The side she breshed felt full o' sun
+ Ez a south slope in Ap'il.
+
+She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing
+ Ez hisn in the choir;
+My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring,
+ She _knowed_ the Lord was nigher.
+
+An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
+ When her new meetin'-bunnet
+Felt somehow thru its crown a pair
+ O' blue eyes sot upun it.
+
+Thet night, I tell ye, she looked _some_!
+ She seemed to 've gut a new soul,
+For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,
+ Down to her very shoe-sole.
+
+She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu,
+ A-raspin' on the scraper--
+All ways to once her feelins flew
+ Like sparks in burnt-up paper.
+
+He kin' o' l'itered on the mat,
+ Some doubtfle o' the sekle;
+His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,
+ But hern went pity Zekle.
+
+An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk
+ Ez though she wished him furder,
+An' on her apples kep' to work,
+ Parin' away like murder.
+
+"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?"
+ "Wal ... no ... I come dasignin'--"
+"To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es
+ Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."
+
+To say why gals act so or so,
+ Or don't, 'ould be presumin';
+Mebbe to mean _yes_ an' say _no_
+ Comes nateral to women.
+
+He stood a spell on one foot fust,
+ Then stood a spell on t'other,
+An' on which one he felt the wust
+ He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.
+
+Says he, "I'd better call agin";
+ Says she, "Think likely, Mister";
+Thet last word pricked him like a pin,
+ An' ... Wal, he up an' kist her.
+
+When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,
+ Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
+All kin' o' smily roun' the lips
+ An' teary roun' the lashes.
+
+For she was jes' the quiet kind
+ Whose naturs never vary,
+Like streams that keep a summer mind
+ Snowhid in Jenooary.
+
+The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued
+ Too tight for all expressin',
+Tell mother see how metters stood,
+ An' gin 'em both her blessin'.
+
+Then her red come back like the tide
+ Down to the Bay o' Fundy,
+An' all I know is they was cried
+ In meetin' come nex' Sunday.
+
+ _James Russell Lowell._
+
+
+
+
+ HIRAM HOVER
+
+A BALLAD OF NEW ENGLAND LIFE
+
+
+Where the Moosatockmaguntic
+Pours its waters in the Skuntic,
+ Met, along the forest side
+ Hiram Hover, Huldah Hyde.
+
+She, a maiden fair and dapper,
+He, a red-haired, stalwart trapper,
+ Hunting beaver, mink, and skunk
+ In the woodlands of Squeedunk.
+
+She, Pentucket's pensive daughter,
+Walked beside the Skuntic water
+ Gathering, in her apron wet,
+ Snake-root, mint, and bouncing-bet.
+
+"Why," he murmured, loth to leave her,
+"Gather yarbs for chills and fever,
+ When a lovyer bold and true,
+ Only waits to gather you?"
+
+"Go," she answered, "I'm not hasty,
+I prefer a man more tasty;
+ Leastways, one to please me well
+ Should not have a beasty smell."
+
+"Haughty Huldah!" Hiram answered,
+"Mind and heart alike are cancered;
+ Jest look here! these peltries give
+ Cash, wherefrom a pair may live.
+
+"I, you think, am but a vagrant,
+Trapping beasts by no means fragrant;
+ Yet, I'm sure it's worth a thank--
+ I've a handsome sum in bank."
+
+Turned and vanished Hiram Hover,
+And, before the year was over,
+ Huldah, with the yarbs she sold,
+ Bought a cape, against the cold.
+
+Black and thick the furry cape was,
+Of a stylish cut the shape was;
+ And the girls, in all the town,
+ Envied Huldah up and down.
+
+Then at last, one winter morning,
+Hiram came without a warning.
+ "Either," said he, "you are blind,
+ Huldah, or you've changed your mind.
+
+"Me you snub for trapping varmints,
+Yet you take the skins for garments;
+ Since you wear the skunk and mink,
+ There's no harm in me, I think."
+
+"Well," said she, "we will not quarrel,
+Hiram; I accept the moral,
+ Now the fashion's so I guess
+ I can't hardly do no less."
+
+Thus the trouble all was over
+Of the love of Hiram Hover.
+ Thus he made sweet Huldah Hyde
+ Huldah Hover as his bride.
+
+Love employs, with equal favor,
+Things of good and evil savor;
+ That which first appeared to part,
+ Warmed, at last, the maiden's heart.
+
+Under one impartial banner,
+Life, the hunter, Love the tanner,
+ Draw, from every beast they snare,
+ Comfort for a wedded pair!
+
+ _Bayard Taylor._
+
+
+
+
+ BLOW ME EYES!
+
+
+When I was young and full o' pride,
+ A-standin' on the grass
+And gazin' o'er the water-side,
+ I seen a fisher lass.
+"O, fisher lass, be kind awhile,"
+ I asks 'er quite unbid.
+"Please look into me face and smile"--
+ And, blow me eyes, she did!
+
+O, blow me light and blow me blow,
+I didn't think she'd charm me so--
+ But, blow me eyes, she did!
+
+She seemed so young and beautiful
+ I _had_ to speak perlite,
+(The afternoon was long and dull,
+ But she was short and bright).
+"This ain't no place," I says, "to stand--
+ Let's take a walk instid,
+Each holdin' of the other's hand"--
+ And, blow me eyes, she did!
+
+O, blow me light and blow me blow,
+I sort o' thunk she wouldn't go--
+ But, blow me eyes, she did!
+And as we walked along a lane
+ With no one else to see,
+Me heart was filled with sudden pain,
+ And so I says to she:
+"If you would have me actions speak
+ The words what can't be hid,
+You'd sort o' let me kiss yer cheek"--
+ And, blow me eyes, she did!
+
+O, blow me light and blow me blow,
+How sweet she was I didn't know--
+ But, blow me eyes, _she_ did!
+
+But pretty soon me shipmate Jim
+ Came strollin' down the beach,
+And she began a-oglin' him
+ As pretty as a peach.
+"O, fickle maid o' false intent,"
+ Impulsively I chid,
+"Why don't you go and wed that gent?"
+ And, blow me eyes, she did!
+
+O, blow me light and blow me blow,
+I didn't think she'd treat me so--
+ But, blow me eyes, she did!
+
+ _Wallace Irwin._
+
+
+
+
+ FIRST LOVE
+
+
+O my earliest love, who, ere I number'd
+ Ten sweet summers, made my bosom thrill!
+Will a swallow--or a swift, or some bird--
+ Fly to her and say, I love her still?
+
+Say my life's a desert drear and arid,
+ To its one green spot I aye recur:
+Never, never--although three times married--
+ Have I cared a jot for aught but her.
+
+No, mine own! though early forced to leave you,
+ Still my heart was there where first we met;
+In those "Lodgings with an ample sea-view,"
+ Which were, forty years ago, "To Let."
+
+There I saw her first, our landlord's oldest
+ Little daughter. On a thing so fair
+Thou, O Sun,--who (so they say) beholdest
+ Everything,--hast gazed, I tell thee, ne'er.
+
+There she sat--so near me, yet remoter
+ Than a star--a blue-eyed, bashful imp:
+On her lap she held a happy bloater,
+ 'Twixt her lips a yet more happy shrimp.
+
+And I loved her, and our troth we plighted
+ On the morrow by the shingly shore:
+In a fortnight to be disunited
+ By a bitter fate forevermore.
+
+O my own, my beautiful, my blue-eyed!
+ To be young once more, and bite my thumb
+At the world and all its cares with you, I'd
+ Give no inconsiderable sum.
+
+Hand in hand we tramp'd the golden seaweed,
+ Soon as o'er the gray cliff peep'd the dawn:
+Side by side, when came the hour for tea, we'd
+ Crunch the mottled shrimp and hairy prawn:--
+
+Has she wedded some gigantic shrimper,
+ That sweet mite with whom I loved to play?
+Is she girt with babes that whine and whimper,
+ That bright being who was always gay?
+
+Yes--she has at least a dozen wee things!
+ Yes--I see her darning corduroys,
+Scouring floors, and setting out the tea-things,
+ For a howling herd of hungry boys,
+
+In a home that reeks of tar and sperm-oil!
+ But at intervals she thinks, I know,
+Of those days which we, afar from turmoil,
+ Spent together forty years ago.
+
+O my earliest love, still unforgotten,
+ With your downcast eyes of dreamy blue!
+Never, somehow, could I seem to cotton
+ To another as I did to you!
+
+ _Charles Stuart Calverley._
+
+
+
+
+ WHAT IS A WOMAN LIKE?
+
+
+A woman is like to--but stay--
+ What a woman is like, who can say?
+ There is no living with or without one.
+ Love bites like a fly,
+ Now an ear, now an eye,
+Buzz, buzz, always buzzing about one.
+ When she's tender and kind
+ She is like to my mind,
+(And Fanny was so, I remember).
+ She's like to--Oh, dear!
+ She's as good, very near,
+As a ripe, melting peach in September.
+ If she laugh, and she chat,
+ Play, joke, and all that,
+And with smiles and good humor she meet me,
+ She's like a rich dish
+ Of venison or fish,
+That cries from the table, Come eat me!
+ But she'll plague you and vex you,
+ Distract and perplex you;
+ False-hearted and ranging,
+ Unsettled and changing,
+ What then do you think, she is like?
+ Like sand? Like a rock?
+ Like a wheel? Like a clock?
+ Ay, a clock that is always at strike.
+Her head's like the island folks tell on,
+Which nothing but monkeys can dwell on;
+Her heart's like a lemon--so nice
+She carves for each lover a slice;
+ In truth she's to me,
+ Like the wind, like the sea,
+Whose raging will hearken to no man;
+ Like a mill, like a pill,
+ Like a flail, like a whale,
+ Like an ass, like a glass
+Whose image is constant to no man;
+ Like a shower, like a flower,
+ Like a fly, like a pie,
+ Like a pea, like a flea,
+ Like a thief, like--in brief,
+She's like nothing on earth--but a woman!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ MIS' SMITH
+
+
+All day she hurried to get through,
+The same as lots of wimmin do;
+Sometimes at night her husban' said,
+"Ma, ain't you goin' to come to bed?"
+And then she'd kinder give a hitch,
+And pause half way between a stitch,
+And sorter sigh, and say that she
+ Was ready as she'd ever be,
+ She reckoned.
+
+And so the years went one by one,
+An' somehow she was never done;
+An' when the angel said, as how
+"Mis' Smith, it's time you rested now,"
+She sorter raised her eyes to look
+A second, as a stitch she took;
+"All right, I'm comin' now," says she,
+"I'm ready as I'll ever be,
+ I reckon."
+
+ _Albert Bigelow Paine._
+
+
+
+
+ TRIOLET
+
+
+"I love you, my lord!"
+ Was all that she said--
+What a dissonant chord,
+"I love you, my lord!"
+Ah! how I abhorred
+ That sarcastic maid!--
+"_I_ love you? My _Lord_!"
+ Was all that she said.
+
+
+ _Paul T. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ BESSIE BROWN, M.D.
+
+
+'Twas April when she came to town;
+ The birds had come; the bees were swarming.
+Her name, she said, was Doctor Brown;
+ I saw at once that she was charming.
+She took a cottage tinted green,
+ Where dewy roses loved to mingle;
+And on the door, next day, was seen
+ A dainty little shingle.
+
+Her hair was like an amber wreath;
+ Her hat was darker, to enhance it.
+The violet eyes that glowed beneath
+ Were brighter than her keenest lancet,
+The beauties of her glove and gown
+ The sweetest rhyme would fail to utter.
+Ere she had been a day in town
+ The town was in a flutter.
+
+The gallants viewed her feet and hands,
+ And swore they never saw such wee things;
+The gossips met in purring bands,
+ And tore her piecemeal o'er the tea-things.
+The former drank the Doctor's health
+ With clinking cups, the gay carousers;
+The latter watched her door by stealth,
+ Just like so many mousers.
+
+But Doctor Bessie went her way,
+ Unmindful of the spiteful cronies,
+And drove her buggy every day
+ Behind a dashing pair of ponies.
+Her flower-like face so bright she bore
+ I hoped that time might never wilt her.
+The way she tripped across the floor
+ Was better than a philter.
+
+Her patients thronged the village street;
+ Her snowy slate was always quite full.
+Some said her bitters tasted sweet,
+ And some pronounced her pills delightful.
+'Twas strange--I knew not what it meant--
+ She seemed a nymph from Eldorado;
+Where'er she came, where'er she went,
+ Grief lost its gloomy shadow.
+
+Like all the rest I, too, grew ill;
+ My aching heart there was no quelling.
+I tremble at my doctor's bill--
+ And lo! the items still are swelling.
+The drugs I've drunk you'd weep to hear!
+ They've quite enriched the fair concocter,
+And I'm a ruined man, I fear,
+ Unless--I wed the Doctor!
+
+ _Samuel Minturn Peck._
+
+
+
+
+ A SKETCH FROM THE LIFE
+
+
+Its eyes are gray;
+ Its hair is either brown
+ Or black;
+And, strange to say,
+ Its dresses button down
+ The back!
+
+It wears a plume
+ That loves to frisk around
+ My ear.
+It crowds the room
+ With cushions in a mound
+ And queer
+
+Old rugs and lamps
+ In corners a la Turque
+ And things.
+It steals my stamps,
+ And when I want to work
+ It sings!
+
+It rides and skates--
+ But then it comes and fills
+ My walls
+With plaques and plates
+ And keeps me paying bills
+ And calls.
+
+It's firm; and if
+ I should my many woes
+ Deplore,
+'Twould only sniff
+ And perk its little nose
+ Some more.
+
+It's bright, though small;
+ Its name, you may have guessed,
+ Is "Wife."
+But, after all,
+ It gives a wondrous zest
+ To life!
+
+ _Arthur Guiterman._
+
+
+
+
+ MINGUILLO'S KISS
+
+
+Since for kissing thee, Minguillo,
+ Mother's ever scolding me,
+Give me swiftly back, thou dear one,
+ Give the kiss I gave to thee.
+Give me back the kiss--that one, now;
+ Let my mother scold no more;
+ Let us tell her all is o'er:
+What was done is all undone now.
+Yes, it will be wise, Minguillo,
+ My fond kiss to give to me;
+Give me swiftly back, thou dear one,
+ Give the kiss I gave to thee.
+Give me back the kiss, for mother
+ Is impatient--prithee, do!
+ For that one thou shalt have two:
+Give me that, and take another.
+Yes, then will they be contented,
+ Then can't they complain of me;
+Give me swiftly back, thou dear one,
+ Give the kiss I gave to thee.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ A KISS IN THE RAIN
+
+
+One stormy morn I chanced to meet
+ A lassie in the town;
+Her locks were like the ripened wheat,
+ Her laughing eyes were brown.
+I watched her as she tripped along
+ Till madness filled my brain,
+And then--and then--I know 'twas wrong--
+ I kissed her in the rain!
+
+With rain-drops shining on her cheek,
+ Like dew-drops on a rose,
+The little lassie strove to speak
+ My boldness to oppose;
+She strove in vain, and quivering
+ Her fingers stole in mine;
+And then the birds began to sing,
+ The sun began to shine.
+
+Oh, let the clouds grow dark above,
+ My heart is light below;
+'Tis always summer when we love,
+ However winds may blow;
+And I'm as proud as any prince,
+ All honors I disdain:
+She says I am her _rain beau_ since
+ I kissed her in the rain.
+
+ _Samuel Minturn Peck._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LOVE-KNOT
+
+
+Tying her bonnet under her chin,
+She tied her raven ringlets in;
+But, not alone in the silken snare
+Did she catch her lovely floating hair,
+For, tying her bonnet under her chin,
+She tied a young man's heart within.
+
+They were strolling together up the hill,
+Where the wind comes blowing merry and chill;
+And it blew the curls, a frolicsome race,
+All over the happy peach-coloured face,
+Till, scolding and laughing, she tied them in,
+Under her beautiful dimpled chin.
+
+And it blew a colour bright as the bloom
+Of the pinkest fuchsia's tossing plume,
+All over the cheeks of the prettiest girl
+That ever imprisoned a romping curl,
+Or, in tying her bonnet under her chin,
+Tied a young man's heart within.
+
+Steeper and steeper grew the hill--
+Madder, merrier, chillier still--
+The western wind blew down and played
+The wildest tricks with the little maid,
+As, tying her bonnet under her chin,
+She tied a young man's heart within.
+
+Oh, western wind, do you think it was fair
+To play such tricks with her floating hair?--
+To gladly, gleefully do your best
+To blow her against the young man's breast,
+Where he as gladly folded her in,
+And kissed her mouth and dimpled chin?
+
+Oh, Ellery Vane! you little thought
+An hour ago, when you besought
+This country lass to walk with you,
+After the sun had dried the dew,
+What perilous danger you'd be in
+As she tied her bonnet under her chin.
+
+ _Nora Perry._
+
+
+
+
+ OVER THE WAY
+
+
+Over the way, over the way,
+I've seen a head that's fair and gray;
+I've seen kind eyes not new to tears,
+A form of grace, though full of years--
+ Her fifty summers have left no flaw--
+And I, a youth of twenty-three,
+So love this lady, fair to see,
+ I want her for my mother-in-law!
+
+Over the way, over the way,
+I've seen her with the children play;
+I've seen her with a royal grace
+Before the mirror adjust her lace;
+ A kinder woman none ever saw;
+God bless and cheer her onward path,
+And bless all treasures that she hath,
+ And let her be my mother-in-law!
+
+Over the way, over the way,
+I think I'll venture, dear, some day
+(If you will lend a helping hand,
+And sanctify the scheme I've planned);
+ I'll kneel in loving, reverent awe
+Down at the lady's feet, and say:
+"I've loved your daughter many a day--
+ Please won't you be my mother-in-law?"
+
+ _Mary Mapes Dodge._
+
+
+
+
+ CHORUS OF WOMEN
+
+ FROM THE "THESMOPHORIAZUSAE."
+
+
+They're always abusing the women,
+ As a terrible plague to men;
+They say we're the root of all evil,
+ And repeat it again and again--
+Of war, and quarrels, and bloodshed,
+ All mischief, be what it may.
+And pray, then, why do you marry us,
+ If we're all the plagues you say?
+And why do you take such care of us,
+ And keep us so safe at home,
+And are never easy a moment
+ If ever we chance to roam?
+When you ought to be thanking Heaven
+ That your plague is out of the way,
+You all keep fussing and fretting--
+ "Where is my Plague to-day?"
+If a Plague peeps out of the window,
+ Up go the eyes of men;
+If she hides, then they all keep staring
+ Until she looks out again.
+
+ _Aristophanes._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WIDOW MALONE
+
+
+Did you hear of the Widow Malone
+ O hone!
+Who lived in the town of Athlone
+ Alone?
+O, she melted the hearts
+Of the swains in them parts;
+So lovely the Widow Malone,
+ O hone!
+So lovely the Widow Malone.
+Of lovers she had a full score
+ Or more;
+And fortunes they all had galore
+ In store;
+From the minister down
+To the clerk of the Crown,
+All were courting the Widow Malone
+ O hone!
+All were courting the Widow Malone.
+
+But so modest was Mrs. Malone,
+ 'Twas known,
+That no one could see her alone,
+ O hone!
+Let them ogle and sigh,
+They could ne'er catch her eye;
+So bashful the Widow Malone,
+ O hone!
+So bashful the Widow Malone.
+
+Till one Mister O'Brien from Clare,
+ How quare!
+'Tis little for blushing they care
+ Down there;
+Put his arm round her waist,
+Gave ten kisses at laste,
+And says he, "You're my Molly Malone,
+ My own."
+Says he, "You're my Molly Malone."
+
+And the widow they all thought so shy--
+ My eye!
+Never thought of a simper or sigh;
+ For why?
+"O Lucius," said she,
+"Since you've now made so free,
+You may marry your Mary Malone,
+ Your own;
+You may marry your Mary Malone."
+There's a moral contained in my song,
+ Not wrong;
+And one comfort it's not very long,
+ But strong:--
+If for widows you die,
+Learn to kiss--not to sigh,
+For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone!
+ O hone!
+O they're all like sweet Mistress Malone!
+
+ _Charles Lever._
+
+
+
+
+ THE SMACK IN SCHOOL
+
+
+A district school, not far away,
+Mid Berkshire's hills, one winter's day,
+Was humming with its wonted noise
+Of threescore mingled girls and boys;
+Some few upon their tasks intent,
+But more on furtive mischief bent.
+The while the master's downward look
+Was fastened on a copy-book;
+When suddenly, behind his back,
+Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack!
+As 'twere a battery of bliss
+Let off in one tremendous kiss!
+"What's that?" the startled master cries;
+"That, thir," a little imp replies,
+"Wath William Willith, if you pleathe,--
+I thaw him kith Thuthanna Peathe!"
+With frown to make a statue thrill,
+The master thundered, "Hither, Will!"
+Like wretch o'ertaken in his track,
+With stolen chattels on his back,
+Will hung his head in fear and shame,
+And to the awful presence came,--
+A great, green, bashful simpleton,
+The butt of all good-natured fun.
+With smile suppressed, and birch upraised,
+The thunderer faltered,--"I'm amazed
+That you, my biggest pupil, should
+Be guilty of an act so rude!
+Before the whole set school to boot--
+What evil genius put you to't?"
+"'Twas she herself, sir," sobbed the lad,
+"I did not mean to be so bad;
+But when Susannah shook her curls,
+And whispered, I was 'fraid of girls
+And dursn't kiss a baby's doll,
+I couldn't stand it, sir, at all,
+But up and kissed her on the spot!
+I know--boo--hoo--I ought to not,
+But, somehow, from her looks--boo--hoo--
+I thought she kind o' wished me to!"
+
+ _William Pitt Palmer._
+
+
+
+
+ 'SPAECIALLY JIM
+
+
+I wus mighty good-lookin' when I wus young--
+ Peert an' black-eyed an' slim,
+With fellers a-courtin' me Sunday nights,
+ 'Spaecially Jim.
+
+The likeliest one of 'em all wus he,
+ Chipper an' han'som' an' trim;
+But I toss'd up my head, an' made fun o' the crowd,
+ 'Spaecially Jim.
+
+I said I hadn't no 'pinion o' men
+ An' I wouldn't take stock in _him!_
+But they kep' up a-comin' in spite o' my talk,
+ 'Spaecially Jim.
+
+I got _so_ tired o' havin' 'em roun'
+ ('Spaecially Jim!),
+I made up my mind I'd settle down
+ An' take up with him;
+
+So we was married one Sunday in church,
+ 'Twas crowded full to the brim,
+'Twas the only way to get rid of 'em all,
+ 'Spaecially Jim.
+
+ _Bessie Morgan._
+
+
+
+
+ KITTY OF COLERAINE
+
+
+As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping,
+ With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine,
+When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled,
+ And all the sweet buttermilk water'd the plain.
+
+"O, what shall I do now, 'twas looking at you now,
+ Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again!
+'Twas the pride of my dairy: O Barney M'Cleary!
+ You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine."
+
+I sat down beside her,--and gently did chide her,
+ That such a misfortune should give her such pain;
+A kiss then I gave her,--and ere I did leave her,
+ She vow'd for such pleasure she'd break it again.
+
+'Twas hay-making season, I can't tell the reason,
+ Misfortunes will never come single,--that's plain,
+For, very soon after poor Kitty's disaster,
+ The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.
+
+ _Edward Lysaght._
+
+
+
+
+ WHY DON'T THE MEN PROPOSE?
+
+
+Why don't the men propose, mamma?
+ Why don't the men propose?
+Each seems just coming to the point,
+ And then away he goes;
+It is no fault of yours, mamma,
+ _That_ everybody knows;
+You _fete_ the finest men in town,
+ Yet, oh! they won't propose.
+
+I'm sure I've done my best, mamma,
+ To make a proper match;
+For coronets and eldest sons,
+ I'm ever on the watch;
+I've hopes when some _distingue_ beau
+ A glance upon me throws;
+But though he'll dance and smile and flirt,
+ Alas! he won't propose.
+
+I've tried to win by languishing,
+ And dressing like a blue;
+I've bought big books and talked of them
+ As if I'd read them through!
+With hair cropp'd like a man I've felt
+ The heads of all the beaux;
+But Spurzheim could not touch their hearts,
+ And oh! they won't propose.
+
+I threw aside the books, and thought
+ That ignorance was bliss;
+I felt convinced that men preferred
+ A simple sort of Miss;
+And so I lisped out nought beyond
+ Plain "yesses" or plain "noes,"
+And wore a sweet unmeaning smile;
+ Yet, oh! they won't propose.
+
+Last night at Lady Ramble's rout
+ I heard Sir Henry Gale
+Exclaim, "Now I _propose_ again----"
+ I started, turning pale;
+I really thought my time was come,
+ I blushed like any rose;
+But oh! I found 'twas only at
+ _Ecarte_ he'd propose.
+
+And what is to be done, mamma?
+ Oh, what is to be done?
+I really have no time to lose,
+ For I am thirty-one;
+At balls I am too often left
+ Where spinsters sit in rows;
+Why don't the men propose, mamma?
+ Why _won't_ the men propose?
+
+ _Thomas Haynes Bayly._
+
+
+
+
+ A PIN
+
+
+Oh, I know a certain woman who is reckoned with the good,
+But she fills me with more terror than a raging lion would.
+The little chills run up and down my spine when'er we meet,
+Though she seems a gentle creature and she's very trim and neat.
+
+And she has a thousand virtues and not one acknowledged sin,
+But she is the sort of person you could liken to a pin,
+And she pricks you, and she sticks you, in a way that can't be said--
+When you seek for what has hurt you, why, you cannot find the head.
+
+But she fills you with discomfort and exasperating pain--
+If anybody asks you why, you really can't explain.
+A pin is such a tiny thing,--of that there is no doubt,--
+Yet when it's sticking in your flesh, you're wretched till it's out!
+
+She is wonderfully observing--when she meets a pretty girl
+She is always sure to tell her if her "bang" is out of curl.
+And she is so sympathetic: to a friend, who's much admired,
+She is often heard remarking, "Dear, you look so worn and tired!"
+
+And she is a careful critic; for on yesterday she eyed
+The new dress I was airing with a woman's natural pride,
+And she said, "Oh, how becoming!" and then softly added, "It
+Is really a misfortune that the basque is such a fit."
+
+Then she said, "If you had heard me yestereve, I'm sure, my friend,
+You would say I am a champion who knows how to defend."
+And she left me with the feeling--most unpleasant, I aver--
+That the whole world would despise me if it had not been for her.
+
+Whenever I encounter her, in such a nameless way
+She gives me the impression I am at my worst that day,
+And the hat that was imported (and that cost me half a sonnet)
+With just one glance from her round eyes becomes a Bowery bonnet.
+
+She is always bright and smiling, sharp and shining for a thrust--
+Use does not seem to blunt her point, not does she gather rust--
+Oh! I wish some hapless specimen of mankind would begin
+To tidy up the world for me, by picking up this pin.
+
+ _Ella Wheeler Wilcox._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WHISTLER
+
+
+"You have heard," said a youth to his sweetheart, who stood
+ While he sat on a corn-sheaf, at daylight's decline--
+"You have heard of the Danish boy's whistle of wood;
+ I wish that the Danish boy's whistle were mine!"
+
+"And what would you do with it?--tell me," she said,
+ While an arch smile play'd over her beautiful face.
+"I would blow it," he answered, "and then my fair maid
+ Would fly to my side, and would there take her place."
+
+"Is that all you wish for? Why, that may be yours
+ Without any magic," the fair maiden cried;
+"A favour so slight one's good-nature secures;"
+ And she playfully seated herself by his side.
+
+"I would blow it again," said the youth; "and the charm
+ Would work so, that not even modesty's check
+Would be able to keep from my neck your white arm."
+ She smiled, and she laid her white arm round his neck.
+"Yet once more I would blow, and the music divine
+ Would bring me a third time an exquisite bliss
+You would lay your fair cheek to this brown one of mine
+ And your lips, stealing past it, would give me a kiss."
+
+The maiden laughed out in her innocent glee--
+ "What a fool of yourself with the whistle you'd make!
+For only consider how silly 'twould be
+ To sit there and whistle for what you might take."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CLOUD
+
+ AN IDYLL OF THE WESTERN FRONT
+
+
+ I
+
+|Scene|: _A wayside shrine in France._
+
+|Persons|: Celeste, Pierre, a Cloud.
+
+|Celeste| (_gazing at the solitary white Cloud_):
+ I wonder what your thoughts are, little Cloud,
+ Up in the sky, so lonely and so proud!
+
+|Cloud|: Not proud, dear maiden; lonely, if you will.
+ Long have I watched you, sitting there so still
+ Before that little shrine beside the way,
+ And wondered where your thoughts might be astray;
+ Your knitting lying idle on your knees,
+ And worse than idle--like Penelope's,
+ Working its own undoing!
+
+|Celeste| (_picks up her knitting_): Who was she?
+ Saints! What a knot!--Who was Penelope?
+ What happened to _her_ knitting? Tell me, Cloud!
+
+|Cloud|: She was a Queen; she wove her husband's shroud.
+
+|Celeste| (_drops the knitting_).
+ His shroud!
+
+|Cloud|: There, there! 'Twas only an excuse
+ To put her lovers off, a wifely ruse,
+ Bidding them bide till it was finished, she
+ Each night the web unravelled secretly.
+
+|Celeste|: He came home safe?
+|Cloud|: If I remember right,
+ It was the lovers needed shrouds that night!
+ It is an old, old tale. I heard it through
+ A Wind whose ancestor it was that blew
+ Ulysses' ship across the purple sea
+ Back to his people and Penelope.
+ We Clouds pick up strange tales, as far and wide
+ And to and fro above the world we ride,
+ Across uncharted seas, upon the swell
+ Of viewless waves and tides invisible,
+ Freighted with friendly flood or forked flame,
+ Knowing not whither bound nor whence we came;
+ Now drifting lonely, now a company
+ Of pond'rous galleons--
+
+|Celeste|: Oft-times I see
+ A Cloud, as by some playful fancy stirred,
+ Take likeness of a monstrous beast or bird
+ Or some fantastic fish, as though 'twere clay
+ Moulded by unseen hands.
+
+|Cloud|: Then tell me, pray,
+ What I resemble now!
+
+|Celeste|: I scarcely know.
+ But had you asked a little while ago,
+ I should have said a camel; then your hump
+ Dissolved, and you became a gosling plump,
+ Downy and white and warm--
+
+|Cloud|: What! _Warm_, up here?
+ Ten thousand feet above the earth!
+
+|Celeste|: Oh dear!
+ What am I thinking of! Of course I know
+ How cold it is. Pierre has told me so
+ A thousand times.
+
+|Cloud|: And who is this Pierre
+ That tells you all the secrets of the air?
+ How came he to such frigid heights to soar?
+
+|Celeste|: Pierre's my--He is in the Flying Corps.
+
+|Cloud|: Ah, now I understand! And he's away?
+
+|Celeste|: He left at dawn, where for he would not say,
+ Telling me only 'twas a bombing raid
+ Somewhere--My God! What's that?
+
+|Cloud|: What, little maid?
+|Celeste| (_pointing_): That--over there--beyond the wooded crest!
+
+|Cloud|: Only a skylark dropping to her nest;
+ Her mate is hov'ring somewhere near. I heard
+ His tremulous song of love--
+
+|Celeste|: That was no bird!
+ (_Drops upon her knees._)
+ O Mary! Blessed Mother! Hear, my prayer!
+ That one that fell--grant it was not Pierre!
+ Here is the cross my mother gave me--I
+ Will burn the longest candle it will buy!
+
+|Cloud|: Courage, my child! Your prayer will not be vain!
+ Who guards the lark, will guide your lover's plane.
+ The West Wind's calling. I must go!--Hark! There
+ He sings again! _Le bon Dieu garde, ma chere!_
+
+
+ II
+
+|Pierre|: I made a perfect landing over there
+ Behind the church--
+
+|Celeste|: The Virgin heard my prayer!
+ Now I must burn the candle that I vowed--
+
+|Pierre|: Then 'twas our Blessed Lady sent that Cloud
+ That saved me when the Boche came up behind.
+ I made a lightning turn, only to find
+ The Boche on top of me. It seemed a kind
+ Of miracle to see that Cloud--I swear
+ A moment past the sky was everywhere
+ As clear as clear; there was no Cloud in sight.
+ It looked to me, floating there calm and white.
+ Like a great mother hen, and I a chick.
+ She seemed to call me, and I scurried quick
+ Behind her wing. That spoiled the Boche's game,
+ And gave me time to turn and take good aim.
+ I emptied my last drum, and saw him drop
+ Ten thousand feet in flames--
+
+|Celeste| (_shuddering_): Stop! Pierre, stop!
+ Maybe a girl is waiting for him too--
+
+|Pierre|: 'Twas either him or me |Celeste|:
+ Thank God, not you!
+
+|Pierre| (_pointing to the church_): Come, let us burn the candle that
+ you vowed.
+
+|Celeste|: Two candles!
+
+|Pierre|: Who's the other for?
+
+|Celeste|: The Cloud!
+
+ _Oliver Herford._
+
+
+
+
+ CONSTANCY
+
+
+"You gave me the key of your heart, my love;
+ Then why do you make me knock?"
+"Oh, that was yesterday, Saints above!
+ And last night--I changed the lock!"
+
+ _John Boyle O'Reilly._
+
+
+
+
+ AIN'T IT AWFUL, MABEL?
+
+
+It worries me to beat the band
+To hear folks say our lives is grand;
+Wish they'd try some one-night stand.
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+Nothin' ever seems to suit--
+The manager's an awful brute;
+Spend our lives jest lookin' cute.
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+Met a boy last Tuesday night,
+Was spendin' money left and right---
+Me, gee! I couldn't eat a bite!
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+Then I met another guy--
+Hungry! well, I thought I'd die!
+But I couldn't make him buy.
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+Lots of men has called me dear,
+Said without me life was drear,
+But men is all so unsincere!
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+I tell you, life is mighty hard,
+I've had proposals by the yard--
+Some of 'em would 'a had me starred.
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+Remember that sealskin sacque of mine?
+When I got it, look'd awful fine--
+I found out it was a shine.
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+Prima donna's sore on me;
+My roses had her up a tree--
+I jest told her to "twenty-three."
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+My dear, she went right out and wired
+The New York office to have me "fired";
+But say! 'twas the author had me hired.
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+I think hotels is awful mean,
+Jim and me put out of room sixteen--
+An' we was only readin' Laura Jean.
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+The way folks talk about us too;
+For the smallest thing we do--
+'Nuff to make a girl feel blue.
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+My Gawd! is that the overture?
+I never will be on, I'm sure--
+The things us actresses endure,
+ Ain't it awful, Mabel?
+
+ _John Edward Hazzard._
+
+
+
+
+ WING TEE WEE
+
+
+ Oh, Wing Tee Wee
+ Was a sweet Chinee,
+ And she lived in the town of Tac.
+ Her eyes were blue,
+ And her curling queue
+ Hung dangling down her back;
+And she fell in love with gay Win Sil
+When he wrote his name on a laundry bill.
+
+ And, oh, Tim Told
+ Was a pirate bold,
+ And he sailed in a Chinese junk;
+ And he loved, ah me!
+ Sweet Wing Tee Wee,
+ But his valiant heart had sunk;
+So he drowned his blues in fickle fizz,
+And vowed the maid would yet be his.
+
+ So bold Tim Told
+ Showed all his gold
+ To the maid in the town of Tac;
+ And sweet Wing Wee
+ Eloped to sea,
+ And nevermore came back;
+For in far Chinee the maids are fair,
+And the maids are false,--as everywhere.
+
+ _J. P. Denison._
+
+
+
+
+ PHYLLIS LEE
+
+
+Beside a Primrose 'broider'd Rill
+ Sat Phyllis Lee in Silken Dress
+Whilst Lucius limn'd with loving skill
+ Her likeness, as a Shepherdess.
+Yet tho' he strove with loving skill
+His Brush refused to work his Will.
+
+"Dear Maid, unless you close your Eyes
+ I cannot paint to-day," he said;
+"Their Brightness shames the very Skies
+ And turns their Turquoise into Lead."
+Quoth Phyllis, then, "To save the Skies
+And speed your Brush, I'll shut my Eyes."
+
+Now when her Eyes were closed, the Dear,
+ Not dreaming of such Treachery,
+Felt a Soft Whisper in her Ear,
+ "Without the Light, how can one See?"
+"If you are _sure_ that none can see
+I'll keep them shut," said Phyllis Lee.
+
+ _Oliver Herford._
+
+
+
+
+ THE SORROWS OF WERTHER
+
+
+Werther had a love for Charlotte
+ Such as words could never utter;
+Would you know how first he met her?
+ She was cutting bread and butter.
+
+Charlotte was a married lady,
+ And a moral man was Werther,
+And for all the wealth of Indies,
+ Would do nothing for to hurt her.
+
+So he sigh'd and pined and ogled,
+ And his passion boil'd and bubbled,
+Till he blew his silly brains out,
+ And no more was by it troubled.
+
+Charlotte, having seen his body
+ Borne before her on a shutter,
+Like a well-conducted person,
+ Went on cutting bread and butter.
+
+ _W. M. Thackeray._
+
+
+
+
+ THE UNATTAINABLE
+
+
+Tom's album was filled with the pictures of belles
+ Who had captured his manly heart,
+From the fairy who danced for the front-row swells
+ To the maiden who tooled her cart;
+But one face as fair as a cloudless dawn
+ Caught my eye, and I said, "Who's this?"
+"Oh, that," he replied, with a skilful yawn,
+ "Is the girl I couldn't kiss."
+
+Her face was the best in the book, no doubt,
+ But I hastily turned the leaf,
+For my friend had let his cigar go out,
+ And I knew I had bared his grief:
+For caresses we win and smiles we gain
+ Yield only a transient bliss,
+And we're all of us prone to sigh in vain
+ For "the girl we couldn't kiss."
+
+ _Harry Romaine._
+
+
+
+
+ RORY O'MORE; OR, GOOD OMENS
+
+
+Young Rory O'More, courted Kathleen Bawn,
+He was bold as a hawk,--she as soft as the dawn;
+He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,
+And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.
+
+"Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry,
+(Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye),
+"With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about,
+Faith you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out."
+"Oh, jewel," says Rory, "that same is the way
+You've thrated my heart for this many a day;
+And 'tis plaz'd that I am, and why not to be sure?
+For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.
+
+"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like,
+For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;
+The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound."
+"Faith," says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground."
+"Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go;
+Sure I drame ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!"
+"Oh," says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear,
+For drames always go by conthraries, my dear;
+Oh! jewel, keep draming that same till you die,
+And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie!
+And 'tis plaz'd that I am, and why not, to be sure?
+Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.
+
+"Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teas'd me enough,
+Sure I've thrash'd for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff;
+And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste,
+So I think, after that, I may talk to the praste."
+Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm around her neck,
+So soft and so white, without freckle or speck,
+And he look'd in her eyes that were beaming' with light,
+And he kiss'd her sweet lips;--don't you think he was right?
+"Now, Rory, leave off, sir; you'll hug me no more,
+That's eight times to-day you have kiss'd me before."
+"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure,
+For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More.
+
+ _Samuel Lover._
+
+
+
+
+ A DIALOGUE FROM PLATO
+
+
+"_Le temps le mieux employe est celui qu' on perd._"
+ --|Claude Tillier|.
+
+I'd read three hours. Both notes and text
+ Were fast a mist becoming;
+In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed,
+ And filled the room with humming.
+
+Then out. The casement's leafage sways,
+ And, parted light, discloses
+Miss Di., with hat and book,--a maze
+ Of muslin mixed with roses.
+
+"You're reading Greek?" "I am--and you?"
+ "O, mine's a mere romancer!"
+"So Plato is." "Then read him--do;
+ And I'll read mine in answer."
+
+I read. "My Plato (Plato, too,--
+ That wisdom thus should harden!)
+Declares 'blue eyes look doubly blue
+ Beneath a Dolly Varden.'"
+
+She smiled. "My book in turn avers
+ (No author's name is stated)
+That sometimes those Philosophers
+ Are sadly mis-translated."
+
+"But hear,--the next's in stronger style:
+ The Cynic School asserted
+That two red lips which part and smile
+ May not be controverted!"
+
+She smiled once more--"My book, I find,
+ Observes some modern doctors
+Would make the Cynics out a kind
+ Of album-verse concoctors."
+
+Then I--"Why not? 'Ephesian law,
+ No less than time's tradition,
+Enjoined fair speech on all who saw
+ Diana's apparition.'"
+
+She blushed--this time. "If Plato's page
+ No wiser precept teaches,
+Then I'd renounce that doubtful sage,
+ And walk to Burnham-beeches."
+
+"Agreed," I said. "For Socrates
+ (I find he too is talking)
+Thinks Learning can't remain at ease
+ While Beauty goes a-walking."
+
+She read no more, I leapt the sill:
+ The sequel's scarce essential--
+Nay, more than this, I hold it still
+ Profoundly confidential.
+
+ _Austin Dobson._
+
+
+
+
+ DORA VERSUS ROSE
+
+
+ "_The case is proceeding._"
+
+From the tragic-est novels at Mudie's--
+ At least, on a practical plan--
+To the tales of mere Hodges and Judys,
+ One love is enough for a man.
+But no case that I ever yet met is
+ Like mine: I am equally fond
+Of Rose, who a charming brunette is,
+ And Dora, a blonde.
+
+Each rivals the other in powers--
+ Each waltzes, each warbles, each paints--
+Miss Rose, chiefly tumble-down towers;
+ Miss Do., perpendicular saints.
+In short, to distinguish is folly;
+ 'Twixt the pair I am come to the pass
+Of Macheath, between Lucy and Polly,--
+ Or Buridan's ass.
+
+If it happens that Rosa I've singled
+ For a soft celebration in rhyme,
+Then the ringlets of Dora get mingled
+ Somehow with the tune and the time;
+Or I painfully pen me a sonnet
+ To an eyebrow intended for Do.'s,
+And behold I am writing upon it
+ The legend, "To Rose,"
+
+Or I try to draw Dora (my blotter
+ Is all overscrawled with her head),
+If I fancy at last that I've got her,
+ It turns to her rival instead;
+Or I find myself placidly adding
+ To the rapturous tresses of Rose
+Miss Dora's bud-mouth, and her madding
+ Ineffable nose.
+
+Was there ever so sad a dilemma?
+ For Rose I would perish (pro tem.);
+For Dora I'd willingly stem a--
+ (Whatever might offer to stem);
+But to make the invidious election,--
+ To declare that on either one's side
+I've a scruple,--a grain, more affection,
+ I _cannot_ decide.
+
+And, as either so hopelessly nice is,
+ My sole and my final resource
+Is to wait some indefinite crisis,--
+ Some feat of molecular force,
+To solve me this riddle conducive
+ By no means to peace or repose,
+Since the issue can scarce be inclusive
+ Of Dora _and_ Rose.
+
+ (_Afterthought_)
+
+But, perhaps, if a third (say a Nora),
+ Not quite so delightful as Rose,--
+Not wholly so charming as Dora,--
+ Should appear, is it wrong to suppose,--
+As the claims of the others are equal,--
+ And flight--in the main--is the best,--
+That I might ... But no matter,--the sequel
+ Is easily guessed.
+
+ _Austin Dobson._
+
+
+
+
+ TU QUOQUE
+
+ AN IDYLL IN THE CONSERVATORY
+
+
+ |nellie|
+If I were you, when ladies at the play, Sir,
+ Beckon and nod, a melodrama through,
+I would not turn abstractedly away, Sir,
+ If I were you!
+
+ |frank|
+If I were you, when persons I affected,
+ Wait for three hours to take me down to Kew,
+I would at least pretend I recollected,
+ If I were you!
+
+ |nellie|
+If I were you, when ladies are so lavish,
+ Sir, as to keep me every waltz but two,
+I would not dance with _odious_ Miss M'Tavish,
+ If I were you!
+
+ |frank|
+If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer
+ Whiff of the best,--the mildest "honey dew,"
+I would not dance with smoke-consuming Puffer,
+ If I were you!
+
+ |nellie|
+If I were you, I would not, Sir, be bitter,
+ Even to write the "Cynical Review";--
+
+ |frank|
+No, I should doubtless find flirtation fitter,
+ If I were you!
+
+ |nellie|
+Really! You would? Why, Frank, you're quite delightful,--
+ Hot as Othello, and as black of hue;
+Borrow my fan. I would not look so _frightful_,
+ If I were you!
+
+ |frank|
+"It is the cause." I mean your chaperon is
+ Bringing some well-curled juvenile. Adieu!
+_I_ shall retire. I'd spare that poor Adonis,
+ If I were you!
+
+ |nellie|
+Go, if you will. At once! And by express, Sir!
+ Where shall it be? To China--or Peru?
+Go. I should leave inquirers my address, Sir,
+ If I were you!
+
+ |frank|
+No--I remain. To stay and fight a duel
+ Seems, on the whole, the proper thing to do--
+Ah, you are strong,--I would not then be cruel,
+ If I were you!
+
+ |nellie|
+One does not like one's feelings to be doubted,--
+
+ |frank|
+One does not like one's friends to misconstrue,--
+
+ |nellie|
+If I confess that I a wee-bit pouted?
+
+ |frank|
+I should admit that I was _pique_, too.
+
+ |nellie|
+Ask me to dance. I'd say no more about it,
+ If I were you!
+
+ [Waltz--_Exeunt_.]
+
+ _Austin Dobson._
+
+
+
+
+ NOTHING TO WEAR.
+
+
+Miss Flora McFlimsey, of Madison Square,
+Has made three separate journeys to Paris;
+And her father assures me, each time she was there,
+That she and her friend Mrs. Harris
+(Not the lady whose name is so famous in history,
+But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery)
+Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping,
+In one continuous round of shopping;--
+Shopping alone, and shopping together,
+At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather:
+For all manner of things that a woman can put
+On the crown of her head or the sole of her foot,
+Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist,
+Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced,
+Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow,
+In front or behind, above or below;
+For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls;
+Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls;
+Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in,
+Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in;
+Dresses in which to do nothing at all;
+Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall,--
+All of them different in color and pattern,
+Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin,
+Brocade, and broadcloth, and other material
+Quite as expensive and much more ethereal:
+In short, for all things that could ever be thought of,
+Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of,
+From ten-thousand-francs robes to twenty-sous frills;
+ In all quarters of Paris, and to every store:
+ While McFlimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore.
+They footed the streets, and he footed the bills.
+
+The last trip, their goods shipped by the steamer _Argo_
+Formed, McFlimsey declares, the bulk of her cargo,
+Not to mention a quantity kept from the rest,
+Sufficient to fill the largest-sized chest,
+Which did not appear on the ship's manifest,
+But for which the ladies themselves manifested
+Such particular interest that they invested
+Their own proper persons in layers and rows
+Of muslins, embroideries, worked underclothes,
+Gloves, handkerchiefs, scarfs, and such trifles as those;
+Then, wrapped in great shawls, like Circassian beauties,
+Gave _good-by_ to the ship, and _go-by_ to the duties.
+Her relations at home all marvelled, no doubt,
+Miss Flora had grown so enormously stout
+ For an actual belle and a possible bride;
+But the miracle ceased when she turned inside out,
+ And the truth came to light, and the dry-goods beside,
+Which, in spite of collector and custom-house sentry,
+Had entered the port without any entry.
+And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the day
+The merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway,
+This same Miss McFlimsey, of Madison Square,
+The last time we met, was in utter despair,
+Because she had nothing whatever to wear!
+
+|Nothing to wear|! Now, as this is a true ditty,
+ I do not assert--this you know is between us--
+That she's in a state of absolute nudity,
+ Like Powers's Greek Slave, or the Medici Venus;
+But I do mean to say I have heard her declare,
+ When at the same moment she had on a dress
+ Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less,
+ And jewelry worth ten times more, I should guess,
+That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear!
+I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's
+Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers,
+I had just been selected as he who should throw all
+The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal
+On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections
+Of those fossil remains which she called her "affections,"
+And that rather decayed but well-known work of art,
+Which Miss Flora persisted in styling "her heart."
+So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted
+ Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or grove;
+But in a front parlor, most brilliantly lighted,
+ Beneath the gas-fixtures we whispered our love--
+Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs,
+Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes,
+Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions;
+It was one of the quietest business transactions,
+With a very small sprinkling of sentiment, if any,
+And a very large diamond imported by Tiffany.
+On her virginal lips while I printed a kiss,
+She exclaimed, as a sort of parenthesis,
+And by way of putting me quite at my ease,
+"You know, I'm to polka as much as I please,
+And flirt when I like,--now stop,--don't you speak,--
+And you must not come here more than twice in the week,
+Or talk to me either at party or ball;
+But always be ready to come when I call:
+So don't prose to me about duty and stuff,--
+If we don't break this off, there will be time enough
+For that sort of thing; but the bargain must be,
+That as long as I choose I am perfectly free:
+For this is a sort of engagement, you see,
+Which is binding on you, but not binding on me."
+
+Well, having thus wooed Miss McFlimsey, and gained her,
+With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her,
+I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder
+At least in the property, and the best right
+To appear as its escort by day and by night;
+And it being the week of the Stuckups' grand ball,--
+ Their cards had been out for a fortnight or so,
+ And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe,--
+I considered it only my duty to call
+ And see if Miss Flora intended to go.
+I found her--as ladies are apt to be found
+When the time intervening between the first sound
+Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter
+Than usual--I found--I won't say I caught--her
+Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning
+To see if perhaps it didn't need cleaning.
+She turned as I entered--"Why, Harry, you sinner,
+I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dinner!"
+"So I did," I replied; "but the dinner is swallowed,
+ And digested, I trust; for 'tis now nine or more:
+So being relieved from that duty, I followed
+ Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door.
+And now will your Ladyship so condescend
+As just to inform me if you intend
+Your beauty and graces and presence to lend
+(All of which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow)
+To the Stuckups, whose party, you know, is to-morrow?"
+The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air,
+And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, _mon cher_,
+I should like above all things to go with you there;
+But really and truly--I've nothing to wear."
+
+"Nothing to wear? Go just as you are:
+Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far,
+I engage, the most bright and particular star
+ On the Stuckup horizon--" I stopped, for her eye,
+Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery,
+Opened on me at once a most terrible battery
+ Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply,
+But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose
+ (That pure Grecian feature), as much as to say,
+"How absurd that any sane man should suppose
+That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes,
+ No matter how fine, that she wears every day!"
+So I ventured again--"Wear your crimson brocade."
+(Second turn-up of nose)--"That's too dark by a shade."--
+"Your blue silk--" "That's too heavy."--"Your pink--" "That's too
+ light."--
+"Wear tulle over satin." "I can't endure white."--
+"Your rose-colored, then, the best of the batch--"
+"I haven't a thread of point lace to match."--
+"Your brown moire-antique--" "Yes, and look like a Quaker."--
+"The pearl-colored--" "I would, but that plaguy dressmaker
+Has had it a week."--"Then that exquisite lilac,
+In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock."
+(Here the nose took again the same elevation)--
+"I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation."
+ "Why not? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it
+As more _comme il faut_"--"Yes, but, dear me, that lean
+ Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it,
+And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen."--
+"Then that splendid purple, that sweet mazarine,
+That superb _point d'aiguille_, that imperial green,
+That zephyr-like tarlatan, that rich grenadine--"
+ "Not one of all which is fit to be seen,"
+Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed.
+"Then wear," I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crushed
+Opposition, "that gorgeous toilette which you sported
+ In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation,
+ When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation;
+And by all the grand court were so very much courted."
+The end of the nose was portentously tipped up,
+ And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation,
+ As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation,
+ "I have worn it three times at the least calculation,
+And that and most of my dresses are ripped up!"
+Here I _ripped out_ something, perhaps rather rash--
+ Quite innocent, though; but to use an expression
+More striking than classic, it "settled my hash,"
+ And proved very soon the last act of our session.
+"Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling
+Doesn't fall down and crush you!--oh, you men have no feeling.
+You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures,
+Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers,
+Your silly pretence--why, what a mere guess it is!
+Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities?
+I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear,
+And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care,
+But you do not believe me" (here the nose went still higher):
+"I suppose if you dared you would call me a liar.
+Our engagement is ended, sir--yes, on the spot;
+You're a brute, and a monster, and--I don't know what."
+I mildly suggested the words Hottentot,
+Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief,
+As gentle expletives which might give relief:
+But this only proved as a spark to the powder,
+And the storm I had raised came faster and louder;
+It blew, and it rained, thundered, lightened, and hailed
+Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite failed
+To express the abusive, and then its arrears
+Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears;
+And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obs-
+Ervation was lost in a tempest of sobs.
+
+Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat too,
+Improvised on the crown of the latter a tattoo,
+In lieu of expressing the feelings which lay
+Quite too deep for words, as Wordsworth would say:
+Then, without going through the form of a bow,
+Found myself in the entry,--I hardly knew how,--
+On doorstep and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square,
+At home and up-stairs, in my own easy-chair;
+ Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,
+And said to myself, as I lit my cigar,--
+Supposing a man had the wealth of the Czar
+ Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days,
+On the whole do you think he would have much time to spare
+If he married a woman with nothing to wear?
+
+ _William Allen Butler._
+
+
+
+
+ MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS
+
+
+They nearly strike me dumb,
+And I tremble when they come
+ Pit-a-pat:
+This palpitation means
+These boots are Geraldine's--
+ Think of that!
+
+Oh, where did hunter win
+So delectable a skin
+ For her feet?
+You lucky little kid,
+You perished, so you did,
+ For my sweet!
+
+The faery stitching gleams
+On the sides, and in the seams,
+ And it shows
+The Pixies were the wags
+Who tipt those funny tags
+ And these toes.
+
+What soles to charm an elf!
+Had Crusoe, sick of self,
+ Chanced to view
+_One_ printed near the tide,
+Oh, how hard he would have tried
+ For the two!
+
+For Gerry's debonair
+And innocent, and fair
+ As a rose;
+She's an angel in a frock,
+With a fascinating cock
+ To her nose.
+
+The simpletons who squeeze
+Their extremities to please
+ Mandarins,
+Would positively flinch
+From venturing to pinch
+ Geraldine's.
+
+Cinderella's _lefts and rights_,
+To Geraldine's were frights;
+ And I trow,
+The damsel, deftly shod,
+Has dutifully trod
+ Until now.
+
+Come, Gerry, since it suits
+Such a pretty Puss (in Boots)
+ These to don;
+Set this dainty hand awhile
+On my shoulder, dear, and I'll
+ Put them on.
+
+ _Frederick Locker-Lampson._
+
+
+
+
+ MRS. SMITH
+
+
+Last year I trod these fields with Di,
+Fields fresh with clover and with rye;
+ They now seem arid!
+Then Di was fair and single; how
+Unfair it seems on me, for now
+ Di's fair--and married!
+
+A blissful swain--I scorn'd the song
+Which says that though young Love is strong,
+ The Fates are stronger;
+Breezes then blew a boon to men,
+The buttercups were bright, and then
+ This grass was longer.
+
+That day I saw and much esteem'd
+Di's ankles, which the clover seem'd
+ Inclined to smother;
+It twitch'd, and soon untied (for fun)
+The ribbon of her shoes, first one,
+ And then the other.
+
+I'm told that virgins augur some
+Misfortune if their shoe-strings come
+ To grief on Friday:
+And so did Di, and then her pride
+Decreed that shoe-strings so untied
+ Are "so untidy!"
+
+Of course I knelt; with fingers deft
+I tied the right, and then the left;
+ Says Di, "The stubble
+Is very stupid!--as I live,
+I'm quite ashamed!--I'm shock'd to give
+ You so much trouble!"
+
+For answer I was fain to sink
+To what we all would say and think
+ Were Beauty present:
+"Don't mention such a simple act--
+A trouble? not the least! in fact
+ It's rather pleasant!"
+
+I trust that Love will never tease
+Poor little Di, or prove that he's
+ A graceless rover.
+She's happy now as _Mrs. Smith_--
+And less polite when walking with
+ Her chosen lover!
+
+Heigh-ho! Although no moral clings
+To Di's blue eyes, and sandal strings,
+ We've had our quarrels!--
+I think that Smith is thought an ass;
+I know that when they walk in grass
+ She wears _balmorals_.
+
+ _Frederick Locker-Lampson._
+
+
+
+
+ A TERRIBLE INFANT
+
+
+I recollect a nurse call'd Ann,
+ Who carried me about the grass,
+And one fine day a fine young man
+ Came up, and kiss'd the pretty lass.
+She did not make the least objection!
+ Thinks I, "_Aha_!
+_When I can talk I'll tell Mamma_"
+--And that's my earliest recollection.
+
+ _Frederick Locker-Lampson._
+
+
+
+
+ SUSAN
+
+ A KIND PROVIDENCE
+
+
+He dropt a tear on Susan's bier,
+ He seem'd a most despairing swain;
+But bluer sky brought newer tie,
+ And--would he wish her back again?
+
+The moments fly, and when we die,
+ Will Philly Thistletop complain?
+She'll cry and sigh, and--dry her eye,
+ And let herself be woo'd again.
+
+ _Frederick Locker-Lampson._
+
+
+
+
+ "I DIDN'T LIKE HIM"
+
+
+Perhaps you may a-noticed I been soht o' solemn lately,
+ Haven't been a-lookin' quite so pleasant.
+Mabbe I have been a little bit too proud and stately;
+ Dat's because I'se lonesome jes' at present.
+I an' him agreed to quit a week or so ago,
+ Fo' now dat I am in de social swim
+I'se 'rived to de opinion dat he ain't my style o' beau,
+ So I tole him dat my watch was fas' fo' him.
+
+
+ |refrain|
+
+ Oh, I didn't like his clo'es,
+ An' I didn't like his eyes,
+ Nor his walk, nor his talk,
+ Nor his ready-made neckties.
+ I didn't like his name a bit,
+ Jes' 'spise the name o' Jim;
+ If dem ere reasons ain't enough,
+ I didn't like _Him_.
+
+Dimon' ring he give to me, an' said it was a fine stone.
+ Guess it's only alum mixed wif camphor.
+Took it roun' to Eisenstein; he said it was a rhinestone,
+ Kind, he said, he didn't give a dam fur.
+Sealskin sack he give to me it got me in a row.
+ P'liceman called an' asked to see dat sack;
+Said another lady lost it. Course I don't know how;
+ But I had to go to jail or give it back.
+
+
+ |refrain|
+
+ Oh, I didn't like his trade;
+ Trade dat kep' him out all night.
+ He'd de look ob a crook,
+ An' he owned a bull's-eye light.
+ So when policemen come to ask
+ What _I_ know 'bout dat Jim,
+ I come to de confusion dat
+ I didn't like _Him_.
+
+ _Harry B. Smith._
+
+
+
+
+ MY ANGELINE
+
+
+She kept her secret well, oh, yes,
+ Her hideous secret well.
+We together were cast, I knew not her past;
+ For how was I to tell?
+I married her, guileless lamb I was;
+ I'd have died for her sweet sake.
+How could I have known that my Angeline
+ Had been a Human Snake?
+Ah, we had been wed but a week or two
+ When I found her quite a wreck:
+Her limbs were tied in a double bow-knot
+ At the back of her swan-like neck.
+No curse there sprang to my pallid lips,
+ Nor did I reproach her then;
+I calmly untied my bonny bride
+ And straightened her out again.
+
+
+ _Refrain_
+
+My Angeline! My Angeline!
+Why didst disturb my mind serene?
+My well-beloved circus queen,
+My Human Snake, my Angeline!
+At night I'd wake at the midnight hour,
+ With a weird and haunted feeling,
+And there she'd be, in her _robe de nuit_,
+ A-walking upon the ceiling.
+She said she was being "the human fly,"
+ And she'd lift me up from beneath
+By a section slight of my garb of night,
+ Which she held in her pearly teeth.
+For the sweet, sweet sake of the Human Snake
+ I'd have stood this conduct shady;
+But she skipped in the end with an old, old friend,
+ An eminent bearded lady.
+But, oh, at night, when my slumber's light,
+ Regret comes o'er me stealing;
+For I miss the sound of those little feet,
+ As they pattered along the ceiling.
+
+ _Refrain_
+
+My Angeline! My Angeline!
+Why didst disturb my mind serene?
+My well-beloved circus queen,
+My Human Snake, my Angeline!
+
+ _Harry B. Smith._
+
+
+
+
+ NORA'S VOW
+
+
+Hear what Highland Nora said,--
+"The Earlie's son I will not wed,
+Should all the race of nature die,
+And none be left but he and I.
+For all the gold, for all the gear,
+And all the lands both far and near,
+That ever valour lost or won,
+I would not wed the Earlie's son."
+
+"A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke,
+"Are lightly made and lightly broke,
+The heather on the mountain's height
+Begins to bloom in purple light;
+The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
+That lustre deep from glen and brae;
+Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
+May blithely wed the Earlie's son."
+
+"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast
+May barter for the eagle's nest;
+The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,
+Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn;
+Our kilted clans, when blood is high,
+Before their foes may turn and fly;
+But I, were all these marvels done,
+Would never wed the Earlie's son."
+
+Still in the water-lily's shade
+Her wonted nest the wild swan made;
+Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,
+Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river;
+To shun the clash of foeman's steel,
+No Highland brogue has turn'd the heel;
+But Nora's heart is lost and won,
+--She's wedded to the Earlie's son!
+
+ _Sir Walter Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ HUSBAND AND HEATHEN
+
+
+O'er the men of Ethiopia she would pour her cornucopia,
+And shower wealth and plenty on the people of Japan,
+Send down jelly cake and candies to the Indians of the Andes,
+And a cargo of plum pudding to the men of Hindoostan;
+ And she said she loved 'em so,
+ Bushman, Finn, and Eskimo.
+If she had the wings of eagles to their succour she would fly
+ Loaded down with jam and jelly,
+ Succotash and vermicelli,
+Prunes, pomegranates, plums and pudding, peaches, pineapples, and pie.
+
+She would fly with speedy succour to the natives of Molucca
+With whole loads of quail and salmon, and with tons of fricassee
+ And give cake in fullest measure
+ To the men of Australasia
+And all the Archipelagoes that dot the southern sea;
+ And the Anthropophagi,
+ All their lives deprived of pie,
+She would satiate and satisfy with custards, cream, and mince;
+ And those miserable Australians
+ And the Borrioboolighalians,
+She would gorge with choicest jelly, raspberry, currant, grape, and
+ quince.
+
+But like old war-time hardtackers, her poor husband lived on crackers,
+Bought at wholesale from a baker, eaten from the mantelshelf;
+ If the men of Madagascar,
+ And the natives of Alaska,
+Had enough to sate their hunger, let him look out for himself.
+ And his coat had but one tail
+ And he used a shingle nail
+To fasten up his galluses when he went out to his work;
+ And she used to spend his money
+ To buy sugar-plums and honey
+For the Terra del Fuegian and the Turcoman and Turk.
+
+ _Sam Walter Foss._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LOST PLEIAD
+
+
+'Twas a pretty little maiden
+ In a garden gray and old,
+Where the apple trees were laden
+ With the magic fruit of gold;
+But she strayed beyond the portal
+ Of the garden of the Sun,
+And she flirted with a mortal,
+ Which she oughtn't to have done!
+For a giant was her father and a goddess was her mother,
+She was Merope or Sterope--the one or else the other;
+And the man was not the equal, though presentable and rich,
+Of Merope or Sterope--I don't remember which!
+
+ Now the giant's daughters seven,
+ She among them, if you please,
+ Were translated to the heaven
+ As the starry Pleiades!
+ But amid their constellation
+ One alone was always dark,
+ For she shrank from observation
+ Or censorious remark.
+
+She had yielded to a mortal when he came to flirt and flatter.
+She was Merope or Sterope--the former or the latter;
+So the planets all ignored her, and the comets wouldn't call
+On Merope or Sterope--I am not sure at all!
+
+ But the Dog-star, brightly shining
+ In the hottest of July,
+ Saw the pretty Pleiad pining
+ In the shadow of the sky,
+ And he courted her and kissed her
+ Till she kindled into light;
+ And the Pleiads' erring sister
+ Was the lady of the night!
+
+So her former indiscretion as a fault was never reckoned,
+To Merope or Sterope--the first or else the second,
+And you'll never see so rigidly respectable a dame
+As Merope or Sterope--I can't recall her name!
+
+ _Arthur Reed Ropes._
+
+
+
+
+ THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN
+
+
+They've got a brand-new organ, Sue,
+ For all their fuss and search;
+They've done just as they said they'd do,
+ And fetched it into church.
+They're bound the critter shall be seen,
+ And on the preacher's right
+They've hoisted up their new machine
+ In everybody's sight.
+They've got a chorister and choir,
+ Ag'in' _my_ voice and vote;
+For it was never _my_ desire
+ To praise the Lord by note.
+
+I've been a sister good an' true
+ For five-an'-thirty year;
+I've done what seemed my part to do,
+ An' prayed my duty clear;
+I've sung the hymns both slow and quick,
+ Just as the preacher read,
+And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick,
+ I took the fork an' led;
+And now, their bold, new-fangled ways
+ Is comin' all about;
+And I, right in my latter days,
+ Am fairly crowded out!
+
+To-day the preacher, good old dear,
+ With tears all in his eyes,
+Read, "I can read my title clear
+ To mansions in the skies."
+I al'ays liked that blessed hymn--
+ I s'pose I al'ays will--
+It somehow gratifies _my_ whim,
+ In good old Ortonville;
+But when that choir got up to sing,
+ I couldn't catch a word;
+They sung the most dog-gondest thing
+ A body ever heard!
+
+Some worldly chaps was standin' near;
+ An' when I see them grin,
+I bid farewell to every fear,
+ And boldly waded in.
+I thought I'd chase their tune along,
+ An' tried with all my might;
+But though my voice was good an' strong,
+ I couldn't steer it right.
+When they was high, then I was low,
+ An' also contrawise;
+An' I too fast, or they too slow,
+ To "mansions in the skies."
+
+An' after every verse, you know
+ They play a little tune;
+I didn't understand, and so
+ I started in too soon.
+I pitched it pretty middlin' high,
+ I fetched a lusty tone,
+But oh, alas! I found that I
+ Was singin' there alone!
+They laughed a little, I am told;
+ But I had done my best;
+And not a wave of trouble rolled
+ Across my peaceful breast.
+
+And Sister Brown--I could but look--
+ She sits right front of me;
+She never was no singin'-book,
+ An' never went to be;
+But then she al'ays tried to do
+ The best she could, she said;
+She understood the time right through,
+ An' kep' it with her head;
+But when she tried this mornin', oh,
+ I had to laugh, or cough!
+It kep' her head a-bobbin' so,
+ It e'en a'most came off.
+
+An' Deacon Tubbs--he all broke 'down,
+ As one might well suppose;
+He took one look at Sister Brown,
+ And meekly scratched his nose.
+He looked his hymn-book through and through,
+ And laid it on the seat,
+And then a pensive sigh he drew,
+ And looked completely beat.
+And when they took another bout,
+ He didn't even rise;
+But drawed his red bandanner out,
+ An' wiped his weepin' eyes.
+
+I've been a sister, good an' true,
+ For five-an'-thirty year;
+I've done what seemed my part to do,
+ An' prayed my duty clear;
+But Death will stop my voice, I know,
+ For he is on my track;
+And some day I to church will go,
+ And nevermore come back;
+And when the folks gets up to sing--
+ Whene'er that time shall be--
+I do not want no _patent_ thing
+ A-squealin' over me!
+
+ _Will Carteton._
+
+
+
+
+ LARRIE O'DEE
+
+
+ Now the Widow McGee,
+ And Larrie O'Dee,
+Had two little cottages out on the green,
+With just room enough for two pig-pens between.
+The widow was young and the widow was fair,
+With the brightest of eyes and the brownest of hair,
+And it frequently chanced, when she came in the morn,
+With the swill for her pig, Larrie came with the corn,
+And some of the ears that he tossed from his hand
+In the pen of the widow were certain to land.
+
+ One morning said he:
+ "Och! Misthress McGee,
+It's a waste of good lumber, this runnin' two rigs,
+Wid a fancy purtition betwane our two pigs!"
+"Indade, sur, it is!" answered Widow McGee,
+With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O'Dee.
+"And thin, it looks kind o' hard-hearted and mane,
+Kapin' two friendly pigs so exsaidenly near
+That whiniver one grunts the other can hear,
+And yit kape a cruel purtition betwane."
+
+ "Shwate Widow McGee,"
+ Answered Larrie O'Dee,
+"If ye fale in your heart we are mane to the pigs,
+Ain't we mane to ourselves to be runnin' two rigs?
+Och! it made me heart ache when I paped through the cracks
+Of me shanty, lasht March, at yez shwingin' yer axe;
+An' a-bobbin' yer head an' a-shtompin' yer fate,
+Wid yer purty white hands jisht as red as a bate,
+A-shplittin' yer kindlin'-wood out in the shtorm,
+When one little shtove it would kape us both warm!"
+
+ "Now, piggy," says she,
+ "Larrie's courtin' o' me,
+Wid his dilicate tinder allusions to you;
+So now yez must tell me jisht what I must do:
+For, if I'm to say yes, shtir the swill wid yer snout;
+But if I'm to say no, ye must kape yer nose out.
+Now Larrie, for shame! to be bribin' a pig
+By a-tossin' a handful of corn in its shwig!"
+"Me darlint, the piggy says yes," answered he.
+And that was the courtship of Larrie O'Dee.
+
+ _William W. Fink._
+
+
+
+
+ NO FAULT IN WOMEN
+
+
+No fault in women, to refuse
+The offer which they most would choose.
+No fault in women to confess
+How tedious they are in their dress;
+No fault in women, to lay on
+The tincture of vermilion,
+And there to give the cheek a dye
+Of white, where Nature doth deny.
+No fault in women, to make show
+Of largeness, when they've nothing so;
+When, true it is, the outside swells
+With inward buckram, little else.
+No fault in women, though they be
+But seldom from suspicion free;
+No fault in womankind at all,
+If they but slip, and never fall.
+
+ _Robert Herrick._
+
+
+
+
+ A COSMOPOLITAN WOMAN
+
+
+She went round and asked subscriptions
+For the heathen black Egyptians
+And the Terra del Fuegians,
+ She did;
+For the tribes round Athabasca,
+And the men of Madagascar,
+And the poor souls of Alaska,
+ So she did;
+She longed, she said, to buy
+Jelly, cake, and jam, and pie,
+For the Anthropophagi,
+ So she did.
+
+Her heart ached for the Australians
+And the Borriobooli-Ghalians,
+And the poor dear Amahagger,
+ Yes, it did;
+And she loved the black Numidian,
+And the ebon Abyssinian,
+And the charcoal-coloured Guinean,
+ Oh, she did!
+And she said she'd cross the seas
+With a ship of bread and cheese
+For those starving Chimpanzees,
+ So she did.
+
+How she loved the cold Norwegian
+And the poor half-melted Feejeean,
+And the dear Molucca Islander,
+ She did:
+She sent tins of red tomato
+To the tribes beyond the Equator,
+But her husband ate potato,
+ So he did;
+The poor helpless, homeless thing
+(My voice falters as I sing)
+Tied his clothes up with a string,
+ Yes, he did.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ COURTING IN KENTUCKY.
+
+
+When Mary Ann Dollinger got the skule daown thar on Injun Bay,
+I was glad, for I like ter see a gal makin' her honest way.
+I heerd some talk in the village abaout her flyin' high,
+Tew high for busy farmer folks with chores ter do ter fly;
+But I paid no sorter attention ter all the talk ontell
+She come in her reg'lar boardin' raound ter visit with us a spell.
+My Jake an' her had been cronies ever since they could walk,
+An' it tuk me aback to hear her kerrectin' him in his talk.
+
+Jake ain't no hand at grammar, though he hain't his beat for work;
+But I sez ter myself, "Look out, my gal, yer a-foolin' with a Turk!"
+Jake bore it wonderful patient, an' said in a mournful way,
+He p'sumed he was behindhand with the doin's at Injun Bay.
+I remember once he was askin' for some o' my Injun buns,
+An' she said he should allus say, "them air," stid o' "them is" the
+ ones.
+Wal, Mary Ann kep' at him stiddy mornin' an' evenin' long,
+Tell he dassent open his mouth for fear o' talkin' wrong.
+
+One day I was pickin' currants daown by the old quince-tree,
+When I heerd Jake's voice a-saying', "Be yer willin' ter marry me?"
+An' Mary Ann kerrectin', 'Air ye willin' yeou sh'd say";
+Our Jake he put his foot daown in a plum, decided way,
+"No wimmen-folks is a-goin' ter be rearrangin' me,
+Hereafter I says 'craps,' 'them is,' 'I calk'late,' an' 'I be.'
+Ef folks don't like my talk they needn't hark ter what I say:.
+But I ain't a-goin' to take no sass from folks from Injun Bay.
+I ask you free an' final, 'Be ye goin' ter marry me?'"
+An' Mary Ann says, tremblin, yet anxious-like, "I be."
+
+ _Florence E. Pratt._
+
+
+
+
+ ANY ONE WILL DO
+
+
+A maiden once, of certain age,
+To catch a husband did engage;
+But, having passed the prime of life
+In striving to become a wife
+Without success, she thought it time
+To mend the follies of her prime.
+
+Departing from the usual course
+Of paint and such like for resource,
+With all her might this ancient maid
+Beneath an oak-tree knelt and prayed;
+Unconscious that a grave old owl
+Was perched above--the mousing fowl!
+
+"Oh, give! a husband give!" she cried,
+"While yet I may become a bride;
+Soon will my day of grace be o'er,
+And then, like many maids before,
+I'll die without an early Jove,
+And none to meet me there above!
+
+"Oh, 'tis a fate too hard to bear!
+Then answer this my humble prayer,
+And oh, a husband give to me!"
+Just then the owl from out the tree,
+In deep bass tones cried, "Who--who--who!"
+"Who, Lord? And dost Thou ask me who?
+Why, any one, good Lord, will do."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ A BIRD IN THE HAND
+
+
+ There were three young maids of Lee;
+ They were fair as fair can be,
+ And they had lovers three times three,
+ For they were fair as fair can be,
+ These three young maids of Lee.
+But these young maids they cannot find
+A lover each to suit her mind;
+The plain-spoke lad is far too rough,
+The rich young lord is not rich enough,
+The one is too poor, and one is too tall,
+And one just an inch too short for them all.
+"Others pick and choose, and why not we?
+We can very well wait," said the maids of Lee.
+ There were three young maids of Lee;
+ They were fair as fair can be,
+ And they had lovers three times three
+ For they were fair as fair can be,
+ These three young maids of Lee.
+
+ There are three old maids of Lee,
+ And they are old as old can be,
+ And one is deaf, and one cannot see,
+ And they are all as cross as a gallows-tree,
+ These three old maids of Lee.
+Now, if any one chanced--'tis a chance remote--
+One single charm in these maids to note,
+He need not a poet nor handsome be,
+For one is deaf and one cannot see;
+He need not woo on his bended knee,
+For they all are willing as willing can be.
+He may take the one, or the two, or the three,
+If he'll only take them away from Lee.
+ There are three old maids at Lee;
+ They are cross as cross can be;
+ And there they are, and there they'll be
+ To the end of the chapter, one, two, three,
+ These three old maids of Lee.
+
+ _Frederic E. Weatherly._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BELLE OF THE BALL
+
+
+Years--years ago,--ere yet my dreams
+ Had been of being wise and witty,--
+Ere I had done with writing themes,
+ Or yawn'd o'er this infernal Chitty;--
+Years, years ago, while all my joy
+ Was in my fowling-piece and filly:
+In short, while I was yet a boy,
+ I fell in love with Laura Lily.
+
+I saw her at the county ball;
+ There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle
+Gave signal sweet in that old hall
+ Of hands across and down the middle,
+Hers was the subtlest spell by far
+ Of all that set young hearts romancing:
+She was our queen, our rose, our star;
+ And when she danced--O Heaven, her dancing!
+
+Dark was her hair, her hand was white;
+ Her voice was exquisitely tender,
+Her eyes were full of liquid light;
+ I never saw a waist so slender;
+Her every look, her every smile,
+ Shot right and left a score of arrows;
+I thought 'twas Venus from her isle,
+ And wonder'd where she'd left her sparrows.
+
+She talk'd,--of politics or prayers;
+ Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's sonnets;
+Of daggers or of dancing bears,
+ Of battles, or the last new bonnets;
+By candle-light, at twelve o'clock,
+ To me it matter'd not a tittle,
+If those bright lips had quoted Locke,
+ I might have thought they murmur'd Little.
+
+Through sunny May, through sultry June,
+ I loved her with a love eternal;
+I spoke her praises to the moon,
+ I wrote them for the _Sunday Journal_.
+My mother laugh'd; I soon found out
+ That ancient ladies have no feeling;
+My father frown'd; but how should gout
+ See any happiness in kneeling?
+
+She was the daughter of a Dean,
+ Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic;
+She had one brother, just thirteen,
+ Whose color was extremely hectic;
+Her grandmother for many a year
+ Had fed the parish with her bounty;
+Her second cousin was a peer,
+ And lord lieutenant of the county.
+
+But titles and the three per cents,
+ And mortgages, and great relations,
+And India bonds, and tithes and rents,
+ Oh! what are they to love's sensations?
+Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks,
+ Such wealth, such honors, Cupid chooses;
+He cares as little for the stocks,
+ As Baron Rothschild for the Muses.
+
+She sketch'd; the vale, the wood, the beach,
+ Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading;
+She botanized; I envied each
+ Young blossom in her boudoir fading;
+She warbled Handel; it was grand--
+ She made the Catalani jealous;
+She touch'd the organ; I could stand
+ For hours and hours to blow the bellows.
+
+She kept an album, too, at home,
+ Well fill'd with all an album's glories;
+Paintings of butterflies, and Rome,
+ Patterns for trimming, Persian stories;
+Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo,
+ Fierce odes to Famine and to Slaughter;
+And autographs of Prince Leboo,
+ And recipes for elder water.
+
+And she was flatter'd, worshipp'd, bored;
+ Her steps were watch'd, her dress was noted;
+Her poodle dog was quite adored,
+ Her sayings were extremely quoted.
+She laugh'd, and every heart was glad,
+ As if the taxes were abolish'd;
+She frown'd, and every look was sad,
+ As if the Opera were demolished.
+
+She smil'd on many just for fun--
+ I knew that there was nothing in it;
+I was the first--the only one
+ Her heart had thought of for a minute;
+I knew it, for she told me so,
+ In phrase which was divinely moulded;
+She wrote a charming hand,--and oh!
+ How sweetly all her notes were folded!
+
+Our love was like most other loves--
+ A little glow, a little shiver;
+A rosebud and a pair of gloves,
+ And "Fly Not Yet," upon the river;
+Some jealousy of some one's heir,
+ Some hopes of dying broken-hearted,
+A miniature, a lock of hair,
+ The usual vows--and then we parted.
+
+We parted;--months and years roll'd by;
+ We met again four summers after;
+Our parting was all sob and sigh---
+ Our meeting was all mirth and laughter;
+For in my heart's most secret cell,
+ There had been many other lodgers;
+And she was not the ballroom belle,
+ But only--Mrs. Something Rogers.
+
+ _Winthrop Mackworth Praed._
+
+
+
+
+ THE RETORT
+
+
+Old Nick, who taught the village school,
+ Wedded a maid of homespun habit;
+He was as stubborn as a mule,
+ She was as playful as a rabbit.
+
+Poor Jane had scarce become a wife,
+ Before her husband sought to make her
+The pink of country-polished life,
+ And prim and formal as a Quaker.
+
+One day the tutor went abroad,
+ And simple Jenny sadly missed him;
+When he returned, behind her lord
+ She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him!
+
+The husband's anger rose!--and red
+ And white his face alternate grew!
+"Less freedom, ma'am!" Jane sighed and said,
+ "_Oh, dear! I didn't know 'twas you_!"
+
+ _George Pope Morris._
+
+
+
+
+ BEHAVE YOURSEL' BEFORE FOLK
+
+
+ Behave yoursel' before folk,
+ Behave yoursel' before folk,
+And dinna be sae rude to me,
+ As kiss me sae before folk.
+
+It wadna gi'e me meikle pain,
+Gin we were seen and heard by nane,
+To tak' a kiss, or grant you ane;
+ But guidsake! no before folk.
+ Behave yoursel' before folk,
+ Behave yoursel' before folk;
+ Whate'er ye do, when out o' view,
+ Be cautious aye before folk.
+
+Consider, lad, how folk will crack,
+And what a great affair they'll mak'
+O' naething but a simple smack,
+ That's gi'en or ta'en before folk.
+ Behave yoursel' before folk,
+ Behave yoursel' before folk;
+ Nor gi'e the tongue o' auld or young
+ Occasion to come o'er folk.
+
+It's no through hatred o' a kiss,
+That I sae plainly tell you this;
+But, losh! I tak' it sair amiss
+ To be sae teazed before folk.
+ Behave yoursel' before folk,
+ Behave yoursel' before folk;
+ When we're our lane ye may tak' ane,
+ But fient a ane before folk.
+
+I'm sure wi' you I've been as free
+As ony modest lass should be;
+But yet it doesna do to see
+ Sic freedom used before folk.
+ Behave yoursel' before folk,
+ Behave yoursel' before folk;
+ I'll ne'er submit again to it--
+ So mind you that--before folk.
+
+Ye tell me that my face is fair;
+It may be sae--I dinna care--
+But ne'er again gar't blush sae sair
+ As ye ha'e done before folk.
+ Behave yoursel' before folk,
+ Behave yoursel' before folk;
+ Nor heat my cheeks wi' your mad freaks,
+ But aye de douce before folk.
+
+Ye tell me that my lips are sweet,
+Sic tales, I doubt, are a' deceit;
+At ony rate, it's hardly meet
+ To pree their sweets before folk.
+ Behave yoursel' before folk,
+ Behave yoursel' before folk;
+ Gin that's the case, there's time, and place,
+ But surely no before folk.
+
+But, gin you really do insist
+That I should suffer to be kiss'd,
+Gae, get a license frae the priest,
+ And mak' me yours before folk.
+ Behave yoursel' before folk,
+ Behave yoursel' before folk;
+ And when we're ane, baith flesh and bane,
+ Ye may tak' ten--before folk.
+
+ _Alexander Rodger._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CHRONICLE: A BALLAD
+
+
+Margarita first possess'd,
+If I remember well, my breast,
+ Margarita, first of all;
+But when a while the wanton maid
+With my restless heart had play'd,
+ Martha took the flying ball.
+
+Martha soon did it resign
+To the beauteous Catharine.
+ Beauteous Catharine gave place
+(Though loth and angry she to part
+With the possession of my heart)
+ To Eliza's conquering face.
+
+Eliza till this hour might reign,
+Had she not evil counsel ta'en:
+ Fundamental laws she broke,
+And still new favourites she chose,
+Till up in arms my passions rose,
+ And cast away her yoke.
+
+Mary then and gentle Anne,
+Both to reign at once began,
+ Alternately they swayed:
+And sometimes Mary was the fair,
+And sometimes Anne the crown did wear,
+ And sometimes both I obey'd.
+
+Another Mary then arose,
+And did rigorous laws impose;
+ A mighty tyrant she!
+Long, alas, should I have been
+Under that iron-scepter'd queen,
+ Had not Rebecca set me free.
+
+When fair Rebecca set me free,
+'Twas then a golden time with me,
+ But soon those pleasures fled;
+For the gracious princess died
+In her youth and beauty's pride,
+ And Judith reigned in her stead.
+
+One month, three days, and half an hour,
+Judith held the sovereign power,
+ Wondrous beautiful her face;
+But so weak and small her wit,
+That she to govern was unfit,
+ And so Susanna took her place.
+
+But when Isabella came,
+Arm'd with a resistless flame,
+ And th' artillery of her eye;
+Whilst she proudly march'd about
+Greater conquests to find out:
+ She beat out Susan by the bye.
+
+But in her place I then obey'd
+Black-ey'd Bess, her viceroy maid,
+ To whom ensued a vacancy:
+Thousand worse passions then possess'd
+The interregnum of my breast;
+ Bless me from such an anarchy.
+
+Gentle Henrietta then,
+And a third Mary next began;
+ Then Joan, and Jane, and Andria:
+And then a pretty Thomasine,
+And then another Catharine,
+ And then a long et caetera.
+
+But should I now to you relate
+The strength and riches of their state,
+ The powder, patches, and the pins,
+The ribbons, jewels, and the rings,
+The lace, the paint, and warlike things,
+ That make up all their magazines:
+
+If I should tell the politic arts
+To take and keep men's hearts;
+ The letters, embassies, and spies,
+The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries,
+The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,
+ Numberless, nameless, mysteries!
+
+And all the little lime-twigs laid
+By Machiavel, the waiting maid;
+ I more voluminous should grow
+(Chiefly if I, like them, should tell
+All change of weather that befel)
+ Than Holinshed or Stow.
+
+But I will briefer with them be,
+Since few of them were long with me:
+ An higher and a nobler strain
+My present empress does claim,
+Eleonora, first o' th' name,
+ Whom God grant long to reign.
+
+ _Abraham Cowley._
+
+
+
+
+ BUXOM JOAN
+
+
+A soldier and a sailor,
+A tinker and a tailor,
+Had once a doubtful strife, sir,
+To make a maid a wife, sir,
+ Whose name was Buxom Joan.
+For now the time was ended,
+When she no more intended
+To lick her lips at men, sir,
+And gnaw the sheets in vain, sir,
+ And lie o' nights alone.
+
+The soldier swore like thunder,
+He loved her more than plunder;
+And showed her many a scar, sir,
+That he had brought from far, sir,
+ With fighting for her sake.
+The tailor thought to please her,
+With offering her his measure.
+The tinker too with mettle,
+Said he could mend her kettle,
+ And stop up every leak.
+
+But while these three were prating,
+The sailor slily waiting,
+Thought if it came about, sir,
+That they should all fall out, sir,
+ He then might play his part.
+And just e'en as he meant, sir,
+To loggerheads they went, sir,
+And then he let fly at her
+A shot 'twixt wind and water,
+ That won this fair maid's heart.
+
+ _William Congreve._
+
+
+
+
+ OH, MY GERALDINE
+
+
+Oh, my Geraldine,
+No flow'r was ever seen so toodle um.
+You are my lum ti toodle lay,
+ Pretty, pretty queen,
+Is rum ti Geraldine and something teen,
+More sweet than tiddle lum in May.
+ Like the star so bright
+ That somethings all the night,
+ My Geraldine!
+You're fair as the rum ti lum ti sheen,
+ Hark! there is what--ho!
+ From something--um, you know,
+ Dear, what I mean.
+Oh I rum! tum!! tum!!! my Geraldine.
+
+ _F. C. Burnand._
+
+
+
+
+ THE PARTERRE
+
+
+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 her 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.
+
+ _E. H. Palmer._
+
+
+
+
+ HOW TO ASK AND HAVE
+
+
+"Oh, 'tis time I should talk to your mother,
+ Sweet Mary," says I;
+"Oh, don't talk to my mother," says Mary,
+ Beginning to cry:
+"For my mother says men are decaivers,
+ And never, I know, will consent;
+She says girls in a hurry to marry,
+ At leisure repent."
+
+"Then, suppose I should talk to your father,
+ Sweet Mary," says I;
+"Oh, don't talk to my father," says Mary,
+ Beginning to cry:
+"For my father he loves me so dearly,
+ He'll never consent I should go;--
+If you talk to my father," says Mary,
+ "He'll surely say 'No.'"
+
+"Then how shall I get you, my jewel,
+ Sweet Mary?" says I;
+"If your father and mother's so cruel,
+ Most surely I'll die!"
+"Oh, never say die, dear," says Mary;
+ "A way now to save you I see:
+Since my parents are both so conthrairy,
+ You'd better ask _me_."
+
+ _Samuel Lover._
+
+
+
+
+ SALLY IN OUR ALLEY
+
+
+Of all the girls that are so smart,
+ There's none like Pretty Sally;
+She is the darling of my heart,
+ And lives in our alley.
+There's ne'er a lady in the land
+ That's half so sweet as Sally;
+She is the darling of my heart,
+ And lives in our alley.
+
+Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
+ And through the streets does cry them;
+Her mother she sells laces long
+ To such as please to buy them:
+But sure such folk can have no part
+ In such a girl as Sally;
+She is the darling of my heart,
+ And lives in our alley.
+
+When she is by, I leave my work,
+ I love her so sincerely;
+My master comes, like any Turk,
+ And bangs me most severely:
+But let him bang, long as he will,
+ I'll bear it all for Sally;
+She is the darling of my heart,
+ And lives in our alley.
+
+Of all the days are in the week,
+ I dearly love but one day,
+And that's the day that comes betwixt
+ A Saturday and Monday;
+For then I'm dressed, all in my best,
+ To walk abroad with Sally;
+She is the darling of my heart,
+ And lives in our alley.
+
+My master carries me to church,
+ And often am I blamed,
+Because I leave him in the lurch,
+ Soon as the text is named:
+I leave the church in sermon time,
+ And slink away to Sally;
+She is the darling of my heart,
+ And lives in our alley.
+
+When Christmas comes about again,
+ Oh, then I shall have money;
+I'll hoard it up and, box and all,
+ I'll give it to my honey;
+Oh, would it were ten thousand pounds,
+ I'd give it all to Sally;
+For she's the darling of my heart,
+ And lives in our alley.
+
+My master, and the neighbors all,
+ Make game of me and Sally,
+And but for her I'd better be
+ A slave, and row a galley:
+But when my seven long years are out,
+ Oh, then I'll marry Sally,
+And then how happily we'll live--
+ But not in our alley.
+
+ _Henry Carey._
+
+
+
+
+ FALSE LOVE AND TRUE LOGIC
+
+
+ THE DISCONSOLATE
+
+My heart will break--I'm sure it will:
+ My lover, yes, my favorite--he
+Who seemed my own through good and ill--
+ Has basely turned his back on me.
+
+ THE COMFORTER
+
+Ah! silly sorrower, weep no more;
+ Your lover's turned his back, we see;
+But you had turned his head before,
+ And now he's as he ought to be.
+
+ _Laman Blanchard._
+
+
+
+
+ PET'S PUNISHMENT
+
+
+O, if my love offended me,
+ And we had words together,
+To show her I would master be,
+ I'd whip her with a feather!
+
+If then she, like a naughty girl,
+ Would tyranny declare it,
+I'd give my pet a cross of pearl,
+ And make her always bear it.
+
+If still she tried to sulk and sigh,
+ And threw away my posies,
+I'd catch my darling on the sly,
+ And smother her with roses.
+
+But should she clench her dimpled fists,
+ Or contradict her betters,
+I'd manacle her tiny wrists
+ With dainty jewelled fetters.
+
+And if she dared her lips to pout,
+ Like many pert young misses,
+I'd wind my arm her waist about,
+ And punish her--with kisses!
+
+ _J. Ashby-Sterry._
+
+
+
+
+ AD CHLOEN, M.A.
+
+FRESH FROM HER CAMBRIDGE EXAMINATION
+
+
+Lady, very fair are you,
+And your eyes are very blue,
+ And your hose;
+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
+Recognizes 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 some arrangement dual
+I were Adams mixed with Whewell,
+ Then some day
+I, as wooer, perhaps might come
+To so sweet an Artium
+ Magistra.
+
+ _Mortimer Collins._
+
+
+
+
+ CHLOE, M.A.
+
+ AD AMANTEM SUAM
+
+
+Careless rhymer, it is true,
+That my favourite colour's blue:
+ But am I
+To be made a victim, sir,
+If to puddings I prefer
+ Cambridge [pi]?
+
+If with giddier girls I play
+Croquet through the summer day
+ On the turf,
+Then at night ('tis no great boon)
+Let me study how the moon
+ Sways the surf.
+
+Tennyson's idyllic verse
+Surely suits me none the worse
+ If I seek
+Old Sicilian birds and bees--
+Music of sweet Sophocles--
+ Golden Greek.
+
+You have said my eyes are blue;
+There may be a fairer hue,
+ Perhaps--and yet
+It is surely not a sin
+If I keep my secrets in
+ Violet.
+
+ _Mortimer Collins._
+
+
+
+
+ THE FAIR MILLINGER
+
+By the Watertown Horse-Car Conductor
+
+
+It was a millinger most gay,
+ As sat within her shop;
+A student came along that way,
+ And in he straight did pop.
+Clean shaven he, of massive mould,
+ He thought his looks was killing her;
+So lots of stuff to him she sold:
+ "Thanks!" says the millinger.
+
+He loafed around and seemed to try
+ On all things to converse;
+The millinger did mind her eye,
+ But also mound his purse.
+He tried, then, with his flattering tongue,
+ With nonsense to be filling her;
+But she was sharp, though she was young:
+ "Thanks," said the millinger.
+
+He asked her to the theatre,
+ They got into my car;
+Our steeds were tired, could hardly stir,
+ He thought the way not far.
+A pretty pict-i-ure she made,
+ No doctors had been pilling her;
+Fairly the fair one's fare he paid:
+ "Thanks!" said the millinger.
+
+When we arrived in Bowdoin Square,
+ A female to them ran;
+Then says that millinger so fair:
+ "O, thank you, Mary Ann!
+She's going with us, she is," says she,
+ "She only is fulfilling her
+Duty in looking after me:
+ Thanks!" said that millinger.
+
+"Why," says that student chap to her,
+ "I've but two seats to hand."
+"Too bad," replied that millinger,
+ "Then you will have to stand."
+"I won't stand this," says he, "I own
+ The joke which you've been drilling her;
+Here, take the seats and go alone!"
+ "Thanks!" says the millinger.
+
+That ere much-taken-down young man
+ Stepped back into my car.
+We got fresh horses, off they ran;
+ He thought the distance far.
+And now she is my better half,
+ And oft, when coo-and-billing her,
+I think about that chap and laugh:
+ "Thanks!" says my millinger.
+
+ _Fred W. Loring._
+
+
+
+
+ TWO FISHERS
+
+
+One morning when Spring was in her teens--
+ A morn to a poet's wishing,
+All tinted in delicate pinks and greens--
+ Miss Bessie and I went fishing.
+
+I in my rough and easy clothes,
+ With my face at the sun-tan's mercy;
+She with her hat tipped down to her nose,
+ And her nose tipped--_vice versa_.
+
+I with my rod, my reel, and my hooks,
+ And a hamper for lunching recesses;
+She with the bait of her comely looks,
+ And the seine of her golden tresses.
+
+So we sat us down on the sunny dike,
+ Where the white pond-lilies teeter,
+And I went to fishing like quaint old Ike,
+ And she like Simon Peter.
+
+All the noon I lay in the light of her eyes,
+ And dreamily watched and waited,
+But the fish were cunning and would not rise,
+ And the baiter alone was baited.
+
+And when the time of departure came,
+ My bag hung flat as a flounder;
+But Bessie had neatly hooked her game--
+ A hundred-and-fifty-pounder.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ MAUD
+
+
+Nay, I cannot come into the garden just now,
+ Tho' it vexes me much to refuse:
+But I _must_ have the next set of waltzes, I vow,
+ With Lieutenant de Boots of the Blues.
+
+I am sure you'll be heartily pleas'd when you hear
+ That our ball has been quite a success.
+As for _me_--I've been looking a monster, my dear.
+ In that old-fashion'd guy of a dress.
+
+You had better at once hurry home, dear, to bed;
+ It is getting so dreadfully late.
+You may catch the bronchitis or cold in the head
+ If you linger so long at our gate.
+
+Don't be obstinate, Alfy; come, take my advice--
+ For I know you're in want of repose:
+Take a basin of gruel (you'll find it so nice),
+ And remember to tallow your nose.
+
+No, I tell you I can't and I shan't get away,
+ For De Boots has implor'd me to sing.
+As to _you_--if you like it, of course you can stay,
+ You were always an obstinate thing.
+
+If you feel it a pleasure to talk to the flow'rs
+ About "babble and revel and wine,"
+When you might have been snoring for two or three hours,
+ Why, it's not the least business of mine.
+
+ _Henry S. Leigh._
+
+
+
+
+ ARE WOMEN FAIR?
+
+
+"Are women fair?" Ay, wondrous fair to see, too.
+"Are women sweet?" Yea, passing sweet they be, too.
+Most fair and sweet to them that only love them;
+Chaste and discreet to all save them that prove them.
+
+"Are women wise?" Not wise, but they be witty;
+"Are women witty?" Yea, the more the pity;
+They are so witty, and in wit so wily,
+Though ye be ne'er so wise, they will beguile ye.
+
+"Are women fools?" Not fools, but fondlings many;
+"Can women fond be faithful unto any?"
+When snow-white swans do turn to colour sable,
+Then women fond will be both firm and stable.
+
+"Are women saints?" No saints, nor yet no devils;
+"Are women good?" Not good, but needful evils.
+So Angel-like, that devils I do not doubt them,
+So needful evils that few can live without them.
+
+"Are women proud?" Ay! passing proud, an praise them.
+"Are women kind?" Ay! wondrous kind, an please them.
+Or so imperious, no man can endure them,
+Or so kind-hearted, any may procure them.
+
+ _Francis Davison._
+
+
+
+
+ THE PLAIDIE
+
+
+Upon ane stormy Sunday,
+ Coming adoon the lane,
+Were a score of bonnie lassies--
+ And the sweetest I maintain
+ Was Caddie,
+That I took unneath my plaidie,
+ To shield her from the rain.
+
+She said that the daisies blushed
+ For the kiss that I had ta'en;
+I wadna hae thought the lassie
+ Wad sae of a kiss complain:
+ "Now, laddie!
+I winna stay under your plaidie,
+ If I gang hame in the rain!"
+
+But, on an after Sunday,
+ When cloud there was not ane,
+This selfsame winsome lassie
+ (We chanced to meet in the lane),
+ Said, "Laddie,
+Why dinna ye wear your plaidie?
+ Wha kens but it may rain?"
+
+ _Charles Sibley._
+
+
+
+
+ FEMININE ARITHMETIC
+
+
+ LAURA
+On me he shall ne'er put a ring,
+ So, mamma, 'tis in vain to take trouble--
+For I was but eighteen in spring
+ While his age exactly is double.
+
+ MAMMA
+He's but in his thirty-sixth year,
+ Tall, handsome, good-natured and witty,
+And should you refuse him, my dear,
+ May you die an old maid without pity!
+
+ LAURA
+His figure, I grant you, will pass,
+ And at present he's young enough plenty;
+But when I am sixty, alas!
+ Will not he be a hundred and twenty?
+
+ _Charles Graham Halpine._
+
+
+
+
+ LORD GUY
+
+
+When swallows Northward flew
+ Forth from his home did fare
+ Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire
+ And Lanturlu.
+
+Swore he to cross the brine,
+ Pausing not, night nor day,
+ That he might Paynims slay
+ In Palestine.
+
+Half a league on his way
+ Met he a shepherdess
+ Beaming with loveliness--
+ Fair as Young Day.
+
+Gazed he in eyes of blue--
+ Saw love in hiding there
+ Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire
+ And Lanturlu.
+
+"Let the foul Paynim wait!"
+ Plead Love, "and stay with me.
+ Cruel and cold the sea--
+ Here's brighter fate."
+
+When swallows Southward flew
+ Back to his home did fare
+ Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire
+ And Lanturlu.
+
+Led he his charger gay
+ Bearing a shepherdess
+ Beaming with happiness--
+ Fair as Young Day.
+
+White lambs, be-ribboned blue--
+ Tends now with anxious care,
+ Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire
+ And Lanturlu.
+
+ _George F. Warren._
+
+
+
+
+ SARY "FIXES UP" THINGS
+
+
+Oh, yes, we've be'n fixin' up some sence we sold that piece o' groun'
+Fer a place to put a golf-lynx to them crazy dudes from town.
+(Anyway, they laughed like crazy when I had it specified,
+Ef they put a golf-lynx on it, thet they'd haf to keep him tied.)
+But they paid the price all reg'lar, an' then Sary says to me,
+"Now we're goin' to fix the parlor up, an' settin'-room," says she.
+Fer she 'lowed she'd been a-scrimpin' an' a-scrapin' all her life,
+An' she meant fer once to have things good as Cousin Ed'ard's wife.
+
+Well, we went down to the city, an' she bought the blamedest mess;
+An' them clerks there must 'a' took her fer a' Astoroid, I guess;
+Fer they showed her fancy bureaus which they said was shiffoneers,
+An' some more they said was dressers, an' some curtains called porteers.
+An' she looked at that there furnicher, an' felt them curtains' heft;
+Then she sailed in like a cyclone an' she bought 'em right an' left;
+An' she picked a Bress'ls carpet thet was flowered like Cousin Ed's,
+But she drawed the line com-pletely when we got to foldin'-beds.
+
+Course, she said, 't 'u'd make the parlor lots more roomier, she
+ s'posed;
+But she 'lowed she'd have a bedstid thet was shore to stay un-closed;
+An' she stopped right there an' told us sev'ral tales of folks she'd
+ read
+Bein' overtook in slumber by the "fatal foldin'-bed."
+"Not ef it wuz set in di'mon's! Nary foldin'-bed fer me!
+I ain't goin' to start fer glory in a rabbit-trap!" says she.
+"When the time comes I'll be ready an' a-waitin'; but ez yet,
+I shan't go to sleep a-thinkin' that I've got the triggers set."
+
+Well, sir, shore as yo''re a-livin', after all thet Sary said,
+'Fore we started home that evenin' she hed bought a foldin'-bed;
+An' she's put it in the parlor, where it adds a heap o' style;
+An' we're sleepin' in the settin'-room at present fer a while.
+Sary still maintains it's han'some, "an' them city folks'll see
+That we're posted on the fashions when they visit us," says she;
+But it plagues her some to tell her, ef it ain't no other use,
+We can set it fer the golf-lynx ef he ever sh'u'd get loose.
+
+ _Albert Bigelow Paine._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CONSTANT CANNIBAL MAIDEN
+
+
+Far, oh, far is the Mango island,
+ Far, oh, far is the tropical sea--
+Palms a-slant and the hills a-smile, and
+ A cannibal maiden a-waiting for me.
+
+I've been deceived by a damsel Spanish,
+ And Indian maidens both red and brown,
+A black-eyed Turk and a blue-eyed Danish,
+ And a Puritan lassie of Salem town.
+
+For the Puritan Prue she sets in the offing,
+ A-castin' 'er eyes at a tall marine,
+And the Spanish minx is the wust at scoffing
+ Of all of the wimming I ever seen.
+
+But the cannibal maid is a simple creetur,
+ With a habit of gazin' over the sea,
+A-hopin' in vain for the day I'll meet 'er,
+ And constant and faithful a-yearnin' for me.
+
+Me Turkish sweetheart she played me double--
+ Eloped with the Sultan Harum In-Deed,
+And the Danish damsel she made me trouble
+ When she ups and married an oblong Swede.
+But there's truth in the heart of the maid o' Mango,
+ Though her cheeks is black like the kiln-baked cork,
+As she sets in the shade o' the whingo-whango,
+ A-waitin' for me--with a knife and fork.
+
+ _Wallace Irwin._
+
+
+
+
+WIDOW BEDOTT TO ELDER SNIFFLES
+
+
+O reverend sir, I do declare
+ It drives me most to frenzy,
+To think of you a-lying there
+ Down sick with influenzy.
+
+A body'd thought it was enough
+ To mourn your wife's departer,
+Without sich trouble as this ere
+ To come a-follerin' arter.
+
+But sickness and affliction
+ Are sent by a wise creation,
+And always ought to be underwent
+ By patience and resignation.
+
+O, I could to your bedside fly,
+ And wipe your weeping eyes,
+And do my best to cure you up,
+ If 'twouldn't create surprise.
+
+It's a world of trouble we tarry in,
+ But, Elder, don't despair;
+That you may soon be movin' again
+ Is constantly my prayer.
+
+Both sick and well, you may depend
+ You'll never be forgot
+By your faithful and affectionate friend,
+ |Priscilla Pool Bedott|.
+
+ _Frances Miriam Whitcher._
+
+
+
+
+ UNDER THE MISTLETOE
+
+
+She stood beneath the mistletoe
+ That hung above the door,
+Quite conscious of the sprig above,
+ Revered by maids of yore.
+A timid longing filled her heart;
+ Her pulses throbbed with heat;
+He sprang to where the fair girl stood.
+"May I--just one--my sweet?"
+He asked his love, who tossed her head,
+"Just do it--if--you dare!" she said.
+
+He sat before the fireplace
+ Down at the club that night.
+"She loves me not," he hotly said,
+ "Therefore she did but right!"
+She sat alone within her room,
+ And with her finger-tips
+She held his picture to her heart,
+ Then pressed it to her lips.
+"My loved one!" sobbed she, "if you--cared
+You surely would have--would have--dared."
+
+ _George Francis Shults._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BROKEN PITCHER
+
+
+It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
+And what the maiden thought of I cannot, cannot tell.
+When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of Oviedo--
+Alphonso Guzman was he hight, the Count of Desparedo.
+
+"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! why sitt'st thou by the spring?
+Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing?
+Why gazest thou upon me, with eyes so large and wide,
+And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side?"
+
+"I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay,
+Because an article like that hath never come my way;
+And why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell,
+Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon swell.
+
+"My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is,--
+A shepherd came behind me, and tried to snatch a kiss;
+I would not stand his nonsense, so ne'er a word I spoke,
+But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke.
+
+"My uncle, the Alcayde, he waits for me at home,
+And will not take his tumbler until Zorayda come.
+I cannot bring him water--the pitcher is in pieces--
+And so I'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his nieces."
+
+"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! wilt thou be ruled by me!
+So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three;
+And I'll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady,
+To carry home the water to thy uncle, the Alcayde."
+
+He lighted down from off his steed--he tied him to a tree--
+He bowed him to the maiden, and took his kisses three:
+"To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin!"
+He knelt him at the fountain, and he dipped his helmet in.
+
+Up rose the Moorish maiden--behind the knight she steals,
+And caught Alphonso Guzman up tightly by the heels;
+She tipped him in, and held him down beneath the bubbling water,--
+"Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's daughter!"
+
+A Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo;
+She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Desparedo.
+I pray you all in charity, that you will never tell,
+How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well.
+
+ _William E. Aytoun._
+
+
+
+
+ GIFTS RETURNED
+
+
+"You must give back," her mother said,
+ To a poor sobbing little maid,
+"All the young man has given you,
+ Hard as it now may seem to do."
+"'Tis done already, mother dear!"
+ Said the sweet girl, "So never fear."
+ _Mother_. Are you quite certain? Come, recount
+(There was not much) the whole amount.
+ _Girl_. The locket; the kid gloves.
+ _Mother_. Go on.
+ _Girl_. Of the kid gloves I found but one.
+ _Mother_. Never mind that. What else? Proceed.
+You gave back all his trash?
+ _Girl_. Indeed.
+ _Mother_. And was there nothing you would save?
+ _Girl_. Everything I could give I gave.
+ _Mother_. To the last tittle?
+ _Girl_. Even to that.
+ _Mother_. Freely?
+ _Girl_. My heart went pit-a-pat
+At giving up ... ah me! ah me!
+I cry so I can hardly see ...
+All the fond looks and words that past,
+And all the kisses, to the last.
+
+ _Walter Savage Landor._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ III
+
+ LOVE AND COURTSHIP
+
+
+
+
+ NOUREDDIN, THE SON OF THE SHAH
+
+
+There once was a Shah had a second son
+Who was very unlike his elder one,
+For he went about on his own affairs,
+And scorned the mosque and the daily prayers;
+When his sire frowned fierce, then he cried, "Ha, ha!"
+ Noureddin, the son of the Shah.
+
+But worst of all of the pranks he played
+Was to fall in love with a Christian maid,--
+An Armenian maid who wore no veil,
+Nor behind a lattice grew thin and pale;
+At his sire's dark threats laughed the youth, "Ha, ha!"
+ Noureddin, the son of the Shah.
+
+"I will shut him close in an iron cage,"
+The monarch said, in a fuming rage;
+But the prince slipped out by a postern door,
+And away to the mountains his loved one bore;
+Loud his glee rang back on the winds, "Ha, ha!"
+ Noureddin, the son of the Shah.
+
+And still in the town of Teheran,
+When a youth and a maid adopt this plan,--
+All frowns and threats with a laugh defy,
+And away from the mosques to the mountains fly,--
+Folk meet and greet with a gay "_Ha, ha!"
+ Noureddin, the son of the Shah_.
+
+ _Clinton Scollard._
+
+
+
+
+ THE USUAL WAY
+
+
+There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took,
+For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook."
+And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day,
+ And they met--in the usual way.
+
+Then he sat him down beside her, and an hour or two went by,
+But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie;
+"I thought," she shyly whispered, "you'd be fishing all the day!"
+ And he was--in the usual way.
+
+So he gravely took his rod in hand, and threw the line about,
+But the fish perceived distinctly that he was not looking out;
+And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you!" but she said she could not stay:
+ But she did--in the usual way.
+
+Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh,
+As they watched the silver ripples, like the moments, running by;
+"We must say good-by," she whispered, by the alders old and gray,
+ And they did--in the usual way.
+
+And day by day beside the stream they wandered to and fro,
+And day by day the fishes swam securely down below;
+Till this little story ended, as such little stories may,
+ Very much--in the usual way.
+
+And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo?
+Do they never fret and quarrel as other couples do?
+Does he cherish her and love her? Does she honor and obey?
+ Well--they do--in the usual way.
+
+ _Frederic E. Weatherly._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WAY TO ARCADY
+
+
+Oh, _what's the way to Arcady,
+ To Arcady, to Arcady;
+Oh, what's the way to Arcady,
+ Where all the leaves are merry_?
+
+Oh, what's the way to Arcady?
+The spring is rustling in the tree--
+The tree the wind is blowing through--
+ It sets the blossoms flickering white.
+I knew not skies could burn so blue
+ Nor any breezes blow so light.
+They blow an old-time way for me,
+Across the world to Arcady.
+
+Oh, what's the way to Arcady?
+Sir Poet, with the rusty coat,
+Quit mocking of the song-bird's note.
+How have you heart for any tune,
+You with the wayworn russet shoon?
+Your scrip, a-swinging by your side,
+Gapes with a gaunt mouth hungry-wide.
+I'll brim it well with pieces red,
+If you will tell the way to tread.
+
+_Oh, I am bound for Arcady,
+And if you but keep pace with me
+You tread the way to Arcady._
+
+And where away lies Arcady,
+And how long yet may the journey be?
+
+_Ah, that_ (quoth he) _I do not know_--
+_Across the clover and the snow_--
+_Across the frost, across the flowers_--
+_Through summer seconds and winter hours_
+_I've trod the way my whole life long_,
+ _And know not now where it may be_;
+_My guide is but the stir to song_,
+_That tells me I cannot go wrong_,
+ _Or clear or dark the pathway be_
+ _Upon the road to Arcady_.
+
+But how shall I do who cannot sing?
+ I was wont to sing, once on a time--
+There is never an echo now to ring
+ Remembrance back to the trick of rhyme.
+
+_'Tis strange you cannot sing_ (quoth he),
+_The folk all sing in Arcady_.
+
+But how may he find Arcady
+Who hath not youth nor melody?
+
+_What, know you not, old man_ (quoth he)--
+ _Your hair is white, your face is wise_--
+ _That Love must kiss that Mortal's eyes_
+_Who hopes to see fair Arcady_?
+_No gold can buy you entrance there_;
+_But beggared Love may go all bare_--
+_No wisdom won with weariness_;
+_But Love goes in with Folly's dress_--
+_No fame that wit could ever win_;
+_But only Love may lead Love in_
+ _To Arcady, to Arcady_.
+
+Ah, woe is me, through all my days
+ Wisdom and wealth I both have got,
+And fame and name, and great men's praise;
+ But Love, ah, Love! I have it not.
+There was a time, when life was new--
+ But far away, and half forgot--
+I only know her eyes were blue;
+ But Love--I fear I knew it not.
+We did not wed, for lack of gold,
+And she is dead, and I am old.
+All things have come since then to me,
+Save Love, ah, Love! and Arcady.
+_Ah, then I fear we part_ (quoth he),
+_My way's for Love and Arcady._
+
+But you, you fare alone, like me;
+ The gray is likewise in your hair.
+ What love have you to lead you there,
+To Arcady, to Arcady?
+
+_Ah, no, not lonely do I fare;
+ My true companion's Memory.
+With Love he fills the Spring-time air;
+ With Love he clothes the Winter tree.
+Oh, past this poor horizon's bound
+ My song goes straight to one who stands--
+Her face all gladdening at the sound--
+ To lead me to the Spring-green lands,
+ To wander with enlacing hands.
+The songs within my breast that stir
+Are all of her, are all of her.
+My maid is dead long years_ (quoth he),
+_She waits for me in Arcady_.
+
+_Oh, yon's the way to Arcady,
+ To Arcady, to Arcady;
+Oh, yon's the way to Arcady,
+ Where all the leaves are merry._
+
+ _H. C. Bunner._
+
+
+
+
+ MY LOVE AND MY HEART
+
+
+Oh, the days were ever shiny
+ When I ran to meet my love;
+When I press'd her hand so tiny
+ Through her tiny tiny glove.
+Was I very deeply smitten?
+ Oh, I loved like _anything_!
+But my love she is a kitten,
+ And my heart's a ball of string.
+
+She was pleasingly poetic,
+ And she loved my little rhymes;
+For our tastes were sympathetic,
+ In the old and happy times.
+Oh, the ballads I have written,
+ And have taught my love to sing!
+But my love she is a kitten,
+ And my heart's a ball of string.
+
+Would she listen to my offer,
+ On my knees I would impart
+A sincere and ready proffer
+ Of my hand and of my heart.
+And below her dainty mitten
+ I would fix a wedding ring--
+But my love she is a kitten,
+ And my heart's a ball of string.
+
+Take a warning, happy lover,
+ From the moral that I show;
+Or too late you may discover
+ What I learn'd a month ago.
+We are scratch'd or we are bitten
+ By the pets to whom we cling.
+Oh, my love she is a kitten,
+ And my heart's a ball of string.
+
+ _Henry S. Leigh._
+
+
+
+
+ QUITE BY CHANCE
+
+
+She flung the parlour window wide
+ One eve of mid-July,
+And he, as fate would have it tide,
+ That moment sauntered by.
+His eyes were blue and hers were brown,
+ With drooping fringe of jet;
+And he looked up as she looked down,
+ And so their glances met.
+ _Things as strange, I dare to say,
+ Happen somewhere every day._
+
+A mile beyond the straggling street,
+ A quiet pathway goes;
+And lovers here are wont to meet,
+ As all the country knows.
+Now she one night at half-past eight
+ Had sought that lonely lane,
+When _he_ came up, by will of fate,
+ And so they met again.
+ _Things as strange, I dare to say,
+ Happen somewhere every day._
+
+The parish church, so old and gray,
+ Is quite a sight to see;
+And he was there at ten one day,
+ And so, it chanced, was she.
+And while they stood, with cheeks aflame,
+ And neighbours liked the fun,
+In stole and hood the parson came,
+ And made the couple one.
+ _Things as strange, I dare to say,
+ Happen somewhere every day._
+
+ _Frederick Langbridge._
+
+
+
+
+ THE NUN
+
+SUGGESTED BY PART OF THE ITALIAN SONG, BEGINNING "SE MONECA TI FAI."
+
+
+ I
+
+If you become a nun, dear,
+ A friar I will be;
+In any cell you run, dear,
+ Pray look behind for me.
+The roses all turn pale, too;
+The doves all take the veil, too;
+ The blind will see the show:
+What! you become a nun, my dear!
+ I'll not believe it, no.
+
+ II
+
+If you become a nun, dear,
+ The bishop Love will be;
+The Cupids every one, dear,
+ Will chaunt "We trust in thee";
+The incense will go sighing,
+The candles fall a dying,
+ The water turn to wine:
+What! you go take the vows, my dear!
+ You may--but they'll be mine.
+
+ _Leigh Hunt._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CHEMIST TO HIS LOVE
+
+
+I love thee, Mary, and thou lovest me--
+Our mutual flame is like th' affinity
+That doth exist between two simple bodies:
+I am Potassium to thine Oxygen.
+'Tis little that the holy marriage vow
+Shall shortly make us one. That unity
+Is, after all, but metaphysical.
+Oh, would that I, my Mary, were an acid,
+A living acid; thou an alkali
+Endow'd with human sense, that, brought together,
+We both might coalesce into one salt,
+One homogeneous crystal. Oh, that thou
+Wert Carbon, and myself were Hydrogen;
+We would unite to form olefiant gas,
+Or common coal, or naphtha--would to heaven
+That I were Phosphorus, and thou wert Lime!
+And we of Lime composed a Phosphuret.
+I'd be content to be Sulphuric Acid,
+So that thou might be Soda. In that case
+We should be Glauber's Salt. Wert thou Magnesia
+Instead we'd form the salt that's named from Epsom.
+Couldst thou Potassa be, I Aqua-fortis,
+Our happy union should that compound form,
+Nitrate of Potash--otherwise Saltpetre.
+And thus our several natures sweetly blent,
+We'd live and love together, until death
+Should decompose the fleshly _tertium quid_,
+Leaving our souls to all eternity
+Amalgamated. Sweet, thy name is Briggs
+And mine is Johnson. Wherefore should not we
+Agree to form a Johnsonate of Briggs?
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ CATEGORICAL COURTSHIP
+
+
+I sat one night beside a blue-eyed girl--
+ The fire was out, and so, too, was her mother;
+A feeble flame around the lamp did curl,
+ Making faint shadows, blending in each other:
+'Twas nearly twelve o'clock, too, in November;
+She had a shawl on, also, I remember.
+
+Well, I had been to see her every night
+ For thirteen days, and had a sneaking notion
+To pop the question, thinking all was right,
+ And once or twice had make an awkward motion
+To take her hand, and stammer'd, cough'd, and stutter'd,
+But, somehow, nothing to the point had utter'd.
+
+I thought this chance too good now to be lost;
+ I hitched my chair up pretty close beside her,
+Drew a long breath, and then my legs I cross'd,
+ Bent over, sighed, and for five minutes eyed her:
+She looked as if she knew what next was coming,
+And with her feet upon the floor was drumming.
+
+I didn't know how to begin, or where--
+ I couldn't speak--the words were always choking;
+I scarce could move--I seem'd tied to the chair--
+ I hardly breathed--'twas awfully provoking!
+The perspiration from each pore came oozing,
+My heart, and brain, and limbs their power seem'd losing.
+
+At length I saw a brindle tabby cat
+ Walk purring up, inviting me to pat her;
+An idea came, electric-like at that--
+ My doubts, like summer clouds, began to scatter,
+I seized on tabby, though a scratch she gave me,
+And said, "Come, Puss, ask Mary if she'll have me."
+
+'Twas done at once--the murder now was out;
+ The thing was all explain'd in half a minute.
+She blush'd, and, turning pussy-cat about,
+ Said, "Pussy, tell him 'yes'"; her foot was in it!
+The cat had thus saved me my category,
+And here's the catastrophe of my story.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ LANTY LEARY
+
+
+Lanty was in love, you see,
+ With lovely, lively Rosie Carey;
+But her father can't agree
+ To give the girl to Lanty Leary.
+Up to fun, "Away we'll run,"
+ Says she, "my father's so contrary.
+Won't you follow me? Won't you follow me?"
+ "Faith, I will!" says Lanty Leary.
+
+But her father died one day
+ (I hear 'twas not by dhrinkin' wather);
+House and land and cash, they say,
+ He left, by will, to Rose, his daughter;
+House and land and cash to seize,
+ Away she cut so light and airy.
+"Won't you follow me? Won't you follow me?"
+ "Faith, I will!" says Lanty Leary.
+
+Rose, herself, was taken bad;
+ The fayver worse each day was growin';
+"Lanty, dear," says she, "'tis sad,
+ To th' other world I'm surely goin'.
+You can't survive my loss, I know,
+ Nor long remain in Tipperary.
+Won't you follow me? Won't you follow me?"
+ "Faith, I won't!" says Lanty Leary.
+
+ _Samuel Lover._
+
+
+
+
+ THE SECRET COMBINATION
+
+
+Her heart she locked fast in her breast,
+ Away from molestation;
+The lock was warranted the best--
+ A patent combination.
+She knew no simple lock and key
+Would serve to keep out Love and me.
+
+But Love a clever cracksman is,
+ And cannot be resisted;
+He likes such stubborn jobs as this,
+ Complex and hard and twisted,
+And though we worked a many day,
+At last we bore her heart away.
+
+For Love has learned full many tricks
+ In his strange avocation;
+He knew the figures were but six
+ In this, her combination;
+Nor did we for a minute rest
+Until we had unlocked her breast.
+
+First, then, we turned the knob to "Sighs,"
+ Then back to "Words Sincerest,"
+Then "Gazing Fondly in Her Eyes,"
+ Then "Softly Murmured 'Dearest;'"
+Then, next, "A Warm Embrace" we tried,
+And at "A Kiss" the door flew wide.
+
+ _Ellis Parker Butler._
+
+
+
+
+ FORTY YEARS AFTER
+
+
+We climbed to the top of Goat Point hill,
+ Sweet Kitty, my sweetheart, and I;
+And watched the moon make stars on the waves,
+ And the dim white ships go by,
+While a throne we made on a rough stone wall,
+ And the king and the queen were we;
+And I sat with my arm about Kitty,
+ And she with her arm about me.
+
+The water was mad in the moonlight,
+ And the sand like gold where it shone,
+And our hearts kept time to its music,
+ As we sat in the splendour alone.
+And Kitty's dear eyes twinkled brightly,
+ And Kitty's brown hair blew so free,
+While I sat with my arm about Kitty,
+ And she with her arm about me.
+
+Last night we drove in our carriage,
+ To the wall at the top of the hill;
+And though we're forty years older,
+ We're children and sweethearts still.
+And we talked again of that moonlight
+ That danced so mad on the sea,
+When I sat with my arm about Kitty,
+ And she with her arm about me.
+
+The throne on the wall was still standing,
+ But we sat in the carriage last night,
+For a wall is too high for old people
+ Whose foreheads have linings of white.
+And Kitty's waist measure is forty,
+ While mine is full fifty and three,
+So I can't get my arm about Kitty,
+ Nor can she get both hers around me.
+
+ _H. H. Porter._
+
+
+
+
+ CUPID
+
+
+Beauties, have ye seen this toy,
+Called love, a little boy
+Almost naked, wanton, blind,
+Cruel now, and then as kind?
+If he be amongst ye, say!
+He is Venus' runaway.
+
+He hath of marks about him plenty;
+Ye shall know him among twenty;
+All his body is a fire,
+And his breath a flame entire,
+That, being shot like lightning in,
+Wounds the heart, but not the skin.
+
+He doth bear a golden bow,
+And a quiver, hanging low,
+Full of arrows, that outbrave
+Dian's shafts, where, if he have
+Any head more sharp than other,
+With that first he strikes his mother.
+
+Trust him not: his words, though sweet,
+Seldom with his heart do meet;
+All his practice is deceit,
+Every gift is but a bait;
+Not a kiss but poison bears,
+And most treason in his tears.
+
+If by these ye please to know him,
+Beauties, be not nice, but show him,
+Though ye had a will to hide him.
+Now, we hope, ye'll not abide him,
+Since ye hear his falser play,
+And that he's Venus' runaway.
+
+ _Ben Jonson._
+
+
+
+
+ PARING-TIME ANTICIPATED
+
+
+I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau
+If birds confabulate or no;
+'Tis clear that they were always able
+To hold discourse, at least in fable;
+And e'en the child who knows no better
+Than to interpret, by the letter,
+A story of a cock and bull,
+Must have a most uncommon skull.
+It chanced, then, on a winter's day,
+But warm, and bright, and calm as May,
+The birds, conceiving a design
+To forestall sweet St. Valentine,
+In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
+Assembled on affairs of love,
+And, with much twitter and much chatter,
+Began to agitate the matter.
+At length a bullfinch, who could boast
+More years and wisdom than the most,
+Entreated, opening wide his beak,
+A moment's liberty to speak;
+And, silence publicly enjoin'd,
+Deliver'd briefly thus his mind:
+"My friends, be cautious how ye treat
+The subject upon which we meet;
+I fear we shall have winter yet."
+A finch, whose tongue knew no control,
+With golden wing and satin poll,
+A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
+What marriage means, thus pert replied:
+"Methinks the gentleman," quoth she,
+"Opposite in the apple-tree,
+By his good-will would keep us single
+Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle,
+Or--which is likelier to befall--
+'Til death exterminate us all.
+I marry without more ado.
+My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?"
+Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling,
+Turned short 'round, strutting, and sidling,
+Attested, glad, his approbation
+Of an immediate conjugation.
+Their sentiments, so well express'd,
+Influenced mightily the rest;
+All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.
+But, though the birds were thus in haste,
+The leaves came on not quite so fast,
+And destiny, that sometimes bears
+An aspect stern on man's affairs,
+Not altogether smiled on theirs.
+The wind, of late breathed gently forth,
+Now shifted east, and east by north;
+Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,
+Could shelter them from rain or snow.
+Stepping into their nests, they paddled,
+Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled.
+Soon every father bird and mother
+Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other,
+Parted without the least regret,
+Except that they had ever met,
+And learn'd in future to be wiser
+Than to neglect a good adviser.
+
+ MORAL
+
+Misses, the tale that I relate
+ This lesson seems to carry:
+Choose not alone a proper mate,
+ But proper time to marry.
+
+ _William Cowper._
+
+
+
+
+ WHY
+
+
+Do you know why the rabbits are caught in the snare
+ Or the tabby cat's shot on the tiles?
+Why the tigers and lions creep out of their lair?
+ Why an ostrich will travel for miles?
+Do you know why a sane man will whimper and cry
+ And weep o'er a ribbon or glove?
+Why a cook will put sugar for salt in a pie?
+ Do you know? Well, I'll tell you--it's Love.
+
+ _H. P. Stevens._
+
+
+
+
+ THE SABINE FARMER'S SERENADE
+
+
+ I
+
+'Twas on a windy night,
+ At two o'clock in the morning,
+An Irish lad so tight,
+ All wind and weather scorning,
+At Judy Callaghan's door.
+ Sitting upon the palings,
+His love-tale he did pour,
+ And this was part of his wailings:--
+ _Only say
+You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;
+ Don't say nay,
+Charming Judy Callaghan_.
+
+ II
+
+Oh! list to what I say,
+ Charms you've got like Venus;
+Own your love you may,
+ There's but the wall between us.
+You lie fast asleep
+ Snug in bed and snoring;
+Round the house I creep,
+ Your hard heart imploring.
+ _Only say
+You'll have Mr. Brallaghan;
+ Don't say nay,
+Charming Judy Callaghan._
+
+ III
+
+I've got a pig and a sow,
+ I've got a sty to sleep 'em
+A calf and a brindled cow,
+ And a cabin too, to keep 'em;
+Sunday hat and coat,
+ An old grey mare to ride on,
+Saddle and bridle to boot,
+ Which you may ride astride on.
+ _Only say
+You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;
+ Don't say nay,
+Charming Judy Callaghan._
+
+ IV
+
+I've got an acre of ground,
+ I've got it set with praties;
+I've got of 'baccy a pound,
+ I've got some tea for the ladies;
+I've got the ring to wed,
+ Some whisky to make us gaily;
+I've got a feather bed
+ And a handsome new shillelagh.
+ _Only say
+You'll have Mr. Brallaghan;
+ Don't say nay,
+Charming Judy Callaghan._
+
+ V
+
+You've got a charming eye,
+ You've got some spelling and reading
+You've got, and so have I,
+ A taste for genteel breeding;
+You're rich, and fair, and young,
+ As everybody's knowing;
+You've got a decent tongue
+ Whene'er 'tis set a-going.
+ _Only say
+You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;
+ Don't say nay,
+Charming Judy Callaghan._
+
+ VI
+
+For a wife till death
+ I am willing to take ye;
+But, och! I waste my breath,
+ The devil himself can't wake ye.
+'Tis just beginning to rain,
+ So I'll get under cover;
+To-morrow I'll come again,
+ And be your constant lover.
+ _Only say
+You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;
+ Don't say nay,
+Charming Judy Callaghan._
+
+ _Father Prout._
+
+
+
+
+ I HAE LAID A HERRING IN SAUT
+
+
+I hae laid a herring in saut--
+ Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
+I hae brew'd a forpit o' maut,
+ And I canna come ilka day to woo:
+
+I hae a calf that will soon be a cow--
+ Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
+I hae a stook, and I'll soon hae a mowe,
+ And I canna come ilka day to woo:
+
+I hae a house upon yon moor--
+ Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
+Three sparrows may dance upon the floor,
+ And I canna come ilka day to woo:
+
+I hae a but, and I hae a ben--
+ Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
+A penny to keep, and a penny to spen',
+ And I canna come ilka day to woo:
+
+I hae a hen wi' a happitie leg--
+ Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
+That ilka day lays me an egg,
+ And I canna come ilka day to woo:
+
+I hae a cheese upon my skelf--
+ Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
+And soon wi' mites 'twill rin itself,
+ And I canna come ilka day to woo.
+
+ _James Tytler._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CLOWN'S COURTSHIP
+
+
+Quoth John to Joan, will thou have me;
+I prithee now, wilt? and I'll marry thee,
+My cow, my calf, my house, my rents,
+And all my lands and tenements:
+ Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do?
+ I cannot come every day to woo.
+
+I've corn and hay in the barn hardby,
+And three fat hogs pent up in the sty,
+I have a mare and she is coal black,
+I ride on her tail to save my back.
+ Then say, etc.
+
+I have a cheese upon the shelf,
+And I cannot eat it all myself;
+I've three good marks that lie in a rag,
+In a nook of the chimney, instead of a bag.
+ Then say, etc.
+
+To marry I would have thy consent,
+But faith I never could compliment;
+I can say nought but "Hoy, gee ho!"
+Words that belong to the cart and the plough.
+ So say, my Joan, will not that do,
+ I cannot come every day to woo.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ OUT UPON IT
+
+
+Out upon it, I have loved
+ Three whole days together;
+And am like to love three more,
+ If it prove fair weather.
+
+Time shall moult away his wings,
+ Ere he shall discover
+In the whole wide world again
+ Such a constant Lover.
+
+But the spite on't is, no praise
+ Is due at all to me:
+Love with me had made no stays,
+ Had it any been but she.
+
+Had it any been but she,
+ And that very face,
+There had been at least ere this
+ A dozen dozen in her place.
+
+ _Sir John Suckling._
+
+
+
+
+ LOVE IS LIKE A DIZZINESS
+
+
+I lately lived in quiet case,
+ An' ne'er wish'd to marry, O!
+But when I saw my Peggy's face,
+ I felt a sad quandary, O!
+Though wild as ony Athol deer,
+ She has trepann'd me fairly, O!
+Her cherry cheeks an' een sae clear
+ Torment me late an' early O!
+ O, love, love, love!
+ Love is like a dizziness;
+ It winna let a poor body
+ Gang about his biziness!
+
+To tell my feats this single week
+ Wad mak a daft-like diary, O!
+I drave my cart out ow'r a dike,
+ My horses in a miry, O!
+I wear my stockings white an' blue,
+ My love's sae fierce an' fiery, O!
+I drill the land that I should pleugh,
+ An' pleugh the drills entirely, O!
+ O, love, love, love! etc.
+
+Ae morning, by the dawn o' day,
+ I rase to theek the stable, O!
+I keust my coat, and plied away
+ As fast as I was able, O!
+I wrought that morning out an' out,
+ As I'd been redding fire, O!
+When I had done an look'd about,
+ Gudefaith, it was the byre, O!
+ O, love, love, love! etc.
+
+Her wily glance I'll ne'er forget,
+ The dear, the lovely blinkin o't
+Has pierced me through an' through the heart,
+ An' plagues me wi' the prinking o't.
+I tried to sing, I tried to pray,
+ I tried to drown't wi' drinkin' o't,
+I tried with sport to drive't away,
+ But ne'er can sleep for thinkin' o't.
+ O, love, love, love! etc.
+
+Nae man can tell what pains I prove,
+ Or how severe my pliskie, O!
+I swear I'm sairer drunk wi' love
+ Than ever I was wi' whiskey, O!
+For love has raked me fore an' aft,
+ I scarce can lift a leggie, O!
+I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft,
+ An' soon I'll dee for Peggy, O!
+ O, love, love, love!
+ Love is like a dizziness;
+ It winna let a poor body
+ Gang about his biziness!
+
+ _James Hogg._
+
+
+
+
+ THE KITCHEN CLOCK
+
+
+Knitting is the maid o' the kitchen, Milly,
+Doing nothing sits the chore boy, Billy:
+"Seconds reckoned,
+Seconds reckoned;
+Every minute,
+Sixty in it.
+Milly, Billy,
+Billy, Milly,
+Tick-tock, tock-tick,
+Nick-knock, knock-nick,
+Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"--
+Goes the kitchen clock.
+
+Closer to the fire is rosy Milly,
+Every whit as close and cosy, Billy:
+"Time's a-flying,
+Worth your trying;
+Pretty Milly--
+Kiss her, Billy!
+Milly, Billy,
+Billy, Milly,
+Tick-tock, tock-tick,
+Now--now, quick--quick!
+Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"--
+ Goes the kitchen clock.
+
+Something's happened, very red is Milly,
+Billy boy is looking very silly;
+"Pretty misses,
+Plenty kisses;
+Make it twenty,
+Take a plenty.
+Billy, Milly,
+Milly, Billy,
+Right--left, left--right,
+That's right, all right,
+Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"--
+ Goes the kitchen clock.
+
+Weeks gone, still they're sitting, Milly, Billy;
+O, the winter winds are wondrous chilly!
+"Winter weather,
+Close together;
+Wouldn't tarry,
+Better marry.
+Milly, Billy,
+Billy, Milly,
+Two--one, one--two,
+Don't wait, 'twon't do,
+Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"--
+ Goes the kitchen clock.
+
+Winters two have gone, and where is Milly?
+Spring has come again, and where is Billy?
+"Give me credit,
+For I did it;
+Treat me kindly,
+Mind you wind me.
+Mister Billy,
+Mistress Milly,
+My--O, O--my,
+By-by, by-by,
+Nickety-knock, cradle rock,"--
+ Goes the kitchen clock.
+
+ _John Vance Cheney._
+
+
+
+
+ LADY MINE
+
+
+Lady mine, most fair thou art
+ With youth's gold and white and red;
+'Tis a pity that thy heart
+ Is so much harder than thy head.
+
+This has stayed my kisses oft,
+ This from all thy charms debarr'd,
+That thy head is strangely soft,
+ While thy heart is strangely hard.
+
+Nothing had kept us apart--
+ I had loved thee, I had wed--
+Hadst thou had a softer heart
+ Or a harder head.
+
+But I think I'll bear Love's smart
+ Till the wound has healed and fled,
+Or thy head is like thy heart,
+ Or thy heart is like thy head.
+
+ _H. E. Clarke._
+
+
+
+
+ BALLADE OF THE GOLFER IN LOVE
+
+
+In the "foursome" some would fain
+ Find nepenthe for their woe;
+Following through shine or rain
+ Where the "greens" like satin show;
+ But I vote such sport as "slow"--
+Find it rather glum and gruesome;
+ With a little maid I know
+I would play a quiet "twosome"!
+
+In the "threesome," some maintain,
+ Lies excitement's gayest glow--
+Strife that mounts unto the brain
+ Like the sparkling _Veuve Clicquot_;
+ My opinion? Nay, not so!
+Noon or eve or morning dewsome
+ With a little maid I know
+I would play a quiet "twosome"!
+
+Bays of glory some would gain
+ With grim "Bogey" for their foe;
+(He's a bogey who's not slain
+ Save one smite with canny blow!)
+ Yet I hold this tame, and though
+My refrain seems trite, 'tis truesome;
+ With a little maid I know
+I would play a quiet "twosome"!
+
+ |envoy|
+
+ Comrades all who golfing go,
+Happiness--if you would view some--
+ With a little maid _you_ know,
+Haste and play a quiet "twosome"!
+
+ _Clinton Scollard._
+
+
+
+
+ BALLADE OF FORGOTTEN LOVES
+
+
+Some poets sing of sweethearts dead,
+ Some sing of true loves far away;
+Some sing of those that others wed,
+ And some of idols turned to clay.
+ I sing a pensive roundelay
+To sweethearts of a doubtful lot,
+ The passions vanished in a day--
+The little loves that I've forgot.
+
+For, as the happy years have sped,
+ And golden dreams have changed to gray,
+How oft the flame of love was fed
+ By glance, or smile, from Maud or May,
+ When wayward Cupid was at play;
+Mere fancies, formed of who knows what,
+ But still my debt I ne'er can pay--
+The little loves that I've forgot.
+
+O joyous hours forever fled!
+ O sudden hopes that would not stay!
+Held only by the slender thread
+ Of memory that's all astray.
+ Their very names I cannot say.
+Time's will is done, I know them not;
+ But blessings on them all, I pray--
+The little loves that I've forgot.
+
+ |envoi|
+
+Sweetheart, why foolish fears betray?
+ Ours is the one true lovers' knot;
+Note well the burden of my lay--
+ The little loves that I've forgot.
+
+ _Arthur Grissom._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ IV
+
+ SATIRE
+
+
+
+
+ A BALLADE OF SUICIDE
+
+
+The gallows in my garden, people say,
+Is new and neat and adequately tall.
+I tie the noose on in a knowing way
+As one that knots his necktie for a ball;
+But just as all the neighbours--on the wall--
+Are drawing a long breath to shout "Hurray!"
+The strangest whim has seized me.... After all
+I think I will not hang myself to-day.
+
+To-morrow is the time I get my pay--
+My uncle's sword is hanging in the hall--
+I see a little cloud all pink and grey--
+Perhaps the rector's mother will _not_ call--
+I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall
+That mushrooms could be cooked another way--
+I never read the works of Juvenal--
+I think I will not hang myself to-day.
+
+The world will have another washing day;
+The decadents decay; the pedants pall;
+And H. G. Wells has found that children play,
+And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall;
+Rationalists are growing rational--
+And through thick woods one finds a stream astray,
+So secret that the very sky seems small--
+I think I will not hang myself to-day.
+
+ |Envoi|
+
+Prince, I can hear the trump of Germinal,
+The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way;
+Even to-day your royal head may fall--
+I think I will not hang myself to-day.
+
+ _G. K. Chesterton._
+
+
+
+
+ FINNIGIN TO FLANNIGAN
+
+
+Superintendent wuz Flannigan;
+Boss av the siction wuz Finnigin;
+Whiniver the kyars got offen the thrack,
+An' muddled up things t' th' divil an' back,
+Finnigin writ it to Flannigan,
+Afther the wrick wuz all on ag'in;
+ That is, this Finnigin
+ Repoorted to Flannigan.
+
+Whin Finnigin furst writ to Flannigan,
+He writed tin pages--did Finnigin,
+An' he tould jist how the smash occurred;
+Full minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd
+Did Finnigin write to Flannigan
+Afther the cars had gone on ag'in.
+ That wuz how Finnigin
+ Repoorted to Flannigan.
+
+Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigin--
+He'd more idjucation, had Flannigan;
+An' it wore'm clane an' completely out
+To tell what Finnigin writ about
+In his writin' to Muster Flannigan.
+So he writed back to Finnigin:
+"Don't do sich a sin ag'in;
+Make 'em brief, Finnigin!"
+
+Whin Finnigin got this from Flannigan,
+He blushed rosy rid, did Finnigin;
+An' he said: "I'll gamble a whole month's pa-ay
+That it will be minny an' minny a da-ay
+Befoore Sup'rintindint--that's Flannigan--
+Gits a whack at this very same sin ag'in.
+ From Finnigin to Flannigan
+ Repoorts won't be long ag'in."
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Wan da-ay, on the siction av Finnigin,
+On the road sup'rintinded by Flannigan,
+A rail give way on a bit av a curve,
+An' some kyars went off as they made the swerve.
+"There's nobody hurted," sez Finnigin,
+"But repoorts must be made to Flannigan."
+ An' he winked at McGorrigan,
+ As married a Finnigin.
+
+He wuz shantyin' thin, wuz Finnigin,
+As minny a railroader's been ag'in,
+An' the shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright
+In Finnigin's shanty all that night--
+Bilin' down his repoort, was Finnigin!
+An' he writed this here: "Muster Flannigan:
+ Off ag'in, on ag'in,
+ Gone ag'in--Finnigin."
+
+ _S. W. Gillinan._
+
+
+
+
+ STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK
+
+
+ Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,
+ Stands at the top of the tree;
+And I muse in my bed on the reasons that led
+ To the hoisting of Potiphar G.
+
+ Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,
+ Is seven years junior to Me;
+Each bridge that he makes either buckles or breaks,
+ And his work is as rough as he.
+
+ Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,
+ Is coarse as a chimpanzee;
+And I can't understand why you gave him your hand,
+ Lovely Mehitabel Lee.
+
+ Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,
+ Is dear to the Powers that Be;
+For they bow and They smile in an affable style
+ Which is seldom accorded to Me.
+
+ Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,
+ Is certain as certain can be
+Of a highly paid post which is claimed by a host
+ Of seniors--including Me.
+
+ Careless and lazy is he,
+ Greatly inferior to Me.
+What is the spell that you manage so well,
+ Commonplace Potiphar G.?
+
+ Lovely Mehitabel Lee,
+ Let me inquire of thee,
+Should I have riz to what Potiphar is,
+ Hadst thou been mated to Me?
+
+ _Rudyard Kipling._
+
+
+
+
+ THE V-A-S-E
+
+
+From the madding crowd they stand apart,
+The maidens four and the Work of Art;
+
+And none might tell from sight alone
+In which had culture ripest grown,--
+
+The Gotham Million fair to see,
+The Philadelphia Pedigree,
+
+The Boston Mind of azure hue,
+Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo,
+
+For all loved Art in a seemly way,
+With an earnest soul and a capital A.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Long they worshiped; but no one broke
+The sacred stillness, until up spoke
+
+The Western one from the nameless place,
+Who blushing said, "What a lovely vace!"
+
+Over three faces a sad smile flew,
+And they edged away from Kalamazoo.
+
+But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred
+To crush the stranger with one small word.
+
+Deftly hiding reproof in praise,
+She cries, "'Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!"
+
+But brief her unworthy triumph when
+The lofty one from the house of Penn,
+
+With the consciousness of two grandpapas,
+Exclaims, "It is quite a lovely vahs!"
+
+And glances round with an anxious thrill,
+Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.
+
+But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee,
+And gently murmurs, "Oh, pardon me!
+
+"I did not catch your remark, because
+I was so entranced with that lovely vaws!"
+
+ _Dies erit praegelida
+ Sinistra quum Bostonia._
+
+ _James Jeffrey Roche._
+
+
+
+
+ MINIVER CHEEVY
+
+
+Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
+ Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
+He wept that he was ever born,
+ And he had reasons.
+
+Miniver loved the days of old
+ When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
+The vision of a warrior bold
+ Would set him dancing.
+
+Miniver sighed for what was not,
+ And dreamed and rested from his labors;
+He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot
+ And Priam's neighbors.
+
+Miniver mourned the ripe renown
+ That made so many a name so fragrant;
+He mourned Romance, now on the town,
+ And Art, a vagrant.
+
+Miniver loved the Medici,
+ Albeit he had never seen one;
+He would have sinned incessantly
+ Could he have been one.
+
+Miniver cursed the commonplace,
+ And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
+He missed the mediaeval grace
+ Of iron clothing.
+
+Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
+ But sore annoyed he was without it;
+Miniver thought and thought and thought
+ And thought about it.
+
+Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
+ Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
+Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
+ And kept on drinking.
+
+ _Edwin Arlington Robinson._
+
+
+
+
+ THE RECRUIT
+
+
+Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
+ "Bedad, yer a bad un!
+ Now turn out yer toes!
+ Yer belt is unhookit,
+ Yer cap is on crookit,
+ Ye may not be dhrunk,
+ But, be jabers, ye look it!
+ Wan--two!
+ Wan--two!
+Ye monkey-faced divil, I'll jolly ye through!
+ Wan--two!--
+ Time! Mark!
+Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Parrk!"
+
+Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
+ "A saint it ud sadden
+ To dhrill such a mug!
+ Eyes front!--ye baboon, ye!--
+ Chin up!--ye gossoon, ye!
+ Ye've jaws like a goat--
+ Halt! ye leather-lipped loon, ye!
+ Wan--two!
+ Wan--two!
+Ye whiskered orang-outang, I'll fix you!
+ Wan--two!--
+ Time! Mark!
+Ye've eyes like a bat!--can ye see in the dark?"
+
+Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
+ "Yer figger wants padd'n'--
+ Sure, man, ye've no shape!
+ Behind ye yer shoulders
+ Stick out like two boulders;
+ Yer shins is as thin
+ As a pair of pen-holders!
+ Wan--two!
+ Wan--two!
+Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew!
+ Wan--two!--
+ Time! Mark!
+I'm dhry as a dog--I can't shpake but I bark!"
+
+Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
+ "Me heart it ud gladden
+ To blacken your eye.
+ Ye're gettin' too bold, ye
+ Compel me to scold ye,--
+ Tis halt! that I say,--
+ Will ye heed what I told ye?
+ Wan--two!
+ Wan--two!
+Be jabers, I'm dhryer than Brian Boru!
+ Wan--two!--
+ Time! Mark!
+What's wur-ruk for chickens is sport for the lark!"
+
+Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
+ "I'll not stay a gaddin',
+ Wid dagoes like you!
+ I'll travel no farther,
+ I'm dyin' for--wather;--
+ Come on, if ye like,--
+ Can ye loan me a quather?
+ Ya-as, you--
+ What,--two?
+And ye'll pay the potheen? Ye're a daisy! Whurroo!
+ You'll do!
+ Whist! Mark!
+The Rigiment's flattered to own ye, me spark!"
+
+ _Robert W. Chambers._
+
+
+
+
+ OFFICER BRADY
+
+ THE MODERN RECRUIT
+
+
+ I
+
+ Sez Alderman Grady
+ To Officer Brady:
+ "G'wan! Ye're no lady!
+ Luk here what ye've done:
+ Ye've run in Red Hogan,
+ Ye've pulled Paddy Grogan,
+ Ye've fanned Misther Brogan
+ An' called him a 'gun'!
+
+"Way up in Tammany Hall
+They's a gintleman layin' f'r you!
+'An' what,' sez he, 't' 'ell,' sez he,
+'Does the villyun mane to do?
+Lock up the ass in his shtall!
+He'll rue the day I rue,
+F'r he's pulled the dive that kapes me alive,
+An' he'll go to the goats! Whurroo!'"
+
+ II
+
+ Sez Alderman Grady
+ To Officer Brady:
+ "Ye pinched young Mullady
+ F'r crackin' a safe!
+ An' Sinitor Moran
+ An' Alderman Doran
+ Is inside, a-roarin'
+ F'r justice, ye thafe!
+
+"'Way up in Tammany Hall
+They's a gintleman layin' f'r you!
+'What's this,' sez he, 'I hear?' sez he--
+An' the air, bedad, grew blue!
+'Well, I nivver did hear av such gall!
+But if phwat ye say is thrue,
+He's pulled a fri'nd av a fri'nd av me fri'nd,
+An' he'll go to the goats! Whurroo!"
+
+ III
+
+ Sez Alderman Grady
+ To Officer Brady:
+ "Here's Sullivan's lady
+ Cavoortin' an' riled;
+ She lifted a locket
+ From Casey's coat pocket,
+ An' it goes to the docket,
+ An' Sullivan's wild!
+
+"'Way up in Tammany Hall
+They's a gintleman layin' f'r you!
+''Tis a shame,' sez he, 'f'r to blame,' sez he,
+'A lady so fair an' thrue,
+An' so divinely tall'--
+'Tis po'ms he talked, ye Jew!
+An' ye've cooked yer goose, an' now ye're loose
+F'r to folly the goats! Whurroo!"
+
+ IV
+
+ Sez Alderman Grady
+ To Officer Brady:
+ "Where's Katie Macready,
+ The Confidence Queen?
+ She's niece to O'Lafferty's
+ Cousins, the Caffertys--
+ Sinitor Rafferty's
+ Steady colleen!
+
+"'Way up in Tammany Hall
+They's a gintleman layin' f'r you!
+'He's pinched,' sez he, 'an' cinched,' sez he,
+'A lady tray comme eel foo!
+Go dangle th' tillyphone call,
+An' gimme La Mulberry Roo,
+F'r the town is too warrm f'r this gendarme,
+An' he'll go to the goats, mon Dieu!'"
+
+ V
+
+ Sez Alderman Grady
+ To Officer Brady:
+ "McCabe is afraid he
+ Can't open to-night,
+ F'r throuble's a-brewin',
+ An' mischief's a-stewin',
+ Wid nothin' a-doin'
+ An' everything tight!
+ There's Register Ronnell,
+ Commissioner Donnell,
+ An' Congressman Connell
+ Preparin' f'r flight;
+ The Dhistrict Attorney
+ Told Magistrate Kearny
+ That Captain McBurney
+ Was dyin' o' fright!
+
+"Oh!
+'Way up in Tammany Hall
+They's a gintleman lookin' f'r you!
+'Bedad,' sez he, 'he's mad,' sez he.
+'So turrn on the screw f'r Bellevue,
+An' chain 'im ag'in' the wall,
+An' lather 'im wan or two,
+An' tether 'im out on the Bloomin'dale route
+Like a loonytick goat! Whurroo!'"
+
+ _Robert W. Chambers._
+
+
+
+
+ POST-IMPRESSIONISM
+
+
+I cannot tell you how I love
+The canvases of Mr. Dove,
+Which Saturday I went to see
+In Mr. Thurber's gallery.
+
+At first you fancy they are built
+As patterns for a crazy quilt,
+But soon you see that they express
+An ambient simultaneousness.
+
+This thing which you would almost bet
+Portrays a Spanish omelette,
+Depicts instead, with wondrous skill,
+A horse and cart upon a hill.
+
+Now, Mr. Dove has too much art
+To show the horse or show the cart;
+Instead, he paints the _creak_ and _strain_,
+Get it? No pike is half as plain.
+
+This thing which would appear to show
+A fancy vest scenario,
+Is really quite another thing,
+A flock of pigeons on the wing.
+
+But Mr. Dove is much too keen
+To let a single bird be seen;
+To show the pigeons would not do
+And so he simply paints the _coo_.
+
+It's all as simple as can be;
+He paints the things you cannot see,
+Just as composers please the ear
+With "programme" things you cannot hear.
+
+Dove is the cleverest of chaps;
+And, gazing at his rhythmic maps,
+I wondered (and I'm wondering yet)
+Whether he did them on a bet.
+
+ _Bert Leston Taylor._
+
+
+
+
+ TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A GENTLEMAN,"
+
+ IN THE ATHENAEUM GALLERY
+
+
+It may be so--perhaps thou hast
+ A warm and loving heart;
+I will not blame thee for thy face,
+ Poor devil as thou art.
+
+That thing, thou fondly deem'st a nose,
+ Unsightly though it be,--
+In spite of all the cold world's scorn,
+ It may be much to thee.
+
+Those eyes,--among thine elder friends
+ Perhaps they pass for blue;--
+No matter,--if a man can see,
+ What more have eyes to do?
+
+Thy mouth--that fissure in thy face
+ By something like a chin,--
+May be a very useful place
+ To put thy victual in.
+
+I know thou hast a wife at home,
+ I know thou hast a child,
+By that subdued, domestic smile
+ Upon thy features mild.
+
+That wife sits fearless by thy side,
+ That cherub on thy knee;
+They do not shudder at thy looks,
+ They do not shrink from thee.
+
+Above thy mantel is a hook,--
+ A portrait once was there;
+It was thine only ornament,--
+ Alas! that hook is bare.
+
+She begged thee not to let it go,
+ She begged thee all in vain:
+She wept,--and breathed a trembling prayer
+ To meet it safe again.
+
+It was a bitter sight to see
+ That picture torn away;
+It was a solemn thought to think
+ What all her friends would say!
+
+And often in her calmer hours,
+ And in her happy dreams,
+Upon its long-deserted hook
+ The absent portrait seems.
+
+Thy wretched infant turns his head
+ In melancholy wise,
+And looks to meet the placid stare
+ Of those unbending eyes.
+
+I never saw thee, lovely one,--
+ Perchance I never may;
+It is not often that we cross
+ Such people in our way;
+
+But if we meet in distant years,
+ Or on some foreign shore,
+Sure I can take my Bible oath
+ I've seen that face before.
+
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
+
+
+
+
+ CACOETHES SCRIBENDI
+
+
+If all the trees in all the woods were men,
+And each and every blade of grass a pen;
+If every leaf on every shrub and tree
+Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea
+Were changed to ink, and all earth's living tribes
+Had nothing else to do but act as scribes,
+And for ten thousand ages, day and night,
+The human race should write, and write, and write,
+Till all the pens and paper were used up,
+And the huge inkstand was an empty cup,
+Still would the scribblers clustered round its brink
+Call for more pens, more paper, and more ink.
+
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
+
+
+
+
+ CONTENTMENT
+
+"MAN WANTS BUT LITTLE HERE BELOW"
+
+
+Little I ask; my wants are few;
+ I only wish a hut of stone
+(A very plain brone stone will do)
+ That I may call my own;
+And close at hand is such a one,
+In yonder street that fronts the sun.
+
+Plain food is quite enough for me;
+ Three courses are as good as ten;
+If Nature can subsist on three,
+ Thank Heaven for three--Amen!
+I always thought cold victual nice--
+My choice would be vanilla-ice.
+
+I care not much for gold or land;
+ Give me a mortgage here and there,
+Some good bank-stock, some note of hand,
+ Or trifling railroad share.
+I only ask that Fortune send
+A little more than I shall spend.
+
+Jewels are baubles; 'tis a sin
+ To care for such unfruitful things;
+One good-sized diamond in a pin,
+ Some, _not so large_, in rings.
+A ruby, and a pearl, or so,
+Will do for me--I laugh at show.
+
+My dame should dress in cheap attire
+ (Good, heavy silks are never dear);
+I own perhaps I _might_ desire
+ Some shawls of true Cashmere--
+Some marrowy crapes of China silk,
+Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk.
+
+I would not have the horse I drive
+ So fast that folks must stop and stare;
+An easy gait--two, forty-five--
+ Suits me; I do not care;
+Perhaps, for just a _single spurt_,
+Some seconds less would do no hurt.
+
+Of pictures, I should like to own
+ Titians and Raphaels three or four--
+I love so much their style and tone--
+ One Turner, and no more.
+(A landscape, foreground golden dirt,
+The sunshine painted with a squirt).
+
+Of books but few--some fifty score
+ For daily use, and bound for wear;
+The rest upon an upper floor;
+ Some _little_ luxury _there_
+Of red morocco's gilded gleam,
+And vellum rich as country cream.
+
+Busts, cameos, gems--such things as these,
+ Which others often show for pride,
+_I_ value for their power to please,
+ And selfish churls deride;
+_One_ Stradivarius, I confess,
+_Two_ Meerschaums, I would fain possess.
+
+Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn,
+ Nor ape the glittering upstart fool;
+Shall not carved tables serve my turn,
+ But _all_ must be of buhl?
+Give grasping pomp its double share--
+I ask but _one_ recumbent chair.
+
+Thus humble let me live and die,
+ Nor long for Midas' golden touch;
+If Heaven more generous gifts deny,
+ I shall not miss them _much_--
+Too grateful for the blessing lent
+Of simple tastes and mind content!
+
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
+
+
+
+
+ A BOSTON LULLABY
+
+
+Baby's brain is tired of thinking
+ On the Wherefore and the Whence;
+Baby's precious eyes are blinking
+ With incipient somnolence.
+
+Little hands are weary turning
+ Heavy leaves of lexicon;
+Little nose is fretted learning
+ How to keep its glasses on.
+
+Baby knows the laws of nature
+ Are beneficent and wise;
+His medulla oblongata
+ Bids my darling close his eyes.
+
+And his pneumogastrics tell him
+ Quietude is always best
+When his little cerebellum
+ Needs recuperative rest.
+
+Baby must have relaxation,
+ Let the world go wrong or right.
+Sleep, my darling--leave Creation
+ To its chances for the night.
+
+ _James Jeffrey Roche._
+
+
+
+
+ A GRAIN OF SALT
+
+
+Of all the wimming doubly blest
+The sailor's wife's the happiest,
+For all she does is stay to home
+And knit and darn--and let 'im roam.
+
+Of all the husbands on the earth
+The sailor has the finest berth,
+For in 'is cabin he can sit
+And sail and sail--and let 'er knit.
+
+ _Wallace Irwin._
+
+
+
+
+ SONG
+
+
+Why should you swear I am forsworn,
+ Since thine I vowed to be?
+Lady, it is already morn,
+ And 'twas last night I swore to thee
+ That fond impossibility.
+
+Have I not loved thee much and long,
+ A tedious twelve hours' space?
+I must all other beauties wrong,
+ And rob thee of a new embrace,
+ Could I still dote upon thy face.
+
+Not but all joy in thy brown hair
+ By others may be found;
+But I must search the black and fair,
+ Like skilful mineralists that sound
+ For treasure in unploughed-up ground.
+
+Then, if when I have loved my round,
+ Thou prov'st the pleasant she;
+With spoils of meaner beauties crowned
+ I laden will return to thee,
+ Even sated with variety.
+
+ _Richard Lovelace._
+
+
+
+
+ A PHILOSOPHER
+
+
+Zack Bumstead useter flosserfize
+About the ocean an' the skies;
+An' gab an' gas f'um morn till noon
+About the other side the moon;
+An' 'bout the natur of the place
+Ten miles beyend the end of space.
+An' if his wife she'd ask the crank
+Ef he wouldn't kinder try to yank
+Hisself out-doors an' git some wood
+To make her kitchen fire good,
+So she c'd bake her beans an' pies,
+He'd say, "I've gotter flosserfize."
+
+An' then he'd set an' flosserfize
+About the natur an' the size
+Of angels' wings, an' think, and gawp,
+An' wonder how they make 'em flop.
+He'd calkerlate how long a skid
+'Twould take to move the sun, he did;
+An' if the skid was strong an' prime,
+It couldn't be moved to supper-time.
+An' w'en his wife 'd ask the lout
+Ef he wouldn't kinder waltz about
+An' take a rag an' shoo the flies,
+He'd say, "I've gotter flosserfize."
+
+An' then he'd set an' flosserfize
+'Bout schemes for fencing in the skies,
+Then lettin' out the lots to rent,
+So's he could make an honest cent.
+An' if he'd find it pooty tough
+To borry cash fer fencin'-stuff;
+An' if 'twere best to take his wealth
+An' go to Europe for his health,
+Or save his cash till he'd enough
+To buy some more of fencin'-stuff;
+Then, ef his wife she'd ask the gump
+Ef he wouldn't kinder try to hump
+Hisself to t'other side the door,
+So she c'd come an' sweep the floor,
+He'd look at her with mournful eyes,
+An' say, "I've gotter flosserfize."
+
+An' so he'd set an' flosserfize
+'Bout what it wuz held up the skies,
+An' how God made this earthly ball
+Jest simply out er nawthin' 'tall,
+An' 'bout the natur, shape, an' form
+Of nawthin' that he made it from.
+Then, ef his wife sh'd ask the freak
+Ef he wouldn't kinder try to sneak
+Out to the barn an' find some aigs,
+He'd never move, nor lift his laigs;
+He'd never stir, nor try to rise,
+But say, "I've gotter flosserfize."
+
+An' so he'd set an' flosserfize
+About the earth, an' sea, an' skies,
+An' scratch his head, an' ask the cause
+Of w'at there wuz before time wuz,
+An' w'at the universe 'd do
+Bimeby w'en time hed all got through;
+An' jest how fur we'd have to climb
+Ef we sh'd travel out er time;
+An' ef we'd need, w'en we got there,
+To keep our watches in repair.
+Then, ef his wife she'd ask the gawk
+Ef he wouldn't kinder try to walk
+To where she had the table spread,
+An' kinder git his stomach fed,
+He'd leap for that ar kitchen door,
+An' say, "W'y didn't you speak afore?"
+An' when he'd got his supper et,
+He'd set, an' set, an' set, an' set,
+An' fold his arms, an' shet his eyes,
+An' set, an' set, an' flosserfize.
+
+ _Sam Walter Foss._
+
+
+
+
+ THE MEETING OF THE CLABBERHUSES
+
+
+ I
+
+He was the Chairman of the Guild
+ Of Early Pleiocene Patriarchs;
+He was chief Mentor of the Lodge
+ Of the Oracular Oligarchs;
+He was the Lord High Autocrat
+ And Vizier of the Sons of Light,
+And Sultan and Grand Mandarin
+ Of the Millennial Men of Might.
+
+He was Grand Totem and High Priest
+ Of the Independent Potentates;
+Grand Mogul of the Galaxy
+ Of the Illustrious Stay-out-lates;
+The President of the Dandydudes,
+ The Treasurer of the Sons of Glee;
+The Leader of the Clubtown Band
+ And Architects of Melody.
+
+ II
+
+She was Grand Worthy Prophetess
+ Of the Illustrious Maids of Mark;
+Of Vestals of the Third Degree
+ She was Most Potent Matriarch;
+She was High Priestess of the Shrine
+ Of Clubtown's Culture Coterie,
+And First Vice-President of the League
+ Of the illustrious G. A. B.
+
+She was the First Dame of the Club
+ For teaching Patagonians Greek;
+She was Chief Clerk and Auditor
+ Of Clubtown's Anti-Bachelor Clique;
+She was High Treasurer of the Fund
+ For Borrioboolighalians,
+And the Fund for Sending Browning's Poems
+ To Native-born Australians.
+
+ III
+
+Once to a crowded social fete
+ Both these much-titled people came,
+And each perceived, when introduced,
+ They had the selfsame name.
+Their hostess said, when first they met:
+ "Permit me now to introduce
+My good friend Mr. Clabberhuse
+ To Mrs. Clabberhuse."
+
+"'Tis very strange," said she to him,
+ "Such an unusual name!--
+A name so very seldom heard,
+ That we should bear the same."
+"Indeed, 'tis wonderful," said he,
+ "And I'm surprised the more,
+Because I never heard the name
+ Outside my home before.
+
+"But now I come to look at you,"
+ Said he, "upon my life,
+If I am not indeed deceived,
+ You are--you are--my wife."
+She gazed into his searching face
+ And seemed to look him through;
+"Indeed," said she, "it seems to me
+ You are my husband, too.
+
+"I've been so busy with my clubs
+ And in my various spheres
+I have not seen you now," she said,
+ "For over fourteen years."
+"That's just the way it's been with me,
+ These clubs demand a sight"--
+And then they both politely bowed,
+ And sweetly said "Good night."
+
+ _Sam Walter Foss._
+
+
+
+
+ THE IDEAL HUSBAND TO HIS WIFE
+
+
+We've lived for forty years, dear wife,
+ And walked together side by side,
+And you to-day are just as dear
+ As when you were my bride.
+I've tried to make life glad for you,
+ One long, sweet honeymoon of joy,
+A dream of marital content,
+ Without the least alloy.
+I've smoothed all boulders from our path,
+ That we in peace might toil along,
+By always hastening to admit
+ That I was right and you were wrong.
+
+No mad diversity of creed
+ Has ever sundered me from thee;
+For I permit you evermore
+ To borrow your ideas of me.
+And thus it is, through weal or woe,
+ Our love forevermore endures;
+For I permit that you should take
+ My views and creeds, and make them yours.
+And thus I let you have my way,
+ And thus in peace we toil along,
+For I am willing to admit
+ That I am right and you are wrong.
+
+And when our matrimonial skiff
+ Strikes snags in love's meandering stream,
+I lift our shallop from the rocks,
+ And float as in a placid dream.
+And well I know our marriage bliss
+ While life shall last will never cease;
+For I shall always let thee do,
+ In generous love, just what I please.
+Peace comes, and discord flies away,
+ Love's bright day follows hatred's night;
+For I am ready to admit
+ That you are wrong and I am right.
+
+ _Sam Walter Foss._
+
+
+
+
+ DISTICHS
+
+
+Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her.
+This one may love her some day; some day the lover will not.
+
+There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are
+ going,
+When they seem going they come: Diplomats, women, and crabs.
+
+As the meek beasts in the Garden came flocking for Adam to name them,
+Men for a title to-day crawl to the feet of a king.
+
+What is a first love worth except to prepare for a second?
+What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first.
+
+ _John Hay._
+
+
+
+
+ THE HEN-ROOST MAN
+
+
+De Hen-roost Man he'll preach about Paul,
+An' James an' John, an' Herod, an' all,
+But nuver a word about Peter, oh, no!
+He's afeard he'll hear dat rooster crow.
+ An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat--
+ An' he ain't by 'isself in dat.
+
+ _Ruth McEnery Stuart._
+
+
+
+
+ IF THEY MEANT ALL THEY SAID
+
+
+Charm is a woman's strongest arm;
+My charwoman is full of charm;
+I chose her, not for strength of arm
+But for her strange, elusive charm.
+
+And how tears heighten woman's powers!
+My typist weeps for hours and hours:
+I took her for her weeping powers--
+They so delight my business hours.
+
+A woman lives by intuition.
+Though my accountant shuns addition
+She has the rarest intuition.
+(And I myself can do addition.)
+
+Timidity in girls is nice.
+My cook is so afraid of mice.
+Now you'll admit it's very nice
+To feel your cook's afraid of mice.
+
+ _Alice Duer Miller._
+
+
+
+
+ THE MAN
+
+
+A man said to the universe,
+"Sir, I exist!"
+"However," replied the universe,
+"The fact has not created in me
+A sense of obligation."
+
+ _Stephen Crane._
+
+
+
+
+ A THOUGHT
+
+
+If all the harm that women have done
+Were put in a bundle and rolled into one,
+ Earth would not hold it,
+ The sky could not enfold it,
+It could not be lighted nor warmed by the sun;
+ Such masses of evil
+ Would puzzle the devil,
+And keep him in fuel while Time's wheels run.
+
+But if all the harm that's been done by men
+Were doubled, and doubled, and doubled again,
+And melted and fused into vapour, and then
+Were squared and raised to the power of ten,
+There wouldn't be nearly enough, not near,
+To keep a small girl for the tenth of a year.
+
+ _James Kenneth Stephen._
+
+
+
+
+ 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, sniffling 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.
+
+ _Tomaso de Yriarte._
+
+
+
+
+ THE KNIFE-GRINDER
+
+
+ _Friend of Humanity_
+
+"Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
+Rough is the road--your wheel is out of order--
+Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in't,
+ So have your breeches!
+
+"Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
+Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
+Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day' Knives and
+ Scissors to grind O!'
+
+"Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
+Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
+Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?
+ Or the attorney?
+
+"Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or
+Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
+Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
+ All in a law-suit?
+
+"(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)
+Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
+Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your
+ Pitiful story."
+
+ _Knife-grinder_
+
+"Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
+Only last night, a-drinking at the Chequers,
+This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
+ Tom in a scuffle.
+
+"Constables came up for to take me into
+Custody; they took me before the justice;
+Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-
+ Stocks for a vagrant.
+
+"I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in
+A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
+But for my part, I never love to meddle
+ With politics, sir."
+
+ _Friend of Humanity_
+
+"_I_ give thee sixpence! I will see thee damn'd first--
+Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance--
+Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
+ Spiritless outcast!"
+
+[_Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport
+of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy._]
+
+ _George Canning._
+
+
+
+
+ST. ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE FISHES
+
+
+Saint Anthony at church
+Was left in the lurch,
+So he went to the ditches
+And preached to the fishes.
+ They wriggled their tails,
+ In the sun glanced their scales.
+
+The carps, with their spawn,
+Are all thither drawn;
+Have opened their jaws,
+Eager for each clause.
+ No sermon beside
+ Had the carps so edified.
+
+Sharp-snouted pikes,
+Who keep fighting like tikes,
+Now swam up harmonious
+To hear Saint Antonius.
+ No sermon beside
+ Had the pikes so edified.
+
+And that very odd fish,
+Who loves fast-days, the cod-fish,--
+The stock-fish, I mean--
+At the sermon was seen.
+ No sermon beside
+ Had the cods so edified.
+
+Good eels and sturgeon,
+Which aldermen gorge on,
+Went out of their way
+To hear preaching that day.
+ No sermon beside
+ Had the eels so edified.
+
+Crabs and turtles also,
+Who always move low,
+Made haste from the bottom
+As if the devil had got 'em.
+ No sermon beside
+ The crabs so edified.
+
+Fish great and fish small,
+Lords, lackeys, and all,
+Each looked at the preacher
+Like a reasonable creature.
+ At God's word,
+ They Anthony heard.
+
+The sermon now ended,
+Each turned and descended;
+The pikes went on stealing,
+The eels went on eeling.
+ Much delighted were they,
+ But preferred the old way.
+
+The crabs are backsliders,
+The stock-fish thick-siders,
+The carps are sharp-set--
+All the sermon forget.
+ Much delighted were they,
+ But preferred the old way.
+
+ _Abraham a Sancta-Clara._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM
+
+
+It was a summer's evening;
+ Old Casper's work was done,
+And he before his cottage-door
+ Was sitting in the sun;
+And by him sported on the green
+His little grandchild Wilhelmine.
+
+She saw her brother Peterkin
+ Roll something large and round,
+That he beside the rivulet
+ In playing there had found.
+He came to ask what he had found,
+That was so large, and smooth, and round.
+
+Old Casper took it from the boy,
+ Who stood expectant by;
+And then the old man shook his head,
+ And with a natural sigh,
+"'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
+"Who fell in the great victory.
+
+"I find them in the garden, for
+ There's many here about;
+And often, when I go to plough,
+ The ploughshare turns them out;
+For many thousand men," said he,
+"Were slain in the great victory."
+
+"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
+ Young Peterkin he cries;
+And little Wilhelmine looks up,
+ With wonder-waiting eyes:
+"Now tell us all about the war,
+And what they kill'd each other for."
+
+"It was the English," Casper cried,
+ "That put the French to rout;
+But what they kill'd each other for,
+ I could not well make out;
+But everybody said," quoth he,
+"That 'twas a famous victory.
+
+"My father lived at Blenheim then,
+ Yon little stream hard by;
+They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
+ And he was forced to fly;
+So with his wife and child he fled,
+Nor had he where to rest his head.
+
+"With fire and sword the country round,
+ Was wasted far and wide,
+And many a childing mother then
+ And new-born infant died.
+But things like that, you know, must be
+At every famous victory.
+
+"They say it was a shocking sight,
+ After the field was won,
+For many a thousand bodies here
+ Lay rotting in the sun.
+But things like that, you know, must be
+After a famous victory.
+
+"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
+ And our good Prince Eugene."
+"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"
+ Said little Wilhelmine.
+"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,
+"It was a famous victory;
+
+"And everybody praised the duke,
+ Who such a fight did win."
+"But what good came of it at last?"
+ Quoth little Peterkin.
+"Why, that I cannot tell," said he;
+"But 'twas a famous victory."
+
+ _Robert Southey._
+
+
+
+
+ THE THREE BLACK CROWS
+
+
+Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
+One took the other briskly by the hand;
+"Hark-ye," said he, "'tis an odd story, this,
+About the crows!" "I don't know what it is,"
+Replied his friend. "No! I'm surprised at that;
+Where I came from it is the common chat;
+But you shall hear--an odd affair indeed!
+And that it happened, they are all agreed.
+Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
+A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change,
+This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
+Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows."
+"Impossible!" "Nay, but it's really true;
+I have it from good hands, and so may you."
+"From whose, I pray?" So, having named the man,
+Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.
+"Sir, did you tell"--relating the affair.
+"Yes, sir, I did; and, if it's worth your care,
+Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me.
+But, by the bye, 'twas two black crows--not three."
+Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,
+Whip, to the third, the virtuoso went;
+"Sir"--and so forth. "Why, yes; the thing is fact,
+Though, in regard to number, not exact;
+It was not two black crows--'twas only one;
+The truth of that you may depend upon;
+The gentleman himself told me the case."
+"Where may I find him?" "Why, in such a place."
+Away goes he, and, having found him out,
+"Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt."
+Then to his last informant he referred,
+And begged to know if true what he had heard.
+"Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?" "Not I."
+"Bless me! how people propagate a lie!
+Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one;
+And here, I find, all comes, at last, to none.
+Did you say nothing of a crow at all?"
+"Crow--crow--perhaps I might, now I recall
+The matter over." "And pray, sir, what was't?"
+"Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last,
+I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,
+Something that was--as black, sir, as a crow."
+
+ _John Byrom._
+
+
+
+
+ TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE
+
+ BY A MISERABLE WRETCH
+
+
+Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
+Through pathless realms of space
+ Roll on!
+What though I'm in a sorry case?
+What though I cannot meet my bills?
+What though I suffer toothache's ills?
+What though I swallow countless pills?
+ Never _you_ mind!
+ Roll on!
+
+Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
+Through seas of inky air
+ Roll on!
+It's true I've got no shirts to wear;
+It's true my butcher's bill is due;
+It's true my prospects all look blue;
+But don't let that unsettle you.
+ Never _you_ mind!
+ Roll on!
+ (_It rolls on._)
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ ETIQUETTE
+
+
+The _Ballyshannon_ foundered off the coast of Cariboo,
+And down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew;
+Down went the owners--greedy men whom hope of gain allured:
+Oh, dry the starting tear, for they were heavily insured.
+
+Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew,
+The passengers were also drowned excepting only two:
+Young Peter Gray, who tasted teas for Baker, Croop, and Co.,
+And Somers, who from Eastern shores imported indigo.
+
+These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast,
+Upon a desert island were eventually cast.
+They hunted for their meals, as Alexander Selkirk used,
+But they couldn't chat together--they had not been introduced.
+
+For Peter Gray, and Somers, too, though certainly in trade,
+Were properly particular about the friends they made;
+And somehow thus they settled it, without a word of mouth,
+That Gray should take the northern half, while Somers took the south.
+
+On Peter's portion oysters grew--a delicacy rare,
+But oysters were a delicacy Peter couldn't bear.
+On Somer's side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick,
+Which Somers couldn't eat, because it always made him sick.
+
+Gray gnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty store
+Of turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature's shore.
+The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,
+For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved.
+
+And Somers sighed in sorrow as he settled in the south,
+For the thought of Peter's oysters brought the water to his mouth.
+He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff:
+He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough.
+
+How they wished an introduction to each other they had had
+When on board the _Ballyshannon_! And it drove them nearly mad
+To think how very friendly with each other they might get,
+If it wasn't for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!
+
+One day, when out a-hunting for the _mus ridiculus_,
+Gray overheard his fellow-man soliloquising thus:
+"I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on,
+M'Connell, S. B. Walters, Paddy Byles, and Robinson?"
+
+These simple words made Peter as delighted as could be;
+Old chummies at the Charterhouse were Robinson and he.
+He walked straight up to Somers, then he turned extremely red,
+Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and said:
+
+"I beg your pardon--pray forgive me if I seem too bold,
+But you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old.
+You spoke aloud of Robinson--I happened to be by.
+You know him?" "Yes, extremely well." "Allow me, so do I."
+
+It was enough: they felt they could more pleasantly get on,
+For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knew Robinson!
+And Mr. Somers' turtle was at Peter's service quite,
+And Mr. Somers punished Peter's oyster-beds all night.
+
+They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs;
+They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;
+They told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;
+On several occasions, too, they saved each other's lives.
+
+They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night,
+And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;
+Each other's pleasant company they reckoned so upon,
+And all because it happened that they both knew Robinson!
+
+They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore,
+And day by day they learned to love each other more and more.
+At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day,
+They saw a frigate anchored in the offing of the bay.
+
+To Peter an idea occurred. "Suppose we cross the main?
+So good an opportunity may not be found again."
+And Somers thought a minute, then ejaculated, "Done!
+I wonder how my business in the City's getting on?"
+
+"But stay," said Mr. Peter; "when in England, as you know,
+I earned a living tasting teas for Baker, Croop, and Co.,
+I may be superseded--my employers think me dead!"
+"Then come with me," said Somers, "and taste indigo instead."
+
+But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they found
+The vessel was a convict ship from Portland outward bound;
+When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind,
+To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.
+
+As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke,
+They recognized a gentlemanly fellow pulling stroke:
+'Twas Robinson--a convict, in an unbecoming frock!
+Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!!
+
+They laughed no more, for Somers thought he had been rather rash
+In knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;
+And Peter thought a foolish tack he must have gone upon
+In making the acquaintance of a friend of Robinson.
+
+At first they didn't quarrel very openly, I've heard;
+They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word:
+The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head.
+And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.
+
+To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth,
+And Peter takes the north again, and Somers takes the south;
+And Peter has the oysters, which he hates, in layers thick,
+And Somers has the turtle--turtle always makes him sick.
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ A MODEST WIT
+
+
+A supercilious nabob of the East--
+ Haughty, being great--purse-proud, being rich--
+A governor, or general, at the least,
+ I have forgotten which--
+
+Had in his family a humble youth,
+ Who went from England in his patron's suite,
+An unassuming boy, in truth
+ A lad of decent parts, and good repute.
+
+This youth had sense and spirit;
+ But yet with all his sense,
+ Excessive diffidence
+Obscured his merit.
+
+One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine,
+ His honor, proudly free, severely merry,
+Conceived it would be vastly fine
+ To crack a joke upon his secretary.
+
+"Young man," he said, "by what art, craft, or trade
+ Did your good father gain a livelihood?"
+"He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said,
+ "And in his time was reckoned good."
+
+"A saddler, eh? and taught you Greek,
+ Instead of teaching you to sew!
+Pray, why did not your father make
+ A saddler, sir, of you?"
+
+Each parasite, then, as in duty bound,
+The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.
+ At length Modestus, bowing low,
+Said (craving pardon, if too free he made),
+ "Sir, by your leave, I fain would know
+Your father's trade!"
+
+"My father's trade! by Heaven, that's too bad!
+My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad?
+My father, sir, did never stoop so low--
+He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."
+
+"Excuse the liberty I take,"
+ Modestus said, with archness on his brow,
+"Pray, why did not your father make
+ A gentleman of you?"
+
+ _Selleck Osborn._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LATEST DECALOGUE
+
+
+Thou shalt have one God only, who
+Would be at the expense of two?
+No graven images may be
+Worshipped, except the currency:
+Swear not at all; for, for thy curse
+Thine enemy is none the worse:
+At Church on Sunday to attend
+Will serve to keep the world thy friend:
+Honour thy parents; that is, all
+From whom advancement may befall:
+Thou shalt not kill; but need'st not strive
+Officiously to keep alive:
+Do not adultery commit;
+Advantage rarely comes of it:
+Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat,
+When it's so lucrative to cheat:
+Bear not false witness; let the lie
+Have time on its own wings to fly:
+Thou shalt not covet, but tradition
+Approves all forms of competition.
+
+ _Arthur Hugh Clough._
+
+
+
+
+ A SIMILE
+
+
+Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop
+Thy head into a tin-man's shop?
+There, Thomas, didst thou never see
+('Tis but by way of simile)
+A squirrel spend his little rage,
+In jumping round a rolling cage?
+The cage, as either side turn'd up,
+Striking a ring of bells a-top?--
+ Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
+The foolish creature thinks he climbs:
+But here or there, turn wood or wire,
+He never gets two inches higher.
+ So fares it with those merry blades,
+That frisk it under Pindus' shades.
+In noble songs, and lofty odes,
+They tread on stars, and talk with gods;
+Still dancing in an airy round,
+Still pleas'd with their own verses' sound;
+Brought back, how fast soe'er they go,
+Always aspiring, always low.
+
+ _Matthew Prior._
+
+
+
+
+ BY PARCELS POST
+
+ A DOMESTIC IDYLL
+
+
+I sent my love a parcel
+ In the days when we were young,
+Or e'er by care and trouble
+ Our heart-strings had been wrung.
+By parcels post I sent it--
+ What 'twas I do not know--
+In the days when we were courting,
+ A long time ago.
+
+The spring-time waxed to summer,
+ Then autumn leaves grew red,
+And in the sweet September
+ My love and I were wed.
+But though the Church had blessed us,
+ My little wife looked glum;
+I'd posted her a parcel,
+ And the parcel hadn't come.
+
+Ah, many moons came after,
+ And then there was a voice,
+A little voice whose music
+ Would make our hearts rejoice.
+And, singing to her baby,
+ My dear one oft would say,
+"I wonder, baby darling,
+ Will that parcel come to-day?"
+
+The gold had changed to silver
+ Upon her matron brow;
+The years were eight-and-twenty
+ Since we breathed our marriage vow,
+And our grandchildren were playing
+ Hunt-the-slipper on the floor,
+When they saw the postman standing
+ By our open cottage door.
+
+Then they ran with joy to greet him,
+ For they knew he'd come at last;
+They had heard me tell the story
+ Very often in the past.
+He handed them a parcel,
+ And they brought it in to show--
+'Twas the parcel I had posted
+ Eight-and-twenty years ago.
+
+ _George R. Sims._
+
+
+
+
+ ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
+
+
+A friend of mine was married to a scold,
+To me he came, and all his troubles told.
+Said he, "She's like a woman raving mad."
+"Alas! my friend," said I, "that's very bad!"
+"No, not so bad," said he; "for, with her, true
+I had both house and land, and money too."
+ "That was well," said I;
+ "No, not so well," said he;
+ "For I and her own brother
+ Went to law with one another;
+ I was cast, the suit was lost,
+And every penny went to pay the cost."--
+ "That was bad," said I;
+ "No, not so bad," said he:
+"For we agreed that he the house should keep,
+And give to me four score of Yorkshire sheep
+All fat, and fair, and fine, they were to be."
+"Well, then," said I, "sure that was well for thee?"
+ "No, not so well," said he;
+ "For, when the sheep I got,
+ They every one died of the rot."
+ "That was bad," said I;
+ "No, not so bad," said he;
+ "For I had thought to scrape the fat,
+ And keep it in an oaken vat;
+Then into tallow melt for winter store."
+"Well, then," said I, "that's better than before?"
+ "'Twas not so well," said he;
+ "For having got a clumsy fellow
+ To scrape the fat and melt the tallow;
+Into the melting fat the fire catches,
+ And, like brimstone matches,
+ Burnt my house to ashes."
+ "That _was_ bad," said I;
+"No! not so bad," said he; "for, what is best,
+My scolding wife has gone among the rest."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CONTRAST
+
+
+In London I never know what I'd be at,
+Enraptured with this, and enchanted with that;
+I'm wild with the sweets of variety's plan,
+And life seems a blessing too happy for man.
+
+But the country, Lord help me! sets all matters right,
+So calm and composing from morning to night;
+Oh, it settles the spirits when nothing is seen
+But an ass on a common, a goose on a green!
+
+In town, if it rain, why it damps not our hope,
+The eye has her choice, and the fancy her scope;
+What harm though it pour whole nights or whole days?
+It spoils not our prospects, or stops not our ways.
+
+In the country, what bliss, when it rains in the fields,
+To live on the transports that shuttlecock yields;
+Or go crawling from window to window, to see
+A pig on a dunghill or crow on a tree.
+
+In town, we've no use for the skies overhead,
+For when the sun rises then we go to bed;
+And as to that old-fashioned virgin the moon,
+She shines out of season, like satin in June.
+
+In the country, these planets delightfully glare,
+Just to show us the object we want isn't there;
+Oh, how cheering and gay, when their beauties arise,
+To sit and gaze round with the tears in one's eyes!
+
+But 'tis in the country alone we can find
+That happy resource, the relief of the mind,
+When, drove to despair, our last efforts we make,
+And drag the old fish-pond, for novelty's sake:
+
+Indeed I must own, 'tis a pleasure complete
+To see ladies well-draggled and wet in their feet;
+But what is all that to the transport we feel
+When we capture, in triumph, two toads and an eel?
+
+I have heard though, that love in a cottage is sweet,
+When two hearts in one link of soft sympathy meet;
+That's to come--for as yet I, alas! am a swain,
+Who require, I own it, more links to my chain.
+
+In the country, if Cupid should find a man out,
+The poor tortured victim mopes hopeless about;
+But in London, thank Heaven! our peace is secure,
+Where for one eye to kill, there's a thousand to cure.
+
+In town let me live then, in town let me die,
+For in truth I can't relish the country, not I.
+If one must have a villa in summer to dwell,
+Oh, give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall!
+
+ _Captain C. Morris._
+
+
+
+
+ THE DEVONSHIRE LANE
+
+
+In a Devonshire lane as I trotted along
+T'other day, much in want of a subject for song;
+Thinks I to myself, I have hit on a strain--
+Sure marriage is much like a Devonshire lane.
+
+In the first place, 'tis long, and when once you are in it,
+It holds you as fast as the cage holds a linnet;
+For howe'er rough and dirty the road may be found,
+Drive forward you must, since there's no turning round.
+
+But though 'tis so long, it is not very wide,
+For two are the most that together can ride;
+And e'en there 'tis a chance but they get in a pother,
+And jostle and cross, and run foul of each other.
+
+Old Poverty greets them with mendicant looks,
+And Care pushes by them o'erladen with crooks,
+And Strife's grating wheels try between them to pass,
+Or Stubbornness blocks up the way on her ass.
+
+Then the banks are so high, both to left hand and right,
+That they shut up the beauties around from the sight;
+And hence, you'll allow, 'tis an inference plain
+That marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.
+
+But, thinks I, too, these banks within which we are pent,
+With bud, blossom, and berry are richly besprent;
+And the conjugal fence which forbids us to roam
+Looks lovely when deck'd with the comforts of home.
+
+In the rock's gloomy crevice the bright holly grows,
+The ivy waves fresh o'er the withering rose;
+And the evergreen love of a virtuous wife
+Smooths the roughness of care--cheers the winter of life.
+
+Then long be the journey and narrow the way;
+I'll rejoice that I've seldom a turnpike to pay;
+And, whate'er others think, be the last to complain,
+Though marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.
+
+ _John Marriott._
+
+
+
+
+ A SPLENDID FELLOW
+
+
+Delmonico's is where he dines
+On quail on toast, washed down with wines;
+Then lights a twenty-cent cigar
+With quite a flourish at the bar.
+
+He throws his money down so proud,
+And "sets 'em up" for all the crowd;
+A dozen games of billiards, too,
+He gaily loses ere he's through.
+
+Oh, he's a splendid fellow, quite;
+He pays his debts with such delight,
+And often boasts of--to his clan--
+His honour as a gentleman.
+But when this splendid fellow's wife,
+Who leads at home a frugal life
+Begs for a little change to buy
+A dress, he looks at her so wry,
+
+That she, alarmed at his distress,
+Gives him a kiss and sweet caress,
+And says, "Don't worry so, my dear,
+I'll turn the dress I made last year."
+
+ _H. C. Dodge._
+
+
+
+
+ IF
+
+
+If a man could live a thousand years,
+ When half his life had passed,
+He might, by strict economy,
+ A fortune have amassed.
+
+Then having gained some common-sense,
+ And knowledge, too, of life,
+He could select the woman who
+ Would make him a true wife.
+
+But as it is, man hasn't time
+ To even pay his debts,
+And weds to be acquainted with
+ The woman whom he gets.
+
+ _H. C. Dodge._
+
+
+
+
+ ACCEPTED AND WILL APPEAR
+
+
+ One evening while reclining
+ In my easy-chair, repining
+O'er the lack of true religion, and the dearth of common sense,
+ A solemn visaged lady,
+ Who was surely on the shady
+Side of thirty, entered proudly, and to crush me did commence:
+
+ "I sent a poem here, sir,"
+ Said the lady, growing fiercer,
+"And the subject which I'd chosen, you remember, sir, was 'Spring';
+ But, although I've scanned your paper,
+ Sir, by sunlight, gas, and taper,
+I've discovered of that poem not a solitary thing."
+
+ She was muscular and wiry,
+ And her temper sure was fiery,
+And I knew to pacify her I would have to--fib like fun.
+ So I told her ere her verses,
+ Which were great, had come to--bless us,
+We'd received just sixty-one on "Spring," of which we'd printed one.
+
+ And I added, "We've decided
+ That they'd better be divided
+Among the years that follow--one to each succeeding Spring.
+ So your work, I'm pleased to mention,
+ Will receive our best attention
+In the year of nineteen-forty, when the birds begin to sing."
+
+ _Parmenas Mix._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LITTLE VAGABOND
+
+
+Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;
+But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm.
+Besides, I can tell where I am used well;
+The poor parsons with wind like a blown bladder swell.
+
+But, if at the Church they would give us some ale,
+And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
+We'd sing and we'd pray all the livelong day,
+Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.
+
+Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing,
+And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;
+And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at Church,
+Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.
+
+And God, like a father, rejoicing to see
+His children as pleasant and happy as He,
+Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,
+But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.
+
+ _William Blake._
+
+
+
+
+ SYMPATHY
+
+
+A knight and a lady once met in a grove
+While each was in quest of a fugitive love;
+A river ran mournfully murmuring by,
+And they wept in its waters for sympathy.
+
+"Oh, never was knight such a sorrow that bore!"
+"Oh, never was maid so deserted before!"
+"From life and its woes let us instantly fly,
+And jump in together for company!"
+
+They searched for an eddy that suited the deed,
+But here was a bramble and there was a weed;
+"How tiresome it is!" said the fair, with a sigh;
+So they sat down to rest them in company.
+
+They gazed at each other, the maid and the knight;
+How fair was her form, and how goodly his height!
+"One mournful embrace," sobbed the youth, "ere we die!"
+So kissing and crying kept company.
+
+"Oh, had I but loved such an angel as you!"
+"Oh, had but my swain been a quarter as true!"
+"To miss such perfection how blinded was I!"
+Sure now they were excellent company!
+
+At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear,
+"The weather is cold for a watery bier;
+When summer returns we may easily die,
+Till then let us sorrow in company."
+
+ _Reginald Heber._
+
+
+
+
+ THE RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS
+
+
+ For his religion it was fit
+To match his learning and his wit:
+'Twas Presbyterian true blue;
+For he was of that stubborn crew
+Of errant saints, whom all men grant
+To be the true church militant;
+Such as do build their faith upon
+The holy text of pike and gun;
+Decide all controversies by
+Infallible artillery;
+And prove their doctrine orthodox,
+By apostolic blows and knocks;
+Call fire, and sword, and desolation,
+A godly, thorough reformation,
+Which always must be carried on,
+And still be doing, never done;
+As if religion were intended
+For nothing else but to be mended:
+A sect whose chief devotion lies
+In odd perverse antipathies;
+In falling out with that or this,
+And finding somewhat still amiss;
+More peevish, cross, and splenetic,
+Than dog distract, or monkey sick;
+That with more care keep holy-day
+The wrong, than others the right way,
+Compound for sins they are inclin'd to,
+By damning those they have no mind to:
+Still so perverse and opposite,
+As if they worshipped God for spite:
+The self-same thing they will abhor
+One way, and long another for:
+Free-will they one way disavow,
+Another, nothing else allow:
+All piety consists therein
+In them, in other men all sin:
+Rather than fail, they will defy
+That which they love most tenderly;
+Quarrel with minc'd pies and disparage
+Their best and dearest friend, plum porridge,
+Fat pig and goose itself oppose,
+And blaspheme custard through the nose.
+
+ _Samuel Butler._
+
+
+
+
+ HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER
+
+
+O thou wha in the heavens dost dwell,
+Wha, as it pleases best Thysel,
+Sends ane to Heaven, an' ten to Hell,
+ A' for Thy glory,
+And no for onie guid or ill
+ They've done before Thee!
+
+I bless and praise Thy matchless might,
+When thousands Thou hast left in night,
+That I am here, before Thy sight,
+ For gifts an' grace,
+A burnin' an' a shinin' light
+ To a' this place.
+
+What was I, or my generation,
+That I should get sic exaltation!
+I, wha deserv'd most just damnation,
+ For broken laws
+Sax thousand years ere my creation,
+ Thro' Adam's cause.
+
+When frae my mither's womb I fell,
+Thou might hae plung'd me deep in Hell,
+To gnash my gooms, to weep and wail
+ In burnin' lakes,
+Whare damned devils roar and yell,
+ Chain'd to their stakes.
+
+Yet I am here, a chosen sample,
+To show Thy grace is great and ample;
+I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,
+ Strong as a rock,
+A guide, a buckler, an example
+ To a' Thy flock!
+
+But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
+At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust;
+An' sometimes, too, in warldly trust,
+ Vile self gets in;
+But Thou remembers we are dust,
+ Defil'd wi' sin.
+
+May be Thou lets this fleshly thorn
+Beset Thy servant e'en and morn,
+Lest he owre proud and high should turn
+ That he's sae gifted:
+If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne
+ Until Thou lift it.
+
+Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
+For here Thou has a chosen race:
+But God confound their stubborn face,
+ An' blast their name,
+Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace
+ An' open shame!
+
+Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts,
+He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,
+Yet has sae monie takin' arts,
+ Wi' great and sma',
+Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts
+ He steals awa.
+
+An' when we chasten'd him therefore,
+Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
+As set the warld in a roar
+ O' laughin' at us;--
+Curse Thou his basket and his store,
+ Kail an' potatoes!
+
+Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r
+Against the Presbyt'ry of Ayr!
+Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak it bare
+ Upo' their heads!
+Lord, visit them, an' dinna spare,
+ For their misdeeds!
+
+O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu'd Aiken,
+My vera heart and saul are quakin'
+To think how we stood sweatin', shakin',
+ An' pish'd wi' dread,
+While he wi' hingin' lip an' snakin',
+ Held up his head.
+
+Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him!
+Lord, visit them wha did employ him,
+And pass not in Thy mercy by them,
+ Nor hear their pray'r;
+But for Thy people's sake destroy them,
+ An' dinna spare!
+
+But, Lord, remember me and mine,
+Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine,
+That I for grace and gear may shine,
+ Excell'd by nane,
+An' a' the glory shall be Thine,
+ Amen, Amen!
+
+ _Robert Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LEARNED NEGRO
+
+
+There was a negro preacher, I have heard,
+In Southern parts before rebellion stirred,
+Who did not spend his strength in empty sound;
+His was a mind deep-reaching and profound.
+Others might beat the air, and make a noise,
+And help to amuse the silly girls and boys;
+But as for him, he was a man of thought,
+Deep in theology, although untaught.
+He could not read or write, but he was wise,
+And knew right smart how to extemporize.
+One Sunday morn, when hymns and prayers were said,
+The preacher rose and rubbing up his head,
+"Bredren and sisterin, and companions dear,
+Our preachment for to-day, as you shall hear,
+Will be ob de creation,--ob de plan
+On which God fashioned Adam, de fust man.
+When God made Adam, in de ancient day,
+He made his body out ob earth and clay,
+He shape him all out right, den by and by,
+He set him up again de fence to dry."
+"Stop," said a voice; and straightway there arose
+An ancient negro in his master's clothes.
+"Tell me," said he, "before you farder go,
+One little thing which I should like to know.
+It does not quite get through dis niggar's har,
+How came dat fence so nice and handy dar?"
+Like one who in the mud is tightly stuck,
+Or one nonplussed, astonished, thunderstruck,
+The preacher looked severely on the pews,
+And rubbed his hair to know what words to use:
+"Bredren," said he, "dis word I hab to say;
+De preacher can't be bothered in dis way;
+For, if he is, it's jest as like as not,
+Our whole theology will be upsot."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ TRUE TO POLL
+
+
+I'll sing you a song, not very long,
+ But the story somewhat new,
+Of William Kidd, who, whatever he did,
+ To his Poll was always true.
+He sailed away in a galliant ship
+ From the port of old Bris_tol_,
+ And the last words he uttered,
+ As his hankercher he fluttered,
+ Were, "My heart is true to Poll."
+
+ His heart was true to Poll,
+ His heart was true to Poll,
+ It's no matter what you do
+ If your heart be only true:
+ And his heart _was_ true to Poll.
+
+'Twas a wreck. Willi_am_, on shore he swam,
+ And looked about for an inn;
+When a noble savage lady, of a color rather shady,
+ Came up with a kind of grin:
+"Oh, marry _me_, and a king you'll be,
+ And in a palace loll;
+ Or we'll eat you willy-nilly."
+ So he gave his _hand_, did Billy,
+ But his _heart_ was true to Poll.
+
+Away a twelvemonth sped, and a happy life he led
+ As the King of the Kikeryboos;
+His paint was red and yellar, and he used a big umbrella,
+ And he wore a pair of over-_shoes_;
+He'd corals and knives, and twenty-six wives,
+ Whose beauties I cannot here extol;
+ One day they all revolted,
+ So he back to Bristol bolted,
+ For his _heart_ was true to Poll.
+
+ His heart was true to Poll,
+ His heart was true to Poll,
+ It's no matter what you do
+ If your heart be only true:
+ And his heart _was_ true to Poll.
+
+ _F. C. Burnand._
+
+
+
+
+ TRUST IN WOMEN
+
+
+ When these things following be done to our intent,
+ Then put women in trust and confident.
+
+When nettles in winter bring forth roses red,
+ And all manner of thorn trees bear figs naturally,
+And geese bear pearls in every mead,
+ And laurel bear cherries abundantly,
+ And oaks bear dates very plenteously,
+And kisks give of honey superfluence,
+Then put women in trust and confidence.
+
+When box bear paper in every land and town,
+ And thistles bear berries in every place,
+And pikes have naturally feathers in their crown,
+ And bulls of the sea sing a good bass,
+ And men be the ships fishes trace,
+And in women be found no insipience,
+Then put them in trust and confidence.
+
+When whitings do walk forests to chase harts,
+ And herrings their horns in forests boldly blow,
+And marmsets mourn in moors and lakes,
+ And gurnards shoot rooks out of a crossbow,
+ And goslings hunt the wolf to overthrow,
+And sprats bear spears in armes of defence,
+Then put women in trust and confidence.
+
+When swine be cunning in all points of music,
+ And asses be doctors of every science,
+And cats do heal men by practising of physic,
+ And buzzards to scripture give any credence,
+ And merchants buy with horn, instead of groats and pence,
+And pyes be made poets for their eloquence,
+Then put women in trust and confidence.
+
+When sparrows build churches on a height,
+ And wrens carry sacks unto the mill,
+And curlews carry timber houses to dight,
+ And fomalls bear butter to market to sell,
+ And woodcocks bear woodknives cranes to kill,
+And greenfinches to goslings do obedience,
+Then put women in trust and confidence.
+
+When crows take salmon in woods and parks,
+ And be take with swifts and snails,
+And camels in the air take swallows and larks,
+ And mice move mountains by wagging of their tails,
+ And shipmen take a ride instead of sails,
+And when wives to their husbands do no offence,
+Then put women in trust and confidence.
+
+When antelopes surmount eagles in flight,
+ And swans be swifter than hawks of the tower,
+And wrens set gos-hawks by force and might,
+ And muskets make verjuice of crabbes sour,
+ And ships sail on dry land, silt give flower,
+And apes in Westminster give judgment and sentence,
+Then put women in trust and confidence.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LITERARY LADY
+
+
+What motley cares Corilla's mind perplex,
+Whom maids and metaphors conspire to vex!
+In studious dishabille behold her sit,
+A lettered gossip and a household wit;
+At once invoking, though for different views,
+Her gods, her cook, her milliner and muse.
+Round her strewed room a frippery chaos lies,
+A checkered wreck of notable and wise,
+Bills, books, caps, couplets, combs, a varied mass,
+Oppress the toilet and obscure the glass;
+Unfinished here an epigram is laid,
+And there a mantua-maker's bill unpaid.
+There new-born plays foretaste the town's applause,
+There dormant patterns pine for future gauze.
+A moral essay now is all her care,
+A satire next, and then a bill of fare.
+A scene she now projects, and now a dish;
+Here Act the First, and here, Remove with Fish.
+Now, while this eye in a fine frenzy rolls,
+That soberly casts up a bill for coals;
+Black pins and daggers in one leaf she sticks,
+And tears, and threads, and bowls, and thimbles mix.
+
+ _Richard Brinsley Sheridan._
+
+
+
+
+ TWELVE ARTICLES
+
+
+ I
+
+Lest it may more quarrels breed,
+I will never hear you read.
+
+ II
+
+By disputing, I will never,
+To convince you once endeavor.
+
+ III
+
+When a paradox you stick to,
+I will never contradict you.
+
+ IV
+
+When I talk and you are heedless,
+I will show no anger needless.
+
+ V
+
+When your speeches are absurd,
+I will ne'er object a word.
+
+ VI
+
+When you furious argue wrong,
+I will grieve and hold my tongue.
+
+ VII
+
+Not a jest or humorous story
+Will I ever tell before ye:
+To be chidden for explaining,
+When you quite mistake the meaning.
+
+ VIII
+
+Never more will I suppose,
+You can taste my verse or prose.
+
+ IX
+
+You no more at me shall fret,
+While I teach and you forget.
+
+ X
+
+You shall never hear me thunder,
+When you blunder on, and blunder.
+
+ XI
+
+Show your poverty of spirit,
+And in dress place all your merit;
+Give yourself ten thousand airs:
+That with me shall break no squares.
+
+ XII
+
+Never will I give advice,
+Till you please to ask me thrice:
+Which if you in scorn reject,
+'T will be just as I expect.
+
+Thus we both shall have our ends
+And continue special friends.
+
+ _Dean Swift._
+
+
+
+
+ ALL-SAINTS
+
+
+In a church which is furnish'd with mullion and gable,
+ With altar and reredos, with gargoyle and groin,
+The penitents' dresses are sealskin and sable,
+ The odour of sanctity's eau-de-Cologne.
+
+But only could Lucifer, flying from Hades,
+ Gaze down on this crowd with its panniers and paints,
+He would say, as he look'd at the lords and the ladies,
+ "Oh, where is All-Sinners', if this is All-Saints'?"
+
+ _Edmund Yates._
+
+
+
+
+ HOW TO MAKE A MAN OF CONSEQUENCE
+
+
+A brow austere, a circumspective eye.
+A frequent shrug of the _os humeri_;
+A nod significant, a stately gait,
+A blustering manner, and a tone of weight,
+A smile sarcastic, an expressive stare:
+Adopt all these, as time and place will bear;
+Then rest assur'd that those of little sense
+Will deem you sure a man of consequence.
+
+ _Mark Lemon._
+
+
+
+
+ ON A MAGAZINE SONNET
+
+
+"Scorn not the sonnet," though its strength be sapped,
+ Nor say malignant its inventor blundered;
+The corpse that here in fourteen lines is wrapped
+ Had otherwise been covered with a hundred.
+
+ _Russell Hilliard Loines._
+
+
+
+
+ PARADISE
+
+ A HINDOO LEGEND
+
+
+A Hindoo died--a happy thing to do
+When twenty years united to a shrew.
+Released, he hopefully for entrance cries
+Before the gates of Brahma's Paradise.
+"Hast been through Purgatory?" Brahma said.
+"I have been married," and he hung his head.
+"Come in, come in, and welcome, too, my son!
+Marriage and Purgatory are as one."
+In bliss extreme he entered heaven's door,
+And knew the peace he ne'er had known before.
+
+He scarce had entered in the Garden fair,
+Another Hindoo asked admission there.
+The self-same question Brahma asked again:
+"Hast been through Purgatory?" "No; what then?"
+"Thou canst not enter!" did the god reply.
+"He that went in was no more there than I."
+"Yes, that is true, but he has married been,
+And so on earth has suffered for all sin."
+"Married? 'Tis well; for I've been married twice!"
+"Begone! We'll have no fools in Paradise!"
+
+ _George Birdseye._
+
+
+
+
+ THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY
+
+
+I am a friar of orders gray,
+And down in the valleys I take my way;
+I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip;
+Good store of venison fills my scrip;
+My long bead-roll I merrily chant;
+Where'er I walk no money I want;
+And why I'm so plump the reason I tell:
+Who leads a good life is sure to live well.
+ What baron or squire,
+ Or knight of the shire,
+ Lives half so well as a holy friar?
+
+After supper, of heaven I dream,
+But that is a pullet and clouted cream;
+Myself by denial I mortify--
+With a dainty bit of a warden-pie;
+I'm clothed in sackcloth for my sin--
+With old sack wine I'm lined within;
+A chirping cup is my matin song,
+And the vesper's bell is my bowl, ding-dong.
+ What baron or squire,
+ Or knight of the shire,
+ Lives half so well as a holy friar?
+
+ _John O'Keefe._
+
+
+
+
+ OF A CERTAIN MAN
+
+
+There was (not certain when) a certain preacher
+That never learned, and yet became a teacher,
+Who, having read in Latin thus a text
+Of _erat quidam homo_, much perplexed,
+He seemed the same with study great to scan,
+In English thus, _There was a certain man_.
+"But now," quoth he, "good people, note you this,
+He said there was: he doth not say there is;
+For in these days of ours it is most plain
+Of promise, oath, word, deed, no man's certain;
+Yet by my text you see it comes to pass
+That surely once a certain man there was;
+But yet, I think, in all your Bible no man
+Can find this text, _There was a certain woman_."
+
+ _Sir John Harrington._
+
+
+
+
+ CLEAN CLARA
+
+
+What! not know our Clean Clara?
+Why, the hot folks in Sahara,
+And the cold Esquimaux,
+Our little Clara knows!
+Clean Clara, the Poet sings!
+Cleaned a hundred thousand things!
+
+She cleaned the keys of the harpsichord,
+She cleaned the hilt of the family sword,
+She cleaned my lady, she cleaned my lord,
+All the pictures in their frames,
+Knights with daggers and stomachered dames--
+Cecils, Godfreys, Montforts, Graemes,
+Winifreds--all those nice old names!
+
+She cleaned the works of the eight-day clock,
+She cleaned the spring of a secret lock,
+She cleaned the mirror, she cleaned the cupboard,
+All the books she India-rubbered!
+She cleaned the Dutch tiles in the place,
+She cleaned some very old-fashioned lace;
+The Countess of Miniver came to her,
+"Pray, my dear, will you clean my fur?"
+All her cleanings are admirable.
+To count your teeth you will be able,
+If you look in the walnut table.
+
+She cleaned the tent-stitch and the sampler,
+She cleaned the tapestry, which was ampler;
+Joseph going down into the pit,
+And the Shunammite woman with the boy in a fit.
+
+You saw the reapers, _not_ in the distance.
+And Elisha, coming to the child's assistance,
+With the house on the wall that was built for the prophet,
+The chair, the bed and the bolster of it.
+The eyebrows all had a twirl reflective,
+Just like an eel: to spare invective
+There was plenty of color but no perspective.
+However, Clara cleaned it all,
+With a curious lamp, that hangs in the hall;
+She cleaned the drops of the chandeliers,
+Madam, in mittens, was moved to tears.
+
+She cleaned the cage of the cockatoo,
+The oldest bird that ever grew;
+I should say a thousand years old would do.
+I'm sure he looked it, but nobody knew;
+She cleaned the china, she cleaned the delf,
+She cleaned the baby, she cleaned herself!
+
+Tomorrow morning, she means to try
+To clean the cobwebs from the sky;
+Some people say the girl will rue it,
+But my belief is she will do it.
+
+So I've made up my mind to be there to see
+There's a beautiful place in the walnut tree;
+The bough is as firm as a solid rock;
+She brings out her broom at six o'clock.
+
+ _W. B. Rands._
+
+
+
+
+ CHRISTMAS CHIMES
+
+
+Little Penelope Socrates,
+ A Boston maid of four,
+Wide opened her eyes on Christmas morn,
+ And looked the landscape o'er.
+"What is it inflates my _bas de bleu_?"
+ She asked with dignity;
+"'Tis Ibsen in the original!
+ Oh, joy beyond degree!"
+
+Miss Mary Cadwallader Rittenhouse
+ Of Philadelphia town,
+Awoke as much as they ever do there
+ And watched the snow come down.
+"I'm glad that it is Christmas,"
+ You might have heard her say,
+"For my family is one year older now
+ Than it was last Christmas day."
+
+'Twas Christmas in giddy Gotham.
+ And Miss Irene de Jones
+Awoke at noon and yawned and yawned,
+ And stretched her languid bones.
+"I'm sorry it is Christmas,
+ Papa at home will stay,
+For 'Change is closed and he won't make
+ A single cent to-day."
+
+Windily dawned the Christmas
+ On the city by the lake,
+And Miss Arabel Wabash Breezy
+ Was instantly awake.
+"What's that thing in my stocking?
+ Well, in two jiffs I'll know!"
+And she drew a grand piano forth
+ From 'way down in the toe.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE RULING PASSION
+
+ From "Moral Essays," Epistle I
+
+
+ The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend,
+Still tries to save the hallowed taper's end,
+Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires,
+For one puff more, and in that puff expires.
+ "Odious! in woollen! 'twould a saint provoke,"
+Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke;
+"No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace
+Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face:
+One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead,--
+And--Betty--give this cheek a little red."
+ The courtier smooth, who forty years had shined
+An humble servant to all humankind.
+Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir,
+"If--where I'm going--I could serve you, sir?"
+ "I give and I devise" (old Euclio said,
+And sighed) "my lands and tenements to Ned."
+Your money, sir? "My money, sir! What, all?
+Why--if I must" (then wept)--"I give it Paul."
+The manor, sir? "The manor, hold!" he cried,
+"Not that,--I cannot part with that,"--and died.
+
+ _Alexander Pope._
+
+
+
+
+ THE POPE AND THE NET
+
+
+What, he on whom our voices unanimously ran,
+Made Pope at our last Conclave? Full low his life began:
+His father earned the daily bread as just a fisherman.
+
+So much the more his boy minds book, gives proof of mother-wit,
+Becomes first Deacon, and then Priest, then Bishop: see him sit
+No less than Cardinal ere long, while no one cries "Unfit!"
+
+But some one smirks, some other smiles, jogs elbow and nods head;
+Each wings at each: "I' faith, a rise! Saint Peter's net, instead
+Of sword and keys, is come in vogue!" You think he blushes red?
+
+Not he, of humble holy heart! "Unworthy me!" he sighs:
+"From fisher's drudge to Church's prince--it is indeed a rise:
+So, here's my way to keep the fact forever in my eyes!"
+
+And straightway in his palace-hall, where commonly is set
+Some coat-of-arms, some portraiture ancestral, lo, we met
+His mean estate's reminder in his fisher-father's net!
+
+Which step conciliates all and some, stops cavil in a trice:
+"The humble holy heart that holds of new-born pride no spice!
+He's just the saint to choose for Pope!" Each adds, "'Tis my advice."
+
+So Pope he was: and when we flocked--its sacred slipper on--
+To kiss his foot, we lifted eyes, alack, the thing was gone--
+That guarantee of lowlihead,--eclipsed that star which shone!
+
+Each eyed his fellow, one and all kept silence. I cried "Pish!
+I'll make me spokesman for the rest, express the common wish.
+Why, Father, is the net removed?" "Son, it hath caught the fish."
+
+ _Robert Browning._
+
+
+
+
+ AN ACTOR
+
+
+A shabby fellow chanced one day to meet
+The British Roscius in the street,
+ Garrick, of whom our nation justly brags;
+The fellow hugged him with a kind embrace;--
+"Good sir, I do not recollect your face,"
+ Quoth Garrick. "No?" replied the man of rags;
+"The boards of Drury you and I have trod
+ Full many a time together, I am sure."
+"When?" with an oath, cried Garrick, "for, by G--d,
+I never saw that face of yours before!
+ What characters, I pray,
+ Did you and I together play?"
+"Lord!" quoth the fellow, "think not that I mock--
+When you played Hamlet, sir, I played the cock!"
+
+ _John Wolcot._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LOST SPECTACLES
+
+
+A country curate, visiting his flock,
+At old Rebecca's cottage gave a knock.
+"Good morrow, dame, I mean not any libel,
+But in your dwelling have you got a Bible?"
+"A Bible, sir?" exclaimed she in a rage,
+"D'ye think I've turned a Pagan in my age?
+Here, Judith, and run upstairs, my dear,
+'Tis in the drawer, be quick and bring it here."
+The girl return'd with Bible in a minute,
+Not dreaming for a moment what was in it;
+When lo! on opening it at parlor door,
+Down fell her spectacles upon the floor.
+Amaz'd she stared, was for a moment dumb,
+But quick exclaim'd, "Dear sir, I'm glad you're come.
+'Tis six years since these glasses first were lost,
+And I have miss'd 'em to my poor eyes' cost!"
+Then as the glasses to her nose she raised,
+She closed the Bible--saying, "God be praised!"
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THAT TEXAN CATTLE MAN
+
+
+We rode the tawny Texan hills,
+ A bearded cattle man and I;
+Below us laughed the blossomed rills,
+ Above the dappled clouds blew by.
+We talked. The topic? Guess. Why, sir,
+ Three-fourths of man's whole time he keeps
+To talk, to think, to _be_ of |HER|;
+ The other fourth he sleeps.
+
+To learn what he might know of love,
+ I laughed all constancy to scorn.
+"Behold yon happy, changeful dove!
+ Behold this day, all storm at morn,
+Yet now 't is changed to cloud and sun.
+ Yea, all things change--the heart, the head,
+Behold on earth there is not one
+ That changeth not," I said.
+
+He drew a glass as if to scan
+ The plain for steers; raised it and sighed.
+He craned his neck, this cattle man,
+ Then drove the cork home and replied:
+"For twenty years (forgive these tears)--
+ For twenty years no word of strife--
+I have not known for twenty years
+ One folly from my wife."
+
+I looked that Texan in the face--
+ That dark-browed, bearded cattle man,
+He pulled his beard, then dropped in place
+ A broad right hand, all scarred and tan,
+And toyed with something shining there
+ From out his holster, keen and small.
+I was convinced. I did not care
+ To argue it at all.
+
+But rest I could not. Know I must
+ The story of my Texan guide;
+His dauntless love, enduring trust;
+ His blessed, immortal bride.
+I wondered, marvelled, marvelled much.
+ Was she of Texan growth? Was she
+Of Saxon blood, that boasted such
+ Eternal constancy?
+
+I could not rest until I knew--
+ "Now twenty years, my man," said I,
+"Is a long time." He turned and drew
+ A pistol forth, also a sigh.
+"'Tis twenty years or more," said he,
+ "Nay, nay, my honest man, I vow
+I do not doubt that this may be;
+ But tell, oh! tell me how.
+
+"'Twould make a poem true and grand;
+ All time should note it near and far;
+And thy fair, virgin Texan land
+ Should stand out like a Winter star.
+America should heed. And then
+ The doubtful French beyond the sea--
+'T would make them truer, nobler men.
+ To know how this may be."
+
+"It's twenty years or more," urged he,
+ "Nay, that I know, good guide of mine;
+But lead me where this wife may be,
+ And I a pilgrim at a shrine.
+And kneeling, as a pilgrim true"--
+ He, scowling, shouted in my ear;
+"I cannot show my wife to you;
+ She's dead this twenty year."
+
+ _Joaquin Miller._
+
+
+
+
+ FABLE
+
+
+The mountain and the squirrel
+Had a quarrel,
+And the former called the latter "Little Prig";
+Bun replied,
+"You are doubtless very big;
+But all sorts of things and weather
+Must be taken in together,
+To make up a year
+And a sphere,
+And I think it no disgrace
+To occupy my place.
+If I'm not so large as you,
+You are not so small as I,
+And not half so spry.
+I'll not deny you make
+A very pretty squirrel track;
+Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
+If I cannot carry forests on my back,
+Neither can you crack a nut."
+
+ _Ralph Waldo Emerson._
+
+
+
+
+ HOCH! DER KAISER
+
+
+Der Kaiser of dis Faterland
+Und Gott on high all dings command,
+Ve two--ach! Don't you understand?
+ Myself--und Gott.
+
+Vile some men sing der power divine,
+Mine soldiers sing, "Der Wacht am Rhine,"
+Und drink der health in Rhenish wine
+ Of Me--und Gott.
+
+Dere's France, she swaggers all aroundt;
+She's ausgespield, of no account,
+To much we think she don't amount;
+ Myself--und Gott.
+
+She vill not dare to fight again,
+But if she shouldt, I'll show her blain
+Dot Elsass und (in French) Lorraine
+ Are mein--by Gott!
+
+Dere's grandma dinks she's nicht small beer,
+Mit Boers und such she interfere;
+She'll learn none owns dis hemisphere
+ But me--und Gott!
+
+She dinks, good frau, fine ships she's got
+And soldiers mit der scarlet goat.
+Ach! We could knock them! Pouf! Like dot,
+ Myself--mit Gott!
+
+In dimes of peace, brebare for wars,
+I bear the spear and helm of Mars,
+Und care not for a thousand Czars,
+ Myself--mit Gott!
+
+In fact, I humor efery whim,
+With aspect dark and visage grim;
+Gott pulls mit Me, and I mit him,
+ Myself--und Gott!
+
+ _Rodney Blake._
+
+
+
+
+ WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS
+
+
+Gineral B. is a sensible man;
+ He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks;
+He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can,
+ An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes;
+ But John P.
+ Robinson, he
+ Sez he wunt vote for Gineral B.
+
+My! ain't it terrible? Wut shall we do?
+ We can't never choose him, o' course--that's flat:
+Guess we shall hev to come round (don't you?),
+ An' go in for thunder an' guns, an' all that;
+ Fer John P.
+ Robinson, he
+ Sez he wunt vote for Gineral B.
+
+Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man:
+ He's been on all sides that give places or pelf;
+But consistency still was a part of his plan--
+ He's been true to' _one_ party, and that is himself;
+ So John P.
+ Robinson, he
+ Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.
+
+Gineral C. goes in for the war;
+ He don't vally principle mor'n an old cud;
+What did God make us raytional creeturs fer,
+ But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood?
+ So John P.
+ Robinson, he
+ Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.
+
+We're gettin' on nicely up here to our village,
+ With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut ain't;
+We o' thought Christ went against war and pillage,
+An' that eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint;
+ But John P.
+ Robinson, he
+ Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee.
+
+The side of our country must ollers be took,
+ An' President Pulk, you know, _he_ is our country;
+An' the angel that writes all our sins in a book,
+ Puts the _debit_ to him, an' to us the _per contry_;
+ An' John P.
+ Robinson, he
+ Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T.
+
+Parson Wilbur he calls all these arguments lies;
+ Sez they're nothin' on airth but jest _fee, faw, fum_;
+An' that all this big talk of our destinies
+ Is half on it ignorance, an' t'other half rum;
+ But John P.
+ Robinson, he
+ Sez it ain't no such thing; an', of course, so must we.
+
+Parson Wilbur sez _he_ never heered in his life
+ Thet the Apostles rigg'd out in their swallow-tail coats,
+An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife,
+ To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes;
+ But John P.
+ Robinson, he
+ Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee.
+
+Wal, it's a marcy we're gut folks to tell us
+ The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow--
+God sends country lawyers an' other wise fellers
+ To drive the world's team wen it gits in a slough;
+ For John P.
+ Robinson, he
+ Sez the world'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee!
+
+ _James Russell Lowell._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CANDIDATE'S CREED
+
+ BIGLOW PAPERS
+
+
+I du believe in Freedom's cause,
+ Ez fur away ez Paris is;
+I love to see her stick her claws
+ In them infarnal Pharisees;
+It's wal enough agin a king
+ To dror resolves and triggers,--
+But libbaty's a kind o' thing
+ Thet don't agree with niggers.
+
+I du believe the people want
+ A tax on teas and coffees,
+Thet nothin' ain't extravygunt,--
+ Purvidin' I'm in office;
+For I hev loved my country sence
+ My eye-teeth filled their sockets,
+An' Uncle Sam I reverence,
+ Partic'larly his pockets.
+
+I du believe in _any_ plan
+ O' levyin' the taxes,
+Ez long ez, like a lumberman,
+ I git jest wut I axes:
+I go free-trade thru thick an' thin,
+ Because it kind o' rouses
+The folks to vote--and keep us in
+ Our quiet custom-houses.
+
+I du believe it's wise an' good
+ To sen' out furrin missions,
+Thet is, on sartin understood
+ An' orthydox conditions;--
+I mean nine thousan' dolls, per ann.,
+ Nine thousan' more fer outfit,
+An' me to recommend a man
+ The place 'ould jest about fit.
+
+I du believe in special ways
+ O' prayin' an' convartin';
+The bread comes back in many days,
+ An' buttered, tu, fer sartin;--
+I mean in preyin' till one busts
+ On wut the party chooses,
+An' in convartin' public trusts
+ To very privit uses.
+
+I do believe hard coin the stuff
+ Fer 'lectioneers to spout on;
+The people's ollers soft enough
+ To make hard money out on;
+Dear Uncle Sam pervides fer his,
+ An' gives a good-sized junk to all--
+I don't care _how_ hard money is,
+ Ez long ez mine's paid punctooal.
+
+I du believe with all my soul
+ In the gret Press's freedom,
+To pint the people to the goal
+ An' in the traces lead 'em:
+Palsied the arm thet forges yokes
+ At my fat contracts squintin',
+An' withered be the nose thet pokes
+ Inter the gov'ment printin'!
+
+I du believe thet I should give
+ Wut's his'n unto Caesar,
+Fer it's by him I move an' live,
+ From him my bread an' cheese air.
+I du believe thet all o' me
+ Doth bear his souperscription,--
+Will, conscience, honor, honesty,
+ An' things o' thet description.
+
+I du believe in prayer an' praise
+ To him thet hez the grantin'
+O' jobs--in every thin' thet pays,
+ But most of all in |Cantin'|;
+This doth my cup with marcies fill,
+ This lays all thought o' sin to rest--
+I _don't_ believe in princerple,
+ But, O, I _du_ in interest.
+
+I du believe in bein' this
+ Or thet, ez it may happen
+One way, or t' other hendiest is
+ To ketch the people nappin';
+It ain't by princerples nor men
+ My preudent course is steadied--
+I scent wich pays the best, an' then
+ Go into it baldheaded.
+
+I du believe thet holdin' slaves
+ Comes nat'ral tu a President,
+Let 'lone the rowdedow it saves
+ To have a wal-broke precedunt;
+Fer any office, small or gret,
+ I couldn't ax with no face,
+Without I'd been, thru dry an' wet,
+ The unrizziest kind o' doughface.
+
+I du believe wutever trash
+ 'll keep the people in blindness,--
+Thet we the Mexicans can thrash
+ Right inter brotherly kindness--
+Thet bombshells, grape, an' powder 'n' ball
+ Air good-will's strongest magnets--
+Thet peace, to make it stick at all,
+ Must be druv in with bagnets.
+
+In short, I firmly du believe
+ In Humbug generally,
+Fer it's a thing thet I perceive
+ To hev a solid vally;
+This heth my faithful shepherd ben,
+ In pastures sweet heth led me,
+An' this'll keep the people green
+ To feed ez they have fed me.
+
+ _James Russell Lowell._
+
+
+
+
+ THE RAZOR SELLER
+
+
+A fellow in a market town,
+Most musical, cried razors up and down,
+ And offered twelve for eighteen-pence;
+Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap,
+And for the money quite a heap,
+ As every man would buy, with cash and sense.
+
+A country bumpkin the great offer heard:
+Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad black beard,
+ That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose
+With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence he paid,
+And proudly to himself, in whispers, said,
+ "This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.
+
+"No matter if the fellow _be_ a knave,
+Provided that the razors _shave_;
+ It certainly will be a monstrous prize."
+So home the clown, with his good fortune, went,
+Smiling in heart and soul, content,
+ And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.
+
+Being well lathered from a dish or tub,
+Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub,
+ Just like a hedger cutting furze:
+'Twas a vile razor!--then the rest he tried--
+All were imposters--"Ah," Hodge sighed!
+ "I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse."
+
+In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces,
+ He cut, and dug, and winced, and stamped, and swore,
+Brought blood, and danced, blasphemed, and made wry faces,
+ And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er:
+
+His muzzle, formed of _opposition_ stuff,
+Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff!
+ So kept it--laughing at the steel and suds:
+Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws,
+Vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws,
+ On the vile cheat that sold the goods.
+"Razors; a damned, confounded dog,
+Not fit to scrape a hog!"
+
+Hodge sought the fellow--found him--and begun:
+"P'rhaps, Master Razor rogue, to you 'tis fun,
+ That people flay themselves out of their lives:
+You rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing,
+Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing,
+ With razors just like oyster knives.
+Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave,
+To cry up razors that can't _shave_."
+"Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm not a knave.
+ As for the razors you have bought,
+ Upon my soul I never thought
+That they would _shave_."
+"Not think they'd _shave_!" quoth Hodge, with wond'ring eyes,
+ And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;
+"What were they made for then, you dog?" he cries:
+ "Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile--"to _sell_."
+
+ _John Wolcot._
+
+
+
+
+ THE DEVIL'S WALK ON EARTH
+
+
+From his brimstone bed at break of day
+ A walking the Devil is gone,
+To look at his snug little farm of the World,
+ And see how his stock went on.
+
+Over the hill and over the dale,
+ And he went over the plain;
+And backward and forward he swish'd his tail
+ As a gentleman swishes a cane.
+
+ How then was the Devil drest?
+ Oh, he was in his Sunday's best
+His coat was red and his breeches were blue,
+And there was a hole where his tail came through.
+A lady drove by in her pride,
+In whose face an expression he spied
+ For which he could have kiss'd her;
+Such a flourishing, fine, clever woman was she,
+With an eye as wicked as wicked can be,
+I should take her for my Aunt, thought he,
+ If my dam had had a sister.
+
+ He met a lord of high degree,
+ No matter what was his name;
+Whose face with his own when he came to compare
+ The expression, the look, and the air,
+ And the character, too, as it seem'd to a hair--
+ Such a twin-likeness there was in the pair
+ That it made the Devil start and stare
+For he thought there was surely a looking-glass there,
+ But he could not see the frame.
+
+He saw a Lawyer killing a viper,
+ On a dung-hill beside his stable;
+Ha! quoth he, thou put'st me in mind
+ Of the story of Cain and Abel.
+
+An Apothecary on a white horse
+ Rode by on his vocation;
+And the Devil thought of his old friend
+ Death in the Revelation.
+
+He pass'd a cottage with a double coach-house,
+ A cottage of gentility,
+And he own'd with a grin
+That his favorite sin,
+ Is pride that apes humility.
+
+He saw a pig rapidly
+ Down a river float;
+The pig swam well, but every stroke
+ Was cutting his own throat;
+And Satan gave thereat his tail
+ A twirl of admiration;
+For he thought of his daughter War,
+ And her suckling babe Taxation.
+
+Well enough, in sooth, he liked that truth
+ And nothing the worse for the jest;
+But this was only a first thought
+ And in this he did not rest:
+Another came presently into his head,
+And here it proved, as has often been said
+ That second thoughts are best.
+
+For as Piggy plied with wind and tide,
+ His way with such celerity,
+And at every stroke the water dyed
+With his own red blood, the Devil cried,
+Behold a swinish nation's pride
+ In cotton-spun prosperity.
+
+He walk'd into London leisurely,
+ The streets were dirty and dim:
+But there he saw Brothers the Prophet,
+ And Brothers the Prophet saw him.
+
+He entered a thriving bookseller's shop;
+ Quoth he, we are both of one college,
+For I myself sate like a Cormorant once
+ Upon the Tree of Knowledge.
+
+As he passed through Cold-Bath Fields he look'd
+ At a solitary cell;
+And he was well-pleased, for it gave him a hint
+ For improving the prisons of Hell.
+
+He saw a turnkey tie a thief's hands
+ With a cordial tug and jerk;
+Nimbly, quoth he, a man's fingers move
+ When his heart is in his work.
+He saw the same turnkey unfettering a man
+ With little expedition;
+And he chuckled to think of his dear slave-trade,
+And the long debates and delays that were made,
+ Concerning its abolition.
+
+He met one of his favorite daughters
+ By an Evangelical Meeting:
+And forgetting himself for joy at her sight,
+He would have accosted her outright,
+ And given her a fatherly greeting.
+
+But she tipt him the wink, drew back, and cried,
+ Avaunt! my name's Religion!
+And then she turn'd to the preacher
+ And leer'd like a love-sick pigeon.
+
+A fine man and a famous Professor was he,
+As the great Alexander now may be,
+ Whose fame not yet o'erpast is:
+ Or that new Scotch performer
+ Who is fiercer and warmer,
+ The great Sir Arch-Bombastes.
+
+With throbs and throes, and ah's and oh's.
+ Far famed his flock for frightning;
+And thundering with his voice, the while
+ His eyes zigzag like lightning.
+
+This Scotch phenomenon, I trow,
+ Beats Alexander hollow;
+Even when most tame
+He breathes more flame
+ Then ten Fire-Kings could swallow.
+
+Another daughter he presently met;
+ With music of fife and drum,
+ And a consecrated flag,
+ And shout of tag and rag,
+ And march of rank and file,
+Which had fill'd the crowded aisle
+Of the venerable pile,
+ From church he saw her come.
+He call'd her aside, and began to chide,
+ For what dost thou here? said he,
+ My city of Rome is thy proper home,
+ And there's work enough there for thee.
+
+ Thou hast confessions to listen,
+ And bells to christen,
+And altars and dolls to dress;
+ And fools to coax,
+ And sinners to hoax,
+ And beads and bones to bless;
+ And great pardons to sell
+ For those who pay well,
+And small ones for those who pay less.
+
+Nay, Father, I boast, that this is my post,
+ She answered; and thou wilt allow,
+ That the great Harlot,
+ Who is clothed in scarlet,
+ Can very well spare me now.
+
+ Upon her business I am come here,
+ That we may extend our powers:
+Whatever lets down this church that we hate,
+ Is something in favor of ours.
+
+You will not think, great Cosmocrat!
+ That I spend my time in fooling;
+Many irons, my sire, have we in the fire,
+ And I must leave none of them cooling;
+For you must know state-councils here,
+ Are held which I bear rule in.
+ When my liberal notions,
+ Produce mischievous motions,
+ There's many a man of good intent,
+ In either house of Parliament,
+ Whom I shall find a tool in;
+ And I have hopeful pupils too
+ Who all this while are schooling.
+
+Fine progress they make in our liberal opinions,
+ My Utilitarians,
+ My all sorts of--inians
+ And all sorts of--arians;
+ My all sorts of--ists,
+ And my Prigs and my Whigs
+ Who have all sorts of twists
+ Train'd in the very way, I know,
+ Father, you would have them go;
+ High and low,
+ Wise and foolish, great and small,
+ March-of-Intellect-Boys all.
+
+ Well pleased wilt thou be at no very far day
+ When the caldron of mischief boils,
+ And I bring them forth in battle array
+ And bid them suspend their broils,
+ That they may unite and fall on the prey,
+ For which we are spreading our toils.
+ How the nice boys all will give mouth at the call,
+ Hark away! hark away to the spoils!
+ My Macs and my Quacks and my lawless-Jacks,
+ My Shiels and O'Connells, my pious Mac-Donnells,
+ My joke-smith Sydney, and all of his kidney,
+ My Humes and my Broughams,
+ My merry old Jerry,
+ My Lord Kings, and my Doctor Doyles!
+
+ At this good news, so great
+ The Devil's pleasure grew,
+That with a joyful swish he rent
+ The hole where his tail came through.
+
+His countenance fell for a moment
+ When he felt the stitches go;
+Ah! thought he, there's a job now
+ That I've made for my tailor below.
+
+Great news! bloody news! cried a newsman;
+ The Devil said, Stop, let me see!
+Great news? bloody news? thought the Devil,
+ The bloodier the better for me.
+So he bought the newspaper, and no news
+ At all for his money he had.
+Lying varlet, thought he, thus to take in old Nick!
+ But it's some satisfaction, my lad,
+To know thou art paid beforehand for the trick,
+ For the sixpence I gave thee is bad.
+
+And then it came into his head
+ By oracular inspiration,
+That what he had seen and what he had said
+In the course of this visitation,
+Would be published in the Morning Post
+ For all this reading nation.
+
+Therewith in second sight he saw
+ The place and the manner and time,
+In which this mortal story
+ Would be put in immortal rhyme.
+
+That it would happen when two poets
+ Should on a time be met,
+In the town of Nether Stowey,
+ In the shire of Somerset.
+
+ There while the one was shaving
+ Would he the song begin;
+And the other when he heard it at breakfast,
+ In ready accord join in.
+
+ So each would help the other,
+ Two heads being better than one;
+ And the phrase and conceit
+ Would in unison meet,
+And so with glee the verse flow free,
+ In ding-dong chime of sing-song rhyme,
+ Till the whole were merrily done.
+
+ And because it was set to the razor,
+ Not to the lute or harp,
+ Therefore it was that the fancy
+Should be bright, and the wit be sharp.
+But, then, said Satan to himself,
+ As for that said beginner,
+Against my infernal Majesty,
+ There is no greater sinner.
+
+He hath put me in ugly ballads
+ With libelous pictures for sale;
+He hath scoff'd at my hoofs and my horns,
+ And has made very free with my tail.
+
+But this Mister Poet shall find
+ I am not a safe subject for whim;
+For I'll set up a School of my own,
+ And my Poets shall set upon him.
+
+He went to a coffee-house to dine,
+ And there he had soy in his dish;
+Having ordered some soles for his dinner,
+ Because he was fond of flat fish.
+
+They are much to my palate, thought he,
+ And now guess the reason who can,
+Why no bait should be better than place,
+ When I fish for a Parliament-man.
+
+But the soles in the bill were ten shillings;
+ Tell your master, quoth he, what I say;
+If he charges at this rate for all things,
+ He must be in a pretty good way.
+
+But mark ye, said he to the waiter,
+ I'm a dealer myself in this line,
+And his business, between you and me,
+ Nothing like so extensive as mine.
+
+Now soles are exceedingly cheap,
+ Which he will not attempt to deny,
+When I see him at my fish-market,
+ I warrant him, by-and-by.
+As he went along the Strand
+ Between three in the morning and four
+He observed a queer-looking person
+ Who staggered from Perry's door.
+
+And he thought that all the world over
+ In vain for a man you might seek,
+Who could drink more like a Trojan
+ Or talk more like a Greek.
+
+ The Devil then he prophesied
+ It would one day he matter of talk,
+ That with wine when smitten,
+And with wit moreover being happily bitten,
+The erudite bibber was he who had written
+ The story of this walk.
+
+ A pretty mistake, quoth the Devil;
+ A pretty mistake I opine!
+I have put many ill thoughts in his mouth,
+ He will never put good ones in mine.
+
+And whoever shall say that to Porson
+ These best of all verses belong,
+He is an untruth-telling whore-son,
+ And so shall be call'd in the song.
+
+And if seeking an illicit connection with fame,
+ Any one else should put in a claim,
+ In this comical competition;
+ That excellent poem will prove
+ A man-trap for such foolish ambition,
+Where the silly rogue shall be caught by the leg,
+ And exposed in a second edition.
+
+Now the morning air was cold for him
+ Who was used to a warm abode;
+And yet he did not immediately wish,
+ To set out on his homeward road.
+For he had some morning calls to make
+ Before he went back to Hell;
+So thought he I'll step into a gaming-house,
+ And that will do as well;
+But just before he could get to the door
+ A wonderful chance befell.
+
+ For all on a sudden, in a dark place,
+He came upon General ----'s burning face;
+ And it struck him with such consternation,
+That home in a hurry his way did he take,
+Because he thought, by a slight mistake
+ 'Twas the general conflagration.
+
+ _Robert Southey._
+
+
+
+
+ FATHER MOLLOY
+
+ OR, THE CONFESSION
+
+
+Paddy McCabe was dying one day,
+ And Father Molloy he came to confess him;
+Paddy pray'd hard he would make no delay,
+ But forgive him his sins and make haste for to bless him.
+"First tell me your sins," says Father Molloy,
+"For I'm thinking you've not been a very good boy."
+"Oh," says Paddy, "so late in the evenin', I fear,
+'Twould throuble you such a long story to hear,
+For you've ten long miles o'er the mountains to go,
+While the road _I've_ to travel's much longer, you know.
+So give us your blessin' and get in the saddle,
+To tell all my sins my poor brain it would addle;
+And the docther gave ordhers to keep me so quiet--
+'Twould disturb me to tell all my sins, if I'd thry it,
+And your Reverence has towld us, unless we tell _all_,
+'Tis worse than not makin' confession at all.
+So I'll say in a word I'm no very good boy--
+And, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy."
+
+"Well, I'll read from a book," says Father Molloy,
+ "The manifold sins that humanity's heir to;
+And when you hear those that your conscience annoy,
+ You'll just squeeze my hand, as acknowledging thereto."
+Then the father began the dark roll of iniquity,
+And Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience grow rickety,
+And he gave such a squeeze that the priest gave a roar--
+"Oh, murdher," says Paddy, "don't read any more,
+For, if you keep readin', by all that is thrue,
+Your Reverence's fist will be soon black and blue;
+Besides, to be throubled my conscience begins,
+That your Reverence should have any hand in my sins,
+So you'd betther suppose I committed them all,
+For whether they're great ones, or whether they're small,
+Or if they're a dozen, or if they're fourscore,
+'Tis your Reverence knows how to absolve them, asthore;
+So I'll say in a word, I'm no very good boy--
+And, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy."
+
+"Well," says Father Molloy, "if your sins I forgive,
+ So you must forgive all your enemies truly;
+And promise me also that, if you should live,
+ You'll leave off your old tricks, and begin to live newly."
+"I forgive ev'rybody," says Pat, with a groan,
+"Except that big vagabone Micky Malone;
+And him I will murdher if ever I can--"
+"Tut, tut," says the priest, "you're a very bad man;
+For without your forgiveness, and also repentance,
+You'll ne'er go to Heaven, and that is my sentence."
+"Poo!" says Paddy McCabe, "that's a very hard case--
+With your Reverence and Heaven I'm content to make pace;
+But with Heaven and your Reverence I wondher--_Och hone_--
+You would think of comparin' that blackguard Malone--
+But since I'm hard press'd and that I _must_ forgive,
+I forgive--if I die--but as sure as I live
+That ugly blackguard I will surely desthroy!--
+So, _now_ for your blessin', sweet Father Molloy!"
+
+ _Samuel Lover._
+
+
+
+
+ THE OWL-CRITIC
+
+
+"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop,
+The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop;
+The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading
+The "Daily," the "Herald," the "Post," little heeding
+The young man who blurted out such a blunt question;
+Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion;
+ And the barber kept on shaving.
+
+"Don't you see, Mr. Brown,"
+Cried the youth, with a frown,
+"How wrong the whole thing is,
+How preposterous each wing is
+How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is--
+In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 't is!
+I make no apology;
+I've learned owl-eology.
+
+I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,
+And cannot be blinded to any deflections
+Arising from unskilful fingers that fail
+To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.
+Mister Brown! Mister Brown!
+Do take that bird down,
+Or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all over town!"
+ And the barber kept on shaving.
+
+"I've _studied_ owls,
+And other night-fowls,
+And I tell you
+What I know to be true;
+An owl cannot roost
+With his limbs so unloosed;
+No owl in this world
+Ever had his claws curled,
+Ever had his legs slanted,
+Ever had his bill canted,
+Ever had his neck screwed
+Into that attitude.
+He can't _do_ it, because
+'Tis against all bird-laws.
+
+Anatomy teaches,
+Ornithology preaches,
+An owl has a toe
+That _can't_ turn out so!
+I've made the white owl my study for years,
+And to see such a job almost moves me to tears!
+Mr. Brown, I'm amazed
+You should be so gone crazed
+As to put up a bird
+In that posture absurd!
+To _look_ at that owl really brings on a dizziness;
+The man who stuffed _him_ don't half know his business!"
+ And the barber kept on shaving.
+
+"Examine those eyes.
+I'm filled with surprise
+Taxidermists should pass
+Off on you such poor glass;
+So unnatural they seem
+They'd make Audubon scream,
+And John Burroughs laugh
+To encounter such chaff.
+Do take that bird down;
+Have him stuffed again, Brown!"
+ And the barber kept on shaving.
+
+"With some sawdust and bark
+I could stuff in the dark
+An owl better than that.
+I could make an old hat
+Look more like an owl
+Than that horrid fowl,
+Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather.
+In fact, about _him_ there's not one natural feather."
+
+Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch,
+The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch,
+Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic
+(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,
+And then fairly hooted, as if he should say:
+"Your learning's at fault _this_ time, anyway;
+Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.
+I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, good day!"
+ And the barber kept on shaving.
+
+ _James Thomas Fields._
+
+
+
+
+ WHAT WILL WE DO?
+
+
+What will we do when the good days come--
+When the prima donna's lips are dumb,
+And the man who reads us his "little things"
+Has lost his voice like the girl who sings;
+When stilled is the breath of the cornet-man,
+And the shrilling chords of the quartette clan;
+When our neighbours' children have lost their drums--
+Oh, what will we do when the good time comes?
+Oh, what will we do in that good, blithe time,
+When the tramp will work--oh, thing sublime!
+And the scornful dame who stands on your feet
+Will "Thank you, sir," for the proffered seat;
+And the man you hire to work by the day,
+Will allow you to do his work your way;
+And the cook who trieth your appetite
+Will steal no more than she thinks is right;
+When the boy you hire will call you "Sir,"
+Instead of "Say" and "Guverner";
+When the funny man is humorsome--
+How can we stand the millennium?
+
+ _Robert J. Burdette._
+
+
+
+
+ LIFE IN LACONICS
+
+
+Given a roof, and a taste for rations,
+And you have the key to the "wealth of nations."
+
+Given a boy, a tree, and a hatchet,
+And virtue strives in vain to match it.
+
+Given a pair, a snake, and an apple,
+You make the whole world need a chapel.
+
+Given "no cards," broad views, and a hovel,
+You have a realistic novel.
+
+Given symptoms and doctors with potion and pill,
+And your heirs will ere long be contesting your will.
+
+That good leads to evil there's no denying:
+If it were not for _truth_ there would be no _lying_.
+
+"I'm nobody!" should have a hearse;
+But then, "I'm somebody!" is worse.
+
+"Folks say," _et cetera_! Well, they shouldn't,
+And if they knew you well, they wouldn't.
+
+When you coddle your life, all its vigor and grace
+Shrink away with the whisper, "We're in the wrong place."
+
+ _Mary Mapes Dodge._
+
+
+
+
+ ON KNOWING WHEN TO STOP
+
+
+The woodchuck told it all about.
+ "I'm going to build a dwelling
+Six stories high, up to the sky!"
+ He never tired of telling.
+
+He dug the cellar smooth and well
+ But made no more advances;
+That lovely hole so pleased his soul
+ And satisfied his fancies.
+
+ _L. J. Bridgman._
+
+
+
+
+ REV. GABE TUCKER'S REMARKS
+
+
+You may notch it on de palin's as a mighty resky plan
+To make your judgment by de clo'es dat kivers up a man;
+For I hardly needs to tell you how you often come across
+A fifty-dollar saddle on a twenty-dollar hoss;
+An', wukin' in de low-groun's, you diskiver, as you go,
+Dat de fines' shuck may hide de meanes' nubbin in a row.
+
+I think a man has got a mighty slender chance for heben
+Dat holds on to his piety but one day out o' seben;
+Dat talks about de sinners wid a heap o' solemn chat,
+And nebber draps a nickel in de missionary hat;
+Dat's foremost in de meetin'-house for raisin' all de chunes,
+But lays aside his 'ligion wid his Sunday pantaloons.
+
+I nebber judge o' people dat I meets along de way
+By de places whar dey come fum an' de houses whar dey stay;
+For de bantam chicken's awful fond o' roostin' pretty high,
+An' de turkey buzzard sails above de eagle in de sky;
+Dey ketches little minners in de middle ob de sea,
+An' you finds de smalles' possum up de bigges' kind o' tree!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THURSDAY
+
+
+ The sun was setting, and vespers done;
+ From chapel the monks came one by one,
+ And down they went thro' the garden trim,
+ In cassock and cowl, to the river's brim.
+ Ev'ry brother his rod he took;
+ Ev'ry rod had a line and a hook;
+ Ev'ry hook had a bait so fine,
+ And thus they sang in the even shine:
+"Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we'll fish the stream to-day!
+Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we'll fish the stream to-day!
+ Benedicite!"
+
+ So down they sate by the river's brim,
+ And fish'd till the light was growing dim;
+ They fish'd the stream till the moon was high,
+ But never a fish came wand'ring by.
+ They fish'd the stream in the bright moonshine,
+ But not one fish would he come to dine.
+ And the Abbot said, "It seems to me
+ These rascally fish are all gone to sea.
+And to-morrow will be Friday, but we've caught no fish to-day;
+Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, but we've caught no fish to-day!
+ Maledicite!"
+
+ So back they went to the convent gate,
+ Abbot and monks disconsolate;
+ For they thought of the morrow with faces white,
+ Saying, "Oh, we must curb our appetite!
+ But down in the depths of the vault below
+ There's Malvoisie for a world of woe!"
+ So they quaff their wine, and all declare
+ That fish, after all, is but gruesome fare.
+"Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we'll warm our souls to-day!
+Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we'll warm our souls to-day!
+ Benedicite!"
+
+ _Frederick E. Weatherly._
+
+
+
+
+ SKY-MAKING
+
+ TO PROFESSOR TYNDALL
+
+
+Just take a trifling handful, O philosopher,
+Of magic matter, give it a slight toss over
+ The ambient ether, and I don't see why
+ You shouldn't make a sky.
+
+O hours Utopian which we may anticipate!
+Thick London fog how easy 'tis to dissipate,
+ And make the most pea-soupy day as clear
+ As Bass's brightest beer!
+
+Poet-professor! now my brain thou kindlest;
+I am become a most determined Tyndallist.
+ If it is known a fellow can make skies,
+ Why not make bright blue eyes?
+
+This to deny, the folly of a dunce it is;
+Surely a girl as easy as a sunset is.
+ If you can make a halo or eclipse,
+ Why not two laughing lips?
+
+The creed of Archimedes, erst of Sicily,
+And of D'Israeli ... _forti nil difficile_,
+ Is likewise mine. Pygmalion was a fool
+ Who should have gone to school.
+
+Why should an author scribble rhymes or articles?
+Bring me a dozen tiny Tyndall particles;
+ Therefrom I'll coin a dinner, Nash's wine,
+ And a nice girl to dine.
+
+ _Mortimer Collins._
+
+
+
+
+ THE POSITIVISTS
+
+
+Life and the Universe show spontaneity:
+Down with ridiculous notions of Deity!
+ Churches and creeds are all lost in the mists;
+ Truth must be sought with the Positivists.
+
+Wise are their teachers beyond all comparison,
+Comte, Huxley, Tyndall, Mill, Morley, and Harrison;
+ Who will adventure to enter the lists
+ With such a squadron of Positivists?
+
+Social arrangements are awful miscarriages;
+Cause of all crime is our system of marriages.
+ Poets with sonnets, and lovers with trysts,
+ Kindle the ire of the Positivists.
+
+Husbands and wives should be all one community,
+Exquisite freedom with absolute unity.
+ Wedding-rings worse are than manacled wrists--
+ Such is the creed of the Positivists.
+
+There was an ape in the days that were earlier;
+Centuries passed, and his hair became curlier;
+ Centuries more gave a thumb to his wrist--
+ Then he was Man, and a Positivist.
+
+If you are pious (mild form of insanity)
+Bow down and worship the mass of humanity.
+ Other religions are buried in mists;
+ We're our own Gods, say the Positivists.
+
+ _Mortimer Collins._
+
+
+
+
+ MARTIAL IN LONDON
+
+
+Exquisite wines and comestibles,
+ From Slater, and Fortnum and Mason;
+Billiard, ecarte, and chess tables;
+ Water in vast marble basin;
+Luminous books (not voluminous)
+To read under beech-trees cacuminous;
+One friend, who is fond of a distich,
+And doesn't get too syllogistic;
+A valet, who knows the complete art
+Of service--a maiden, his sweetheart:
+Give me these, in some rural pavilion,
+And I'll envy no Rothschild his million.
+
+ _Mortimer Collins._
+
+
+
+
+ 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 cares and strife,
+In silken or in leather 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
+Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames,
+Chloe, or Phillis, he each circling glass
+Wisheth 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 chill'd fingers: or from tube as black
+As winter-chimney, or well-polish'd jet,
+Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent:
+Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size,
+Smokes Cambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree,
+Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings
+Full famous in romantic tale) when he,
+O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff,
+Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese,
+High over-shadowing rides, with a design
+To vend his wares, or at th' Avonian mart,
+Or Maridunum, or the ancient town
+Yelep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream
+Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!
+Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie
+With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern.
+ Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow,
+With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun,
+Horrible monster! hated by gods and men,
+To my aerial 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? Amaz'd,
+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,
+Intrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard,
+And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints,
+Disastrous acts forbode; in his right hand
+Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves,
+With characters and figures dire inscrib'd,
+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 call'd
+A catchpole, 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 convey'd,
+Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains,
+In durance strict detain him, till, in form
+Of money, Pallas sets the captive free.
+ Beware, ye debtors! when ye walk, beware,
+Be circumspect; oft with insidious ken
+The caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft
+Lies perdu 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 disembowell'd 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.
+ So pass my days. But when nocturnal shades
+This world envelop, and th' inclement air
+Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts
+With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood;
+Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light
+Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk
+Of loving friend, delights: distress'd, forlorn,
+Amidst the horrors of the tedious night,
+Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts
+My anxious mind: or sometimes mournful verse
+Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades,
+Or desperate lady near a purling stream,
+Or lover pendent on a willow tree.
+Meanwhile I labor with eternal drought,
+And restless wish, and rave; my parched throat
+Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose:
+But if a slumber haply does invade
+My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake,
+Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream,
+Tipples imaginary pots of ale,
+In vain; awake I find the settled thirst
+Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse.
+ Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarred,
+Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays
+Mature, john-apple, nor the downy peach,
+Nor walnut in rough-furrow'd coat secure,
+Nor medlar, fruit delicious in decay;
+Afflictions great! yet greater still remain:
+My galligaskins, that have long withstood
+The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts,
+By time subdued (what will not time subdue!)
+An horrid chasm disclos'd with orifice
+Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds
+Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force
+Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves,
+Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts,
+Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship,
+Long sail'd secure, or through th' AEgean deep,
+Or the Ionian, till cruising near
+The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush
+On Scylla, or Charybdis (dangerous rocks!)
+She strikes rebounding; whence the shatter'd oak,
+So fierce a shock unable to withstand,
+Admits the sea: in at the gaping side
+The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage
+Resistless, overwhelming; horrors seize
+The mariners; Death in their eyes appears,
+They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray
+(Vain efforts!) still the battering waves rush in,
+Implacable, till, delug'd by the foam,
+The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss.
+
+ _John Philips._
+
+
+
+
+ AFTER HORACE
+
+
+What asks the Bard? He prays for nought
+ But what the truly virtuous crave:
+That is, the things he plainly ought
+ To have.
+
+'Tis not for wealth, with all the shocks
+ That vex distracted millionaires,
+Plagued by their fluctuating stocks
+ And shares:
+
+While plutocrats their millions new
+ Expend upon each costly whim,
+A great deal less than theirs will do
+ For him:
+
+The simple incomes of the poor
+ His meek poetic soul content:
+Say, L30,000 at four
+ Per cent.!
+
+His taste in residence is plain:
+ No palaces his heart rejoice:
+A cottage in a lane (Park Lane
+ For choice)
+
+Here be his days in quiet spent:
+ Here let him meditate the Muse:
+Baronial Halls were only meant
+ For Jews,
+
+And lands that stretch with endless span
+ From east to west, from south to north,
+Are often much more trouble than
+ They're worth!
+
+Let epicures who eat too much
+ Become uncomfortably stout:
+Let gourmets feel th' approaching touch
+ Of gout,--
+
+The Bard subsists on simpler food:
+ A dinner, not severely plain,
+A pint or so of really good
+ Champagne--
+
+Grant him but these, no care he'll take
+ Though Laureates bask in Fortune's smile,
+Though Kiplings and Corellis make
+ Their pile:
+
+Contented with a scantier dole
+ His humble Muse serenely jogs,
+Remote from scenes where authors roll
+ Their logs:
+
+Far from the madding crowd she lurks,
+ And really cares no single jot
+Whether the public read her works
+ Or not!
+
+ _A. D. Godley._
+
+
+
+
+ OF A PRECISE TAILOR
+
+
+A tailor, a man of an upright dealing,
+True but for lying, honest but for stealing,
+Did fall one day extremely sick by chance,
+And on the sudden was in wondrous trance.
+The Fiends of hell, mustering in fearful manner,
+Of sundry-coloured silks displayed a banner,
+Which he had stol'n; and wished, as they did tell,
+That one day he might find it all in hell.
+The man, affrighted at this apparition,
+Upon recovery grew a great precisian.
+He bought a Bible of the new translation,
+And in his life he showed great reformation.
+He walked mannerly and talked meekly;
+He heard three lectures and two sermons weekly;
+He vowed to shun all companies unruly,
+And in his speech he used no oath but "truly":
+And, zealously to keep the Sabbath's rest,
+His meat for that day on the even was dressed.
+And, lest the custom that he had to steal
+Might cause him sometime to forget his zeal,
+He gives his journeyman a special charge
+That, if the stuff allowed fell out too large,
+And that to filch his fingers were inclined,
+He then should put the Banner in his mind.
+This done, I scant the rest can tell for laughter.
+A Captain of a ship came three days after,
+And bought three yards of velvet and three quarters,
+To make Venetians down below the garters.
+He, that precisely knew what was enough,
+Soon slipped away three quarters of the stuff.
+His man, espying it, said in derision,
+"Remember, Master, how you saw the vision!"
+"Peace, knave," quoth he; "I did not see one rag
+Of such-a-coloured silk in all the flag."
+
+ _Sir John Harrington._
+
+
+
+
+ MONEY
+
+
+Who money has, well wages the campaign;
+Who money has, becomes of gentle strain;
+Who money has, to honor all accord:
+ He is my lord.
+Who money has, the ladies ne'er disdain;
+Who money has, loud praises will attain;
+Who money has, in the world's heart is stored,
+ The flower adored.
+O'er all mankind he holds his conquering track--
+They only are condemned who money lack.
+
+Who money has, will wisdom's credit gain;
+Who money has, all earth is his domain;
+Who money has, praise is his sure reward,
+ Which all afford.
+Who money has, from nothing need refrain;.
+Who money has, on him is favor poured;
+ And, in a word,
+Who money has, need never fear attack--
+They only are condemned who money lack.
+
+Who money has, in every heart does reign;
+Who money has, all to approach are fain;
+Who money has, of him no fault is told,
+ Nor harm can hold.
+Who money has, none does his right restrain;
+Who money has, can whom he will maintain;
+Who money has, clerk, prior, by his gold,
+ Is straight enrolled.
+Who money has, all raise, none hold him back--
+They only are condemned who money lack.
+
+ _Jehan du Pontalais._
+
+
+
+
+ BOSTON NURSERY RHYMES
+
+
+ RHYME FOR A GEOLOGICAL BABY
+
+Trilobite, Grapholite, Nautilus pie;
+Seas were calcareous, oceans were dry.
+Eocene, miocene, pliocene Tuff,
+Lias and Trias and that is enough.
+
+
+ RHYME FOR ASTRONOMICAL BABY
+
+ Bye Baby Bunting,
+ Father's gone star-hunting;
+ Mother's at the telescope
+ Casting baby's horoscope.
+ Bye Baby Buntoid,
+ Father's found an asteroid;
+ Mother takes by calculation
+ The angle of its inclination.
+
+
+RHYME FOR BOTANICAL BABY
+
+Little bo-peepals
+Has lost her sepals,
+And can't tell-where to find them;
+In the involucre
+By hook or by crook or
+She'll make up her mind not to mind them.
+
+
+ RHYME FOR A CHEMICAL BABY
+
+Oh, 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,
+ Men began to reign.
+
+ _Rev. Joseph Cook._
+
+
+
+
+ KENTUCKY PHILOSOPHY
+
+
+You Wi'yum, cum 'ere, suh, dis minute. Wut dat you got under dat box?
+I don't want no foolin'--you hear me? Wut you say? Ain't nu'h'n but
+ _rocks_?
+'Peahs ter me you's owdashus perticler. S'posin' dey's uv a new kine.
+I'll des take a look at dem rocks. Hi yi! der you think dat I's bline?
+
+_I_ calls dat a plain water-million, you scamp, en I knows whah it
+ growed;
+It come fum de Jimmerson cawn fiel', dah on ter side er de road.
+You stole it, you rascal--you stole it! I watched you fum down in de
+ lot.
+En time I gits th'ough wid you, nigger, you won't eb'n be a grease spot!
+
+_I'll_ fix you. Mirandy! Mirandy! go cut me a hick'ry--make 'ase!
+En cut me de toughes' en keenes' you c'n fine anywhah on de place.
+I'll larn you, Mr. Wi'yum Joe Vetters, ter steal en ter lie, you young
+ sinner,
+Disgracin' yo' ole Christian mammy, en makin' her leave cookin' dinner!
+
+Now ain't you ashamed er yo'se'f, suh? I is. I's 'shamed you's my son!
+En de holy accorjun angel he's 'shamed er wut you has done;
+En he's tuk it down up yander in coal-black, blood-red letters--
+"One water-million stoled by Wi'yum Josephus Vetters."
+
+En wut you s'posin' Brer Bascom, yo' teacher at Sunday school,
+'Ud say ef he knowed how you's broke de good Lawd's Gol'n Rule?
+Boy, whah's de raisin' I give you? Is you boun' fuh ter be a black
+ villiun?
+I's s'prised dat a chile er yo' mammy 'ud steal any man's water-million.
+
+En I's now gwiner cut it right open, en you shain't have narry bite,
+Fuh a boy who'll steal water-millions--en dat in de day's broad light--
+Ain't--_Lawdy!_ it's |GREEN|! Mirandy; Mi-ran-dy! come on wi' dat
+ switch!
+_Well_, stealin' a g-r-e-e-n water-million! who ever heered tell er des
+ sich?
+
+Cain't tell w'en dey's ripe? W'y, you thump 'um, en w'en dey go pank dey
+ is green;
+But when dey go _punk_, now you mine me, dey's ripe--en dat's des wut I
+ mean.
+En nex' time you hook water-millions--_you_ heered me, you ign'ant young
+ hunk,
+Ef you don't want a lickin' all over, be sho dat dey allers go "punk"!
+
+ _Harrison Robertson._
+
+
+
+
+ JOHN GRUMLIE
+
+
+John Grumlie swore by the light o' the moon
+ And the green leaves on the tree,
+That he could do more work in a day
+ Than his wife could do in three.
+His wife rose up in the morning
+ Wi' cares and troubles enow--
+John Grumlie bide at hame, John,
+ And I'll go haud the plow.
+
+First ye maun dress your children fair,
+ And put them a' in their gear;
+And ye maun turn the malt, John,
+ Or else ye'll spoil the beer;
+And ye maun reel the tweel, John,
+ That I span yesterday;
+And ye maun ca' in the hens, John,
+ Else they'll all lay away.
+
+O he did dress his children fair,
+ And put them a' in their gear;
+But he forgot to turn the malt,
+ And so he spoil'd the beer:
+And he sang loud as he reeled the tweel
+ That his wife span yesterday;
+But he forgot to put up the hens,
+ And the hens all layed away.
+
+The hawket crummie loot down nae milk;
+ He kirned, nor butter gat;
+And a' gade wrang, and nought gade right;
+ He danced with rage, and grat;
+Then up he ran to the head o' the knowe
+ Wi' mony a wave and shout--
+She heard him as she heard him not,
+ And steered the stots about.
+
+John Grumlie's wife cam hame at e'en,
+ A weary wife and sad,
+And burst into a laughter loud,
+ And laughed as she'd been mad:
+While John Grumlie swore by the light o' the moon
+ And the green leaves on the tree,
+If my wife should na win a penny a day
+ She's aye have her will for me.
+
+ _Allan Cunningham._
+
+
+
+
+ A SONG OF IMPOSSIBILITIES
+
+
+Lady, I loved you all last year,
+ How honestly and well--
+Alas! would weary you to hear,
+ And torture me to tell;
+I raved beneath the midnight sky,
+ I sang beneath the limes--
+Orlando in my lunacy,
+ And Petrarch in my rhymes.
+But all is over! When the sun
+ Dries up the boundless main,
+When black is white, false-hearted one,
+ I may be yours again!
+
+When passion's early hopes and fears
+ Are not derided things;
+When truth is found in falling tears,
+ Or faith in golden rings;
+When the dark Fates that rule our way
+ Instruct me where they hide
+One woman that would ne'er betray,
+ One friend that never lied;
+When summer shines without a cloud,
+ And bliss without a pain;
+When worth is noticed in a crowd,
+ I may be yours again!
+
+When science pours the light of day
+ Upon the lords of lands;
+When Huskisson is heard to say
+ That Lethbridge understands;
+When wrinkles work their way in youth,
+ Or Eldon's in a hurry;
+When lawyers represent the truth,
+ Or Mr. Sumner Surrey;
+When aldermen taste eloquence
+ Or bricklayers champagne;
+When common law is common sense,
+ I may be yours again!
+
+When learned judges play the beau,
+ Or learned pigs the tabor;
+When traveller Bankes beats Cicero,
+ Or Mr. Bishop Weber;
+When sinking funds discharge a debt,
+ Or female hands a bomb;
+When bankrupts study the _Gazette_,
+ Or colleges _Tom Thumb_;
+When little fishes learn to speak,
+ Or poets not to feign;
+When Dr. Geldart construes Greek,
+ I may be yours again!
+
+When Pole and Thornton honour cheques,
+ Or Mr. Const a rogue;
+When Jericho's in Middlesex,
+ Or minuets in vogue;
+When Highgate goes to Devonport,
+ Or fashion to Guildhall;
+When argument is heard at Court,
+ Or Mr. Wynn at all;
+When Sydney Smith forgets to jest,
+ Or farmers to complain;
+When kings that are are not the best,
+ I may be yours again!
+
+When peers from telling money shrink,
+ Or monks from telling lies;
+When hydrogen begins to sink,
+ Or Grecian scrip to rise;
+When German poets cease to dream,
+ Americans to guess;
+When Freedom sheds her holy beam
+ On Negroes, and the Press;
+When there is any fear of Rome,
+ Or any hope of Spain;
+When Ireland is a happy home,
+ I may be yours again!
+
+When you can cancel what has been,
+ Or alter what must be,
+Or bring once more that vanished scene,
+ Those withered joys to me;
+When you can tune the broken lute,
+ Or deck the blighted wreath,
+Or rear the garden's richest fruit,
+ Upon a blasted heath;
+When you can lure the wolf at bay
+ Back to his shattered chain,
+To-day may then be yesterday--
+ I may be yours again!
+
+_Winthrop Mackworth Praed._
+
+
+
+
+ SONG
+
+
+Go and catch a falling star,
+ Get with child a mandrake root;
+Tell me where all past years are,
+ Or who cleft the Devil's foot;
+Teach me to hear Mermaids singing,--
+Or to keep off envy's stinging,
+ And find
+ What wind
+Serves to advance an honest mind.
+
+If thou beest born to strange sights,
+ Things invisible to see,
+Ride ten thousand days and nights,
+ Till age snow white hairs on thee;
+Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me
+All strange wonders that befell thee,
+ And swear
+ Nowhere
+Lives a woman true and fair.
+
+If thou find'st one, let me know;
+ Such a pilgrimage were sweet.
+Yet do not; I would not go,
+ Though at next door we might meet.
+Though she were true when you met her,
+And last till you write your letter,
+ Yet she
+ Will be
+False, ere I come, to two or three.
+
+ _John Donne._
+
+
+
+
+ THE OUBIT
+
+
+It was an hairy oubit, sae proud he crept alang;
+A feckless hairy oubit, and merrily he sang:
+"My Minnie bade me bide at home until I won my wings,
+I shew her soon my soul's aboon the warks o' creeping things."
+
+This feckless hairy oubit cam' hirpling by the linn,
+A swirl o' wind cam' doun the glen, and blew that oubit in.
+Oh, when he took the water, the saumon fry they rose,
+And tigg'd him a' to pieces sma', by head and tail and toes.
+
+Tak' warning then, young poets a', by this poor oubit's shame;
+Though Pegasus may nicher loud, keep Pegasus at hame.
+O haud your hands frae inkhorns, though a' the Muses woo;
+For critics lie, like saumon fry, to mak' their meals o' you.
+
+ _Charles Kingsley._
+
+
+
+
+DOUBLE BALLADE OF PRIMITIVE MAN
+
+
+He lived in a cave by the seas,
+ He lived upon oysters and foes,
+But his list of forbidden degrees
+ An extensive morality shows;
+Geological evidence goes
+ To prove he had never a pan,
+But he shaved with a shell when he chose,--
+ 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.
+
+He worshipp'd the rain and the breeze,
+ He worshipp'd the river that flows,
+And the Dawn, and the Moon, and the trees
+ And bogies, and serpents, and crows;
+He buried his dead with their toes
+ Tucked-up, an original plan,
+Till their knees came right under their nose,--
+ 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.
+
+His communal wives, at his ease,
+ He would curb with occasional blows
+Or his State had a queen, like the bees
+ (As another philosopher trows):
+When he spoke, it was never in prose,
+ But he sang in a strain that would scan,
+For (to doubt it, perchance, were morose)
+ 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!
+
+On the coasts that incessantly freeze,
+ With his stones, and his bones, and his bows,
+On luxuriant tropical leas,
+ Where the summer eternally glows,
+He is found, and his habits disclose
+ (Let theology say what she can)
+That he lived in the long, long agos,
+ Twas the manner of Primitive Man!
+
+From a status like that of the Crees
+ Our society's fabric arose,--
+Develop'd, evolved, if you please,
+ But deluded chronologists chose,
+In a fancied accordance with Mos
+ es, 4000 |B.C.| for the span
+When he rushed on the world and its woes,--
+ 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.
+
+But the mild anthropologist--_he's_
+ Not _recent_ inclined to suppose
+Flints Palaeolithic like these,
+ Quaternary bones such as those!
+In Rhinoceros, Mammoth and Co.'s
+ First epoch the Human began
+Theologians all to expose,--
+ 'Tis the _mission_ of Primitive Man.
+
+ ENVOY
+
+Max, proudly your Aryans pose,
+ But their rigs they undoubtedly ran,
+For, as every Darwinian knows,
+ 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!
+
+ _Andrew Lang._
+
+
+
+
+ PHILLIS'S AGE
+
+
+How old may Phillis be, you ask,
+ Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?
+To answer is no easy task:
+ For she has really two ages.
+
+Stiff in brocade, and pinch'd in stays,
+ Her patches, paint, and jewels on;
+All day let envy view her face,
+ And Phillis is but twenty-one.
+
+Paint, patches, jewels laid aside,
+ At night astronomers agree,
+The evening has the day belied;
+ And Phillis is some forty-three.
+
+ _Matthew Prior._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ V
+
+ CYNICISM
+
+
+
+
+ GOOD AND BAD LUCK
+
+
+Good Luck is the gayest of all gay girls;
+ Long in one place she will not stay:
+Back from your brow she strokes the curls,
+ Kisses you quick and flies away.
+
+But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes
+ And stays--no fancy has she for flitting;
+Snatches of true-love songs she hums,
+ And sits by your bed, and brings her knitting.
+
+ _John Hay._
+
+
+
+
+ BANGKOLIDYE
+
+
+"Gimme my scarlet tie,"
+ Says I.
+"Gimme my brownest boots and hat,
+Gimme a vest with a pattern fancy,
+Gimme a gel with some style, like Nancy,
+And then--well, it's gimes as I'll be at,
+Seein' as its bangkolidye,"
+ Says I.
+
+"May miss it, but we'll try,"
+ Says I.
+Nancy ran like a frightened 'en
+Hup the steps of the bloomin' styeshun.
+Bookin'-orfus at last! Salvyeshun!
+An' the two returns was five-and-ten.
+"An' travellin' mikes your money fly,"
+ Says I.
+
+"This atmosphere is 'igh,"
+ Says I.
+Twelve in a carriage is pretty thick,
+When 'ite of the twelve is a sittin', smokin';
+Nancy started 'er lawkin, and jokin',
+Syin' she 'oped as we shouldn't be sick;
+"Don't go on, or you'll mike me die!"
+ Says I.
+
+"Three styeshuns we've porst by,"
+ Says I.
+"So hout we get at the next, my gel."
+When we got hout, she wer pale and saint-like,
+White in the gills, and sorter faint-like,
+An' said my cigaw 'ad a powerful smell,
+"Well, it's the sime as I always buy,"
+ Says I.
+
+"'Ites them clouds in the sky,"
+ Says I.
+"Don't like 'em at all," I says, "that's flat--
+Black as your boots and sorter thick'nin'."
+"If it's wet," says she, "it _will_ be sick'nin'.
+I wish as I'd brought my other 'at."
+"You thinks too much of your finery,"
+ Says I.
+
+"Keep them sanwidjus dry,"
+ Says I.
+When the rine came down in a reggiler sheet.
+But what can yo do with one umbrella,
+And a damp gel strung on the arm of a fella?
+"Well, rined-on 'am ain't pleasant to eat,
+If yer don't believe it, just go an try,"
+ Says I.
+
+"There is some gels whort cry,"
+ Says I.
+"And there is some don't shed a tear,
+But just get tempers, and when they has'em
+Reaches a pint in their sarcasem,
+As on'y a dorg could bear to 'ear."
+This unto Nancy by-and-by,
+ Says I.
+
+All's hover now. And why,
+ Says I.
+But why did I wear them boots, that vest?
+The bloom is off 'em; they're sad to see;
+And hev'rythin's off twixt Nancy and me;
+And my trousers is off and gone to be pressed--
+And ain't this a blimed bangkolidye?
+ Says I.
+
+ _Barry Pain._
+
+
+
+
+ PENSEES DE NOEL
+
+
+When the landlord wants the rent
+Of your humble tenement;
+When the Christmas bills begin
+Daily, hourly pouring in;
+When you pay your gas and poor rate
+Tip the rector, fee the curate,
+Let this thought your spirit cheer--
+Christmas comes but once a year.
+
+When the man who brings the coal
+Claims his customary dole:
+When the postman rings and knocks
+For his usual Christmas-box:
+When you're dunned by half the town
+With demands for half-a-crown,--
+Think, although they cost you dear,
+Christmas comes but once a year.
+
+When you roam from shop to shop,
+Seeking, till you nearly drop,
+Christmas cards and small donations
+For the maw of your relations,
+Questing vainly 'mid the heap
+For a thing that's nice, and cheap:
+Think, and check the rising tear,
+Christmas comes but once a year.
+
+Though for three successive days
+Business quits her usual ways;
+Though the milkman's voice be dumb;
+Though the paper doesn't come;
+Though you want tobacco, but
+Find that all the shops are shut:
+Bravely still your sorrows bear--
+Christmas comes but once a year.
+
+When mince-pies you can't digest
+Join with waits to break your rest:
+When, oh when, to crown your woe,
+Persons who might better know
+Think it needful that you should
+Don a gay convivial mood:--
+ Bear with fortitude and patience
+ These afflicting dispensations:
+ Man was born to suffer here:
+ Christmas comes but once a year.
+
+ _A. D. Godley._
+
+
+
+
+ A BALLADE OF AN ANTI-PURITAN
+
+
+They spoke of Progress spiring round,
+Of Light and Mrs. Humphry Ward--
+It is not true to say I frowned,
+Or ran about the room and roared;
+I might have simply sat and snored--
+I rose politely in the club
+And said, "I feel a little bored;
+Will someone take me to a pub?"
+
+The new world's wisest did surround
+Me; and it pains me to record
+I did not think their views profound,
+Or their conclusions well assured;
+The simple life I can't afford,
+Besides, I do not like the grub--
+I want a mash and sausage, "scored"--
+Will someone take me to a pub?
+
+I know where Men can still be found,
+Anger and clamorous accord,
+And virtues growing from the ground,
+And fellowship of beer and board,
+And song, that is a sturdy cord,
+And hope, that is a hardy shrub,
+And goodness, that is God's last word--
+Will someone take me to a pub?
+
+ ENVOI
+
+Prince, Bayard would have smashed his sword
+To see the sort of knights you dub--
+Is that the last of them--O Lord!
+Will someone take me to a pub?
+
+ _G. K. Chesterton._
+
+
+
+
+ PESSIMISM
+
+
+In the age that was golden, the halcyon time,
+ All the billows were balmy and breezes were bland.
+Then the poet was never hard up for a rhyme,
+Then the milk and the honey flew free and were prime,
+ And the voice of the turtle was heard in the land.
+
+In the times that are guilty the winds are perverse,
+ Blowing fair for the sharper and foul for the dupe.
+Now the poet's condition could scarcely be worse,
+Now the milk and the honey are strained through the purse,
+ And the voice of the turtle is dead in the soup.
+
+ _Newton Mackintosh._
+
+
+
+
+CYNICAL ODE TO AN ULTRA-CYNICAL PUBLIC
+
+You prefer a buffoon to a scholar,
+A harlequin to a teacher,
+A jester to a statesman,
+An Anonyma flaring on horseback
+To a modest and spotless woman--
+ Brute of a public!
+
+You think that to sneer shows wisdom,
+That a gibe outvalues a reason,
+That slang, such as thieves delight in,
+Is fit for the lips of the gentle,
+And rather a grace than a blemish,
+ Thick-headed public!
+
+You think that if merit's exalted
+'Tis excellent sport to decry it,
+And trail its good name in the gutter;
+And that cynics, white-gloved and cravatted,
+Are the cream and quintessence of all things,
+ Ass of a public!
+
+You think that success must be merit,
+That honour and virtue and courage
+Are all very well in their places,
+But that money's a thousand times better;
+Detestable, stupid, degraded
+ Pig of a public!
+
+ _Charles Mackay._
+
+
+
+
+ YOUTH AND ART
+
+
+It once might have been, once only:
+ We lodged in a street together.
+You, a sparrow on the house-top lonely,
+ I, a lone she-bird of his feather.
+
+Your trade was with sticks and clay,
+ You thumbed, thrust, patted and polished,
+Then laughed, "They will see some day
+ Smith made, and Gibson demolished."
+
+My business was song, song, song;
+ I chirped, cheeped, trilled and twittered,
+"Kate Brown's on the boards ere long,
+ And Grisi's existence embittered!"
+
+I earned no more by a warble
+ Than you by a sketch in plaster;
+You wanted a piece of marble,
+ I needed a music-master.
+
+We studied hard in our styles,
+ Chipped each at a crust like Hindoos,
+For air, looked out on the tiles,
+ For fun watched each other's windows.
+
+You lounged, like a boy of the South,
+ Cap and blouse--nay, a bit of beard too;
+Or you got it rubbing your mouth
+ With fingers the clay adhered to.
+
+And I--soon managed to find
+ Weak points in the flower-fence facing,
+Was forced to put up a blind
+ And be safe in my corset-lacing.
+
+No harm! It was not my fault
+ If you never turned your eyes' tail up,
+As I shook upon E _in alt._,
+ Or ran the chromatic scale up:
+
+For spring bade the sparrows pair,
+ And the boys and girls gave guesses,
+And stalls in our streets looked rare
+ With bulrush and watercresses.
+
+Why did not you pinch a flower
+ In a pellet of clay and fling it?
+Why did I not put a power
+ Of thanks in a look, or sing it?
+
+I did look, sharp as a lynx,
+ (And yet the memory rankles,)
+When models arrived, some minx
+ Tripped up-stairs, she and her ankles.
+
+But I think I gave you as good!
+ "That foreign fellow--who can know
+How she pays, in a playful mood,
+ For his tuning her that piano?"
+
+Could you say so, and never say,
+ "Suppose we join hands and fortunes,
+And I fetch her from over the way,
+ Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes?"
+
+No, no; you would not be rash,
+ Nor I rasher and something over:
+You've to settle yet Gibson's hash,
+ And Grisi yet lives in clover.
+
+But you meet the Prince at the Board,
+ I'm queen myself at _bals-pare_,
+I've married a rich old lord,
+ And you're dubbed knight and an R. A.
+
+Each life's unfulfilled, you see;
+ It hangs still, patchy and scrappy:
+We have not sighed deep, laughed free,
+ Starved, feasted, despaired--been happy.
+
+And nobody calls you a dunce,
+ And people suppose me clever:
+This could but have happened once,
+ And we missed it, lost it forever.
+
+ _Robert Browning._
+
+
+
+
+ BACHELOR'S DREAM
+
+
+My pipe is lit, my grog is mixed,
+My curtains drawn and all is snug;
+Old Puss is in her elbow-chair,
+And Tray is sitting on the rug.
+Last night I had a curious dream,
+Miss Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg--
+What d'ye think of that, my cat?
+What d'ye think of that, my dog?
+
+She looked so fair, she sang so well,
+I could but woo and she was won;
+Myself in blue, the bride in white,
+The ring was placed, the deed was done!
+Away we went in chaise-and-four.
+As fast as grinning boys could flog--
+What d'ye think of that, my cat?
+What d'ye think of that, my dog?
+
+At times we had a spar, and then
+Mamma must mingle in the song--
+The sister took a sister's part--
+The maid declared her master wrong--
+The parrot learned to call me "Fool!"
+My life was like a London fog--
+What d'ye think of that, my cat?
+What d'ye think of that, my dog?
+
+My Susan's taste was superfine,
+As proved by bills that had no end;
+_I_ never had a decent coat--
+_I_ never had a coin to spend!
+She forced me to resign my club,
+Lay down my pipe, retrench my grog--
+What d'ye think of that, my cat?
+What d'ye think of that, my dog?
+
+Each Sunday night we gave a rout
+To fops and flirts, a pretty list;
+And when I tried to steal away,
+I found my study full of whist!
+Then, first to come, and last to go,
+There always was a Captain Hogg--
+What d'ye think of that, my cat?
+What d'ye think of that, my dog?
+
+Now was not that an awful dream
+For one who single is and snug--
+With Pussy in the elbow chair,
+And Tray reposing on the rug?--
+If I must totter down the hill,
+'Tis safest done without a clog--
+What d'ye think of that, my cat?
+What d'ye think of that, my dog?
+
+ _Thomas Hood._
+
+
+
+
+ ALL THINGS EXCEPT MYSELF I KNOW
+
+
+I know when milk does flies contain;
+ I know men by their bravery;
+I know fair days from storm and rain;
+ And what fruit apple-trees supply;
+ And from their gums the trees descry;
+I know when all things smoothly flow;
+ I know who toil or idle lie;
+All things except myself I know.
+
+I know the doublet by the grain;
+ The monk beneath the hood can spy;
+Master from man can ascertain;
+ I know the nun's veiled modesty;
+ I know when sportsmen fables ply;
+Know fools who creams and dainties stow;
+ Wine from the butt I certify;
+All things except myself I know.
+
+Know horse from mule by tail and mane;
+ I know their worth or high or low;
+Bell, Beatrice, I know the twain;
+ I know each chance of cards and dice;
+ I know what visions prophesy,
+Bohemian heresies, I trow;
+ I know men of each quality;
+All things except myself I know.
+
+ ENVOY
+
+Prince, I know all things 'neath the sky,
+ Pale cheeks from those of rosy glow;
+I know death whence can no man fly;
+ All things except myself I know.
+
+ _Francois Villon._
+
+
+
+
+ THE JOYS OF MARRIAGE
+
+
+How uneasy is his life,
+Who is troubled with a wife!
+Be she ne'er so fair or comely,
+Be she ne'er so foul or homely,
+Be she ne'er so young and toward,
+Be she ne'er so old and froward,
+Be she kind, with arms enfolding,
+Be she cross, and always scolding,
+Be she blithe or melancholy,
+Have she wit, or have she folly,
+Be she wary, be she squandering,
+Be she staid, or be she wandering,
+Be she constant, be she fickle,
+Be she fire, or be she ickle;
+Be she pious or ungodly,
+Be she chaste, or what sounds oddly:
+Lastly, be she good or evil,
+Be she saint, or be she devil,--
+Yet, uneasy is his life
+Who is married to a wife.
+
+ _Charles Cotton._
+
+
+
+
+ THE THIRD PROPOSITION
+
+
+If I were thine, I'd fail not of endeavour
+ The loftiest,
+To make thy daily life, now and forever,
+ Supremely blest--
+I'd watch thy moods, I'd toil and wait, with yearning,
+Incessant incense at thy dear shrine burning,
+ If I were thine.
+
+If thou wert mine, quite changed would be these features.
+ Then, I suspect,
+Thou wouldst the humblest prove of loving creatures,
+ And not object
+To do the very things I am declaring
+I'd undertake for _thee_, with selfless daring,
+ If thou wert mine.
+
+If we were ours? And now, here comes the riddle!
+ How would that work?
+I'm sure _you'd_ never stoop to second fiddle,
+ And--I might shirk
+The part of serf. And, likewise, each might neither
+Be willing slave or servitor of either,
+ If we were ours!
+
+ _Madeline Bridges._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BALLAD OF CASSANDRA BROWN
+
+
+Though I met her in the summer, when one's heart lies round at ease,
+As it were in tennis costume, and a man's not hard to please,
+Yet I think that any season to have met her was to love,
+While her tones, unspoiled, unstudied, had the softness of the dove.
+
+At request she read us poems in a nook among the pines,
+And her artless voice lent music to the least melodious lines;
+Though she lowered her shadowing lashes, in an earnest reader's wise,
+Yet we caught blue, gracious glimpses of the heavens which were her
+ eyes.
+
+As in paradise I listened--ah, I did not understand
+That a little cloud, no larger than the average human hand,
+Might, as stated oft in fiction, spread into a sable pall,
+When she said that she should study Elocution in the fall!
+
+I admit her earliest efforts were not in the Ercles vein;
+She began with "Little Maaybel, with her faayce against the payne
+And the beacon-light a-t-r-r-remble"--which, although it made me wince,
+Is a thing of cheerful nature to the things she's rendered since.
+
+Having heard the Soulful Quiver, she acquired the Melting Mo-o-an,
+And the way she gave "Young Grayhead" would have liquefied a stone.
+Then the Sanguinary Tragic did her energies employ,
+And she tore my taste to tatters when she slew "The Polish Boy."
+
+It's not pleasant for a fellow when the jewel of his soul
+Wades through slaughter on the carpet, while her orbs in frenzy roll;
+What was I that I should murmur? Yet it gave me grievous pain
+That she rose in social gatherings, and Searched among the Slain.
+
+I was forced to look upon her in my desperation dumb,
+Knowing well that when her awful opportunity was come
+She would give us battle, murder, sudden death at very least,
+As a skeleton of warning, and a blight upon the feast.
+
+Once, ah! once I fell a-dreaming; some one played a polonaise
+I associated strongly with those happier August days;
+And I mused, "I'll speak this evening," recent pangs forgotten quite--
+Sudden shrilled a scream of anguish: "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"
+
+Ah, that sound was as a curfew, quenching rosy, warm romance--
+Were it safe to wed a woman one so oft would wish in France?
+Oh, as she "cul-limbed" that ladder, swift my mounting hope came down,
+I am still a single cynic; she is still Cassandra Brown!
+
+ _Helen Gray Cone._
+
+
+
+
+ WHAT'S IN A NAME?
+
+
+In letters large upon the frame,
+ That visitors might see,
+The painter placed his humble name:
+ _O'Callaghan McGee_.
+
+And from Beersheba unto Dan,
+ The critics with a nod
+Exclaimed: "This painting Irishman
+ Adores his native sod.
+
+"His stout heart's patriotic flame
+ There's naught on earth can quell;
+He takes no wild romantic name
+ To make his pictures sell!"
+
+Then poets praise in sonnets neat
+ His stroke so bold and free;
+No parlour wall was thought complete
+ That hadn't a McGee.
+
+All patriots before McGee
+ Threw lavishly their gold;
+His works in the Academy
+ Were very quickly sold.
+
+His "Digging Clams at Barnegat,"
+ His "When the Morning smiled,"
+His "Seven Miles from Ararat,"
+ His "Portrait of a Child,"
+
+Were purchased in a single day
+ And lauded as divine.--
+
+ * * * * *
+
+That night as in his _atelier_
+ The artist sipped his wine,
+
+And looked upon his gilded frames,
+ He grinned from ear to ear:--
+"They little think my _real_ name's
+ V. Stuyvesant De Vere!"
+
+ _R. K. Munkittrick._
+
+
+
+
+ TOO LATE
+
+
+"_Ah! si la jeunesse savait_,--_si la vieillesse pouvait_!"
+
+There sat an old man on a rock,
+ And unceasing bewailed him of Fate,--
+That concern where we all must take stock,
+ Though our vote has no hearing or weight;
+ And the old man sang him an old, old song,--
+ Never sang voice so clear and strong
+ That it could drown the old man's for long,
+ For he sang the song "Too late! too late!"
+
+When we want, we have for our pains
+ The promise that if we but wait
+Till the want has burned out of our brains,
+ Every means shall be present to state;
+ While we send for the napkin the soup gets cold,
+ While the bonnet is trimming the face grows old,
+ When we've matched our buttons the pattern is sold
+ And everything comes too late,--too late!
+
+"When strawberries seemed like red heavens,--
+ Terrapin stew a wild dream,--
+When my brain was at sixes and sevens,
+ If my mother had 'folks' and ice cream,
+ Then I gazed with a lickerish hunger
+ At the restaurant man and fruit-monger,--
+ But oh! how I wished I were younger
+ When the goodies all came in a stream! in a stream!
+
+"I've a splendid blood horse, and--a liver
+ That it jars into torture to trot;
+My row-boat's the gem of the river,--
+ Gout makes every knuckle a knot!
+ I can buy boundless credits on Paris and Rome,
+ But no palate for _menus_,--no eyes for a dome,--
+ _Those_ belonged to the youth who must tarry at home,
+ When no home but an attic he'd got,--he'd got!
+
+"How I longed, in that lonest of garrets,
+ Where the tiles baked my brains all July,
+For ground to grow two pecks of carrots,
+ Two pigs of my own in a sty,
+ A rosebush,--a little thatched cottage,--
+ Two spoons--love--a basin of pottage!--
+ Now in freestone I sit,--and my dotage,--
+ With a woman's chair empty close by, close by!
+
+"Ah! now, though I sit on a rock,
+ I have shared one seat with the great;
+I have sat--knowing naught of the clock--
+ On love's high throne of state;
+ But the lips that kissed, and the arms that caressed,
+ To a mouth grown stern with delay were pressed,
+ And circled a breast that their clasp had blessed,
+ Had they only not come too late,--too late!"
+
+ _Fitz Hugh Ludlow._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ANNUITY
+
+
+I gaed to spend a week in Fife--
+ An unco week it proved to be--
+For there I met a waesome wife
+ Lamentin' her viduity.
+Her grief brak out sae fierce and fell,
+I thought her heart wad burst the shell;
+And,--I was sae left to mysel',--
+ I sell't her an annuity.
+
+The bargain lookit fair eneugh--
+ She just was turned o' saxty-three--
+I couldna guessed she'd prove sae teugh,
+ By human ingenuity.
+But years have come, and years have gane,
+And there she's yet as stieve as stane--
+The limmer's growin' young again,
+ Since she got her annuity.
+
+She's crined' awa' to bane and skin,
+ But that, it seems, is nought to me;
+She's like to live--although she's in
+ The last stage o' tenuity.
+She munches wi' her wizen'd gums,
+An' stumps about on legs o' thrums;
+But comes, as sure as Christmas comes,
+ To ca' for her annuity.
+
+I read the tables drawn wi' care
+ For an insurance company;
+Her chance o' life was stated there,
+ Wi' perfect perspicuity.
+But tables here or tables there,
+She's lived ten years beyond her share,
+An' 's like to live a dozen mair,
+ To ca' for her annuity.
+
+Last Yule she had a fearfu' host,
+ I thought a kink might set me free--
+I led her out, 'mang snaw and frost,
+ Wi' constant assiduity.
+But deil ma' care--the blast gaed by,
+And miss'd the auld anatomy--
+It just cost me a tooth, for bye
+ Discharging her annuity.
+
+If there's a' sough o' cholera,
+ Or typhus,--wha sae gleg as she?
+She buys up baths, an' drugs, an' a',
+ In siccan superfluity!
+She doesna need--she's fever proof--
+The pest walked o'er her very roof--
+She tauld me sae--an' then her loof
+ Held out for her annuity.
+
+Ae day she fell, her arm she brak--
+ A compound fracture as could be--
+Nae leech the cure wad undertake,
+ Whate'er was the gratuity.
+It's cured! She handles 't like a flail--
+It does as weel in bits as hale--
+But I'm a broken man mysel'
+ Wi' her and her annuity.
+
+Her broozled flesh and broken banes
+ Are weel as flesh and banes can be.
+She beats the taeds that live in stanes,
+ An' fatten in vacuity!
+They die when they're exposed to air--
+They canna thole the atmosphere;
+But her!--expose her onywhere--
+ She lives for her annuity.
+
+If mortal means could nick her thread,
+ Sma' crime it wad appear to me;
+Ca't murder, or ca't homicide,
+ I'd justify 't--an' do it tae.
+But how to fell a withered wife
+That's carved out o' the tree o' life--
+The timmer limmer daurs the knife
+ To settle her annuity.
+
+I'd try a shot: but whar's the mark?--
+ Her vital parts are hid frae me;
+Her backbane wanders through her sark
+ In an unkenn'd corkscrewity.
+She's palsified--an shakes her head
+Sae fast about, ye scarce can see;
+It's past the power o' steel or lead
+ To settle her annuity.
+
+She might be drowned--but go she'll not
+ Within a mile o' loch or sea;
+Or hanged--if cord could grip a throat
+ O' siccan exiguity.
+It's fitter far to hang the rope--
+It draws out like a telescope;
+'Twad tak a dreadfu' length o' drop
+ To settle her annuity.
+
+Will puzion do't?--It has been tried;
+ But, be't in hash or fricassee,
+That's just the dish she can't abide,
+ Whatever kind o' gout it hae.
+It's needless to assail her doubts,
+She gangs by instinct, like the brutes,
+An' only eats an' drinks what suits
+ Hersel' and her annuity.
+
+The Bible says the age o' man
+ Threescore and ten, perchance, may be;
+She's ninety-four. Let them who can,
+ Explain the incongruity.
+She should hae lived afore the flood--
+She's come o' patriarchal blood,
+She's some auld Pagan mummified
+ Alive for her annuity.
+
+She's been embalmed inside and oot--
+ She's sauted to the last degree--
+There's pickle in her very snoot
+ Sae caper-like an' cruety.
+Lot's wife was fresh compared to her--
+They've kyanized the useless knir,
+She canna decompose--nae mair
+ Than her accursed annuity.
+
+The water-drop wears out the rock,
+ As this eternal jaud wears me;
+I could withstand the single shock,
+ But not the continuity.
+It's pay me here, an' pay me there,
+An' pay me, pay me, evermair--
+I'll gang demented wi' despair--
+ I'm charged for her annuity.
+
+ _George Outram._
+
+
+
+
+ K. K.--CAN'T CALCULATE
+
+
+What poor short-sighted worms we be;
+ For we can't calculate,
+With any sort of sartintee,
+ What is to be our fate.
+
+These words Prissilla's heart did reach,
+ And caused her tears to flow,
+When first she heard the Elder preach,
+ About six months ago.
+
+How true it is what he did state,
+ And thus affected her,
+That nobody can't calculate
+ What is a-gwine to occur.
+
+When we retire, can't calculate
+ But what afore the morn
+Our housen will conflaggerate,
+ And we be left forlorn.
+
+Can't calculate when we come in
+ From any neighborin' place,
+Whether we'll ever go out agin
+ To look on natur's face.
+
+Can't calculate upon the weather,
+ It always changes so;
+Hain't got no means of telling whether
+ It's gwine to rain or snow.
+
+Can't calculate with no precision
+ On naught beneath the sky;
+And so I've come to the decision
+ That't ain't worth while to try.
+
+ _Frances M. Whitcher._
+
+
+
+
+ NORTHERN FARMER
+
+ NEW STYLE
+
+
+Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaaey?
+Proputty, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'em saaey.
+Proputty, proputty, proputty--Sam, thou's an ass for thy paains:
+Theer's moor sense i' one o' 'is legs nor in all thy braains.
+
+Woae--theer's a craw to pluck wi' tha, Sam: yon's parson's 'ouse--
+Dosn't thou knaw that a man mun be eaether a man or a mouse?
+Time to think on it, then; for thou'll be twenty to weeaek.
+Proputty, proputty--woae then, woae--let ma 'ear mysen speaek.
+
+Me an' thy muther, Sammy, 'as beaen a-talkin' o' thee;
+Thou's been talkin' to muther, an' she beaen a-tellin' it me.
+Thou'll not marry for munny--thou's sweet upo' parson's lass--
+Noae--thou'll marry for luvv--an' we boaeth of us thinks tha an ass.
+
+Seeae'd her to-daaey goae by--Saaeint's-daaey--they was ringing the bells.
+She's a beauty, thou thinks--an' soae is scoors o' gells.
+Them as 'as munny an' all--wot's a beauty?--the flower as blaws.
+But proputty, proputty sticks, an' proputty, proputty graws.
+
+Do'ant be stunt: taaeke time: I knaws what maaekes tha sa mad.
+Warn't I craaezed fur the lasses mysen when I wur a lad?
+But I knaw'd a Quaaeker feller as often 'as towd ma this:
+"Do'ant thou marry for munny, but goae wheer munny is!"
+
+An' I went wheer munny war: an' thy mother coom to 'and,
+Wi' lots o' munny laaid by, an' a nicetish hit o' land.
+Maaeybe she warn't a beauty: I niver giv it a thowt--
+But warn't she as good to cuddle an' kiss as a lass as 'ant nowt?
+
+Parson's lass 'ant nowt, an' she weaent 'a nowt when 'e's deaed,
+Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, and addle her breaed:
+Why? fur 'e's nobbut a curate, an' weaent niver git naw 'igher;
+An' 'e's maaede the bed as 'e ligs on afoor 'e coom'd to the shire.
+
+An' thin 'e coom'd to the parish wi' lots o' 'Varsity debt,
+Stook to his taaeil they did, an' 'e 'ant got shut on 'em yet.
+An' 'e ligs on 'is back i' the grip, wi noaen to lend 'im a shove,
+Woorse nor a far-welter'd yowe: fur, Sammy, 'e married fur luvv.
+
+Luvv? what's luvv? thou can luvv thy lass an' 'er munny too,
+Maaekin' 'em goae togither, as they've good right to do.
+Couldn't I luvv thy muther by cause o' 'er munny laaid by?
+Naaey--for I luvv'd her a vast sight moor fur it: reaeson why.
+
+Ay, an' thy muther says thou wants to marry the lass,
+Cooms of a gentleman burn; an' we boaeth on us thinks tha an ass.
+Woae then, proputty, wiltha?--an ass as near as mays nowt--
+Woae then, wiltha? dangtha!--the bees is as fell as owt.
+
+Breaek me a bit o' the esh for his 'eaed, lad, out o' the fence!
+Gentleman burn! What's gentleman burn? Is it shillins an' pence?
+Proputty, proputty's ivrything 'ere, an', Sammy, I'm blest
+If it isn't the saaeme oop yonder, fur them as 'as it's the best.
+
+'Tisn' them as 'as munny as breaeks into 'ouses an' steaels,
+Them as 'as cooets to their backs an 'taaekes their regular meaels.
+Noae, but it's them as niver knaws wheer a meael's to be 'ad.
+Taaeke my word for it, Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.
+
+Them or thir feythers, tha sees, mun 'a beaen a laaezy lot.
+Fur work mun 'a gone to the gittin' whiniver munny was got.
+Feyther 'ad ammost nowt; leaestways 'is munny was 'id.
+But 's tued an' moil'd 'issen deaed, an' 'e died a good un, 'e did.
+
+Loooek thou theer wheer Wrigglesby beck cooms out by the 'ill!
+Feyther run oop to the farm, an' I runs oop to the mill;
+An' I'll run oop to the brig, an' that thou'll live to see;
+And if thou marries a good un I'll leaeve the land to thee.
+
+Thim's my noaetions, Sammy, wheerby I meaens to stick;
+But if 'thou marries a bad un, I'll leaeve the land to Dick.--
+Coom oop, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'im saaey--
+Proputty, proputty, proputty--canter an' canter awaaey.
+
+ _Lord Tennyson._
+
+
+
+
+ FIN DE SIECLE
+
+
+Life is a gift that most of us hold dear:
+ I never asked the spiteful gods to grant it;
+Held it a bore--in short; and now it's here,
+ I do not want it.
+
+Thrust into life, I eat, smoke, drink, and sleep,
+ My mind's a blank I seldom care to question;
+The only faculty I active keep
+ Is my digestion.
+
+Like oyster on his rock, I sit and jest
+ At others' dreams of love or fame or pelf,
+Discovering but a languid interest
+ Even in myself.
+
+An oyster: ah! beneath the quiet sea
+ To know no care, no change, no joy, no pain,
+The warm salt water gurgling into me
+ And out again.
+
+While some in life's old roadside inns at ease
+ Sit careless, all unthinking of the score
+Mine host chalks up in swift unseen increase
+ Behind the door;
+
+Bound like Ixion on life's torture-wheel,
+ I whirl inert in pitiless gyration,
+Loathing it all; the one desire I feel,
+ Annihilation!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THEN AG'IN
+
+
+Jim Bowker, he said, ef he'd had a fair show,
+And a big enough town for his talents to grow,
+And the least bit assistance in hoein' his row,
+ Jim Bowker, he said,
+He'd filled the world full of the sound of his name,
+An' clim the top round in the ladder of fame.
+ It may have been so;
+ I dunno;
+ Jest so, it might been,
+ Then ag'in--
+
+But he had tarnal luck--eyerythin' went ag'in him,
+The arrers of fortune they allus' 'ud pin him;
+So he didn't get no chance to show off what was in him.
+ Jim Bowker, he said,
+Ef he'd had a fair show, you couldn't tell where he'd come,
+An' the feats he'd a-done, an' the heights he'd a-clum--
+ It may have been so;
+ I dunno;
+ Jest so, it might been,
+ Then ag'in--
+
+But we're all like Jim Bowker, thinks I, more or less--
+Charge fate for our bad luck, ourselves for success,
+An' give fortune the blame for all our distress,
+ As Jim Bowker, he said,
+Ef it hadn't been for luck an' misfortune an' sich,
+We might a-been famous, an' might a-been rich.
+ It might be jest so;
+ I dunno;
+ Jest so, it might been,
+ Then ag'in--
+
+ _Sam Walter Foss._
+
+
+
+
+ THE PESSIMIST
+
+
+Nothing to do but work,
+ Nothing to eat but food,
+Nothing to wear but clothes,
+ To keep one from going nude.
+
+Nothing to breathe but air,
+ Quick as a flash 't is gone;
+Nowhere to fall but off,
+ Nowhere to stand but on.
+
+Nothing to comb but hair,
+ Nowhere to sleep but in bed,
+Nothing to weep but tears,
+ Nothing to bury but dead.
+
+Nothing to sing but songs,
+ Ah, well, alas! alack!
+Nowhere to go but out,
+ Nowhere to come but back.
+
+Nothing to see but sights,
+ Nothing to quench but thirst,
+Nothing to have but what we've got
+ Thus through life we are cursed.
+
+Nothing to strike but a gait;
+ Everything moves that goes.
+Nothing at all but common sense
+ Can ever withstand these woes.
+
+ _Ben King._
+
+
+
+
+ WITHOUT AND WITHIN
+
+
+My coachman, in the moonlight there,
+ Looks through the side-light of the door;
+I hear him with his brethren swear,
+ As I could do,--but only more.
+
+Flattening his nose against the pane,
+ He envies me my brilliant lot,
+Breathes on his aching fist in vain,
+ And dooms me to a place more hot.
+
+He sees me in to supper go,
+ A silken wonder by my side,
+Bare arms, bare shoulders, and a row
+ Of flounces, for the door too wide.
+
+He thinks how happy is my arm,
+ 'Neath its white-gloved and jewelled load;
+And wishes me some dreadful harm,
+ Hearing the merry corks explode.
+
+Meanwhile I inly curse the bore
+ Of hunting still the same old coon,
+And envy him, outside the door,
+ The golden quiet of the moon.
+
+The winter wind is not so cold
+ As the bright smile he sees me win,
+Nor the host's oldest wine so old
+ As our poor gabble, sour and thin.
+
+I envy him the rugged prance
+ By which his freezing feet he warms,
+And drag my lady's chains, and dance,
+ The galley-slave of dreary forms.
+
+Oh, could he have my share of din,
+ And I his quiet--past a doubt
+'Twould still be one man bored within,
+ And just another bored without.
+
+ _James Russell Lowell._
+
+
+
+
+ SAME OLD STORY
+
+
+History, and nature, too, repeat themselves, they say;
+Men are only habit's slaves; we see it every day.
+Life has done its best for me--I find it tiresome still;
+For nothing's everything at all, and everything is nil.
+ Same old get-up, dress, and tub;
+ Same old breakfast; same old club;
+ Same old feeling; same old blue;
+ Same old story--nothing new!
+
+Life consists of paying bills as long as you have health;
+Woman? She'll be true to you--as long as you have wealth;
+Think sometimes of marriage, if the right girl I could strike;
+But the more I see of girls, the more they are alike.
+ Same old giggles, smiles, and eyes;
+ Same old kisses; same old sighs;
+ Same old chaff you; same adieu;
+ Same old story--nothing new!
+
+Go to theatres sometimes to see the latest plays;
+Same old plots I played with in my happy childhood's days;
+Hero, same; same villain; and same heroine in tears,
+Starving, homeless, in the snow--with diamonds in her ears.
+ Same stern father making "bluffs";
+ Leading man all teeth and cuffs;
+ Same soubrettes, still twenty-two;
+ Same old story--nothing new!
+
+Friend of mine got married; in a year or so, a boy!
+Father really foolish in his fond paternal joy;
+Talked about that "kiddy," and became a dreadful bore--
+Just as if a baby never had been born before.
+ Same old crying, only more;
+ Same old business, walking floor;
+ Same old "kitchy--coochy--coo!"
+ Same old baby--nothing new!
+
+ _Harry B. Smith._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ VI
+
+ EPIGRAMS
+
+
+
+
+ WOMAN'S WILL
+
+
+Men, dying, make their wills, but wives
+ Escape a work so sad;
+Why should they make what all their lives
+ The gentle dames have had?
+
+ _John G. Saxe._
+
+
+
+
+ CYNICUS TO W. SHAKESPEARE
+
+
+You wrote a line too much, my sage,
+ Of seers the first, and first of sayers;
+For only half the world's a stage,
+ And only all the women players.
+
+ _James Kenneth Stephen._
+
+
+
+
+ SENEX TO MATT. PRIOR
+
+
+Ah! Matt, old age has brought to me
+Thy wisdom, less thy certainty;
+The world's a jest, and joy's a trinket;
+I knew that once,--but now I think it.
+
+ _James Kenneth Stephen._
+
+
+
+
+ TO A BLOCKHEAD
+
+
+You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come:
+Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.
+
+ _Alexander Pope._
+
+
+
+
+ THE FOOL AND THE POET
+
+
+Sir, I admit your general rule,
+That every poet is a fool,
+But you yourself may serve to show it,
+That every fool is not a poet.
+
+ _Alexander Pope._
+
+
+
+
+ A RHYMESTER
+
+
+Jem writes his verses with more speed
+ Than the printer's boy can set 'em;
+Quite as fast as we can read,
+ And only not so fast as we forget 'em.
+
+ _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._
+
+
+
+
+ GILES'S HOPE
+
+
+What? rise again with _all_ one's bones,
+ Quoth Giles, I hope you fib:
+I trusted, when I went to Heaven,
+ To go without my rib.
+
+ _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._
+
+
+
+
+ COLOGNE
+
+
+In Koeln, a town of monks and bones,
+And pavements fanged with murderous stones,
+And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches,
+I counted two-and-seventy stenches,
+All well defined, and separate stinks!
+Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks,
+The river Rhine, it is well known,
+Doth wash your city of Cologne;
+But tell me, nymphs, what power divine
+Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?
+
+ _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._
+
+
+
+
+ AN ETERNAL POEM
+
+
+Your poem must _eternal_ be,
+Dear sir, it can not fail,
+For 'tis incomprehensible,
+And wants both _head_ and _tail_.
+
+ _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._
+
+
+
+
+ ON A BAD SINGER
+
+
+Swans sing before they die:--'twere no bad thing,
+Should certain persons die before they sing.
+
+ _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._
+
+
+
+
+ JOB
+
+
+Sly Beelzebub took all occasions
+To try Job's constancy and patience.
+He took his honor, took his health;
+He took his children, took his wealth,
+His servants, horses, oxen, cows,--
+But cunning Satan did _not_ take his spouse.
+
+But Heaven, that brings out good from evil,
+And loves to disappoint the devil,
+Had predetermined to restore
+_Twofold_ all he had before;
+His servants, horses, oxen, cows--
+Short-sighted devil, _not_ to take his spouse!
+
+ _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._
+
+
+
+
+ REASONS FOR DRINKING
+
+
+If all be true that I do think,
+There are five reasons we should drink;
+Good wine--a friend--or being dry--
+Or lest we should be by and by--
+Or any other reason why.
+
+ _Dr. Henry Aldrich._
+
+
+
+
+ SMATTERERS
+
+
+ All smatterers are more brisk and pert
+Than those that understand an art;
+As little sparkles shine more bright
+Than glowing coals, that give them light.
+
+ _Samuel Butler._
+
+
+
+
+ HYPOCRISY
+
+
+ Hypocrisy will serve as well
+To propagate a church, as zeal;
+As persecution and promotion
+Do equally advance devotion:
+So round white stones will serve, they say,
+As well as eggs to make hens lay.
+
+ _Samuel Butler._
+
+
+
+
+ TO DOCTOR EMPIRIC
+
+
+When men a dangerous disease did 'scape,
+Of old, they gave a cock to AEsculape;
+Let me give two, that doubly am got free;
+From my disease's danger, and from thee.
+
+ _Ben Jonson._
+
+
+
+
+ A REMEDY WORSE THAN THE DISEASE
+
+
+I sent for Ratcliffe; was so ill,
+ That other doctors gave me over:
+He felt my pulse, prescribed his pill,
+ And I was likely to recover.
+
+But when the wit began to wheeze,
+ And wine had warm'd the politician,
+Cured yesterday of my disease,
+ I died last night of my physician.
+
+ _Matthew Prior._
+
+
+
+
+ A WIFE
+
+
+Lord Erskine, at women presuming to rail,
+Calls a wife "a tin canister tied to one's tail";
+And fair Lady Anne, while the subject he carries on,
+Seems hurt at his Lordship's degrading comparison.
+But wherefore degrading? consider'd aright,
+A canister's useful, and polish'd, and bright:
+And should dirt its original purity hide,
+That's the fault of the puppy to whom it is tied.
+
+ _Richard Brinsley Sheridan._
+
+
+
+
+ THE HONEY-MOON
+
+
+The honey-moon is very strange.
+Unlike all other moons the change
+ She regularly undergoes.
+She rises at the full; then loses
+Much of her brightness; then reposes
+ Faintly; and then ... has naught to lose.
+
+ _Walter Savage Landor._
+
+
+
+
+ DIDO
+
+ IMPROMPTU EPIGRAM ON THE LATIN GERUNDS
+
+
+When Dido found AEneas would not come,
+She mourn'd in silence, and was _Di-do-dum(b)_.
+
+ _Richard Parson._
+
+
+
+
+ AN EPITAPH
+
+
+A lovely young lady I mourn in my rhymes:
+She was pleasant, good-natured, and civil sometimes.
+Her figure was good: she had very fine eyes,
+And her talk was a mixture of foolish and wise.
+Her adorers were many, and one of them said,
+"She waltzed rather well! It's a pity she's dead!"
+
+ _George John Cayley._
+
+
+
+
+ ON TAKING A WIFE
+
+
+"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life,
+ There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake.--
+It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife."--
+ "Why, so it is, father,--whose wife shall I take?"
+
+ _Thomas Moore._
+
+
+
+
+UPON BEING OBLIGED TO LEAVE A PLEASANT PARTY FROM THE WANT OF A PAIR OF
+ BREECHES TO DRESS FOR DINNER IN
+
+
+Between Adam and me the great difference is,
+ Though a paradise each has been forced to resign,
+That he never wore breeches till turn'd out of his,
+ While, for want of my breeches, I'm banish'd from mine.
+
+ _Thomas Moore._
+
+
+
+
+ SOME LADIES
+
+
+Some ladies now make pretty songs,
+ And some make pretty nurses;
+Some men are great at righting wrongs
+ And some at writing verses.
+
+ _Frederick Locker-Lampson._
+
+
+
+
+ ON A SENSE OF HUMOUR
+
+
+He cannot be complete in aught
+ Who is not humorously prone;
+A man without a merry thought
+ Can hardly have a funny-bone.
+
+ _Frederick Locker-Lampson._
+
+
+
+
+ON HEARING A LADY PRAISE A CERTAIN REV. DOCTOR'S EYES
+
+
+I cannot praise the Doctor's eyes;
+ I never saw his glance divine;
+He always shuts them when he prays,
+ And when he preaches he shuts mine.
+
+ _George Outram._
+
+
+
+
+ EPITAPH INTENDED FOR HIS WIFE
+
+
+Here lies my wife: here let her lie!
+Now she's at rest, and so am I.
+
+ _John Dryden._
+
+
+
+
+ TO A CAPRICIOUS FRIEND
+
+ IMITATED FROM MARTIAL
+
+
+In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow,
+Thou 'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow;
+Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee,
+There is no living with thee, nor without thee.
+
+ _Joseph Addison._
+
+
+
+
+ WHICH IS WHICH
+
+
+"God bless the King! God bless the faith's defender!
+God bless--no harm in blessing--the Pretender.
+But who pretender is, and who is king,
+God bless us all, that's quite another thing."
+
+ _John Byrom._
+
+
+
+
+ON A FULL-LENGTH PORTRAIT OF BEAU MARSH PLACED BETWEEN THE BUSTS OF
+ NEWTON AND POPE
+
+
+"Immortal Newton never spoke
+ More truth than here you'll find;
+Nor Pope himself e'er penn'd a joke
+ More cruel on mankind.
+
+"The picture placed the busts between,
+ Gives satire all its strength;
+Wisdom and Wit are little seen--
+ But Folly at full length."
+
+ _Lord Chesterfield._
+
+
+
+
+ ON SCOTLAND
+
+
+"Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom;
+Nor forced him wander, but confined him home."
+
+ _Cleveland._
+
+
+
+
+ MENDAX
+
+
+See yonder goes old Mendax, telling lies
+To that good easy man with whom he's walking;
+How know I that? you ask, with some surprise;
+Why, don't you see, my friend, the fellow's talking.
+
+ _Lessing._
+
+
+
+
+ TO A SLOW WALKER AND QUICK EATER
+
+
+So slowly you walk, and so quickly you eat,
+You should march with your mouth, and devour with your feet.
+
+ _Lessing._
+
+
+
+
+ WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE?
+
+
+_Quest._--Why is a Pump like Viscount Castlereagh?
+ _Answ._--Because it is a slender thing of wood,
+That up and down its awkward arm doth sway,
+And coolly spout, and spout, and spout away,
+ In one weak, washy, everlasting flood!
+
+ _Thomas Moore._
+
+
+
+
+ OF ALL THE MEN
+
+
+Of all the men one meets about,
+ There's none like Jack--he's everywhere:
+At church--park--auction--dinner--rout--
+ Go when and where you will, he's there.
+Try the West End, he's at your back--
+ Meets you, like Eurus, in the East--
+You're call'd upon for "How do, Jack?"
+ One hundred times a day, at least.
+A friend of his one evening said,
+ As home he took his pensive way,
+"Upon my soul, I fear Jack's dead--
+ I've seen him but three times to-day!"
+
+ _Thomas Moore._
+
+
+
+
+ ON BUTLER'S MONUMENT
+
+
+While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive,
+No generous patron would a dinner give.
+See him, when starved to death and turn'd to dust,
+Presented with a monumental bust.
+The poet's fate is here in emblem shown--
+He ask'd for _bread_, and he received a _stone_.
+
+ _Rev. Samuel Wesley._
+
+
+
+
+ A CONJUGAL CONUNDRUM
+
+
+Which is of greater value, prythee, say,
+ The Bride or Bridegroom?--must the truth be told?
+Alas, it must! The Bride is given away--
+ The Bridegroom's often regularly sold.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ VII
+
+ BURLESQUE
+
+
+
+
+ LOVERS AND A REFLECTION
+
+
+In moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter
+ (And heaven it knoweth what that may mean;
+Meaning, however, is no great matter)
+ Where woods are a-tremble with words a-tween;
+
+Thro' God's own heather we wonned together,
+ I and my Willie (O love my love):
+I need hardly remark it was glorious weather,
+ And flitter-bats wavered alow, above:
+
+Boats were curtseying, rising, bowing,
+ (Boats in that climate are so polite,)
+And sands were a ribbon of green endowing,
+ And O the sun-dazzle on bark and bight!
+
+Thro' the rare red heather we danced together
+ (O love my Willie,) and smelt for flowers:
+I must mention again it was glorious weather,
+ Rhymes are so scarce in this world of ours:
+
+By rises that flushed with their purple favors,
+ Thro' becks that brattled o'er grasses sheen,
+We walked or waded, we two young shavers,
+ Thanking our stars we were both so green.
+
+We journeyed in parallels, I and Willie,
+ In fortunate parallels! Butterflies,
+Hid in weltering shadows of daffodilly
+ Or Marjoram, kept making peacock eyes:
+
+Song-birds darted about, some inky
+ As coal, some snowy (I ween) as curds;
+Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky--
+ They reck of no eerie To-come, those birds!
+
+But they skim over bents which the mill-stream washes,
+ Or hang in the lift 'neath a white cloud's hem;
+They need no parasols, no goloshes;
+ And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth them.
+
+Then we thrid God's cowslips (as erst his heather),
+ That endowed the wan grass with their golden blooms;
+And snapt--(it was perfectly charming weather)--
+ Our fingers at Fate and her goddess-glooms:
+
+And Willie 'gan sing--(Oh, his notes were fluty;
+ Wafts fluttered them out to the white-winged sea)--
+Something made up of rhymes that have done much duty,
+ Rhymes (better to put it) of "ancientry":
+
+Bowers of flowers encountered showers
+ In William's carol--(O love my Willie!)
+Then he bade sorrow borrow from blithe to-morrow
+ I quite forget what--say a daffodilly.
+
+A nest in a hollow, "with buds to follow,"
+ I think occurred next in his nimble strain;
+And clay that was "kneaden" of course in Eden--
+ A rhyme most novel I do maintain:
+
+Mists, bones, the singer himself, love-stories,
+ And all least furlable things got furled;
+Not with any design to conceal their glories,
+ But simply and solely to rhyme with world.
+
+O if billows and pillows and hours and flowers,
+ And all the brave rhymes of an elder day,
+Could be furled together, this genial weather,
+ And carted or carried on wafts away,
+Nor ever again trotted out--ah me!
+How much fewer volumes of verse there'd be.
+
+ _Charles Stuart Calverley._
+
+
+
+
+ OUR HYMN
+
+
+At morning's call
+The small-voiced pug dog welcomes in the sun,
+And flea-bit mongrels wakening one by one,
+ Give answer all.
+
+When evening dim
+Draws rounds us, then the lovely caterwaul,
+Tart solo, sour duet and general squall,
+ These are our hymn.
+
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
+
+
+
+
+ "SOLDIER, REST!"
+
+
+A Russian sailed over the blue Black Sea
+ Just when the war was growing hot,
+And he shouted, "I'm Tjalikavakeree--
+ Karindabrolikanavandorot--
+ Schipkadirova--
+ Ivandiszstova--
+ Sanilik--
+ Danilik--
+ Varagobhot!"
+
+A Turk was standing upon the shore
+ Right where the terrible Russian crossed;
+And he cried, "Bismillah! I'm Abd el Kor--
+ Bazaroukilgonautoskobrosk--
+ Getzinpravadi--
+ Kilgekosladji--
+ Grivido--
+ Blivido--
+ Jenikodosk!"
+
+So they stood like brave men, long and well,
+ And they called each other their proper names,
+Till the lockjaw seized them, and where they fell
+ They buried them both by the Irdosholames--
+ Kalatalustchuk--
+ Mischaribustchup--
+ Bulgari--
+ Dulgari--
+ Sagharimainz.
+
+ _Robert J. Burdette._
+
+
+
+
+ IMITATION
+
+
+Calm and implacable,
+Eying disdainfully the world beneath,
+Sat Humpty-Dumpty on his mural eminence
+In solemn state:
+And I relate his story
+In verse unfettered by the bothering restrictions of rhyme or metre,
+In verse (or "rhythm," as I prefer to call it)
+Which, consequently, is far from difficult to write.
+
+He sat. And at his feet
+The world passed on--the surging crowd
+Of men and women, passionate, turgid, dense,
+Keenly alert, lethargic, or obese.
+(Those two lines scan!)
+
+Among the rest
+He noted Jones; Jones with his Roman nose,
+His eyebrows--the left one streaked with a dash of gray--
+And yellow boots.
+Not that Jones
+Has anything in particular to do with the story;
+But a descriptive phrase
+Like the above shows that the writer is
+A Master of Realism.
+
+Let us proceed. Suddenly from his seat
+Did Humpty-Dumpty slip. Vainly he clutched
+The impalpable air. Down and down,
+Right to the foot of the wall,
+Right on to the horribly hard pavement that ran beneath it,
+Humpty-Dumpty, the unfortunate Humpty-Dumpty,
+Fell.
+
+And him, alas! no equine agency,
+Him no power of regal battalions--
+Resourceful, eager, strenuous--
+Could ever restore to the lofty eminence
+Which once was his.
+Still he lies on the very identical
+Spot where he fell--lies, as I said on the ground,
+Shamefully and conspicuously abased!
+
+ _Anthony C. Deane._
+
+
+
+
+ THE MIGHTY MUST
+
+
+Come mighty Must!
+ Inevitable Shall!
+In thee I trust.
+ Time weaves my coronal!
+Go mocking Is!
+ Go disappointing Was!
+That I am this
+ Ye are the cursed cause!
+Yet humble second shall be first,
+ I ween;
+And dead and buried be the curst
+ Has Been!
+
+Oh weak Might Be!
+ Oh, May, Might, Could, Would, Should!
+How powerless ye
+ For evil or for good!
+In every sense
+ Your moods I cheerless call,
+Whate'er your tense
+ Ye are imperfect, all!
+Ye have deceived the trust I've shown
+ In ye!
+Away! The Mighty Must alone
+ Shall be!
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ MIDSUMMER MADNESS
+
+ A SOLILOQUY
+
+
+I am a hearthrug--
+ Yes, a rug--
+Though I cannot describe myself as snug;
+Yet I know that for me they paid a price
+For a Turkey carpet that would suffice
+(But we live in an age of rascal vice).
+ Why was I ever woven,
+For a clumsy lout, with a wooden leg,
+To come with his endless Peg! Peg!
+ Peg! Peg!
+ With a wooden leg,
+Till countless holes I'm drove in.
+("Drove," I have said, and it should be "driven";
+A hearthrug's blunders should be forgiven,
+For wretched scribblers have exercised
+ Such endless bosh and clamour,
+So improvidently have improvised,
+That they've utterly ungrammaticised
+ Our ungrammatical grammar).
+ And the coals
+ Burn holes,
+ Or make spots like moles,
+And my lily-white tints, as black as your hat turn,
+And the housemaid (a matricide, will-forging slattern),
+ Rolls
+ The rolls
+ From the plate, in shoals,
+When they're put to warm in front of the coals;
+And no one with me condoles,
+For the butter stains on my beautiful pattern.
+But the coals and rolls, and sometimes soles,
+Dropp'd from the frying-pan out of the fire.
+Are nothing to raise my indignant ire,
+ Like the Peg! Peg!
+Of that horrible man with the wooden leg.
+This moral spread from me,
+ Sing it, ring it, yelp it--
+Never a hearthrug be,
+ That is if you can help it.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ MAVRONE
+
+ ONE OF THOSE SAD IRISH POEMS, WITH NOTES
+
+
+From Arranmore the weary miles I've come;
+ An' all the way I've heard
+A Shrawn[1] that's kep' me silent, speechless, dumb,
+ Not sayin' any word.
+An' was it then the Shrawn of Eire,[2] you'll say,
+ For him that died the death on Carrisbool?
+It was not that; nor was it, by the way,
+ The Sons of Garnim[3] blitherin' their drool;
+Nor was it any Crowdie of the Shee,[4]
+ Or Itt, or Himm, nor wail of Barryhoo[5]
+For Barrywhich that stilled the tongue of me.
+'Twas but my own heart cryin' out for you
+Magraw![6] Bulleen, shinnanigan, Boru,
+Aroon, Machree, Aboo![7]
+
+ _Arthur Guiterman._
+
+[Footnote 1: A Shrawn is a pure Gaelic noise, something like a groan,
+more like a shriek, and most like a sigh of longing.]
+
+[Footnote 2: Eire was daughter of Carne, King of Connaught. Her lover,
+Murdh of the Open Hand, was captured by Greatcoat Mackintosh, King of
+Ulster, on the plain of Carrisbool, and made into soup. Eire's grief on
+this sad occasion has become proverbial.]
+
+[Footnote 3: Garnim was second cousin to Manannan MacLir. His sons were
+always sad about something. There were twenty-two of them, and they
+were all unfortunate in love at the same time, just like a chorus at
+the opera. "Blitherin' their drool" is about the same as "dreeing their
+weird."]
+
+[Footnote 4: The Shee (or "Sidhe," as I should properly spell it if you
+were not so ignorant) were, as everybody knows, the regular, stand-pat,
+organization fairies of Erin. The Crowdie was their annual convention,
+at which they made melancholy sounds. The Itt and Himm were the
+irregular, or insurgent, fairies. They _never_ got any offices or
+patronage. See MacAlester, _Polity of the Sidhe of West Meath_, page
+985.]
+
+[Footnote 5: The Barryhoo is an ancient Celtic bird about the size of a
+Mavis, with lavender eyes and a black-crape tail. It continually mourns
+its mate (Barrywhich, feminine form), which has an hereditary
+predisposition to an early and tragic demise and invariably dies
+first.]
+
+[Footnote 6: Magraw, a Gaelic term of endearment, often heard on the
+baseball fields of Donnybrook.]
+
+[Footnote 7: These last six words are all that tradition has preserved
+of the original incantation by means of which Irish rats were rhymed to
+death. Thereby hangs a good Celtic tale, which I should be glad to tell
+you in this note; but the publishers say that being prosed to death is
+as bad as being rhymed to death, and that the readers won't stand for
+any more.]
+
+
+
+
+ LILIES
+
+
+Lilies, lilies, white lilies and yellow--
+Lilies, lilies, purple lilies and golden--
+Calla lilies, tiger lilies, lilies of the valley--
+Lilies, lilies, lilies--
+Bulb, bud and blossom--
+What made them lilies?
+If they were not lilies they would have to be something else, would they
+ not?
+What was it that made them lilies instead of making them violets or
+ roses or geraniums or petunias?
+What was it that made you yourself and me myself? What?
+Alas! I do not know!
+
+ _Don Marquis._
+
+
+
+
+ FOR I AM SAD
+
+
+No usual words can bear the woe I feel,
+No tralatitions trite give me relief!
+O Webster! lend me words to voice my grief
+Bitter as quassia, quass or kumquat peel!
+For I am sad ... bound on the cosmic wheel,
+What mad chthonophagy bids slave and chief
+Through endless cycles bite the earth like beef,
+By turns each cannibal and each the meal?
+Turn we to nature Webster, and we see
+Your whidah bird refuse all strobile fruit,
+Your tragacanth in tears ooze from the tree ...
+We hear your flammulated owlets hoot!
+Turn we to nature, Webster, and we find
+Few creatures have a quite contented mind.
+Your koulan there, with dyslogistic snort,
+Will leave his phacoid food on worts to browse,
+While glactophorous Himalayan cows
+The knurled kohl-rabi spurn in uncouth sport;
+No margay climbs margosa trees; the short
+Gray mullet drink no mulse, nor house
+In pibcorns when the youth of Wales carouse ...
+No tournure doth the toucan's tail contort ...
+So I am sad! ... and yet, on Summer eves,
+When xebecs search the whishing scree for whelk,
+And the sharp sorrel lifts obcordate leaves,
+And cryptogamous plants fulfil the elk,
+I see the octopus play with his feet,
+And find within this sadness something sweet.
+
+The thing we like about that poem is its recognition of all the sorrow
+there is in the universe ... its _unflinching_ recognition, we might
+say, if we were not afraid of praising our own work too highly ...
+combined with its happy ending.
+
+One feels, upon reading it, that, although everything everywhere is
+very sad, and all wrong, one has only to have patience and after a
+while everything everywhere will be quite right and very sweet.
+
+No matter how interested one may be in these literary problems, one
+must cease discussing them at times or one will be late to one's meals.
+
+ _Don Marquis._
+
+
+
+
+ A LITTLE SWIRL OF VERS LIBRE
+
+NOT COVERED, STRANGE TO SAY, BY THE PENAL CODE
+
+
+I am numb from world-pain--
+I sway most violently as the thoughts course through me,
+And athwart me,
+And up and down me--
+Thoughts of cosmic matters,
+Of the mergings of worlds within worlds,
+And unutterabilities
+And room-rent,
+And other tremendously alarming phenomena,
+Which stab me,
+Rip me most outrageously;
+(Without a semblance, mind you, of respect for the Hague Convention's
+ rules governing soul-slitting.)
+Aye, as with the poniard of the Finite pricking the rainbow-bubble of
+ the Infinite!
+(Some figure, that!)
+(Some little rush of syllables, that!)--
+And make me--(are you still whirling at my coat-tails, reader?)
+Make me--ahem, where was I?--oh, yes--make me,
+In a sudden, overwhelming gust of soul-shattering rebellion,
+Fall flat on my face!
+
+ _Thomas R. Ybarra._
+
+
+
+
+ YOUNG LOCHINVAR
+
+ THE TRUE STORY IN BLANK VERSE
+
+
+Oh! young Lochinvar has come out of the West,
+Thro' all the wide border his horse has no equal,
+Having cost him forty-five dollars at the market,
+Where good nags, fresh from the country,
+With burrs still in their tails are selling
+For a song; and save his good broad sword
+He weapon had none, except a seven-shooter
+Or two, a pair of brass knuckles, and an Arkansaw
+
+Toothpick in his boot, so, comparatively speaking,
+He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,
+Because there was no one going his way.
+He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for
+Toll-gates; he swam the Eske River where ford
+There was none, and saved fifteen cents
+In ferriage, but lost his pocket-book, containing
+Seventeen dollars and a half, by the operation.
+Ere he alighted at the Netherby mansion
+He stopped to borrow a dry suit of clothes,
+And this delayed him considerably, so when
+He arrived the bride had consented--the gallant
+Came late--for a laggard in love and a dastard in war
+Was to wed the fair Ellen, and the guests had assembled.
+
+So, boldly he entered the Netherby Hall
+Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and
+Brothers-in-law and forty or fifty cousins;
+Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword
+(For the poor craven bridegroom ne'er opened his head)
+
+"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in anger,
+Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"
+"I long wooed your daughter, and she will tell you
+I have the inside track in the free-for-all
+For her affections! my suit you denied; but let
+That pass, while I tell you, old fellow, that love
+Swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,
+And now I am come with this lost love of mine
+To lead but one measure, drink one glass of beer;
+There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far
+That would gladly be bride to yours very truly."
+
+The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up,
+He quaffed off the nectar and threw down the mug,
+Smashing it into a million pieces, while
+He remarked that he was the son of a gun
+From Seven-up and run the Number Nine.
+She looked down to blush, but she looked up again
+For she well understood the wink in his eye;
+He took her soft hand ere her mother could
+Interfere, "Now tread we a measure; first four
+Half right and left; swing," cried young Lochinvar.
+
+One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
+When they reached the hall door and the charger
+Stood near on three legs eating post hay;
+So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
+Then leaped to the saddle before her.
+"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and spar,
+They'll have swift steeds that follow"--but in the
+
+Excitement of the moment he had forgotten
+To untie the horse, and the poor brute could
+Only gallop in a little circus around the
+Hitching-post; so the old gent collared
+The youth and gave him the awfullest lambasting
+That was ever heard of on Canobie Lee;
+So dauntless in war and so daring in love,
+Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ IMAGISTE LOVE LINES
+
+
+I love my lady with a deep purple love;
+She fascinates me like a fly
+Struggling in a pot of glue.
+Her eyes are grey, like twin ash-cans,
+Just emptied, about which still hovers
+A dainty mist.
+Her disposition is as bright as a ten-cent shine,
+Yet her kisses are tender and goulashy.
+I love my lady with a deep purple love.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ BYGONES
+
+
+Or ever a lick of Art was done,
+ Or ever a one to care,
+I was a Purple Polygon,
+ And you were a Sky-Blue Square.
+
+You yearned for me across a void,
+ For I lay in a different plane,
+I'd set my heart on a Red Rhom_boid_,
+ And your sighing was in vain.
+
+You pined for me as well I knew,
+ And you faded day by day,
+Until the Square that was heavenly Blue,
+ Had paled to an ashen grey.
+
+A myriad years or less or more,
+ Have softly fluttered by,
+Matters are much as they were before,
+ Except 'tis I that sigh.
+
+I yearn for you, but I have no chance,
+ You lie in a different plane,
+I break my heart for a single glance,
+ And I break said heart in vain.
+
+And ever I grow more pale and wan,
+ And taste your old despair,
+When I was a Purple Polygon,
+ And you were a Sky-Blue Square.
+
+ _Bert Leston Taylor._
+
+
+
+
+ JUSTICE TO SCOTLAND
+
+ AN UNPUBLISHED POEM BY BURNS
+
+
+O mickle yeuks the keckle doup,
+ An' a' unsicker girns the graith,
+For wae and wae! the crowdies loup
+ O'er jouk an' hallan, braw an' baith
+Where ance the coggie hirpled fair,
+ And blithesome poortith toomed the loof,
+There's nae a burnie giglet rare
+ But blaws in ilka jinking coof.
+
+The routhie bield that gars the gear
+ Is gone where glint the pawky een.
+And aye the stound is birkin lear
+ Where sconnered yowies wheeped yestreen,
+The creeshie rax wi' skelpin' kaes
+ Nae mair the howdie bicker whangs,
+Nor weanies in their wee bit claes
+ Glour light as lammies wi' their sangs.
+
+Yet leeze me on my bonny byke!
+ My drappie aiblins blinks the noo,
+An' leesome luve has lapt the dyke
+ Forgatherin' just a wee bit fou.
+And Scotia! while thy rantin' lunt
+ Is mirk and moop with gowans fine,
+I'll stowlins pit my unco brunt,
+ An' cleek my duds for auld lang syne.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+LAMENT OF THE SCOTCH-IRISH EXILE
+
+
+Oh, I want to win me hame
+ To my ain countrie,
+The land frae whence I came
+ Far away across the sea;
+Bit I canna find it there, on the atlas anywhere,
+And I greet and wonder sair
+ Where the deil it can be?
+
+I hae never met a man,
+ In a' the warld wide,
+Who has trod my native lan'
+ Or its distant shores espied;
+But they tell me there's a place where my hypothetic race
+Its dim origin can trace--
+ Tipperary-on-the-Clyde.
+
+But anither answers: "Nae,
+ Ye are varra far frae richt;
+Glasgow town in Dublin Bay
+ Is the spot we saw the licht."
+But I dinna find the maps bearing out these pawkie chaps,
+And I sometimes think perhaps
+ It has vanished out o' sight.
+
+Oh, I fain wad win me hame
+ To that undiscovered lan'
+That has neither place nor name
+ Where the Scoto-Irishman
+May behold the castles fair by his fathers builded there
+Many, many ages ere
+ Ancient history began.
+
+ _James Jeffrey Roche._
+
+
+
+
+ A SONG OF SORROW
+
+A LULLABYLET FOR A MAGAZINELET
+
+
+Wan from the wild and woful West--
+ Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
+Mother will sing to--you know the rest--
+ Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
+Softly the sand steals slowly by,
+Cursed be the curlew's chittering cry;
+By-a-by, oh, by-a-by!
+ Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
+
+Rosy and sweet come the hush of night--
+ Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
+(Twig to the lilt, I have got it all right)
+ Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
+Dark are the dark and darkling days
+Winding the webbed and winsome ways,
+Homeward she creeps in dim amaze--
+ Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
+ (But it waked up, drat it!)
+
+ _Charles Battell Loomis._
+
+
+
+
+ THE REJECTED "NATIONAL HYMNS"
+
+
+ I
+
+ BY H---Y W. L-NGF----W
+
+Back in the years when Phlagstaff, the Dane, was monarch
+ Over the sea-ribb'd land of the fleet-footed Norsemen,
+Once there went forth young Ursa to gaze at the heavens--
+ Ursa--the noblest of all the Vikings and horsemen.
+
+Musing, he sat in his stirrups and viewed the horizon,
+ Where the Aurora lapt stars in a North-polar manner,
+Wildly he started,--for there in the heavens before him
+ Flutter'd and flam'd the original Star Spangled Banner.
+
+ II
+
+ BY J-HN GR--NL--F WH--T--R
+
+My Native Land, thy Puritanic stock
+Still finds its roots firm-bound in Plymouth Rock,
+And all thy sons unite in one grand wish--
+To keep the virtues of Preserved Fish.
+
+Preserved Fish, the Deacon stern and true,
+Told our New England what her sons should do,
+And if they swerve from loyalty and right,
+Then the whole land is lost indeed in night.
+
+ III
+
+ BY DR. OL-V-R W-ND-L H-LMES
+
+A diagnosis of our hist'ry proves
+Our native land a land its native loves;
+Its birth a deed obstetric without peer,
+Its growth a source of wonder far and near.
+
+To love it more behold how foreign shores
+Sink into nothingness beside its stores;
+Hyde Park at best--though counted ultra-grand--
+The "Boston Common" of Victoria's land.
+
+ IV
+
+ BY R-LPH W-LDO EM-R--N
+
+Source immaterial of material naught,
+ Focus of light infinitesimal,
+Sum of all things by sleepless Nature wrought,
+ Of which the normal man is decimal.
+
+Refract, in prism immortal, from thy stars
+ To the stars bent incipient on our flag,
+The beam translucent, neutrifying death,
+ And raise to immortality the rag.
+
+ V
+
+ BY W-LL--M C-LL-N B-Y-NT
+
+The sun sinks softly to his Ev'ning Post,
+ The sun swells grandly to his morning crown;
+Yet not a star our Flag of Heav'n has lost,
+ And not a sunset stripe with him goes down.
+
+So thrones may fall, and from the dust of those
+ New thrones may rise, to totter like the last;
+But still our Country's nobler planet glows
+ While the eternal stars of Heaven are fast.
+
+ VI
+
+ BY N. P. W-LL-IS
+
+One hue of our Flag is taken
+ From the cheeks of my blushing Pet,
+And its stars beat time and sparkle
+ Like the studs on her chemisette.
+
+Its blue is the ocean shadow
+ That hides in her dreamy eyes,
+It conquers all men, like her,
+ And still for a Union flies.
+
+ VII
+
+ BY TH-M--S B-IL-Y ALD--CH
+
+The little brown squirrel hops in the corn,
+ The cricket quaintly sings,
+The emerald pigeon nods his head,
+ And the shad in the river springs,
+The dainty sunflow'r hangs its head
+ On the shore of the summer sea;
+And better far that I were dead,
+ If Maud did not love me.
+
+I love the squirrel that hops in the corn,
+ And the cricket that quaintly sings;
+And the emerald pigeon that nods his head,
+ And the shad that gaily springs.
+I love the dainty sunflow'r, too,
+ And Maud with her snowy breast;
+I love them all;--but I love--I love--
+ I love my country best.
+
+ _Robert H. Newell._
+
+
+
+
+ THE EDITOR'S WOOING
+
+
+We love thee, Ann Maria Smith,
+ And in thy condescension
+We see a future full of joys
+ Too numerous to mention.
+
+There's Cupid's arrow in thy glance,
+ That by thy love's coercion
+Has reached our melting heart of hearts,
+ And asked for one insertion.
+
+With joy we feel the blissful smart;
+ And ere our passion ranges,
+We freely place thy love upon
+ The list of our exchanges.
+
+There's music in thy lowest tone,
+ And silver in thy laughter:
+And truth--but we will give the full
+ Particulars hereafter.
+
+Oh, we could tell thee of our plans
+ All obstacles to scatter;
+But we are full just now, and have
+ A press of other matter.
+
+Then let us marry, Queen of Smiths,
+ Without more hesitation:
+The very thought doth give our blood
+ A larger circulation.
+
+ _Robert H. Newell._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BABY'S DEBUT[1]
+
+
+A BURLESQUE IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH--REJECTED ADDRESSES
+
+
+[Spoken in the character of Nancy Lake, a girl eight years of age, who
+is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise by Samuel Hughes, her
+uncle's porter.]
+
+My brother Jack was nine in May,
+And I was eight on New-year's-day;
+ So in Kate Wilson's shop
+Papa (he's my papa and Jack's)
+Bought me, last week, a doll of wax,
+ And brother Jack a top.
+Jack's in the pouts, and this it is--
+He thinks mine came to more than his;
+
+ So to my drawer he goes,
+Takes out the doll, and, O, my stars!
+He pokes her head between the bars,
+ And melts off half her nose!
+
+Quite cross, a bit of string I beg,
+And tie it to his peg-top's peg,
+ And bang, with might and main,
+Its head against the parlor-door:
+Off flies the head, and hits the floor,
+ And breaks a window-pane.
+
+This made him cry with rage and spite:
+Well, let him cry, it serves him right.
+ A pretty thing, forsooth!
+If he's to melt, all scalding hot,
+Half my doll's nose, and I am not
+ To draw his peg-top's tooth!
+
+Aunt Hannah heard the window break,
+And cried, "O naughty Nancy Lake,
+ Thus to distress your aunt:
+No Drury Lane for you to-day!"
+And while papa said, "Pooh, she may!"
+ Mamma said, "No, she sha'n't!"
+
+Well, after many a sad reproach,
+They got into a hackney-coach,
+ And trotted down the street.
+I saw them go: one horse was blind,
+The tails of both hung down behind,
+ Their shoes were on their feet.
+
+The chaise in which poor brother Bill
+Used to be drawn to Pentonville,
+ Stood in the lumber-room:
+I wiped the dust from off the top,
+While Molly mopped it with a mop,
+ And brushed it with a broom.
+
+My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes,
+Came in at six to black the shoes,
+ (I always talk to Sam:)
+So what does he, but takes, and drags
+Me in the chaise along the flags,
+ And leaves me where I am.
+
+My father's walls are made of brick,
+But not so tall and not so thick
+ As these; and, goodness me!
+My father's beams are made of wood,
+But never, never half so good
+ As those that now I see.
+
+What a large floor! 'tis like a town!
+The carpet, when they lay it down,
+ Won't hide it, I'll be bound;
+And there's a row of lamps!--my eye!
+How they do blaze! I wonder why
+ They keep them on the ground.
+
+At first I caught hold of the wing,
+And kept away; but Mr. Thing-
+ umbob, the prompter man,
+Gave with his hand my chaise a shove,
+And said, "Go on, my pretty love;
+ Speak to 'em little Nan.
+
+"You've only got to curtsy, whisp-
+er, hold your chin up, laugh and lisp,
+ And then you're sure to take:
+I've known the day when brats, not quite
+Thirteen, got fifty pounds a night;
+ Then why not Nancy Lake?"
+
+But while I'm speaking, where's papa?
+And where's my aunt? and where's mamma?
+ Where's Jack? O there they sit!
+They smile, they nod; I'll go my ways,
+And order round poor Billy's chaise,
+ To join them in the pit.
+
+And now, good gentlefolks, I go
+To join mamma, and see the show;
+ So, bidding you adieu,
+I curtsy like a pretty miss,
+And if you'll blow to me a kiss,
+ I'll blow a kiss to you.
+ [Blows a kiss, and exit.]
+
+ _James Smith._
+
+[Footnote 1: "The author does not, in this instance, attempt to copy
+any of the higher attributes of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry; but has
+succeeded perfectly in the imitation of his mawkish affectations of
+childish simplicity and nursery stammering. We hope it will make him
+ashamed of his _Alice Fell_, and the greater part of his last
+volumes--of which it is by no means a parody, but a very fair, and
+indeed we think a flattering, imitation."--_Edinburg Review._]
+
+
+
+
+ THE CANTELOPE
+
+
+Side by side in the crowded streets,
+ Amid its ebb and flow,
+We walked together one autumn morn;
+ ('Twas many years ago!)
+
+The markets blushed with fruits and flowers;
+ (Both Memory and Hope!)
+You stopped and bought me at the stall,
+ A spicy cantelope.
+
+We drained together its honeyed wine,
+ We cast the seeds away;
+I slipped and fell on the moony rinds,
+ And you took me home on a dray!
+
+The honeyed wine of your love is drained;
+ I limp from the fall I had;
+The snow-flakes muffle the empty stall,
+ And everything is sad.
+
+The sky is an inkstand, upside down,
+ It splashes the world with gloom;
+The earth is full of skeleton bones,
+ And the sea is a wobbling tomb!
+
+ _Bayard Taylor._
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR BALLAD: "NEVER FORGET YOUR PARENTS"
+
+
+A young man once was sitting
+ Within a swell cafe,
+The music it was playing sweet--
+ The people was quite gay.
+But he alone was silent,
+ A tear was in his eye--
+A waitress she stepped up to him, and
+ Asked him gently why.
+
+ (Change to Minor)
+
+He turned to her in sorrow and
+ At first he spoke no word,
+But soon he spoke unto her, for
+ She was an honest girl.
+He rose up from the table
+ In that elegant cafe,
+And in a voice replete with tears
+ To her he then did say:
+
+ CHORUS
+
+Never forget your father,
+ Think all he done for you;
+A mother is a boy's best friend,
+ So loving, kind, and true,
+If it were not for them, I'm sure
+ I might be quite forlorn;
+And if your parents had not have lived
+ You would not have been born.
+
+A hush fell on the laughing throng,
+ It made them feel quite bad,
+For most of them was people, and
+ Some parents they had had.
+Both men and ladies did shed tears.
+ The music it did cease,
+For all knew he had spoke the truth
+ By looking at his face.
+
+ (Change to Minor)
+
+The waitress she wept bitterly
+ And others was in tears
+It made them think of the old home
+ They had not saw in years.
+And while their hearts was heavy and
+ Their eyes they was quite red.
+This brave and honest boy again
+ To them these words he said:
+
+ CHORUS
+
+Never forget your father,
+ Think all he done for you;
+A mother is a boy's best friend,
+ So loving, kind, and true,
+If it were not for them, I'm sure
+ I might be quite forlorn;
+And if your parents had not have lived
+ You would not have been born.
+
+ _Franklin P. Adams._
+
+
+
+
+ HOW A GIRL WAS TOO RECKLESS OF GRAMMAR
+
+
+Matilda Maud Mackenzie frankly hadn't any chin,
+Her hands were rough, her feet she turned invariably in;
+ Her general form was German,
+ By which I mean that you
+ Her waist could not determine
+ Within a foot or two.
+And not only did she stammer,
+But she used the kind of grammar
+ That is called, for sake of euphony, askew.
+
+From what I say about her, don't imagine I desire
+A prejudice against this worthy creature to inspire.
+ She was willing, she was active,
+ She was sober, she was kind,
+ But she _never_ looked attractive
+ And she _hadn't_ any mind.
+I knew her more than slightly,
+And I treated her politely
+ When I met her, but of course I wasn't blind!
+
+Matilda Maud Mackenzie had a habit that was droll,
+She spent her morning seated on a rock or on a knoll,
+ And threw with, much, composure
+ A smallish rubber ball
+ At an inoffensive osier
+ By a little waterfall;
+But Matilda's way of throwing
+Was like other people's mowing,
+ And she never hit the willow-tree at all!
+
+One day as Miss Mackenzie with uncommon ardour tried
+To hit the mark, the missile flew exceptionally wide.
+ And, before her eyes astounded,
+ On a fallen maple's trunk
+ Ricochetted and rebounded
+ In the rivulet, and sunk!
+Matilda, greatly frightened,
+In her grammar unenlightened,
+ Remarked, "Well now I ast yer, who'd 'er thunk?"
+
+But what a marvel followed! From the pool at once there rose
+A frog, the sphere of rubber balanced deftly on his nose.
+ He beheld her fright and frenzy
+ And, her panic to dispel,
+ On his knee by Miss Mackenzie
+ He obsequiously fell.
+With quite as much decorum
+As a speaker in a forum
+ He started in his history to tell.
+
+"Fair maid," he said, "I beg you do not hesitate or wince,
+If you'll promise that you'll wed me, I'll at once become a prince;
+ For a fairy, old and vicious,
+ An enchantment round me spun!"
+ Then he looked up, unsuspicious,
+ And he saw what he had won,
+And in terms of sad reproach, he
+Made some comments, _sotto voce_,
+ (Which the publishers have bidden me to shun!)
+
+Matilda Maud Mackenzie said, as if she meant to scold;
+"I _never_! Why, you forward thing! Now, ain't you awful bold!"
+ Just a glance he paused to give her,
+ And his head was seen to clutch,
+ Then he darted to the river,
+ And he dived to beat the Dutch!
+While the wrathful maiden panted
+"I don't think he was enchanted!"
+ (And he really didn't look it overmuch!)
+
+ THE MORAL
+
+In one's language one conservative should be;
+ Speech is silver and it never should be free!
+
+ _Guy Wetmore Carryl._
+
+
+
+
+ BEHOLD THE DEEDS!
+
+ CHANT ROYAL
+
+
+(Being the Plaint of Adolphe Culpepper Ferguson, Salesman of Fancy
+Notions, held in durance of his Landlady for a failure to connect on
+Saturday night.)
+
+ I
+
+I would that all men my hard case might know;
+ How grievously I suffer for no sin:
+I, Adolphe Culpepper Ferguson, for lo!
+ I, of my landlady am locked in.
+For being short on this sad Saturday,
+Nor having shekels of silver wherewith to pay,
+She has turned and is departed with my key;
+Wherefore, not even as other boarders free,
+ I sing (as prisoners to their dungeon stones
+When for ten days they expiate a spree):
+ Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!
+
+ II
+
+One night and one day have I wept my woe;
+ Nor wot I when the morrow doth begin,
+If I shall have to write to Briggs & Co.,
+ To pray them to advance the requisite tin
+For ransom of their salesman, that he may
+Go forth as other boarders go alway--
+As those I hear now flocking from their tea,
+Led by the daughter of my landlady
+ Pianoward. This day for all my moans,
+Dry bread and water have been served me.
+ Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!
+
+ III
+
+Miss Amabel Jones is musical, and so
+ The heart of the young he-boarder doth win,
+Playing "The Maiden's Prayer," adagio--
+ That fetcheth him, as fetcheth the banco skin
+The innocent rustic. For my part, I pray:
+That Badarjewska maid may wait for aye
+Ere sits she with a lover, as did we
+Once sit together, Amabel! Can it be
+ That all of that arduous wooing not atones
+For Saturday shortness of trade dollars three?
+ Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!
+
+ IV
+
+Yea! she forgets the arm was wont to go
+ Around her waist. She wears a buckle whose pin
+Galleth the crook of the young man's elbow;
+ I forget not, for I that youth have been.
+Smith was aforetime the Lothario gay.
+Yet once, I mind me, Smith was forced to stay
+Close in his room. Not calm, as I, was he;
+But his noise brought no pleasaunce, verily.
+ Small ease he gat of playing on the bones,
+Or hammering on his stove-pipe, that I see.
+ Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!
+
+ V
+
+Thou, for whose fear the figurative crow
+ I eat, accursed be thou and all thy kin!
+Thee will I show up--yea, up will I show
+ Thy too thick buckwheats, and thy tea too thin.
+Ay! here I dare thee, ready for the fray!
+Thou dost not keep a first-class house, I say!
+It does not with the advertisements agree.
+Thou lodgest a Briton with a pugaree,
+ And thou hast harbored Jacobses and Cohns,
+Also a Mulligan. Thus denounce I thee!
+ Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!
+
+ ENVOY
+
+Boarders! the worst I have not told to ye:
+She hath stole my trousers, that I may not flee
+ Privily by the window. Hence these groans,
+There is no fleeing in a _robe de nuit_.
+ Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!
+
+ _H. C. Bunner._
+
+
+
+
+VILLON'S STRAIGHT TIP TO ALL CROSS COVES
+
+ "_Tout aux tavernes et aux fiells_"
+
+
+Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
+ Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
+Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
+ Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
+ Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
+Or get the straight, and land your pot?
+ How do you melt the multy swag?
+Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
+
+Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
+ Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
+Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
+ Pad with a slang, or chuck a fag;
+ Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
+Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
+ You cannot bag a single stag;
+Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
+
+Suppose you try a different tack,
+ And on the square you flash your flag?
+At penny-a-lining make your whack,
+ Or with the mummers mug and gag?
+ For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
+At any graft, no matter what,
+ Your merry goblins soon stravag:
+Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
+
+ THE MORAL
+
+ It's up the spout and Charley Wag
+With wipes and tickers and what not
+ Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
+Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
+
+ _William Ernest Henley._
+
+
+
+
+ CULTURE IN THE SLUMS
+
+ Inscribed to an Intense Poet
+
+
+ I. RONDEAU
+
+"O crikey, Bill!" she ses to me, she ses.
+ "Look sharp," ses she, "with them there sossiges.
+Yea! sharp with them there bags of mysteree!
+For lo!" she ses, "for lo! old pal," ses she,
+ "I'm blooming peckish, neither more nor less."
+
+Was it not prime--I leave you all to guess
+How prime!--to have a Jude in love's distress
+ Come spooning round, and murmuring balmilee,
+ "O crikey, Bill!"
+For in such rorty wise doth Love express
+His blooming views, and asks for your address,
+ And makes it right, and does the gay and free.
+ I kissed her--I did so! And her and me
+Was pals. And if that ain't good business,
+ "O crikey, Bill!"
+
+ II. VILLANELLE
+
+Now ain't they utterly too-too
+ (She ses, my Missus mine, ses she),
+Them flymy little bits of Blue.
+
+Joe, just you kool 'em--nice and skew
+ Upon our old meogginee,
+Now ain't they utterly too-too?
+
+They're better than a pot'n' a screw,
+ They're equal to a Sunday spree,
+Them flymy little bits of Blue!
+
+Suppose I put 'em up the flue,
+ And booze the profits, Joe? Not me.
+Now ain't they utterly too-too?
+
+I do the 'Igh Art fake, I do.
+ Joe, I'm consummate; and I _see_
+Them flymy little bits of Blue.
+
+Which Joe, is why I ses ter you--
+ AEsthetic-like, and limp, and free--
+Now _ain't_ they utterly too-too,
+Them flymy little bits of Blue?
+
+ III. BALLADE
+
+I often does a quiet read
+ At Booty Shelly's poetry;
+I thinks that Swinburne at a screed
+ Is really almost too too fly;
+ At Signor Vagna's harmony
+I likes a merry little flutter;
+ I've had at Pater many a shy;
+In fact, my form's the Bloomin' Utter.
+
+My mark's a tidy little feed,
+ And 'Enery Irving's gallery,
+To see old 'Amlick do a bleed,
+ And Ellen Terry on the die,
+ Or Frankey's ghostes at hi-spy,
+And parties carried on a shutter.
+ Them vulgar Coupeaus is my eye!
+In fact my form's the Bloomin' Utter.
+
+The Grosvenor's nuts--it is, indeed!
+ I goes for 'Olman 'Unt like pie.
+It's equal to a friendly lead
+ To see B. Jones's judes go by.
+ Stanhope he make me fit to cry.
+Whistler he makes me melt like butter.
+ Strudwick he makes me flash my cly--
+In fact, my form's the Bloomin' Utter.
+
+ ENVOY
+
+ I'm on for any Art that's 'Igh;
+I talks as quiet as I can splutter;
+ I keeps a Dado on the sly;
+In fact, my form's the Bloomin' Utter.
+
+ _William Ernest Henley._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LAWYER'S INVOCATION TO SPRING
+
+
+Whereas, on certain boughs and sprays
+ Now divers birds are heard to sing,
+And sundry flowers their heads upraise,
+ Hail to the coming on of Spring!
+
+The songs of those said birds arouse
+ The memory of our youthful hours,
+As green as those said sprays and boughs,
+ As fresh and sweet as those said flowers.
+
+The birds aforesaid--happy pairs--
+ Love, 'mid the aforesaid boughs, inshrines
+In freehold nests; themselves their heirs,
+ Administrators, and assigns.
+
+O busiest term of Cupid's Court,
+ Where tender plaintiffs actions bring,--
+Season of frolic and of sport,
+ Hail, as aforesaid, coming Spring!
+
+ _Henry Howard Brownell._
+
+
+
+
+ NORTH, EAST, SOUTH, AND WEST
+
+ AFTER R. K.
+
+
+Oh! I have been North, and I have been South, and the East hath seen me
+ pass,
+And the West hath cradled me on her breast, that is circled round with
+ brass,
+And the world hath laugh'd at me, and I have laugh'd at the world alone,
+With a loud hee-haw till my hard-work'd jaw is stiff as a dead man's
+ bone!
+
+Oh! I have been up and I have been down and over the sounding sea,
+And the sea-birds cried as they dropp'd and died at the terrible sight
+ of me,
+For my head was bound with a star, and crown'd with the fire of utmost
+ hell,
+And I made this song with a brazen tongue and a more than fiendish yell:
+
+"Oh! curse you all, for the sake of men who have liv'd and died for
+ spite,
+And be doubly curst for the dark ye make where there ought to be but
+ light,
+And be trebly curst by the deadly spell of a woman's lasting hate,--
+And drop ye down to the mouth of hell who would climb to the Golden
+ Gate!"
+
+Then the world grew green, and grim and grey at the horrible noise I
+ made,
+And held up its hands in a pious way when I call'd a spade a spade;
+But I cared no whit for the blame of it, and nothing at all for its
+ praise,
+And the whole consign'd with a tranquil mind to a sempiternal blaze!
+
+All this have I sped, and have brought me back to work at the set of
+ sun,
+And I set my seal to the thoughts I feel in the twilight one by one,
+For I speak but sooth in the name of Truth when I write such things as
+ these;
+
+And the whole I send to a critical friend who is learned in Kiplingese!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ MARTIN LUTHER AT POTSDAM
+
+
+What lightning shall light it? What thunder shall tell it?
+ In the height of the height, in the depth of the deep?
+Shall the sea-storm declare it, or paint it, or smell it?
+ Shall the price of a slave be its treasure to keep?
+When the night has grown near with the gems on her bosom,
+ When the white of mine eyes is the whiteness of snow,
+When the cabman--in liquor--drives a blue roan, a kicker,
+ Into the land of the dear long ago.
+
+Ah!--Ah, again!--You will come to me, fall on me--
+ You are _so_ heavy, and I am _so_ flat.
+And I? I shall not be at home when you call on me,
+ But stray down the wind like a gentleman's hat:
+I shall list to the stars when the music is purple,
+ Be drawn through a pipe, and exhaled into rings;
+Turn to sparks, and then straightway get stuck in the gateway
+ That stands between speech and unspeakable things.
+
+As I mentioned before, by what light is it lighted?
+ Oh! Is it fourpence, or piebald, or gray?
+Is it a mayor that a mother has knighted
+ Or is it a horse of the sun and the day?
+Is it a pony? If so, who will change it?
+ O golfer, be quiet, and mark where it scuds,
+And think of its paces--of owners and races--
+ Relinquish the links for the study of studs.
+
+Not understood? Take me hence! Take me yonder!
+ Take me away to the land of my rest--
+There where the Ganges and other gees wander,
+ And uncles and antelopes act for the best,
+And all things are mixed and run into each other
+ In a violet twilight of virtues and sins,
+With the church-spires below you and no one to show you
+ Where the curate leaves off and the pew-rent begins!
+
+In the black night through the rank grass the snakes peer--
+ The cobs and the cobras are partial to grass--
+And a boy wanders out with a knowledge of Shakespeare
+ That's not often found in a boy of his class,
+And a girl wanders out without any knowledge,
+ And a bird wanders out, and a cow wanders out,
+Likewise one wether, and they wander together--
+ There's a good deal of wandering lying about.
+
+But its all for the best; I've been told by my friends, Sir,
+ That in verses I'd written the meaning was slight;
+I've tried with no meaning--to make 'em amends, Sir--
+ And find that this kind's still more easy to write.
+The title has nothing to do with the verses,
+ But think of the millions--the laborers who
+In busy employment find deepest enjoyment,
+ And yet, like my title, have nothing to do!
+
+ _Barry Pain._
+
+
+
+
+ AN IDYLL OF PHATTE AND LEENE
+
+
+The hale John Sprat--oft called for shortness, Jack--
+Had married--had, in fact, a wife--and she
+Did worship him with wifely reverence.
+He, who had loved her when she was a girl,
+Compass'd her too, with sweet observances;
+E'en at the dinner table did it shine.
+For he--liking no fat himself--he never did,
+With jealous care piled up her plate with lean,
+Not knowing that all lean was hateful to her.
+And day by day she thought to tell him o't,
+And watched the fat go out with envious eye,
+But could not speak for bashful delicacy.
+
+At last it chanced that on a winter day,
+The beef--a prize joint!--little was but fat;
+So fat, that John had all his work cut out,
+To snip out lean fragments for his wife,
+Leaving, in very sooth, none for himself;
+Which seeing, she spoke courage to her soul,
+Took up her fork, and, pointing to the joint
+Where 'twas the fattest, piteously she said;
+"Oh, husband! full of love and tenderness!
+What is the cause that you so jealously
+Pick out the lean for me. I like it not!
+Nay, loathe it--'tis on the fat that I would feast;
+O me, I fear you do not like my taste!"
+
+Then he, dropping his horny-handled carving knife,
+Sprinkling therewith the gravy o'er her gown,
+Answer'd, amazed: "What! you like fat, my wife!
+And never told me. Oh, this is not kind!
+Think what your reticence has wrought for us;
+How all the fat sent down unto the maidWho
+likes not fat--for such maids never do--
+Has been put in the waste-tub, sold for grease,
+And pocketed as servant's perquisite!
+Oh, wife! this news is good; for since, perforce,
+A joint must be not fat nor lean, but both;
+Our different tastes will serve our purpose well;
+For, while you eat the fat--the lean to me
+Falls as my cherished portion. Lo! 'tis good!"
+So henceforth--he that tells the tale relates--
+In John Sprat's household waste was quite unknown;
+For he the lean did eat, and she the fat,
+And thus the dinner-platter was all cleared.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT
+
+
+And this reft house is that the which he built,
+Lamented Jack! and here his malt he piled.
+Cautious in vain! these rats that squeak so wild,
+Squeak not unconscious of their father's guilt.
+Did he not see her gleaming through the glade!
+Belike 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.
+What though she milked no cow with crumpled horn,
+Yet, aye she haunts the dale where erst she strayed:
+And aye before her stalks her amorous knight!
+Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,
+And through those brogues, still tattered and betorn,
+His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white.
+
+ _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._
+
+
+
+
+ PALABRAS GRANDIOSAS
+
+ AFTER T---- B---- A----
+
+
+I lay i' the bosom of the sun,
+Under the roses dappled and dun.
+I thought of the Sultan Gingerbeer,
+In his palace beside the Bendemeer,
+With his Afghan guards and his eunuchs blind,
+And the harem that stretched for a league behind.
+The tulips bent i' the summer breeze,
+Under the broad chrysanthemum-trees,
+And the minstrel, playing his culverin,
+Made for mine ears a merry din,
+If I were the Sultan, and he were I,
+Here i' the grass he should loafing lie,
+And I should bestride my zebra steed,
+And ride to the hunt of the centipede:
+While the pet of the harem, Dandeline,
+Should fill me a crystal bucket of wine,
+And the kislar aga, Up-to-Snuff,
+Should wipe my mouth when I sighed, "Enough!"
+And the gay court poet, Fearfulbore,
+Should sit in the hall when the hunt was o'er,
+And chant me songs of silvery tone,
+Not from Hafiz, but--mine own!
+
+Ah, wee sweet love, beside me here,
+I am not the Sultan Gingerbeer,
+Nor you the odalisque Dandeline,
+Yet I am yourn, and you are mine!
+
+ _Bayard Taylor._
+
+
+
+
+ A LOVE PLAYNT--1370
+
+
+To yow, my Purse, and to noon other wighte,
+ Complayne I, for ye be my lady dere!
+I am so sorry now that ye been lyghte,
+ For, certes, yf ye make me hevy chere,
+ Me were as leef be layde upon my beere.
+For whiche unto your mercie thus I crye,
+Beethe hevy ageyne, or elles mote I die!
+
+Now voucheth sauf this day, or hyt be nighte,
+ That I of yow the blissful soun may here,
+Or see your colour lyke the sunne brighte,
+ That of yellownesse hadde never pere.
+ Ye be my lyf! ye be myn herty's stere!
+Quene of comfort and good companye!
+Beethe hevy ageyne, or elles mote I die!
+
+Now, Purse! that ben to me my lyve's lyghte,
+ And surety as doune in this world here,
+Out of this toune helpe me through your myghte,
+ Syn that you wole not bene my tresorere;
+ For I am shave as nigh as is a frere.
+But I pray unto your curtesye,
+Beethe hevy ageyne, or elles mote I die!
+
+ _Godfrey Turner._
+
+
+
+
+ DARWINITY
+
+
+Power to thine elbow, thou newest of sciences,
+ All the old landmarks are ripe for decay;
+Wars are but shadows, and so are alliances,
+ Darwin the great is the man of the day.
+
+All other 'ologies want an apology;
+ Bread's a mistake--Science offers a stone;
+Nothing is true but Anthropobiology--
+ Darwin the great understands it alone.
+
+Mighty the great evolutionist teacher is
+ Licking Morphology clean into shape;
+Lord! what an ape the Professor or Preacher is
+ Ever to doubt his descent from an ape.
+
+Man's an Anthropoid--he cannot help that, you know--
+ First evoluted from Pongos of old;
+He's but a branch of the _catarrhine_ cat, you know--
+ Monkey I mean--that's an ape with a cold.
+
+Fast dying out are man's later Appearances,
+ Cataclysmitic Geologies gone;
+Now of Creation completed the clearance is,
+ Darwin alone you must anchor upon.
+
+Primitive Life--Organisms were chemical,
+ Busting spontaneous under the sea;
+Purely subaqueous, panaquademical,
+ Was the original Crystal of Me.
+
+I'm the Apostle of mighty Darwinity,
+ Stands for Divinity--sounds much the same--
+Apo-theistico-Pan-Asininity
+ Only can doubt whence the lot of us came.
+
+Down on your knees, Superstition and Flunkeydom!
+ Won't you accept such plain doctrines instead?
+What is so simple as primitive Monkeydom
+ Born in the sea with a cold in its head?
+
+ _Herman C. Merivale._
+
+
+
+
+SELECT PASSAGES FROM A COMING PORT
+
+
+ DISENCHANTMENT
+
+My Love has sicklied unto Loath,
+ And foul seems all that fair I fancied--
+The lily's sheen's a leprous growth,
+ The very buttercups are rancid.
+
+ ABASEMENT
+
+With matted head a-dabble in the dust,
+ And eyes tear-sealed in a saline crust
+I lie all loathly in my rags and rust--
+Yet learn that strange delight may lurk in self-disgust.
+
+STANZA WRITTEN IN DEPRESSION NEAR DULWICH
+
+The lark soars up in the air;
+ The toad sits tight in his hole;
+And I would I were certain which of the pair
+ Were the truer type of my soul!
+
+ TO MY LADY
+
+Twine, lanken fingers, lily-lithe,
+ Gleam, slanted eyes, all beryl-green,
+Pout, blood-red lips that burst a-writhe,
+ Then--kiss me, Lady Grisoline!
+
+ THE MONSTER
+
+Uprears the monster now his slobberous head,
+ Its filamentous chaps her ankles brushing;
+Her twice-five roseal toes are cramped in dread,
+ Each maidly instep mauven-pink is flushing.
+
+ A TRUMPET BLAST
+
+Pale Patricians, sunk in self-indulgence,
+ Blink your bleared eyes. Behold the Sun--
+Burst proclaim in purpurate effulgence,
+ Demos dawning, and the Darkness done!
+
+ _F. Anstey._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ROMAUNT OF HUMPTY DUMPTY
+
+
+'Tis midnight, and the moonbeam sleeps
+ Upon the garden sward;
+My lady in yon turret keeps
+ Her tearful watch and ward.
+"Beshrew me!" mutters, turning pale,
+ The stalwart seneschal;
+"What's he, that sitteth, clad in mail
+ Upon our castle wall?"
+
+"Arouse thee, friar of orders grey;
+ What ho! bring book and bell!
+Ban yonder ghastly thing, I say;
+ And, look ye, ban it well!
+By cock and pye, the Humpty's face!"
+ The form turned quickly round;
+Then totter'd from its resting-place--
+
+ * * * * *
+
+That night the corse was found.
+
+The king, with hosts of fighting men
+ Rode forth at break of day;
+Ah! never gleamed the sun till then
+ On such a proud array.
+But all that army, horse and foot,
+ Attempted, quite in vain,
+Upon the castle wall to put
+ The Humpty up again.
+
+ _Henry S. Leigh._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WEDDING
+
+
+Lady Clara Vere de Vere!
+I hardly know what I must say,
+But I'm to be Queen of the May, mother,
+I'm to be Queen of the May!
+I am half-crazed; I don't feel grave,
+ Let me rave!
+
+Whole weeks and months, early and late,
+To win his love I lay in wait.
+ Oh, the Earl was fair to see,
+ As fair as any man could be;--
+ The wind is howling in turret and tree!
+
+We two shall be wed tomorrow morn,
+ And I shall be the Lady Clare,
+And when my marriage morn shall fall,
+ I hardly know what I shall wear.
+ But I shan't say "my life is dreary,"
+ And sadly hang my head,
+ With the remark, "I'm very weary,
+ And wish that I were dead."
+
+But on my husband's arm I'll lean,
+ And roundly waste his plenteous gold,
+Passing the honeymoon serene
+ In that new world which is the old.
+For down we'll go and take the boat
+Beside St. Katherine's docks afloat,
+Which round about its prow has wrote--
+ "The Lady of Shalotter"
+(Mondays and Thursdays,--Captain Foat),
+ Bound for the Dam of Rotter.
+
+ _Thomas Hood, Jr._
+
+
+
+
+ IN MEMORIAM TECHNICAM
+
+
+I count it true which sages teach--
+ That passion sways not with repose,
+ That love, confounding these with those,
+Is ever welding each with each.
+
+And so when time has ebbed away,
+ Like childish wreaths too lightly held,
+ The song of immemorial eld
+Shall moan about the belted bay.
+
+Where slant Orion slopes his star,
+ To swelter in the rolling seas,
+ Till slowly widening by degrees
+The grey climbs upward from afar.
+
+And golden youth and passion stray
+ Along the ridges of the strand,--
+ Not far apart, but hand in hand,--
+With all the darkness danced away!
+
+ _Thomas Hood, Jr._
+
+
+
+
+ "SONGS WITHOUT WORDS"
+
+
+I cannot sing the old songs,
+ Though well I know the tune,
+Familiar as a cradle-song
+ With sleep-compelling croon;
+Yet though I'm filled with music
+ As choirs of summer birds
+"I cannot sing the old songs"--
+ I do not know the words.
+
+I start on "Hail Columbia,"
+ And get to "heav'n-born band,"
+And there I strike an up-grade
+ With neither steam nor sand;
+"Star Spangled Banner" downs me
+ Right in my wildest screaming,
+I start all right, but dumbly come
+ To voiceless wreck at "streaming."
+
+So, when I sing the old songs,
+ Don't murmur or complain
+If "Ti, diddy ah da, tum dum,"
+ Should fill the sweetest strain.
+I love "Tolly um dum di do,"
+ And the "trilla-la yeep da" birds,
+But "I cannot sing the old songs"--
+ I do not know the words.
+
+ _Robert J. Burdette._
+
+
+
+
+ AT THE SIGN OF THE COCK
+
+ FRENCH STYLE, 1898
+
+Being an Ode in further "Contribution to the Song of French History,"
+dedicated, without malice or permission to Mr. George Meredith.
+
+
+ I
+
+Rooster her sign,
+Rooster her pugnant note, she struts
+Evocative, amazon spurs aprick at heel;
+Nid-nod the authentic stump
+Of the once ensanguined comb vermeil as wine;
+With conspuent doodle-doo
+Hails breach o' the hectic dawn of yon New Year,
+Last issue up to date
+Of quiverful Fate
+Evolved spontaneous; hails with tenant trump
+The spiriting prime o' the clashed carillon-peal;
+Ruffling her caudal plumes derisive of scuts;
+Inconscient how she stalks an immarcessibly absurd
+Bird.
+
+ II
+
+Mark where her Equatorial Pioneer
+Delirant on the tramp goes littoralwise.
+His Flag at furl, portmanteaued; drains to the dregs
+The penultimate brandy-bottle, coal-on-the-head-piece gift
+Of who avenged the Old Sea-Rover's smirch.
+Marchant he treads the all-along of inarable drift
+On dubiously connivent legs,
+The facile prey of predatory flies;
+Panting for further; sworn to lurch
+Empirical on to the Menelik-buffered, enhavened blue,
+Rhyming--see Cantique I.--with doodle-doo.
+
+ III
+
+Infuriate she kicked against Imperial fact;
+Vulnant she felt
+What pin-stab should have stained Another's pelt
+Puncture her own Colonial lung-balloon,
+Volant to nigh meridian. Whence rebuffed,
+The perjured Scythian she lacked
+At need's pinch, sick with spleen of the rudely cuffed
+Below her breath she cursed; she cursed the hour
+When on her spring for him the young Tyrannical broke
+Amid the unhallowed wedlock's vodka-shower,
+She passionate, he dispassionate; tricked
+Her wits to eye-blind; borrowed the ready as for dower;
+Till from the trance of that Hymettus-moon
+She woke,
+A nuptial-knotted derelict;
+Pensioned with Rescripts other aid declined
+By the plumped leech saturate urging Peace
+In guise of heavy-armed Gospeller to men,
+Tyrannical unto fraternal equal liberal, her. Not she;
+Not till Alsace her consanguineous find
+What red deteutonising artillery
+Shall shatter her beer-reek alien police
+The just-now pluripollent; not till then.
+
+ IV
+
+More pungent yet the esoteric pain
+Squeezing her pliable vitals nourishes feud
+Insanely grumous, grumously insane.
+For lo!
+Past common balmly on the Bordereau,
+Churns she the skim o' the gutter's crust
+With Anti-Judaic various carmagnole,
+Whooped praise of the Anti-just;
+Her boulevard brood
+Gyratory in convolvements militant-mad;
+Theatrical of faith in the Belliform,
+Her Og,
+Her Monstrous. Fled what force she had
+To buckle the jaw-gape, wide agog
+For the Preconcerted One,
+The Anticipated, ripe to clinch the whole;
+Queen-bee to hive the hither and thither volant swarm.
+
+Bides she his coming; adumbrates the new
+Expurgatorial Divine,
+Her final effulgent Avatar,
+Postured outside a trampling mastodon
+Black as her Baker's charger; towering; visibly gorged
+With blood of traitors. Knee-grip stiff,
+Spine straightened, on he rides;
+Embossed the Patriot's brow with hieroglyph
+Of martial _dossiers_, nothing forged
+About him save his armour. So she bides
+Voicing his advent indeterminably far,
+Rooster her sign,
+Rooster her conspuent doodle-doo.
+
+ V
+
+Behold her, pranked with spurs for bloody sport,
+How she acclaims,
+A crapulous chanticleer,
+Breach of the hectic dawn of yon New Year.
+Not yet her fill of rumours sucked;
+Inebriate of honour; blushfully wroth;
+Tireless to play her old primeval games;
+Her plumage preened the yet unplucked
+Like sails of a galleon, rudder hard amort
+With crepitant mast
+Fronting the hazard to dare of a dual blast
+The intern and the extern, blizzards both.
+
+ _Owen Seaman._
+
+
+
+
+ PRESTO FURIOSO
+
+ AFTER WALT WHITMAN
+
+
+Spontaneous Us!
+O my Camarados! I have no delicatesse as a diplomat, but I go blind on
+ Libertad!
+Give me the flap-flap of the soaring Eagle's pinions!
+Give me the tail of the British lion tied in a knot inextricable, not to
+ be solved anyhow!
+Give me a standing army (I say "give me," because just at present we
+ want one badly, armies being often useful in time of war).
+
+I see our superb fleet (I take it that we are to have a superb fleet
+ built almost immediately);
+I observe the crews prospectively; they are constituted of various
+ nationalities, not necessarily American;
+I see them sling the slug and chew the plug;
+I hear the drum begin to hum;
+
+Both the above rhymes are purely accidental, and contrary to my
+ principles.
+We shall wipe the floor of the mill-pond with the scalps of able-bodied
+ British tars!
+I see Professor Edison about to arrange for us a torpedo-hose on wheels,
+ likewise an infernal electro-semaphore;
+I see Henry Irving dead sick and declining to play Corporal Brewster;
+Cornell, I yell! I yell Cornell!
+
+I note the Manhattan boss leaving his dry-goods store and investing in a
+ small Gatling-gun and a ten-cent banner;
+I further note the Identity evolved out of forty-four spacious and
+ thoughtful States;
+I note Canada as shortly to be merged in that Identity; similarly Van
+ Diemen's Land, Gibraltar, and Stratford-on-Avon;
+Briefly, I see creation whipped!
+
+O ye Colonels! I am with you (I too am a Colonel and on the
+ pension-list);
+I drink to the lot of you; to Colonels Cleveland, Hitt, Vanderbilt,
+ Chauncey M. Depew, O'Donovan Rossa, and the late Colonel Monroe;
+I drink an egg-flip, a morning-caress, an eye-opener, a maiden-bosom,
+ a vermuth-cocktail, three sherry-cobblers, and a gin-sling!
+Good old Eagle!
+
+ _Owen Seaman._
+
+
+
+
+TO JULIA IN SHOOTING TOGS AND A HERRICKOSE VEIN
+
+
+When as to shoot my Julia goes,
+Then, then (methinks), how bravely shows
+That rare arrangement of her clothes!
+
+So shod as when the Huntress Maid
+With thumping buskin bruised the glade,
+She moveth, making earth afraid.
+
+Against the sting of random chaff
+Her leathern gaiters circle half
+The arduous crescent of her calf.
+
+Unto th' occasion timely fit,
+My love's attire doth show her wit,
+And of her legs a little bit.
+
+Sorely it sticketh in my throat,
+She having nowhere to bestow't
+To name the absent petticoat.
+
+In lieu whereof a wanton pair
+Of knickerbockers she doth wear,
+Full windy and with space to spare.
+
+Enlarged by the bellying breeze,
+Lord! how they playfully do ease
+The urgent knocking of her knees!
+
+Lengthways curtailed to her taste
+A tunic circumvents her waist,
+And soothly it is passing chaste.
+
+Upon her head she hath a gear
+Even such as wights of ruddy cheer
+Do use in stalking of the deer.
+
+Haply her truant tresses mock
+Some coronal of shapelier block,
+To wit, the bounding billy-cock.
+
+Withal she hath a loaded gun,
+Whereat the pheasants, as they run,
+Do make a fair diversion.
+
+For very awe, if so she shoots,
+My hair upriseth from the roots,
+And lo! I tremble in my boots!
+
+ _Owen Seaman._
+
+
+
+
+ FAREWELL
+
+PROVOKED BY CALVERLEY's "FOREVER"
+
+
+"Farewell!" Another gloomy word
+ As ever into language crept.
+'Tis often written, never heard,
+ Except
+
+In playhouse. Ere the hero flits--
+ In handcuffs--from our pitying view.
+"Farewell!" he murmurs, then exits
+ R. U.
+
+"Farewell" is much too sighful for
+ An age that has not time to sigh.
+We say, "I'll see you later," or
+ "Good by!"
+
+When, warned by chanticleer, you go
+ From her to whom you owe devoir,
+"Say not 'good by,'" she laughs, "but
+ 'Au Revoir!'"
+
+Thus from the garden are you sped;
+ And Juliet were the first to tell
+You, you were silly if you said
+ "Farewell!"
+
+"Farewell," meant long ago, before
+ It crept, tear-spattered, into song,
+"Safe voyage!" "Pleasant journey!" or
+ "So long!"
+
+But gone its cheery, old-time ring;
+ The poets made it rhyme with knell--
+Joined it became a dismal thing--
+ "Farewell!"
+
+"Farewell!" into the lover's soul
+ You see Fate plunge the fatal iron.
+All poets use it. It's the whole
+ Of Byron.
+
+"I only feel--farewell!" said he;
+ And always fearful was the telling--
+Lord Byron was eternally
+ Farewelling.
+
+"Farewell!" A dismal word, 'tis true
+ (And why not tell the truth about it!);
+But what on earth would poets do
+ Without it?
+
+ _Bert Leston Taylor._
+
+
+
+
+ HERE IS THE TALE
+
+ AFTER RUDYARD KIPLING
+
+
+_Here is the tale--and you must make the most of it!
+ Here is the rhyme--ah, listen and attend!
+Backwards--forwards--read it all and boast of it
+ If you are anything the wiser at the end!_
+
+
+Now Jack looked up--it was time to sup, and the bucket was yet to fill,
+And Jack looked round for a space and frowned, then beckoned his sister
+ Jill,
+And twice he pulled his sister's hair, and thrice he smote her side;
+"Ha' done, ha' done with your impudent fun--ha' done with your games!"
+ she cried;
+"You have made mud-pies of a marvellous size--finger and face are black,
+You have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay--now up and wash you,
+ Jack!
+Or else, or ever we reach our home, there waiteth an angry dame--
+Well you know the weight of her blow--the supperless open shame!
+Wash, if you will, on yonder hill--wash, if you will, at the spring,--
+Or keep your dirt, to your certain hurt, and an imminent walloping!"
+
+"You must wash--you must scrub--you must scrape!" growled Jack, "you
+ must traffic with cans and pails,
+Nor keep the spoil of the good brown soil in the rim of your
+ finger-nails!
+The morning path you must tread to your bath--you must wash ere the
+ night descends,
+And all for the cause of conventional laws and the soap-makers'
+ dividends!
+But if 'tis sooth that our meal in truth depends on our washing, Jill,
+By the sacred right of our appetite--haste--haste to the top of the
+ hill!"
+
+They have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay, they have toiled and
+ travelled far,
+They have climbed to the brow of the hill-top now, where the bubbling
+ fountains are,
+They have taken the bucket and filled it up--yea, filled it up to the
+ brim;
+But Jack he sneered at his sister Jill, and Jill she jeered at him:
+"What, blown already!" Jack cried out (and his was a biting mirth!)
+"You boast indeed of your wonderful speed--but what is the boasting
+ worth?
+Now, if you can run as the antelope runs and if you can turn like a
+ hare,
+Come, race me, Jill, to the foot of the hill--and prove your boasting
+ fair!"
+"Race? What is a race" (and a mocking face had Jill as she spake the
+ word)
+"Unless for a prize the runner tries? The truth indeed ye heard,
+For I can run as the antelope runs, and I can turn like a hare:--
+The first one down wins half-a-crown--and I will race you there!"
+"Yea, if for the lesson that you will learn (the lesson of humbled
+ pride)
+The price you fix at two-and-six, it shall not be denied;
+Come, take your stand at my right hand, for here is the mark we toe:
+Now, are you ready, and are you steady? Gird up your petticoats! Go!"
+And Jill she ran like a winging bolt, a bolt from the bow released,
+But Jack like a stream of the lightning gleam, with its pathway duly
+ greased;
+He ran down hill in front of Jill like a summer-lightning flash--
+Till he suddenly tripped on a stone, or slipped, and fell to the earth
+ with a crash.
+Then straight did rise on his wondering eyes the constellations fair,
+Arcturus and the Pleiades, the Greater and Lesser Bear,
+The swirling rain of a comet's train he saw, as he swiftly fell--
+And Jill came tumbling after him with a loud triumphant yell:
+"You have won, you have won, the race is done! And as for the wager
+ laid--
+You have fallen down with a broken crown--the half-crown debt is paid!"
+
+They have taken Jack to the room at the back where the family medicines
+ are,
+And he lies in bed with a broken head in a halo of vinegar;
+While, in that Jill had laughed her fill as her brother fell to earth,
+She had felt the sting of a walloping--she hath paid the price of her
+ mirth!
+
+_Here is the tale_--_and now you have the whole of it,_
+_Here is the story_--_well and wisely planned,_
+_Beauty_--_Duty_--_these make up the soul of it_--
+_But, ah, my little readers, will you mark and understand?_
+
+ _Anthony C. Deane._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WILLOWS
+
+
+The skies they were ashen and sober,
+ The streets they were dirty and drear;
+It was night in the month of October,
+ Of my most immemorial year;
+Like the skies I was perfectly sober,
+ As I stopped at the mansion of Shear,--
+At the "Nightingale,"--perfectly sober,
+ And the willowy woodland, down here.
+
+Here once in an alley Titanic
+ Of Ten-pins,--I roamed with my soul,--
+ Of Ten-pins,--with Mary, my soul;
+They were days when my heart was volcanic,
+ And impelled me to frequently roll,
+ And made me resistlessly roll,
+Till my ten-strikes created a panic
+ In the realms of the Boreal pole,
+Till my ten-strikes created a panic
+ With the monkey atop of his pole.
+
+I repeat, I was perfectly sober,
+ But my thoughts they were palsied and sear,--
+ My thoughts were decidedly queer;
+For I knew not the month was October,
+ And I marked not the night of the year;
+I forgot that sweet _morceau_ of Auber
+ That the band oft performed down here;
+And I mixed the sweet music of Auber
+ With the Nightingale's music by Shear.
+
+And now as the night was senescent,
+ And star-dials pointed to morn,
+ And car-drivers hinted of morn,
+At the end of the path a liquescent
+ And bibulous lustre was born:
+'Twas made by the bar-keeper present,
+ Who mixed a duplicate horn,--
+His two hands describing a crescent
+ Distinct with a duplicate horn.
+
+And I said: "This looks perfectly regal;
+ For it's warm, and I know I feel dry,--
+ I am confident that I feel dry.
+We have come past the emeu and eagle,
+ And watched the gay monkey on high;
+Let us drink to the emeu and eagle,--
+ To the swan and the monkey on high--
+ To the eagle and monkey on high;
+For this bar-keeper will not inveigle,--
+ Bully boy with the vitreous eye;
+He surely would never inveigle,--
+ Sweet youth with the crystalline eye."
+
+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 conquer'd 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."
+
+Then my heart it grew ashen and sober,
+ As the streets were deserted and drear--
+ For my pockets were empty and drear;
+And I cried, "It was surely October,
+ On this very night of last year,
+ That I journeyed--I journeyed down here--
+ That I brought a fair maiden down here,
+ On this night of all nights in the year.
+ Ah! to me that inscription is clear:
+ Well I know now I'm perfectly sober,
+Why no longer they credit me here,--
+ Well I know now that music of Auber,
+And this Nightingale, kept by one Shear."
+
+ _Bret Harte._
+
+
+
+
+ A BALLAD
+
+ IN THE MANNER OF R-DY-RD K-PL-NG
+
+
+As I was walkin' the jungle round, a-killin' of tigers an' time;
+I seed a kind of an author man a writin' a rousin' rhyme;
+'E was writin' a mile a minute an' more, an' I sez to 'im, "'Oo are
+ you?"
+Sez 'e, "I'm a poet--'er majesty's poet--soldier an' sailor, too!"
+An 'is poem began in Ispahan an' ended in Kalamazoo,
+It 'ad army in it, an' navy in it, an' jungle sprinkled through,
+For 'e was a poet--'er majesty's poet--soldier an' sailor, too!
+
+An' after, I met 'im all over the world, a doin' of things a host;
+'E 'ad one foot planted in Burmah, an' one on the Gloucester coast;
+'Es 'alf a sailor an' 'alf a whaler, 'e's captain, cook and crew,
+But most a poet--'er majesty's poet--soldier an' sailor too!
+'E's often Scot an' 'e's often not, but 'is work is never through
+For 'e laughs at blame, an' 'e writes for fame, an' a bit for revenoo,--
+Bein' a poet--'er majesty's poet--soldier an' sailor too!
+
+'E'll take you up to the Artic zone, 'e'll take you down to the Nile,
+'E'll give you a barrack ballad in the Tommy Atkins style,
+Or 'e'll sing you a Dipsy Chantey, as the bloomin' bo'suns do,
+For 'e is a poet--'er majesty's poet--soldier an' sailor too.
+An' there isn't no room for others, an' there's nothin' left to do;
+'E 'as sailed the main from the 'Orn to Spain, 'e 'as tramped the
+ jungle through,
+An' written up all there is to write--soldier an' sailor, too!
+
+There are manners an' manners of writin', but 'is is the _proper_ way,
+An' it ain't so hard to be a bard if you'll imitate Rudyard K.;
+But sea an' shore an' peace an' war, an' everything else in view--
+'E 'as gobbled the lot!--'er majesty's poet--soldier an' sailor, too.
+'E's not content with 'is Indian 'ome, 'e's looking for regions new,
+In another year 'e'll ave swept 'em clear, an' what'll the rest of us
+ do?
+'_E's crowdin' us out!_--'er majesty's poet--soldier an' sailor too!
+
+ _Guy Wetmore Carryl._
+
+
+
+
+ THE TRANSLATED WAY
+
+Being a lyric translation of Heine's "Du bist wie eine Blume," as it is
+usually done.
+
+
+Thou art like unto a Flower,
+ So pure and clean thou art;
+I view thee and much sadness
+ Steals to me in the heart.
+
+To me it seems my Hands I
+ Should now impose on your
+Head, praying God to keep you
+ So fine and clean and pure.
+
+ _Franklin P. Adams._
+
+
+
+
+ COMMONPLACES
+
+
+Rain on the face of the sea,
+ Rain on the sodden land,
+And the window-pane is blurred with rain
+ As I watch it, pen in hand.
+
+Mist on the face of the sea,
+ Mist on the sodden land,
+Filling the vales as daylight fails,
+ And blotting the desolate sand.
+
+Voices from out of the mist,
+ Calling to one another:
+"Hath love an end, thou more than friend,
+ Thou dearer than ever brother?"
+
+Voices from out of the mist,
+ Calling and passing away;
+But I cannot speak, for my voice is weak,
+ And ... this is the end of my lay.
+
+ _Rudyard Kipling._
+
+
+
+
+ ANGELO ORDERS HIS DINNER
+
+
+I, Angelo, obese, black-garmented,
+Respectable, much in demand, well fed
+With mine own larder's dainties, where, indeed,
+Such cakes of myrrh or fine alyssum seed,
+Thin as a mallow-leaf, embrowned o' the top.
+Which, cracking, lets the ropy, trickling drop
+Of sweetness touch your tongue, or potted nests
+Which my recondite recipe invests
+With cold conglomerate tidbits--ah, the bill!
+(You say), but given it were mine to fill
+My chests, the case so put were yours, we'll say
+(This counter, here, your post, as mine to-day),
+And you've an eye to luxuries, what harm
+In smoothing down your palate with the charm
+Yourself concocted? There we issue take;
+And see! as thus across the rim I break
+This puffy paunch of glazed embroidered cake,
+So breaks, through use, the lust of watering chaps
+And craveth plainness: do I so? Perhaps;
+But that's my secret. Find me such a man
+As Lippo yonder, built upon the plan
+Of heavy storage, double-navelled, fat
+From his own giblet's oils, an Ararat
+Uplift o'er water, sucking rosy draughts
+From Noah's vineyard,--crisp, enticing wafts
+Yon kitchen now emits, which to your sense
+Somewhat abate the fear of old events,
+Qualms to the stomach,--I, you see, am slow
+Unnecessary duties to forego,--
+You understand? A venison haunch, _haul gout_.
+Ducks that in Cimbrian olives mildly stew.
+And sprigs of anise, might one's teeth provoke
+To taste, and so we wear the complex yoke
+Just as it suits,--my liking, I confess,
+More to receive, and to partake no less,
+Still more obese, while through thick adipose
+Sensation shoots, from testing tongue to toes
+Far off, dim-conscious, at the body's verge,
+Where the froth-whispers of its waves emerge
+On the untasting sand. Stay, now! a seat
+Is bare: I, Angelo, will sit and eat.
+
+ _Bayard Taylor._
+
+
+
+
+ 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!"
+
+ _Bayard Taylor._
+
+
+
+
+ CAMERADOS
+
+
+Everywhere, everywhere, following me;
+Taking me by the buttonhole, pulling off my boots, hustling me with the
+ elbows;
+Sitting down with me to clams and the chowder-kettle;
+Plunging naked at my side into the sleek, irascible surges;
+Soothing me with the strain that I neither permit nor prohibit;
+Flocking this way and that, reverent, eager, orotund, irrepressible;
+Denser than sycamore leaves when the north-winds are scouring Paumanok;
+What can I do to restrain them? Nothing, verily nothing,
+Everywhere, everywhere, crying aloud for me;
+Crying, I hear; and I satisfy them out of my nature;
+And he that comes at the end of the feast shall find something over.
+Whatever they want I give; though it be something else, they shall have
+ it.
+Drunkard, leper, Tammanyite, small-pox and cholera patient, shoddy and
+ codfish millionnaire,
+And the beautiful young men, and the beautiful young women, all the
+ same,
+Crowding, hundreds of thousands, cosmical multitudes,
+Buss me and hang on my hips and lean up to my shoulders,
+Everywhere listening to my yawp and glad whenever they hear it;
+Everywhere saying, say it, Walt, we believe it:
+Everywhere, everywhere.
+
+ _Bayard Taylor._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER
+
+ FROM HER POINT OF VIEW
+
+
+When I had firmly answered "No,"
+And he allowed that that was so,
+I really thought I should be free
+For good and all from Mr. B.,
+ And that he would soberly acquiesce.
+I said that it would be discreet
+That for awhile we should not meet;
+I promised that I would always feel
+A kindly interest in his weal;
+I thanked him for his amorous zeal;
+ In short, I said all I could but "yes."
+
+I said what I'm accustomed to;
+I acted as I always do.
+I promised he should find in me
+A friend,--a sister, if that might be;
+ But he was still dissatisfied.
+He certainly was most polite;
+He said exactly what was right,
+He acted very properly,
+Except indeed for this, that he
+Insisted on inviting me
+ To come with him for "one more last ride."
+
+A little while in doubt I stood:
+A ride, no doubt, would do me good;
+I had a habit and a hat
+Extremely well worth looking at;
+ The weather was distinctly fine.
+My horse, too, wanted exercise,
+And time, when one is riding, flies;
+Besides, it really seemed, you see,
+The only way of ridding me
+Of pertinacious Mr. B.;
+ So my head I graciously incline.
+
+I won't say much of what happened next;
+I own I was extremely vexed.
+Indeed I should have been aghast
+If any one had seen what passed;
+ But nobody need ever know
+That, as I leaned forward to stir the fire,
+He advanced before I could well retire;
+And I suddenly felt, to my great alarm,
+The grasp of a warm, unlicensed arm,
+An embrace in which I found no charm;
+ I was awfully glad when he let me go.
+
+Then we began to ride; my steed
+Was rather fresh, too fresh indeed,
+And at first I thought of little, save
+The way to escape an early grave,
+ As the dust rose up on either side.
+My stern companion jogged along
+On a brown old cob both broad and strong.
+He looked as he does when he's writing verse,
+Or endeavoring not to swear and curse,
+Or wondering Where he has left his purse;
+ Indeed it was a sombre ride.
+
+I spoke of the weather to Mr. B.,
+But he neither listened nor spoke to me.
+I praised his horse, and I smiled the smile
+Which was wont to move him once in a while.
+ I said I was wearing his favorite flowers,
+But I wasted my words on the desert air,
+For he rode with a fixed and gloomy stare.
+I wonder what he was thinking about.
+As I don't read verse, I shan't find out.
+It was something subtle and deep, no doubt,
+ A theme to detain a man for hours.
+
+Ah! there was the corner where Mr. S.
+So nearly induced me to whisper "yes";
+And here it was that the next but one
+Proposed on horseback, or would have done,
+ Had his horse not most opportunely shied;
+Which perhaps was due to the unseen flick
+He received from my whip; 'twas a scurvy trick,
+But I never could do with that young man,--
+I hope his present young woman can.
+Well, I must say, never, since time began,
+ Did I go for a duller or longer ride.
+
+He never smiles and he never speaks;
+He might go on like this for weeks;
+He rolls a slightly frenzied eye
+Towards the blue and burning sky,
+ And the cob bounds on with tireless stride.
+If we aren't home for lunch at two
+I don't know what papa will do;
+But I know full well he will say to me,
+"I never approved of Mr. B.;
+It's the very devil that you and he
+ Ride, ride together, forever ride."
+
+ _James Kenneth Stephen._
+
+
+
+
+ IMITATION OF WALT WHITMAN
+
+
+Who am I?
+I have been reading Walt Whitman, and know not whether he be me, or me
+ he;--
+Or otherwise!
+Oh, blue skies! oh, rugged mountains! oh, mighty, rolling Niagara!
+O, chaos and everlasting bosh!
+I am a poet; I swear it! If you do not believe it you are a dolt, a
+ fool, an idiot!
+Milton, Shakespere, Dante, Tommy Moore, Pope, never, but Byron, too,
+ perhaps, and last, not least, Me, and the Poet Close.
+We send our resonance echoing down the adamantine canyons of the future!
+We live forever! The worms who criticise us (asses!) laugh, scoff, jeer,
+ and babble--die!
+Serve them right.
+What is the difference between Judy, the pride of Fleet Street, the
+ glory of Shoe Lane, and Walt Whitman?
+Start not! 'Tis no end of a minstrel show who perpends this query;
+'Tis no brain-racking puzzle from an inner page of the Family Herald,
+No charade, acrostic (double or single), conundrum, riddle, rebus,
+ anagram, or other guess-work.
+I answer thus: We both write truths--great, stern, solemn, unquenchable
+ truths--couched in more or less ridiculous language.
+I, as a rule use rhyme, he does not; therefore, I am his Superior
+ (which is also a lake in his great and glorious country).
+I scorn, with the unutterable scorn of the despiser of pettiness, to
+ take a mean advantage of him.
+He writes, he sells, he is read (more or less); why then should I rack
+ my brains and my rhyming dictionary? I will see the public hanged
+ first!
+I sing of America, of the United States, of the stars and stripes of
+ Oskhosh, of Kalamazoo, and of Salt Lake City.
+I sing of the railroad cars, of the hotels, of the breakfasts, the
+ lunches, the dinners, and the suppers;
+Of the soup, the fish, the entrees, the joints, the game, the puddings
+ and the ice-cream.
+I sing all--I eat all--I sing in turn of Dr. Bluffem's Anti-bilious
+ Pills.
+No subject is too small, too insignificant, for Nature's poet.
+I sing of the cocktail, a new song for every cocktail, hundreds of
+ songs, hundreds of cocktails.
+It is a great and a glorious land! The Mississippi, the Missouri, and a
+ million other torrents roll their waters to the ocean.
+It is a great and glorious land! The Alleghanies, the Catskills, the
+ Rockies (see atlas for other mountain ranges too numerous to
+ mention) pierce the clouds!
+And the greatest and most glorious product of this great and glorious
+ land is Walt Whitman;
+This must be so, for he says it himself.
+There is but one greater than he between the rising and the setting sun.
+There is but one before whom he meekly bows his humbled head.
+Oh, great and glorious land, teeming producer of all things, creator of
+ Niagara, and inventor of Walt Whitman,
+Erase your national advertisements of liver pads and cures for
+ rheumatism from your public monuments, and inscribe thereon in
+ letters of gold the name _Judy_.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ SALAD
+
+
+O 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.
+
+ _Mortimer Collins._
+
+
+
+
+ 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 flows 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.
+
+ _Mortimer Collins._
+
+
+
+
+ THE JABBERWOCKY OF AUTHORS
+
+
+'Twas gilbert. The kchesterton
+ Did locke and bennett in the reed.
+All meredith was the nicholson,
+ And harrison outqueed.
+
+Beware the see-enn-william, son,
+ The londonjack with call that's wild.
+Beware the gertroo datherton
+ And richardwashburnchild.
+
+He took his brady blade in hand;
+ Long time the partridge foe he sought.
+Then stood a time by the oppenheim
+ In deep mcnaughton thought.
+
+In warwick deeping thought he stood--
+ He poised on edithwharton brink;
+He cried, "Ohbernardshaw! I could
+ If basilking would kink."
+
+Rexbeach! rexbeach!--and each on each
+ O. Henry's mantles ferber fell.
+It was the same'sif henryjames
+ Had wally eaton well.
+
+"And hast thou writ the greatest book?
+ Come to thy birmingham, my boy!
+Oh, beresford way! Oh, holman day!"
+ He kiplinged in his joy.
+
+'Twas gilbert. The kchesterton
+ Did locke and bennett in the reed.
+All meredith was the nicholson,
+ And harrison outqueed.
+
+ _Harry Persons Taber._
+
+
+
+
+ THE TOWN OF NICE
+
+ MAY, 1874
+
+
+The town of Nice! the town of Nice!
+ Where once mosquitoes buzzed and stung,
+And never gave me any peace,
+ The whole year round when I was young!
+ Eternal winter chills it yet,
+ It's always cold, and mostly wet.
+
+Lord Brougham sate on the rocky brow,
+ Which looks on sea-girt Cannes, I wis,
+But wouldn't like to sit there now,
+ Unless 'twere warmer than it is;
+ I went to Cannes the other day,
+ But found it much too damp to stay.
+
+The mountains look on Monaco,
+ And Monaco looks on the sea;
+And, playing there some hours ago,
+ I meant to win enormously;
+ But, tho' my need of coin was bad
+ I lost the little that I had.
+
+Ye have the southern charges yet--
+ Where is the southern climate gone?
+Of two such blessings, why forget
+ The cheaper and the seemlier one?
+ My weekly bill my wrath inspires;
+ Think ye I meant to pay for fires?
+
+Why should I stay? No worse art thou,
+ My country! on thy genial shore
+The local east-winds whistle now,
+ The local fogs spread more and more;
+ But in the sunny south, the weather
+ Beats all you know of put together.
+
+I cannot eat--I cannot sleep--
+ The waves are not so blue as I;
+Indeed, the waters of the deep
+ Are dirty-brown, and so's the sky:
+ I get dyspepsia when I dine--
+ Oh, dash that pint of country-wine!
+
+ _Herman C. Merivale._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WILLOW-TREE
+
+ ANOTHER VERSION
+
+
+Long by the willow-trees
+ Vainly they sought her,
+Wild rang the mother's screams
+ O'er the gray water:
+Where is my lovely one?
+ Where is my daughter?
+
+"Rouse thee, Sir Constable--
+ Rouse thee and look;
+Fisherman, bring your net,
+ Boatman, your hook.
+Beat in the lily-beds,
+ Dive in the brook!"
+
+Vainly the constable
+ Shouted and called her;
+Vainly the fisherman
+ Beat the green alder;
+Vainly he flung the net,
+ Never it hauled her!
+
+Mother beside the fire
+ Sat, her nightcap in;
+Father, in easy chair,
+ Gloomily napping,
+When at the window-sill
+ Came a light tapping!
+
+And a pale countenance
+ Looked through the casement,
+Loud beat the mother's heart,
+ Sick with amazement,
+And at the vision which
+ Came to surprise her,
+Shrieked in an agony--
+ "Lor'! it's Elizar!"
+
+Yes, 'twas Elizabeth--
+ Yes, 'twas their girl;
+Pale was her cheek, and her
+ Hair out of curl.
+"Mother," the loving one,
+ Blushing exclaimed,
+"Let not your innocent
+ Lizzy be blamed.
+
+"Yesterday, going to Aunt
+ Jones's to tea,
+Mother, dear mother, I
+ Forgot the door-key!
+And as the night was cold
+ And the way steep,
+Mrs. Jones kept me to
+ Breakfast and sleep."
+
+Whether her Pa and Ma
+ Fully believed her,
+That we shall never know,
+ Stern they received her;
+And for the work of that
+ Cruel, though short, night
+Sent her to bed without
+ Tea for a fortnight.
+
+ MORAL
+
+ Hey diddle diddlety,
+ Cat and the fiddlety,
+Maidens of England, take caution by she!
+ Let love and suicide
+ Never tempt you aside,
+And always remember to take the door-key.
+
+ _W. M. Thackeray._
+
+
+
+
+ A BALLADE OF BALLADE-MONGERS
+
+AFTER THE MANNER OF MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON OF PARIS
+
+
+In Ballades things always contrive to get lost,
+ And Echo is constantly asking where
+Are last year's roses and last year's frost?
+ And where are the fashions we used to wear?
+And what is a "gentleman," and what is a "player"?
+ Irrelevant questions I like to ask:
+Can you reap the tret as well as the tare?
+ And who was the Man in the Iron Mask?
+
+What has become of the ring I tossed
+ In the lap of my mistress false and fair?
+Her grave is green and her tombstone mossed;
+ But who is to be the next Lord Mayor?
+And where is King William, of Leicester Square?
+ And who has emptied my hunting flask?
+And who is possessed of Stella's hair?
+ And who was the Man in the Iron Mask?
+
+And what became of the knee I crossed,
+ And the rod and the child they would not spare?
+And what will a dozen herring cost
+ When herring are sold at three halfpence a pair?
+And what in the world is the Golden Stair?
+ Did Diogenes die in a tub or cask,
+Like Clarence, for love of liquor there?
+ And who was the Man in the Iron Mask?
+
+ ENVOY
+
+Poets, your readers have much to bear,
+ For Ballade-making is no great task,
+If you do not remember, I don't much care
+ Who was the man in the Iron Mask.
+
+ _Augustus M. Moore._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ VIII
+
+ BATHOS
+
+
+
+
+ THE CONFESSION
+
+
+There's somewhat on my breast, father,
+ There's somewhat on my breast!
+The livelong day I sigh, father,
+ And at night I cannot rest.
+I cannot take my rest, father,
+ Though I would fain do so;
+A weary weight oppresseth me--
+ This weary weight of woe!
+
+'Tis not the lack of gold, father,
+ Nor want of worldly gear;
+My lands are broad, and fair to see,
+ My friends are kind and dear.
+My kin are leal and true, father,
+ They mourn to see my grief;
+But, oh! 'tis not a kinsman's hand
+ Can give my heart relief!
+
+'Tis not that Janet's false, father,
+ 'Tis not that she's unkind;
+Though busy flatterers swarm around,
+ I know her constant mind.
+'Tis not _her_ coldness, father,
+ That chills my laboring breast;
+It's that confounded cucumber
+ I ate, and can't digest.
+
+ _Richard Harris Barham._
+
+
+
+
+ IF YOU HAVE SEEN
+
+
+Good reader! if you e'er have seen,
+ When Ph[oe]bus hastens to his pillow,
+The mermaids, with their tresses green,
+ Dancing upon the western billow:
+If you have seen, at twilight dim,
+When the lone spirit's vesper hymn
+ Floats wild along the winding shore:
+If you have seen, through mist of eve,
+The fairy train their ringlets weave,
+Glancing along the spangled green;--
+ If you have seen all this and more,
+God bless me! what a deal you've seen!
+
+ _Thomas Moore._
+
+
+
+
+ CIRCUMSTANCE
+
+ THE ORANGE
+
+
+It ripen'd by the river banks,
+ Where, mask and moonlight aiding,
+Dons Blas and Juan play their pranks,
+ Dark Donnas serenading.
+
+By Moorish damsel it was pluck'd,
+ Beneath the golden day there;
+By swain 'twas then in London suck'd--
+ Who flung the peel away there.
+
+He could not know in Pimlico,
+ As little she in Seville,
+That _I_ should reel upon that peel,
+ And--wish them at the devil!
+
+ _Frederick Locker-Lampson._
+
+
+
+
+ ELEGY
+
+
+The jackals prowl, the serpents hiss
+In what was once Persepolis.
+Proud Babylon is but a trace
+Upon the desert's dusty face.
+The topless towers of Ilium
+Are ashes. Judah's harp is dumb.
+The fleets of Nineveh and Tyre
+Are down with Davy Jones, Esquire
+And all the oligarchies, kings,
+And potentates that ruled these things
+Are gone! But cheer up; don't be sad;
+Think what a lovely time they had!
+
+ _Arthur Guiterman._
+
+
+
+
+ OUR TRAVELLER
+
+
+If thou would'st stand on Etna's burning brow,
+With smoke above, and roaring flame below;
+And gaze adown that molten gulf reveal'd,
+Till thy soul shudder'd and thy senses reel'd:
+If thou wouldst beard Niag'ra in his pride,
+Or stem the billows of Propontic tide;
+Scale all alone some dizzy Alpine _haut_,
+And shriek "Excelsior!" among the snow:
+Would'st tempt all deaths, all dangers that may be--
+Perils by land, and perils on the sea;
+This vast round world, I say, if thou wouldst view it--
+Then, why the dickens don't you go and do it?
+
+ _Henry Cholmondeley-Pennell._
+
+
+
+
+ OPTIMISM
+
+
+ Be brave, faint heart,
+ The dough shall yet be cake;
+ Be strong, weak heart,
+ The butter is to come.
+Some cheerful chance will right the apple-cart,
+The devious pig will gain the lucky mart,
+ Loquacity be dumb,--
+ Collapsed the fake.
+ Be brave, faint heart!
+
+ Be strong, weak heart,
+ The path will be made plain;
+ Be brave, faint heart,
+ The bore will crawl away.
+The upside down will turn to right side up,
+The stiffened lip compel that slipping cup,
+ The doldrums of the day
+ Be not in vain.
+ Be strong, weak heart!
+
+ Be brave, faint heart,
+ The jelly means to jell;
+ Be strong, weak heart,
+ The hopes are in the malt.
+The wrong side in will yet turn right side out,
+The long-time lost come down yon cormorant spout.
+ Life still is worth her salt:
+ What ends well's well.
+ Be brave, faint heart!
+
+ _Newton Mackintosh._
+
+
+
+
+ THE DECLARATION
+
+
+Twas late, and the gay company was gone,
+And light lay soft on the deserted room
+From alabaster vases, and a scent
+Of orange-leaves, and sweet verbena came
+Through the unshutter'd window on the air.
+And the rich pictures with their dark old tints
+Hung like a twilight landscape, and all things
+Seem'd hush'd into a slumber. Isabel,
+The dark-eyed, spiritual Isabel
+Was leaning on her harp, and I had stay'd
+To whisper what I could not when the crowd
+Hung on her look like worshipers. I knelt,
+And with the fervor of a lip unused
+To the cool breath of reason, told my love.
+There was no answer, and I took the hand
+That rested on the strings, and press'd a kiss
+Upon it unforbidden--and again
+Besought her, that this silent evidence
+That I was not indifferent to her heart,
+Might have the seal of one sweet syllable.
+I kiss'd the small white fingers as I spoke,
+And she withdrew them gently, and upraised
+Her forehead from its resting-place, and look'd
+Earnestly on me--_She had been asleep!_
+
+ _N. P. Willis._
+
+
+
+
+ HE CAME TO PAY
+
+
+The editor sat with his head in his hands
+ And his elbows at rest on his knees;
+He was tired of the ever-increasing demands
+ On his time, and he panted for ease.
+The clamor for copy was scorned with a sneer,
+ And he sighed in the lowest of tones:
+"Won't somebody come with a dollar to cheer
+ The heart of Emanuel Jones?"
+
+Just then on the stairway a footstep was heard
+ And a rap-a-tap loud at the door,
+And the flickering hope that had been long deferred
+ Blazed up like a beacon once more;
+And there entered a man with a cynical smile
+ That was fringed with a stubble of red,
+Who remarked, as he tilted a sorry old tile
+ To the back of an average head:
+
+"I have come here to pay"--Here the editor cried:
+ "You're as welcome as flowers in spring!
+Sit down in this easy armchair by my side,
+ And excuse me awhile till I bring
+A lemonade dashed with a little old wine
+ And a dozen cigars of the best....
+Ah! Here we are! This, I assure you, is fine;
+ Help yourself, most desirable guest."
+
+The visitor drank with a relish, and smoked
+ Till his face wore a satisfied glow,
+And the editor, beaming with merriment, joked
+ In a joyous, spontaneous flow;
+And then, when the stock of refreshments was gone,
+ His guest took occasion to say,
+In accents distorted somewhat by a yawn,
+ "My errand up here is to pay--"
+
+But the generous scribe, with a wave of his hand,
+ Put a stop to the speech of his guest,
+And brought in a melon, the finest the land
+ Ever bore on its generous breast;
+And the visitor, wearing a singular grin,
+ Seized the heaviest half of the fruit,
+And the juice, as it ran in a stream from his chin,
+ Washed the mud of the pike from his boot.
+
+Then, mopping his face on a favorite sheet
+ Which the scribe had laid carefully by,
+The visitor lazily rose to his feet
+ With the dreariest kind of a sigh,
+And he said, as the editor sought his address,
+ In his books to discover his due:
+"I came here to pay--my respects to the press,
+ And to borrow a dollar of you!"
+
+ _Parmenas Mix._
+
+
+
+
+ THE FORLORN ONE
+
+
+Ah! why those piteous sounds of woe,
+ Lone wanderer of the dreary night?
+Thy gushing tears in torrents flow,
+ Thy bosom pants in wild affright!
+
+And thou, within whose iron breast
+ Those frowns austere too truly tell,
+Mild pity, heaven-descended guest,
+ Hath never, never deign'd to dwell.
+
+"That rude, uncivil touch forego,"
+ Stern despot of a fleeting hour!
+Nor "make the angels weep" to know
+ The fond "fantastic tricks" of power!
+
+Know'st thou not "mercy is not strain'd,
+ But droppeth as the gentle dew,"
+And while it blesseth him who gain'd,
+ It blesseth him who gave it, too?
+
+Say, what art thou? and what is he,
+ Pale victim of despair and pain,
+Whose streaming eyes and bended knee
+ Sue to thee thus--and sue in vain?
+
+Cold callous man!--he scorns to yield,
+ Or aught relax his felon gripe,
+But answers, "I'm Inspector Field
+ And this here warment's prigg'd your wipe."
+
+ _Richard Harris Barham._
+
+
+
+
+ RURAL RAPTURES
+
+
+'Tis sweet at dewy eve to rove
+ When softly sighs the western breeze,
+And wandering 'mid the starlit grove
+ To take a pinch of snuff and sneeze.
+
+'Tis sweet to see in daisied field
+ The flocks and herds their pleasure take;
+But sweeter are the joys they yield
+ In tender chop and juicy steak.
+
+'Tis sweet to hear the murmurous sound
+ That from the vocal woods doth rise,
+To mark the pigeons wheeling round,
+ And think how nice they'd be in pies.
+
+When nightingales pour from their throats
+ Their gushing melody, 'tis sweet;
+Yet sweeter 'tis to catch the notes
+ That issue from Threadneedle Street.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ A FRAGMENT
+
+
+His eye was stern and wild--his cheek was pale and cold as clay;
+Upon his tightened lip a smile of fearful meaning lay.
+He mused awhile--but not in doubt--no trace of doubt was there;
+It was the steady solemn pause of resolute despair.
+Once more he looked upon the scroll--once more its words he read--
+Then calmly, with unflinching hand, its folds before him spread.
+I saw him bare his throat, and seize the blue-cold gleaming steel,
+And grimly try the tempered edge he was so soon to feel!
+A sickness crept upon my heart, and dizzy swam my headI
+could not stir--I could not cry--I felt benumbed and dead;
+Black icy horrors struck me dumb, and froze my senses o'er;
+I closed my eyes in utter fear, and strove to think no more.
+
+Again I looked: a fearful change across his face had passed--
+He seemed to rave--on cheek and lip a flaky foam was cast;
+He raised on high the glittering blade--then first I found a tongue--
+"Hold, madman! stay thy frantic deed!" I cried, and forth I sprung;
+He heard me, but he heeded not; one glance around he gave,
+And ere I could arrest his hands, he had--begun to _shave_!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BITER BIT
+
+
+The sun is in the sky, mother, the flowers are springing fair,
+And the melody of woodland birds is stirring in the air;
+The river, smiling to the sky, glides onward to the sea,
+And happiness is everywhere, oh, mother, but with me!
+
+They are going to the church, mother--I hear the marriage bell
+It booms along the upland--oh! it haunts me like a knell;
+He leads her on his arm, mother, he cheers her faltering step,
+And closely to his side she clings--she does, the demirep!
+
+They are crossing by the stile, mother, where we so oft have stood,
+The stile beside the shady thorn, at the corner of the wood;
+And the boughs, that wont to murmur back the words that won my ear,
+Wave their silver branches o'er him, as he leads his bridal fere.
+
+He will pass beside the stream, mother, where first my hand he pressed,
+By the meadow where, with quivering lip, his passion he confessed;
+And down the hedgerows where we've strayed again and yet again;
+But he will not think of me, mother, his broken-hearted Jane!
+
+He said that I was proud, mother, that I looked for rank and gold,
+He said I did not love him--he said my words were cold;
+He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game--
+And it may be that I did, mother; but who hasn't done the same.
+
+I did not know my heart, mother--I know it now too late;
+I thought that I without a pang could wed some nobler mate;
+But no nobler suitor sought me--and he has taken wing,
+And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted thing.
+
+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 please, my mother dear, your poor desponding child,
+Draw me a pot of beer, mother, and, mother, draw it mild!
+
+ _William E. Aytoun._
+
+
+
+
+ COMFORT IN AFFLICTION
+
+
+"Wherefore starts my bosom's lord?
+ Why this anguish in thine eye?
+Oh, it seems as thy heart's chord
+ Had broken with that sigh!
+
+"Rest thee, my dear lord, I pray,
+ Rest thee on my bosom now!
+And let me wipe the dews away,
+ Are gathering on thy brow.
+
+"There, again! that fevered start!
+ What, love! husband! is thy pain?
+There is a sorrow in thy heart,
+ A weight upon thy brain!
+
+"Nay, nay, that sickly smile can ne'er
+ Deceive affection's searching eye;
+'Tis a wife's duty, love, to share
+ Her husband's agony.
+
+"Since the dawn began to peep,
+ Have I lain with stifled breath;
+Heard thee moaning in thy sleep,
+ As thou wert at grips with death.
+
+"Oh, what joy it was to see
+ My gentle lord once more awake!
+Tell me, what is amiss with thee?
+ Speak, or my heart will break!"
+
+"Mary, thou angel of my life,
+ Thou ever good and kind;
+'Tis not, believe me, my dear wife,
+ The anguish of the mind!
+
+"It is not in my bosom, dear,
+ No, nor in my brain, in sooth;
+But, Mary, oh, I feel it here,
+ Here in my wisdom tooth!
+
+"Then give,--oh, first, best antidote,--
+ Sweet partner of my bed!
+Give me thy flannel petticoat
+ To wrap around my head!"
+
+ _William E. Aytoun._
+
+
+
+
+ THE HUSBAND'S PETITION
+
+
+Come hither, my heart's darling,
+ Come, sit upon my knee,
+And listen, while I whisper,
+ A boon I ask of thee.
+You need not pull my whiskers
+ So amorously, my dove;
+'Tis something quite apart from
+ The gentle cares of love.
+
+I feel a bitter craving--
+ A dark and deep desire,
+That glows beneath my bosom
+ Like coals of kindled fire.
+The passion of the nightingale,
+ When singing to the rose,
+Is feebler than the agony
+ That murders my repose!
+
+Nay, dearest! do not doubt me,
+ Though madly thus I speak--
+I feel thy arms about me,
+ Thy tresses on my cheek:
+I know the sweet devotion
+ That links thy heart with mine--
+I know my soul's emotion
+ Is doubly felt by thine:
+
+And deem not that a shadow
+ Hath fallen across my love:
+No, sweet, my love is shadowless,
+ As yonder heaven above.
+These little taper fingers--
+ Ah! Jane, how white they be!--
+Can well supply the cruel want
+ That almost maddens me.
+
+Thou wilt not sure deny me
+ My first and fond request;
+I pray thee, by the memory
+ Of all we cherish best--
+By all the dear remembrance
+ Of those delicious days,
+When, hand in hand, we wandered
+ Along the summer braes:
+
+By all we felt, unspoken,
+ When 'neath the early moon,
+We sat beside the rivulet,
+ In the leafy month of June;
+And by the broken whisper,
+ That fell upon my ear,
+More sweet than angel-music,
+ When first I woo'd thee, dear!
+
+By that great vow which bound thee
+ Forever to my side,
+And by the ring that made thee
+ My darling and my bride!
+Thou wilt not fail nor falter,
+ But bend thee to the task--
+|A boiled sheep's head on Sunday|
+ Is all the boon I ask.
+
+ _William E. Aytoun._
+
+
+
+
+ LINES WRITTEN AFTER A BATTLE
+
+BY AN ASSISTANT SURGEON OF THE NINETEENTH NANKEENS
+
+
+Stiff are the warrior's muscles,
+ Congeal'd, alas! his chyle;
+No more in hostile tussles
+ Will he excite his bile.
+Dry is the epidermis,
+ A vein no longer bleeds--
+And the communis vermis
+ Upon the warrior feeds.
+
+Compress'd, alas! the thorax,
+ That throbbed with joy or pain;
+Not e'en a dose of borax
+ Could make it throb again.
+Dried up the warrior's throat is,
+ All shatter'd too, his head:
+Still is the epiglottis--
+ The warrior is dead.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ LINES
+
+
+ADDRESSED TO ** **** ***** ON THE 29TH OF SEPTEMBER, WHEN WE PARTED FOR
+ THE LAST TIME
+
+
+I have watch'd thee with rapture, and dwelt on thy charms,
+ As link'd in Love's fetters we wander'd each day;
+And each night I have sought a new life in thy arms,
+ And sigh'd that our union could last not for aye.
+
+But thy life now depends on a frail silken thread,
+ Which I even by kindness may cruelly sever,
+And I look to the moment of parting with dread,
+ For I feel that in parting I lose thee forever.
+Sole being that cherish'd my poor troubled heart!
+ Thou know'st all its secrets--each joy and each grief;
+And in sharing them all thou did'st ever impart
+ To its sorrows a gentle and soothing relief.
+
+The last of a long and affectionate race,
+ As thy days are declining I love thee the more,
+For I feel that thy loss I can never replace--
+ That thy death will but leave me to weep and deplore.
+
+Unchanged, thou shalt live in the mem'ry of years,
+ I cannot--I will not--forget what thou wert!
+While the thoughts of thy love as they call forth my tears,
+ In fancy will wash thee once more--|My Last Shirt|.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE IMAGINATIVE CRISIS
+
+
+Oh, solitude! thou wonder-working fay,
+Come nurse my feeble fancy in your arms,
+Though I, and thee, and fancy town-pent lay,
+Come, call around, a world of country charms.
+Let all this room, these walls dissolve away,
+And bring me Surrey's fields to take their place:
+This floor be grass, and draughts as breezes play;
+Yon curtains trees, to wave in summer's face;
+My ceiling, sky; my water-jug a stream;
+My bed, a bank, on which to muse and dream.
+The spell is wrought: imagination swells
+My sleeping-room to hills, and woods, and dells!
+I walk abroad, for naught my footsteps hinder,
+And fling my arms. Oh! mi! I've broke the _winder_!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ IX
+
+ PARODY
+
+
+
+
+ THE HIGHER PANTHEISM IN A NUTSHELL
+
+
+One, who is not, we see; but one, whom we see not, is;
+Surely, this is not that; but that is assuredly this.
+
+What, and wherefore, and whence: for under is over and under;
+If thunder could be without lightning, lightning could be without
+ thunder.
+
+Doubt is faith in the main; but faith, on the whole, is doubt;
+We cannot believe by proof; but could we believe without?
+
+Why, and whither, and how? for barley and rye are not clover;
+Neither are straight lines curves; yet over is under and over.
+
+One and two are not one; but one and nothing is two;
+Truth can hardly be false, if falsehood cannot be true.
+
+Parallels all things are; yet many of these are askew;
+You are certainly I; but certainly I am not you.
+
+One, whom we see not, is; and one, who is not, we see;
+Fiddle, we know, is diddle; and diddle, we take it, is dee.
+
+ _Algernon Charles Swinburne._
+
+
+
+
+ NEPHELIDIA
+
+
+From the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn through a notable
+ nimbus of nebulous moonshine,
+ Pallid and pink as the palm of the flag-flower that flickers with fear
+ of the flies as they float,
+Are they looks of our lovers that lustrously lean from a marvel of
+ mystic miraculous moonshine,
+ These that we feel in the blood of our blushes that thicken and
+ threaten with throbs through the throat?
+Thicken and thrill as a theatre thronged at appeal of an actor's
+ appalled agitation,
+ Fainter with fear of the fires of the future than pale with the
+ promise of pride in the past;
+Flushed with the famishing fulness of fever that reddens with radiance
+ of rathe recreation,
+ Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam through the gloom of
+ the gloaming when ghosts go aghast?
+Nay, for the nick of the tick of the time is a tremulous touch on the
+ temples of terror,
+ Strained as the sinews yet strenuous with strife of the dead who is
+ dumb as the dust-heaps of death;
+Surely no soul is it, sweet as the spasm of erotic emotional exquisite
+ error,
+ Bathed in the balms of beatified bliss, beatific itself by beatitude's
+ breath.
+Surely no spirit or sense of a soul that was soft to the spirit and soul
+ of our senses
+ Sweetens the stress of surprising suspicion that sobs in the semblance
+ and sound of a sigh;
+Only this oracle opens Olympian, in mystical moods and triangular
+ tenses,--
+ "Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn
+ of the day when we die."
+Mild is the mirk and monotonous music of memory, melodiously mute as it
+ may be,
+ While the hope in the heart of a hero is bruised by the breach of
+ men's rapiers, resigned to the rod;
+Made meek as a mother whose bosom-beats bound with the bliss-bringing
+ bulk of a balm-breathing baby,
+ As they grope through the grave-yard of creeds, under skies growing
+ green at a groan for the grimness of God.
+Blank is the book of his bounty beholden of old, and its binding is
+ blacker than bluer:
+ Out of blue into black is the scheme of the skies, and their dews are
+ the wine of the bloodshed of things:
+Till the darkling desire of delight shall be free as a fawn that is
+ freed from the fangs that pursue her,
+ Till the heart-beats of hell shall be hushed by a hymn from the hunt
+ that has harried the kennel of kings.
+
+ _Algernon Charles Swinburne._
+
+
+
+
+ UP THE SPOUT
+
+
+ I
+
+Hi! Just you drop that! Stop, I say!
+ Shirk work, think slink off, twist friend's wrist?
+Where that spined sand's lined band's the bay--
+ Lined blind with true sea's blue, as due--
+Promising--not to pay?
+
+ II
+
+For the sea's debt leaves wet the sand;
+ Burst worst fate's weight's in one burst gun?
+A man's own yacht, blown--What? off land?
+ Tack back, or veer round here, then--queer!
+Reef points, though--understand?
+
+ III
+
+I'm blest if I do. Sigh? be blowed!
+ Love's doves make break life's ropes, eh? Tropes!
+Faith's brig, baulked, sides caulked, rides at road;
+ Hope's gropes befogged, storm-dogged and bogged--
+Clogged, water-logged, her load!
+
+Stowed, by Jove, right and tight, away.
+ No show now how best plough sea's brow,
+Wrinkling--breeze quick, tease thick, ere day,
+ Clear sheer wave's sheen of green, I mean,
+With twinkling wrinkles--eh?
+
+ V
+
+Sea sprinkles wrinkles, tinkles light
+ Shells' bells--boy's joys that hap to snap!
+It's just sea's fun, breeze done, to spite
+ God's rods that scourge her surge, I'd urge--
+Not proper, is it--quite?
+
+ VI
+
+See, fore and aft, life's craft undone!
+ Crank plank, split spritsail--mark, sea's lark!
+That gray cold sea's old sprees, begun
+ When men lay dark i' the ark, no spark,
+All water--just God's fun!
+
+ VII
+
+Not bright, at best, his jest to these
+ Seemed--screamed, shrieked, wreaked on kin for sin!
+When for mirth's yell earth's knell seemed please
+ Some dumb new grim great whim in him
+Made Jews take chalk for cheese.
+
+ VIII
+
+Could God's rods bruise God's Jews? Their jowls
+ Bobbed, sobbed, gaped, aped, the plaice in face!
+None heard, 'tis odds, his--God's--folk's howls.
+ Now, how must I apply, to try
+This hookiest-beaked of owls?
+
+Well, I suppose God knows--I don't.
+ Time's crimes mark dark men's types, in stripes
+Broad as fen's lands men's hands were wont
+ Leave grieve unploughed, though proud and loud
+With birds' words--No! he won't!
+
+ X
+
+One never should think good impossible.
+ Eh? say I'd hide this Jew's oil's cruse--
+His shop might hold bright gold, engrossible
+ By spy--spring's air takes there no care
+To wave the heath-flower's glossy bell!
+
+ XI
+
+But gold bells chime in time there, coined--
+ Gold! Old Sphinx winks there--"Read my screed!"
+Doctrine Jews learn, use, burn for, joined
+ (Through new craft's stealth) with health and wealth--
+At once all three purloined!
+
+ XII
+
+I rose with dawn, to pawn, no doubt,
+ (Miss this chance, glance untried aside?)
+John's shirt, my--no! Ay, so--the lout!
+ Let yet the door gape, store on floor
+And not a soul about?
+
+ XIII
+
+Such men lay traps, perhaps--and I'm
+ Weak--meek--mild--child of woe, you know!
+But theft, I doubt, my lout calls crime.
+ Shrink? Think! Love's dawn in pawn--you spawn
+Of Jewry! Just in time!
+
+ _Algernon Charles Swinburne._
+
+
+
+
+ IN IMMEMORIAM
+
+
+We seek to know, and knowing seek;
+We seek, we know, and every sense
+Is trembling with the great Intense
+And vibrating to what we speak.
+
+We ask too much, we seek too oft,
+We know enough, and should no more;
+And yet we skim through Fancy's lore
+And look to earth and not aloft.
+
+A something comes from out the gloom;
+I know it not, nor seek to know;
+I only see it swell and grow,
+And more than this world would presume.
+
+Meseems, a circling void I fill,
+And I, unchanged where all is changed;
+It seems unreal; I own it strange,
+Yet nurse the thoughts I cannot kill.
+
+I hear the ocean's surging tide,
+Raise quiring on its carol-tune;
+I watch the golden-sickled moon,
+And clearer voices call beside.
+
+O Sea! whose ancient ripples lie
+On red-ribbed sands where seaweeds shone;
+O Moon! whose golden sickle's gone;
+O Voices all! like ye I die!
+
+ _Cuthbert Bede._
+
+
+
+
+ LUCY LAKE
+
+
+Poor Lucy Lake was overgrown,
+ But somewhat underbrained.
+She did not know enough, I own,
+ To go in when it rained.
+Yet Lucy was constrained to go;
+ Green bedding,--you infer.
+Few people knew she died, but oh,
+ The difference to her!
+
+ _Newton Mackintosh._
+
+
+
+
+ THE COCK AND THE BULL
+
+
+You see this pebble-stone? It's a thing I bought
+Of a bit of a chit of a boy i' the mid o' the day--
+I like to dock the smaller parts-o'-speech,
+As we curtail the already cur-tailed cur
+(You catch the paronomasia, play 'po' words?)
+Did, rather, i' the pre-Landseerian days.
+Well, to my muttons. I purchased the concern,
+And clapt it i' my poke, having given for same
+By way o' chop, swop, barter or exchange--
+"Chop" was my snickering dandiprat's own term--
+One shilling and fourpence, current coin o' the realm.
+O-n-e one and f-o-u-r four
+Pence, one and fourpence--you are with me, sir?--
+What hour it skills not: ten or eleven o' the clock,
+One day (and what a roaring day it was
+Go shop or sight-see--bar a spit o' rain!)
+In February, eighteen sixty nine,
+Alexandrina Victoria, Fidei,
+Hm--hm--how runs the jargon? being on the throne.
+
+Such, sir, are all the facts, succinctly put,
+The basis or substratum--what you will--
+Of the impending eighty thousand lines.
+"Not much in 'em either," quoth perhaps simple Hodge.
+But there's a superstructure. Wait a bit.
+
+Mark first the rationale of the thing:
+Hear logic rivel and levigate the deed.
+That shilling--and for matter o' that, the pence--
+I had o' course upo' me--wi' me say--
+(_Mecum's_ the Latin, make a note o' that)
+When I popp'd pen i' stand, scratched ear, wiped snout,
+
+(Let everybody wipe his own himself)
+Sniff'd--tch!--at snuffbox; tumbled up, he-heed,
+Haw-haw'd (not he-haw'd, that's another guess thing):
+Then fumbled at, and stumbled out of, door,
+I shoved the timber ope wi' my omoplat;
+And _in vestibulo_, i' the lobby to-wit,
+(Iacobi Facciolati's rendering, sir,)
+Donned galligaskins, antigropeloes,
+And so forth; and, complete with hat and gloves,
+One on and one a-dangle i' in my hand,
+And ombrifuge (Lord love you!) cas o' rain,
+I flopped forth, 'sbuddikins! on my own ten toes,
+(I do assure you there be ten of them)
+And went clump-clumping up hill and down dale
+To find myself o' the sudden i' front o' the boy.
+Put case I hadn't 'em on me, could I ha' bought
+This sort-o'-kind-o'-what-you-might-call-toy,
+This pebble-thing, o' the boy-thing? Q. E. D.
+That's proven without aid for mumping Pope,
+Sleek porporate or bloated cardinal.
+(Isn't it, old Fatchops? You're in Euclid now.)
+So, having the shilling--having i' fact a lot--
+And pence and halfpence, ever so many o' them,
+I purchased, as I think I said before,
+The pebble (_lapis_, _lapidis_, _di_, _dem_, _de_--
+What nouns 'crease short i' the genitive, Fatchops, eh?)
+O, the boy, a bare-legg'd beggarly son of a gun,
+For one-and-fourpence. Here we are again.
+Now Law steps in, bewigged, voluminous-jaw'd;
+Investigates and re-investigates.
+Was the transaction illegal? Law shakes head.
+Perpend, sir, all the bearings of the case.
+
+At first the coin was mine, the chattel his.
+But now (by virtue of the said exchange
+And barter) _vice versa_ all the coin,
+_Rer juris operationem_, vests
+I' the boy and his assigns till ding o' doom;
+_In saecula saeculo-o-orum_;
+(I think I hear the Abate mouth out that.)
+To have and hold the same to him and them ...
+Confer some idiot on Conveyancing.
+Whereas the pebble and every part thereof,
+And all that appertaineth thereunto,
+_Quodcunque pertinet ad em rem_,
+(I fancy, sir, my Latin's rather pat)
+Or shall, will, may, might, can, could, would, or should,
+_Subaudi caetera_--clap we to the close--
+For what's the good of law in such a case o' the kind
+Is mine to all intents and purposes.
+This settled, I resume the thread o' the tale.
+
+Now for a touch o' the vendor's quality.
+He says a gen'lman bought a pebble of him,
+(This pebble i' sooth, sir, which I hold i' my hand)--
+And paid for 't, _like_ a gen'lman, on the nail.
+"Did I o'ercharge him a ha'penny? Devil a bit.
+Fiddlepin's end! Get out, you blazing ass!
+Gabble o' the goose. Don't bugaboo-baby _me_!
+Go double or quits? Yah! tittup! what's the odds?"
+--There's the transaction viewed in the vendor's light.
+
+Next ask that dumpled hag, stood snuffling by,
+With her three frowsy blowsy brats o' babes,
+The scum o' the Kennel, cream o' the filth-heap--Faugh!
+Aie, aie, aie, aie! [Greek: otototototoi],
+('Stead which we blurt out, Hoighty toighty now)--
+And the baker and candlestick maker, and Jack and Gill.
+Blear'd Goody this and queasy Gaffer that,
+Ask the Schoolmaster, Take Schoolmaster first.
+He saw a gentleman purchase of a lad
+A stone, and pay for it _rite_ on the square,
+And carry it off _per saltum_, jauntily
+_Propria quae maribus_, gentleman's property now
+(Agreeable to the law explained above).
+_In proprium usum_, for his private ends,
+The boy he chucked a brown i' the air, and bit
+I' the face the shilling; heaved a thumping stone
+At a lean hen that ran cluck-clucking by,
+(And hit her, dead as nail i' post o' door,)
+Then _abiit_--What's the Ciceronian phrase?
+_Excessit_, _evasit_, _erupit_--off slogs boy;
+
+Off like bird, _avi similis_--(you observed
+The dative? Pretty i' the Mantuan!)--_Anglice_
+Off in three flea skips. _Hactenus_, so far,
+So good, _tam bene. Bene, satis, male_,--
+Where was I with my trope 'bout one in a quag?
+I did once hitch the Syntax into verse
+_Verbum personale_, a verb personal,
+_Concordat_--ay, "agrees," old Fatchops--_cum_
+_Nominativo_, with its nominative,
+_Genere_, i' point of gender, _numero_,
+O' number, _et persona_, and person. _Ut_,
+Instance: _Sol ruit_, down flops sun, _et_ and,
+_Montes umbrantur_, out flounce mountains. Pah!
+Excuse me, sir, I think I'm going mad.
+
+You see the trick on't, though, and can yourself
+Continue the discourse _ad libitum_.
+It takes up about eighty thousand lines,
+A thing imagination boggles at;
+And might, odds-bobs, sir! in judicious hands
+Extend from here to Mesopotamy.
+
+ _Charles Stuart Calverley._
+
+
+
+
+ BALLAD
+
+
+The auld wife sat at her ivied door,
+ (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
+A thing she had frequently done before;
+ And her spectacles lay on her apron'd knees.
+
+The piper he piped on the hilltop high,
+ (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
+Till the cow said "I die," and the goose asked "Why?"
+ And the dog said nothing, but search'd for fleas.
+
+The farmer he strode through the square farmyard;
+ (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
+His last brew of ale was a trifle hard--
+ The connection of which the plot one sees.
+
+The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes;
+ (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
+She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies,
+ As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas.
+
+The farmer's daughter hath ripe red lips;
+ (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
+If you try to approach her, away she skips
+ Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.
+
+The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair;
+ (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
+And I met with a ballad, I can't say where,
+ Which wholly consisted of lines like these.
+
+
+ PART II
+
+She sat with her hands 'neath her dimpled cheeks,
+ (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
+And spake not a word. While a lady speaks
+ There is hope, but she didn't even sneeze.
+
+She sat, with her hands 'neath her crimson cheeks;
+ (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
+She gave up mending her father's breeks,
+ And let the cat roll in her new chemise.
+
+She sat with her hands 'neath her burning cheeks,
+ (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
+And gazed at the piper for thirteen weeks;
+ Then she follow'd him o'er the misty leas.
+
+Her sheep follow'd her, as their tails did them,
+ (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_)
+And this song is consider'd a perfect gem,
+ And as to the meaning, it's what you please.
+
+ _Charles Stuart Calverley._
+
+
+
+
+ DISASTER
+
+
+'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour!
+ My fondest hopes would not decay;
+I never loved a tree or flower
+ Which was the first to fade away!
+The garden, where I used to delve
+ Short-frock'd, still yields me pinks in plenty;
+The pear-tree that I climbed at twelve
+ I see still blossoming, at twenty.
+
+I never nursed a dear gazelle;
+ But I was given a parroquet--
+(How I did nurse him if unwell!)
+ He's imbecile, but lingers yet.
+He's green, with an enchanting tuft;
+ He melts me with his small black eye;
+He'd look inimitable stuffed,
+ And knows it--but he will not die!
+
+I had a kitten--I was rich
+ In pets--but all too soon my kitten
+Became a full-sized cat, by which
+ I've more than once been scratched and bitten
+And when for sleep her limbs she curl'd
+ One day beside her untouch'd plateful,
+And glided calmly from the world,
+ I freely own that I was grateful.
+
+And then I bought a dog--a queen!
+ Ah, Tiny, dear departing pug!
+She lives, but she is past sixteen
+ And scarce can crawl across the rug.
+I loved her beautiful and kind;
+ Delighted in her pert bow-wow;
+But now she snaps if you don't mind;
+ 'Twere lunacy to love her now.
+
+I used to think, should e'er mishap
+ Betide my crumple-visaged Ti,
+In shape of prowling thief, or trap,
+ Or coarse bull-terrier--I should die.
+But ah! disasters have their use,
+ And life might e'en be too sunshiny;
+Nor would I make myself a goose,
+ If some big dog should swallow Tiny.
+
+ _Charles Stuart Calverley._
+
+
+
+
+ WORDSWORTHIAN REMINISCENCE
+
+
+I walked and came upon a picket fence,
+And every picket went straight up and down,
+And all at even intervals were placed,
+All painted green, all pointed at the top,
+And every one inextricably nailed
+Unto two several cross-beams, which did go,
+Not as the pickets, but quite otherwise,
+And they two crossed, but back of all were posts.
+
+O beauteous picket fence, can I not draw
+Instruction from thee? Yea, for thou dost teach,
+That even as the pickets are made fast
+To that which seems all at cross purposes,
+So are our human lives, to the Divine,
+But, oh! not purposeless, for even as they
+Do keep stray cows from trespass, we, no doubt,
+Together guard some plan of Deity.
+
+Thus did I moralise. And from the beams
+And pickets drew a lesson to myself,--
+But where the posts came in, I could not tell.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ INSPECT US
+
+
+Out of the clothes that cover me
+ Tight as the skin is on the grape,
+I thank whatever gods may be
+ For my unconquerable shape.
+
+In the fell clutch of bone and steel
+ I have not whined nor cried aloud;
+Whatever else I may conceal,
+ I show my thoughts unshamed and proud.
+
+The forms of other actorines
+ I put away into the shade;
+All of them flossy near-blondines
+ Find and shall find me unafraid.
+
+It matters not how straight the tape,
+ How cold the weather is, or warm--
+I am the mistress of my shape--
+ I am the captain of my form.
+
+ _Edith Daniell._
+
+
+
+
+ THE MESSED DAMOZEL
+
+ AT THE CUBIST EXHIBITION
+
+
+The Messed Damozel leaned out
+ From the gold cube of Heav'n;
+There were three cubes within her hands,
+ And the cubes in her hair were seven;
+I looked, and looked, and looked, and looked--
+ I could not see her, even.
+
+Her robe, a cube from clasp to hem,
+ Was moderately clear;
+Methought I saw two cubic eyes,
+ When I had looked a year;
+But when I turned to tell the world,
+ Those eyes did disappear!
+
+It was the rampart of some house
+ That she was standing on;
+That much, at least, was plain to me
+ As her I gazed upon;
+But even as I gazed, alas!
+ The rampart, too, was gone!
+
+(I saw her smile!) Oh, no, I didn't,
+ Though long mine eyes did stare;
+The cubes closed down and shut her out;
+ I wept in deep despair;
+But this I know, and know full well--
+ _She simply wasn't there!_
+
+ _Charles Hanson Towne._
+
+
+
+
+ A MELTON MOWBRAY PORK-PIE
+
+
+Strange pie that is almost a passion,
+ O passion immoral for pie!
+Unknown are the ways that they fashion,
+ Unknown and unseen of the eye.
+The pie that is marbled and mottled,
+ The pie that digests with a sigh:
+For all is not Bass that is bottled,
+ And all is not pork that is pie.
+
+ _Richard Le Gallienne._
+
+
+
+
+ ISRAFIDDLESTRINGS
+
+
+In heaven a Spirit doth dwell
+ Whose heart strings are a fiddle,
+(The reason he sings so well--
+This fiddler Israfel),
+And the giddy stars (will any one tell
+Why giddy?) to attend his spell
+ Cease their hymns in the middle.
+
+On the height of her go
+ Totters the Moon, and blushes
+ As the song of that fiddle rushes
+Across her bow.
+ The red Lightning stands to listen,
+And the eyes of the Pleiads glisten
+As each of the seven puts its fist in
+ Its eye, for the mist in.
+
+And they say--it's a riddle--
+ That all these listening things,
+That stop in the middle
+For the heart-strung fiddle
+ With such the Spirit sings,
+Are held as on the griddle
+ By these unusual strings.
+
+Wherefore thou art not wrong,
+ Israfel! in that thou boastest
+Fiddlestrings uncommon strong;
+To thee the fiddlestrings belong
+ With which thou toastest
+Other hearts as on a prong.
+
+Yes! heaven is thine, but this
+ Is a world of sours and sweets,
+ Where cold meats are cold meats,
+And the eater's most perfect bliss
+ Is the shadow of him who treats.
+
+If I could griddle
+As Israfiddle
+ Has griddled--he fiddle as I,--
+He might not fiddle so wild a riddle
+ As this mad melody,
+While the Pleiads all would leave off in the middle
+ Hearing my griddle-cry.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ AFTER DILETTANTE CONCETTI
+
+
+"Why do you wear your hair like a man,
+ Sister Helen?
+This week is the third since you began."
+"I'm writing a ballad; be still if you can,
+ Little brother.
+ (O Mother Carey, mother!
+What chickens are these between sea and heaven?)"
+
+"But why does your figure appear so lean,
+ Sister Helen?
+And why do you dress in sage, sage green?"
+"Children should never be heard, if seen,
+ Little brother?
+ (O Mother Carey, mother!
+What fowls are a-wing in the stormy heaven!)"
+
+"But why is your face so yellowy white,
+ Sister Helen?
+And why are your skirts so funnily tight?"
+"Be quiet, you torment, or how can I write,
+ Little brother?
+ (O Mother Carey, mother!
+How gathers thy train to the sea from the heaven!)"
+
+"And who's Mother Carey, and what is her train,
+ Sister Helen?
+And why do you call her again and again?"
+"You troublesome boy, why that's the refrain,
+ Little brother.
+ (O Mother Carey, mother!
+What work is toward in the startled heaven?)"
+
+"And what's a refrain? What a curious word,
+ Sister Helen!
+Is the ballad you're writing about a sea-bird?"
+"Not at all; why should it be? Don't be absurd,
+ Little brother.
+ (O Mother Carey, mother!
+Thy brood flies lower as lowers the heaven.)"
+
+ (A big brother speaketh:)
+"The refrain you've studied a meaning had,
+ Sister Helen!
+It gave strange force to a weird ballad.
+But refrains have become a ridiculous 'fad,'
+ Little brother.
+ And Mother Carey, mother,
+Has a bearing on nothing in earth or heaven.
+
+"But the finical fashion has had its day,
+ Sister Helen.
+And let's try in the style of a different lay
+To bid it adieu in poetical way,
+ Little brother.
+ So, Mother Carey, mother!
+Collect your chickens and go to--heaven."
+
+(_A pause. Then the big brother singeth, accompanying himself in a
+plaintive wise on the triangle._)
+
+"Look in my face. My name is Used-to-was;
+ I am also called Played-out, and Done to Death,
+ And It-will-wash-no-more. Awakeneth
+Slowly but sure awakening it has,
+The common-sense of man; and I, alas!
+ The ballad-burden trick, now known too well,
+ And turned to scorn, and grown contemptible--
+A too transparent artifice to pass.
+
+"What a cheap dodge I am! The cats who dart
+ Tin-kettled through the streets in wild surprise
+ Assail judicious ears not otherwise;
+And yet no critics praise the urchin's 'art,'
+Who to the wretched creature's caudal part
+ Its foolish empty-jingling 'burden' ties."
+
+ _H. D. Traill._
+
+
+
+
+ WHENCENESS OF THE WHICH
+
+ SOME DISTANCE AFTER TENNYSON
+
+
+Come into the Whenceness Which,
+ For the fierce Because has flown:
+Come into the Whenceness Which,
+ I am here by the Where alone;
+And the Whereas odors are wafted abroad
+ Till I hold my nose and groan.
+
+Queen Which of the Whichbud garden of What's
+ Come hither the jig is done.
+In gloss of Isness and shimmer of Was,
+ Queen Thisness and Which in one;
+Shine out, little Which, sunning over the bangs,
+ To the Nowness, and be its sun.
+
+There has fallen a splendid tear
+ From the Is flower at the fence;
+She is coming, my Which, my dear,
+ And as she Whistles a song of the Whence,
+The Nowness cries, "She is near, she is near."
+ And the Thingness howls, "Alas!"
+The Whoness murmurs, "Well, I should smile,"
+ And the Whatlet sobs, "I pass."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LITTLE STAR
+
+
+Scintillate, scintillate, globule orific,
+Fain would I fathom thy nature's specific.
+Loftily poised in ether capacious,
+Strongly resembling a gem carbonaceous.
+
+When torrid Ph[oe]bus refuses his presence
+And ceases to lamp with fierce incandescence,
+Then you illumine the regions supernal,
+Scintillate, scintillate, semper nocturnal.
+
+Then the victim of hospiceless peregrination
+Gratefully hails your minute coruscation.
+He could not determine his journey's direction
+But for your bright scintillating protection.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ORIGINAL LAMB
+
+
+Oh, Mary had a little Lamb, regarding whose cuticular
+The fluff exterior was white and kinked in each particular.
+On each occasion when the lass was seen perambulating,
+The little quadruped likewise was there a gallivating.
+
+One day it did accompany her to the knowledge dispensary,
+Which to every rule and precedent was recklessly contrary.
+Immediately whereupon the pedagogue superior,
+Exasperated, did eject the lamb from the interior.
+
+Then Mary, on beholding such performance arbitrary,
+Suffused her eyes with saline drops from glands called lachrymary,
+And all the pupils grew thereat tumultuously hilarious,
+And speculated on the case with wild conjectures various.
+
+"What makes the lamb love Mary so?" the scholars asked the teacher.
+He paused a moment, then he tried to diagnose the creature.
+"Oh pecus amorem Mary habit omnia temporum."
+"Thanks, teacher dear," the scholars cried, and awe crept darkly o'er
+ 'em.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ SAINTE MARGERIE
+
+
+Slim feet than lilies tenderer,--
+ _Margerie!_
+That scarce upbore the body of her,
+Naked upon the stones they were;--
+ _C'est ca Sainte Margerie!_
+
+White as a shroud the silken gown,--
+ _Margerie!_
+That flowed from shoulder to ankle down,
+With clear blue shadows along it thrown;
+ _C'est ca Sainte Margerie!_
+
+On back and bosom withouten braid,--
+ _Margerie!_
+In crisped glory of darkling red,
+Round creamy temples her hair was shed;--
+ _C'est ca Sainte Margerie!_
+
+Eyes, like a dim sea, viewed from far,--
+ _Margerie!_
+Lips that no earthly love shall mar,
+More sweet that lips of mortals are;--
+ _C'est ca Sainte Margerie!_
+
+The chamber walls are cracked and bare;--
+ _Margerie!_
+Without the gossips stood astare
+At men her bed away that bare;--
+ _C'est ca Sainte Margerie!_
+
+Five pennies lay her hand within,--
+ _Margerie!_
+So she her fair soul's weal might win,
+Little she reck'd of dule or teen;--
+ _C'est ca Sainte Margerie!_
+
+Dank straw from dunghill gathered,--
+ _Margerie!_
+Where fragrant swine have made their bed,
+Thereon her body shall be laid;--
+ _C'est ca Sainte Margerie!_
+
+Three pennies to the poor in dole,--
+ _Margerie!_
+One to the clerk her knell shall toll,
+And one to masses for her soul;--
+ _C'est ca Sainte Margerie!_
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ ROBERT FROST
+
+ RELATES THE DEATH OF THE TIRED MAN
+
+
+There were two of us left in the berry-patch;
+Bryan O'Lin and Jack had gone to Norwich.--
+They called him Jack a' Nory, half in fun
+And half because it seemed to anger him.--
+So there we stood and let the berries go,
+Talking of men we knew and had forgotten.
+A sprawling, humpbacked mountain frowned on us
+And blotted out a smouldering sunset cloud
+That broke in fiery ashes. "Well," he said,
+"Old Adam Brown is dead and gone; you'll never
+See him any more. He used to wear
+A long, brown coat that buttoned down before.
+That's all I ever knew of him; I guess that's all
+That anyone remembers. Eh?" he said,
+And then, without a pause to let me answer,
+He went right on.
+ "How about Dr. Foster?"
+"Well, how _about_ him?" I managed to reply.
+He glared at me for having interrupted.
+And stopped to pick his words before he spoke;
+Like one who turns all personal remarks
+Into a general survey of the world.
+Choosing his phrases with a finicky care
+So they might fit some vague opinions,
+Taken, third-hand, from last year's _New York Times_
+And jumbled all together into a thing
+He thought was his philosophy.
+ "Never mind;
+There's more in Foster than you'd understand.
+But," he continued, darkly as before,
+"What do you make of Solomon Grundy's case?
+You know the gossip when he first came here.
+Folks said he'd gone to smash in Lunenburg,
+And four years in the State Asylum here
+Had almost finished him. It was Sanders' job
+That put new life in him. A clear, cool day;
+The second Monday in July it was.
+'Born on a Monday,' that is what they said.
+Remember the next few days? I guess you don't;
+That was before your time. Well, Tuesday night
+He said he'd go to church; and just before the prayer
+He blurts right out, 'I've come here to get christened.
+If I am going to have a brand new life
+I'll have a new name, too.' Well, sure enough
+They christened him, though I've forgotten what;
+And Etta Stark, (you know, the pastor's girl)
+Her head upset by what she called romance,
+She went and married him on Wednesday noon.
+Thursday the sun or something in the air
+Got in his blood and right off he took sick.
+Friday the thing got worse, and so did he;
+And Saturday at four o'clock he died.
+Buried on Sunday with the town decked out
+As if it was a circus-day. And not a soul
+Knew why they went or what he meant to them
+Or what he died of. What would be _your_ guess?"
+"Well," I replied, "it seems to me that he,
+Just coming from a sedentary life,
+Felt a great wave of energy released,
+And tried to crowd too much in one short week.
+The laws of physics teach--"
+ "No, not at all.
+He never knew 'em. He was just tired," he said.
+
+ _Louis Untermeyer._
+
+
+
+
+ OWEN SEAMAN
+
+ESTABLISHES THE "ENTENTE CORDIALE" BY RECITING "THE SINGULAR STUPIDITY
+ OF J. SPRATT, ESQ.," IN THE MANNER OF GUY WETMORE CARRYL.
+
+
+Of all the mismated pairs ever created
+ The worst of the lot were the Spratts.
+Their life was a series of quibbles and queries
+ And quarrels and squabbles and spats.
+They argued at breakfast, they argued at tea,
+And they argued from midnight to quarter past three.
+
+The family Spratt-head was rather a fat-head,
+ And a bellicose body to boot.
+He was selfish and priggish and worse, he was piggish--
+ A regular beast of a brute.
+At table his acts were incredibly mean;
+He gave his wife fat--and _he_ gobbled the lean!
+
+What's more, she was censured whenever she ventured
+ To dare to object to her fare;
+He said "It ain't tasteful, but we can't be wasteful;
+ And _someone_ must eat what is there!"
+But his coarseness exceeded all bounds of control
+When he laughed at her Art and the State of her Soul.
+
+So what with his jeering and fleering and sneering,
+ He plagued her from dawn until dark.
+He bellowed "I'll teach ye to read Shaw and Nietzsche"--
+ And he was as bad as his bark.
+"The place for a woman----" he'd start, very glib....
+And so on, for two or three hours _ad lib_.
+
+So very malignant became his indignant
+ Remarks about "Culture" and "Cranks,"
+That at last she revolted. She up and she bolted
+ And entered the militant ranks....
+When she died, after breaking nine-tenths of the laws,
+She left all her money and jewels to the Cause!
+
+And _THE MORAL_ is this (though a bit abstruse):
+What's sauce for a more or less proper goose,
+When it rouses the violent, feminine dander,
+Is apt to be sauce for the propaganda.
+
+ _Louis Untermeyer._
+
+
+
+
+ THE MODERN HIAWATHA
+
+
+He killed the noble Mudjokivis.
+Of the skin he made him mittens,
+Made them with the fur side inside
+Made them with the skin side outside.
+He, to get the warm side inside,
+Put the inside skin side outside;
+He, to get the cold side outside,
+Put the warm side fur side inside.
+That's why he put the fur side inside,
+Why he put the skin side outside.
+Why he turned them inside outside.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ SOMEWHERE-IN-EUROPE-WOCKY
+
+
+'Twas brussels, and the loos liege
+ Did meuse and arras in latour;
+All vimy were the metz maubege,
+ And the tsing-tau namur.
+
+"Beware the petrograd, my son--
+ The jaws that bite, the claws that plough!
+Beware the posen, and verdun
+ The soldan mons glogau!"
+
+He took his dixmude sword in hand;
+ Long time his altkirch foe he sought;
+Then rested he 'neath the warsaw tree,
+ And stood awhile in thought.
+
+And as in danzig thought he stood
+ The petrograd, with eyes of flame,
+Came ypring through the cracow wood,
+ And longwied as it came.
+
+One two! One two! and through and through
+ The dixmude blade went snicker-snack;
+He left it dead, and with its head
+ He gallipolied back.
+
+"And hast thou slain the petrograd?
+ Come to my arms, my krithnia boy!
+O chanak day! Artois! Grenay!"
+ He woevred in his joy.
+
+'Twas brussels, and the loos liege
+ Did meuse and arras in latour;
+All vimy were the metz maubege,
+ And the tsing-tau namur.
+
+ _F. G. Hartswick._
+
+
+
+
+ RIGID BODY SINGS
+
+
+Gin a body meet a body
+ Flyin' through the air,
+Gin a body hit a body,
+ Will it fly? and where?
+Ilka impact has its measure,
+ Ne'er a' ane hae I,
+Yet a' the lads they measure me,
+ Or, at least, they try.
+
+Gin a body meet a body
+ Altogether free,
+How they travel afterwards
+ We do not always see.
+Ilka problem has its method
+ By analytics high;
+For me, I ken na ane o' them,
+ But what the waur am I?
+
+ _J. C. Maxwell._
+
+
+
+
+ A BALLAD OF HIGH ENDEAVOR
+
+
+Ah Night! blind germ of days to be,
+ Ah, me! ah me!
+ (Sweet Venus, mother!)
+What wail of smitten strings hear we?
+ (Ah me! ah me!
+ _Hey diddle dee!_)
+
+Ravished by clouds our Lady Moon,
+ Ah me! ah me!
+ (Sweet Venus, mother!)
+Sinks swooning in a lady-swoon
+ (Ah me! ah me!
+ _Dum diddle dee!_)
+
+What profits it to rise i' the dark?
+ Ah me! ah me!
+ (Sweet Venus, mother!)
+If love but over-soar its mark
+ (Ah me! ah me!
+ _Hey diddle dee!_)
+
+What boots to fall again forlorn?
+ Ah me! ah me!
+ (Sweet Venus, mother!)
+Scorned by the grinning hound of scorn,
+ (Ah me! ah me!
+ _Dum diddle dee!_)
+
+Art thou not greater who art less?
+ Ah me! ah me!
+ (Sweet Venus, mother!)
+Low love fulfilled of low success?
+ (Ah me! ah me!
+ _Hey diddle dee!_)
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ FATHER WILLIAM
+
+
+"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 that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
+ Why, I do it again and again."
+
+"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
+ And have grown most uncommonly fat;
+Yet you turned a back somersault in at the door--
+ Pray, what is the reason of that?"
+
+"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,
+ "I kept all my limbs very supple
+By the use of this ointment--one shilling the box--
+ Allow me to sell you a couple."
+
+"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 did 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."
+
+"You are old," said the youth; "one would hardly suppose
+ That your eye was as steady as ever;
+Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose--
+ What made you so awfully clever?"
+
+"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
+ Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!
+Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
+ Be off, or I'll kick you down-stairs!"
+
+ _Lewis Carroll._
+
+
+
+
+ THE POETS AT TEA
+
+
+ 1--(_Macaulay, who made it_)
+
+Pour, varlet, pour the water,
+ The water steaming hot!
+A spoonful for each man of us,
+ Another for the pot!
+We shall not drink from amber,
+ Nor Capuan slave shall mix
+For us the snows of Athos
+ With port at thirty-six;
+Whiter than snow the crystals,
+ Grown sweet 'neath tropic fires,
+More rich the herbs of China's field,
+The pasture-lands more fragrance yield;
+For ever let Britannia wield
+ The tea-pot of her sires!
+
+ 2--(_Tennyson, who took it hot_)
+
+I think that I am drawing to an end:
+For on a sudden came a gasp for breath,
+And stretching of the hands, and blinded eyes,
+And a great darkness falling on my soul.
+O Hallelujah!... Kindly pass the milk.
+
+ 3--(_Swinburne, who let it get cold_)
+
+As the sin that was sweet in the sinning
+ Is foul in the ending thereof,
+As the heat of the summer's beginning
+ Is past in the winter of love:
+O purity, painful and pleading!
+ O coldness, ineffably gray!
+Oh, hear us, our handmaid unheeding.
+ And take it away!
+
+ 4--(_Cowper, who thoroughly enjoyed it_)
+
+The cosy fire is bright and gay,
+The merry kettle boils away
+ And hums a cheerful song.
+I sing the saucer and the cup;
+Pray, Mary, fill the tea-pot up,
+ And do not make it strong.
+
+ 5--(_Browning, who treated it allegorically_)
+
+Tut! Bah! We take as another case--
+ Pass the bills on the pills on the window-sill; notice the capsule
+(A sick man's fancy, no doubt, but I place
+ Reliance on trade-marks, Sir)--so perhaps you'll
+Excuse the digression--this cup which I hold
+ Light-poised--Bah, it's spilt in the bed!--well, let's on go--
+Hold Bohea and sugar, Sir; if you were told
+ The sugar was salt, would the Bohea be Congo?
+
+ 6--(_Wordsworth, who gave it away_)
+
+"Come, little cottage girl, you seem
+ To want my cup of tea;
+And will you take a little cream?
+ Now tell the truth to me."
+
+She had a rustic, woodland grin,
+ Her cheek was soft as silk,
+And she replied, "Sir, please put in
+ A little drop of milk."
+
+"Why, what put milk into your head?
+ 'Tis cream my cows supply;"
+And five times to the child I said,
+ "Why, pig-head, tell me, why?"
+
+"You call me pig-head," she replied;
+ "My proper name is Ruth.
+I called that milk"--she blushed with pride--
+ "You bade me speak the truth."
+
+ 7--(_Poe, who got excited over it_)
+
+Here's a mellow cup of tea, golden tea!
+What a world of rapturous thought its fragrance brings to me!
+ Oh, from out the silver cells
+ How it wells!
+ How it smells!
+Keeping tune, tune, tune
+To the tintinnabulation of the spoon.
+And the kettle on the fire
+Boils its spout off with desire,
+With a desperate desire
+And a crystalline endeavour
+Now, now to sit, or never,
+On the top of the pale-faced moon,
+But he always came home to tea, tea, tea, tea, tea,
+ Tea to the n----th.
+
+ 8--(_Rossetti, who took six cups of it_)
+
+The lilies lie in my lady's bower
+(O weary mother, drive the cows to roost),
+They faintly droop for a little hour;
+My lady's head droops like a flower.
+
+She took the porcelain in her hand
+(O weary mother, drive the cows to roost);
+She poured; I drank at her command;
+Drank deep, and now--you understand!
+(O weary mother, drive the cows to roost.)
+
+ 9--(_Burns, who liked it adulterated_)
+
+Weel, gin ye speir, I'm no inclined,
+Whusky or tay--to state my mind,
+ Fore ane or ither;
+ For, gin I tak the first, I'm fou,
+ And gin the next, I'm dull as you,
+ Mix a' thegither.
+10--(_Walt Whitman, who didn't stay more than a minute_)
+
+One cup for myself-hood,
+Many for you. Allons, camerados, we will drink together,
+O hand-in-hand! That tea-spoon, please, when you've done with it.
+What butter-colour'd hair you've got. I don't want to be personal.
+All right, then, you needn't. You're a stale-cadaver.
+Eighteen-pence if the bottles are returned.
+Allons, from all bat-eyed formula.
+
+ _Barry Pain._
+
+
+
+
+ HOW OFTEN
+
+
+They stood on the bridge at midnight,
+ In a park not far from the town;
+They stood on the bridge at midnight,
+ Because they didn't sit down.
+
+The moon rose o'er the city,
+ Behind the dark church spire;
+The moon rose o'er the city
+ And kept on rising higher.
+
+How often, oh, how often!
+ They whispered words so soft;
+How often, oh, how often;
+ How often, oh, how oft!
+
+ _Ben King._
+
+
+
+
+ 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 paying me that ten,
+ I might arise the while,
+ But I'd drop dead again.
+
+ _Ben King._
+
+
+
+
+ "THE DAY IS DONE"
+
+
+The day is done, and darkness
+ From the wing of night is loosed,
+As a feather is wafted downward,
+ From a chicken going to roost.
+
+I see the lights of the baker,
+ Gleam through the rain and mist,
+And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me,
+ That I cannot well resist.
+
+A feeling of sadness and longing
+ That is not like being sick,
+And resembles sorrow only
+ As a brickbat resembles a brick.
+
+Come, get for me some supper,--
+ A good and regular meal--
+That shall soothe this restless feeling,
+ And banish the pain I feel.
+
+Not from the pastry bakers,
+ Not from the shops for cake;
+I wouldn't give a farthing
+ For all that they can make.
+
+For, like the soup at dinner,
+ Such things would but suggest
+Some dishes more substantial,
+ And to-night I want the best.
+
+Go to some honest butcher,
+ Whose beef is fresh and nice,
+As any they have in the city
+ And get a liberal slice.
+
+Such things through days of labor,
+ And nights devoid of ease,
+For sad and desperate feelings,
+ Are wonderful remedies.
+
+They have an astonishing power
+ To aid and reinforce,
+And come like the "finally, brethren,"
+ That follows a long discourse.
+
+Then get me a tender sirloin
+ From off the bench or hook.
+And lend to its sterling goodness
+ The science of the cook.
+
+And the night shall be filled with comfort,
+ And the cares with which it begun
+Shall fold up their blankets like Indians,
+ And silently cut and run.
+
+ _Ph[oe]be Cary._
+
+
+
+
+ JACOB
+
+
+He dwelt among "Apartments let,"
+ About five stories high;
+A man, I thought, that none would get,
+ And very few would try.
+
+A boulder, by a larger stone
+ Half hidden in the mud,
+Fair as a man when only one
+ Is in the neighborhood.
+
+He lived unknown, and few could tell
+ When Jacob was not free;
+But he has got a wife--and O!
+ The difference to me!
+
+ _Ph[oe]be Cary._
+
+
+
+
+ BALLAD OF THE CANAL
+
+
+We were crowded in the cabin,
+ Not a soul had room to sleep;
+It was midnight on the waters,
+ And the banks were very steep.
+
+'Tis a fearful thing when sleeping,
+ To be startled by the shock,
+And to hear the rattling trumpet
+ Thunder, "Coming to a lock!"
+
+So we shuddered there in silence,
+ For the stoutest berth was shook,
+While the wooden gates were opened
+ And the mate talked with the cook.
+
+And as thus we lay in darkness,
+ Each one wishing we were there,
+"We are through!" the captain shouted,
+ And he sat down on a chair.
+
+And his little daughter whispered,
+ Thinking that he ought to know,
+"Isn't travelling by canal-boats
+ Just as safe as it is slow?"
+
+Then he kissed the little maiden,
+ And with better cheer we spoke,
+And we trotted into Pittsburg,
+ When the morn looked through the smoke.
+
+ _Ph[oe]be Cary._
+
+
+
+
+ THERE'S A BOWER OF BEAN-VINES
+
+
+There's a bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard,
+ And the cabbages grow round it, planted for greens;
+In the time of my childhood 'twas terribly hard
+ To bend down the bean-poles, and pick off the beans.
+
+That bower and its products I never forget,
+ But oft, when my landlady presses me hard,
+I think, are the cabbages growing there yet,
+ Are the bean-vines still bearing in Benjamin's yard?
+
+No, the bean-vines soon withered that once used to wave,
+ But some beans had been gathered, the last that hung on;
+And a soup was distilled in a kettle, that gave
+ All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone.
+
+Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,
+ An essence that breathes of it awfully hard;
+As thus good to my taste as 'twas then to my eyes,
+ Is that bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard.
+
+ _Ph[oe]be Cary._
+
+
+
+
+ REUBEN
+
+
+That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not),
+Walking between the garden and the barn,
+Reuben, all armed; a certain aim he took
+At a young chicken, standing by a post,
+And loosed his bullet smartly from his gun,
+As he would kill a hundred thousand hens.
+But I might see young Reuben's fiery shot
+Lodged in the chaste board of the garden fence,
+And the domesticated fowl passed on
+In henly meditation, bullet free.
+
+ _Ph[oe]be Cary._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WIFE
+
+
+Her washing ended with the day,
+ Yet lived she at its close,
+And passed the long, long night away
+ In darning ragged hose.
+
+But when the sun in all its state
+ Illumed the Eastern skies,
+She passed about the kitchen grate
+ And went to making pies.
+
+ _Ph[oe]be Cary._
+
+
+
+
+ WHEN LOVELY WOMAN
+
+
+When lovely woman wants a favor,
+ And finds, too late, that man won't bend,
+What earthly circumstance can save her
+ From disappointment in the end?
+
+The only way to bring him over,
+ The last experiment to try,
+Whether a husband or a lover,
+ If he have feeling is--to cry.
+
+ _Ph[oe]be Cary._
+
+
+
+
+ JOHN THOMPSON'S DAUGHTER
+
+
+A fellow near Kentucky's clime
+ Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry,
+And I'll give thee a silver dime
+ To row us o'er the ferry."
+
+"Now, who would cross the Ohio,
+ This dark and stormy water?"
+"O, I am this young lady's beau,
+ And she, John Thompson's daughter.
+
+"We've fled before her father's spite
+ With great precipitation;
+And should he find us here to-night,
+ I'd lose my reputation.
+
+"They've missed the girl and purse beside,
+ His horsemen hard have pressed me;
+And who will cheer my bonny bride,
+ If yet they shall arrest me?"
+
+Out spoke the boatman then in time,
+ "You shall not fail, don't fear it;
+I'll go, not for your silver dime,
+ But for your manly spirit.
+
+"And by my word, the bonny bird
+ In danger shall not tarry;
+For though a storm is coming on,
+ I'll row you o'er the ferry."
+
+By this the wind more fiercely rose,
+ The boat was at the landing;
+And with the drenching rain their clothes
+ Grew wet where they were standing.
+
+But still, as wilder rose the wind,
+ And as the night grew drearer;
+Just back a piece came the police,
+ Their tramping sounded nearer.
+
+"Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
+ "It's anything but funny;
+I'll leave the light of loving eyes,
+ But not my father's money!"
+
+And still they hurried in the face
+ Of wind and rain unsparing;
+John Thompson reached the landing place--
+ His wrath was turned to swearing.
+
+For by the lightning's angry flash,
+ His child he did discover;
+One lovely hand held all the cash,
+ And one was round her lover!
+
+"Come back, come back!" he cried in woe,
+ Across the stormy water;
+"But leave the purse, and you may go,
+ My daughter, oh, my daughter!"
+
+'Twas vain; they reached the other shore
+ (Such doom the Fates assign us);
+The gold he piled went with his child,
+ And he was left there _minus_.
+
+ _Ph[oe]be Cary._
+
+
+
+
+ A PORTRAIT
+
+
+He is to weet a melancholy carle:
+Thin in the waist, with bushy head of hair,
+As hath the seeded thistle, when a parle
+It holds with Zephyr, ere it sendeth fair
+Its light balloons into the summer air;
+Thereto his beard had not begun to bloom.
+No brush had touched his cheek, or razor sheer;
+No care had touched his cheek with mortal doom,
+But new he was and bright, as scarf from Persian loom.
+
+Ne cared he for wine, or half and half;
+Ne cared he for fish, or flesh, or fowl;
+And sauces held he worthless as the chaff;
+He 'sdeigned the swine-head at the wassail-bowl:
+Ne with lewd ribbalds sat he cheek by jowl;
+Ne with sly lemans in the scorner's chair;
+But after water-brooks this pilgrim's soul
+Panted and all his food was woodland air;
+Though he would oft-times feast on gilliflowers rare.
+
+The slang of cities in no wise he knew,
+_Tipping the wink_ to him was heathen Greek;
+He sipped no "olden Tom," or "ruin blue,"
+Or Nantz, or cherry-brandy, drunk full meek
+By many a damsel brave and rouge of cheek;
+Nor did he know each aged watchman's beat,
+Nor in obscured purlieus would be seek
+For curled Jewesses, with ankles neat,
+Who, as they walk abroad, make tinkling with their feet.
+
+ _John Keats._
+
+
+
+
+ ANNABEL LEE
+
+
+'Twas more than a million years ago,
+ Or so it seems to me,
+That I used to prance around and beau
+ The beautiful Annabel Lee.
+There were other girls in the neighborhood
+ But none was a patch to she.
+
+And this was the reason that long ago,
+ My love fell out of a tree,
+And busted herself on a cruel rock;
+ A solemn sight to see,
+For it spoiled the hat and gown and looks
+ Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
+
+We loved with a love that was lovely love,
+ I and my Annabel Lee,
+And we went one day to gather the nuts
+ That men call hickoree.
+And I stayed below in the rosy glow
+ While she shinned up the tree,
+But no sooner up than down kerslup
+ Came the beautiful Annabel Lee.
+
+And the pallid moon and the hectic noon
+ Bring gleams of dreams for me,
+Of the desolate and desperate fate
+ Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
+And I often think as I sink on the brink
+Of slumber's sea, of the warm pink link
+ That bound my soul to Annabel Lee;
+And it wasn't just best for her interest
+ To climb that hickory tree,
+For had she stayed below with me,
+ We'd had no hickory nuts maybe,
+But I should have had my Annabel Lee.
+
+ _Stanley Huntley._
+
+
+
+
+ HOME SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS
+
+Being suggestions of the various styles in which an old theme might
+have been treated by certain metrical composers.
+
+
+ FANTASIA
+
+ I
+
+_The original theme as John Howard Payne wrote it:_
+
+'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
+Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!
+A charm from the skies seems to hallow it there,
+Which, seek through the world, is not met with elsewhere.
+
+ Home, home! Sweet, Sweet Home!
+ There's no place like Home!
+
+An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain!
+Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
+The birds singing gaily that came at my call!
+Give me them! and the peace of mind, dearer than all.
+
+ Home, home! Sweet, Sweet Home!
+ There's no place like Home!
+
+ II
+
+(_As Algernon Charles Swinburne might have wrapped it up
+in variations._)
+
+('Mid pleasures and palaces--)
+
+As sea-foam blown of the winds, as blossom of brine that is drifted
+ Hither and yon on the barren breast of the breeze,
+Though we wander on gusts of a god's breath, shaken and shifted,
+ The salt of us stings and is sore for the sobbing seas.
+For home's sake hungry at heart, we sicken in pillared porches
+ Of bliss made sick for a life that is barren of bliss,
+For the place whereon is a light out of heaven that sears not nor
+ scorches,
+ Nor elsewhere than this.
+
+(An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain--)
+
+For here we know shall no gold thing glisten,
+ No bright thing burn, and no sweet thing shine;
+Nor love lower never an ear to listen
+ To words that work in the heart like wine.
+ What time we are set from our land apart,
+ For pain of passion and hunger of heart,
+Though we walk with exiles fame faints to christen,
+ Or sing at the Cytherean's shrine.
+
+(Variation: An exile from home--)
+
+Whether with him whose head
+Of gods is honored,
+With song made splendent in the sight of men--
+ Whose heart most sweetly stout,
+ From ravishing France cast out,
+Being firstly hers, was hers most wholly then--
+ Or where on shining seas like wine
+ The dove's wings draw the drooping Erycine.
+(Give me my lowly thatched cottage--)
+
+For Joy finds Love grow bitter,
+And spreads his wings to quit her,
+At thought of birds that twitter
+ Beneath the roof-tree's straw--
+ Of birds that come for calling,
+ No fear or fright appalling,
+ When dews of dusk are falling,
+Or daylight's draperies draw.
+
+(Give me them, and the peace of mind--)
+
+Give me these things then back, though the giving
+ Be at cost of earth's garner of gold;
+There is no life without these worth living,
+ No treasure where these are not told.
+For the heart give the hope that it knows not,
+ Give the balm for the burn of the breast--
+For the soul and the mind that repose not,
+ Oh, give us a rest!
+
+ III
+
+(_As Mr. Francis Bret Harte might have woven it into a touching tale of
+a western gentleman in a red shirt._)
+
+Brown o' San Juan,
+ Stranger, I'm Brown.
+Come up this mornin' from 'Frisco--
+ Be'n a-saltin' my specie-stacks down.
+
+Be'n a-knockin' around,
+ Fer a man from San Juan,
+Putty consid'able frequent--
+ Jes' catch onter that streak o' the dawn!
+
+Right thar lies my home--
+ Right thar in the red--
+I could slop over, stranger, in po'try--
+ Would spread out old Shakspoke cold dead.
+
+Stranger, you freeze to this: there ain't no kinder gin-palace,
+Nor no variety-show lays over a man's own rancho.
+Maybe it hain't no style, but the Queen in the Tower o' London,
+Ain't got naathin' I'd swop for that house over thar on the hill-side.
+
+Thar is my ole gal, 'n' the kids, 'n' the rest o' my live-stock;
+Thar my Remington hangs, and thar there's a griddle-cake br'ilin'--
+For the two of us, pard--and thar, I allow, the heavens
+Smile more friendly-like than on any other locality.
+
+Stranger, nowhere else I don't take no satisfaction.
+Gimme my ranch, 'n' them friendly old Shanghai chickens--
+I brung the original pair f'm the States in eighteen-'n'-fifty--
+Gimme me them and the feelin' of solid domestic comfort.
+
+ Yer parding, young man--
+ But this landscape a kind
+ Er flickers--I 'low 'twuz the po'try--
+ I thought that my eyes hed gone blind.
+
+ Take that pop from my belt!
+ Hi, thar!--gimme yer han'--
+ Or I'll kill myself--Lizzie--she's left me--
+ Gone off with a purtier man!
+
+ Thar, I'll quit--the ole gal
+ An' the kids--run away!
+ I be derned! Howsomever, come in, pard--
+ The griddle-cake's thar, anyway.
+
+ IV
+
+(_As Austin Dobson might have translated it from Horace, if it had ever
+occurred to Horace to write it._)
+
+ RONDEAU
+
+At home alone, O Nomades,
+Although Maecenas' marble frieze
+ Stand not between you and the sky
+ Nor Persian luxury supply
+Its rosy surfeit, find ye ease.
+
+Tempt not the far AEgean breeze;
+With home-made wine and books that please,
+ To duns and bores the door deny,
+ At home, alone.
+
+Strange joys may lure. Your deities
+Smile here alone. Oh, give me these:
+ Low eaves, where birds familiar fly,
+ And peace of mind, and, fluttering by,
+My Lydia's graceful draperies,
+ At home, alone.
+
+ V
+
+(_As it might have been constructed in 1744, Oliver Goldsmith, at 19,
+writing the first stanza, and Alexander Pope, at 52, the second._)
+
+Home! at the word, what blissful visions rise,
+Lift us from earth, and draw us toward the skies;
+'Mid mirag'd towers, or meretricious joys,
+Although we roam, one thought the mind employs:
+Or lowly hut, good friend, or loftiest dome,
+Earth knows no spot so holy as our Home.
+There, where affection warms the father's breast,
+There is the spot of heav'n most surely blest.
+Howe'er we search, though wandering with the wind
+Through frigid Zembla, or the heats of Ind,
+Not elsewhere may we seek, nor elsewhere know,
+The light of heaven upon our dark below.
+
+When from our dearest hope and haven reft,
+Delight nor dazzles, nor is luxury left,
+We long, obedient to our nature's law,
+To see again our hovel thatched with straw:
+See birds that know our avenaceous store
+Stoop to our hand, and thence repleted soar:
+But, of all hopes the wanderer's soul that share,
+His pristine peace of mind's his final prayer.
+
+ VI
+
+(_As Walt Whitman might have written all around it._)
+
+ I
+
+You over there, young man with the guide-book, red-bound, covered
+ flexibly with red linen,
+Come here, I want to talk with you; I, Walt, the Manhattanese, citizen
+ of these States, call you.
+Yes, and the courier, too, smirking, smug-mouthed, with oil'd hair; a
+ garlicky look about him generally; him, too, I take in, just as I
+ would a coyote or a king, or a toad-stool, or a ham-sandwich, or
+ anything, or anybody else in the world.
+Where are you going?
+You want to see Paris, to eat truffles, to have a good time; in Vienna,
+ London, Florence, Monaco, to have a good time; you want to see
+ Venice.
+Come with me. I will give you a good time; I will give you all the
+ Venice you want, and most of the Paris.
+I, Walt, I call to you. I am all on deck! Come and loafe with me! Let me
+ tote you around by your elbow and show you things.
+You listen to my ophicleide!
+Home!
+Home, I celebrate. I elevate my fog-whistle, inspir'd by the thought of
+ home.
+Come in!--take a front seat; the jostle of the crowd not minding; there
+ is room enough for all of you.
+This is my exhibition--it is the greatest show on earth--there is no
+ charge for admission.
+All you have to pay me is to take in my romanza.
+
+ II
+
+1. The brown-stone house; the father coming home worried from a
+ bad day's business; the wife meets him in the marble pav'd
+ vestibule; she throws her arms about him; she presses him
+ close to her; she looks him full in the face with
+ affectionate eyes; the frown from his brow disappearing.
+
+ Darling, she says, Johnny has fallen down and cut his head; the
+ cook is going away, and the boiler leaks.
+
+2. The mechanic's dark little third-story room, seen in a flash
+ from the Elevated Railway train; the sewing-machine in a
+ corner; the small cook-stove; the whole family eating
+ cabbage around a kerosene lamp; of the clatter and roar and
+ groaning wail of the Elevated train unconscious; of the
+ smell of the cabbage unconscious.
+
+ Me, passant, in the train, of the cabbage not quite so
+ unconscious.
+
+3. The French Flat; the small rooms, all right-angles,
+ un-individual; the narrow halls; the gaudy, cheap
+ decorations everywhere.
+
+The janitor and the cook exchanging compliments up and down the
+ elevator-shaft; the refusal to send up more coal, the solid
+ splash of the water upon his head, the language he sends up
+ the shaft, the triumphant laughter of the cook, to her
+ kitchen retiring.
+
+4. The widow's small house in the suburbs of the city; the
+ widow's boy coming home from his first day down town; he is
+ flushed with happiness and pride; he is no longer a
+ school-boy, he is earning money; he takes on the airs of a
+ man and talks learnedly of business.
+
+5. The room in the third-class boarding-house; the mean little
+ hard-coal fire, the slovenly Irish servant-girl making it,
+ the ashes on the hearth, the faded furniture, the private
+ provender hid away in the closet, the dreary backyard out
+ the window; the young girl at the glass, with her mouth full
+ of hairpins, doing up her hair to go downstairs and flirt
+ with the young fellows in the parlor.
+
+6. The kitchen of the old farm-house; the young convict just
+ returned from prison--it was his first offense, and the
+ judges were lenient on him.
+
+He is taking his first meal out of prison; he has been received
+ back, kiss'd, encourag'd to start again; his lungs, his
+ nostrils expand with the big breaths of free air; with
+ shame, with wonderment, with a trembling joy, his heart too,
+ expanding.
+
+The old mother busies herself about the table; she has ready for
+ him the dishes he us'd to like; the father sits with his
+ back to them, reading the newspaper, the newspaper shaking
+ and rustling much; the children hang wondering around the
+ prodigal--they have been caution'd: Do not ask where our Jim
+ has been; only say you are glad to see him.
+
+The elder daughter is there, palefac'd, quiet; her young man
+ went back on her four years ago; his folks would not let him
+ marry a convict's sister. She sits by the window, sewing on
+ the children's clothes, the clothes not only patching up;
+ her hunger for children of her own invisibly patching up.
+
+The brother looks up; he catches her eye, he fearful,
+ apologetic; she smiles back at him, not reproachfully
+ smiling, with loving pretence of hope smiling--it is too
+ much for him; he buries his face in the folds of the
+ mother's black gown.
+
+7. The best room of the house, on the Sabbath only open'd; the
+ smell of horse-hair furniture and mahogany varnish; the
+ ornaments on the what-not in the corner; the wax fruit,
+ dusty, sunken, sagged in, consumptive-looking, under a glass
+ globe, the sealing-wax imitation of coral; the cigar boxes
+ with shells plastered over, the perforated card-board motto.
+
+The kitchen; the housewife sprinkling the clothes for the fine
+ ironing to-morrow--it is the Third-day night, and the plain
+ things are ready iron'd, now in cupboards, in drawers stowed
+ away.
+
+The wife waiting for the husband--he is at the tavern, jovial,
+ carousing; she, alone in the kitchen sprinkling clothes--the
+ little red wood clock with peaked top, with pendulum wagging
+ behind a pane of gayly painted glass, strikes twelve.
+
+The sound of the husband's voice on the still night air--he is
+ singing: "We won't go home until morning!"--the wife
+ arising, toward the wood-shed hastily going, stealthily
+ entering, the voice all the time coming nearer, inebriate,
+ chantant.
+
+The husband passing the door of the wood-shed; the club over his
+ head, now with his head in contact; the sudden cessation of
+ the song; the benediction of peace over the domestic foyer
+ temporarily resting.
+
+I sing the soothing influences of home.
+You, young man, thoughtlessly wandering, with courier, with guide-book
+ wandering,
+You hearken to the melody of my steam-calliope
+Yawp!
+
+ _H. C. Bunner._
+
+
+
+
+ AN OLD SONG BY NEW SINGERS
+
+ IN THE ORIGINAL
+
+
+Mary had a little lamb,
+ Its fleece was white as snow,--
+And everywhere that Mary went
+ The lamb was sure to go.
+
+(_As Austin Dobson writes it._)
+
+ TRIOLET
+
+A little lamb had Mary, sweet,
+ With a fleece that shamed the driven snow.
+Not alone Mary went when she moved her feet
+(For a little lamb had Mary, sweet),
+And it tagged her 'round with a pensive bleat,
+ And wherever she went it wanted to go;
+A little lamb had Mary, sweet,
+ With a fleece that shamed the driven snow.
+
+ (_As Mr. Browning has it._)
+
+You knew her?--Mary the small,
+How of a summer,--or, no, was it fall?
+You'd never have thought it, never believed,
+But the girl owned a lamb last fall.
+
+Its wool was subtly, silky white,
+Color of lucent obliteration of night,
+Like the shimmering snow or--our Clothild's arm!
+You've seen her arm--her right, I mean--
+The other she scalded a-washing, I ween--
+How white it is and soft and warm?
+
+Ah, there was soul's heart-love, deep, true, and tender,
+Wherever went Mary, the maiden so slender,
+There followed, his all-absorbed passion, inciting,
+That passionate lambkin--her soul's heart delighting--
+Ay, every place that Mary sought in,
+That lamb was sure to soon be caught in.
+
+(_As Longfellow might have done it._)
+
+Fair the daughter known as Mary,
+Fair and full of fun and laughter,
+Owned a lamb, a little he-goat,
+Owned him all herself and solely.
+White the lamb's wool as the Gotchi--
+The great Gotchi, driving snowstorm.
+Hither Mary went and thither,
+But went with her to all places,
+Sure as brook to run to river,
+Her pet lambkin following with her.
+
+ (_How Andrew Lang sings it._)
+
+ RONDEAU
+
+A wonderful lass was Marie, petite,
+And she looked full fair and passing sweet--
+ And, oh! she owned--but cannot you guess
+ What pet can a maiden so love and caress
+As a tiny lamb with a plaintive bleat
+
+And mud upon his dainty feet
+And a gentle veally odour of meat,
+ And a fleece to finger and kiss and press--
+ White as snow?
+
+Wherever she wandered, in lane or street,
+As she sauntered on, there at her feet
+ She would find that lambkin--bless
+ The dear!--treading on her dainty dress,
+Her dainty dress, fresh and neat--
+ White as snow!
+
+(_Mr. Algernon C. Swinburne's idea._)
+
+ VILLANELLE
+
+Dewy-eyed with shimmering hair,
+ Maiden and lamb were a sight to see,
+For her pet was white as she was fair.
+
+And its lovely fleece was beyond compare,
+ And dearly it loved its Mistress Marie,
+Dewy-eyed, with shimmering hair.
+
+Its warped wool was an inwove snare,
+ To tangle her fingers in, where they could be
+(For her pet was white as she was fair).
+
+Lost from sight, both so snow-white were,
+ And the lambkin adored the maiden wee,
+Dewy-eyed with shimmering hair.
+
+Th' impassioned incarnation of rare,
+ Of limpid-eyed, luscious-lipped, loved beauty,
+And her pet was white as she was fair.
+
+Wherever she wandered, hither and there,
+ Wildly that lambkin sought with her to be,
+With the dewy-eyed, with shimmering hair,
+And a pet as white as its mistress was fair.
+
+ _A. C. Wilkie._
+
+
+
+
+ MORE IMPRESSIONS
+
+ LA FUITE DES OIES
+
+
+To outer senses they are geese,
+ Dull drowsing by a weedy pool;
+ But try the impression trick. Cool! Cool!
+Snow-slumbering sentinels of Peace!
+
+Deep silence on the shadowy flood,
+ Save rare sharp stridence (that means "quack"),
+ Low amber light in Ariel track
+Athwart the dun (that means the mud).
+
+And suddenly subsides the sun,
+ Bulks mystic, ghostly, thrid the gloom
+ (That means the white geese waddling home),
+And darkness reigns! (See how it's done?)
+
+ _Oscuro Wildgoose._
+
+
+
+
+ NURSERY RHYMES A LA MODE
+
+(_Our nurseries will soon lie too cultured to admit the old rhymes in
+their Philistine and unaesthetic garb. They may be redressed somewhat on
+this model._)
+
+
+Oh, but she was dark and shrill,
+ (Hey-de-diddle and hey-de-dee!)
+ The cat that (on the first April)
+ Played the fiddle on the lea.
+Oh, and the moon was wan and bright,
+ (Hey-de-diddle and hey-de-dee!)
+ The Cow she looked nor left nor right,
+ But took it straight at a jump, pardie!
+The hound did laugh to see this thing,
+ (Hey-de-diddle and hey-de-dee!)
+As it was parlous wantoning,
+ (Ah, good my gentles, laugh not ye,)
+And underneath a dreesome moon
+ Two lovers fled right piteouslie;
+A spooney plate with a plated spoon,
+ (Hey-de-diddle and hey-de-dee!)
+
+ POSTSCRIPT
+
+Then blame me not, altho' my verse
+ Sounds like an echo of C. S. C.
+Since still they make ballads that worse and worse
+ Savor of diddle and hey-de-dee.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ A MAUDLE-IN BALLAD
+
+ TO HIS LILY
+
+
+My lank limp lily, my long lithe lily,
+My languid lily-love fragile and thin,
+With dank leaves dangling and flower-flap chilly.
+That shines like the shin of a Highland gilly!
+Mottled and moist as a cold toad's skin!
+Lustrous and leper-white, splendid and splay!
+Art thou not Utter and wholly akin
+To my own wan soul and my own wan chin,
+And my own wan nose-tip, tilted to sway
+The peacock's feather, _sweeter than sin_,
+That I bought for a halfpenny yesterday?
+
+My long lithe lily, my languid lily,
+My lank limp lily-love, how shall I win--
+Woo thee to wink at me? Silver lily,
+How shall I sing to thee, softly or shrilly?
+What shall I weave for thee--what shall I spin--
+Rondel, or rondeau, or virelai?
+Shall I buzz like a bee with my face thrust in
+Thy choice, chaste chalice, or choose me a tin
+Trumpet, or touchingly, tenderly play
+On the weird bird-whistle, _sweeter than sin_,
+That I bought for a halfpenny yesterday.
+My languid lily, my lank limp lily,
+My long lithe lily-love, men may grin--
+Say that I'm soft and supremely silly--
+What care I while you whisper stilly;
+What care I while you smile? Not a pin!
+While you smile, you whisper--'Tis sweet to decay?
+
+I have watered with chlorodine, tears of chagrin,
+The churchyard mould I have planted thee in,
+Upside down in an intense way,
+In a rough red flower-pot, _sweeter than sin_,
+That I bought for a halfpenny yesterday.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ GILLIAN
+
+
+Jack and Jille
+ I have made me an end of the moods of maidens,
+ I have loosed me, and leapt from the links of love;
+ From the kiss that cloys and desire that deadens,
+ The woes that madden, the words that move.
+ In the dim last days of a spent September,
+ When fruits are fallen, and flies are fain;
+ Before you forget, and while I remember,
+ I cry as I shall cry never again.
+
+Went up a hylle
+ Where the strong fell faints in the lazy levels
+ Of misty meadows, and streams that stray;
+ We raised us at eve from our rosy revels,
+ With the faces aflame for the death of the day;
+ With pale lips parted, and sighs that shiver,
+ Low lids that cling to the last of love:
+ We left the levels, we left the river,
+ And turned us and toiled to the air above.
+
+To fetch a paile of water,
+ By the sad sweet springs that have salved our sorrow,
+ The fates that haunt us, the grief that grips--
+ Where we walk not to-day nor shall walk not tomorrow
+ The wells of Lethe for wearied lips.
+ With souls nor shaken with tears nor laughter,
+ With limp knees loosed as of priests that pray,
+ We bowed us and bent to the white well-water,
+ We dipped and we drank it and bore away.
+
+Jack felle downe
+ The low light trembled on languid lashes,
+ The haze of your hair on my mouth was blown,
+ Our love flashed fierce from its fading ashes,
+ As night's dim net on the day was thrown.
+ What was it meant for, or made for, that minute,
+ But that our lives in delight should be dipt?
+ Was it yours, or my fault, or fate's, that in it
+ Our frail feet faltered, our steep steps slipt.
+
+And brake his crowne, and Jille came tumblynge after.
+ Our linked hands loosened and lapsed in sunder,
+ Love from our limbs as a shift was shed,
+ But paused a moment, to watch with wonder
+ The pale pained body, the bursten head.
+ While our sad souls still with regrets are riven,
+ While the blood burns bright on our bruised brows,
+ I have set you free, and I stand forgiven--
+ And now I had better go call my cows.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+EXTRACTS FKOM THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR CAYENNE
+
+
+Wake! for the Hack can scatter into flight
+Shakespeare and Dante in a single Night!
+ The Penny-a-Liner is Abroad, and strikes
+Our Modern Literature with blithering Blight.
+
+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?"
+
+A Book of Limericks--Nonsense, anyhow--
+Alice in Wonderland, the Purple Cow
+ Beside me singing on Fifth Avenue--
+Ah, this were Modern Literature enow!
+
+Ah, my Beloved, 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.
+
+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!
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+Why, if an Author can fling Art aside,
+And in a Book of Balderdash take pride,
+ Were't not a Shame--were't not a Shame for him
+A Conscientious Novel to have tried?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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!
+
+The Scribe no question makes of Verse or Prose,
+But what the Editor demands, he shows;
+ And he who buys three thousand words of Drool,
+He knows what People want--you Bet He knows!
+
+Would but some winged 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!
+
+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!
+
+ _Gelett Burgess._
+
+
+
+
+ DIVERSIONS OF THE RE-ECHO CLUB
+
+
+It is with pleasure that we announce our ability to offer to the public
+the papers of the Re-Echo Club. This club, somewhat after the order of
+the Echo Club, late of Boston, takes pleasure in trying to better what
+is done. On the occasion of the meeting of which the following gems of
+poesy are the result, the several members of the club engaged to write
+up the well-known tradition of the Purple Cow in more elaborate form
+than the quatrain made famous by Mr. Gelett Burgess:
+
+ "I never saw a Purple Cow,
+ I never hope to see one;
+ But I can tell you, anyhow,
+ I'd rather see than be one."
+
+The first attempt here cited is the production of Mr. John Milton:
+
+Hence, vain, deluding cows.
+ The herd of folly, without colour bright,
+ How little you delight,
+ Or fill the Poet's mind, or songs arouse!
+ But, hail! thou goddess gay of feature!
+ Hail, divinest purple creature!
+ Oh, Cow, thy visage is too bright
+ To hit the sense of human sight.
+ And though I'd like, just once, to see thee,
+ I never, never, never'd be thee!
+
+ MR. P. BYSSHE SHELLEY:
+
+ Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
+ Cow thou never wert;
+ But in life to cheer it
+ Playest thy full part
+In purple lines of unpremeditated art.
+
+ The pale purple colour
+ Melts around thy sight
+ Like a star, but duller,
+ In the broad daylight.
+I'd see thee, but I would not be thee if I might.
+
+ We look before and after
+ At cattle as they browse;
+ Our most hearty laughter
+ Something sad must rouse.
+Our sweetest songs are those that tell of Purple Cows.
+
+ MR. W. WORDSWORTH:
+
+She dwelt among the untrodden ways
+ Beside the springs of Dee;
+A Cow whom there were few to praise
+ And very few to see.
+
+A violet by a mossy stone
+ Greeting the smiling East
+Is not so purple, I must own,
+ As that erratic beast.
+She lived unknown, that Cow, and so
+ I never chanced to see;
+But if I had to be one, oh,
+ The difference to me!
+
+ MR. T. GRAY:
+
+The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
+ The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;
+I watched them slowly wend their weary way,
+ But, ah, a Purple Cow I did not see.
+Full many a cow of purplest ray serene
+ Is haply grazing where I may not see;
+Full many a donkey writes of her, I ween,
+ But neither of these creatures would I be.
+
+ MR. J. W. RILEY:
+
+There, little Cow, don't cry!
+ You are brindle and brown, I know.
+ And with wild, glad hues
+ Of reds and blues,
+ You never will gleam and glow.
+But though not pleasing to the eye,
+There, little Cow, don't cry, don't cry.
+
+ LORD A. TENNYSON:
+
+Ask me no more. A cow I fain would see
+ Of purple tint, like to a sun-soaked grape--
+ Of purple tint, like royal velvet cape--
+But such a creature I would never be--
+ Ask me no more.
+
+ MR. R. BROWNING:
+
+ All that I know
+ Of a certain Cow
+ Is it can throw,
+ Somewhere, somehow,
+ Now a dart of red,
+ Now a dart of blue
+ (That makes purple, 'tis said).
+ I would fain see, too.
+This Cow that darkles the red and the blue!
+
+ MR. J. KEATS:
+
+A cow of purple is a joy forever.
+Its loveliness increases. I have never
+Seen this phenomenon. Yet ever keep
+A brave lookout; lest I should be asleep
+When she comes by. For, though I would not be one,
+I've oft imagined 'twould be joy to see one.
+
+ MR. D. G. ROSSETTI:
+
+The Purple Cow strayed in the glade;
+ (Oh, my soul! but the milk is blue!)
+She strayed and strayed and strayed and strayed
+ (And I wail and I cry Wa-hoo!)
+
+I've never seen her--nay, not I;
+ (Oh, my soul! but the milk is blue!)
+Yet were I that Cow I should want to die.
+ (And I wail and I cry Wa-hoo!)
+ But in vain my tears I strew.
+
+ MR. T. ALDRICH:
+
+Somewhere in some faked nature place,
+ In Wonderland, in Nonsense Land,
+Two darkling shapes met face to face,
+ And bade each other stand.
+
+"And who are you?" said each to each;
+ "Tell me your title, anyhow."
+One said, "I am the Papal Bull,"
+ "And I the Purple Cow."
+
+ MR. E. ALLAN POE:
+
+ Open then I flung a shutter,
+ And, with many a flirt and flutter,
+In there stepped a Purple Cow which gayly tripped around my floor.
+ Not the least obeisance made she,
+ Not a moment stopped or stayed she,
+But with mien of chorus lady perched herself above my door.
+On a dusty bust of Dante perched and sat above my door.
+
+ And that Purple Cow unflitting
+ Still is sitting--still is sitting
+On that dusty bust of Dante just above my chamber door,
+ And her horns have all the seeming
+ Of a demon's that is screaming,
+ And the arc-light o'er her streaming
+Casts her shadow on the floor.
+And my soul from out that pool of Purple shadow on the floor,
+Shall be lifted Nevermore!
+
+ MR. H. LONGFELLOW:
+
+The day is done, and the darkness
+ Falls from the wing of night
+As ballast is wafted downward
+ From an air-ship in its flight.
+
+I dream of a purple creature
+ Which is not as kine are now;
+And resembles cattle only
+ As Cowper resembles a cow.
+
+Such cows have power to quiet
+ Our restless thoughts and rude;
+They come like the Benedictine
+ That follows after food.
+
+ MR. A. SWINBURNE:
+
+Oh, Cow of rare rapturous vision,
+ Oh, purple, impalpable Cow,
+Do you browse in a Dream Field Elysian,
+ Are you purpling pleasantly now?
+By the side of wan waves do you languish?
+ Or in the lithe lush of the grove?
+While vainly I search in my anguish,
+ O Bovine of mauve!
+
+Despair in my bosom is sighing,
+ Hope's star has sunk sadly to rest;
+Though cows of rare sorts I am buying,
+ Not one breathes a balm to my breast.
+Oh, rapturous rose-crowned occasion,
+ When I such a glory might see!
+But a cow of a purple persuasion
+ I never would be.
+
+ MR. A. DOBSON:
+
+ I'd love to see
+ A Purple Cow,
+ Oh, Goodness me!
+ I'd love to see
+ But not to be
+ One. Anyhow,
+ I'd love to see
+ A Purple Cow.
+
+
+MR. O. HERFORD:
+
+Children, observe the Purple Cow,
+You cannot see her, anyhow;
+And, little ones, you need not hope
+Your eyes will e'er attain such scope.
+But if you ever have a choice
+To be, or see, lift up your voice
+And choose to see. For surely you
+Don't want to browse around and moo.
+
+
+MR. H. C. BUNNER:
+
+_Oh, what's the way to Arcady,
+ Where all the cows are purple?_
+Ah, woe is me! I never hope
+On such a sight my eyes to ope;
+But as I sing in merry glee
+Along the road to Arcady,
+Perchance full soon I may espy
+A Purple Cow come dancing by.
+ Heigho! I then shall see one.
+Her horns bedecked with ribbons gay,
+And garlanded with rosy may,--
+ A tricksy sight. Still I must say
+ I'd rather see than be one.
+
+
+ MR. A. SWINBURNE:
+
+ (Who was so enthused that he made a second attempt.)
+
+Only in dim, drowsy depths of a dream do I dare to delight in
+ deliciously dreaming
+Cows there may be of a passionate purple,--cows of a violent violet hue;
+
+Ne'er have I seen such a sight, I am certain it is but a demi-delirious
+ dreaming--
+Ne'er may I happily harbour a hesitant hope in my heart that my dream
+ may come true.
+
+Sad is my soul, and my senses are sobbing so strong is my strenuous
+ spirit to see one.
+Dolefully, drearily doomed to despair as warily wearily watching I wait;
+
+Thoughts thickly thronging are thrilling and throbbing; to _see_ is a
+ glorious gain--but to _be_ one!
+That were a darker and direfuller destiny, that were a fearfuller,
+ frightfuller fate!
+
+ MR. R. KIPLING:
+
+In the old ten-acre pasture,
+ Lookin' eastward toward a tree,
+There's a Purple Cow a-settin'
+ And I know she thinks of me.
+For the wind is in the gum-tree,
+ And the hay is in the mow,
+And the cow-bells are a-calling
+ "Come and see a Purple Cow!"
+
+ But I am not going now,
+ Not at present, anyhow,
+For I am not fond of purple, and
+ I can't abide a cow;
+ No, I shall not go to-day,
+ Where the Purple Cattle play.
+ But I think I'd rather see one
+ Than to be one, anyhow.
+
+ _Carolyn Wells._
+
+
+
+
+ STYX RIVER ANTHOLOGY
+
+
+ ALICE BEN BOLT
+
+I couldn't help weeping with delight
+When the boys kissed me and called me sweet.
+It was foolish, I know,
+To weep when I was glad;
+But I was young and I wasn't very well.
+I was nervous, weak, anemic,
+A sort of human mimosa; and I hadn't much brains,
+And my mind wouldn't jell, anyhow.
+That's why I trembled with fear when they frowned.
+But they didn't frown often,
+For I was sweetly pretty and most pliable.
+But, oh, the grim joke of asking Ben Bolt if he remembered me!
+Me!
+Why, it was Ben Bolt who--
+Well, never mind. He paid for this granite slab,
+And it's as stylish as any in the church yard.
+But I wish I had a more becoming shroud.
+
+ THE BLESSED DAMOZEL
+
+I was one of those long, lanky, loose-jointed girls
+Who fool people into believing
+They are willowy and psychic and mysterious.
+I was always hungry; I never ate enough to satisfy me,
+For fear I'd get fat.
+Oh, how little the world knows of the bitterness of life
+To a woman who tries to keep thin!
+Many thought I died of a broken heart,
+But it was an empty stomach.
+Then Mr. Rossetti wrote about me.
+He described me all dolled up in some ladies' wearing apparel
+That I wore at a fancy ball.
+I had fasted all day, and had had my hair marcelled
+And my face corrected.
+And I _was_ a dream.
+But he seemed to think he really saw me,
+Seemed to think I appeared to him after my death.
+Oh, fudge!
+Those spiritualists are always seeing things!
+
+ ENOCH ARDEN
+
+Yes, it was the eternal triangle,
+Only they didn't call it that then.
+Of course everybody thought I was all broken up
+When I found Annie wed to Philip,
+But, as a matter of fact,
+I didn't care so much;
+For she was one of those self-starting weepers,
+And a man can't stand blubbering all the time.
+And, then, of course,
+When I was off on that long sea trip--
+Oh, well, you know what sailors are.
+
+ LITTLE EVA
+
+To be honest,
+I didn't mind dying,
+For I had
+One of these here now
+Dressy deaths.
+It was staged, you know,
+And, like Samson,
+My death brought down the house.
+I was a smarty kid,
+And they were less frequent then than later.
+Oh, I was the Mary Pickford of my time,
+And I rest content
+With my notoriety.
+
+ LUCY
+
+Yes, I am in my grave,
+And you bet it makes a difference to him!
+For we were to be married,--at least, I think we were,
+And he'd made me promise to deed him the house.
+But I had to go and get appendicitis,
+And they took me to the hospital.
+It was a nice hospital, clean,
+And Tables Reserved For Ladies.
+Well, my heart gave out.
+He came and stood over my grave,
+And registered deep concern.
+And now, he's going round with that
+Hen-minded Hetty What's-her-name!
+Her with her Whistler's Mother and her Baby Stuart
+On her best-room wall!
+And I hate her, and I'm glad she squints.
+Well, I suppose I lived my life,
+But it was Life in name only.
+And I'm mad at the whole world!
+
+ OPHELIA
+
+No, it wasn't suicide,
+But I had heard so much of those mud baths,
+I thought I'd try one.
+Ugh! it was a mess!
+Weeds, slime, and tangled vines! Oh, me!
+Had I been Annette Kellerman
+Or even a real mermaid,
+I had lived to tell the tale.
+But I slid down and under,
+And so Will Shaxpur told it for me.
+Just as well.
+But I think my death scene is unexcelled
+By any in cold print.
+It beats that scrawny, red-headed old thing of Tom Hood's
+All hollow!
+
+ CASABLANCA
+
+I played to the Grand Stand!
+Sure I did,
+And I made good.
+Ain't I in McGuffey's Third Reader?
+Don't they speak pieces about me Friday afternoons?
+Don't everybody know the first two lines of my story,--
+And no more?
+Say, I was there with the goods,
+Wasn't I?
+And it paid.
+But I wish Movin' Pitchers had been invented then!
+
+ ANNABEL LEE
+
+They may say all they like
+About germs and micro-crocuses,--
+Or whatever they are!
+But my set opinion is,--
+If you want to get a good, old-fashioned chills and fever,
+Just poke around
+In a damp, messy place by the sea,
+Without rubbers on.
+A good cold wind,
+Blowing out of a cloud, by night,
+Will give you a harder shaking ague
+Than all the bacilli in the Basilica.
+It did me.
+
+ ANGUS MCPHAIRSON
+
+Oh, of course,
+It's always some dratted petticoat!
+Just because that little flibbertigibbet, Annie Laurie
+Had a white throat and a blue e'e,
+She played the very devil with my peace of mind.
+She'd dimple at me
+Till I was aboot crazy;
+And then laugh at me through her dimples!
+She was my bespoke.
+And I'd beg her to have the banns called,--
+But there was no pinning her down.
+Well, she was so bonny
+That like a fool, I said I'd lay me doon
+And dee for her.
+And,--like a fool,--
+I did.
+
+ _Carolyn Wells._
+
+
+
+
+ANSWER TO MASTER WITHER'S SONG, "SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR?"
+
+
+Shall I, mine affections slack,
+'Cause I see a woman's black?
+Or myself, with care cast down,
+'Cause I see a woman brown?
+Be she blacker than the night,
+Or the blackest jet in sight!
+ If she be not so to me,
+ What care I how black she be?
+
+Shall my foolish heart be burst,
+'Cause I see a woman's curst?
+Or a thwarting hoggish nature
+Joined in as bad a feature?
+Be she curst or fiercer than
+Brutish beast, or savage man!
+ If she be not so to me,
+ What care I how curst she be?
+
+Shall a woman's vices make
+Me her vices quite forsake?
+Or her faults to me made known,
+Make me think that I have none?
+Be she of the most accurst,
+And deserve the name of worst!
+ If she be not so to me,
+ What care I how bad she be?
+
+'Cause her fortunes seem too low,
+Shall I therefore let her go?
+He that bears an humble mind
+And with riches can be kind,
+Think how kind a heart he'd have,
+If he were some servile slave!
+ And if that same mind I see
+ What care I how poor she be?
+
+Poor, or bad, or curst, or black,
+I will ne'er the more be slack!
+If she hate me (then believe!)
+She shall die ere I will grieve!
+If she like me when I woo
+I can like and love her too!
+ If that she be fit for me!
+ What care I what others be?
+
+ _Ben Jonson._
+
+
+
+
+ SONG OF THE SPRINGTIDE
+
+
+O Season supposed of all free flowers,
+ Made lovely by light of the sun,
+Of garden, of field, and of tree-flowers,
+ Thy singers are surely in fun!
+Or what is it wholly unsettles
+ Thy sequence of shower and shine,
+And maketh thy pushings and petals
+ To shrivel and pine?
+
+Why is it that o'er the wild waters
+ That beastly North-Easter still blows,
+Dust-dimming the eyes of our daughters,
+ Blue-nipping each nice little nose?
+Why is it these sea-skirted islands
+ Are plagued with perpetual chills,
+Driving men to Italian or Nile-lands
+ From Albion's ills?
+
+Happy he, O Springtide, who hath found thee,
+ All sunlit, in luckier lands,
+With thy garment of greenery round thee,
+ And belted with blossomy bands.
+From us by the blast thou art drifted,
+ All brag of thy beauties is bosh;
+When the songs of thy singers are sifted,
+ They simply won't wash.
+
+What lunatic lune, what vain vision,
+ Thy laureate, Springtide, may move
+To sing thee,--oh, bitter derision!
+ A season of laughter and love?
+You make a man mad beyond measure,
+ O Spring, and thy lauders like thee:
+Thy flowers, thy pastimes and pleasures,
+ Are fiddlededee!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE VILLAGE CHOIR
+
+
+Half a bar, half a bar,
+Half a bar onward!
+Into an awful ditch
+Choir and precentor hitch,
+Into a mess of pitch,
+ They led the Old Hundred.
+Trebles to right of them,
+Tenors to left of them,
+Basses in front of them,
+ Bellowed and thundered.
+Oh, that precentor's look,
+When the sopranos took
+Their own time and hook
+ From the Old Hundred!
+Screeched all the trebles here,
+Boggled the tenors there,
+Raising the parson's hair,
+ While his mind wandered;
+Theirs not to reason why
+This psalm was pitched too high:
+Theirs but to gasp and cry
+ Out the Old Hundred.
+Trebles to right of them,
+Tenors to left of them,
+Basses in front of them,
+ Bellowed and thundered.
+
+Stormed they with shout and yell,
+Not wise they sang nor well,
+Drowning the sexton's bell,
+ While all the church wondered.
+
+Dire the percenter's glare,
+Flashed his pitchfork in air
+Sounding fresh keys to bear
+ Out the Old Hundred.
+Swiftly he turned his back,
+Reached he his hat from rack,
+Then from the screaming pack,
+ Himself he sundered.
+Tenors to right of him,
+Tenors to left of him,
+Discords behind him,
+ Bellowed and thundered.
+Oh, the wild howls they wrought:
+Right to the end they fought!
+Some tune they sang, but not,
+ Not the Old Hundred.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ MY FOE
+
+
+John Alcohol, my foe, John,
+ When we were first acquaint,
+I'd siller in my pockets, John,
+ Which noo, ye ken, I want;
+I spent it all in treating, John,
+ Because I loved you so;
+But mark ye, how you've treated me,
+ John Alcohol, my foe.
+
+John Alcohol, my foe, John,
+ We've been ower lang together,
+Sae ye maun tak' ae road, John,
+ And I will take anither;
+For we maun tumble down, John,
+ If hand in hand we go;
+And I shall hae the bill to pay,
+ John Alcohol, my foe.
+
+John Alcohol, my foe, John,
+ Ye've blear'd out a' my een,
+And lighted up my nose, John,
+ A fiery sign atween!
+My hands wi' palsy shake, John,
+ My locks are like the snow;
+Ye'll surely be the death of me,
+ John Alcohol, my foe.
+
+John Alcohol, my foe, John,
+ 'Twas love to you, I ween,
+That gart me rise sae ear', John,
+ And sit sae late at e'en;
+The best o' friens maun part, John,
+ It grieves me sair, ye know;
+But "we'll nae mair to yon town,"
+ John Alcohol, my foe.
+
+John Alcohol, my foe, John,
+ Ye've wrought me muckle skaith;
+And yet to part wi' you, John,
+ I own I'm unko' laith;
+But I'll join the temperance ranks, John,
+ Ye needna say me no;
+It's better late than ne'er do weel,
+ John Alcohol, my foe.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+NURSERY SONG IN PIDGIN ENGLISH
+
+
+Singee a songee sick a pence,
+ Pockee muchee lye;
+Dozen two time blackee bird
+ Cookee in e pie.
+When him cutee topside
+ Birdee bobbery sing;
+Himee tinkee nicey dish.
+ Setee foree King!
+Kingee in a talkee loom
+ Countee muchee money;
+Queeny in e kitchee,
+ Chew-chee breadee honey.
+Servant galo shakee,
+ Hangee washee clothes;
+Cho-chop comee blackie bird,
+ Nipee off her nose!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ FATHER WILLIAM
+
+
+"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
+ "And your nose has a look of surprise;
+Your eyes have turned round to the back of your head,
+ And you live upon cucumber pies."
+"I know it, I know it," the old man replied,
+ "And it comes from employing a quack,
+Who said if I laughed when the crocodile died
+ I should never have pains in my back."
+
+"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
+ "And your legs always get in your way;
+You use too much mortar in mixing your bread,
+ And you try to drink timothy hay."
+"Very true, very true," said the wretched old man,
+ "Every word that you tell me is true;
+And it's caused by my having my kerosene can
+ Painted red where it ought to be blue."
+
+"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
+ "And your teeth are beginning to freeze,
+Your favorite daughter has wheels in her head,
+ And the chickens are eating your knees."
+"You are right," said the old man, "I cannot deny,
+ That my troubles are many and great,
+But I'll butter my ears on the Fourth of July,
+ And then I'll be able to skate."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ A POE-'EM OF PASSION
+
+It was many and many a year ago,
+ On an island near the sea,
+That a maiden lived whom you mightn't know
+ By the name of Cannibalee;
+And this maiden she lived with no other thought
+ Than a passionate fondness for me.
+
+I was a child, and she was a child--
+ Tho' her tastes were adult Feejee--
+But she loved with a love that was more than love,
+ My yearning Cannibalee;
+With a love that could take me roast or fried
+ Or raw, as the case might be.
+
+And that is the reason that long ago,
+ In that island near the sea,
+I had to turn the tables and eat
+ My ardent Cannibalee--
+Not really because I was fond of her,
+ But to check her fondness for me.
+
+But the stars never rise but I think of the size
+ Of my hot-potted Cannibalee,
+And the moon never stares but it brings me nightmares
+ Of my spare-rib Cannibalee;
+And all the night-tide she is restless inside,
+Is my still indigestible dinner-belle bride,
+In her pallid tomb, which is Me,
+In her solemn sepulcher, Me.
+
+ _C. F. Lummis._
+
+
+
+
+ HOW THE DAUGHTERS COME DOWN AT DUNOON
+
+
+ How do the daughters
+ Come down at Dunoon?
+ Daintily,
+ Tenderly,
+ Fairily,
+ Gingerly,
+ Glidingly,
+ Slidingly,
+ Slippingly,
+ Skippingly,
+ Trippingly,
+ Clippingly,
+ Bumpingly,
+ Thumpingly,
+ Stumpingly,
+ Clumpingly,
+ Starting and bolting,
+ And darting and jolting,
+ And tottering and staggering,
+ And lumbering and slithering,
+ And hurrying and scurrying,
+ And worrying and flurrying,
+And rushing and leaping and crushing and creeping;
+Feathers a-flying all--bonnets untying all--
+Petticoats rapping and flapping and slapping all,
+Crinolines flowing and blowing and showing all
+Balmorals, dancing and glancing, entrancing all;
+ Feats of activity--
+ Nymphs on declivity--
+ Mothers in extacies--
+ Fathers in vextacies--
+Lady-loves whisking and frisking and clinging on
+True-lovers puffing and blowing and springing on,
+Dashing and clashing and shying and flying on,
+Blushing and flushing and wriggling and giggling on,
+Teasing and pleasing and squeezing and wheezing on,
+Everlastingly falling and bawling and sprawling on,
+Tumbling and rumbling and grumbling and stumbling on,
+ Any fine afternoon,
+ About July or June--
+ That's just how the Daughters
+ Come down at Dunoon!
+
+ _H. Cholmondeley Pennell._
+
+
+
+
+ TO AN IMPORTUNATE HOST
+
+ DURING DINNER AND AFTER TENNYSON
+
+
+Ask me no more: I've had enough Chablis;
+ The wine may come again, and take the shape,
+ From glass to glass, of "Mountain" or of "Cape;"
+But, my dear boy, when I have answered thee,
+ Ask me no more.
+
+Ask me no more: what answer should I give,
+ I love not pickled pork nor partridge pie;
+ I feel if I took whisky I should die!
+Ask me no more--for I prefer to live:
+ Ask me no more.
+
+Ask me no more: unless my fate is sealed,
+ And I have striven against you all in vain.
+ Let your good butler bring me Hock again:
+Then rest, dear boy. If for this once I yield,
+ Ask me no more!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ CREMATION
+
+BY A BURNING ADMIRER OF SIR HENRY THOMPSON
+
+
+To Urn, or not to Urn? that is the question:
+Whether 'tis nobler for 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--aye, 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?
+This, Thompson, does make cowards of us all.
+And thus the wisdom of incineration
+Is thick-laid o'er with the pale ghost of nought,
+And incremators of great pith and courage
+With this regard their faces turn awry,
+And shudder at cremation.
+
+ _William Sawyer._
+
+
+
+
+ AN IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH
+
+
+There is a river clear and fair,
+'Tis neither broad nor narrow;
+ It winds a little here and there--
+ It winds about like any hare;
+And then it takes as straight a course
+As on the turnpike road a horse,
+ Or through the air an arrow.
+
+The trees that grow upon the shore,
+Have grown a hundred years or more;
+ So long there is no knowing.
+Old Daniel Dobson does not know
+When first these trees began to grow;
+But still they grew, and grew, and grew,
+As if they'd nothing else to do,
+ But ever to be growing.
+
+The impulses of air and sky
+Have rear'd their stately heads so high,
+ And clothed their boughs with green;
+Their leaves the dews of evening quaff,--
+ And when the wind blows loud and keen,
+I've seen the jolly timbers laugh,
+ And shake their sides with merry glee--
+Wagging their heads in mockery.
+
+Fix'd are their feet in solid earth,
+ Where winds can never blow;
+But visitings of deeper birth
+ Have reach'd their roots below.
+For they have gain'd the river's brink,
+And of the living waters drink.
+
+There's little Will, a five years child--
+ He is my youngest boy:
+To look on eyes so fair and wild,
+ It is a very joy:--
+He hath conversed with sun and shower
+And dwelt with every idle flower,
+ As fresh and gay as them.
+He loiters with the briar rose,--
+The blue-belles are his play-fellows,
+ That dance upon their slender stem.
+
+And I have said, my little Will,
+Why should not he continue still
+ A thing of Nature's rearing?
+A thing beyond the world's control--
+A living vegetable soul,--
+ No human sorrow fearing.
+
+It were a blessed sight to see
+That child become a Willow-tree,
+ His brother trees among.
+He'd be four times as tall as me,
+ And live three times as long.
+
+ _Catharine M. Fanshawe._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LAY OF THE LOVE-LORN
+
+ PARODY ON TENNYSON'S "LOCKSLEY HALL"
+
+
+Comrades, you may pass the rosy. With permission of the chair,
+I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air.
+
+Whether 'twas the sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger-beer,
+Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little queer.
+
+Let me go. Now, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul, this is too bad!
+When you want me, ask the waiter, he knows where I'm to be had!
+
+Whew! This is a great relief now! Let me but undo my stock;
+Resting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady like a rock.
+
+In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes--
+Bless my heart, how very odd! Why, surely, there's a brace of moons!
+
+See--the stars! How bright they twinkle, winking with a frosty glare,
+Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to despair.
+
+Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted! Oh, my Amy! No, confound it!
+I must wear the mournful willow--all around my hat I've bound it.
+
+Falser than the Bank of Fancy, frailer than a shilling glove,
+Puppet to a father's anger, minion to a nabob's love!
+
+Is it well to wish thee happy? Having known me, could you ever
+Stoop to marry half a heart, and little more than half a liver?
+
+Happy! Damme! Thou shalt lower to his level day by day,
+Changing from the best of ehina to the commonest of clay.
+
+As the husband is, the wife is. He is stomach-plagued and old,
+And his curry soups will make thy cheek the colour of his gold.
+
+When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely then
+Something lower than his hookah, something less than his cayenne.
+
+What is this? His eyes are pinky. Was't the claret? Oh, no, no--
+Bless your soul, it was the salmon--salmon always makes him so.
+
+Take him to thy dainty chamber, soothe him with thy lightest fancies,
+He will understand thee, won't he--pay thee with a lover's glances?
+
+Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest ophicleide,
+Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride.
+
+Sweet response, delightful music! Gaze upon thy noble charge
+Till the spirit fill thy bosom that inspired the meek Lafarge.
+
+Better thou wert dead before me, better, better that I stood
+Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel Good!
+
+Better thou and I were lying, cold and limber-stiff and dead,
+With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial bed!
+
+Cursed be the Bank of England's notes, that tempt the soul to sin!
+Cursed be the want of acres--doubly cursed the want of tin!
+
+Cursed be the marriage contract, that enslaved thy soul to greed!
+Cursed be the sallow lawyer, that prepared and drew the deed!
+
+Cursed be his foul apprentice, who the loathsome fees did earn!
+Cursed be the clerk and parson--cursed be the whole concern!
+
+Oh, 'tis well that I should bluster; much I'm like to make of that.
+Better comfort have I found in singing "All Around My Hat."
+
+But that song, so wildly plaintive, palls upon my British ears.
+'Twill not do to pine for ever: I am getting up in years.
+
+Can't I turn the honest penny, scribbling for the weekly press,
+And in writing Sunday libels drown my private wretchedness?
+
+Oh, to feel the wild pulsation that in manhood's dawn I knew,
+When my days were all before me, and my years were twenty-two;
+
+When I smoked my independent pipe along the Quadrant wide,
+With the many larks of London flaring up on every side;
+
+When I went the pace so wildly, caring little what might come,
+Coffee-milling care and sorrow, with a nose-adapted thumb;
+
+Felt the exquisite enjoyment, tossing nightly off, oh, heavens!
+Brandy at the Cider Cellars, kidneys smoking-hot at Evans';
+
+Or in the Adelphi sitting, half in rapture, half in tears,
+Saw the glorious melodrama conjure up the shades of years--
+
+Saw Jack Sheppard, noble stripling, act his wondrous feats again,
+Snapping Newgate's bars of iron, like an infant's daisy chain;
+
+Might was right, and all the terrors which had held the world in awe
+Were despised and prigging prospered, spite of Laurie, spite of law.
+
+In such scenes as these I triumphed, ere my passion's edge was rusted,
+And my cousin's cold refusal left me very much disgusted!
+
+Since, my heart is sore and withered, and I do not care a curse
+Whether worse shall be the better, or the better be the worse.
+
+Hark! my merry comrades call me, bawling for another jorum;
+They would mock me in derision, should I thus appear before 'em.
+
+Womankind no more shall vex me, such, at least, as go arrayed
+In the most expensive satins, and the newest silk brocade.
+
+I'll to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yields
+Rarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spitalfields.
+
+Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self aside,
+I shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval pride;
+
+Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich casava root,
+Lots of dates and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden fruit.
+
+Never comes the trader thither, never o'er the purple main
+Sounds the oath of British commerce, or the accents of Cockaigne.
+
+There, methinks, would be enjoyment, where no envious rule prevents;
+Sink the steamboats! Cuss the railways! Rot, oh, rot the Three per
+ Cents!
+
+There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have space to breathe, my
+ cousin!
+I will take some savage woman--nay, I'll take at least a dozen.
+
+There I'll rear my young mulattoes, as no Bond Street brats are reared:
+They shall dive for alligators, catch the wild goats by the beard,
+
+Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced baboon,
+Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo, in the mountains of the Moon.
+
+I, myself, in far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood will daily quaff,
+Ride a-tiger-hunting, mounted on a thorough-bred giraffe.
+
+Fiercely shall I shout the war-whoop, as some sullen stream he crosses,
+Startling from their noon-day slumbers iron-bound rhinoceroses.
+
+Fool! Again, the dream, the fancy! But I know my words are mad,
+For I hold the gray barbarian lower than the Christian cad.
+
+I, the swell, the city dandy! I to seek such horrid places,
+I to haunt with squalid Negroes, blubber-lips, and monkey faces!
+
+I to wed with Coromantees! I, who managed--very near--
+To secure the heart and fortune of the widow Shillibeer!
+
+Stuff and nonsense! Let me never fling a single chance away.
+Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another maiden may.
+
+_Morning Post_ (_The Times_ won't trust me), help me, as I know you can;
+I will pen an advertisement--that's a never-failing plan:
+
+"|Wanted|--By a bard in wedlock, some young interesting woman.
+Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners be forthcoming!
+
+"Hymen's chains, the advertiser vows, shall be but silken fetters.
+Please address to A. T., Chelsea. N.B.--You must pay the letters."
+
+That's the sort of thing to do it. Now I'll go and taste the balmy.
+Rest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted cousin Amy!
+
+ _Aytoun_ and _Martin._
+
+
+
+
+ ONLY SEVEN.
+
+A PASTORAL STORY AFTER WORDSWORTH
+
+
+I marvell'd 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 ask'd 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 stammer'd out,
+ "Of course you've had eleven."
+The maiden answer'd with a pout,
+ "I ain't had more nor seven!"
+
+I wonder'd hugely what she meant,
+ And said, "I'm bad at riddles;
+But I know where little girls are sent
+ For telling taradiddles.
+
+"Now, if you won't reform," said I,
+ "You'll never go to Heaven."
+But all in vain; each time I try,
+That 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 after Ache-Inside."
+
+ _Henry S. Leigh._
+
+
+
+
+ 'TWAS EVER THUS
+
+
+I never rear'd 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 rich 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.
+
+I never loved a tree or flower;
+ But, if I had, I beg to say
+The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower
+ Would soon have withered it away.
+I've dearly loved my Uncle John,
+ From childhood to the present hour,
+And yet he will go living on--
+ I would he were a tree or flower!
+
+ _Henry S. Leigh._
+
+
+
+
+ FOAM AND FANGS
+
+
+O nymph with the nicest of noses;
+ And finest and fairest of forms;
+Lips ruddy and ripe as the roses
+ That sway and that surge in the storms;
+O buoyant and blooming Bacchante,
+ Of fairer than feminine face,
+Rush, raging as demon of Dante--
+ To this, my embrace!
+
+The foam and the fangs and the flowers,
+ The raving and ravenous rage
+Of a poet as pinion'd in powers
+ As a condor confined in a cage!
+My heart in a haystack I've hidden,
+ As loving and longing I lie,
+Kiss open thine eyelids unbidden--
+ I gaze and I die!
+
+I've wander'd the wild waste of slaughter,
+ I've sniffed up the sepulchre's scent,
+I've doated on devilry's daughter,
+ And murmur'd much more than I meant;
+I've paused at Penelope's portal,
+ So strange are the sights that I've seen,
+And mighty's the mind of the mortal
+ Who knows what I mean.
+
+ _Walter Parke._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ X
+
+ NARRATIVE
+
+
+
+
+ LITTLE BILLEE
+
+
+There were three sailors of Bristol City
+ Who took a boat and went to sea,
+But first with beef and captain's biscuits,
+ And pickled pork they loaded she.
+
+There was gorging Jack, and guzzling Jimmy,
+ And the youngest he was little Billee.
+Now when they'd got as far as the Equator
+ They'd nothing left but one split pea.
+
+Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,
+ "I am extremely hungaree."
+To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy,
+ "We've nothing left, us must eat we."
+
+Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,
+ "With one another we shouldn't agree!
+There's little Bill, he's young and tender,
+ "We're old and tough, so let's eat he."
+
+"O Billy! we're going to kill and eat you,
+ So undo the button of your chemie."
+When Bill received this information,
+ He used his pocket-handkerchie.
+
+"First let me say my catechism,
+ Which my poor mother taught to me."
+"Make haste! make haste!" says guzzling Jimmy,
+ While Jack pulled out his snicker-snee.
+
+Then Bill went up to the main-top-gallant-mast,
+ And down he fell on his bended knee,
+He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment
+ When up he jumps--"There's land I see!"
+
+"Jerusalem and Madagascar,
+ And North and South Amerikee,
+There's the British flag a-riding at anchor,
+ With Sir Admiral Napier, K.C.B."
+
+So when they got aboard of the Admiral's,
+ He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee,
+But as for little Bill, he made him
+ The captain of a Seventy-three.
+
+ _W. M. Thackeray._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CRYSTAL PALACE
+
+
+ With ganial foire
+ Thransfuse me loyre,
+Ye sacred nymphs of Pindus,
+ The whoile I sing
+ That wondthrous thing,
+The Palace made o' windows!
+
+ Say, Paxton, truth,
+ Thou wondthrous youth,
+What sthroke of art celistial,
+ What power was lint
+ You to invint
+This combineetion cristial.
+
+ O would before
+ That Thomas Moore,
+Likewoise the late Lord Boyron,
+ Thim aigles sthrong
+ Of godlike song,
+Cast oi on that cast oiron!
+
+ And saw thim walls,
+ And glittering halls,
+Thim rising slendther columns,
+ Which I, poor pote,
+ Could not denote,
+No, not in twinty vollums.
+
+ My Muse's words
+ Is like the bird's
+That roosts beneath the panes there;
+ Her wings she spoils
+ 'Gainst them bright toiles,
+And cracks her silly brains there.
+
+ This Palace tall,
+ This Cristial Hall,
+Which Imperors might covet,
+ Stands in High Park
+ Like Noah's Ark,
+A rainbow bint above it.
+
+ The towers and fanes,
+ In other scaynes,
+The fame of this will undo,
+ Saint Paul's big doom,
+ Saint Payther's, Room.
+And Dublin's proud Rotundo.
+
+ 'Tis here that roams,
+ As well becomes
+Her dignitee and stations,
+ Victoria Great,
+ And houlds in state
+The Congress of the Nations.
+
+ Her subjects pours
+ From distant shores,
+Her Injians and Canajians,
+ And also we,
+ Her kingdoms three,
+Attind with our allagiance.
+
+ Here come likewise
+ Her bould allies,
+Both Asian and Europian;
+ From East and West
+ They send their best
+To fill her Coornucopean.
+
+ I seen (thank Grace!)
+ This wondthrous place
+(His Noble Honour Misther
+ H. Cole it was
+ That gave the pass,
+And let me see what is there).
+
+ With conscious proide
+ I stud insoide
+And look'd the World's Great Fair in,
+ Until me sight
+ Was dazzled quite,
+And couldn't see for staring.
+
+ There's holy saints
+ And window paints,
+By maydiayval Pugin;
+ Alhamborough Jones
+ Did paint the tones,
+Of yellow and gambouge in.
+
+ There's fountains there
+ And crosses fair;
+There's water-gods with urrns;
+ There's organs three,
+ To play, d'ye see,
+"God save the Queen," by turrns.
+
+ There's statues bright
+ Of marble white,
+Of silver, and of copper;
+ And some in zinc,
+ And some, I think,
+That isn't over proper.
+
+ There's staym injynes,
+ That stands in lines,
+Enormous and amazing,
+ That squeal and snort
+ Like whales in sport,
+Or elephants a-grazing.
+
+ There's carts and gigs,
+ And pins for pigs,
+There's dibblers and there's harrows,
+ And ploughs like toys
+ For little boys,
+And illigant wheelbarrows.
+
+ For thim genteels
+ Who ride on wheels,
+There's plenty to indulge 'em:
+ There's droskys snug
+ From Paytersbug,
+And vayhycles from Bulgium.
+
+ There's cabs on stands
+ And shandthrydanns;
+There's wagons from New York here;
+ There's Lapland sleighs
+ Have cross'd the seas,
+And jaunting cyars from Cork here.
+
+ Amazed I pass
+ From glass to glass,
+Deloighted I survey 'em;
+ Fresh wondthers grows
+ Before me nose
+In this sublime Musayum!
+
+ Look, here's a fan
+ From far Japan,
+A sabre from Damasco:
+ There's shawls ye get
+ From far Thibet,
+And cotton prints from Glasgow.
+
+ There's German flutes,
+ Marocky boots,
+And Naples macaronies;
+ Bohaymia
+ Has sent Behay;
+Polonia her polonies.
+
+ There's granite flints
+ That's quite imminse,
+There's sacks of coals and fuels,
+ There's swords and guns,
+ And soap in tuns,
+And gingerbread and jewels.
+
+ There's taypots there,
+ And cannons rare;
+There's coffins fill'd with roses;
+ There's canvas tints,
+ Teeth insthrumints,
+And shuits of clothes by Moses.
+
+ There's lashins more
+ Of things in store,
+But thim I don't remimber;
+ Nor could disclose
+ Did I compose
+From May time to Novimber!
+
+ Ah, Judy thru!
+ With eyes so blue,
+That you were here to view it!
+ And could I screw
+ But tu pound tu,
+'Tis I would thrait you to it!
+
+ So let us raise
+ Victoria's praise,
+And Albert's proud condition
+ That takes his ayse
+ As he surveys
+This Cristial Exhibition.
+
+ _W. M. Thackeray._
+
+
+
+
+THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY AND MARY BROWN
+
+
+An igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this veek--
+I stood in the Court of A'Beckett the Beak,
+Vere Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I see,
+Who charged Mary Brown with a robbin' of she.
+
+This Mary was pore and in misery once,
+And she came to Mrs. Roney it's more than twelve monce
+She adn't got no bed, nor no dinner, nor no tea,
+And kind Mrs. Roney gave Mary all three.
+
+Mrs. Roney kep Mary for ever so many veeks
+(Her conduct disgusted the best of all Beax),
+She kept her for nothink, as kind as could be,
+Never thinking that this Mary was a traitor to she.
+
+"Mrs. Roney, O Mrs. Roney, I feel very ill;
+Will you jest step to the doctor's for to fetch me a pill?"
+"That I will, my pore Mary," Mrs. Roney says she:
+And she goes off to the doctor's as quickly as may be.
+
+No sooner on this message Mrs. Roney was sped,
+Than hup gits vicked Mary, and jumps out a bed;
+She hopens all the trunks without never a key--
+She bustes all the boxes, and vith them makes free.
+
+Mrs. Roney's best linning gownds, petticoats, and close,
+Her children's little coats and things, her boots and her hose,
+She packed them, and she stole 'em, and avay vith them did flee
+Mrs. Roney's situation--you may think vat it vould be!
+
+Of Mary, ungrateful, who had served her this vay,
+Mrs. Roney heard nothink for a long year and a day,
+Till last Thursday, in Lambeth, ven whom should she see?
+But this Mary, as had acted so ungrateful to she.
+
+She was leaning on the helbo of a worthy young man;
+They were going to be married, and were walkin hand in hand;
+And the church-bells was a ringing for Mary and he,
+And the parson was ready, and a waitin' for his fee.
+
+When up comes Mrs. Roney, and faces Mary Brown,
+Who trembles, and castes her eyes upon the ground.
+She calls a jolly pleaseman, it happens to be me;
+I charge this young woman, Mr. Pleaseman, says she.
+
+Mrs. Roney, o, Mrs. Roney, o, do let me go,
+I acted most ungrateful I own, and I know,
+But the marriage bell is ringin, and the ring you may see,
+And this young man is a waitin, says Mary, says she.
+
+I don't care three fardens for the parson and clark,
+And the bell may keep ringing from noon day to dark.
+Mary Brown, Mary Brown, you must come along with me.
+And I think this young man is lucky to be free.
+
+So, in spite of the tears which bejewed Mary's cheek,
+I took that young gurl to A'Beckett the Beak;
+That exlent justice demanded her plea--
+But never a sullable said Mary said she.
+
+On account of her conduck so base and so vile,
+That wicked young gurl is committed for trile,
+And if she's transpawted beyond the salt sea,
+It's a proper reward for such willians as she.
+
+Now, you young gurls of Southwark for Mary who veep,
+From pickin and stealin your ands you must keep,
+Or it may be my dooty, as it was Thursday veek
+To pull you all hup to A'Beckett the Beak.
+
+ _W. M. Thackeray._
+
+
+
+
+ KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT
+
+
+An ancient story Ile tell you anon
+Of a notable prince, that was called King John;
+And he ruled England with maine and with might,
+For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.
+
+And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,
+Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye;
+How for his house-keeping, and high renowne,
+They rode poste for him to fair London towne.
+
+An hundred men, the king did heare say,
+The abbot kept in his house every day;
+And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
+In velvet coates waited the abbot about.
+
+How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,
+Thou keepest a farre better house than mee,
+And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,
+I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.
+
+My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne,
+I never spend nothing but what is my owne;
+And I trust your grace will doe me no deere
+For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.
+
+Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe,
+And now for the same thou needest must dye;
+For except thou canst answer me questions three,
+Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.
+
+And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead,
+With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,
+Among all my liege-men, so noble of birthe,
+Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.
+
+Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
+How soone I may ride the whole world about,
+And at the third question thou must not shrink,
+But tell me here truly what I do think.
+
+O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,
+Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet;
+But if you will give me but three weekes space,
+Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.
+
+Now three weeks space to thee will I give.
+And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
+For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
+Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.
+
+Away rode the abbot, all sad at that word,
+And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford;
+But never a doctor there was so wise,
+That could with his learning an answer devise.
+
+Then home rode the abbot, of comfort so cold,
+And he mett his shepheard agoing to fold:
+How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home
+What newes do you bring us from good King John?
+
+Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give:
+That I have but three days more to live;
+For if I do not answer him questions three,
+My head will be smitten from my bodie.
+
+The first is to tell him there in that stead,
+With his crowne of golde so fair on his head
+Among all his liege-men so noble of birth,
+To within one penny of what he is worth.
+
+The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,
+How soone he may ride this whole world about:
+And at the third question I must not shrinke,
+But tell him there truly what he does thinke.
+
+Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,
+That a fool he may learne a wise man witt?
+Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel,
+And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.
+
+Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,
+I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:
+And if you will but lend me your gowne,
+There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne.
+
+Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have,
+With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;
+With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
+Fit to appears 'fore our fader the pope.
+
+Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say,
+'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day;
+For and if thou canst answer my questions three,
+Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.
+
+And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
+With my crown of golde so fair on my head,
+Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
+Tell me to one penny what I am worth.
+
+For thirty pence our Saviour was sold
+Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told:
+And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,
+For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee.
+
+The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,
+I did not think I had been worth so littel!
+--Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
+How soone I may ride this whole world about.
+
+You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,
+Until the next morning he riseth againe;
+And then your grace need not make any doubt
+But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about.
+
+The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
+I did not think it could be gone so soone!
+--Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,
+But tell me here truly what I do thinke.
+
+Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:
+You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury;
+But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
+That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee.
+
+The king he laughed, and swore by the masse,
+Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!
+Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
+For alacke I can neither write, ne reade.
+
+Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee,
+For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee:
+And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home,
+Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.
+
+ From _Percy's Reliques._
+
+
+
+
+ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE CAT,
+
+DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES
+
+
+'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
+Where China's gayest art had dyed
+ The azure flowers that blow,
+Demurest of the tabby kind,
+The pensive Selima, reclined,
+ Gazed on the lake below.
+
+Her conscious tail her joy declared;
+The fair round face, the snowy beard,
+ The velvet of her paws,
+Her coat that with the tortoise vies,
+Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
+ She saw, and purred applause.
+
+Still had she gaz'd, but, 'midst the tide,
+Two angel forms were seen to glide,
+ The Genii of the stream:
+Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue,
+Through richest purple, to the view
+ Betrayed a golden gleam.
+
+The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
+A whisker first, and then a claw,
+ With many an ardent wish,
+She stretched in vain to reach the prize:
+What female heart can gold despise?
+ What Cat's averse to fish?
+
+Presumptuous maid! with looks intent,
+Again she stretched, again she bent,
+ Nor knew the gulf between:
+(Malignant Fate sat by and smiled)
+The slippery verge her feet beguiled;
+ She tumbled headlong in.
+
+Eight times emerging from the flood,
+She mewed to every watery god
+ Some speedy aid to send.
+No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred,
+Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard:
+ A fav'rite has no friend!
+
+From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived,
+Know one false step is ne'er retrieved,
+ And be with caution bold:
+Not all that tempts your wandering eyes,
+And heedless hearts, is lawful prize,
+ Nor all that glistens gold.
+
+ _Thomas Gray._
+
+
+
+
+ MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE
+
+ A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY
+
+ MR. SIMPKINSON (_loquitur_)
+
+
+I was in Margate last July, I walk'd upon the pier,
+I saw a little vulgar Boy--I said "What make you here?--
+The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks any thing but joy;"
+Again I said, "What make you here, you little vulgar Boy?"
+
+He frown'd, that little vulgar Boy--he deem'd I meant to scoff:
+And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it off";
+He put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose,--
+He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose!
+
+"Hark! don't you hear, my little man?--it's striking nine," I said,
+"An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed.
+Run home and get your supper, else your Ma' will scold--Oh! fie!--
+It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!"
+
+The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring,
+His bosom throbb'd with agony--he cried like any thing!
+I stoop'd, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmur--"Ah
+I haven't got no supper! and I haven't got no Ma'!!--
+
+"My father, he is on the seas,--my mother's dead and gone!
+And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world alone;
+I have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my heart,
+Nor '_brown_' to buy a bit of bread with,--let alone a tart.
+
+"If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ,
+By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar Boy);
+"And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent
+To jump, as Mr. Levi did from off the Monu-ment!"
+
+"Cheer up! cheer up! my little man--cheer up!" I kindly said.
+"You are a naughty boy to take such things into your head:
+If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely break your legs,
+Perhaps your neck--then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs!
+
+"Come home with me, my little man, come home with me and sup;
+My landlady is Mrs. Jones--we must not keep her up--
+There's roast potatoes on the fire,--enough for me and you--
+Come home,--you little vulgar Boy--I lodge at Number 2."
+
+I took him home to Number 2, the house beside "The Foy,"
+I bade him wipe his dirty shoes,--that little vulgar Boy,--
+And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of her sex,
+"Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X!"
+
+But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise,
+She said she "did not like to wait on little vulgar Boys."
+She with her apron wiped the plates, and, as she rubb'd the delf,
+Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself!"
+
+I did not go to Jericho--I went to Mr. Cobb--
+I changed a shilling--(which in town the people call "a Bob")--
+It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child--
+And I said, "A pint of double X, and please to draw it mild!"
+
+When I came back I gazed about--I gazed on stool and chair--
+I could not see my little friend--because he was not there!
+I peep'd beneath the table-cloth--beneath the sofa too--
+I said "You little vulgar Boy! why what's become of you?"
+
+I could not see my table-spoons--I look'd, but could not see
+The little fiddle-pattern'd ones I use when I'm at tea;
+--I could not see my sugar-tongs--my silver watch--oh, dear!
+I know 'twas on the mantle-piece when I went out for beer.
+
+I could not see my Mackintosh!--it was not to be seen!
+Nor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimm'd and lined with green;
+My carpet-bag--my cruet-stand, that holds my sauce and soy,--
+
+My roast potatoes!--all are gone!--and so's that vulgar Boy!
+I rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below,
+"--Oh, Mrs. Jones! what _do_ you think?--ain't this a pretty go?
+--That horrid little vulgar Boy whom I brought here to-night,
+--He's stolen my things and run away!!"--Says she, "And sarve you
+ right!!"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Next morning I was up betimes--I sent the Crier round,
+All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I'd give a pound
+To find that little vulgar Boy, who'd gone and used me so;
+But when the Crier cried "O Yes!" the people cried, "O No!"
+
+I went to "Jarvis' Landing-place," the glory of the town,
+There was a common sailor-man a-walking up and down;
+I told my tale--he seem'd to think I'd not been treated well,
+And called me "Poor old Buffer!" what that means I cannot tell.
+
+That sailor-man, he said he'd seen that morning on the shore,
+A son of--something--'twas a name I'd never heard before,
+A little "gallows-looking chap"--dear me; what could he mean?
+With a "carpet-swab" and "muckingtogs," and a hat turned up with green.
+
+He spoke about his "precious eyes," and said he'd seen him "sheer,"
+--It's very odd that sailor-men should talk so very queer--
+And then he hitch'd his trowsers up, as is, I'm told, their use,
+--It's very odd that sailor-men should wear those things so loose.
+
+I did not understand him well, but think he meant to say
+He'd seen that little vulgar Boy, that morning swim away
+In Captain Large's Royal George about an hour before,
+And they were now, as he supposed, "some_wheres_" about the Nore.
+
+A landsman said, "I _twig_ the chap--he's been upon the Mill--
+And 'cause he _gammons_ so the flats, ve calls him Veeping Bill!"
+He said "he'd done me wery brown," and "nicely _stow'd_ the _swag_."
+--That's French, I fancy, for a hat--or else a carpet-bag.
+
+I went and told the constable my property to track;
+He asked me if "I did not wish that I might get it back?"
+I answered, "To be sure I do!--it's what I come about."
+He smiled and said, "Sir, does your mother know that you are out?"
+
+Not knowing what to do, I thought I'd hasten back to town,
+And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the Boy who'd "done me brown."
+His Lordship very kindly said he'd try and find him out,
+But he "rather thought that there were several vulgar boys about."
+
+He sent for Mr. Whithair then, and I described "the swag,"
+My Mackintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and carpet-bag;
+He promised that the New Police should all their powers employ;
+But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar Boy!
+
+ MORAL
+
+Remember, then, what when a boy I've heard my Grandma' tell,
+"|Be warn'd in time by others' harm, and you shall do full well!|"
+Don't link yourself with vulgar folks, who've got no fix'd abode,
+Tell lies, use naughty words, and say they "wish they may be blow'd!"
+
+Don't take too much of double X!--and don't at night go out
+To fetch your beer yourself, but make the pot-boy bring your stout!
+And when you go to Margate next, just stop and ring the bell,
+Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I'm pretty well!
+
+ _Richard Harris Barham._
+
+
+
+
+ THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER
+
+
+In Broad Street Buildings on a winter night,
+Snug by his parlor-fire a gouty wight
+Sat all alone, with one hand rubbing
+His feet, rolled up in fleecy hose:
+While t'other held beneath his nose
+The _Public Ledger_, in whose columns grubbing,
+ He noted all the sales of hops,
+ Ships, shops, and slops;
+Gum, galls, and groceries; ginger, gin,
+Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentine, and tin;
+When lo! a decent personage in black
+Entered and most politely said:
+"Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track
+ To the King's Head,
+And left your door ajar; which I
+Observed in passing by,
+ And thought it neighborly to give you notice."
+"Ten thousand thanks; how very few get,
+In time of danger,
+Such kind attentions from a stranger!
+Assuredly, that fellow's throat is
+Doomed to a final drop at Newgate:
+He knows, too (the unconscionable elf!),
+That there's no soul at home except myself."
+"Indeed," replied the stranger (looking grave),
+"Then he's a double knave;
+He knows that rogues and thieves by scores
+Nightly beset unguarded doors:
+And see, how easily might one
+ Of these domestic foes,
+ Even beneath your very nose,
+Perform his knavish tricks;
+Enter your room, as I have done,
+Blow out your candles--_thus_--and _thus_--
+Pocket your silver candlesticks,
+ And--walk off--_thus_!"--
+So said, so done; he made no more remark
+ Nor waited for replies,
+ But marched off with his prize,
+Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark.
+
+ _Horace Smith._
+
+
+
+
+ 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.
+
+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 down-stairs--"The wine is left behind!"
+
+"Good lack!" quoth he--"yet bring it me, my leathern belt likewise,
+In which I wear 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;
+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 his horse's 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 did he 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 neighbor in such trim,
+Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, and thus accosted him:
+
+"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 comedy 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,
+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;
+
+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 post-boy at his heels,
+The post-boy's horse right glad to miss the lumbering of the wheels.
+
+Six gentlemen upon the road, thus seeing Gilpin fly,
+With post-boy 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;
+The tollmen 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!
+
+ _William Cowper._
+
+
+
+
+ PADDY O'RAFTHER
+
+
+Paddy, in want of a dinner one day,
+Credit all gone, and no money to pay,
+Stole from a priest a fat pullet, they say,
+ And went to confession just afther;
+"Your riv'rince," says Paddy, "I stole this fat hen."
+"What, what!" says the priest, "at your ould thricks again?
+Faith, you'd rather be staalin' than sayin' _amen_,
+ Paddy O'Rafther!"
+
+"Sure, you wouldn't be angry," says Pat, "if you knew
+That the best of intintions I had in my view--
+For I stole it to make it a present to you,
+ And you can absolve me afther."
+"Do you think," says the priest, "I'd partake of your theft?
+Of your seven small senses you must be bereft--
+You're the biggest blackguard that I know, right and left,
+ Paddy O'Rafther."
+
+"Then what shall I do with the pullet," says Pat,
+"If your riv'rince won't take it? By this and by that
+I don't know no more than a dog or a cat
+ What your riv'rince would have me be afther."
+"Why, then," says his rev'rence, "you sin-blinded owl,
+Give back to the man that you stole from his fowl:
+For if you do not, 'twill be worse for your sowl,
+ Paddy O'Rafther."
+
+Says Paddy, "I ask'd him to take it--'tis thrue
+As this minit I'm talkin', your riv'rince, to you;
+But he wouldn't resaive it--so what can I do?"
+ Says Paddy, nigh choken with laughter.
+"By my throth," says the priest, "but the case is absthruse;
+If he won't take his hen, why the man is a goose:
+'Tis not the first time my advice was no use,
+ Paddy O'Rafther."
+
+"But, for sake of your sowl, I would sthrongly advise
+To some one in want you would give your supplies--
+Some widow, or orphan, with tears in their eyes;
+ And _then_ you may come to _me_ afther."
+So Paddy went off to the brisk Widow Hoy,
+And the pullet between them was eaten with joy,
+And, says she, "'Pon my word you're the cleverest boy,
+ Paddy O'Rafther."
+
+Then Paddy went back to the priest the next day,
+And told him the fowl he had given away
+To a poor lonely widow, in want and dismay,
+ The loss of her spouse weeping afther.
+"Well, now," says the priest, "I'll absolve you, my lad,
+For repentantly making the best of the bad,
+In feeding the hungry and cheering the sad,
+ Paddy O'Rafther!"
+
+ _Samuel Lover._
+
+
+
+
+HERE SHE GOES, AND THERE SHE GOES
+
+
+Two Yankee wags, one summer day,
+Stopped at a tavern on their way,
+Supped, frolicked, late retired to rest,
+And woke to breakfast on the best.
+The breakfast over, Tom and Will
+Sent for the landlord and the bill;
+Will looked it over:--"Very right--
+But hold! what wonder meets my sight?
+Tom, the surprise is quite a shock!"
+"What wonder? where?" "The clock, the clock!"
+
+Tom and the landlord in amaze
+Stared at the clock with stupid gaze,
+And for a moment neither spoke;
+At last the landlord silence broke,--
+"You mean the clock that's ticking there?
+I see no wonder, I declare!
+Though maybe, if the truth were told,
+'Tis rather ugly, somewhat old;
+Yet time it keeps to half a minute;
+But, if you please, what wonder's in it?"
+
+"Tom, don't you recollect," said Will,
+"The clock at Jersey, near the mill,
+The very image of this present,
+With which I won the wager pleasant?"
+Will ended with a knowing wink;
+Tom scratched his head and tried to think.
+"Sir, begging pardon for inquiring,"
+The landlord said, with grin admiring,
+"What wager was it?"
+
+ "You remember
+It happened, Tom, in last December:
+In sport I bet a Jersey Blue
+That it was more than he could do
+To make his finger go and come
+In keeping with the pendulum,
+Repeating, till the hour should close,
+Still,--'_Here she goes, and there she goes_.'
+He lost the bet in half a minute."
+
+"Well, if I would, the deuce is in it!"
+Exclaimed the landlord; "try me yet,
+And fifty dollars be the bet."
+"Agreed, but we will play some trick,
+To make you of the bargain sick!"
+"I'm up to that!"
+
+ "Don't make us wait,--
+Begin,--the clock is striking eight."
+He seats himself, and left and right
+His finger wags with all its might,
+And hoarse his voice and hoarser grows,
+With--"_Here she goes, and there she goes_!"
+"Hold!" said the Yankee, "Plank the ready!"
+The landlord wagged his finger steady,
+While his left hand, as well as able,
+Conveyed a purse upon the table.
+"Tom! with the money let's be off!"
+This made the landlord only scoff.
+
+He heard them running down the stair,
+But was not tempted from his chair;
+Thought he, "The fools! I'll bite them yet!
+So poor a trick sha'n't win the bet."
+And loud and long the chorus rose
+Of--_"Here she goes, and there she goes!"_
+While right and left his finger swung,
+In keeping to his clock and tongue.
+
+His mother happened in to see
+Her daughter: "Where is Mrs. B----?"
+"When will she come, do you suppose?
+Son!"--
+ _"Here she goes, and there she goes!"_
+"Here!--where?"--the lady in surprise
+His finger followed with her eyes:
+"Son! why that steady gaze and sad?
+Those words,--that motion,--are you mad?
+But here's your wife, perhaps she knows,
+And--"
+ _"Here she goes, and there she goes!"_
+
+His wife surveyed him with alarm,
+And rushed to him, and seized his arm;
+He shook her off, and to and fro
+His finger persevered to go;
+While curled his very nose with ire
+That _she_ against him should conspire;
+And with more furious tone arose
+The--_"Here she goes, and there she goes!"_
+
+"Lawks!" screamed the wife, "I'm in a whirl!
+Run down and bring the little girl;
+She is his darling, and who knows
+But--"
+
+ _"Here she goes, and there she goes!"_
+
+"Lawks! he is mad! What made him thus?
+Good Lord! what will become of us?
+Run for a doctor,--run, run, run,--
+For Doctor Brown and Doctor Dun,
+And Doctor Black and Doctor White,
+And Doctor Gray, with all your might!"
+
+The doctors came, and looked, and wondered,
+And shook their heads, and paused and pondered.
+Then one proposed he should be bled,--
+"No, leeched you mean," the other said,
+"Clap on a blister!" roared another,--
+"No! cup him,"--"No, trepan him, brother."
+A sixth would recommend a purge,
+The next would an emetic urge;
+The last produced a box of pills,
+A certain cure for earthly ills:
+"I had a patient yesternight,"
+Quoth he, "and wretched was her plight,
+And as the only means to save her,
+Three dozen patent pills I gave her;
+And by to-morrow I suppose
+That--"
+
+ _"Here she goes, and there she goes!"_
+
+"You are all fools!" the lady said,--
+"The way is just to shave his head.
+Run! bid the barber come anon."
+"Thanks, mother!" thought her clever son;
+"You help the knaves that would have bit me,
+But all creation sha'n't outwit me!"
+Thus to himself while to and fro
+His finger perseveres to go,
+And from his lips no accent flows
+But,--_"Here she goes, and there she goes!"_
+The barber came--"Lord help him! what
+A queerish customer I've got;
+But we must do our best to save him,--
+So hold him, gemmen, while I shave him!"
+But here the doctors interpose,--
+"A woman never--"
+
+ _"There she goes!"_
+
+"A woman is no judge of physic,
+Not even when her baby is sick.
+He must be bled,"--"No, cup him,"--"Pills!"
+And all the house the uproar fills.
+
+What means that smile? what means that shiver?
+The landlord's limbs with rapture quiver,
+And triumph brightens up his face,
+His finger yet will win the race;
+The clock is on the stroke of nine,
+And up he starts,--"'Tis mine! 'tis mine!"
+"What do you mean?"
+ "I mean the fifty;
+I never spent an hour so thrifty.
+But you who tried to make me lose,
+Go, burst with envy, if you choose!
+But how is this? where are they?"
+ "Who?"
+"The gentlemen,--I mean the two
+Came yesterday,--are they below?"
+"They galloped off an hour ago."
+"Oh, dose me! blister! shave and bleed!
+For, hang the knaves, I'm mad indeed!"
+
+ _James Nack._
+
+
+
+
+ THE QUAKER'S MEETING
+
+
+A traveller wended the wilds among,
+With a purse of gold and a silver tongue;
+His hat it was broad, and all drab were his clothes,
+For he hated high colors--except on his nose,
+And he met with a lady, the story goes.
+ Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee.
+
+The damsel she cast him a merry blink,
+And the traveller nothing was loth, I think,
+Her merry black eye beamed her bonnet beneath,
+And the Quaker, he grinned, for he'd very good teeth,
+And he asked, "Art thee going to ride on the heath?"
+
+"I hope you'll protect me, kind sir," said the maid,
+"As to ride this heath over, I'm sadly afraid;
+For robbers, they say, here in numbers abound,
+And I wouldn't for anything I should be found,
+For, between you and me, I have five hundred pound."
+
+"If that is thee own, dear," the Quaker, he said,
+"I ne'er saw a maiden I sooner would wed;
+And I have another five hundred just now,
+In the padding that's under my saddle-bow,
+And I'll settle it all upon thee, I vow!"
+
+The maiden she smil'd, and her rein she drew,
+"Your offer I'll take, but I'll not take you,"
+A pistol she held at the Quaker's head--
+"Now give me your gold, or I'll give you my lead,
+'Tis under the saddle, I think you said."
+
+The damsel she ripped up the saddle-bow,
+And the Quaker was never a quaker till now!
+And he saw, by the fair one he wished for a bride,
+His purse borne away with a swaggering stride,
+And the eye that shamm'd tender, now only defied.
+
+"The spirit doth move me, friend Broadbrim," quoth she,
+"To take all this filthy temptation from thee,
+For Mammon deceiveth, and beauty is fleeting,
+Accept from thy maiden this right-loving greeting,
+For much doth she profit by this Quaker's meeting!
+
+"And hark! jolly Quaker, so rosy and sly,
+Have righteousness, more than a wench, in thine eye;
+Don't go again peeping girls' bonnets beneath,
+Remember the one that you met on the heath,
+Her name's Jimmy Barlow, I tell to your teeth."
+
+"Friend James," quoth the Quaker, "pray listen to me,
+For thou canst confer a great favor, d'ye see;
+The gold thou hast taken is not mine, my friend,
+But my master's; and truly on thee I depend,
+To make it appear I my trust did defend.
+
+"So fire a few shots thro' my clothes, here and there,
+To make it appear 'twas a desp'rate affair."
+So Jim he popp'd first through the skirt of his coat,
+And then through his collar--quite close to his throat;
+"Now one thro' my broadbrim," quoth Ephraim, "I vote."
+
+"I have but a brace," said bold Jim, "and they're spent,
+And I won't load again for a make-believe rent."--
+"Then!"--said Ephraim, producing his pistols, "just give
+My five hundred pounds back, or, as sure as you live,
+I'll make of your body a riddle or sieve."
+
+Jim Barlow was diddled--and, tho' he was game,
+He saw Ephraim's pistol so deadly in aim,
+That he gave up the gold, and he took to his scrapers,
+And when the whole story got into the papers,
+They said that "_the thieves were no match for the Quakers_."
+ Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee.
+
+ _Samuel Lover._
+
+
+
+
+ THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH
+
+
+One of the Kings of Scanderoon,
+ A royal jester
+Had in his train, a gross buffoon,
+ Who used to pester
+The court with tricks inopportune,
+Venting on the highest folks his
+Scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes.
+
+It needs some sense to play the fool,
+Which wholesome rule
+ Occurred not to our jackanapes,
+Who consequently found his freaks
+ Lead to innumerable scrapes,
+And quite as many tricks and tweaks,
+ Which only seemed to make him faster
+ Try the patience of his master.
+
+Some sin, at last, beyond all measure
+Incurred the desperate displeasure
+ Of his Serene and raging Highness:
+Whether he twitched his most revered
+And sacred beard,
+ Or had intruded on the shyness
+ Of the seraglio, or let fly
+ An epigram at royalty,
+None knows: his sin was an occult one,
+But records tell us that the Sultan,
+Meaning to terrify the knave,
+ Exclaimed, "'Tis time to stop that breath;
+Thy doom is sealed, presumptuous slave!
+ Thou stand'st condemned to certain death:
+
+"Silence, base rebel! no replying!
+ But such is my indulgence still,
+ That, of my own free grace and will,
+I leave to thee the mode of dying,"
+"Thy royal will be done--'tis just,"
+Replied the wretch, and kissed the dust.
+ "Since my last moment to assuage,
+Your majesty's humane decree
+Has deigned to leave the choice to me,
+ I'll die, so please you, of old age!"
+
+ _Horace Smith._
+
+
+
+
+ THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE;
+
+ OR, THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY"
+
+ _A Logical Story_
+
+
+Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,
+That was built in such a logical way,
+It ran a hundred years to a day,
+And then, of a sudden, it--ah, but stay,
+I'll tell you what happened without delay,--
+Scaring the parson into fits,
+Frightening the people out of their wits--
+Have you ever heard of that, I say?
+
+Seventeen hundred and fifty-five,
+_Georgius Secundus_ was then alive--
+Stuffy old drone from the German hive.
+That was the year when Lisbon-town
+Saw the earth open and gulp her down,
+And Braddock's army was done so brown,
+Left without a scalp to its crown.
+It was on the terrible earthquake-day
+That the Deacon finished his one-hoss shay.
+
+Now in building of chaises, I'll tell you what,
+There is always _somewhere_ a weakest spot--
+In hub, tire, or felloe, in spring or thill,
+In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,
+In screw, bolt, thorough brace--lurking still,
+Find it somewhere you must and will--
+Above or below, or within or without--
+And that's the reason, beyond a doubt,
+A chaise _breaks down_, but doesn't _wear out_.
+
+But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do,
+With an "I dew vam" or an "I tell _yeou_"),
+He would build one shay to beat the taown
+'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun';
+It should be so built that it _couldna'_ break daown;
+--"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t's mighty plain
+That the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain;
+'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain,
+ Is only jest
+T' make that place uz strong uz the rest."
+
+So the deacon inquired of the village folk
+Where he could find the strongest oak,
+That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke--
+That was for spokes and floor and sills;
+He sent for lancewood to make the thills;
+The cross-bars were ash, from the straightest trees;
+The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,
+But lasts like iron for things like these;
+The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum"--
+Last of its timber--they couldn't sell 'em,
+
+Never an axe had seen their chips,
+And the wedges flew from between their lips;
+Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;
+Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,
+Spring, tire, axle, and linch-pin too,
+Steel of the finest, bright and blue;
+Thorough-broke bison-skin, thick and wide;
+Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
+Found in the pit when the tanner died.
+That was the way he "put her through"--
+"There!" said the deacon, "naow she'll dew!"
+
+Do! I tell you, I rather guess
+She was a wonder, and nothing less.
+Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,
+Deacon and deaconess dropped away,
+Children and grandchildren--where were they!
+But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay
+As fresh as on Lisbon earthquake-day!
+
+|Eighteen hundred|;--it came and found
+The deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.
+Eighteen hundred increased by ten;--
+"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then.
+Eighteen hundred and twenty came;--
+Running as usual; much the same.
+Thirty and forty at last arrive,
+And then came fifty and |fifty-five|.
+
+Little of all we value here
+Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year
+Without both feeling and looking queer.
+In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth,
+So far as I know but a tree and truth.
+(That is a moral that runs at large;
+Take it--you're welcome.--No extra charge.)
+
+|First of November|--The Earthquake-day--
+There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay,
+A general flavour of mild decay,
+But nothing local, as one may say.
+There couldn't be--for the deacon's art
+Had made it so like in every part
+That there wasn't a chance for one to start.
+For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,
+And the floor was just as strong as the sills,
+And the panels just as strong as the floor,
+And the whippletree neither less nor more,
+And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore,
+And spring and axle and hub _encore_.
+And yet, _as a whole_ it is past a doubt
+In another hour it will be _worn out_!
+
+First of November, 'Fifty-five!
+This morning the parson takes a drive.
+Now, small boys, get out of the way!
+Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay,
+Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay,
+"Huddup!" said the parson.--Off went they.
+
+The parson was working his Sunday's text--
+Had got to _fifthly_, and stopped perplexed
+At what the--Moses--was coming next.
+All at once the horse stood still,
+Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.
+--First a shiver, and then a thrill,
+Then something decidedly like a spill--
+And the parson was sitting upon a rock
+At half-past nine by the meet'n'-house clock--
+Just the hour of the earthquake shock!
+--What do you think the parson found,
+When he got up and stared around?
+The poor old chaise in a heap or mound,
+As if it had been to the mill and ground!
+You see, of course, if you're not a dunce,
+How it went to pieces all at once,--
+All at once and nothing first--
+Just as bubbles do when they burst.
+
+End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.
+Logic is logic. That's all I say.
+
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN
+
+
+It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side;
+His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide.
+The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim,
+Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him.
+
+It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid,
+Upon a moonlight evening, a-sitting in the shade;
+He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say,
+"I'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away."
+
+Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he,
+"I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see;
+I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear,
+Leander swam the Hellespont--and I will swim this here."
+
+And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream,
+And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam;
+O there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain--
+But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again!
+
+Out spoke the ancient fisherman--"O what was that, my daughter?"
+"'Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water."
+"And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?"
+"It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a-swimming past."
+
+Out spoke the ancient fisherman--"Now bring me my harpoon!
+I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon."
+Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb;
+Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like sea-weed on a clam.
+
+Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound,
+And he was taken with the cramp, and in, the waves was drowned;
+But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their wo,
+And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down below.
+
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE
+
+
+A well there is in the west country,
+And a clearer one never was seen;
+There is not a wife in the west country
+But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.
+
+An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,
+And behind doth an ash-tree grow,
+And a willow from the bank above
+Droops to the water below.
+
+A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne,
+Joyfully he drew nigh,
+For from cock-crow he had been travelling,
+And there was not a cloud in the sky.
+
+He drank of the water so cool and clear,
+For thirsty and hot was he;
+And he sat down upon the bank
+Under the willow-tree.
+
+There came a man from the house hard by
+At the well to fill his pail;
+On the well-side he rested it,
+And he bade the stranger hail.
+
+"Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he,
+"For an if thou hast a wife,
+The happiest draught thou hast drank this day
+That ever thou didst in thy life.
+
+"Or hast thy good woman, if one thou hast,
+Ever here in Cornwall been?
+For an if she have, I'll venture my life
+She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne."
+
+"I have left a good woman who never was here,"
+The stranger he made reply;
+"But that my draught should be the better for that
+I pray you answer me why?"
+
+"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornishman, "many a time
+Drank of this crystal well,
+And before the angels summon'd her,
+She laid on the water a spell.
+
+"If the husband of this gifted well
+Shall drink before his wife,
+A happy man thenceforth is he,
+For he shall be master for life.
+
+"But if the wife should drink of it first,
+God help the husband then!"
+The stranger stooped to the Well of St. Keyne,
+And drank of the water again.
+
+"You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes?"
+He to the Cornishman said:
+But the Cornishman smiled as the stranger spake,
+And sheepishly shook his head.
+
+"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done,
+And left my wife in the porch;
+But i' faith she had been wiser than me,
+For she took a bottle to church."
+
+ _Robert Southey._
+
+
+
+
+ THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS
+
+
+The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!
+Bishop, and Abbot, and Prior were there;
+ Many a monk, and many a friar,
+ Many a knight and many a squire,
+With a great many more of lesser degree--
+In sooth, a goodly company;
+And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee,
+ Never, I ween,
+ Was a prouder seen,
+Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams,
+Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims!
+
+ In and out
+ Through the motley rout,
+That little Jackdaw kept hopping about;
+ Here and there,
+ Like a dog in a fair,
+ Over comfits and cates,
+ And dishes and plates,
+Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall,
+Mitre and crosier, he hopped upon all!
+ With saucy air,
+ He perched on the chair
+Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat
+In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat;
+
+ And he peered in the face
+ Of his Lordship's grace,
+With a satisfied look, as if he would say,
+"We two are the greatest folks here to-day!"
+ And the priests, with awe,
+ As such freaks they saw,
+Said, "The devil must be in that little Jackdaw!"
+
+The feast was over, the board was cleared,
+The flawns and the custards had all disappeared,
+And six little singing-boys--dear little souls!
+In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles,
+ Came, in order due,
+ Two by two,
+Marching that grand refectory through!
+
+A nice little boy held a golden ewer,
+Embossed and filled with water, as pure
+As any that flows between Rheims and Namur,
+Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch
+In a fine golden hand-basin made to match.
+Two nice little boys, rather more grown,
+Carried lavender-water and eau-de-Cologne;
+And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap,
+Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope.
+ One little boy more
+ A napkin bore,
+Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink,
+And a cardinal's hat marked in "permanent ink."
+
+The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight
+Of these nice little boys dressed all in white:
+ From his finger he draws
+ His costly turquoise,
+And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws,
+ Deposits it straight
+ By the side of his plate,
+While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait;
+Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such thing,
+That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring!
+
+ There's a cry and a shout,
+ And a deuce of a rout,
+And nobody seems to know what they're about,
+But the monks have their pockets all turned inside out;
+ The friars are kneeling,
+ And hunting and feeling
+The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling.
+ The Cardinal drew
+ Off each plum-coloured shoe,
+And left his red stockings exposed to the view;
+ He peeps and he feels,
+ In the toes and the heels;
+They turn up the dishes, they turn up the plates,
+They take up the poker and poke out the grates,
+ They turn up the rugs,
+ They examine the mugs--
+ But no! no such thing;
+ They can't find |THE RING|!
+And the Abbot declared that "when nobody twigged it,
+Some rascal or other had popped in and prigged it."
+
+The Cardinal rose with a dignified look,
+He called for his candle, his bell, and his book!
+ In holy anger and pious grief,
+ He solemnly cursed that rascally thief!
+ He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed;
+ From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head;
+ He cursed him in sleeping, that every night
+ He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright;
+ He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking,
+ He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking;
+ He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying;
+ He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying;
+ He cursed him in living, he cursed him in dying!--
+Never was heard such a terrible curse!
+ But, what gave rise
+ To no little surprise,
+Nobody seemed one penny the worse!
+
+ The day was gone,
+ The night came on,
+The monks and the friars they searched till dawn;
+ When the Sacristan saw,
+ On crumpled claw,
+Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw;
+ No longer gay,
+ As on yesterday;
+His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong way;
+His pinions drooped, he could hardly stand,
+His head was as bald as the palm of your hand;
+ His eye so dim,
+ So wasted each limb,
+That, heedless of grammar, they all cried "|That's him|!
+That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing!
+That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's ring!"
+
+ The poor little Jackdaw,
+ When the monks he saw,
+Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw,
+And turned his bald head, as much as to say,
+"Pray be so good as to walk this way!"
+ Slower and slower
+ He limped on before,
+Till they came to the back of the belfry door,
+ Where the first thing they saw,
+ Midst the sticks and the straw,
+Was the |RING| in the nest of that little Jackdaw!
+
+Then the great Lord Cardinal called for his book,
+And off that terrible curse he took;
+ The mute expression
+ Served in lieu of confession,
+And, being thus coupled with full restitution,
+The Jackdaw got plenary absolution!
+ When these words were heard,
+ That poor little bird
+Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd;
+ He grew sleek and fat;
+ In addition to that,
+A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat!
+ His tail waggled more
+ Even than before;
+But no longer it wagged with an impudent air,
+No longer he perched on the Cardinal's chair,
+ He hopped now about
+ With a gait devout;
+At matins, at vespers, he never was out;
+And, so far from any more pilfering deeds,
+He always seemed telling the Confessor's beads.
+
+If any one lied, or if any one swore,
+Or slumbered in prayer-time and happened to snore,
+ That good Jackdaw
+ Would give a great "Caw!"
+As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!"
+While many remarked, as his manners they saw,
+That they "never had known such a pious Jackdaw!"
+ He long lived the pride
+ Of that country side,
+And at last in the odour of sanctity died;
+ When, as words were too faint
+ His merits to paint,
+The Conclave determined to make him a Saint;
+And on newly-made Saints and Popes, as you know,
+It's the custom, at Rome, new names to bestow,
+So they canonised him by the name of Jim Crow!
+
+ _Richard Harris Barham._
+
+
+
+
+ THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY
+
+
+The Lady Jane was tall and slim,
+ The Lady Jane was fair
+And Sir Thomas, her lord, was stout of limb,
+And his cough was short, and his eyes were dim,
+And he wore green "specs" with a tortoise shell rim,
+And his hat was remarkably broad in the brim,
+And she was uncommonly fond of him--
+ And they were a loving pair!
+And wherever they went, or wherever they came,
+Every one hailed them with loudest acclaim;
+ Far and wide,
+ The people cried,
+All sorts of pleasure, and no sort of pain,
+To Sir Thomas the good, and the fair Lady Janel
+
+Now Sir Thomas the good, be it well understood,
+Was a man of very contemplative mood--
+He would pour by the hour, o'er a weed or a flower,
+Or the slugs, that came crawling out after a shower;
+Black beetles, bumble-bees, blue-bottle flies,
+And moths, were of no small account in his eyes;
+An "industrious flea," he'd by no means despise,
+While an "old daddy long-legs," whose long legs and thighs
+Passed the common in shape, or in color, or size,
+He was wont to consider an absolute prize.
+Giving up, in short, both business and sport, he
+Abandoned himself, _tout entier_, to philosophy.
+
+Now as Lady Jane was tall and slim,
+ And Lady Jane was fair.
+And a good many years the junior of him,
+There are some might be found entertaining a notion,
+That such an entire, and exclusive devotion,
+To that part of science, folks style entomology,
+ Was a positive shame,
+ And, to such a fair dame,
+Really demanded some sort of apology;
+Ever poking his nose into this, and to that--
+At a gnat, or a bat, or a cat, or a rat,
+At great ugly things, all legs and wings,
+With nasty long tails, armed with nasty long stings
+And eternally thinking, and blinking, and winking,
+At grubs--when he ought of _her_ to be thinking.
+But no! ah no! 'twas by no means so
+ With the fair Lady Jane,
+ _Tout au contraire_, no lady so fair,
+Was e'er known to wear more contented an air;
+And--let who would call--every day she was there
+Propounding receipts for some delicate fare,
+Some toothsome conserve, of quince, apple or pear
+Or distilling strong waters--or potting a hare--
+Or counting her spoons, and her crockery ware;
+Enough to make less gifted visitors stare.
+
+ Nay more; don't suppose
+ With such doings as those
+This account of her merits must come to a close;
+No!--examine her conduct more closely, you'll find
+She by no means neglected improving her mind;
+For there all the while with an air quite bewitching
+She sat herring-boning, tambouring, or stitching,
+Or having an eye to affairs of the kitchen.
+ Close by her side,
+ Sat her kinsman, MacBride--
+Captain Dugald MacBride, Royal Scots Fusiliers;--
+And I doubt if you'd find, in the whole of his clan,
+A more highly intelligent, worthy young man;
+ And there he'd be sitting,
+ While she was a-knitting,
+Reading aloud, with a very grave look,
+Some very "wise saw," from some very good book--
+ No matter who came,
+ It was always the same,
+The Captain was reading aloud to the dame,
+Till, from having gone through half the books on the shelf,
+They were _almost_ as wise as Sir Thomas himself.
+
+ Well it happened one day--
+ I really can't say
+The particular month;--but I _think_ 'twas in May,
+'Twas I _know_ in the spring-time, when "nature looks gay,"
+As the poet observes--and on tree-top and spray,
+The dear little dickey birds carol away,
+That the whole of the house was thrown into affright,
+For no soul could conceive what was gone with the Knight.
+
+ It seems he had taken
+ A light breakfast--bacon,
+An egg, a little broiled haddock--at most
+A round and a half of some hot buttered toast,
+With a slice of cold sirloin from yesterday's roast.
+ And then, let me see,--
+ He had two,--perhaps three
+Cups, with sugar and cream, of strong gunpowder tea,--
+ But no matter for that--
+ He had called for his hat,
+With the brim that I've said was so broad and so flat,
+And his "specs" with the tortoise-shell rim, and his cane.
+With the crutch-handled top, which he used to sustain
+His steps in his walk, or to poke in the shrubs
+Or the grass, when unearthing his worms or his grubs;
+Thus armed he set out on a ramble--a-lack!
+He _set out_, poor dear soul!--but he never came back!
+ "First dinner bell" rang
+ Out its euphonous clang
+At five--folks kept early hours then--and the "last"
+Ding-donged, as it ever was wont, at half-past.
+Still the master was absent--the cook came and said, he
+Feared dinner would spoil, having been so long ready,
+That the puddings her ladyship thought such a treat
+He was morally sure, would be scarce fit to eat!
+Said the lady, "Dish up! Let the meal be served straight,
+And let two or three slices be put on a plate,
+And kept hot for Sir Thomas."--Captain Dugald said grace,
+Then set himself down in Sir Thomas' place.
+
+Wearily, wearily, all that night,
+ That live-long night did the hours go by;
+ And the Lady Jane,
+ In grief and pain,
+ She sat herself down to cry!
+ And Captain MacBride,
+ Who sat by her side,
+Though I really can't say that he actually cried,
+ At least had a tear in his eye!
+As much as can well be expected, perhaps,
+From "very young fellows," for very "old chaps."
+ And if he had said
+ What he'd got in his head,
+'Twould have been, "Poor old Duffer, he's certainly dead!"
+The morning dawned--and the next--and the next
+And all in the mansion were still perplexed;
+ No knocker fell,
+ His approach to tell;
+Not so much as a runaway ring at the bell.
+
+Yet the sun shone bright upon tower and tree,
+And the meads smiled green as green may be,
+And the dear little dickey birds caroled with glee,
+And the lambs in the park skipped merry and free.--
+Without, all was joy and harmony!
+
+And thus 'twill be--nor long the day--
+Ere we, like him, shall pass away!
+Yon sun that now our bosoms warms,
+Shall shine--but shine on other forms;
+Yon grove, whose choir so sweetly cheers
+Us now, shall sound on other ears;
+The joyous lambs, as now, shall play,
+But other eyes its sports survey;
+The stream we loved shall roll as fair,
+The flowery sweets, the trim parterre,
+Shall scent, as now, the ambient air;
+The tree whose bending branches bear
+The one loved name--shall yet be there--
+But where the hand that carved it? Where?
+
+ These were hinted to me as the very ideas
+Which passed through the mind of the fair Lady Jane,
+As she walked on the esplanade to and again,
+ With Captain MacBride,
+ Of course at her side,
+Who could not look _quite_ so forlorn--though he tried,
+An "idea" in fact, had got into _his_ head,
+That if "poor dear Sir Thomas" should really be dead,
+It might be no bad "spec" to be there in his stead,
+And by simply contriving, in due time, to wed
+ A lady who was young and fair,
+ A lady slim and tall,
+To set himself down in comfort there,
+ The lord of Tapton Hall.
+
+ Thinks he, "We have sent
+ Half over Kent,
+And nobody knows how much money's been spent,
+Yet no one's been found to say which way he went!
+Here's a fortnight and more has gone by, and we've tried
+Every plan we could hit on--and had him well cried
+ '|Missing|!! _Stolen or Strayed_,
+ _Lost or Mislaid_,
+|A Gentleman|;--middle-aged, sober and staid;
+Stoops slightly;--and when he left home was arrayed
+In a sad-colored suit, somewhat dingy and frayed;
+Had spectacles on with a tortoise-shell rim,
+And a hat rather low crowned, and broad in the brim.
+ Whoe'er shall bear,
+ Or send him with care,
+(Right side uppermost) home; or shall give notice where
+Said middle-aged |Gentleman| is; or shall state
+Any fact, that may tend to throw light on his fate,
+To the man at the turnpike, called _Tappington Gate_,
+Shall receive a reward of _Five Pounds_ for his trouble.
+N.B. If defunct, the _Reward_ will be double!!'
+
+ "Had he been above ground,
+ He _must_ have been found.
+No; doubtless he's shot--or he's hanged--or he's drowned!
+ Then his widow--ay! ay!
+ But what will folks say?--
+To address her at once, at so early a day.
+Well--what then--who cares!--let 'em say what they may."
+ When a man has decided
+ As Captain MacBride did,
+And once fully made up his mind on the matter, he
+Can't be too prompt in unmasking his battery.
+He began on the instant, and vowed that her eyes
+Far exceeded in brilliance the stars in the skies;
+That her lips were like roses, her cheeks were like lilies;
+Her breath had the odor of daffadowndillies!--
+With a thousand more compliments, equally true,
+Expressed in similitudes equally new!
+ Then his left arm he placed
+ Round her jimp, taper waist--
+
+Ere she fixed to repulse or return his embrace,
+Up came running a man at a deuce of a pace,
+With that very peculiar expression of face
+Which always betokens dismay or disaster,
+Crying out--'twas the gard'ner--"Oh, ma'am! we've found master!!"
+"Where! where?" screamed the lady; and echo screamed,
+ "Where?"
+ The man couldn't say "there!"
+ He had no breath to spare,
+But gasping for breath he could only respond
+By pointing--be pointed, alas! |TO THE POND|.
+'Twas e'en so; poor dear Knight, with his "specs" and his hat,
+He'd gone poking his nose into this and to that;
+When close to the side of the bank, he espied
+An uncommon fine tadpole, remarkably fat!
+ He stooped;--and he thought her
+ His own;--he had caught her!
+Got hold of her tail--and to land almost brought her,
+When--he plumped head and heels into fifteen feet water!
+
+The Lady Jane was tall and slim,
+ The Lady Jane was fair,
+Alas! for Sir Thomas!--she grieved for him,
+As she saw two serving men sturdy of limb,
+ His body between them bear;
+She sobbed and she sighed, she lamented and cried,
+ For of sorrow brimful was her cup;
+She swooned, and I think she'd have fallen down and died,
+ If Captain MacBride
+ Hadn't been by her side
+With the gardener;--they both their assistance supplied,
+ And managed to hold her up.
+ But when she "comes to,"
+ Oh! 'tis shocking to view
+ The sight which the corpse reveals!
+ Sir Thomas' body,
+ It looked so odd--he
+ Was half eaten up by the eels!
+
+ His waistcoat and hose,
+ And the rest of his clothes,
+Were all gnawed through and through;
+ And out of each shoe,
+ An eel they drew;
+And from each of his pockets they pulled out two!
+And the gardener himself had secreted a few,
+ As well might be supposed he'd do,
+For, when he came running to give the alarm,
+He had six in the basket that hung on his arm.
+
+Good Father John was summoned anon;
+Holy water was sprinkled and little bells tinkled,
+ And tapers were lighted,
+ And incense ignited,
+And masses were sung, and masses were said,
+All day, for the quiet repose of the dead,
+And all night no one thought about going to bed.
+
+But Lady Jane was tall and slim,
+ And Lady Jane was fair,
+And ere morning came, that winsome dame
+Had made up her mind, or--what's much the same--
+Had _thought about_, once more "changing her name,"
+ And she said with a pensive air,
+To Thompson the valet, while taking away,
+When supper was over, the cloth and the tray,
+"Eels a many I've ate; but any
+ So good ne'er tasted before!--
+They're a fish too, of which I'm remarkably fond--
+Go--pop Sir Thomas again in the pond--
+ Poor dear!--_he'll catch us some more_."
+
+ MORAL
+
+All middle-aged gentlemen let me advise,
+If you're married, and hav'n't got very good eyes,
+Don't go poking about after blue-bottle flies.
+If you've spectacles, don't have a tortoise-shell rim,
+And don't go near the water--unless you can swim.
+Married ladies, especially such as are fair,
+Tall and slim, I would next recommend to beware,
+How, on losing one spouse, they give way to despair,
+But let them reflect, there are fish, and no doubt on't,
+As good _in_ the river, as ever came _out_ on't.
+
+ _Richard Harris Barham._
+
+
+
+
+ AN EASTERN QUESTION
+
+
+My William was a soldier, and he says to me, says he,
+"My Susan, I must sail across the South Pacific sea;
+For we've got to go to Egypt for to fight the old Khedive;
+But when he's dead I'll marry you, as sure as I'm alive!"
+
+'Twere hard for me to part with him; he couldn't read nor write,
+So I never had love letters for to keep my memory bright;
+But Jim, who is our footman, took the _Daily Telegraph_,
+And told me William's reg-i-ment mowed down the foe like chaff.
+
+So every day Jim come to me to read the Eastern news,
+And used to bring me bouquets, which I scarcely could refuse;
+Till one fine day it happened--_how_ it happened, goodness knows,--
+He put his arm around me and he started to propose.
+
+I put his hand from off me, and I said in thrilling tones,
+"I like you, Jim, but _never_ will I give up William Jones;
+It ain't no good your talking, for my heart is firm and fixed,
+For William is engaged to me, and naught shall come betwixt."
+
+So Jim he turned a ghastly pale to find there was no hope;
+And made remarks about a pond, and razors, and a rope;
+The other servants pitied him, and Rosie said as much;
+But Rosie was too flighty, and he didn't care for such.
+
+The weeks and months passed slowly, till I heard the Eastern war
+Was over, and my William would soon be home once more;
+And I was proud and happy for I knew that I could say
+I'd been true to my sweet William all the years he'd been away.
+
+Says Jim to me, "I love you, Sue, you know full well I do,
+And evermore whilst I draw breath I vow I will be true;
+But my feelings are too sensitive, I really couldn't stand
+A-seeing of that soldier taking hold your little hand.
+
+"So I've made my mind up finally to throw myself away;
+There's Rosie loves me truly, and no more I'll say her nay;
+I've bought a hat on purpose, and I'm going to hire a ring,
+And I've borrowed father's wedding suit that looks the very thing."
+
+So Jim he married Rosie, just the very day before
+My William's reg-i-ment was due to reach their native shore;
+I was there to see him landed and to give him welcome home,
+And take him to my arms from which he never more should roam.
+
+But I couldn't see my William, for the men were all alike,
+With their red coats and their rifles, and their helmets with a spike;
+So I curtseys to a sergeant who was smiling very kind,
+"Where's William Jones?" I asks him, "if so be you wouldn't mind?"
+
+Then he calls a gawky, red-haired chap, that stood good six-feet two:
+"Here, Jones," he cries, "this lady here's enquiring after you."
+"Not me!" I says, "I want a man who 'listed from our Square;
+With a small moustache, but growing fast, and bright brown curly hair."
+
+The sergeant wiped his eye, and took his helmet from his head,
+"I'm very sorry, ma'am," he said, "_that_ William Jones is dead;
+He died from getting sunstroke, and we envied him his lot,
+For we were melted to our bones, the climate was that hot!"
+
+So that's how 'tis that I'm condemned to lead a single life,
+For the sergeant, who was struck with me, already had a wife;
+And Jim is tied to Rosie, and can't get himself untied,
+Whilst the man that I was faithful to has been and gone and died!
+
+ _H. M. Paull._
+
+
+
+
+ MY AUNT'S SPECTRE
+
+
+They tell me (but I really can't
+ Imagine such a rum thing),
+|It| is the phantom of my Aunt,
+ Who ran away--or something.
+
+|It| is the very worst of bores:
+ (My Aunt was most delightful).
+|It| prowls about the corridors,
+ And utters noises frightful.
+
+At midnight through the rooms |It| glides,
+ Behaving very coolly,
+Our hearts all throb against our sides--
+ The lights are burning bluely.
+
+The lady, in her living hours,
+ Was the most charming vixen
+That ever this poor sex of ours
+ Delighted to play tricks on.
+
+Yes, that's her portrait on the wall,
+ In quaint old-fangled bodice:
+Her eyes are blue--her waist is small--
+ A ghost! Pooh, pooh,--a goddess!
+A fine patrician shape, to suit
+ My dear old father's sister--
+Lips softly curved, a dainty foot:
+ Happy the man that kissed her!
+
+Light hair of crisp irregular curl
+ Over fair shoulders scattered--
+Egad, she was a pretty girl,
+ Unless Sir Thomas flattered!
+
+And who the deuce, in these bright days,
+ Could possibly expect her
+To take to dissipated ways,
+ And plague us as a spectre?
+
+ _Mortimer Collins._
+
+
+
+
+ CASEY AT THE BAT
+
+
+It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day,
+The score stood four to six with but an inning left to play.
+And so, when Cooney died at first, and Burrows did the same,
+A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game.
+A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest,
+With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast.
+For they thought if only Casey could get a whack at that,
+They'd put up even money with Casey at the bat.
+But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake,
+And the former was a pudding and the latter was a fake;
+So on that stricken multitude a death-like silence sat,
+For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
+But Flynn let drive a single to the wonderment of all,
+And the much despised Blakey tore the cover off the ball,
+And when the dust had lifted and they saw what had occurred,
+There was Blakey safe on second, and Flynn a-hugging third.
+Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell,
+It bounded from the mountain top and rattled in the dell,
+It struck upon the hillside, and rebounded on the flat,
+For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
+There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place,
+There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face,
+And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his hat,
+No stranger in the crowd could doubt, 'twas Casey at the bat.
+Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt,
+Five thousand tongues applauded as he wiped them on his shirt;
+And while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip--
+Defiance gleamed from Casey's eye--a sneer curled Casey's lip.
+And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
+And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there;
+Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped--
+"That hain't my style," said Casey--"Strike one," the Umpire said.
+From the bleachers black with people there rose a sullen roar,
+Like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore,
+"Kill him! kill the Umpire!" shouted some one from the stand--
+And it's likely they'd have done it had not Casey raised his hand.
+With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone,
+He stilled the rising tumult and he bade the game go on;
+He signalled to the pitcher and again the spheroid flew,
+But Casey still ignored it and the Umpire said "Strike two."
+"Fraud!" yelled the maddened thousands, and the echo answered "Fraud,"
+But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed;
+They saw his face grow stern and cold; they saw his muscles strain,
+And they knew that Casey would not let that ball go by again.
+The sneer is gone from Casey's lip; his teeth are clenched with hate,
+He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;
+And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
+And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
+Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
+The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
+And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
+But there is no joy in Mudville--mighty Casey has "Struck Out."
+
+ _Ernest Lawrence Thayer._
+
+
+
+
+ THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN
+
+
+ Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,
+By famous Hanover City;
+ The river Weser, deep and wide,
+ Washes its wall on the southern side;
+ A pleasanter spot you never spied;
+But when begins my ditty,
+ Almost five hundred years ago,
+ To see the townsfolk suffer so
+ From vermin was a pity.
+
+ Rats!
+They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,
+ And bit the babies in the cradles,
+And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
+ And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
+ Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
+ Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
+ And even spoiled the women's chats,
+ By drowning their speaking
+ With shrieking and squeaking
+ In fifty different sharps and flats.
+
+ At last the people in a body
+ To the Town Hall came flocking:
+ "Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;
+ And as for our Corporation--shocking
+ To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
+ For dolts that can't or won't determine
+ What's best to rid us of our vermin!
+ You hope, because you're old and obese,
+ To find in the furry civic robe ease?
+ Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking
+ To find the remedy we're lacking,
+ Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"
+At this the Mayor and Corporation
+Quaked with a mighty consternation.
+
+ An hour they sate in council,
+ At length the Mayor broke silence:
+ "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell!
+ I wish I were a mile hence!
+ It's easy to bid one rack one's brain--
+ I'm sure my poor head aches again
+ I've scratched it so, and all in vain.
+ Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!"
+
+Just as he said this, what should hap
+At the chamber door but a gentle tap?
+"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?"
+(With the Corporation as he sat,
+Looking little though wondrous fat;
+Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister,
+Than a too-long-opened oyster,
+Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous
+For a plate of turtle green and glutinous),
+"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?
+Anything like the sound of a rat
+Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"
+
+"Come in!"--the Mayor cried, looking bigger:
+And in did come the strangest figure.
+His queer long coat from heel to head
+Was half of yellow and half of red;
+And he himself was tall and thin,
+With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
+And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
+No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,
+But lips where smiles went out and in;
+There was no guessing his kith and kin:
+And nobody could enough admire
+The tall man and his quaint attire.
+Quoth one: "It's as my great grandsire,
+Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone,
+Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"
+
+He advanced to the council-table;
+And, "Please your honours," said he, "I'm able,
+By means of a secret charm, to draw
+All creatures living beneath the sun,
+That creep or swim or fly or run,
+After me so as you never saw!
+And I chiefly use my charm
+On creatures that do people harm,
+The mole and toad and newt and viper;
+And people call me the Pied Piper."
+(And here they noticed round his neck
+A scarf of red and yellow stripe,
+To match with his coat of the selfsame cheque;
+And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;
+And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying
+As if impatient to be playing
+Upon this pipe, as low it dangled
+Over his vesture so old-fangled.)
+"Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,
+In Tartary I freed the Cham,
+Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;
+I eased in Asia the Nizam
+Of a monstrous brood of vampyre bats:
+And as for what your brain bewilders,
+If I can rid your town of rats,
+Will you give me a thousand guilders?"
+"One? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation
+Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.
+
+Into the street the Piper stept,
+ Smiling first a little smile,
+As if he knew what magic slept
+ In his quiet pipe the while;
+Then, like a musical adept,
+To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
+And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled
+Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;
+And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
+You heard as if an army muttered;
+And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
+And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
+And out of the house the rats came tumbling.
+Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
+Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,
+Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
+ Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
+Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,
+ Families by tens and dozens,
+Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives--
+Followed the Piper for their lives.
+From street to street he piped advancing,
+And step by step they followed dancing,
+Until they came to the river Weser
+Wherein all plunged and perished
+--Save one, who, stout as Julius Caesar,
+Swam across and lived to carry
+(As he the manuscript he cherished)
+To Rat-land home his commentary,
+Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,
+I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
+And putting apples wondrous ripe,
+Into a cider-press's gripe:
+And a moving away of pickle-tub boards,
+And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards,
+And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,
+And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks:
+
+And it seemed as if a voice
+(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery
+Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice!
+The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!
+So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,
+Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!
+And just as a bulky sugar puncheon,
+All ready staved, like a great sun shone
+Glorious scarce an inch before me,
+Just as methought it said, Come, bore me!
+--I found the Weser rolling o'er me."
+
+You should have heard the Hamelin people
+Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.
+"Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!
+Poke out the nests and block up the holes!
+Consult with carpenters and builders,
+And leave in our town not even a trace
+Of the rats!"--when suddenly, up the face
+Of the piper perked in the market-place,
+With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"
+
+A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;
+So did the Corporation too.
+For council dinners made rare havock
+With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;
+And half the money would replenish
+Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.
+To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
+With a gipsy coat of red and yellow!
+"Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,
+"Our business was done at the river's brink;
+We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
+And what's dead can't come to life, I think.
+So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink
+From the duty of giving you something to drink,
+And a matter of money to put in your poke;
+But as for the guilders, what we spoke
+Of them, as you very well know, was in joke;
+Beside, our losses have made us thrifty:
+A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"
+
+The Piper's face fell, and he cried,
+"No trifling! I can't wait, beside!
+I've promised to visit by dinner time
+Bagdad, and accept the prime
+Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in,
+For having left in the Caliph's kitchen,
+Of a nest of scorpions no survivor:
+With him I proved no bargain-driver,
+With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!
+And folks who put me in a passion
+May find me pipe after another fashion."
+
+"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook
+Being worse treated than a Cook?
+Insulted by a lazy ribald
+With idle pipe and vesture piebald?
+You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
+Blow your pipe there till you burst!"
+
+Once more he stept into the street;
+And to his lips again
+Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;
+And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
+Soft notes as yet musician's cunning
+ Never gave the enraptured air),
+There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling
+Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,
+Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
+Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,
+And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering,
+Out came the children running.
+All the little boys and girls,
+With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls
+And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
+Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
+The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.
+
+The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
+As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
+Unable to move a step, or cry
+To the children merrily skipping by,
+And could only follow with the eye
+
+That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.
+But how the Mayor was on the rack,
+And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
+As the Piper turned from the High Street
+To where the Weser rolled its waters
+Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
+However he turned from South to West,
+And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
+And after him the children pressed;
+Great was the joy in every breast.
+"He never can cross that mighty top!
+ He's forced to let the piping drop,
+And we shall see our children stop!"
+When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side,
+A wondrous portal opened wide,
+As if a cavern were suddenly hollowed;
+And the Piper advanced and the children followed,
+And when all were in to the very last,
+The door in the mountain-side shut fast.
+Did I say--all? No! one was lame,
+And could not dance the whole of the way;
+And in after years, if you would blame
+His sadness, he was used to say,--
+"It's dull in our town since my playmates left;
+I can't forget that I'm bereft
+Of all the pleasant sights they see,
+Which the Piper also promised me;
+For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
+Joining the town and just at hand,
+Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,
+And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
+And everything was strange and new;
+The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,
+And their dogs outran our fallow deer,
+And honey-bees had lost their stings;
+And horses were born with eagle's wings;
+And just as I became assured
+My lame foot would be speedily cured,
+The music stopped, and I stood still,
+And found myself outside the Hill,
+Left alone against my will,
+To go now limping as before,
+And never hear of that country more!"
+
+Alas, alas, for Hamelin!
+ There came into many a burgher's pate
+ A text which says, that Heaven's Gate
+ Opes to the Rich at as easy rate
+As the needle's eye takes a camel in!
+The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South,
+To offer the Piper by word of mouth,
+ Wherever it was men's lot to find him,
+Silver and gold to his heart's content,
+If he'd only return the way he went,
+ And bring the children all behind him.
+But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,
+And Piper and dancers were gone for ever,
+They made a decree that lawyers never
+ Should think their records dated duly
+If, after the day of the month and year,
+These words did not as well appear,
+ "And so long after what happened here
+ On the twenty-second of July,
+Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:"
+And the better in memory to fix
+The place of the Children's last retreat,
+They called it the Pied Piper's Street--
+Where any one playing on pipe or tabor
+Was sure for the future to lose his labour.
+Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern
+ To shock with mirth a street so solemn;
+But opposite the place of the cavern
+ They wrote the story on a column.
+And on the great Church Window painted
+The same, to make the world acquainted
+How their children were stolen away,
+And there it stands to this very day.
+And I must not omit to say
+That in Transylvania there's a tribe
+Of alien people that ascribe
+The outlandish ways and dress,
+On which their neighbours lay such stress,
+To their fathers and mothers having risen
+Out of some subterraneous prison,
+Into which they were trepanned
+Long time ago in a mighty band
+Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick Land,
+But how or why, they don't understand.
+
+So, Willy, let me and you be wipers
+Of scores out with all men--especially pipers;
+And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice,
+If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.
+
+ _Robert Browning._
+
+
+
+
+ THE GOOSE
+
+
+I knew an old wife lean and poor,
+ Her rags scarce held together;
+There strode a stranger to the door,
+ And it was windy weather.
+
+He held a goose upon his arm,
+ He utter'd rhyme and reason,
+"Here, take the goose, and keep you warm,
+ It is a stormy season."
+
+She caught the white goose by the leg,
+ A goose--'twas no great matter.
+The goose let fall a golden egg
+ With cackle and with clatter.
+
+She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf,
+ And ran to tell her neighbours;
+And bless'd herself, and cursed herself,
+ And rested from her labours.
+
+And feeding high, and living soft,
+ Grew plump and able-bodied;
+Until the grave churchwarden doff'd,
+ The parson smirk'd and nodded.
+
+So sitting, served by man and maid,
+ She felt her heart grow prouder:
+But, ah! the more the white goose laid
+ It clack'd and cackled louder.
+
+It clutter'd here, it chuckled there;
+ It stirr'd the old wife's mettle:
+She shifted in her elbow-chair,
+ And hurl'd the pan and kettle.
+
+"A quinsy choke thy cursed note!"
+ Then wax'd her anger stronger.
+"Go, take the goose, and wring her throat,
+ I will not bear it longer."
+
+Then yelp'd the cur, and yawl'd the cat;
+ Ran Gaffer, stumbled Gammer.
+The goose flew this way and flew that,
+ And fill'd the house with clamour.
+
+As head and heels upon the floor
+ They flounder'd all together,
+There strode a stranger to the door,
+ And it was windy weather:
+
+He took the goose upon his arm,
+ He utter'd words of scorning;
+"So keep you cold, or keep you warm,
+ It is a stormy morning."
+
+The wild wind rang from park and plain,
+ And round the attics rumbled,
+Till all the tables danced again,
+ And half the chimneys tumbled.
+
+The glass blew in, the fire blew out,
+ The blast was hard and harder.
+Her cap blew off, her gown blew up,
+ And a whirlwind clear'd the larder:
+
+And while on all sides breaking loose
+ Her household fled the danger,
+Quoth she, "The Devil take the goose,
+ And God forget the stranger!"
+
+ _Lord Tennyson._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BALLAD OF CHARITY
+
+
+It was in a pleasant deepo, sequestered from the rain,
+That many weary passengers were waitin' for the train;
+Piles of quite expensive baggage, many a gorgeous portmanto,
+Ivory-handled umberellas made a most touristic show.
+
+Whereunto there came a person, very humble was his mien,
+Who took an observation of the interestin' scene;
+Closely scanned the umberellas, watched with joy the mighty trunks,
+And observed that all the people were securin' Pullman bunks:
+
+Who was followed shortly after by a most unhappy tramp,
+Upon whose features poverty had jounced her iron stamp;
+And to make a clear impression as bees sting you while they buzz,
+She had hit him rather harder than she generally does.
+
+For he was so awful ragged, and in parts so awful bare,
+That the folks were quite repulsioned to behold him begging there;
+And instead of drawing currency from out their pocket-books,
+They drew themselves asunder with aversionary looks.
+
+Sternly gazed the first newcomer on the unindulgent crowd,
+Then in tones which pierced the deepo he solilicussed aloud:--
+"I hev trevelled o'er this cont'nent from Quebec to Bogotaw,
+But sech a set of scallawags as these I never saw.
+
+"Ye are wealthy, ye are gifted, ye have house and lands and rent,
+Yet unto a suff'rin' mortal ye will not donate a cent;
+Ye expend your missionaries to the heathen and the Jew,
+But there isn't any heathen that is half as small as you.
+
+"Ye are lucky--ye hev cheque-books and deeposits in the bank,
+And ye squanderate your money on the titled folks of rank;
+The onyx and the sardonyx upon your garments shine,
+An' ye drink at every dinner p'r'aps a dollar's wuth of wine.
+
+"Ye are goin' for the summer to the islands by the sea,
+Where it costs four dollars daily--setch is not for setch as me;
+Iv'ry-handled umberellas do not come into my plan,
+But I kin give a dollar to this sufl'rin' fellow-man.
+
+"Hand-bags made of Rooshy leather are not truly at my call,
+Yet in the eyes of Mussy I am richer 'en you all,
+For I kin give a dollar wher' you dare not stand a dime,
+And never miss it nother, nor regret it ary time."
+
+Sayin' this he drew a wallet from the inner of his vest,
+And gave the tramp a daddy, which it was his level best;
+Other people havin' heard him soon to charity inclined--
+One giver soon makes twenty if you only get their wind.
+
+The first who gave the dollar led the other one about,
+And at every contribution he a-raised a joyful shout,
+Exclaimin' how 'twas noble to relieviate distress,
+And remarkin' that our duty is our present happiness.
+
+Thirty dollars altogether were collected by the tramp,
+When he bid 'em all good evenin' and went out into the damp,
+And was followed briefly after by the one who made the speech,
+And who showed by good example how to practise as to preach.
+
+Which soon around the corner the couple quickly met,
+And the tramp produced the specie for to liquidate his debt;
+And the man who did the preachin' took his twenty of the sum,
+Which you see that out of thirty left a tenner for the bum.
+
+And the couple passed the summer at Bar Harbor with the rest,
+Greatly changed in their appearance and most elegently dressed.
+Any fowl with change of feathers may a brilliant bird become:
+Oh, how hard is life for many! oh, how sweet it is for some!
+
+ _Charles Godfrey Leland._
+
+
+
+
+ THE POST CAPTAIN
+
+
+When they heard the Captain humming and beheld the dancing crew,
+On the "Royal Biddy" frigate was Sir Peter Bombazoo;
+His mind was full of music and his head was full of tunes,
+And he cheerfully exhibited on pleasant afternoons.
+
+He could whistle, on his fingers, an invigorating reel,
+And could imitate a piper on the handles of the wheel;
+He could play in double octaves, too, all up and down the rail,
+Or rattle off a rondo on the bottom of a pail.
+
+Then porters with their packages and bakers with their buns,
+And countesses in carriages and grenadiers with guns,
+And admirals and commodores arrived from near and far,
+To listen to the music of this entertaining tar.
+
+When they heard the Captain humming and beheld the dancing crew.
+The commodores severely said, "Why, this will never do!"
+And the admirals all hurried home, remarking, "This is most
+Extraordinary conduct for a captain at his post."
+
+Then they sent some sailing-orders to Sir Peter, in a boat,
+And he did a little fifing on the edges of the note;
+But he read the sailing orders, as of course he had to do,
+And removed the "Royal Biddy" to the Bay of Boohgabooh.
+
+Now, Sir Peter took it kindly, but it's proper to explain
+He was sent to catch a pirate out upon the Spanish Main.
+And he played, with variations, an imaginary tune
+On the buttons of his waistcoat, like a jocular bassoon.
+
+Then a topman saw the pirate come a-sailing in the bay,
+And reported to the Captain in the ordinary way.
+"I'll receive him," said Sir Peter, "with a musical salute,"
+And he gave some imitations of a double-jointed flute.
+
+Then the Pirate cried derisively, "I've heard it done before!"
+And he hoisted up a banner emblematical of gore.
+But Sir Peter said serenely, "You may double-shot the guns
+While I sing my little ballad of 'The Butter on the Buns.'"
+
+Then the Pirate banged Sir Peter and Sir Peter banged him back,
+And they banged away together as they took another tack.
+Then Sir Peter said, politely, "You may board him, if you like,"
+And he played a little dirge upon the handle of a pike.
+
+Then the "Biddies" poured like hornets down upon the Pirate's deck
+And Sir Peter caught the Pirate and he took him by the neck,
+And remarked, "You must excuse me, but you acted like a brute
+When I gave my imitation of that double-jointed flute."
+
+So they took that wicked Pirate and they took his wicked crew,
+And tied them up with double knots in packages of two.
+And left them lying on their backs in rows upon the beach
+With a little bread and water within comfortable reach.
+
+Now the Pirate had a treasure (mostly silverware and gold),
+And Sir Peter took and stowed it in the bottom of his hold;
+And said, "I will retire on this cargo of doubloons,
+And each of you, my gallant crew, may have some silver spoons."
+
+Now commodores in coach-and-fours and corporals in cabs,
+And men with carts of pies and tarts and fishermen with crabs,
+And barristers with wigs, in gigs, still gather on the strand,
+But there isn't any music save a little German band.
+
+ _Charles E. Carryl._
+
+
+
+
+ ROBINSON CRUSOE'S STORY
+
+
+ The night was thick and hazy
+ When the _Piccadilly Daisy_
+Carried down the crew and captain in the sea;
+ And I think the water drowned 'em,
+ For they never, never found 'em,
+And I know they didn't come ashore with me.
+
+ Oh! 'twas very sad and lonely
+ When I found myself the only
+Population on this cultivated shore;
+ But I've made a little tavern
+ In a rocky little cavern,
+And I sit and watch for people at the door.
+
+ I spent no time in looking
+ For a girl to do my cooking,
+As I'm quite a clever hand at making stews;
+ But I had that fellow Friday
+ Just to keep the tavern tidy,
+And to put a Sunday polish on my shoes.
+
+ I have a little garden
+ That I'm cultivating lard in,
+As the things I eat are rather tough and dry;
+ For I live on toasted lizards,
+ Prickly pears and parrot gizzards,
+And I'm really very fond of beetle pie.
+
+ The clothes I had were furry,
+ And it made me fret and worry
+When I found the moths were eating off the hair;
+ And I had to scrape and sand 'em,
+ And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em,
+Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear.
+
+ I sometimes seek diversion
+ In a family excursion,
+With the few domestic animals you see;
+ And we take along a carrot
+ As refreshment for the parrot,
+And a little can of jungleberry tea.
+
+ Then we gather as we travel
+ Bits of moss and dirty gravel,
+And we chip off little specimens of stone;
+ And we carry home as prizes
+ Funny bugs of handy sizes,
+Just to give the day a scientific tone.
+
+ If the roads are wet and muddy
+ We remain at home and study,--
+For the Goat is very clever at a sum,--
+ And the Dog, instead of fighting
+ Studies ornamental writing,
+While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum.
+
+ We retire at eleven,
+ And we rise again at seven;
+And I wish to call attention, as I close,
+ To the fact that all the scholars
+ Are correct about their collars,
+And particular in turning out their toes.
+
+ _Charles E. Carryl._
+
+
+
+
+ BEN BLUFF
+
+
+Ben Bluff was a whaler, and many a day
+Had chased the huge fish about Baffin's old Bay;
+But time brought a change his diversion to spoil,
+And that was when Gas took the shine out of Oil.
+
+He turned up his nose at the fumes of the coke,
+And swore the whole scheme was a bottle of smoke;
+As to London, he briefly delivered his mind,
+"Sparma-city," said he,--but the city declined.
+
+So Ben cut his line in a sort of a huff,
+As soon as his whales had brought profits enough,--
+And hard by the Docks settled down for his life,
+But, true to his text, went to Wales for a wife.
+
+A big one she was, without figure or waist,
+More bulky than lovely, but that was his taste;
+In fat she was lapped from her sole to her crown,
+And, turned into oil, would have lighted a town.
+
+But Ben, like a whaler, was charmed with the match,
+And thought, very truly, his spouse a great catch;
+A flesh-and-blood emblem of Plenty and Peace,
+And would not have changed her for Helen of Greece!
+
+For Greenland was green in his memory still;
+He'd quitted his trade, but retained the good-will;
+And often when softened by bumbo and flip,
+Would cry till he blubbered about his old ship.
+
+No craft like the _Grampus_ could work through a floe,
+What knots she could run, and what tons she could stow!
+And then that rich smell he preferred to the rose,
+By just nosing the hold without holding his nose.
+
+Now Ben he resolved, one fine Saturday night,
+A snug arctic circle of friends to invite;
+Old tars in the trade, who related old tales,
+And drank, and blew clouds that were "very like whales."
+
+Of course with their grog there was plenty of chat,
+Of canting, and flenching, and cutting up fat;
+And how gun-harpoons into fashion had got,
+And if they were meant for the gun-whale or not?
+
+At last they retired, and left Ben to his rest,
+By fancies cetaceous and drink well possessed,
+When, lo! as he lay by his partner in bed,
+He heard something blow through two holes in its head!
+
+"A start!" muttered Ben, in the _Grampus_ afloat,
+And made but one jump from the deck to the boat!
+"Huzza! pull away for the blubber and bone,--
+I look on that whale as already my own!"
+
+Then groping about by the light of the moon,
+He soon laid his hand on his trusty harpoon;
+A moment he poised it, to send it more pat,
+And then made a plunge to imbed it in fat!
+
+"Starn all!" he sang out, "as you care for your lives,--
+Starn all! as you hope to return to your wives,--
+Stand by for the flurry! she throws up the foam!
+Well done, my old iron; I've sent you right home!"
+
+And scarce had he spoken, when lo! bolt upright
+The leviathan rose in a great sheet of white,
+And swiftly advanced for a fathom or two,
+As only a fish out of water could do.
+
+"Starn all!" echoed Ben, with a movement aback,
+But too slow to escape from the creature's attack;
+If flippers it had, they were furnished with nails,--
+"You willin, I'll teach you that women ain't whales!"
+
+"Avast!" shouted Ben, with a sort of a screech,
+"I've heard a whale spouting, but here is a speech!"
+"A-spouting, indeed!--very pretty," said she;
+"But it's you I'll blow up, not the froth of the sea!
+
+"To go to pretend to take _me_ for a fish!
+You great polar bear--but I know what you wish;
+You're sick of a wife that your hankering balks,
+You want to go back to some young Esquimaux!"
+
+"O dearest," cried Ben, frightened out of his life,
+"Don't think I would go for to murder a wife
+I must long have bewailed!" But she only cried, "Stuff!"
+Don't name it, you brute, you've _be-whaled_ me enough!"
+
+"Lord, Polly!" said Ben, "such a deed could I do?
+I'd rather have murdered all Wapping than you!
+Come, forgive what is past." "O you monster!" she cried,
+"It was none of your fault that it passed off one side!"
+
+However, at last she inclined to forgive;
+"But, Ben, take this warning as long as you live,--
+If the love of harpooning so strong must prevail,
+Take a whale for a wife,--not a wife for a whale!"
+
+ _Thomas Hood._
+
+
+
+
+ THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS
+
+
+A brace of sinners, for no good,
+ Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine,
+Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,
+ And in a fair white wig look'd wondrous fine.
+
+Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel,
+With something in their shoes much worse than gravel;
+In short, their toes so gentle to amuse,
+The priest had order'd peas into their shoes:
+
+A nostrum, famous in old popish times,
+For purifying souls that stunk with crimes;
+ A sort of apostolic salt,
+ Which popish parsons for its powers exalt,
+For keeping souls of sinners sweet,
+Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.
+
+The knaves set off on the same day,
+Peas in their shoes, to go and pray:
+ But very different was their speed, I wot:
+One of the sinners gallop'd on,
+Swift as a bullet from a gun;
+ The other limp'd, as if he had been shot.
+
+One saw the Virgin soon--_peccavi_ cried--
+ Had his soul whitewash'd all so clever;
+Then home again he nimbly hied,
+ Made fit with saints above to live forever.
+
+In coming back, however, let me say,
+He met his brother rogue about half-way,
+Hobbling, with outstretch'd arms and bended knees,
+Damning the souls and bodies of the peas;
+His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brow in sweat,
+Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.
+
+"How now," the light-toed, white-wash'd pilgrim broke,
+ "You lazy lubber!"
+"Odds curse it!" cried the other, "'tis no joke;
+My feet, once hard as any rock,
+ Are now as soft as blubber.
+
+"Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear:
+As for Loretto, I shall not go there;
+No! to the Devil my sinful soul must go,
+For damme if I ha'n't lost every toe.
+But, brother sinner, pray explain
+How 'tis that you are not in pain?
+ What power hath work'd a wonder for your toes?
+Whilst I, just like a snail, am crawling,
+Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling,
+ Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes?
+
+"How is't that _you_ can like a greyhound go,
+ Merry as if that naught had happen'd, burn ye!"
+"Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must know,
+That, just before I ventured on my journey,
+ To walk a little more at ease,
+ I took the liberty to boil _my_ peas."
+
+ _John Wolcot._
+
+
+
+
+ TAM O'SHANTER
+
+
+When chapman billies leave the street,
+And drouthy neibors neibors meet,
+As market days are wearin' late,
+And folk begin to tak the gate:
+
+While we sit bousing at the nappy,
+And gettin' fou and unco happy,
+We thinkna on the lang Scots miles,
+The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
+That lie between us and our hame,
+Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,
+Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
+Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
+
+This truth fand honest Tam o'Shanter,
+As he frae Ayr ae night did canter
+(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
+For honest men and bonny lasses).
+
+O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise
+As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
+She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum,
+A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
+That frae November till October,
+Ae market day thou wasna sober;
+That ilka melder, wi' the miller
+Thou sat as lang as thou hadst siller;
+That every naig was ca'd a shoe on,
+The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
+That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,
+Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
+She prophesied, that, late or soon,
+Thou wouldst be found deep drown'd in Doon!
+Or catch'd wi' warlocks i' the mirk,
+By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
+
+Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet
+To think how mony counsels sweet,
+How mony lengthen'd, sage advices,
+The husband frae the wife despises!
+
+But to our tale:--Ae market night,
+Tam had got planted unco right,
+Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
+Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;
+And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
+His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
+Tam lo'ed him like a very brither--
+They had been fou for weeks thegither!
+The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter,
+And aye the ale was growing better:
+The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
+Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious
+The Souter tauld his queerest stories,
+The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
+The storm without might rair and rustle--
+Tam didna mind the storm a whistle.
+
+Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
+E'en drown'd himsel' amang the nappy!
+As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
+The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;
+Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
+O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!
+
+But pleasures are like poppies spread,
+You seize the flower, its bloom is shed!
+Or like the snowfall in the river,
+A moment white--then melts for ever;
+Or like the borealis race,
+That flit ere you can point their place
+Or like the rainbow's lovely form,
+Evanishing amid the storm.
+Nae man can tether time or tide;
+The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
+
+That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane,
+That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
+And sic a night he taks the road in
+As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
+
+The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
+The rattling showers rose on the blast;
+The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;
+Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:
+That night, a child might understand
+The deil had business on his hand.
+
+Weel mounted on his grey mare Meg,
+A better never lifted leg,
+Tam skelpit on through dub and mire,
+Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
+Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,
+Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;
+Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares,
+Lest bogles catch him unawares:
+Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
+Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.
+By this time he was 'cross the foord,
+Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;
+And past the birks and meikle stane
+Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane:
+And through the whins, and by the cairn
+Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;
+And near the thorn, aboon the well,
+Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'.
+Before him Doon pours a' his floods;
+The doubling storm roars through the woods;
+The lightnings flash frae pole to pole;
+Near and more near the thunders roll;
+When, glimmering through the groaning trees,
+Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze;
+Through ilka bore the beams were glancing,
+And loud resounded mirth and dancing.
+
+Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
+What dangers thou canst mak us scorn!
+Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;
+Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!--
+The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,
+Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle.
+But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,
+Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,
+She ventured forward on the light;
+And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
+Warlocks and witches in a dance;
+Nae cotillon brent-new frae France,
+But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
+Put life and mettle i' their heels:
+At winnock-bunker, i' the east,
+There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast;
+A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
+To gie them music was his charge;
+He screw'd the pipes, and gart them skirl,
+Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.
+Coffins stood round, like open presses,
+That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;
+And by some devilish cantrip slight
+Each in its cauld hand held a light,--
+By which heroic Tam was able
+To note upon the haly table,
+A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;
+Twa span-lang, wee, unchristian bairns;
+A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
+Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
+Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted;
+Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;
+A garter, which a babe had strangled;
+A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
+Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
+The grey hairs yet stack to the heft:
+Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
+Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.
+
+As Tammie glower'd, amazed and curious
+The mirth and fun grew fast and furious
+The piper loud and louder blew,
+The dancers quick and quicker flew;
+They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,
+Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
+And coost her duddies to the wark,
+And linket at it in her sark.
+Now Tam! O Tam! had thae been queans,
+A' plump and strappin' in their teens,
+Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,
+Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen!
+Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
+That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,
+I wad hae gien them aff my hurdies,
+For ae blink o' the bonny burdies!
+
+But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
+Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal,
+Lowpin' and flingin' on a cummock,
+I wonder didna turn thy stomach.
+
+But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie,
+"There was ae winsome wench and walie,"
+That night enlisted in the core
+(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore;
+For mony a beast to dead she shot,
+And perish'd money a bonny boat,
+And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
+And kept the country-side in fear).
+Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,
+That, while a lassie, she had worn,
+In longitude though sorely scanty,
+It was her best, and she was vauntie.
+
+Ah! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie,
+That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
+Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
+Wad ever graced a dance o' witches!
+
+But here my Muse her wing maun core,
+Sic flights are far beyond her power;
+To sing how Nannie lap and flang
+(A souple jade she was, and strang),
+And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,
+And thought, his very een enriched.
+Even Satan glower'd, and fidged fu' fain,
+And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main;
+Till first ae caper, syne anither,
+Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
+And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"
+And in an instant a' was dark:
+And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
+When out the hellish legion sallied.
+As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,
+When plundering herds assail their byke,
+As open pussie's mortal foes,
+When, pop! she starts before their nose;
+As eager runs the market-crowd,
+When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;
+So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
+Wi' mony an eldritch screech and hollow.
+
+Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'lt get thy fairin'!
+In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
+In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!
+Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
+Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
+And win the keystane of the brig;
+There at them thou thy tail may toss,
+A running stream they darena cross;
+But ere the keystane she could make,
+The fient a tail she had to shake!
+For Nannie, far before the rest,
+Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
+And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;
+But little wist she Maggie's mettle--
+Ae spring brought off her master hale,
+But left behind her ain grey tail:
+The carlin caught her by the rump,
+And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
+Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
+Ilk man and mother's son, take heed:
+Whane'er to drink you are inclined,
+Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
+Think! ye may buy the joys ower dear--
+Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.
+
+ _Robert Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ THAT GENTLE MAN FROM BOSTON TOWN
+
+ AN IDYL OF OREGON
+
+
+Two webfoot brothers loved a fair
+ Young lady, rich and good to see;
+And oh, her black abundant hair!
+ And oh, her wondrous witchery!
+Her father kept a cattle farm,
+These brothers kept her safe from harm:
+
+From harm of cattle on the hill;
+ From thick-necked bulls loud bellowing
+The livelong morning, loud and shrill,
+ And lashing sides like anything;
+From roaring bulls that tossed the sand
+And pawed the lilies from the land.
+
+There came a third young man. He came
+ From far and famous Boston town.
+He was not handsome, was not "game,"
+ But he could "cook a goose" as brown
+As any man that set foot on
+The sunlit shores of Oregon.
+
+This Boston man he taught the school,
+ Taught gentleness and love alway,
+Said love and kindness, as a rule,
+ Would ultimately "make it pay."
+He was so gentle, kind, that he
+Could make a noun and verb agree.
+
+So when one day the brothers grew
+ All jealous and did strip to fight,
+He gently stood between the two,
+ And meekly told them 'twas not right.
+"I have a higher, better plan,"
+Outspake this gentle Boston man.
+
+"My plan is this: Forget this fray
+ About that lily hand of hers;
+Go take your guns and hunt all day
+ High up yon lofty hill of firs,
+And while you hunt, my loving doves,
+Why, I will learn which one she loves."
+
+The brothers sat the windy hill,
+ Their hair shone yellow, like spun gold,
+Their rifles crossed their laps, but still
+ They sat and sighed and shook with cold.
+Their hearts lay bleeding far below;
+Above them gleamed white peaks of snow.
+
+Their hounds lay couching, slim and neat;
+ A spotted circle in the grass.
+The valley lay beneath their feet;
+ They heard the wide-winged eagles pass.
+The eagles cleft the clouds above;
+Yet what could they but sigh and love?
+
+"If I could die," the elder sighed,
+ "My dear young brother here might wed."
+"Oh, would to Heaven I had died!"
+ The younger sighed, with bended head.
+Then each looked each full in the face
+And each sprang up and stood in place.
+
+"If I could die,"--the elder spake,--
+ "Die by your hand, the world would say
+'Twas accident;--and for her sake,
+ Dear brother, be it so, I pray."
+"Not that!" the younger nobly said;
+Then tossed his gun and turned his head.
+
+And fifty paces back he paced!
+ And as he paced he drew the ball;
+Then sudden stopped and wheeled and faced
+ His brother to the death and fall!
+Two shots rang wild upon the air!
+But lo! the two stood harmless there!
+
+An eagle poised high in the air;
+ Far, far below the bellowing
+Of bullocks ceased, and everywhere
+ Vast silence sat all questioning.
+The spotted hounds ran circling round
+Their red, wet noses to the ground.
+
+And now each brother came to know
+ That each had drawn the deadly ball;
+And for that fair girl far below
+ Had sought in vain to silent fall.
+And then the two did gladly "shake,"
+And thus the elder bravely spake:
+
+"Now let us run right hastily
+ And tell the kind schoolmaster all!
+Yea! yea! and if she choose not me,
+ But all on you her favors fall,
+This valiant scene, till all life ends,
+Dear brother, binds us best of friends."
+
+The hounds sped down, a spotted line,
+ The bulls in tall, abundant grass,
+Shook back their horns from bloom and vine,
+ And trumpeted to see them pass--
+They loved so good, they loved so true,
+These brothers scarce knew what to do.
+
+They sought the kind schoolmaster out
+ As swift as sweeps the light of morn;
+They could but love, they could not doubt
+ This man so gentle, "in a horn,"
+They cried, "Now whose the lily hand--
+That lady's of this webfoot land?"
+
+They bowed before that big-nosed man,
+ That long-nosed man from Boston town;
+They talked as only lovers can,
+ They talked, but he could only frown;
+And still they talked, and still they plead;
+It was as pleading with the dead.
+
+At last this Boston man did speak--
+ "Her father has a thousand ceows,
+An hundred bulls, all fat and sleek;
+ He also had this ample heouse."
+The brothers' eyes stuck out thereat,
+So far you might have hung your hat.
+
+"I liked the looks of this big heouse--
+ My lovely boys, won't you come in?
+Her father has a thousand ceows,
+ He also had a heap of tin.
+The guirl? Oh yes, the guirl, you see--
+The guirl, just neow she married me."
+
+ _Joaquin Miller._
+
+
+
+
+ THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"
+
+
+'Twas on the shores that round our coast
+ From Deal to Ramsgate span,
+That I found alone on a piece of stone
+ An elderly naval man.
+
+His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
+ And weedy and long was he,
+And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
+ In a singular minor key:
+
+"Oh, I am a cook and the captain bold,
+ And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
+And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
+ And the crew of the captain's gig."
+
+And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
+ Till I really felt afraid,
+For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
+ And so I simply said:
+
+"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know
+ Of the duties of men of the sea,
+And I'll eat my hand if I understand
+ How you can possibly be
+
+"At once a cook, and a captain bold,
+ And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
+And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
+ And the crew of the captain's gig."
+
+Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
+ Is a trick all seamen larn,
+And having got rid of a thumping quid,
+ He spun this painful yarn:
+
+"'Twas in the good ship _Nancy Bell_
+ That we sailed to the Indian Sea,
+And there on a reef we come to grief,
+ Which has often occurred to me.
+
+"And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned
+ (There was seventy-seven o' soul),
+And only ten of the _Nancy's_ men
+ Said 'here' to the muster-roll.
+
+"There was me and the cook and the captain bold,
+ And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
+And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
+ And the crew of the captain's gig.
+
+"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
+ Till a-hungry we did feel,
+So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot
+ The captain for our meal.
+
+"The next lot fell to the _Nancy's_ mate,
+ And a delicate dish he made;
+Then our appetite with the midshipmite
+ We seven survivors stayed.
+
+"And then we murdered the bos'un tight,
+ And he much resembled pig;
+Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
+ On the crew of the captain's gig.
+
+"Then only the cook and me was left,
+ And the delicate question, 'Which
+Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,
+ And we argued it out as sich.
+
+"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,
+ And the cook he worshipped me;
+But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed
+ In the other chap's hold, you see.
+
+"'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom.
+ 'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be,--
+I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I.
+ And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.
+
+"Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me
+ Were a foolish thing to do,
+For don't you see that you can't cook _me_,
+ While I can--and will--cook _you_!'
+
+"So he boils the water, and takes the salt
+ And the pepper in portions true
+(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot,
+ And some sage and parsley too.
+
+"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,
+ Which his smiling features tell,
+''Twill soothing be if I let you see
+ How extremely nice you'll smell.'
+
+"And he stirred it round and round and round,
+ And he sniffed at the foaming froth;
+When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals
+ In the scum of the boiling broth.
+
+"And I eat that cook in a week or less,
+ And--as I eating be
+The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,
+ For a vessel in sight I see.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"And I never larf, and I never smile,
+ And I never lark or play,
+But sit and croak, and a single joke
+ I have,--which is to say:
+
+"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
+ And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
+And a bos'un tight, and a midshipmite,
+ And the crew of the captain's gig."
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA
+
+ OR, THE GENTLE PIEMAN
+
+
+ PART I
+
+At a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper
+One whom I will call Elvira, and we talked of love and Tupper.
+
+Mr. Tupper and the Poets, very lightly with them dealing,
+For I've always been distinguished for a strong poetic feeling.
+
+Then we let off paper crackers, each of which contained a motto,
+And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not to.
+
+Then she whispered, "To the ballroom we had better, dear, be walking;
+If we stop down here much longer, really people will be talking."
+
+There were noblemen in coronets, and military cousins,
+There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by dozens.
+
+Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed them with a blessing;
+Then she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in dressing.
+
+Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agitated throttle,
+Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty smelling bottle.
+
+So I whispered, "Dear Elvira, say,--what can the matter be with you?
+Does anything you've eaten, darling Popsy, disagree with you?"
+
+But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and more distressing,
+And she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in dressing.
+
+Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling, then above me,
+And she whispered, "Ferdinando, do you really, _really_ love me?"
+
+"Love you?" said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon her sweetly--
+For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly.
+
+"Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable azure,
+On a scientific goose-chase, with my Coxwell or my Glaisher!
+
+"Tell me whither I may hie me--tell me, dear one, that I may know--
+Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?"
+
+But she said, "It isn't polar bears, or hot volcanic grottoes;
+Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker mottoes!"
+
+ PART II
+
+"Tell me, Henry Wadsworth, Alfred, Poet Close, or Mister Tupper,
+Do you write the bon-ton mottoes my Elvira pulls at supper?"
+
+But Henry Wadsworth smiled, and said he had not had that honor;
+And Alfred, too, disclaimed the words that told so much upon her.
+
+"Mister Martin Tupper, Poet Close, I beg of you inform us;"
+But my question seemed to throw them both into a rage enormous.
+
+Mister Close expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me;
+And Mister Martin Tupper sent the following reply to me:
+
+"A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit,"--
+Which I know was very clever; but I didn't understand it.
+
+Seven weary years I wandered--Patagonia, China, Norway,
+Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway.
+
+There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle;
+So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.
+
+He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy,
+And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy.
+
+And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter
+ hearty--
+He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.
+
+And I said, "O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry?
+Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?"
+
+But he answered, "I'm so happy--no profession could be dearer--
+If I am not humming 'Tra la la' I'm singing 'Tirer, lirer!'
+
+"First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the jellies,
+Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is:
+
+"Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers:
+Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers--"
+
+"Found at last!" I madly shouted. "Gentle pieman, you astound me!"
+Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me.
+
+And I shouted and I danced until he'd quite a crowd around him,
+And I rushed away, exclaiming, "I have found him! I have found him!"
+
+And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling,
+"'Tira! lira!' stop him, stop him! 'Tra! la! la!' the soup's a
+ shilling!"
+
+But until I reached Elvira's home, I never, never waited,
+And Elvira to her Ferdinand's irrevocably mated!
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ GENTLE ALICE BROWN
+
+
+It was a robber's daughter, and her name was Alice Brown.
+Her father was the terror of a small Italian town;
+Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing;
+But it isn't of her parents that I'm going for to sing.
+
+As Alice was a-sitting at her window-sill one day,
+A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way;
+She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true,
+That she thought, "I could be happy with a gentleman like you!"
+
+And every morning passed her house that cream of gentlemen,
+She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten,
+A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road
+(The Custom-house was fifteen minutes' walk from her abode.)
+
+But Alice was a pious girl, who knew it wasn't wise
+To look at strange young sorters with expressive purpleeyes;
+So she sought the village priest to whom her family confessed,
+The priest by whom their little sins were carefully assessed.
+
+"Oh, holy father," Alice said, "'twould grieve you, would it not?
+To discover that I was a most disreputable lot!
+Of all unhappy sinners I'm the most unhappy one!"
+The padre said, "Whatever have you been and gone and done?"
+
+"I have helped mamma to steal a little kiddy from its dad,
+I've assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad.
+I've planned a little burglary and forged a little cheque,
+And slain a little baby for the coral on its neck!"
+
+The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a silent tear--
+And said, "You mustn't judge yourself too heavily, my dear--
+It's wrong to murder babies, little corals for to fleece;
+But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece.
+
+"Girls will be girls--you're very young, and flighty in your mind;
+Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find:
+We mustn't be too hard upon these little girlish tricks--
+Let's see--five crimes at half-a-crown--exactly twelve-and-six."
+
+"Oh, father," little Alice cried, "your kindness makes me weep,
+You do these little things for me so singularly cheap--
+Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget;
+But oh, there is another crime I haven't mentioned yet!
+
+"A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple eyes,
+I've noticed at my window, as I've sat a-catching flies;
+He passes by it every day as certain as can be--
+I blush to say I've winked at him and he has winked at me!"
+
+"For shame," said Father Paul, "my erring daughter! On my word
+This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard.
+Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand
+To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band!
+
+"This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy parents so!
+They are the most remunerative customers I know;
+For many many years they've kept starvation from my doors,
+I never knew so criminal a family as yours!
+
+"The common country folk in this insipid neighborhood
+Have nothing to confess, they're so ridiculously good;
+And if you marry any one respectable at all,
+Why, you'll reform, and what will then become of Father Paul?"
+
+The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon his crown,
+And started off in haste to tell the news to Robber Brown;
+To tell him how his daughter, who was now for marriage fit,
+Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it.
+
+Good Robber Brown, he muffled up his anger pretty well,
+He said, "I have a notion, and that notion I will tell;
+I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits,
+And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits.
+
+"I've studied human nature, and I know a thing or two,
+Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do--
+A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall
+When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small."
+
+He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square;
+He watched his opportunity and seized him unaware;
+He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head,
+And Mrs. Brown dissected him before she went to bed.
+
+And pretty little Alice grew more settled in her mind,
+She nevermore was guilty of a weakness of the kind,
+Until at length good Robber Brown bestowed her pretty hand
+On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band.
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB
+
+
+Strike the concertina's melancholy string!
+Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything!
+ Let the piano's martial blast
+ Rouse the Echoes of the Past,
+For of Agib, Prince of Tartary, I sing!
+
+Of Agib, who, amid Tartaric scenes,
+Wrote a lot of ballet music in his teens:
+ His gentle spirit rolls
+ In the melody of souls--
+Which is pretty, but I don't know what it means.
+
+Of Agib, who could readily, at sight,
+Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite.
+ He would diligently play
+ On the Zoetrope all day,
+And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night.
+
+One winter--I am shaky in my dates--
+Came two starving Tartar minstrels to his gates;
+ Oh, Allah be obeyed,
+ How infernally they played!
+I remember that they called themselves the "Oueaits."
+
+Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage
+I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,
+ Photographically lined
+ On the tablet of my mind,
+When a yesterday has faded from its page!
+
+Alas! Prince Agib went and asked them in;
+Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin.
+ And when (as snobs would say)
+ They had "put it all away,"
+He requested them to tune up and begin.
+
+Though its icy horror chill you to the core,
+I will tell you what I never told before,--
+ The consequences true
+ Of that awful interview,
+_For I listened at the keyhole in the door!_
+
+They played him a sonata--let me see!
+"_Medulla oblongata_"--key of G.
+ Then they began to sing
+ That extremely lovely thing,
+"_Scherzando! ma non troppo, ppp._"
+
+He gave them money, more than they could count,
+Scent from a most ingenious little fount,
+ More beer, in little kegs,
+ Many dozen hard-boiled eggs,
+And goodies to a fabulous amount.
+
+Now follows the dim horror of my tale
+And I feel I'm growing gradually pale,
+ For, even at this day,
+ Though its sting has passed away,
+When I venture to remember it, I quail!
+
+The elder of the brothers gave a squeal,
+All-overish it made me for to feel;
+ "Oh, Prince," he says, says he,
+ "_If a Prince indeed you be_,
+I've a mystery I'm going to reveal!
+
+"Oh, listen, if you'd shun a horrid death,
+To what the gent who's speaking to you saith:
+ No 'Oueaits' in truth are we,
+ As you fancy that we be;
+For (ter-remble!) I am Aleck--this is Beth!"
+
+Said Agib, "Oh! accursed of your kind,
+I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!"
+ Beth gave a fearful shriek--
+ But before he'd time to speak
+I was mercilessly collared from behind.
+
+In number ten or twelve, or even more,
+They fastened me full length upon the floor.
+ On my face extended flat,
+ I was walloped with a cat
+For listening at the keyhole of a door.
+
+Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill!
+(I can feel the place in frosty weather still).
+ For a week from ten to four
+ I was fastened to the floor,
+While a mercenary wopped me with a will.
+
+They branded me and broke me on a wheel,
+And they left me in an hospital to heal;
+ And, upon my solemn word,
+ I have never never heard
+What those Tartars had determined to reveal.
+
+But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,
+I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,
+ Photographically lined
+ On the tablet of my mind,
+When a yesterday has faded from its page.
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ SIR GUY THE CRUSADER
+
+
+Sir Guy was a doughty crusader,
+ Amuscular knight,
+ Ever ready to fight,
+A very determined invader,
+ And Dickey de Lion's delight.
+
+Lenore was a Saracen maiden,
+ Brunette, statuesque,
+ The reverse of grotesque;
+Her pa was a bagman from Aden,
+ Her mother she played in burlesque.
+
+A _coryphee_, pretty and loyal,
+ In amber and red,
+ The ballet she led;
+Her mother performed at the Royal,
+ Lenore at the Saracen's Head.
+
+Of face and of figure majestic,
+ She dazzled the cits--
+ Ecstaticised pits;--
+Her troubles were only domestic,
+ But drove her half out of her wits.
+
+Her father incessantly lashed her,
+ On water and bread
+ She was grudgingly fed;
+Whenever her father he thrashed her,
+ Her mother sat down on her head.
+
+Guy saw her, and loved her, with reason,
+ For beauty so bright
+ Sent him mad with delight;
+He purchased a stall for the season
+ And sat in it every night.
+
+His views were exceedingly proper,
+ He wanted to wed,
+ So he called at her shed
+And saw her progenitor whop her--
+ Her mother sit down on her head.
+
+"So pretty," said he, "and so trusting!
+ You brute of a dad,
+ You unprincipled cad,
+Your conduct is really disgusting,
+ Come, come, now admit it's too bad!
+
+"You're a turbaned old Turk, and malignant--
+ Your daughter Lenore
+ I intensely adore,
+And I cannot help feeling indignant,
+ A fact that I hinted before;
+
+To see a fond father employing
+ A deuce of a knout
+ For to bang her about,
+To a sensitive lover's annoying."
+ Said the bagman, "Crusader, get out."
+
+Says Guy, "Shall a warrior laden
+ With a big spiky knob
+ Sit in peace on his cob,
+While a beautiful Saracen maiden
+ Is whipped by a Saracen snob?
+
+"To London I'll go from my charmer."
+ Which he did, with his loot
+ (Seven hats and a flute),
+And was nabbed for his Sydenham armour
+ At Mr. Ben-Samuel's suit.
+
+Sir Guy he was lodged in the Compter;
+ Her pa, in a rage,
+ Died (don't know his age);
+His daughter she married the prompter,
+ Grew bulky and quitted the stage.
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ KITTY WANTS TO WRITE
+
+
+Kitty wants to write! Kitty intellectual!
+ What has been effectual to turn her stockings blue?
+Kitty's seventh season has brought sufficient reason,
+ She has done 'most everything that there is left to do!
+ Half of them to laugh about and half of them to rue,--
+Now we wait in terror for Kitty's wildest error.
+ What has she to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!
+
+Kitty wants to write! Debutante was Kitty,
+ Frivolous and witty as ever bud that blew.
+Kitty lacked sobriety, yet she ran society,
+ A leader whom the chaperons indulged a year or two;
+ Corner-men, eligibles, dancing-dolls she knew,--
+Kitty then was slighted, ne'er again invited;
+ What has she to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!
+
+Kitty wants to write! At the Social Settlement
+ Girls of Kitty's mettle meant a mission for a few;
+Men to teach the classes, men to mould the masses,
+ Men to follow Kitty to adventures strange and new.
+ Some of her benevolence was hidden out of view!--
+A patroness offended, Kitty's slumming ended.
+ What is there to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!
+
+Kitty wants to write! Kitty was a mystic,
+ Deep from cabalistic lore many hints she drew!
+Freaks of all description, Hindoo and Egyptian,
+ Prattled in her parlor--such a wild and hairy crew!
+ Many came for money, and one or two to woo--
+Kitty's pet astrologer wanted to acknowledge her!
+ What has she to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!
+
+Kitty wants to write! Kitty was a doctor;
+ Nothing ever shocked her, though they hazed a little, too!
+Kitty learned of medicos how a heart unsteady goes,
+ Besides a score of secrets that are secrets still to you.
+ Kitty's course in medicine gave her many a clue--
+Much of modern history now is less a mystery.
+ What has she to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!
+
+Kitty wants to write! Everybody's writing!
+ Won't it be exciting, the panic to ensue?
+We who all have known her, think what we have shown her!
+ Read it in the magazines! Which half of _this_ is true?
+ Where did she get _that_ idea? Is it him, or who?--
+Kitty's wretched enemies now will learn what venom is!
+ What has she to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!
+
+ _Gelett Burgess._
+
+
+
+
+ DIGHTON IS ENGAGED!
+
+
+Dighton is engaged! Think of it and tremble!
+Two-and-twenty ladies who have known him must dissemble;
+Two-and-twenty ladies in a panic must repeat,
+"Dighton is a gentleman; will Dighton be discreet?"
+All the merry maidens who have known him at his best
+Wonder what the girl is like, and if he has confessed.
+ Dighton the philanderer, will he prove a slanderer?
+A man gets confidential ere the honeymoon has sped--
+ Dighton was a rover then, Dighton lived in clover then;
+Dighton is a gentleman--but Dighton is to wed!
+
+Dighton is engaged! Think of it, Corinna!
+Watch and see his fiancee smile on you at dinner!
+Watch and hear his fiancee whisper, "_That's_ the one?"
+Try and raise a blush for what you said was "only fun."
+Long have you been wedded; have you then forgot?
+If you have, I'll venture that a certain man has not!
+ Dighton had a way with him; did you ever play with him?
+Now that dream is over and the episode is dead.
+ Dighton never harried you after Charlie married you;
+Dighton is a gentleman--but Dighton is to wed!
+
+Dighton is engaged! Think of it, Bettina!
+Did you ever love him when the sport was rather keener?
+Did you ever kiss him as you sat upon the stairs?
+Did you ever tell him of your former love affairs?
+Think of it uneasily and wonder if his wife
+Soon will know the amatory secrets of your life!
+ Dighton was impressible, you were quite accessible--
+The bachelor who marries late is apt to lose his head.
+ Dighton wouldn't hurt you; does it disconcert you?
+Dighton is a gentleman--but Dighton is to wed!
+
+Dighton is engaged! Tremble, Mrs. Alice!
+When he comes no longer will you bear the lady malice?
+Now he comes to dinner, and he smokes cigars with Clint,
+But he never makes a blunder and he never drops a hint;
+He's a universal uncle, with a welcome everywhere,
+He adopts his sweetheart's children and he lets 'em pull his hair.
+ Dighton has a memory bright and sharp as emery,
+He _could_ tell them fairy stories that would make you rather red!
+ Dighton can be trusted, though; Dighton's readjusted, though!
+Dighton is a gentleman--but Dighton is to wed!
+
+ _Gelett Burgess._
+
+
+
+
+PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES
+
+ TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870
+
+
+Which I wish to remark--
+ And my language is plain--
+That for ways that are dark,
+ And for tricks that are vain,
+The heathen Chinee is peculiar,
+ Which the same I would rise to explain.
+
+Ah Sin was his name;
+ And I will not deny
+In regard to the same
+ What that name might imply;
+But his smile it was pensive and childlike,
+ As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.
+
+It was August the third;
+ And quite soft was the skies:
+Which it might be inferred
+ That Ah Sin was likewise;
+Yet he played it that day upon William
+ And me in a way I despise.
+
+Which we had a small game,
+ And Ah Sin took a hand.
+It was Euchre. The same
+ He did not understand;
+But he smiled as he sat by the table,
+ With a smile that was childlike and bland.
+
+Yet the cards they were stocked
+ In a way that I grieve,
+And my feelings were shocked
+ At the state of Nye's sleeve:
+Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,
+ And the same with intent to deceive.
+
+But the hands that were played
+ By that heathen Chinee,
+And the points that he made,
+ Were quite frightful to see--
+Till at last he put down a right bower,
+ Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.
+
+Then I looked up at Nye,
+ And he gazed upon me;
+And he rose with a sigh,
+ And said, "Can this be?
+We are ruined by Chinese cheap labour--"
+ And he went for that heathen Chinee.
+
+In the scene that ensued
+ I did not take a hand;
+But the floor it was strewed
+ Like the leaves on the strand
+With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding,
+ In the game "he did not understand."
+
+In his sleeves, which were long,
+ He had twenty-four packs--
+Which was coming it strong,
+ Yet I state but the facts;
+And we found on his nails, which were taper,
+ What is frequent in tapers--that's wax.
+
+Which is why I remark,
+ And my language is plain,
+That for ways that are dark,
+ And for tricks that are vain,
+The heathen Chinee is peculiar--
+ Which the same I am free to maintain.
+
+ _Bret Harte._
+
+
+
+
+ THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS
+
+
+I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;
+I am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games;
+And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row
+That broke up our society upon the Stanislow.
+
+But first I would remark, that it is not a proper plan
+For any scientific man to whale his fellow-man,
+And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim,
+To lay for that same member for to "put a head" on him.
+
+Now, nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see
+Than the first six months' proceedings of that same society,
+Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones
+That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones.
+
+Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there,
+From those same bones, an animal that was extremely rare;
+And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspension of the rules,
+Till he could prove that those same bones was one of his lost mules.
+
+Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile and said he was at fault,
+It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's family vault;
+He was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown,
+And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town.
+
+Now, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent
+To say another is an ass--at least, to all intent;
+Nor should the individual who happens to be meant
+Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent.
+
+Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order, when
+A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen,
+And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor,
+And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.
+
+For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage
+In a warfare with the remnants of a palaeozoic age;
+And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin,
+Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in.
+
+And this is all I have to say of these improper games
+For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;
+And I've told, in simple language, what I know about the row
+That broke up our society upon the Stanislow.
+
+ _Bret Harte._
+
+
+
+
+ "JIM"
+
+
+Say there! P'r'aps
+Some on you chaps
+ Might know Jim Wild!
+Well,--no offence:
+Thar ain't no sense
+ In gittin' riled!
+
+Jim was my chum
+ Up on the Bar:
+That's why I come
+ Down from up yar,
+Lookin' for Jim.
+Thank ye, sir! _you_
+Ain't of that crew,--
+ Blest if you are!
+
+Money?--Not much;
+ That ain't my kind:
+I ain't no such.
+ Rum?--I don't mind,
+Seein' it's you.
+
+Well, this yer Jim,
+Did you know him?--
+Jess 'bout your size;
+Same kind of eyes;--
+
+Well, that is strange:
+ Why, it's two year
+ Since he came here,
+Sick, for a change.
+Well, here's to us:
+ Eh?
+The h----, you say!
+ Dead?
+That little cuss?
+
+What makes you star,--
+You over thar?
+Can't a man drop
+'s glass 'n yer shop
+But you must rar'?
+ It wouldn't take
+ D---- much to break
+You and your bar.
+
+ Dead!
+Poor--little--Jim!
+--Why, thar was me,
+Jones, and Bob Lee,
+Harry and Ben,--
+No--account men:
+Then to take _him_!
+
+Well, thar--Good-bye--
+No more, sir,--I--
+ Eh?
+What's that you say?--
+Why, dern it!--sho!--
+No? Yes! By Jo!
+
+ Sold!
+Sold! Why, you limb!
+You ornery,
+ Derned old
+Long-legged Jim!
+
+ _Bret Harte._
+
+
+
+
+ WILLIAM BROWN OF OREGON
+
+
+They called him Bill, the hired man,
+ But she, her name was Mary Jane,
+ The Squire's daughter; and to reign
+The belle from Ber-she-be to Dan
+Her little game. How lovers rash
+ Got mittens at the spelling school!
+ How many a mute, inglorious fool
+Wrote rhymes and sighed and died--mustache!
+
+This hired man had loved her long,
+ Had loved her best and first and last,
+ Her very garments as she passed
+For him had symphony and song.
+So when one day with sudden frown
+ She called him "Bill," he raised his head,
+ He caught her eye and, faltering, said,
+"I love you; and my name is Brown."
+
+She fairly waltzed with rage; she wept;
+ You would have thought the house on fire.
+ She told her sire, the portly squire,
+Then smelt her smelling-salts, and slept.
+Poor William did what could be done;
+ He swung a pistol on each hip,
+ He gathered up a great ox-whip,
+And drove toward the setting sun.
+
+He crossed the great back-bone of earth,
+ He saw the snowy mountains rolled
+ Like mighty billows; saw the gold
+Of awful sunsets; felt the birth
+Of sudden dawn that burst the night
+ Like resurrection; saw the face
+ Of God and named it boundless space
+Ringed round with room and shoreless light.
+
+Her lovers passed. Wolves hunt in packs,
+ They sought for bigger game; somehow
+ They seemed to see above her brow
+The forky sign of turkey tracks.
+The teter-board of life goes up,
+ The teter-board of life goes down,
+ The sweetest face must learn to frown;
+The biggest dog has been a pup.
+
+O maidens! pluck not at the air;
+ The sweetest flowers I have found
+ Grow rather close unto the ground,
+And highest places are most bare.
+Why, you had better win the grace
+ Of our poor cussed Af-ri-can,
+ Than win the eyes of every man
+In love alone with his own face.
+
+At last she nursed her true desire.
+ She sighed, she wept for William Brown,
+ She watched the splendid sun go down
+Like some great sailing ship on fire,
+Then rose and checked her trunk right on;
+ And in the cars she lunched and lunched,
+ And had her ticket punched and punched,
+Until she came to Oregon.
+
+She reached the limit of the lines,
+ She wore blue specs upon her nose,
+ Wore rather short and manly clothes,
+And so set out to reach the mines.
+Her pocket held a parasol
+ Her right hand held a Testament,
+ And thus equipped right on she went,
+Went water-proof and water-fall.
+
+She saw a miner gazing down,
+ Slow stirring something with a spoon;
+ "O, tell me true and tell me soon,
+What has become of William Brown?"
+He looked askance beneath her specs,
+ Then stirred his cocktail round and round.
+ Then raised his head and sighed profound,
+And said, "He's handed in his checks."
+
+Then care fed on her damaged cheek,
+ And she grew faint, did Mary Jane,
+ And smelt her smelling-salts in vain,
+She wandered, weary, worn, and weak.
+At last, upon a hill alone.
+ She came, and there she sat her down;
+ For on that hill there stood a stone,
+And, lo! that stone read, "William Brown."
+
+"O William Brown! O William Brown!
+ And here you rest at last," she said,
+ "With this lone stone above your head,
+And forty miles from any town!
+I will plant cypress trees, I will,
+ And I will build a fence around,
+ And I will fertilise the ground
+With tears enough to turn a mill."
+
+She went and got a hired man,
+ She brought him forty miles from town,
+ And in the tall grass squatted down
+And bade him build as she should plan.
+But cruel cow-boys with their bands
+ They saw, and hurriedly they ran
+ And told a bearded cattle man
+Somebody builded on his lands.
+
+He took his rifle from the rack,
+ He girt himself in battle pelt,
+ He stuck two pistols in his belt,
+And, mounting on his horse's back,
+He plunged ahead. But when they showed
+ A woman fair, about his eyes
+ He pulled his hat, and he likewise
+Pulled at his beard, and chewed and chewed.
+
+At last he gat him down and spake:
+ "O lady dear, what do you here?"
+ "I build a tomb unto my dear,
+I plant sweet flowers for his sake."
+The bearded man threw his two hands
+ Above his head, then brought them down
+ And cried, "Oh, I am William Brown,
+And this the corner-stone of my lands!"
+
+ _Joaquin Miller._
+
+
+
+
+ LITTLE BREECHES
+
+
+I don't go much on religion,
+ I never ain't had no show;
+But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir,
+ On a handful o' things I know.
+I don't pan out on the prophets
+ And free-will and that sort of thing--
+But I be'lieve in God and the angels,
+ Ever sence one night last spring.
+
+I come into town with some turnips,
+ And my little Gabe come along--
+No four-year-old in the county
+ Could beat him for pretty and strong--
+Peart and chipper and sassy,
+ Always ready to swear and fight--
+And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker
+ Jest to keep his milk-teeth white.
+
+The snow come down like a blanket
+ As I passed by Taggart's store;
+I went in for a jug of molasses
+ And left the team at the door.
+They scared at something and started--
+ I heard one little squall,
+And hell-to-split over the prairie!
+ Went team, Little Breeches, and all.
+
+Hell-to-split over the prairie!
+ I was almost froze with skeer;
+But we rousted up some torches,
+ And sarched for 'em far and near.
+At last we struck hosses and wagon,
+ Snowed under a soft white mound,
+Upsot, dead beat, but of little Gabe
+ No hide nor hair was found.
+
+And hero all hope soured on me
+ Of my fellow-critter's aid;
+I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones,
+ Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed.
+ * * * * *
+By this, the torches was played out,
+ And me and Isrul Parr
+Went off for some wood to a sheepfold
+ That he said was somewhar thar.
+
+We found it at last, and a little shed
+ Where they shut up the lambs at night;
+We looked in and seen them huddled thar,
+ So warm and sleepy and white;
+And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped,
+ As peart as ever you see,
+"I want a chaw of terbacker,
+ And that's what's the matter of me."
+
+How did he git thar? Angels.
+ He could never have walked in that storm:
+They jest scooped down and toted him
+ To whar it was safe and warm.
+And I think that saving a little child,
+ And fotching him to his own,
+Is a derned sight better business
+ Than loafing around the Throne.
+
+ _John Hay._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ENCHANTED SHIRT
+
+
+The King was sick. His cheek was red,
+ And his eye was clear and bright;
+He ate and drank with a kingly zest,
+ And peacefully snored at night.
+
+But he said he was sick, and a king should know,
+ And doctors came by the score.
+They did not cure him. He cut off their heads,
+ And sent to the schools for more.
+
+At last two famous doctors came,
+ And one was as poor as a rat,--
+He had passed his life in studious toil,
+ And never found time to grow fat.
+
+The other had never looked in a book;
+ His patients gave him no trouble:
+If they recovered, they paid him well;
+ If they died, their heirs paid double.
+
+Together they looked at the royal tongue,
+ As the King on his couch reclined;
+In succession they thumped his august chest,
+ But no trace of disease could find.
+
+The old sage said, "You're as sound as a nut."
+ "Hang him up," roared the King in a gale--
+In a ten-knot gale of royal rage;
+ The other leech grew a shade pale;
+
+But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose,
+ And thus his prescription ran--
+_The King will be well, if he sleeps one night
+ In the Shirt of a Happy Man_.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode,
+ And fast their horses ran,
+And many they saw, and to many they spoke,
+ But they found no Happy Man.
+
+They found poor men who would fain be rich,
+ And rich who thought they were poor;
+And men who twisted their waist in stays,
+ And women that shorthose wore.
+
+They saw two men by the roadside sit,
+ And both bemoaned their lot;
+For one had buried his wife, he said,
+ And the other one had not.
+
+At last they came to a village gate,
+ A beggar lay whistling there;
+He whistled, and sang, and laughed, and rolled,
+ On the grass in the soft June air.
+
+The weary couriers paused and looked
+ At the scamp so blithe and gay;
+And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend!
+ You seem to be happy to-day."
+
+"O yes, fair sirs," the rascal laughed,
+ And his voice rang free and glad;
+"An idle man has so much to do
+ That he never has time to be sad."
+
+"This is our man," the courier said;
+ "Our luck has lead us aright.
+I will give you a hundred ducats, friend,
+ For the loan of your shirt to-night."
+
+The merry blackguard lay back on the grass,
+ And laughed till his face was black;
+"I would do it, God wot," and he roared with the fun,
+ "But I haven't a shirt to my back."
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Each day to the King the reports came in
+ Of his unsuccessful spies,
+And the sad panorama of human woes
+ Passed daily under his eyes.
+
+And he grew ashamed of his useless life,
+ And his maladies hatched in gloom;
+He opened his windows and let the air
+ Of the free heaven into his room.
+
+And out he went in the world, and toiled
+ In his own appointed way;
+And the people blessed him, the land was glad,
+ And the King was well and gay.
+
+ _John Hay._
+
+
+
+
+ JIM BLUDSO
+
+
+Wal, no! I can't tell whar he lives,
+ Because he don't live, you see;
+Leastways, he's got out of the habit
+ Of livin' like you and me.
+Whar have you been for the last three years
+ That you haven't heard folks tell
+How Jemmy Bludso passed-in his checks,
+ The night of the Prairie Belle?
+
+He weren't no saint--them engineers
+ Is all pretty much alike--
+One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill,
+ And another one here in Pike.
+A keerless man in his talk was Jim,
+ And an awkward man in a row--
+But he never flunked, and he never lied;
+ I reckon he never knowed how.
+
+And this was all the religion he had--
+ To treat his engines well;
+Never be passed on the river;
+ To mind the pilot's bell;
+And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire,
+ A thousand times he swore,
+He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank
+ Till the last soul got ashore.
+
+All boats have their day on the Mississip,
+ And her day come at last.
+The Movastar was a better boat,
+ But the Belle she wouldn't be passed;
+And so come tearin' along that night,--
+ The oldest craft on the line,
+With a nigger squat on her safety valve,
+ And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.
+
+The fire bust out as she clared the bar,
+ And burnt a hole in the night,
+And quick as a flash she turned, and made
+ To that willer-bank on the right.
+There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out
+ Over all the infernal roar,
+"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank
+ Till the last galoot's ashore."
+
+Through the hot black breath of the burnin' boat
+ Jim Bludso's voice was heard,
+And they all had trust in his cussedness,
+ And know he would keep his word.
+And, sure's you're born, they all got off
+ Afore the smokestacks fell,--
+And Bludso's ghost went up alone
+ In the smoke of the Prairie Belle.
+
+He weren't no saint--but at jedgment
+ I'd run my chance with Jim,
+'Longside of some pious gentlemen
+ That wouldn't shook hands with him.
+He'd seen his duty, a dead-sure thing--
+ And went for it thar and then:
+And Christ ain't a going to be too hard
+ On a man that died for men.
+
+ _John Hay._
+
+
+
+
+ WRECK OF THE "JULIE PLANTE"
+
+
+On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre,
+ De win' she blow, blow, blow,
+An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante"
+ Got scar't an' run below;
+For de win' she blow lak hurricane,
+ Bimeby she blow some more,
+An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre,
+ Wan arpent from de shore.
+
+De Captinne walk on de fronte deck,
+ An' walk de hin' deck, too--
+He call de crew from up de hole
+ He call de cook also.
+De cook she's name was Rosie,
+ She come from Montreal,
+Was chambre maid on lumber barge,
+ On de Grande Lachine Canal.
+
+De win' she blow from nor'--eas'--wes'
+ De sout' win' she blow, too,
+W'en Rosie cry "Mon cher Captinne,
+ Mon cher, w'at I shall do?"
+Den de Captinne t'row de big ankerre,
+ But still de scow she dreef,
+De crew he can't pass on de shore,
+ Becos' he los' hees skeef.
+
+De night was dark, lak' one black cat,
+ De wave run high an' fas',
+Wen de Captinne tak' de Rosie girl
+ An' tie her to de mas'.
+Den he also tak' de life preserve,
+ An' jomp off on de lak',
+An' say, "Goa Rosie dear,
+ I go drown for your sak'."
+
+Nex' morning very early,
+ 'Bout ha'f-pas' two--t'ree--four--
+De Captinne, scow, an' de poor Rosie
+ Was corpses on de shore;
+For he win' she blow lak' hurricane
+ Bimeby she blow some more,
+An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre,
+ Wan arpent from de shore.
+
+ MORAL
+
+Now, all good wood scow sailor man
+ Tak' warning by dat storm,
+An' go an' marry some nice French girl
+ An' leev on wan beeg farm;
+De win' can blow lak' hurricane,
+ An' s'pose she blow some more,
+You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre,
+ So long you stay on shore.
+
+ _William Henry Drummond._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ALARMED SKIPPER
+
+ "IT WAS AN ANCIENT MARINER"
+
+
+Many a long, long year ago,
+Nantucket skippers had a plan
+Of finding out, though "lying low,"
+How near New York their schooners ran.
+
+They greased the lead before it fell,
+And then, by sounding through the night,
+Knowing the soil that stuck, so well,
+They always guessed their reckoning right.
+
+A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim,
+Could tell, by _tasting_, just the spot,
+And so below he'd "dowse the glim"--
+After, of course, his "something hot."
+
+Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock,
+This ancient skipper might be found;
+No matter how his craft would rock,
+He slept--for skippers' naps are sound!
+
+The watch on deck would now and then
+Run down and wake him, with the lead;
+He'd up, and taste, and tell the men
+How many miles they went ahead.
+
+One night, 'twas Jotham Marden's watch,
+A curious wag--the peddler's son--
+And so he mused (the wanton wretch),
+"To-night I'll have a grain of fun.
+
+"We're all a set of stupid fools
+To think the skipper knows by _tasting_
+What ground he's on--Nantucket schools
+Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting!"
+
+And so he took the well-greased lead
+And rubbed it o'er a box of earth
+That stood on deck--a parsnip-bed--
+And then he sought the skipper's berth.
+
+"Where are we now, sir? Please to taste."
+The skipper yawned, put out his tongue,
+Then ope'd his eyes in wondrous haste,
+And then upon the floor he sprung!
+
+The skipper stormed and tore his hair,
+Thrust on his boots, and roared to Marden,
+"_Nantucket's sunk, and here we are
+Right over old Marm Hackett's garden!_"
+
+ _James Thomas Fields._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN
+
+
+By the side of a murmuring stream an elderly gentleman sat.
+On the top of his head was a wig, and a-top of his wig was his hat.
+
+The wind it blew high and blew strong, as the elderly gentleman sat;
+And bore from his head in a trice, and plunged in the river his hat.
+
+The gentleman then took his cane which lay by his side as he sat;
+And he dropped in the river his wig, in attempting to get out his 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.
+
+Cool reflection at last came across while this elderly gentleman sat;
+So he thought he would follow the stream and look for his cane, wig, and
+ hat.
+
+His head being thicker than common, o'er-balanced the rest of his fat;
+And in plumped this son of a woman to follow his wig, cane, and hat.
+
+ _George Canning._
+
+
+
+
+ SAYING NOT MEANING
+
+
+Two gentlemen their appetite had fed,
+When opening his toothpick-case, one said,
+"It was not until lately that I knew
+That _anchovies_ on _terra firma_ grew."
+"Grow!" cried the other, "yes, they _grow_, indeed,
+ Like other fish, but not upon the land;
+You might as well say grapes grow on a reed,
+ Or in the Strand!"
+
+"Why, sir," returned the irritated other,
+ "My brother,
+ When at Calcutta
+Beheld them _bona fide_ growing;
+ He wouldn't utter
+A lie for love or money, sir; so in
+ This matter you are thoroughly mistaken."
+"Nonsense, sir! nonsense! I can give no credit
+To the assertion--none e'er saw or read it;
+ Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken."
+
+"Be shaken, sir! let me observe, you are
+ Perverse--in short--"
+"Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar,
+ And then his port--
+"If you will say impossibles are true,
+ You may affirm just anything you please--
+That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue,
+ And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese!
+Only you must not _force_ me to believe
+What's propagated merely to deceive."
+
+"Then you force me to say, sir, you're a fool,"
+ Return'd the bragger.
+Language like this no man can suffer cool:
+ It made the listener stagger;
+ So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied,
+ "The traveler _lied_
+ Who had the impudence to tell it you;"
+"Zounds! then d'ye mean to swear before my face
+That anchovies _don't_ grow like cloves and mace?"
+ "I _do_!"
+
+Disputants often after hot debates
+ Leave the contention as they found it--bone,
+And take to duelling or thumping _tetes_;
+ Thinking by strength of artery to atone
+For strength of argument; and he who winces
+From force of words, with force of arms convinces!
+
+With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint,
+ Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding,
+ Our friends advanced; and now portentous loading
+(Their hearts already loaded) serv'd to show
+It might be better they shook hands--but no;
+ When each opines himself, though frighten'd, right,
+ Each is, in courtesy, oblig'd to fight!
+And they _did_ fight: from six full measured paces
+ The unbeliever pulled his trigger first;
+And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces,
+ The whizzing lead had whizz'd its very worst,
+Ran up, and with a _duelistic_ fear
+ (His ire evanishing like morning vapors),
+Found him possess'd of one remaining ear,
+ Who in a manner sudden and uncouth,
+ Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth;
+For while the surgeon was applying lint,
+He, wriggling, cried--"The deuce is in't--
+ Sir, I _meant_--|CAPERS|!"
+
+ _William Basil Wake._
+
+
+
+
+ HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY
+
+
+Hans Breitmann gife a barty;
+ Dey had biano-blayin':
+I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau,
+ Her name was Madilda Yane.
+She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel,
+ Her eyes vas himmel-plue,
+Und ven dey looket indo mine,
+ Dey shplit mine heart in two.
+
+Hans Breitmann gife a barty:
+ I vent dere, you'll pe pound.
+I valtzet mit Madilda Yane
+ Und vent shpinnen round und round.
+De pootiest Fraeulein in de house,
+ She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound,
+Und efery dime she gife a shoomp
+ She make de vindows sound.
+
+Hans Breitmann gife a barty:
+ I dells you it cost him dear.
+Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks
+ Of foost-rate Lager Beer,
+Und venefer dey knocks de shpicket in
+ De Deutschers gifes a cheer.
+I dinks dat so vine a barty
+ Nefer coom to a het dis year.
+
+Hans Breitmann gife a barty;
+ Dere all vas Souse und Brouse;
+Ven de sooper comed in, de gompany
+ Did make demselfs to house.
+Dey ate das Brot und Gensy broost,
+ De Bratwurst und Braten fine,
+Und vash der Abendessen down
+ Mit four parrels of Neckarwein.
+
+Hans Breitmann gife a barty.
+ We all cot troonk ash bigs.
+I poot mine mout to a parrel of bier,
+ Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs.
+Und denn I gissed Madilda Yane
+ Und she shlog me on de kop,
+Und de gompany fited mit daple-lecks
+ Dill be coonshtable made oos shtop.
+
+Hans Breitmann gife a barty--
+ Where ish dat barty now!
+Where ish de lofely golden cloud
+ Dat float on de moundain's prow?
+Where ish de himmelstrablende Stern--
+ De shtar of de shpirit's light?
+All goned afay mit de Lager Beer--
+ Afay in de Ewigkeit!
+
+ _Charles Godfrey Leland._
+
+
+
+
+ BALLAD BY HANS BREITMANN
+
+
+Der noble Ritter Hugo
+ Von Schwillensaufenstein
+Rode out mit shpeer and helmet,
+ Und he coom to de panks of de Rhine.
+
+Und oop dere rose a meermaid,
+ Fot hadn't got nodings on,
+Und she say, "Oh, Ritter Hugo,
+ Vhere you goes mit yourself alone?"
+
+And he says, "I ride in de creenwood,
+ Mit helmet und mit shpeer,
+Till I cooms into em Gasthaus,
+ Und dere I trinks some beer."
+
+Und den outshpoke the maiden
+ Vot hadn't got nodings on:
+"I ton't tink mooch of beoplesh
+ Dat goes mit demselfs alone.
+
+"You'd petter coom down in de wasser,
+ Vhere deres heaps of dings to see,
+Und hafe a shplendid tinner
+ Und drafel along mit me.
+
+"Dere you sees de fisch a schwimmin',
+ Und you catches dem efery von:"--
+So sang dis wasser maiden,
+ Vot hadn't got nodings on.
+
+"Dere ish drunks all full mit money
+ In ships dat vent down of old;
+Und you helpsh yourself, by dunder!
+ To shimmerin' crowns of gold.
+
+"Shoost look at these shpoons and vatches!
+ Shoost see dese diamant rings!
+Coom down and fill your pockets,
+ And I'll giss you like efery dings.
+
+"Vot you vanst mit your schnapps and lager?
+ Come down into der Rhine!
+Der ish pottles de Kaiser Charlemagne
+ Vonce filled mit gold-red wine!"
+
+_Dat_ fetched him--she shtood all shpell-pound;
+ She pooled his coat-tails down;
+She drawed him oonder der wasser,
+ De maiden mit nodings on.
+
+ _Charles Godfrey Leland._
+
+
+
+
+ GRAMPY SINGS A SONG
+
+
+Row-diddy, dow de, my little sis,
+Hush up your teasin' and listen to this:
+'Tain't much of a jingle, 'tain't much of a tune,
+But it's spang-fired truth about Chester Cahoon.
+The thund'rinest fireman Lord ever made
+Was Chester Cahoon of the Tuttsville Brigade.
+He was boss of the tub and the foreman of hose;
+When the 'larm rung he'd start, sis, a-sheddin' his clothes,
+--Slung cote and slung wes'cote and kicked off his shoes,
+A-runnin' like fun, for he'd no time to lose.
+And he'd howl down the ro'd in a big cloud of dust,
+For he made it his brag he was allus there fust.
+--Allus there fust, with a whoop and a shout,
+And he never shut up till the fire was out.
+And he'd knock out the winders and save all the doors,
+And tear off the clapboards, and rip up the floors,
+For he allus allowed 'twas a tarnation sin
+To 'low 'em to burn, for you'd want 'em agin.
+He gen'rally stirred up the most of his touse
+In hustling to save the outside of the house.
+And after he'd wrassled and hollered and pried,
+He'd let up and tackle the stuff 'twas inside.
+To see him you'd think he was daft as a loon,
+But that was jest habit with Chester Cahoon.
+
+Row diddy-iddy, my little sis,
+Now see what ye think of a doin' like this:
+The time of the fire at Jenkins' old place
+It got a big start--was a desprit case;
+The fambly they didn't know which way to turn.
+And by gracious, it looked like it all was to burn.
+But Chester Cahoon--oh, that Chester Cahoon,
+He sailed to the roof like a reg'lar balloon;
+Donno how he done it, but done it he did,
+--Went down through the scuttle and shet down the lid.
+And five minutes later that critter he came
+To the second floor winder surrounded by flame.
+He lugged in his arms, sis, a stove and a bed,
+And balanced a bureau right square on his head.
+His hands they was loaded with crockery stuff,
+China and glass; as if that warn't enough,
+He'd rolls of big quilts round his neck like a wreath,
+And carried Mis' Jenkins' old aunt with his teeth.
+You're right--gospel right, little sis,--didn't seem
+The critter'd git down, but he called for the stream,
+And when it come strong and big round as my wrist;
+He stuck out his legs, sis, and give 'em a twist;
+And he hooked round the water jes' if 'twas a rope,
+And down he come easin' himself on the slope,
+--So almighty spry that he made that 'ere stream
+As fit for his pupp'us' as if 'twas a beam.
+Oh, the thund'rinest fireman Lord ever made
+Was Chester Cahoon of the Tuttsville Brigade.
+
+ _Holman F. Day._
+
+
+
+
+ THE FIRST BANJO
+
+
+Go 'way, fiddle; folks is tired o' hearin' you a-squawkin'--
+Keep silence fur yo' betters!--don't you heah de banjo talkin'?
+About de 'possum's tail she's gwine to lecter--ladies, listen!--
+About de ha'r whut isn't dar, an' why de ha'r is missin':
+
+"Dar's gwine to be a' oberflow," said Noah, lookin' solemn--
+Fur Noah tuk the "_Herald_," an' he read de ribber column--
+An' so he sot his hands to wuk a-cl'arin' timber-patches,
+An' 'lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat de steamah _Natchez_.
+
+Ol' Noah kep' a-nailin' an' a-chippin' an' a-sawin';
+An' all de wicked neighbours kep' a-laughin' an' a-pshawin';
+But Noah didn't min' 'em, knowin' whut wuz gwine to happen:
+An' forty days an' forty nights de rain it kep' a-drappin'.
+
+Now, Noah had done cotched a lot ob ebry sort o' beas'es--
+Ob all de shows a-trabbelin', it beat 'em all to pieces!
+He had a Morgan colt an' sebral head o' Jarsey cattle--
+An' druv 'em 'board de Ark as soon's he heered de thunder rattle.
+
+Den sech anoder fall ob rain!--it come so awful hebby,
+De ribber riz immejitly, an' busted troo de lebbee;
+De people all wuz drownded out--'cep' Noah an' de critters,
+An' men he'd hired to work de boat--an' one to mix de bitters.
+
+De Ark she kep' a-sailin' an' a-sailin', _an'_ a-sailin';
+De lion got his dander up, an' like to bruk de palin';
+De sarpints hissed; de painters yelled; tell, whut wid all de fussin',
+You c'u'dn't hardly heah de mate a-bossin' round' an' cussin'.
+
+Now, Ham, he only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de packet,
+Got lonesome in de barber-shop, and c'u'dn't stan' de racket;
+An' so, fur to amuse he-se'f, he steamed some wood an' bent it,
+An' soon he had a banjo made--de fust dat wuz invented.
+
+He wet de ledder, stretched it on; made bridge an' screws an aprin;
+An' fitted in a proper neck--'twas berry long and tap'rin';
+He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thimble fur to ring it;
+An' den de mighty question riz: how wuz he gwine to string it?
+
+De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin';
+De ha'r's so long an' thick an' strong,--des fit fur banjo-stringin';
+Dat nigger shaved 'em off as short as wash-day-dinner graces;
+An' sorted ob 'em by de size, f'om little E's to basses.
+
+He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig,--'twus "Nebber min' de
+ wedder,"--
+She soun' like forty-lebben bands a-playin' all togedder;
+Some went to pattin'; some to dancin': Noah called de figgers;
+An' Ham he sot an' knocked de tune, de happiest ob niggers!
+
+Now, sence dat time--it's mighty strange--dere's not de slightes'
+ showin'
+Ob any ha'r at all upon de 'possum's tail a-growin';
+An' curi's, too, dat nigger's ways: his people nebber los' 'em--
+Fur whar you finds de nigger--dar's de banjo an' de 'possum!
+
+ _Irwin Russell._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ROMANCE OF THE CARPET
+
+
+Basking in peace in the warm spring sun,
+South Hill smiled upon Burlington.
+
+The breath of May! and the day was fair,
+And the bright motes danced in the balmy air.
+
+And the sunlight gleamed where the restless breeze
+Kissed the fragrant blooms on the apple-trees.
+
+His beardless cheek with a smile was spanned,
+As he stood with a carriage whip in his hand.
+
+And he laughed as he doffed his bobtail coat,
+And the echoing folds of the carpet smote.
+
+And she smiled as she leaned on her busy mop,
+And said she'd tell him when to stop.
+
+So he pounded away till the dinner-bell
+Gave him a little breathing spell.
+
+But he sighed when the kitchen clock struck one,
+And she said the carpet wasn't done.
+
+But he lovingly put in his biggest licks,
+And he pounded like mad till the clock struck six.
+
+And she said, in a dubious sort of way,
+That she guessed he could finish it up next day.
+
+Then all that day, and the next day, too,
+That fuzz from the dirtless carpet flew.
+
+And she'd give it a look at eventide,
+And say, "Now beat on the other side."
+
+And the new days came as the old days went,
+And the landlord came for his regular rent.
+
+And the neighbors laughed at the tireless broom,
+And his face was shadowed with clouds of gloom.
+
+Till at last, one cheerless winter day,
+He kicked at the carpet and slid away.
+
+Over the fence and down the street,
+Speeding away with footsteps fleet.
+
+And never again the morning sun
+Smiled on him beating his carpet-drum.
+
+And South Hill often said with a yawn,
+"Where's the carpet-martyr gone?"
+
+Years twice twenty had come and passed
+And the carpet swayed in the autumn blast.
+
+For never yet, since that bright spring-time,
+Had it ever been taken down from the line.
+
+Over the fence a gray-haired man
+Cautiously clim, clome, clem, clum, clamb.
+
+He found him a stick in the old woodpile,
+And he gathered it up with a sad, grim smile,
+
+A flush passed over his face forlorn
+As he gazed at the carpet, tattered and torn.
+
+And he hit it a most resounding thwack,
+Till the startled air gave his echoes back.
+
+And out of the window a white face leaned,
+And a palsied hand the pale face screened.
+
+She knew his face; she gasped, and sighed,
+"A little more on the other side."
+
+Right down on the ground his stick he throwed,
+And he shivered and said, "Well, I am blowed!"
+
+And he turned away, with a heart full sore,
+And he never was seen not more, not more.
+
+ _Robert J. Burdette._
+
+
+
+
+ THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK
+
+
+"Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again
+ The five unmistakable marks
+By which you may know, wheresoever you go,
+ The warranted genuine Snarks.
+
+"Let us take them in order. The first is the taste,
+ Which is meagre and hollow, but crisp:
+Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist,
+ With a flavor of Will-o'-the-wisp.
+
+"Its habit of getting up late you'll agree
+ That it carries too far when I say
+That it frequently breakfasts at five-o'clock tea,
+ And dines on the following day.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"The fourth is its fondness for bathing-machines,
+ Which it constantly carries about,
+And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes--
+ A sentiment open to doubt.
+
+"The fifth is ambition. It next will be right
+ To describe each particular batch;
+Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite,
+ From those that have whiskers, and scratch.
+
+"For, although common Snarks do no manner of harm,
+ Yet I feel it my duty to say
+Some are Boojums--" The Bellman broke off in alarm,
+ For the Baker had fainted away.
+
+They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice--
+ They roused him with mustard and cress--
+They roused him with jam and judicious advice--
+ They set him conundrums to guess.
+When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
+ His sad story he offered to tell;
+And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"
+ And excitedly tingled his bell.
+
+There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,
+ Scarcely even a howl or a groan,
+As the man they called "Ho!" told his story of woe.
+ In an antediluvian tone.
+
+"My father and mother were honest, though poor--"
+ "Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste,
+"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark,
+ We have hardly a minute to waste!"
+
+"I skip forty years," said the Baker, in tears,
+ "And proceed without further remark
+To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
+ To help you in hunting the Snark.
+
+"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
+ Remarked, when I bade him farewell--"
+"Oh, skip your dear uncle," the Bellman exclaimed,
+ As he angrily tingled his bell.
+
+"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
+ "'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right;
+Fetch it home by all means--you may serve it with greens
+ And it's handy for striking a light.
+
+"'You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care;
+ You may hunt it with forks and hope;
+You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
+ You may charm it with smiles and soap--
+
+"'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
+ If your Snark be a Boojum! For then
+You will softly and suddenly vanish away
+ And never be met with again!'
+
+"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
+ When I think of my uncle's last words:
+And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
+ Brimming over with quivering curds!
+
+"I engage with the Snark--every night after dark--
+ In a dreamy delirious fight:
+I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
+ And I use it for striking a light:
+
+"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
+ In a moment (of this I am sure),
+I shall softly and suddenly vanish away--
+ And the notion I cannot endure!"
+
+ _Lewis Carroll._
+
+
+
+
+ THE OLD MAN AND JIM
+
+
+ Old man never had much to say--
+ 'Ceptin' to Jim,--
+And Jim was the wildest boy he had--
+ And the Old man jes' wrapped up in him!
+Never heerd him speak but once
+Er twice in my life,--and first time was
+When the army broke out, and Jim he went,
+The Old man backin' him, fer three months.--
+And all 'at I heerd the Old man say
+Was, jes' as we turned to start away,--
+ "Well; good-bye, Jim:
+ Take keer of yourse'f!"
+
+'Peard-like, he was more satisfied
+ Jes' _lookin'_ at Jim,
+And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see?--
+ 'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him!
+And over and over I mind the day
+The Old man come and stood round in the way
+While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim--
+And down at the deepot a-heerin' him say,--
+ "Well; good-bye, Jim:
+ Take keer of yourse'f!"
+
+Never was nothin' about the farm
+ Disting'ished Jim;--
+Neighbours all ust to wonder why
+ The Old man 'peared wrapped up in him:
+But when Cap. Biggler, he writ back,
+'At Jim was the bravest boy we had
+In the whole dern rigiment, white er black,
+And his fightin' good as his farmin' bad--
+'At he had led, with a bullet clean
+Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag
+Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen,--
+The Old man wound up a letter to him
+'At Cap. read to us, 'at said,--"Tell Jim
+ Good-bye;
+ And take keer of hisse'f."
+
+Jim come back jes' long enough
+ To take the whim
+'At he'd like to go back in the cavelry--
+ And the Old man jes' wrapped up in him!--
+Jim 'lowed 'at he'd had sich luck afore,
+Guessed he'd tackle her three years more.
+And the Old man give him a colt he'd raised
+And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade,
+And laid around fer a week er so,
+Watchin' Jim on dress-parade--
+Tel finally he rid away,
+And last he heerd was the Old man say,--
+ "Well; good-bye, Jim:
+ Take keer of yourse'f!"
+
+Tuk the papers, the Old man did,
+ A-watchin' fer Jim--
+Fully believin' he'd make his mark
+ _Some_ way--jes' wrapped up in him!--
+And many a time the word 'u'd come
+'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum--
+At Petersburg, fer instance, where
+Jim rid right into their cannons there,
+And tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t'other way,
+And socked it home to the boys in grey,
+As they skooted fer timber, and on and on--
+Jim a lieutenant and one arm gone,
+And the Old man's words in his mind all day,--
+ "Well; good-bye, Jim:
+ Take keer of yourse'f!"
+
+Think of a private, now, perhaps,
+ We'll say like Jim,
+'At's clumb clean up to the shoulder-straps--
+ And the Old man jes' wrapped up in him!
+Think of him--with the war plum' through,
+And the glorious old Red-White-and-Blue
+A-laughin' the news down over Jim,
+And the Old man, bendin' over him--
+The surgeon turnin' away with tears
+'At hadn't leaked fer years and years--
+As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to
+His father's, the old voice in his ears,--
+ "Well; good-bye, Jim:
+ Take keer of yourse'f!"
+
+ _James Whitcomb Riley._
+
+
+
+
+ A SAILOR'S YARN
+
+
+_This is the tale that was told to me,
+By a battered and shattered son of the sea--
+To me and my messmate, Silas Green,
+When I was a guileless young marine._
+
+"'Twas the good ship _Gyascutus_,
+ All in the China seas,
+With the wind a-lee and the capstan free
+ To catch the summer breeze.
+
+"'Twas Captain Porgie on the deck,
+ To his mate in the mizzen hatch,
+While the boatswain bold, in the forward hold,
+ Was winding the larboard watch.
+
+"'Oh, how does our good ship head to-night!
+ How heads our gallant craft?'
+'Oh, she heads to the E. S. W. by N.,
+ And the binnacle lies abaft!'
+
+"'Oh, what does the quadrant indicate,
+ And how does the sextant stand?'
+'Oh, the sextant's down to the freezing point,
+ And the quadrant's lost a hand!'
+
+"'Oh, and if the quadrant has lost a hand,
+ And the sextant falls so low,
+It's our bodies and bones to Davy Jones
+ This night are bound to go!
+
+"'Oh, fly aloft to the garboard strake!
+ And reef the spanker boom;
+Bend a studding sail on the martingale,
+ To give her weather room.
+
+"'Oh, boatswain, down in the for'ard hold
+ What water do you find?'
+'Four foot and a half by the royal gaff
+ And rather more behind!'
+
+"'Oh, sailors, collar your marline spikes
+ And each belaying pin;
+Come stir your stumps, and spike the pumps,
+ Or more will be coming in!'
+
+"They stirred their stumps, they spiked the pumps,
+ They spliced the mizzen brace;
+Aloft and alow they worked, but oh!
+ The water gained apace.
+
+"They bored a hole above the keel
+ To let the water out;
+But, strange to say, to their dismay,
+ The water in did spout.
+
+"Then up spoke the Cook, of our gallant ship,
+ And he was a lubber brave:
+'I have several wives in various ports,
+ And my life I'd orter save.'
+
+"Then up spoke the Captain of Marines,
+ Who dearly loved his prog:
+'It's awful to die, and it's worse to be dry,
+ And I move we pipe to grog.'
+
+"Oh, then 'twas the noble second mate
+ What filled them all with awe;
+The second mate, as bad men hate,
+ And cruel skipper's jaw.
+
+"He took the anchor on his back,
+ And leaped into the main;
+Through foam and spray he clove his way,
+ And sunk and rose again!
+
+"Through foam and spray, a league away
+ The anchor stout he bore;
+Till, safe at last, he made it fast
+ And warped the ship ashore!
+
+"'Taint much of a job to talk about,
+ But a ticklish thing to see,
+And suth'in to do, if I say it, too,
+ For that second mate was me!"
+
+_Such was the tale that was told to me
+By that modest and truthful son of the sea,
+And I envy the life of a second mate,
+Though captains curse him and sailors hate,
+For he ain't like some of the swabs I've seen,
+As would go and lie to a poor marine._
+
+ _James Jeffrey Roche._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CONVERTED CANNIBALS
+
+
+Upon an island, all alone,
+ They lived, in the Pacific;
+Somewhere within the Torrid Zone,
+ Where heat is quite terrific.
+'Twould shock you were I to declare
+The many things they did not wear,
+ Altho' no doubt
+ One's best without
+ Such things in heat terrific.
+
+Though cannibals by birth were they,
+ Yet, since they'd first existed,
+Their simple menu day by day
+ Of such-like things consisted:
+Omelets of turtle's eggs, and yams,
+And stews from freshly-gathered clams,
+ Such things as these
+ Were,--if you please,--
+ Of what their fare consisted.
+
+But after dinner they'd converse,
+ Nor did their topic vary;
+Wild tales of gore they would rehearse,
+ And talk of _missionary_.
+They'd gaze upon each other's joints,
+And indicate the tender points.
+ Said one: "For us
+ 'Tis dangerous
+ To _think_ of _missionary_."
+
+Well, on a day, upon the shore,
+ As flotsam, or as jetsam,
+Some wooden cases,--ten, or more,--
+ Were cast up. "Let us get some,
+And see, my friend, what they contain;
+The chance may not occur again,"
+ Said good Who-zoo.
+ Said Tum-tum, "Do;
+ We'll both wade out and get some."
+
+The cases held,--what do you think?--
+ "|Prime Missionary--tinned.|"
+Nay! gentle reader, do not shrink--
+ The man who made it sinned:
+He thus had labelled bloater-paste
+To captivate the native taste.
+ He hoped, of course,
+ This fraud to force
+ On them. In this he sinned.
+
+Our simple friends knew naught of sin;
+ They thought that this confection
+_Was_ missionary in a tin
+ According to direction.
+For very joy they shed salt tears.
+"'Tis what we've waited for, for years,"
+ Said they. "Hooray!
+ We'll feast to-day
+ According to direction."
+
+"'Tis very tough," said one, for he
+ The tin and all had eaten.
+"Too salt," the other said, "for me;
+ The flavour might be beaten."
+It was enough. Soon each one swore
+He'd missionary eat no more:
+ Their tastes were cured,
+ They felt assured
+ This flavour might be beaten.
+
+And, should a missionary call
+ To-day, he'd find them gentle,
+With no perverted tastes at all,
+ And manners ornamental;
+He'd be received, I'm bound to say,
+In courteous and proper way;
+ Nor need he fear
+ To taste their cheer
+ However ornamental.
+
+ _G. E. Farrow._
+
+
+
+
+THE RETIRED PORK-BUTCHER AND THE SPOOK
+
+
+ I may as well
+ Proceed to tell
+About a Mister Higgs,
+ Who grew quite rich
+ In trade--the which
+Was selling pork and pigs.
+
+ From trade retired,
+ He much desired
+To rank with gentlefolk,
+ So bought a place
+ He called "The Chase,"
+And furnished it--old oak.
+
+ Ancestors got
+ (Twelve pounds the lot,
+In Tottenham Court Road);
+ A pedigree--
+ For nine pounds three,--
+The Heralds' Court bestowed.
+
+ Within the hall,
+ And on the wall,
+Hung armour bright and strong.
+ "To Ethelbred"--
+ The label read--
+"De Higgs, this did belong."
+
+ 'Twas _quite_ complete,
+ This country seat,
+Yet neighbours stayed away.
+ Nobody called,--
+ Higgs was blackballed,--
+Which caused him great dismay.
+
+ "Why _can_ it be?"
+ One night said he
+When thinking of it o'er.
+ There came a knock
+ ('Twas twelve o'clock)
+Upon his chamber door.
+
+ Higgs cried, "Come in!"
+ A vapour thin
+The keyhole wandered through.
+ Higgs rubbed his eyes
+ In mild surprise:
+A ghost appeared in view.
+
+ "I beg," said he,
+ "You'll pardon me,
+In calling rather late.
+ A family ghost,
+ I seek a post,
+With wage commensurate.
+
+ "I'll serve you well;
+ My 'fiendish yell'
+Is certain sure to please.
+ 'Sepulchral tones,'
+ And 'rattling bones,'
+I'm _very_ good at these.
+
+ "Five bob I charge
+ To roam at large,
+With 'clanking chains' _ad lib._;
+ I do such things
+ As 'gibberings'
+At one-and-three per gib.
+
+ "Or, by the week,
+ I merely seek
+Two pounds--which is not dear;
+ Because I need,
+ Of course, _no_ feed,
+_No_ washing, and _no_ beer."
+
+ Higgs thought it o'er
+ A bit, before
+He hired the family ghost,
+ But, finally,
+ He did agree
+To give to him the post.
+
+ It got about--
+ You know, no doubt,
+How quickly such news flies--
+ Throughout the place,
+ From "Higgses Chase"
+Proceeded ghostly cries.
+
+ The rumour spread,
+ Folks shook their head,
+But dropped in one by one.
+ A bishop came
+ (Forget his name),
+And then the thing was done.
+
+ For afterwards
+ _All_ left their cards,
+"Because," said they, "you see,
+ One who can boast
+ A family ghost
+Respectable _must_ be."
+
+ When it was due,
+ The "ghostes's" screw
+Higgs raised--as was but right--
+ They often play,
+ In friendly way,
+A game of cards at night.
+
+ _G. E. Farrow._
+
+
+
+
+ SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE
+
+
+Of all the rides since the birth of time,
+Told in story or sung in rhyme,--
+On Apuleius's Golden Ass,
+Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,
+Witch astride of a human back,
+Islam's prophet on Al-Borak,--
+The strangest ride that ever was sped
+Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead!
+ Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
+ Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
+ By the women of Marblehead!
+
+Body of turkey, head of owl,
+Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,
+Feathered and ruffled in every part,
+Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.
+Scores of women, old and young,
+Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,
+Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,
+Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:
+ "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
+ Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
+ By the women o' Morble'ead!"
+
+Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,
+Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,
+Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase
+Bacchus round some antique vase,
+Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
+Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,
+With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang,
+Over and over the Maenads sang:
+ "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
+ Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
+ By the women o' Morble'ead!"
+
+Small pity for him!--He sailed away
+From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,--
+Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
+With his own town's-people on her deck!
+"Lay by! lay by!" they called to him.
+Back he answered, "Sink or swim!
+Brag of your catch of fish again!"
+And off he sailed through the fog and rain!
+ Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
+ Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
+ By the women of Marblehead!
+
+Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur
+That wreck shall lie forevermore.
+Mother and sister, wife and maid,
+Looked from the rocks of Marblehead
+Over the moaning and rainy sea,--
+Looked for the coming that might not be!
+What did the winds and the sea-birds say
+Of the cruel captain who sailed away?--
+ Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
+ Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
+ By the women of Marblehead!
+
+Through the street, on either side,
+Up flew windows, doors swung wide;
+Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray,
+Treble lent the fish-horn's bray.
+Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound,
+Hulks of old sailors run aground,
+Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane,
+And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain:
+ "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
+ Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
+ By the women o' Morble'ead!"
+
+Sweetly along the Salem road
+Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.
+Little the wicked skipper knew
+Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.
+Riding there in his sorry trim,
+Like an Indian idol glum and grim,
+Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear
+Of voices shouting, far and near:
+ "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
+ Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
+ By the women o' Morble'ead!"
+
+"Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried,--
+"What to me is this noisy ride?
+What is the shame that clothes the skin
+To the nameless horror that lives within?
+Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck,
+And hear a cry from a reeling deck!
+Hate me and curse me,--I only dread
+The hand of God and the face of the dead!"
+ Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
+ Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
+ By the women of Marblehead!
+
+Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea
+Said, "God has touched him! Why should we?"
+Said an old wife, mourning her only son:
+"Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!"
+So with soft relentings and rude excuse,
+Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose,
+And gave him a cloak to hide him in,
+And left him alone with his shame and sin.
+ Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
+ Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
+ By the women of Marblehead!
+
+ _J. G. Whittier._
+
+
+
+
+ DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHINE
+
+
+If ever there lived a Yankee lad,
+Wise or otherwise, good or bad,
+Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump
+With flapping arms from stake or stump,
+ Or, spreading the tail
+ Of his coat for a sail,
+Take a soaring leap from post or rail,
+ And wonder why
+ He couldn't fly,
+And flap and flutter and wish and try--
+If ever you knew a country dunce
+Who didn't try that as often as once,
+All I can say is, that's a sign
+He never would do for a hero of mine.
+
+An aspiring genius was D. Green:
+The son of a farmer, age fourteen;
+His body was long and lank and lean--
+Just right for flying, as will be seen;
+He had two eyes as bright as a bean,
+And a freckled nose that grew between,
+A little awry--for I must mention
+That he had riveted his attention
+Upon his wonderful invention,
+Twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings,
+And working his face as he worked the wings,
+And with every turn of gimlet and screw
+Turning and screwing his mouth round too,
+ Till his nose seemed bent
+ To catch the scent,
+Around some corner, of new-baked pies,
+And his wrinkled cheeks and his squinting eyes
+Grew puckered into a queer grimace,
+That made him look very droll in the face,
+ And also very wise.
+And wise he must have been, to do more
+Than ever a genius did before,
+Excepting Daedalus of yore
+And his son Icarus, who wore
+ Upon their backs
+ Those wings of wax
+He had read of in the old almanacs.
+Darius was clearly of the opinion
+That the air is also man's dominion,
+And that, with paddle or fin or pinion,
+ We soon or late shall navigate
+The azure as now we sail the sea.
+
+The thing looks simple enough to me;
+ And if you doubt it,
+Hear how Darius reasoned about it.
+ "The birds can fly an' why can't I?
+ Must we give in," says he with a grin.
+ "That the bluebird an' ph[oe]be
+ Are smarter'n we be?
+Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller
+An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler?
+Doos the little chatterin', sassy wren,
+No bigger'n my thumb, know more than men?
+ Just show me that!
+ Ur prove 't the bat
+Hez got more brains than's in my hat.
+An' I'll back down, an' not till then!"
+He argued further: "Nur I can't see
+What's th' use o' wings to a bumble-bee,
+Fur to git a livin' with, more'n to me;--
+ Ain't my business
+ Important's his'n is?
+ That Icarus
+ Made a perty muss--
+Him an' his daddy Daedalus
+They might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax
+Wouldn't stand sun-heat an' hard whacks.
+ I'll make mine o' luther,
+ Ur suthin' ur other."
+
+And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned:
+"But I ain't goin' to show my hand
+To mummies that never can understand
+The fust idee that's big an' grand."
+So he kept his secret from all the rest,
+Safely buttoned within his vest;
+And in the loft above the shed
+Himself he locks, with thimble and thread
+And wax and hammer and buckles and screws
+And all such things as geniuses use;--
+Two bats for patterns, curious fellows!
+A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows;
+
+Some wire, and several old umbrellas;
+A carriage-cover, for tail and wings;
+A piece of harness; and straps and strings;
+ And a big strong box,
+ In which he locks
+These and a hundred other things.
+His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke
+And Nathan and Jotham and Solomon, lurk
+Around the corner to see him work--
+Sitting cross-legged, like a Turk,
+Drawing the waxed-end through with a jerk,
+And boring the holes with a comical quirk
+Of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk.
+But vainly they mounted each other's backs,
+And poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks;
+With wood from the pile and straw from the stacks
+He plugged the knot-holes and caulked the cracks;
+And a dipper of water, which one would think
+He had brought up into the loft to drink
+ When he chanced to be dry,
+ Stood always nigh,
+ For Darius was sly!
+And whenever at work he happened to spy
+At chink or crevice a blinking eye,
+He let the dipper of water fly.
+"Take that! an' ef ever ye git a peep,
+Guess ye'll ketch a weasel asleep!"
+ And he sings as he locks
+ His big strong box:--
+
+"The weasel's head is small an' trim,
+An' he is little an' long an' slim,
+An' quick of motion an' nimble of limb
+ An' ef you'll be
+ Advised by me,
+Keep wide awake when ye're ketchin' him!"
+
+ So day after day
+He stitched and tinkered and hammered away,
+ Till at last 'twas done--
+The greatest invention under the sun!
+"An' now," says Darius, "hooray fur some fun!"
+
+ 'Twas the Fourth of July,
+ And the weather was dry,
+And not a cloud was on all the sky,
+Save a few light fleeces, which here and there
+ Half mist, half air,
+Like foam on the ocean went floating by--
+Just as lovely a morning as ever was seen
+For a nice little trip in a flying-machine.
+Thought cunning Darius: "Now I shan't go
+Along 'ith the fellers to see the show.
+I'll say I've got sich a terrible cough!
+An' then, when the folks 'ave all gone off,
+I'll hev full swing fur to try the thing,
+An' practise a little on the wing."
+"Ain't goin' to see the celebration?"
+Says brother Nate. "No; botheration!
+I've got sich a cold--a toothache--I--
+My gracious!--feel's though I should fly!"
+ Said Jotham, "Sho!
+ Guess ye better go."
+ But Darius said, "No!
+Shouldn't wonder 'f you might see me, though,
+'Long 'bout noon, ef I git red
+O' this jumpin', thumpin' pain 'n my head."
+For all the while to himself he said:--
+
+ "I tell ye what!
+I'll fly a few times around the lot,
+To see how 't seems, then soon's I've got
+The hang o' the thing, ez likely's not,
+ I'll astonish the nation,
+ An' all creation,
+By flyin' over the celebration!
+Over their heads I'll sail like an eagle;
+I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull:
+I'll dance on the chimbleys; I'll stand on the steeple;
+I'll flop up to winders an' scare the people!
+I'll light on the liberty-pole, an' crow;
+An' I'll say to the gawpin' fools below,
+ 'What world's this 'ere
+ That I've come near?'
+Fur I'll make 'em b'lieve I'm a chap f'm the moon;
+An' I'll try to race 'ith their ol' balloon!"
+ He crept from his bed;
+And, seeing the others were gone, he said,
+"I'm gittin' over the cold 'n my head."
+ And away he sped,
+To open the wonderful box in the shed.
+
+His brothers had walked but a little way,
+When Jotham to Nathan chanced to say,
+"What is the feller up to, hey!"
+"Don'o'--the 's suthin' ur other to pay,
+Ur he wouldn't 'a' stayed tu hum to-day."
+Says Burke, "His toothache's all 'n his eye!
+_He_ never 'd missed a Fo'th-o'-July,
+Ef he hedn't got some machine to try."
+Then Sol, the little one, spoke: "By darn!
+Le's hurry back an' hide 'n the barn,
+An' pay him fur tellin' us that yarn!"
+"Agreed!" Through the orchard they creep back
+Along by the fences, behind the stack,
+And one by one, through a hole in the wall,
+In under the dusty barn they crawl,
+Dressed in their Sunday garments all;
+And a very astonishing sight was that,
+When each in his cobwebbed coat and hat
+Came up through the floor like an ancient rat
+ And there they hid;
+ And Reuben slid
+The fastenings back, and the door undid.
+ "Keep dark!" said he,
+"While I squint an' see what the' is to see."
+
+As knights of old put on their mail--
+ From head to foot an iron suit,
+Iron jacket and iron boot,
+Iron breeches, and on the head
+No hat, but an iron pot instead,
+ And under the chin the bail,
+(I believe they called the thing a helm,)
+Then sallied forth to overwhelm
+The dragons and pagans that plagued the earth
+ So this _modern_ knight
+ Prepared for flight,
+Put on his wings and strapped them tight
+Jointed and jaunty, strong and light--
+Buckled them fast to shoulder and hip;
+Ten feet they measured from tip to tip
+And a helm had he, but that he wore,
+Not on his head, like those of yore,
+ But more like the helm of a ship.
+
+ "Hush!" Reuben said,
+ "He's up in the shed!
+He's opened the winder--I see his head!
+He stretches it out, an' pokes it about,
+Lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear,
+ An' nobody near;--
+Guess he don' o' who's hid in here!
+He's riggin' a spring-board over the sill!
+Stop laffin', Solomon! Burke, keep still!
+He's a climbin' out now--Of all the things!
+What's he got on? I vum, it's wings!
+An' that 'tother thing? I vum, it's a tail!
+An' there he sits like a hawk on a rail!
+Steppin' careful, he travels the length
+Of his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength.
+Now he stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat;
+Peeks over his shoulder; this way an' that,
+Fur to see 'f the' 's any one passin' by;
+But the' 's on'y a caf an' goslin nigh.
+_They_ turn up aderin' eye,
+To see-- The dragon! he's goin' to fly!
+Away he goes! Jimminy! what a jump!
+ Flop--flop--an' plump
+ To the ground with a thump!
+Flutt'rin' an' flound'rin' all 'n a lump!"
+
+As a demon is hurled by an angel's spear,
+Heels over head, to his proper sphere--
+Heels over head, and head over heels,
+Dizzily down the abyss he wheels
+
+So fell Darius. Upon his crown,
+In the midst of the barn-yard, he came down,
+In a wonderful whirl of tangled strings,
+Broken braces and broken springs.
+Broken tail and broken wings,
+Shooting-stars, and various things;
+Barn-yard litter of straw and chaff,
+And much that wasn't so sweet by half.
+Away with a bellow fled the calf,
+And what was that? Did the gosling laugh?
+'Tis a merry roar from the old barn-door,
+And he hears the voice of Jotham crying,
+"Say, D'rius! how do you like flyin'?"
+Slowly, ruefully, where he lay,
+Darius just turned and looked that way,
+As he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff.
+"Wal, I like flyin' well enough,"
+He said; "but the' ain't such a thunderin' sight
+O' fun in 't when ye come to light."
+
+I just have room for the |MORAL| here:
+And this is the moral--Stick to your sphere.
+Or if you insist, as you have the right,
+On spreading your wings for a loftier flight,
+The moral is--Take care how you light.
+
+ _John Townsend Trowbridge._
+
+
+
+
+ A GREAT FIGHT
+
+
+"There was a man in Arkansaw
+ As let his passions rise,
+And not unfrequently picked out
+ Some other varmint's eyes.
+
+"His name was Tuscaloosa Sam
+ And often he would say,
+'There's not a cuss in Arkansaw
+ I can't whip any day.'
+
+"One morn, a stranger passin' by,
+ Heard Sammy talkin' so,
+And down he scrambled from his hoss,
+ And off his coat did go.
+
+"He sorter kinder shut one eye,
+ And spit into his hand,
+And put his ugly head one side,
+ And twitched his trowsers' band.
+
+"'My boy,' says he, 'it's my belief,
+ Whomever you may be,
+That I kin make you screech, and smell
+ Pertiklor agony.'
+
+"I'm thar,' said Tuscaloosa Sam,
+ And chucked his hat away;
+'I'm thar,' says he, and buttoned up
+ As far as buttons may.
+
+"He thundered on the stranger's mug,
+ The stranger pounded he;
+And oh! the way them critters fit
+ Was beautiful to see.
+
+"They clinched like two rampageous bears,
+ And then went down a bit;
+They swore a stream of six-inch oaths
+ And fit, and fit, and fit.
+
+"When Sam would try to work away,
+ And on his pegs to git,
+The stranger'd pull him back; and so,
+ They fit, and fit, and fit!
+
+"Then like a pair of lobsters, both
+ Upon the ground were knit,
+And yet the varmints used their teeth,
+ And fit, and fit, and fit!!
+
+"The sun of noon was high above,
+ And hot enough to split,
+But only riled the fellers more,
+ That fit, and fit, and fit!!!
+
+"The stranger snapped at Samy's nose,
+ And shortened it a bit;
+And then they both swore awful hard,
+ And fit, and fit, and fit!!!!
+
+"The mud it flew, the sky grew dark,
+ And all the litenins lit;
+But still them critters rolled about,
+ And fit, and fit, and fit!!!!!
+
+"First Sam on top, then t'other chap;
+ When one would make a hit,
+The other'd smell the grass; and so
+ They fit, and fit, and fit!!!!!!
+
+"The night came on, the stars shone out
+ As bright as wimmen's wit;
+And still them fellers swore and gouged,
+ And fit, and fit, and fit!!!!!!!
+
+"The neighbours heard the noise they made,
+ And thought an earthquake lit;
+Yet all the while 'twas him and Sam
+ As fit, and fit, and fit!!!!!!!!
+
+"For miles around the noise was heard;
+ Folks couldn't sleep a bit,
+Because them two rantankerous chaps
+ Still fit, and fit, and fit!!!!!!!!!
+
+"But jist at cock-crow, suddenly,
+ There came an awful pause,
+And I and my old man run out
+ To ascertain the cause.
+
+"The sun was rising in the yeast,
+ And lit the hull concern;
+But not a sign of either chap
+ Was found at any turn.
+
+"Yet, in the region where they fit,
+ We found, to our surprise,
+One pint of buttons, two big knives,
+ Some whiskers, and four, eyes!"
+
+ _Robert Henry Newell._
+
+
+
+
+ THE DONNYBROOK JIG
+
+
+Oh! 'twas Dermot O'Nolan M'Figg,
+That could properly handle a twig,
+ He wint to the fair, and kicked up a dust there,
+In dancing a Donnybrook jig--with his twig.
+Oh! my blessing to Dermot M'Figg.
+
+Whin he came to the midst of the fair,
+He was all in a paugh for fresh air,
+ For the fair very soon, was as full--as the moon,
+Such mobs upon mobs as were there, oh rare!
+So more luck to sweet Donnybrook Fair.
+
+But Dermot, his mind on love bent,
+In search of his sweetheart he went,
+ Peep'd in here and there, as he walked through the fair,
+And took a small drop in each tent--as he went,--
+Oh! on whisky and love he was bent.
+
+And who should he spy in a jig,
+With a meal-man so tall and so big,
+ But his own darling Kate, so gay and so nate?
+Faith! her partner he hit him a dig--the pig,
+He beat the meal out of his wig.
+
+The piper, to keep him in tune,
+Struck up a gay lilt very soon;
+ Until an arch wag cut a hole in the bag,
+And at once put an end to the tune--too soon--
+Och! the music flew up to the moon.
+
+The meal-man he looked very shy,
+While a great big tear stood in his eye,
+ He cried, "Lord, how I'm kilt, all alone for that jilt;
+With her may the devil fly high in the sky,
+For I'm murdered, and don't know for why."
+
+"Oh!" says Dermot, and he in the dance,
+Whilst a step to'ards his foe did advance,
+ "By the Father of Men, say but that word again,
+And I'll soon knock you back in a trance--to your dance,
+For with me you'd have but small chance."
+
+"But," says Kitty, the darlint, says she,
+"If you'll only just listen to me,
+ It's myself that will show that he can't be your foe,
+Though he fought for his cousin--that's me," says she,
+"For sure Billy's related to me.
+
+"For my own cousin-jarmin, Anne Wild,
+Stood for Biddy Mulroony's first child;
+ And Biddy's step-son, sure he married Bess Dunn,
+Who was gossip to Jenny, as mild a child
+As ever at mother's breast smiled.
+
+"And may be you don't know Jane Brown,
+Who served goat's-whey in Dundrum's sweet town?
+ 'Twas her uncle's half-brother, who married my mother,
+And bought me this new yellow gown, to go down
+When the marriage was held in Milltown."
+
+"By the powers, then," says Dermot, "'tis plain,
+Like the son of that rapscallion Cain,
+ My best friend I have kilt, though no blood is spilt,
+But the devil a harm did I mane--that's plain;
+And by me he'll be ne'er kilt again."
+
+ _Viscount Dillon._
+
+
+
+
+ UNFORTUNATE MISS BAILEY
+
+
+A captain bold from Halifax who dwelt in country quarters,
+Betrayed a maid who hanged herself one morning in her Garters.
+His wicked conscience smited him, he lost his Stomach daily,
+And took to drinking Ratafia while thinking of Miss Bailey.
+
+One night betimes he went to bed, for he had caught a Fever;
+Says he, "I am a handsome man, but I'm a gay Deceiver."
+His candle just at twelve o'clock began to burn quite palely,
+A Ghost stepped up to his bedside and said "Behold Miss Bailey!"
+
+"Avaunt, Miss Bailey!" then he cries, "your Face looks white and mealy."
+"Dear Captain Smith," the ghost replied, "you've used me ungenteelly;
+The Crowner's 'Quest goes hard with me because I've acted frailly,
+And Parson Biggs won't bury me though I am dead Miss Bailey."
+
+"Dear Corpse!" said he, "since you and I accounts must once for all
+ close,
+There really is a one pound note in my regimental Smallclothes;
+I'll bribe the sexton for your grave." The ghost then vanished gaily
+Crying "Bless you, Wicked Captain Smith, Remember poor Miss Bailey."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN
+
+The last two stanzas were added by Miss Ferrier.
+
+
+The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud and he's great;
+His mind is ta'en up wi' the things o' the state;
+He wanted a wife his braw house to keep;
+But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.
+
+Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
+At his table-head he thought she'd look well
+M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee--
+A pennyless lass wi' a lang pedigree.
+
+His wig was well-pouther'd, as guid as when new,
+His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue:
+He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat--
+And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?
+
+He took the grey mare, and rade cannilie--
+And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee;
+"Gae tell mistress Jean to come speedily ben:
+She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' Cockpen."
+
+Mistress Jean she was makin' the elder-flower wine;
+"And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?"
+She put off her apron, and on her silk gown,
+Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.
+
+And when she cam' ben, he boued fu' low;
+And what was his errand he soon let her know,
+Amazed was the Laird when the lady said, Na,
+And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa'.
+
+Dumfounder'd he was, but nae sigh did he gi'e;
+He mounted his mare, and rade cannilie;
+And aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen,
+"She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen."
+
+And now that the Laird his exit had made,
+Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;
+"Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten--
+I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen."
+
+Neist time that the Laird and the Lady were seen,
+They were gaun arm and arm to the kirk on the green;
+Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen,
+But as yet there's nae chickens appeared at Cockpen.
+
+ _Lady Nairne._
+
+
+
+
+ A WEDDING
+
+
+I tell thee, Dick, where I have been;
+Where I the rarest things have seen;
+ Oh, things without compare!
+Such sights again can not be found
+ In any place on English ground,
+ Be it at wake or fair.
+
+At Charing Cross, hard by the way
+Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay,
+ There is a house with stairs;
+And there did I see coming down
+Such folks as are not in our town;
+ Vorty at least, in pairs.
+
+Amongst the rest one pest'lent fine
+(His beard no bigger tho' than thine)
+ Walk'd on before the rest;
+Our landlord looks like nothing to him;
+The King (God bless him!) 'twould undo him
+ Should he go still so drest.
+
+At Course-a-park, without all doubt,
+He should have first been taken out
+ By all the maids i' th' town:
+Though lusty Roger there had been,
+Or little George upon the green,
+ Or Vincent of the crown.
+
+But wot you what? The youth was going
+To make an end of all his woing;
+ The parson for him staid:
+Yet by his leave, for all his haste,
+He did not so much wish all past,
+ Perchance as did the maid.
+
+The maid (and thereby hangs a tale)
+For such a maid no Whitson-ale
+ Could ever yet produce;
+No grape that's kindly ripe, could be
+So round, so plump, so soft, as she
+ Nor half so full of juyce.
+
+Her finger was so small, the ring
+Would not stay on which they did bring;
+ It was too wide a peck:
+And, to say truth (for out it must),
+It look'd like the great collar (just)
+ About our young colt's neck.
+
+Her feet beneath her petticoat,
+Like little mice, stole in and out,
+ As if they fear'd the light:
+But oh! she dances such a way;
+No sun upon an Easter day
+ Is half so fine a sight.
+
+Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
+No daisie makes comparison
+ (Who sees them is undone);
+For streaks of red were mingled there,
+Such as are on a Cath'rine pear,
+ The side that's next the Sun.
+
+Her lips were red; and one was thin,
+Compared to that was next her chin
+ (Some bee had stung it newly);
+But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,
+I durst no more upon them gaze,
+ Than on a Sun in July.
+
+Her mouth so small, when she does speak,
+Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break,
+ That they might passage get;
+But she so handled still the matter,
+They came as good as ours, or better,
+ And are not spent a whit.
+
+Passion, oh me! how I run on!
+There's that that would be thought upon,
+ I trow, besides the bride.
+The business of the kitchen's great;
+For it is fit that men should eat,
+ Nor was it there denied.
+
+Just in the nick the Cook knock'd thrice,
+And all the waiters in a trice
+ His summons did obey;
+Each serving man, with dish in hand,
+March'd boldly up like our train'd band,
+ Presented, and away.
+
+When all the meat was on the table,
+What man of knife, or teeth, was able
+ To stay to be entreated?
+And this the very reason was,
+Before the parson could say grace
+ The company was seated.
+
+Now hats fly off, and youths carouse;
+Healths first go round, and then the house,
+ The bride's came thick and thick;
+And when 'twas named another's health,
+Perhaps he made it hers by stealth,
+ (And who could help it, Dick?)
+
+O' th' sudden, up they rise and dance;
+Then sit again, and sigh, and glance:
+ Then dance again, and kiss:
+Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass,
+Till ev'ry woman wish'd her place,
+ And ev'ry man wish'd his.
+
+By this time all were stol'n aside
+To counsel and undress the bride;
+ But that he must not know:
+But yet 'twas thought he guest her mind,
+And did not mean to stay behind
+ Above an hour or so.
+
+ _Sir John Suckling._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ XI
+
+ TRIBUTE
+
+
+
+
+ THE AHKOND OF SWAT
+
+
+Who, or why, or which, or _what_,
+ Is the Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
+Does he sit on a stool or sofa or chair, or Squat,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
+Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold, or Hot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
+And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk, or Trot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
+Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed or a mat, or a Cot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
+Does he cross his t's and finish his i's with a Dot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Can he write a letter concisely clear,
+Without a speck or a smudge or smear or a Blot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Do his people like him extremely well?
+Or do they, whenever they can, rebel, or Plot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+If he catches them then, either old or young,
+Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung, or Shot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Do his people prig in the lanes or park?
+Or even at times, when days are dark, Garotte?
+ Oh, the Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
+Or doesn't he care for public opinion a Jot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+To amuse his mind do his people show him
+Pictures, or any one's last new poem, or What,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
+Do they bring him only a few small cakes, or a Lot,
+ For the Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he live on turnips, tea or tripe,
+Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe
+ or a Dot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
+Like the lady who lived in that isle remote, Shalott.
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
+Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ, or a Scot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave?
+Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave, or a Grott,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
+Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug? or a Pot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
+When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe, or Rot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he wear a white tie when he dines with his friends,
+And tie it neat in a bow with ends, or a Knot,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
+When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes, or Not,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
+Does he sail about on an inland lake, in a Yacht,
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+Some one, or nobody knows I wot
+Who or which or why or what
+ The Ahkond of Swat?
+
+ _Edward Lear._
+
+
+
+
+ THE AHKOOND OF SWAT
+
+"The Ahkoond of Swat is dead."--London Papers of Jan. 22, 1878.
+
+
+What, what, what,
+ What's the news from Swat?
+ Sad news,
+ Bad news,
+Comes by the cable led
+Through the Indian Ocean's bed,
+Through the Persian Gulf, the Red
+Sea and the Med-
+Iterranean--he's dead;
+The Ahkoond is dead!
+
+For the Ahkoond I mourn,
+ Who wouldn't?
+He strove to disregard the message stern,
+ But he Ahkoodn't.
+Dead, dead, dead:
+ (Sorrow, Swats!)
+Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled,
+Swats whom he hath often led
+Onward to a gory bed,
+ Or to victory,
+ As the case might be.
+ Sorrow, Swats!
+Tears shed,
+ Shed tears like water.
+Your great Ahkoond is dead!
+ That Swats the matter!
+
+Mourn, city of Swat,
+Your great Ahkoond is not,
+But laid 'mid worms to rot.
+His mortal part alone, his soul was caught
+ (Because he was a good Ahkoond)
+ Up to the bosom of Mahound.
+Though earthly walls his frame surround
+(Forever hallowed by the ground!)
+
+And skeptics mock the lowly mound
+And say "He's now of no Ahkoond!"
+ His soul is in the skies--
+The azure skies that bend above his loved
+ Metropolis of Swat.
+ He sees with larger, other eyes,
+ Athwart all earthly mysteries--
+ He knows what's Swat.
+Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
+ With a noise of mourning and of lamentation!
+Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
+ With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation!
+ Fallen is at length
+ Its tower of strength;
+ Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned;
+ Dead lies the great Ahkoond,
+ The great Ahkoond of Swat
+ Is not!
+
+ _George Thomas Lanigan._
+
+
+
+
+ DIRGE OF THE MOOLLA OF KOTAL,
+
+ RIVAL OF THE AKHOOND OF SWAT
+
+
+ I
+
+Alas, unhappy land; ill-fated spot
+Kotal--though where or what
+On earth Kotal is, the bard has forgot;
+Further than this indeed he knoweth not--
+It borders upon Swat!
+
+ II
+
+When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
+ But in battal-
+Ions: the gloom that lay on Swat now lies
+ Upon Kotal,
+On sad Kotal whose people ululate
+For their loved Moolla late.
+Put away his little turban,
+And his narghileh embrowned,
+The lord of Kotal--rural urban--
+'S gone unto his last Akhoond,
+'S gone to meet his rival Swattan,
+'S gone, indeed, but not forgotten.
+
+ III
+
+His rival, but in what?
+Wherein did the deceased Akhoond of Swat
+Kotal's lamented Moolla late,
+As it were, emulate?
+Was it in the tented field
+With crash of sword on shield,
+While backward meaner champions reeled
+And loud the tom-tom pealed?
+Did they barter gash for scar
+With the Persian scimetar
+Or the Afghanistee tulwar,
+While loud the tom-tom pealed--
+While loud the tom-tom pealed,
+And the jim-jam squealed,
+And champions less well heeled
+Their war-horses wheeled
+And fled the presence of these mortal big bugs o' the field?
+Was Kotal's proud citadel--
+Bastioned, walled, and demi-luned,
+Beaten down with shot and shell
+By the guns of the Akhoond?
+Or were wails despairing caught, as
+The burghers pale of Swat
+Cried in panic, "Moolla ad Portas?"
+ --Or what?
+Or made each in the cabinet his mark
+Kotalese Gortschakoff, Swattish Bismarck?
+Did they explain and render hazier
+The policies of Central Asia?
+Did they with speeches from the throne,
+ Wars dynastic,
+_Entents cordiales_,
+Between Swat and Kotal;
+Holy alliances,
+And other appliances
+Of statesmen with morals and consciences plastic
+Come by much more than their own?
+Made they mots, as "There to-day is
+No more Himalayehs,"
+Or, if you prefer it, "There to-day are
+No more Himalaya?"
+Or, said the Akhoond, "Sah,
+L'Etat de Swat c'est moi?"
+Khabu, did there come great fear
+On thy Khabuldozed Ameer
+ Ali Shere?
+Or did the Khan of far
+ Kashgar
+Tremble at the menace hot
+Of the Moolla of Kotal,
+"I will extirpate thee, pal
+Of my foe the Akhoond of Swat?"
+ Who knows
+Of Moolla and Akhoond aught more than I did?
+Namely, in life they rivals were, or foes,
+And in their deaths not very much divided?
+If any one knows it,
+Let him disclose it!
+
+ _George Thomas Lanigan._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE
+
+
+A street there is in Paris famous,
+ For which no rhyme our language yields,
+Rue Neuve des Petits Champs its name is--
+ The New Street of the Little Fields.
+And here's an inn, not rich and splendid,
+ But still in comfortable case;
+The which in youth I oft attended,
+ To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse.
+
+This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is--
+ A sort of soup, or broth, or brew,
+Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes,
+ That Greenwich never could outdo:
+Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron,
+ Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace:
+All these you eat at Terre's tavern
+ In that one dish of Bouillabaisse.
+
+Indeed, a rich and savoury stew 'tis;
+ And true philosophers, methinks,
+Who love all sorts of natural beauties,
+ Should love good victuals and good drinks.
+And Cordelier or Benedictine
+ Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace,
+Nor find a fast-day too afflicting,
+ Which served him up a Bouillabaisse.
+
+I wonder if the house still there is?
+ Yes, here the lamp is, as before;
+The smiling red-cheeked _ecaillere_ is
+ Still opening oysters at the door.
+Is Terre still alive and able?
+ I recollect his droll grimace:
+He'd come and smile before your table,
+ And hope you liked your Bouillabaisse.
+
+We enter--nothing's changed or older.
+ "How's Monsieur Terre, waiter, pray?"
+The waiter stares, and shrugs his shoulder--
+ "Monsieur is dead this many a day."
+"It is the lot of saint and sinner,
+ So honest Terre's run his race."
+"What will Monsieur require for dinner?"
+ "Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse?"
+
+"Oh, oui, Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer;
+ "Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il?"
+"Tell me a good one."--"That I can, Sir:
+ The Chambertin with yellow seal."
+"So Terre's gone," I say, and sink in
+ My old accustom'd corner-place;
+"He's done with feasting and with drinking,
+ With Burgundy and with Bouillabaisse."
+
+My old accustom'd corner here is,
+ The table still is in the nook;
+Ah! vanished many a busy year is
+ This well-known chair since last I took.
+When first I saw ye, _cari luoghi_,
+ I'd scarce a beard upon my face,
+And now a grizzled, grim old fogy,
+ I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse.
+
+Where are you, old companions trusty
+ Of early days here met to dine?
+Come, waiter! quick, a flagon crusty--
+ I'll pledge them in the good old wine.
+The kind old voices and old faces
+ My memory can quick retrace;
+Around the board they take their places,
+ And share the wine and Bouillabaisse.
+
+There's Jack has made a wondrous marriage;
+ There's laughing Tom is laughing yet;
+There's brave Augustus drives his carriage;
+ There's poor old Fred in the _Gazette_;
+On James's head the grass is growing:
+ Good Lord! the world has wagged apace
+Since here we set the claret flowing,
+ And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse.
+
+Ah me! how quick the days are flitting!
+ I mind me of a time that's gone,
+When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting,
+ In this same place--but not alone.
+A fair young form was nestled near me,
+ A dear dear face looked fondly up,
+And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me
+ --There's no one now to share my cup.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+I drink it as the Fates ordain it.
+ Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes:
+Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it
+ In memory of dear old times.
+Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is;
+ And sit you down and say your grace
+With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is.
+ --Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse!
+
+ _W. M. Thackeray._
+
+
+
+
+ OULD DOCTOR MACK
+
+
+ Ye may tramp the world over
+ From Delhi to Dover,
+And sail the salt say from Archangel to Arragon,
+ Circumvint back
+ Through the whole Zodiack,
+But to ould Docther Mack ye can't furnish a paragon.
+ Have ye the dropsy,
+ The gout, the autopsy?
+Fresh livers and limbs instantaneous he'll shape yez,
+ No ways infarior
+ In skill, but suparior,
+And lineal postarior to Ould Aysculapius.
+
+ _Chorus_
+
+ He and his wig wid the curls so carroty,
+ Aigle eye, and complexion clarety:
+ Here's to his health,
+ Honor and wealth,
+ The king of his kind and the crame of all charity!
+
+ How the rich and the poor,
+ To consult for a cure,
+Crowd on to his doore in their carts and their carriages,
+ Showin' their tongues
+ Or unlacin' their lungs,
+For divle one symptom the docther disparages.
+ Troth, an' he'll tumble,
+ For high or for humble,
+From his warm feather-bed wid no cross contrariety;
+ Makin' as light
+ Of nursin' all night
+The beggar in rags as the belle of society.
+
+ _Chorus_--He and his wig, etc.
+
+ And as if by a meracle,
+ Ailments hysterical,
+Dad, wid one dose of bread-pills he can smother,
+ And quench the love-sickness
+ Wid wonderful quickness,
+By prescribin' the right boys and girls to aich other.
+ And the sufferin' childer--
+ Your eyes 'twould bewilder
+To see the wee craythurs his coat-tails unravellin',
+ And aich of them fast
+ On some treasure at last,
+Well knowin' ould Mack's just a toy-shop out travellin'.
+
+ _Chorus_--He and his wig, etc.
+
+ Thin, his doctherin' done,
+ In a rollickin' run
+Wid the rod or the gun, he's the foremost to figure.
+ By Jupiter Ammon,
+ What jack-snipe or salmon
+E'er rose to backgammon his tail-fly or trigger!
+ And hark! the view-hollo!
+ 'Tis Mack in full follow
+On black "Faugh-a-ballagh" the country-side sailin'.
+ Och, but you'd think
+ 'Twas old Nimrod in pink,
+Wid his spurs cryin' chink over park-wall and palin'.
+
+ _Chorus_
+
+ He and his wig wid the curls so carroty,
+ Aigle eye, and complexion clarety:
+ Here's to his health,
+ Honor and wealth!
+ Hip, hip, hooray! wid all hilarity,
+ Hip, hip, hooray! That's the way,
+ All at once, widout disparity!
+ One more cheer
+ For our docther dear,
+ The king of his kind and the crame of all charity.
+ Hip, hip, hooray!
+
+ _Alfred Perceval Graves._
+
+
+
+
+ FATHER O'FLYNN
+
+
+Of priests we can offer a charmin' variety,
+Far renowned for larnin' and piety;
+Still, I'd advance ye, widout impropriety,
+ Father O'Flynn as the flower of them all.
+
+ |Chorus|
+
+ _Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn,
+ Slainte, and slainte, and slainte agin;
+ Powerfulest preacher, and
+ Tenderest teacher, and
+ Kindliest creature in ould Donegal._
+
+Don't talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity,
+Famous for ever at Greek and Latinity,
+Dad and the divels and all at Divinity,
+ Father O'Flynn 'd make hares of them all!
+ Come, I venture to give you my word,
+ Never the likes of his logic was heard,
+ Down from Mythology
+ Into Thayology,
+ Troth! and Conchology if he'd the call.
+
+ _Chorus._
+
+Och! Father O'Flynn, you've the wonderful way wid you,
+All ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you,
+All the young childer are wild for to play wid you,
+ You've such a way wid you, Father avick!
+ Still for all you've so gentle a soul,
+ Gad, you've your flock in the grandest control;
+ Checking the crazy ones,
+ Coaxin' onaisy ones,
+ Liftin' the lazy ones on wid the stick.
+
+ _Chorus._
+
+And though quite avoidin' all foolish frivolity,
+Still at all seasons of innocent jollity,
+Where was the play-boy could claim an equality
+ At comicality, Father, wid you?
+Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest,
+Till this remark set him off wid the rest:
+ "Is it lave gaiety
+ All to the laity?
+Cannot the clargy he Irishmen too?"
+
+ _Chorus._
+
+ _Alfred Perceval Graves._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BALD-HEADED TYRANT
+
+
+O the quietest home in earth had I,
+ No thought of trouble, no hint of care;
+Like a dream of pleasure the days fled by,
+ And Peace had folded her pinions there.
+But one day there joined in our household band
+A bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.
+
+Oh, the despot came in the dead of night,
+ And no one ventured to ask him why;
+Like slaves we trembled before his might,
+ Our hearts stood still when we heard him cry;
+For never a soul could his power withstand,
+That bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.
+
+He ordered us here, and he sent us there--
+ Though never a word could his small lips speak--
+With his toothless gums and his vacant stare,
+ And his helpless limbs so frail and weak,
+Till I cried, in a voice of stern command,
+"Go up, thou bald-head from No-man's-land!"
+
+But his abject slaves they turned on me;
+ Like the bears in Scripture, they'd rend me there,
+The while they worshiped with bended knee
+ This ruthless wretch with the missing hair;
+For he rules them all with relentless hand,
+This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.
+
+Then I searched for help in every clime,
+ For peace had fled from my dwelling now,
+Till I finally thought of old Father Time,
+ And low before him I made my bow.
+"Wilt thou deliver me out of his hand,
+This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land?"
+
+Old Time he looked with a puzzled stare,
+ And a smile came over his features grim.
+"I'll take the tyrant under my care:
+ Watch what my hour-glass does to him.
+The veriest humbug that ever was planned
+Is this same bald-head from No-man's-land."
+
+Old Time is doing his work full well--
+ Much less of might does the tyrant wield;
+But, ah! with sorrow my heart will swell,
+ And sad tears fall as I see him yield.
+Could I stay the touch of that shriveled hand,
+I would keep the bald-head from No-man's-land.
+
+For the loss of peace I have ceased to care;
+ Like other vassals, I've learned, forsooth,
+To love the wretch who forgot his hair
+ And hurried along without a tooth,
+And he rules me too with his tiny hand,
+This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.
+
+ _Mary E. Vandyne._
+
+
+
+
+ BARNEY McGEE
+
+
+Barney McGee, there's no end of good luck in you,
+Will-o'-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in you,
+Wild as a bull-pup, and all of his pluck in you--
+Let a man tread on your coat and he'll see!
+Eyes like the lakes of Killarney for clarity,
+Nose that turns up without any vulgarity,
+Smile like a cherub, and hair that is carroty--
+Whoop, you're a rarity, Barney McGee!
+Mellow as Tarragon,
+Prouder than Aragon--
+Hardly a paragon,
+You will agree--
+Here's all that's fine to you!
+Books and old wine to you!
+Girls be divine to you,
+Barney McGee!
+
+Lucky the day when I met you unwittingly,
+Dining where vagabonds came and went flittingly.
+Here's some _Barbera_ to drink it befittingly,
+That day at Silvio's, Barney McGee!
+Many's the time we have quaffed our Chianti there,
+Listened to Silvio quoting us Dante there--
+Once more to drink Nebiolo Spumante there,
+How we'd pitch Pommery into the sea!
+There where the gang of us
+Met ere Rome rang of us,
+They had the hang of us
+To a degree.
+How they would trust to you!
+That was but just to you.
+Here's o'er their dust to you,
+Barney McGee!
+
+Barney McGee, when you're sober you scintillate,
+But when you're in drink you're the pride of the intellect;
+Divil a one of us ever came in till late,
+Once at the bar where you happened to be--
+Every eye there like a spoke in you centering,
+You with your eloquence, blarney, and bantering--
+All Vagabondia shouts at your entering,
+King of the Tenderloin, Barney McGee!
+There's no satiety
+In your society
+With the variety
+Of your _esprit_.
+Here's a long purse to you,
+And a great thirst to you!
+Fate be no worse to you,
+Barney McGee!
+
+Och, and the girls whose poor hearts you deracinate,
+Whirl and bewilder and flutter and fascinate!
+Faith, it's so killing you are, you assassinate--
+Murder's the word for you, Barney McGee!
+Bold when they're sunny, and smooth when they're showery--
+Oh, but the style of you, fluent and flowery!
+Chesterfield's way, with a touch of the Bowery!
+How, would they silence you, Barney machree?
+Naught can your gab allay,
+Learned as Rabelais
+(You in his abbey lay
+Once on the spree).
+Here's to the smile of you,
+(Oh, but the guile of you!)
+And a long while of you,
+Barney McGee!
+
+Facile with phrases of length and Latinity,
+Like honorificabilitudinity,
+Where is the maid could resist your vicinity,
+Wiled by the impudent grace of your plea?
+Then your vivacity and pertinacity
+Carry the day with the divil's audacity;
+No mere veracity robs your sagacity
+Of perspicacity, Barney McGee.
+When all is new to them,
+What will you do to them?
+Will you be true to them?
+Who shall decree?
+Here's a fair strife to you!
+Health and long life to you!
+And a great wife to you, Barney McGee!
+
+Barney McGee, you're the pick of gentility;
+Nothing can phase you, you've such a facility;
+Nobody ever yet found your utility
+There is the charm of you, Barney McGee;
+Under conditions that others would stammer in,
+Still unperturbed as a cat or a Cameron,
+Polished as somebody in the Decameron,
+Putting the glamour on price or Pawnee.
+In your meanderin',
+Love and philanderin',
+Calm as a mandarin
+Sipping his tea!
+Under the art of you,
+Parcel and part of you,
+Here's to the heart of you,
+Barney McGee!
+
+You who were ever alert to befriend a man,
+You who were ever the first to defend a man,
+You who had always the money to lend a man,
+Down on his luck and hard up for a V!
+Sure, you'll be playing a harp in beatitude
+(And a quare sight you will be in that attitude)--
+Some day, where gratitude seems but a platitude,
+You'll find your latitude, Barney McGee.
+That's no flim-flam at all,
+Frivol or sham at all,
+Just the plain--Damn it all,
+Have one with me!
+Here's one and more to you!
+Friends by the score to you,
+True to the core to you,
+Barney MeGee!
+
+ _Richard Hovey._
+
+
+
+
+ ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE
+
+
+My curse upon your venom'd stang,
+That shoots my tortur'd gooms alang;
+An' thro' my lug gies monie a twang,
+ Wi' gnawing vengeance,
+Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
+ Like racking engines!
+
+A' down my beard the slavers trickle!
+I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
+While round the fire the giglets keckle
+ To see me loup;
+An', raving mad, I wish a heckle
+ Were i' their doup!
+
+When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
+Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes,
+Our neebors sympathize to ease us
+ Wi' pitying moan;
+But thee!--thou hell o' a' diseases,
+ They mock our groan!
+
+Of a' the num'rous human dools,
+Ill-hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
+Or worthy frien's laid i' the mools,
+ Sad sight to see!
+The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,
+ Thou bear'st the gree!
+
+Whare'er that place be priests ca' hell,
+Whare a' the tones o' misery yell,
+An' ranked plagues their numbers tell
+ In dreadfu' raw,
+Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell
+ Amang them a'!
+
+O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,
+That gars the notes o' discord squeel,
+'Till humankind aft dance a reel
+ In gore a shoe-thick;--
+Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal
+ A towmond's toothache!
+
+ _Robert Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO
+
+
+May the Babylonish curse
+Straight confound my stammering verse,
+If I can a passage see
+In this word-perplexity,
+Or a fit expression find,
+Or a language to my mind,
+(Still the phrase is wide or scant)
+To take leave of thee, _great plant_!
+
+Or in any terms relate
+Half my love, or half my hate:
+For I hate, yet love thee so,
+That, whichever thing I show,
+The plain truth will seem to be
+A contrain'd hyperbole,
+And the passion to proceed
+More from a mistress than a weed.
+
+ Sooty retainer to the vine,
+Bacchus' black servant, negro fine;
+Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon
+Thy begrimed complexion,
+And, for thy pernicious sake,
+More and greater oaths to break
+Than reclaimed lovers take
+'Gainst women: thou thy siege dost lay
+Much too in the female way,
+While thou suck'st the laboring breath
+Faster than kisses or than death.
+
+ Thou in such a cloud dost bind us
+That our worst foes cannot find us,
+And ill-fortune, that would thwart us,
+Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;
+While each man, through thy height'ning steam,
+Does like a smoking Etna seem,
+And all about us does express
+(Fancy and wit in richest dress)
+A Sicilian fruitfulness.
+
+ Thou through such a mist dost show us
+That our best friends do not know us,
+And, for those allowed features,
+Due to reasonable creatures,
+Liken'st us to fell Chimeras,
+Monsters,--that who see us, fear us;
+Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,
+Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion.
+
+ Bacchus we know, and we allow
+His tipsy rites. But what art thou
+That but by reflex canst show
+What his deity can do,
+As the false Egyptian spell
+Aped the true Hebrew miracle?
+Some few vapors thou may'st raise,
+The weak brain may serve to amaze,
+But to the reins and nobler heart
+Canst nor life nor heat impart.
+
+ Brother of Bacchus, later born,
+The old world was sure forlorn
+Wanting thee, that aidest more
+The god's victories than, before,
+All his panthers, and the brawls
+Of his piping Bacchanals.
+These, as stale, we disallow,
+Or judge of _thee_ meant: only thou
+His true Indian conquest art;
+And, for ivy round his dart,
+The reformed god now weaves
+A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.
+
+ Scent to match thy rich perfume
+Chemic art did ne'er presume
+Through her quaint alembic strain,
+None so sov'reign to the brain;
+Nature, that did in thee excel,
+Framed again no second smell,
+Roses, violets, but toys
+For the smaller sort of boys,
+Or for greener damsels meant;
+Thou art the only manly scent.
+
+ Stinkingest of the stinking kind!
+Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind!
+Africa, that brags her foison,
+Breeds no such prodigious poison!
+Henbane, nightshade, both together,
+Hemlock, aconite--
+
+ Nay, rather,
+Plant divine, of rarest virtue;
+Blisters on the tongue would hurt you!
+'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee;
+None e'er prosper'd who defamed thee;
+Irony all, and feign'd abuse,
+Such as perplex'd lovers use,
+At a need, when, in despair
+To paint forth their fairest fair,
+Or in part but to express
+That exceeding comeliness
+Which their fancies doth so strike,
+They borrow language of dislike;
+And, instead of Dearest Miss,
+Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,
+And those forms of old admiring,
+Call her Cockatrice and Siren,
+Basilisk, and all that's evil,
+Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil,
+Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor,
+Monkey, Ape, and twenty more;
+Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe--
+Not that she is truly so,
+But no other way they know
+A contentment to express,
+Borders so upon excess,
+That they do not rightly wot
+Whether it be from pain or not.
+
+ Or, as men constrain'd to part
+With what's nearest to their heart,
+While their sorrow's at the height,
+Lose discrimination quite,
+And their hasty wrath let fall,
+To appease their frantic gall,
+On the darling thing whatever,
+Whence they feel it death to sever
+Though it be, as they, perforce,
+Guiltless of the sad divorce.
+
+ For I must (nor let it grieve thee,
+Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee.
+For thy sake, |TOBACCO|, I
+Would do anything but die,
+And but seek to extend my days
+Long enough to sing thy praise.
+But, as she who once hath been
+A king's consort is a queen
+Ever after, nor will bate
+Any tittle of her state
+Though a widow, or divorced,
+So I, from thy converse forced,
+The old name and style retain,
+A right Katherine of Spain;
+And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys
+Of the blest Tobacco Boys;
+Where, though I, by sour physician,
+Am debarr'd the full fruition
+Of thy favors, I may catch
+Some collateral sweets, and snatch
+Sidelong odors, that give life
+Like glances from a neighbor's wife;
+And still live in the by-places
+And the suburbs of thy graces;
+And in thy borders take delight,
+An unconquer'd Canaanite.
+
+ _Charles Lamb._
+
+
+
+
+ JOHN BARLEYCORN
+
+
+There were three kings into the east,
+ Three kings both great and high;
+And they hae sworn a solemn oath
+ John Barleycorn should die.
+
+They took a plough and plough'd him down,
+ Put clods upon his head;
+And they hae sworn a solemn oath
+ John Barleycorn was dead.
+
+But the cheerful spring came kindly on,
+ And showers began to fall:
+John Barleycorn got up again,
+ And sore surprised them all.
+
+The sultry suns of summer came,
+ And he grew thick and strong;
+His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
+ That no one should him wrong.
+
+The sober autumn enter'd mild,
+ When he grew wan and pale;
+His bending joints and drooping head
+ Show'd he began to fail.
+
+His colour sicken'd more and more,
+ He faded into age;
+And then his enemies began
+ To show their deadly rage.
+
+They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp,
+ And cut him by the knee;
+Then tied him fast upon a cart,
+ Like a rogue for forgerie.
+
+They laid him down upon his back,
+ And cudgell'd him full sore;
+They hung him up before the storm,
+ And turn'd him o'er and o'er.
+
+They filled up a darksome pit
+ With water to the brim:
+They heaved in John Barleycorn,
+ There let him sink or swim.
+
+They laid him out upon the floor,
+ To work him further woe:
+And still, as signs of life appear'd,
+ They toss'd him to and fro.
+
+They wasted o'er a scorching flame
+ The marrow of his bones;
+But a miller used him worst of all--
+ He crush'd him 'tween two stones.
+
+And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood,
+ And drank it round and round,
+And still the more and more they drank,
+ Their joy did more abound.
+
+John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
+ Of noble enterprise;
+For if you do but taste his blood,
+ 'Twill make your courage rise.
+
+'Twill make a man forget his woe;
+ 'Twill heighten all his joy:
+'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
+ Though the tear were in her eye.
+
+Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
+ Each man a glass in hand;
+And may his great posterity
+ Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
+
+ _Robert Burns._
+
+
+
+
+ STANZAS TO PALE ALE
+
+
+Oh! I have loved thee fondly, ever
+ Preferr'd thee to the choicest wine;
+From thee my lips they could not sever
+ By saying thou contain'dst strychnine.
+Did I believe the slander? Never!
+ I held thee still to be divine.
+
+For me thy color hath a charm,
+ Although 'tis true they call thee Pale;
+And be thou cold when I am warm,
+ As late I've been--so high the scale
+Of |Fahrenheit|--and febrile harm
+ Allay, refrigerating Ale!
+
+How sweet thou art!--yet bitter, too
+ And sparkling, like satiric fun;
+But how much better thee to brew,
+ Than a conundrum or a pun,
+It is, in every point of view,
+ Must be allow'd by every one.
+
+Refresh my heart and cool my throat,
+ Light, airy child of malt and hops!
+That dost not stuff, engross, and bloat
+ The skin, the sides, the chin, the chops,
+And burst the buttons off the coat,
+ Like stout and porter--fattening slops!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ ODE TO TOBACCO
+
+
+Thou who, when fears attack,
+Bidst them avaunt, and Black
+Care, at the horseman's back
+ Perching, unseatest;
+Sweet, when the morn is gray;
+Sweet, when they've cleared away
+Lunch; and at close of day
+ Possibly sweetest:
+
+I have a liking old
+For thee, though manifold
+Stories, I know, are told,
+ Not to thy credit;
+How one (or two at most)
+Drops make a cat a ghost--
+Useless, except to roast--
+ Doctors have said it:
+
+How they who use fusees
+All grow by slow degrees
+Brainless as chimpanzees,
+ Meagre as lizards;
+Go mad, and beat their wives;
+Plunge (after shocking lives)
+Razors and carving knives
+ Into their gizzards.
+
+Confound such knavish tricks!
+Yet know I five or six
+Smokers who freely mix
+ Still with their neighbors;
+Jones--(who, I'm glad to say,
+Asked leave of Mrs. J.)--
+Daily absorbs a clay
+ After his labors.
+
+Cats may have had their goose
+Cooked by tobacco-juice;
+Still why deny its use
+ Thoughtfully taken?
+We're not as tabbies are:
+Smith, take a fresh cigar!
+Jones, the tobacco-jar!
+ Here's to thee, Bacon!
+
+_Charles Stuart Calverley._
+
+
+
+
+ SONNET TO A CLAM
+
+ DUM TACENT CLAIMANT
+
+
+Inglorious friend! most confident I am
+ Thy life is one of very little ease;
+ Albeit men mock thee with their similes
+And prate of being "happy as a clam!"
+What though thy shell protects thy fragile head
+ From the sharp bailiffs of the briny sea?
+ Thy valves are, sure, no safety-valves to thee,
+While rakes are free to desecrate thy bed,
+And bear thee off--as foemen take their spoil--
+ Far from thy friends and family to roam;
+ Forced, like a Hessian, from thy native home,
+To meet destruction in a foreign broil!
+ Though thou art tender yet thy humble bard
+ Declares, O clam! thy case is shocking hard!
+
+ _John G. Saxe._
+
+
+
+
+ TO A FLY
+
+ TAKEN OUT OF A BOWL Of PUNCH
+
+
+Ah! poor intoxicated little knave,
+Now senseless, floating on the fragrant wave;
+ Why not content the cakes alone to munch?
+Dearly thou pay'st for buzzing round the bowl;
+Lost to the world, thou busy sweet-lipped soul--
+ Thus Death, as well as Pleasure, dwells with Punch.
+
+Now let me take thee out, and moralize--
+Thus 'tis with mortals, as it is with flies,
+ Forever hankering after Pleasure's cup:
+Though Fate, with all his legions, be at hand,
+The beasts, the draught of Circe can't withstand,
+ But in goes every nose--they must, will sup.
+
+Mad are the passions, as a colt untamed!
+ When Prudence mounts their backs to ride them mild.
+They fling, they snort, they foam, they rise inflamed,
+ Insisting on their own sole will so wild.
+
+Gadsbud! my buzzing friend, thou art not dead;
+The Fates, so kind, have not yet snapped thy thread;
+By heavens, thou mov'st a leg, and now its brother.
+And kicking, lo, again, thou mov'st another!
+
+And now thy little drunken eyes unclose,
+And now thou feelest for thy little nose,
+ And, finding it, thou rubbest thy two hands
+Much as to say, "I'm glad I'm here again."
+And well mayest thou rejoice--'tis very plain,
+ That near wert thou to Death's unsocial lands.
+
+And now thou rollest on thy back about,
+Happy to find thyself alive, no doubt--
+ Now turnest--on the table making rings,
+Now crawling, forming a wet track,
+Now shaking the rich liquor from thy back,
+ Now fluttering nectar from thy silken wings.
+
+Now standing on thy head, thy strength to find,
+And poking out thy small, long legs behind;
+And now thy pinions dost thou briskly ply;
+Preparing now to leave me--farewell, fly!
+
+Go, join thy brothers on yon sunny board,
+And rapture to thy family afford--
+ There wilt thou meet a mistress, or a wife,
+That saw thee drunk, drop senseless in the stream.
+Who gave, perhaps, the wide-resounding scream,
+ And now sits groaning for thy precious life.
+
+Yes, go and carry comfort to thy friends,
+And wisely tell them thy imprudence ends.
+Let buns and sugar for the future charm;
+These will delight, and feed, and work no harm
+ While Punch, the grinning, merry imp of sin,
+Invites th' unwary wanderer to a kiss,
+Smiles in his face, as though he meant him bliss,
+ Then, like an alligator, drags him in.
+
+ _John Wolcot._
+
+
+
+
+ ODE TO A BOBTAILED CAT
+
+
+Felis Infelix! Cat unfortunate,
+ With nary narrative!
+ Canst thou no tail relate
+ Of how
+ (Miaow!)
+ Thy tail end came to terminate so bluntly
+ Didst wear it off by
+ Sedentary habits
+ As do the rabbits?
+
+ Didst go a
+ Fishing with it,
+ Wishing with it
+ To "bob" for catfish,
+ And get bobbed thyself?
+ Curses on that fish!
+
+ Didst lose it in kittenhood,
+ Hungrily chawing it?
+ Or, gaily pursuing it,
+ Did it make tangent
+ From thy swift circuit?
+
+ Did some brother Greyback--
+ Yowling
+ And howling
+ In nocturnal strife,
+ Spitting and staring
+ Cursing and swearing,
+ Ripping and tearing,
+ Calling thee "Sausagetail,"
+ Abbreviate thy suffix?
+ Or did thy jealous wife
+ Detect yer
+ In some sly flirtation,
+ And, after caudal lecture,
+ Bite off thy termination?
+ And sarve yer right!
+
+ Did some mischievous boy,
+ Some barbarous boy,
+ Eliminate thy finis?
+ (Probably!)
+ The wretch!
+ The villain!
+ Cruelly spillin'
+ Thy innocent blood!
+
+ Furiously scratch him
+ Where'er yer may catch him!
+
+ Well, Bob, this course now is left,
+ Since thus of your tail you're bereft:
+ Tell your friend that by letter
+ From Paris
+ You have learned the style there is
+ To wear the tail short,
+ And the briefer the better;
+ Such is the passion,
+ That every Grimalkin will
+ Follow your fashion.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ A DIRGE
+
+CONCERNING THE LATE LAMENTED KING OF THE CANNIBAL ISLANDS
+
+
+And so our royal relative is dead!
+ And so he rests from gustatory labors!
+The white man was his choice, but when he fed
+ He'd sometimes entertain his tawny neighbors.
+He worshipped, as he said, his "Fe-fo-fum,"
+The goddess of the epigastrium.
+
+And missionaries graced his festive board,
+ Solemn and succulent, in twos and dozens,
+And smoked before their hospitable lord,
+ Welcome as if they'd been his second cousins.
+When cold, he warmed them as he would his kin--
+They came as strangers, and he took them in.
+
+And generous!--oh, wasn't he? I have known him
+ Exhibit a celestial amiability:--
+He'd eat an enemy, and then would own him
+ Of flavor excellent, despite hostility.
+The crudest captain of the Turkish navy
+He buried in an honorable grave--y.
+
+He had a hundred wives. To make things pleasant
+ They found it quite judicious to adore him;--
+And when he dined, the nymphs were always present--
+ Sometimes beside him and sometimes--before him.
+When he was tired of one, he called her "sweet,"
+And told her she was "good enough to eat."
+
+He was a man of taste--and justice, too;
+ He opened his mouth for e'en the humblest sinner,
+And three weeks stall-fed an emaciate Jew
+ Before they brought him to the royal dinner.
+With preacher-men he shared his board and wallet
+And let them nightly occupy his palate!
+
+We grow like what we eat. Bad food depresses;
+ Good food exalts us like an inspiration,
+And missionary on the _menu_ blesses
+ And elevates the Feejee population.
+A people who for years, saints, bairns, and women ate
+Must soon their vilest qualities eliminate.
+
+But the deceased could never hold a candle
+ To those prim, pale-faced people of propriety
+Who gloat o'er gossip and get fat on scandal--
+ The cannibals of civilized society;
+They drink the blood of brothers with their rations,
+And crunch the bones of living reputations.
+
+They kill the soul; he only claimed the dwelling.
+ They take the sharpened scalpel of surmises
+And cleave the sinews when the heart is swelling,
+ And slaughter Fame and Honor for their prizes.
+They make the spirit in the body quiver;
+They quench the Light! He only took the--Liver!
+
+I've known some hardened customers, I wot,
+ A few tough fellows--pagans beyond question--
+I wish had got into his dinner-pot;
+ Although I'm certain they'd defy digestion,
+And break his jaw, and ruin his esophagus,
+Were he the chief of beings anthropophagous!
+
+How fond he was of children! To his breast
+ The tenderest nurslings gained a free admission.
+Rank he despised, nor, if they came well dressed,
+ Cared if they were plebeian or patrician.
+Shade of Leigh Hunt! Oh, guide this laggard pen
+To write of one who loved his fellow men!
+
+ _William Augustus Croffut._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ XII
+
+ WHIMSEY
+
+
+
+
+ AN ELEGY
+
+ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE
+
+
+Good people all, with one accord,
+ Lament for Madam Blaize,
+Who never wanted a good word--
+ From those who spoke her praise.
+
+The needy seldom pass'd her door,
+ And always found her kind;
+She freely lent to all the poor--
+ Who left a pledge behind.
+
+She strove the neighborhood to please
+ With manners wondrous winning;
+And never follow'd wicked ways--
+ Unless when she was sinning.
+
+At church, in silks and satins new,
+ With hoop of monstrous size,
+She never slumber'd in her pew--
+ But when she shut her eyes.
+
+Her love was sought, I do aver,
+ By twenty beaux and more;
+The King himself has follow'd her--
+ When she has walk'd before.
+
+But now, her wealth and finery fled,
+ Her hangers-on cut short all;
+The doctors found, when she was dead--
+ Her last disorder mortal.
+
+Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
+ For Kent Street well may say,
+That had she lived a twelvemonth more
+ She had not died to-day.
+
+ _Oliver Goldsmith._
+
+
+
+
+ PARSON GRAY
+
+
+A quiet home had Parson Gray,
+ Secluded in a vale;
+His daughters all were feminine,
+ And all his sons were male.
+
+How faithfully did Parson Gray
+ The bread of life dispense--
+Well "posted" in theology,
+ And post and rail his fence.
+
+'Gainst all the vices of the age
+ He manfully did battle;
+His chickens were a biped breed,
+ And quadruped his cattle.
+
+No clock more punctually went,
+ He ne'er delayed a minute--
+Nor ever empty was his purse,
+ When he had money in it.
+
+His piety was ne'er denied;
+ His truths hit saint and sinner;
+At morn he always breakfasted;
+ He always dined at dinner.
+
+He ne'er by any luck was grieved,
+ By any care perplexed--
+No filcher he, though when he preached,
+ He always "took" a text.
+
+As faithful characters he drew
+ As mortal ever saw;
+But ah! poor parson! when he died,
+ His breath he could not draw!
+
+ _Oliver Goldsmith._
+
+
+
+
+ THE IRISHMAN AND THE LADY
+
+
+ There was a lady liv'd at Leith,
+ A lady very stylish, man;
+ And yet, in spite of all her teeth,
+ She fell in love with an Irishman--
+ A nasty, ugly Irishman,
+ A wild, tremendous Irishman,
+A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, ranting, roaring Irishman.
+
+ His face was no ways beautiful,
+ For with small-pox 'twas scarr'd across;
+ And the shoulders of the ugly dog
+ Were almost double a yard across.
+ Oh, the lump of an Irishman,
+ The whiskey-devouring Irishman,
+The great he-rogue with his wonderful brogue--the fighting, rioting
+ Irishman!
+
+ One of his eyes was bottle-green,
+ And the other eye was out, my dear;
+ And the calves of his wicked-looking legs
+ Were more than two feet about, my dear.
+ Oh, the great big Irishman,
+ The rattling, battling Irishman--
+The stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering, leathering swash of an
+ Irishman!
+
+ He took so much of Lundy-foot
+ That he used to snort and snuffle--O!
+ And in shape and size the fellow's neck
+ Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo.
+ Oh, the horrible Irishman,
+ The thundering, blundering Irishman--
+The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, thrashing, hashing Irishman!
+
+ His name was a terrible name, indeed,
+ Being Timothy Thady Mulligan;
+ And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch
+ He'd not rest till he fill'd it full again.
+ The boosing, bruising Irishman,
+ The 'toxicated Irishman--
+The whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, no dandy Irishman!
+
+ This was the lad the lady lov'd,
+ Like all the girls of quality;
+ And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith,
+ Just by the way of jollity.
+ Oh, the leathering Irishman,
+ The barbarous, savage Irishman--
+The hearts of the maids, and the gentlemen's heads, were bothered, I'm
+ sure, by this Irishman!
+
+ _William Maginn._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CATARACT OF LODORE
+
+
+ "How does the water
+ Come down at Lodore?"
+ My little boy asked me
+ Thus, once on a time;
+ And moreover he tasked me
+ To tell him in rhyme.
+ Anon at the word,
+ There first came one daughter,
+ And then came another,
+ To second and third
+ The request of their brother,
+ And to hear how the water
+ Comes down at Lodore,
+ With its rush and its roar,
+ As many a time
+ They had seen it before.
+ So I told them in rhyme,
+ For of rhymes I had store;
+ And 'twas in my vocation
+ For their recreation
+ That so I should sing;
+ Because I was Laureate
+ To them and the King.
+
+ From its sources which well
+ In the tarn on the fell;
+ From its fountains
+ In the mountains,
+ Its rills and its gills;
+ Through moss and through brake,
+ It runs and it creeps
+ For a while till it sleeps
+ In its own little lake.
+ And thence at departing,
+ Awakening and starting,
+ It runs through the reeds,
+ And away it proceeds,
+ Through meadow and glade,
+ In sun and in shade,
+ And through the wood-shelter,
+ Among crags in its flurry,
+ Helter-skelter,
+ Hurry-skurry,
+ Here it comes sparkling,
+ And there it lies darkling;
+ Now smoking and frothing
+ Its tumult and wrath in,
+ Till, in this rapid race
+ On which it is bent,
+ It reaches the place
+ Of its steep descent.
+
+ The cataract strong
+ Then plunges along,
+ Striking and raging
+ As if a war waging
+ Its caverns and rocks among;
+ Rising and leaping,
+ Sinking and creeping,
+ Swelling and sweeping,
+ Showering and springing,
+ Flying and flinging,
+ Writhing and wringing,
+ Eddying and whisking,
+ Spouting and frisking,
+ Turning and twisting
+ Around and around
+ With endless rebound:
+ Smiting and fighting,
+ A sight to delight in;
+ Confounding, astounding,
+ Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.
+
+ Collecting, projecting,
+ Receding and speeding,
+ And shocking and rocking,
+ And darting and parting,
+ And threading and spreading,
+ And whizzing and hissing,
+ And dripping and skipping,
+ And hitting and splitting,
+ And shining and twining,
+ And rattling and battling,
+ And shaking and quaking,
+ And pouring and roaring,
+ And waving and raving,
+ And tossing and crossing,
+ And flowing and going,
+ And running and stunning,
+ And foaming and roaming,
+ And dinning and spinning,
+ And dropping and hopping,
+ And working and jerking,
+ And guggling and struggling,
+ And heaving and cleaving,
+ And moaning and groaning;
+ And glittering and frittering,
+ And gathering and feathering,
+ And whitening and brightening,
+ And quivering and shivering,
+ And hurrying and skurrying,
+ And thundering and floundering;
+
+ Dividing and gliding and sliding,
+ And falling and brawling and sprawling,
+ And driving and riving and striving,
+ And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
+ And sounding and bounding and rounding,
+ And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
+ And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,
+ And clattering and battering and shattering;
+
+Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,
+Delaying and straying and playing and spraying.
+Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
+Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling,
+And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,
+And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing,
+And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,
+And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,
+And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
+And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;
+And so never ending, but always descending,
+Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending,
+All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,--
+And this way the water comes down at Lodore.
+
+ _Robert Southey._
+
+
+
+
+LAY OF THE DESERTED INFLUENZAED
+
+
+Doe, doe!
+ I shall dever see her bore!
+Dever bore our feet shall rove
+ The beadows as of yore!
+Dever bore with byrtle boughs
+ Her tresses shall I twide--
+Dever bore her bellow voice
+ Bake bellody with bide!
+Dever shall we lidger bore,
+ Abid the flow'rs at dood,
+Dever shall we gaze at dight
+ Upon the tedtder bood!
+ Ho, doe, doe!
+ Those berry tibes have flowd,
+Ad I shall dever see her bore,
+ By beautiful! by owd!
+ Ho, doe, doe!
+ I shall dever see her bore,
+She will forget be id a bonth,
+ (Bost probably before)--
+She will forget the byrtle boughs,
+ The flow'rs we plucked at dood,
+Our beetigs by the tedtder stars.
+ Our gazigs at the bood.
+Ad I shall dever see agaid
+ The Lily and the Rose;
+The dabask cheek! the sdowy brow!
+ The perfect bouth ad dose!
+ Ho, doe, doe!
+ Those berry tibes have flowd--
+Ad I shall dever see her bore,
+ By beautiful! by owd!!
+
+ _H. Cholmondeley-Pennell._
+
+
+
+
+ BELAGCHOLLY DAYS
+
+
+Chilly Dovebber with his boadigg blast
+ Dow cubs add strips the beddow add the lawd,
+Eved October's suddy days are past--
+ Add Subber's gawd!
+
+I kdow dot what it is to which I cligg
+ That stirs to sogg add sorrow, yet I trust
+That still I sigg, but as the liddets sigg--
+ Because I bust.
+
+Add dow, farewell to roses add to birds,
+ To larded fields and tigkligg streablets eke;
+Farewell to all articulated words
+ I faid would speak.
+
+Farewell, by cherished strolliggs od the sward,
+ Greed glades add forest shades, farewell to you;
+With sorrowing heart I, wretched add forlord,
+ Bid you--achew!!!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ RHYME OF THE RAIL
+
+
+Singing through the forests,
+ Rattling over ridges,
+Shooting under arches,
+ Rumbling over bridges,
+Whizzing through the mountains,
+ Buzzing o'er the vale--
+Bless me! this is pleasant,
+ Riding on the Rail!
+
+Men of different "stations"
+ In the eye of Fame
+Here are very quickly
+ Coming to the same.
+High and lowly people,
+ Birds of every feather,
+On a common level
+ Travelling together.
+
+Gentleman in shorts,
+ Looming very tall;
+Gentleman at large,
+ Talking very small;
+Gentleman in tights,
+ With a loose-ish mien;
+Gentleman in grey,
+ Looking rather green;
+
+Gentleman quite old,
+ Asking for the news;
+Gentleman in black,
+ In a fit of blues;
+Gentleman in claret,
+ Sober as a vicar;
+Gentleman in tweed,
+ Dreadfully in liquor!
+
+Stranger on the right,
+ Looking very sunny,
+Obviously reading
+ Something very funny.
+Now the smiles are thicker,
+ Wonder what they mean?
+Faith, he's got the |Knicker-
+ Bocker| Magazine!
+
+Stranger on the left,
+ Closing up his peepers;
+Now he snores again,
+ Like the Seven Sleepers;
+At his feet a volume
+ Gives the explanation,
+How the man grew stupid
+ From "Association."
+
+Ancient maiden lady
+ Anxiously remarks,
+That there must be peril
+ 'Mong so many sparks;
+Roguish-looking fellow,
+ Turning to the stranger,
+Says it's his opinion
+ _She_ is out of danger!
+
+Woman with her baby,
+ Sitting _vis-a-vis_,
+Baby keeps a-squalling,
+ Woman looks at me;
+Asks about the distance,
+ Says it's tiresome talking,
+Noises of the cars
+ Are so very shocking!
+
+Market-woman, careful
+ Of the precious casket,
+Knowing eggs are eggs,
+ Tightly holds her basket;
+Feeling that a smash,
+ If it came, would surely
+Send her eggs to pot
+ Rather prematurely.
+
+Singing through the forests,
+ Rattling over ridges,
+Shooting under arches,
+ Rumbling over bridges,
+Whizzing through the mountains,
+ Buzzing o'er the vale;
+Bless me! this is pleasant,
+ Riding on the Rail!
+
+ _John G. Saxe._
+
+
+
+
+ ECHO
+
+
+I asked of Echo, t'other day
+ (Whose words are often few and funny),
+What to a novice she could say
+ Of courtship, love, and matrimony.
+ Quoth Echo plainly,--"Matter-o'-money!"
+
+Whom should I marry? Should it be
+ A dashing damsel, gay and pert,
+A pattern of inconstancy;
+ Or selfish, mercenary flirt?
+ Quoth Echo, sharply,--"Nary flirt!"
+
+What if, aweary of the strife
+ That long has lured the dear deceiver,
+She promise to amend her life,
+ And sin no more; can I believe her?
+ Quoth Echo, very promptly,--"Leave her!"
+
+But if some maiden with a heart
+ On me should venture to bestow it,
+Pray, should I act the wiser part
+ To take the treasure or forego it?
+ Quoth Echo, with decision,--"Go it!"
+
+But what if, seemingly afraid
+ To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter,
+She vow she means to die a maid,
+ In answer to my loving letter?
+ Quoth Echo, rather coolly,--"Let her!"
+
+What if, in spite of her disdain,
+ I find my heart intwined about
+With Cupid's dear delicious chain
+ So closely that I can't get out?
+ Quoth Echo, laughingly,--"Get out!"
+
+But if some maid with beauty blest,
+ As pure and fair as Heaven can make her,
+Will share my labor and my rest
+ Till envious Death shall overtake her?
+ Quoth Echo (sotto voce),--"Take her!"
+
+ _John G. Saxe._
+
+
+
+
+ SONG
+
+
+Echo, tell me, while I wander
+ O'er this fairy plain to prove him,
+If my shepherd still grows fonder,
+ Ought I in return to love him?
+ Echo: Love him, love him!
+
+If he loves, as is the fashion,
+ Should I churlishly forsake him?
+Or in pity to his passion,
+ Fondly to my bosom take him?
+ Echo: Take him, take him!
+
+Thy advice then, I'll adhere to,
+ Since in Cupid's chains I've led him;
+And with Henry shall not fear to
+ Marry, if you answer, "Wed him!"
+ Echo: Wed him, wed him!
+
+ _Joseph Addison._
+
+
+
+
+ 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.
+_Shepherd._ What must we do our passion to express?
+_Echo._ Press.
+_Shepherd._ How shall I please her, who ne'er loved before?
+_Echo._ Before.
+_Shepherd._ What most moves women when we them address?
+_Echo._ A dress.
+_Shepherd._ Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore?
+_Echo._ A door.
+_Shepherd._ If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre.
+_Echo._ Liar.
+_Shepherd._ Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her?
+_Echo._ Buy her.
+_Shepherd._ When bought, no question I shall be her dear?
+_Echo._ Her deer.
+_Shepherd._ But deer have horns: how must I keep her under?
+_Echo._ Keep her under.
+_Shepherd._ But what can glad me when she's laid on bier?
+_Echo._ Beer.
+_Shepherd._ What must I do so women will be kind?
+_Echo._ Be kind.
+_Shepherd._ What must I do when women will be cross?
+_Echo._ Be cross.
+_Shepherd._ Lord, what is she that can so turn and wind?
+_Echo._ Wind.
+_Shepherd._ If she be wind, what stills her when she blows?
+_Echo._ Blows.
+_Shepherd._ But if she bang again, still should I bang her?
+_Echo._ Bang her.
+_Shepherd._ Is there no way to moderate her anger?
+_Echo._ Hang her.
+_Shepherd._ Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers tell
+ What woman is and how to guard her well.
+_Echo._ Guard her well.
+
+ _Dean Swift._
+
+
+
+
+ LAY OF ANCIENT ROME
+
+
+Oh, the Roman was a rogue,
+ He erat was, you bettum;
+He ran his automobilus
+ And smoked his cigarettum.
+He wore a diamond studibus
+ And elegant cravattum,
+A maxima cum laude shirt
+ And such a stylish hattum!
+
+He loved the luscious hic-haec-hoc,
+ And bet on games and equi;
+At times he won at others though,
+ He got it in the nequi;
+He winked, (quo usque tandem?) at
+ Puellas on the Forum,
+And sometimes, too, he even made
+ Those goo-goo oculorum!
+
+He frequently was seen
+ At combats gladiatorial
+And ate enough to feed
+ Ten boarders at Memorial;
+He often went on sprees
+ And said, on starting homus,
+"Hic labour--opus est,
+ Oh, where's my hic--hic--domus?"
+
+Although he lived in Rome,--
+ Of all the arts the middle--
+He was, (excuse the phrase,)
+ A horrid individ'l;
+Ah, what a different thing
+ Was the homo (dative, hominy)
+Of far away B. C.
+ From us of Anno Domini.
+
+ _Thomas R. Ybarra._
+
+
+
+
+ A NEW SONG
+
+ OF NEW SIMILES
+
+
+My passion is as mustard strong;
+ I sit all sober sad;
+Drunk as a piper all day long,
+ Or like a March-hare mad.
+
+Round as a hoop the bumpers flow;
+ I drink, yet can't forget her;
+For though as drunk as David's sow
+ I love her still the better.
+
+Pert as a pear-monger I'd be,
+ If Molly were but kind;
+Cool as a cucumber could see
+ The rest of womankind.
+
+Like a stuck pig I gaping stare,
+ And eye her o'er and o'er;
+Lean as a rake, with sighs and care,
+ Sleek as a mouse before.
+
+Plump as a partridge was I known,
+ And soft as silk my skin;
+My cheeks as fat as butter grown,
+ But as a goat now thin!
+
+I melancholy as a cat,
+ Am kept awake to weep;
+But she, insensible of that,
+ Sound as a top can sleep.
+
+Hard is her heart as flint or stone,
+ She laughs to see me pale;
+And merry as a grig is grown,
+ And brisk as bottled ale.
+
+The god of Love at her approach
+ Is busy as a bee;
+Hearts sound as any bell or roach,
+ Are smit and sigh like me.
+
+Ah me! as thick as hops or hail
+ The fine men crowd about her;
+But soon as dead as a door-nail
+ Shall I be, if without her.
+
+Straight as my leg her shape appears,
+ O were we join'd together!
+My heart would be scot-free from cares,
+ And lighter than a feather.
+
+As fine as five-pence is her mien,
+ No drum was ever tighter;
+Her glance is as the razor keen,
+ And not the sun is brighter.
+
+As soft as pap her kisses are,
+ Methinks I taste them yet;
+Brown as a berry is her hair,
+ Her eyes as black as jet.
+
+As smooth as glass, as white as curds
+ Her pretty hand invites;
+Sharp as her needle are her words,
+ Her wit like pepper bites.
+
+Brisk as a body-louse she trips,
+ Clean as a penny drest;
+Sweet as a rose her breath and lips,
+ Round as the globe her breast.
+
+Full as an egg was I with glee,
+ And happy as a king:
+Good Lord! how all men envied me!
+ She loved like any thing.
+
+But false as hell, she, like the wind,
+ Chang'd, as her sex must do;
+Though seeming as the turtle kind,
+ And like the gospel true.
+
+If I and Molly could agree,
+ Let who would take Peru!
+Great as an Emperor should I be,
+ And richer than a Jew.
+
+Till you grow tender as a chick,
+ I'm dull as any post;
+Let us like burs together stick,
+ And warm as any toast.
+
+You'll know me truer than a die,
+ And wish me better sped;
+Flat as a flounder when I lie,
+ And as a herring dead.
+
+Sure as a gun she'll drop a tear
+ And sigh, perhaps, and wish,
+When I am rotten as a pear,
+ And mute as any fish.
+
+ _John Gay._
+
+
+
+
+ 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 sequestered 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's 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 a 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 wondering 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.
+
+ _Robert H. Newell._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ZEALLESS XYLOGRAPHER
+
+DEDICATED TO THE END OF THE DICTIONARY
+
+
+A xylographer started to cross the sea
+ By means of a Xanthic Xebec;
+But, alas! he sighed for the Zuyder Zee,
+ And feared he was in for a wreck.
+He tried to smile, but all in vain,
+ Because of a Zygomatic pain;
+And as for singing, his cheeriest tone
+ Reminded him of a Xylophone--
+Or else, when the pain would sharper grow,
+ His notes were as keen as a Zuffolo.
+And so it is likely he did not find
+ On board Xenodochy to his mind.
+The fare was poor, and he was sure
+ Xerofphagy he could not endure;
+Zoophagous surely he was, I aver,
+ This dainty and starving Xylographer.
+Xylophagous truly he could not be--
+ No sickly vegetarian he!
+He'd have blubbered like any old Zeuglodon
+ Had Xerophthalmia not come on.
+And the end of it was he never again
+ In a Xanthic Xebec went sailing the main.
+
+ _Mary Mapes Dodge._
+
+
+
+
+ THE OLD LINE FENCE
+
+
+Zig-zagging it went
+ On the line of the farm,
+ And the trouble it caused
+ Was often quite warm,
+ |The old line fence|.
+ It was changed every year
+ By decree of the court,
+ To which, when worn out,
+ Our sires would resort
+|With the old line fence|.
+ In hoeing their corn,
+ When the sun, too, was hot,
+ They surely would jaw,
+ Punch or claw, when they got
+ |To the old line fence|.
+ In dividing the lands
+ It fulfilled no desires,
+ But answered quite well
+ In "dividing" our sires,
+|This old line fence|.
+ Though sometimes in this
+ It would happen to fail,
+ When, with top rail in hand,
+ One would flare up and scale
+ |The old line fence|!
+ Then the conflict was sharp
+ On debatable ground,
+ And the fertile soil there
+ Would be mussed far around
+|The old line fence|.
+ It was shifted so oft
+ That no flowers there grew.
+ What frownings and clods,
+ And what words were shot through
+ |The old line fence|!
+ Our sires through the day
+ There would quarrel or fight,
+ With a vigour and vim,
+ But 'twas different at night
+|By the old line fence|.
+ The fairest maid there
+ You would have descried
+ That ever leaned soft
+ On the opposite side
+ |Of an old line fence|.
+ Where our fathers built hate
+ There we builded our love,
+ Breathed our vows to be true
+ With our hands raised above
+|The old line fence|.
+ Its place might be changed,
+ But there we would meet,
+ With our heads through the rails,
+ And with kisses most sweet,
+ |At the old line fence|.
+ It was love made the change,
+ And the clasping of hands
+ Ending ages of hate,
+ And between us now stands
+|Not a sign of line fence|.
+ No debatable ground
+ Now enkindles alarms.
+ I've the girl I met there,
+ And, well, both of the farms,
+ |And no line fence|.
+
+ _A. W. Bellow._
+
+
+
+
+ O-U-G-H
+
+|a fresh hack at an old knot|
+
+
+I'm taught p-l-o-u-g-h
+ S'all be pronounce "plow."
+"Zat's easy w'en you know," I say,
+ "Mon Anglais, I'll get through!"
+
+My teacher say zat in zat case,
+ O-u-g-h is "oo."
+And zen I laugh and say to him,
+ "Zees Anglais make me cough."
+
+He say "Not 'coo,' but in zat word,
+ O-u-g-h is 'off,'"
+Oh, Sacre bleu! such varied sounds
+ Of words makes me hiccough!
+
+He say, "Again mon frien' ees wrong;
+ O-u-g-h is 'up'
+In hiccough." Zen I cry, "No more,
+ You make my t'roat feel rough."
+
+"Non, non!" he cry, "you are not right;
+ O-u-g-h is 'uff.'"
+I say, "I try to spik your words,
+ I cannot spik zem though!"
+
+"In time you'll learn, but now you're wrong!
+ O-u-g-h is 'owe.'"
+"I'll try no more, I s'all go mad,
+ I'll drown me in ze lough!"
+
+"But ere you drown yourself," said he,
+ "O-u-g-h is 'ock.'"
+He taught no more, I held him fast,
+ And killed him wiz a rough.
+
+ _Charles Battell Loomis._
+
+
+
+
+ ENIGMA ON THE LETTER H
+
+
+'Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered in hell,
+And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell;
+On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest,
+And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed;
+'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder,
+Be seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder.
+'Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath,
+It assists at his birth and attends him in death,
+Presides o'er his happiness, honor, and health,
+Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth,
+In the heaps of the miser is hoarded with care,
+But is sure to be lost in his prodigal heir.
+It begins every hope, every wish it must bound,
+It prays with the hermit, with monarchs is crowned;
+Without it the soldier, the sailor, may roam,
+But woe to the wretch who expels it from home.
+In the whisper of conscience 'tis sure to be found,
+Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion is drowned;
+'Twill soften the heart, but, though deaf to the ear,
+It will make it acutely and instantly hear;
+But, in short, let it rest like a delicate flower;
+Oh, breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour.
+
+ _Catherine Fanshawe._
+
+
+
+
+ TRAVESTY OF MISS FANSHAWE'S ENIGMA
+
+
+I dwells in the Hearth, and I breathes in the Hair;
+If you searches the Hocean, you'll find that I'm there.
+The first of all Hangels in Holympus am Hi,
+Yet I'm banished from 'Eaven, expelled from on 'igh.
+But, though on this Horb I'm destined to grovel,
+I'm ne'er seen in an 'Ouse, in an 'Ut, nor an 'Ovel.
+Not an 'Orse, not an 'Unter e'er bears me, alas!
+But often I'm found on the top of a Hass.
+I resides in a Hattic, and loves not to roam,
+And yet I'm invariably absent from 'Ome.
+Though 'Ushed in the 'Urricane, of the Hatmosphere part,
+I enters no 'Ed, I creeps into no 'Art.
+Only look, and you'll see in the Heye Hi appear;
+Only 'Ark, and you'll 'Ear me just breathe in the Hear.
+Though in sex not an 'E, I am (strange paradox)
+Not a bit of an 'Effer, but partly a Hox.
+Of Heternity I'm the beginning! and, mark,
+Though I goes not with Noar, I'm first in the Hark.
+I'm never in 'Ealth; have with Fysic no power,
+I dies in a month, but comes back in a Hour.
+
+ _Horace Mayhew._
+
+
+
+
+AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG
+
+
+Good people all, of every sort,
+ Give ear unto my song;
+And if you find it wondrous short,--
+ It cannot hold you long.
+
+In Islington there was a man,
+ Of whom the world might say
+That still a godly race he ran,--
+ Whene'er he went to pray.
+
+A kind and gentle heart he had,
+ To comfort friends and foes;
+The naked every day he clad,--
+ When he put on his clothes.
+
+And in that town a dog was found,
+ As many dogs there be,
+Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
+ And curs of low degree.
+
+The 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.
+
+Around from all the neighboring streets,
+ The wondering neighbors ran,
+And swore the dog had lost his wits
+ To bite so good a man.
+
+The wound it seemed both sore and sad
+ To every Christian eye;
+And while they swore the dog was mad
+ They swore the man would die.
+
+But soon a wonder came to light,
+ That showed the rogues they lied;
+The man recovered of the bite,
+ The dog it was that died.
+
+ _Oliver Goldsmith._
+
+
+
+
+ AN EPITAPH
+
+
+Interred beneath this marble stone
+Lie sauntering Jack and idle Joan.
+While rolling threescore years and one
+Did round this globe their courses run.
+If human things went ill or well,
+If changing empires rose or fell,
+The morning past, the evening came,
+And found this couple just the same.
+They walked and ate, good folks. What then?
+Why, then they walked and ate again;
+They soundly slept the night away;
+They did just nothing all the day,
+Nor sister either had, nor brother;
+They seemed just tallied for each other.
+Their moral and economy
+Most perfectly they made agree;
+Each virtue kept its proper bound,
+Nor trespassed on the other's ground.
+Nor fame nor censure they regarded;
+They neither punished nor rewarded.
+He cared not what the footman did;
+Her maids she neither praised nor chid;
+So every servant took his course,
+And, bad at first, they all grew worse;
+Slothful disorder filled his stable,
+And sluttish plenty decked her table.
+Their beer was strong, their wine was port;
+Their meal was large, their grace was short.
+They gave the poor the remnant meat,
+Just when it grew not fit to eat.
+They paid the church and parish rate,
+And took, but read not, the receipt;
+For which they claimed their Sunday's due
+Of slumbering in an upper pew.
+No man's defects sought they to know,
+So never made themselves a foe.
+No man's good deeds did they commend,
+So never raised themselves a friend.
+Nor cherished they relations poor,
+That might decrease their present store;
+Nor barn nor house did they repair,
+That might oblige their future heir.
+They neither added nor confounded;
+They neither wanted nor abounded.
+Nor tear nor smile did they employ
+At news of grief or public joy
+When bells were rung and bonfires made,
+If asked, they ne'er denied their aid;
+Their jug was to the ringers carried,
+Whoever either died or married.
+Their billet at the fire was found,
+Whoever was deposed or crowned.
+Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise;
+They would not learn, nor could advise;
+Without love, hatred, joy, or fear,
+They led--a kind of--as it were;
+Nor wished, nor cared, nor laughed, nor cried.
+And so they lived, and so they died.
+
+ _Matthew Prior._
+
+
+
+
+ OLD GRIMES
+
+
+Old Grimes is dead; that good old man
+ We never shall see more:
+He used to wear a long, black coat,
+ All button'd down before.
+
+His heart was open as the day,
+ His feelings all were true;
+His hair was some inclined to gray--
+ He wore it in a queue.
+
+Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
+ His breast with pity burn'd;
+The large, round head upon his cane
+ From ivory was turn'd.
+
+Kind words he ever had for all;
+ He knew no base design:
+His eyes were dark and rather small,
+ His nose was aquiline.
+
+He lived at peace with all mankind,
+ In friendship he was true:
+His coat had pocket-holes behind,
+ His pantaloons were blue.
+
+Unharm'd, the sin which earth pollutes
+ He pass'd securely o'er,
+And never wore a pair of boots
+ For thirty years or more.
+
+But good old Grimes is now at rest,
+ Nor fears misfortune's frown:
+He wore a double-breasted vest--
+ The stripes ran up and down.
+
+He modest merit sought to find,
+ Any pay it its desert:
+He had no malice in his mind,
+ No ruffles on his shirt.
+
+His neighbors he did not abuse--
+ Was sociable and gay:
+He wore large buckles on his shoes,
+ And changed them every day.
+
+His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
+ He did not bring to view,
+Nor made a noise, town-meeting days,
+ As many people do.
+
+His worldly goods he never threw
+ In trust to fortune's chances,
+But lived (as all his brothers do)
+ In easy circumstances.
+
+Thus undisturb'd by anxious cares,
+ His peaceful moments ran;
+And everybody said he was
+ A fine old gentleman.
+
+ _Albert Gorton Greene._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ENDLESS SONG
+
+
+Oh, I used to sing a song,
+An' dey said it was too long,
+So I cut it off de en'
+To accommodate a frien'
+ Nex' do', nex' do'--
+To accommodate a frien' nex' do'.
+
+But it made de matter wuss
+Dan it had been at de fus,
+'Ca'ze de en' was gone, an' den
+Co'se it didn't have no en'
+ Any mo', any mo'--
+Oh, it didn't have no en' any mo'!
+
+So, to save my frien' from sinnin',
+I cut off de song's beginnin';
+Still he cusses right along
+Whilst I sings _about_ my song
+ Jes so, jes so--
+Whilst I sings _about_ my song _jes so_.
+
+How to please 'im is my riddle,
+So I'll fall back on my fiddle;
+For I'd stan' myself on en'
+To accommodate a frien'
+ Nex' do', nex' do'--
+To accommodate a frien' nex' do'.
+
+ _Ruth McEnery Stuart._
+
+
+
+
+ THE HUNDRED BEST BOOKS
+
+
+First there's the Bible,
+ And then the Koran,
+Odgers on Libel,
+ Pope's Essay on Man,
+Confessions of Rousseau,
+ The Essays of Lamb,
+Robinson Crusoe
+ And Omar Khayyam,
+Volumes of Shelley
+ And Venerable Bede,
+Machiavelli
+ And Captain Mayne Reid,
+Fox upon Martyrs
+ And Liddell and Scott,
+Stubbs on the Charters,
+ The works of La Motte,
+The Seasons by Thomson,
+ And Paul de Verlaine,
+Theodore Mommsen
+ And Clemens (Mark Twain),
+The Rocks of Hugh Miller,
+ The Mill on the Floss,
+The Poems of Schiller,
+ The Iliados,
+Don Quixote (Cervantes),
+ La Pucelle by Voltaire,
+Inferno (that's Dante's),
+ And Vanity Fair,
+Conybeare-Howson,
+ Brillat-Savarin,
+And Baron Munchausen,
+ Mademoiselle De Maupin,
+The Dramas of Marlowe,
+ The Three Musketeers,
+Clarissa Harlowe,
+ And the Pioneers,
+Sterne's Tristram Shandy,
+ The Ring and the Book,
+And Handy Andy,
+ And Captain Cook,
+The Plato of Jowett,
+ And Mill's Pol. Econ.,
+The Haunts of Howitt,
+ The Encheiridion,
+Lothair by Disraeli,
+ And Boccaccio,
+The Student's Paley,
+ And Westward Ho!
+The Pharmacop[oe]ia,
+ Macaulay's Lays,
+Of course The Medea,
+ And Sheridan's Plays,
+The Odes of Horace,
+ And Verdant Green,
+The Poems of Morris,
+ The Faery Queen,
+The Stones of Venice,
+ Natural History (White's),
+And then Pendennis,
+ The Arabian Nights,
+Cicero's Orations,
+ Plain Tales from the Hills,
+The Wealth of Nations,
+ And Byles on Bills,
+As in a Glass Darkly,
+ Demosthenes' Crown,
+The Treatise of Berkeley,
+ Tom Hughes's Tom Brown,
+The Mahabharata,
+ The Humour of Hook,
+The Kreutzer Sonata,
+ And Lalla Rookh,
+Great Battles by Creasy,
+ And Hudibras,
+And Midshipman Easy,
+ And Rasselas,
+Shakespeare _in extenso_
+ And the AEneid,
+And Euclid (Colenso),
+ The Woman who Did,
+Poe's Tales of Mystery,
+ Then Rabelais,
+Guizot's French History,
+ And Men of the Day,
+Rienzi, by Lytton,
+ The Poems of Burns,
+The Story of Britain,
+ The Journey (that's Sterne's),
+The House of Seven Gables,
+ Carroll's Looking-glass,
+AEsop his Fables,
+ And Leaves of Grass,
+Departmental Ditties,
+ The Woman in White,
+The Tale of Two Cities,
+ Ships that Pass in the Night,
+Meredith's Feverel,
+ Gibbon's Decline,
+Walter Scott's Peveril,
+ And--some verses of mine.
+
+ _Mostyn T. Pigott._
+
+
+
+
+ THE COSMIC EGG
+
+
+Upon a rock, yet uncreate,
+Amid a chaos inchoate,
+An uncreated being sate;
+Beneath him, rock,
+Above him, cloud.
+And the cloud was rock,
+And the rock was cloud.
+The rock then growing soft and warm,
+The cloud began to take a form,
+A form chaotic, vast and vague,
+Which issued in the cosmic egg.
+Then the Being uncreate
+On the egg did incubate,
+And thus became the incubator;
+And of the egg did allegate,
+And thus became the alligator;
+And the incubator was potentate,
+But the alligator was potentator.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ FIVE WINES
+
+
+Brisk methinks I am, and fine
+When I drink my cap'ring wine;
+Then to love I do incline,
+When I drink my wanton wine;
+And I wish all maidens mine,
+When I drink my sprightly wine;
+Well I sup and well I dine,
+When I drink my frolic wine;
+But I languish, lower, and pine,
+When I want my fragrant wine.
+
+ _Robert Herrick._
+
+
+
+
+ A RHYME FOR MUSICIANS
+
+
+Haendel, Bendel, Mendelssohn,
+Brendel, Wendel, Jadassohn,
+Mueller, Hiller, Heller, Franz,
+Plothow, Flotow, Burto, Ganz.
+
+Meyer, Geyer, Meyerbeer,
+Heyer, Weyer, Beyer, Beer,
+Lichner, Lachner, Schachner, Dietz,
+Hill, Will, Bruell, Grill, Drill, Reiss, Rietz.
+
+Hansen, Jansen, Jensen, Kiehl,
+Siade, Gade, Laade, Stiehl,
+Naumann, Riemann, Diener, Wurst,
+Niemann, Kiemann, Diener, Furst.
+
+Kochler, Dochler, Rubinstein,
+Himmel, Hummel, Rosenhain,
+Lauer, Bauer, Kleinecke,
+Homberg, Plomberg, Reinecke.
+
+ _E. Lemke._
+
+
+
+
+ MY MADELINE
+
+ SERENADE IN M FLAT
+
+SUNG BY MAJOR MARMADUKE MUTTONHEAD TO MADEMOISELLE MADELINE MENDOZA
+
+
+My Madeline! my Madeline!
+ Mark my melodious midnight moans;
+Much may my melting music mean,
+ My modulated monotones.
+
+My mandolin's mild minstrelsy,
+ My mental music magazine,
+My mouth, my mind, my memory,
+ Must mingling murmur "Madeline!"
+
+Muster 'mid midnight masquerades,
+ Mark Moorish maidens, matrons' mien;
+'Mongst Murcia's most majestic maids,
+ Match me my matchless Madeline.
+
+Mankind's malevolence may make
+ Much melancholy musing mine;
+Many my motives may mistake,
+ My modest merits much malign.
+
+My Madeline's most mirthful mood
+ Much mollifies my mind's machine,
+My mournfulness's magnitude
+ Melts--make me merry, Madeline!
+
+Match-making mas may machinate,
+ Man[oe]uvring misses me mis-ween;
+Mere money may make many mate,
+ My magic motto's "Madeline!"
+
+Melt, most mellifluous melody,
+ 'Midst Murcia's misty mounts marine;
+Meet me 'mid moonlight; marry me,
+ _Madonna mia_! my Madeline!
+
+ _Walter Parke._
+
+
+
+
+ SUSAN SIMPSON
+
+
+Sudden swallows swiftly skimming,
+ Sunset's slowly spreading shade,
+Silvery songsters sweetly singing,
+ Summer's soothing serenade.
+
+Susan Simpson strolled sedately,
+ Stifling sobs, suppressing sighs.
+Seeing Stephen Slocum, stately
+ She stopped, showing some surprise.
+
+"Say," said Stephen, "sweetest sigher;
+ Say, shall Stephen spouseless stay?"
+Susan, seeming somewhat shyer,
+ Showed submissiveness straightway.
+
+Summer's season slowly stretches,
+ Susan Simpson Slocum she--
+So she signed some simple sketches--
+ Soul sought soul successfully.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Six Septembers Susan swelters;
+ Six sharp seasons snow supplies;
+Susan's satin sofa shelters
+ Six small Slocums side by side.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE MARCH TO MOSCOW
+
+
+ The Emperor Nap he would set off
+ On a summer excursion to Moscow;
+The fields were green and the sky was blue,
+ Morbleu! Parbleu!
+ What a splendid excursion to Moscow!
+
+ Four hundred thousand men and more
+ Must go with him to Moscow:
+ There were Marshals by the dozen,
+ And Dukes by the score;
+ Princes a few, and Kings one or two;
+While the fields are so green, and the sky so blue,
+ Morbleu! Parbleu!
+ What a pleasant excursion to Moscow!
+
+ There was Junot and Augereau,
+ Heigh-ho for Moscow!
+ Dombrowsky and Poniatowsky,
+ Marshall Ney, lack-a-day!
+ General Rapp, and the Emperor Nap;
+ Nothing would do,
+While the fields were so green, and the sky so blue,
+ Morbleu! Parbleu!
+ Nothing would do
+ For the whole of his crew,
+ But they must be marching to Moscow.
+
+ The Emperor Nap he talk'd so big
+ That he frighten'd Mr. Roscoe.
+ John Bull, he cries, if you'll be wise,
+ Ask the Emperor Nap if he will please
+ To grant you peace upon your knees,
+ Because he is going to Moscow!
+He'll make all the Poles come out of their holes,
+And beat the Russians, and eat the Prussians;
+For the fields are green, and the sky is blue,
+ Morbleu! Parbleu!
+ And he'll certainly march to Moscow!
+ And Counsellor Brougham was all in a fume
+ At the thought of the march to Moscow:
+ The Russians, he said, they were undone,
+ And the great Fee-Faw-Fum
+ Would presently come,
+ With a hop, step, and jump, unto London,
+ For, as for his conquering Russia,
+ However some persons might scoff it,
+ Do it he could, do it he would,
+And from doing it nothing would come but good,
+ And nothing could call him off it.
+Mr. Jeffrey said so, who must certainly know,
+ For he was the Edinburgh Prophet.
+They all of them knew Mr. Jeffrey's Review,
+Which with Holy Writ ought to be reckon'd:
+It was, through thick and thin, to its party true,
+ Its back was buff, and its sides were blue,
+ Morbleu! Parbleu!
+ It served them for law and for gospel too.
+
+ But the Russians stoutly they turned to
+ Upon the road to Moscow.
+ Nap had to fight his way all through;
+They could fight, though they could not parlez-vous;
+But the fields were green, and the sky was blue,
+ Morbleu! Parbleu!
+ And so he got to Moscow.
+
+ He found the place too warm for him,
+ For they set fire to Moscow.
+ To get there had cost him much ado,
+ And then no better course he knew
+While the fields were green, and the sky was blue,
+ Morbleu! Parbleu!
+ But to march back again from Moscow.
+
+ The Russians they stuck close to him
+ All on the road from Moscow.
+ There was Tormazow and Jemalow,
+ And all the others that end in ow;
+ Milarodovitch and Jaladovitch,
+ And Karatschkowitch,
+ And all the others that end in itch;
+ Schamscheff, Souchosaneff,
+ And Schepaleff,
+ And all the others that end in eff:
+ Wasiltschikoff, Kotsomaroff,
+ And Tchoglokoff,
+ And all the others that end in off;
+ Rajeffsky, and Novereffsky,
+ And Rieffsky,
+ And all the others that end in effsky;
+ Oscharoffsky and Rostoffsky,
+ And all the others that end in offsky;
+ And Platoff he play'd them off,
+ And Shouvaloff he shovell'd them off,
+ And Markoff he mark'd them off,
+ And Krosnoff he cross'd them off,
+ And Touchkoff he touch'd them off,
+ And Boroskoff he bored them off,
+ And Kutousoff he cut them off,
+ And Parenzoff he pared them off,
+ And Worronzoff he worried them off,
+ And Doctoroff he doctor'd them off,
+ And Rodinoff he flogg'd them off.
+ And, last of all, an Admiral came,
+ A terrible man with a terrible name,
+A name which you all know by sight very well,
+But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.
+They stuck close to Nap with all their might;
+ They were on the left and on the right
+Behind and before, and by day and by night;
+ He would rather parlez-vous than fight;
+ But he look'd white, and he look'd blue.
+ Morbleu! Parbleu!
+ When parlez-vous no more would do.
+ For they remember'd Moscow.
+
+ And then came on the frost and snow
+ All on the road from Moscow.
+The wind and the weather he found, in that hour,
+Cared nothing for him, nor for all his power;
+For him who, while Europe crouch'd under his rod,
+Put his trust in his Fortune, and not in his God.
+Worse and worse every day the elements grew,
+The fields were so white and the sky was so blue,
+ Sacrebleu! Ventrebleu!
+ What a horrible journey from Moscow!
+
+ What then thought the Emperor Nap
+ Upon the road from Moscow?
+ Why, I ween he thought it small delight
+ To fight all day, and to freeze all night;
+ And he was besides in a very great fright,
+ For a whole skin he liked to be in;
+ And so not knowing what else to do,
+When the fields were so white, and the sky so blue,
+ Morbleu! Parbleu!
+ He stole away,--I tell you true,--
+ Upon the road from Moscow.
+ 'Tis myself, quoth he, I must mind most;
+ So the devil may take the hindmost.
+
+ Too cold upon the road was he;
+ Too hot had he been at Moscow;
+ But colder and hotter he may be,
+ For the grave is colder than Moscovy;
+ And a place there is to be kept in view,
+Where the fire is red, and the brimstone blue,
+ Morbleu! Parbleu!
+ Which he must go to,
+ If the Pope say true,
+ If he does not in time look about him;
+ Where his namesake almost
+ He may have for his Host;
+ He has reckon'd too long without him;
+ If that Host get him in Purgatory,
+He won't leave him there alone with his glory;
+ But there he must stay for a very long day,
+ For from thence there is no stealing away,
+ As there was on the road from Moscow.
+
+ _Robert Southey._
+
+
+
+
+ HALF HOURS WITH THE CLASSICS
+
+
+Ah, those hours when by-gone sages
+ Led our thoughts through Learning's ways,
+When the wit of sunnier ages,
+ Called once more to Earth the days
+When rang through Athens' vine-hung lanes
+Thy wild, wild laugh, Aristophanes!
+
+Pensive through the land of Lotus,
+ Sauntered we by Nilus' side;
+Garrulous old Herodotus
+ Still our mentor, still our guide,
+Prating of the mystic bliss
+Of Isis and of Osiris.
+
+All the learn'd ones trooped before us,
+ All the wise of Hellas' land,
+Down from mythic Pythagoras,
+ To the hemlock drinker grand.
+Dark the hour that closed the gates
+Of gloomy Dis on thee, Socrates.
+
+Ah, those hours of tend'rest study,
+ When Electra's poet told
+Of Love's cheek once warm and ruddy,
+ Pale with grief, with death chill cold!
+Sobbing low like summer tides
+Flow thy verses, Euripides!
+
+High our hearts beat when Cicero
+ Shook the Capitolian dome;
+How we shuddered, watching Nero
+ 'Mid the glare of blazing Rome!
+How those records still affright us
+On thy gloomy page, Tacitus!
+
+Back to youth I seem to glide, as
+ I recall those by-gone scenes,
+When we conned o'er Thucydides,
+ Or recited Demosthenes.
+
+ L'ENVOI
+
+Ancient sages, pardon these
+Somewhat doubtful quantities.
+
+ _H. I. DeBurgh._
+
+
+
+
+ ON THE OXFORD CARRIER
+
+
+Here lieth one, who did most truly prove
+That he could never die while he could move;
+So hung his destiny never to rot
+While he might still jog on and keep his trot;
+Made of sphere metal, never to decay
+Until his revolution was at stay.
+Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
+'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time
+And like an engine moved with wheel and weight,
+His principles being ceased, he ended straight.
+Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death,
+And too much breathing put him out of breath;
+Nor were it contradiction to affirm,
+Too long vacation hasten'd on his term.
+Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd,
+Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd;
+"Nay," quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretch'd,
+"If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd,
+But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers,
+For one carrier put down to make six bearers."
+Ease was his chief disease; and to judge right,
+He died for heaviness that his cart went light:
+His leisure told him that his time was come.
+And lack of load made his life burdensome.
+That even to his last breath (there be that say't),
+As he were press'd to death, he cried, "More weight;"
+But, had his doings lasted as they were,
+He had been an immortal carrier.
+Obedient to the moon he spent his date
+In course reciprocal, and had his fate
+Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas,
+Yet (strange to think) his wane was his increase:
+His letters are deliver'd all, and gone,
+Only remains the superscription.
+
+ _John Milton._
+
+
+
+
+ NINETY-NINE IN THE SHADE
+
+
+O for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!
+ O for an iceberg or two at control!
+O for a vale which at mid-day the dew cumbers!
+ O for a pleasure-trip up to the pole!
+
+O for a little one-story thermometer,
+ With nothing but zeroes all ranged in a row!
+O for a big double-barreled hygrometer,
+ To measure this moisture that rolls from my brow!
+
+O that this cold world were twenty times colder!
+ (That's irony red-hot it seemeth to me);
+O for a turn of its dreaded cold shoulder!
+ O what a comfort an ague would be!
+
+O for a grotto frost-lined and rill-riven,
+ Scooped in the rock under cataract vast!
+O for a winter of discontent even!
+ O for wet blankets judiciously cast!
+
+O for a soda-fount spouting up boldly
+ From every hot lamp-post against the hot sky!
+O for proud maiden to look on me coldly,
+ Freezing my soul with a glance of her eye!
+
+Then O for a draught from a cup of cold pizen,
+ And O for a resting-place in the cold grave!
+With a bath in the Styx where the thick shadow lies on
+ And deepens the chill of its dark-running wave.
+
+ _Rossiter Johnson._
+
+
+
+
+ THE TRIOLET
+
+
+Easy is the triolet,
+ If you really learn to make it!
+Once a neat refrain you get,
+Easy is the triolet.
+As you see!--I pay my debt
+ With another rhyme. Deuce take it,
+Easy is the triolet,
+ If you really learn to make it!
+
+ _William Ernest Henley._
+
+
+
+
+ THE RONDEAU
+
+
+You bid me try, Blue-eyes, to write
+A Rondeau. What! forthwith?--to-night?
+ Reflect? Some skill I have, 'tis true;
+ But thirteen lines!--and rhymed on two!--
+"Refrain," as well. Ah, hapless plight!
+
+Still there are five lines--ranged aright.
+These Gallic bonds, I feared, would fright
+ My easy Muse. They did, till you--
+ You bid me try!
+
+That makes them eight.--The port's in sight;
+'Tis all because your eyes are bright!
+ Now just a pair to end in "oo,"--
+ When maids command, what can't we do?
+Behold! The Rondeau--tasteful, light--
+ You bid me try!
+
+ _Austin Dobson._
+
+
+
+
+ LIFE[1]
+
+
+ 1. Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour?
+ 2. Life's a short summer, man a flower.
+ 3. By turns we catch the vital breath and die--
+ 4. The cradle and the tomb, alas! so nigh.
+ 5. To be, is better far than not to be.
+ 6. Though all man's life may seem a tragedy;
+ 7. But light cares speak when mighty griefs are dumb,
+ 8. The bottom is but shallow whence they come.
+ 9. Your fate is but the common lot of all:
+10. Unmingled joys here to no man befall,
+11. Nature to each allots his proper sphere;
+12. Fortune makes folly her peculiar care;
+13. Custom does often reason overrule,
+14. And throw a cruel sunshine on a fool.
+15. Live well; how long or short, permit to Heaven;
+16. They who forgive most, shall be most forgiven.
+17. Sin may be clasped so close we cannot see its face--
+18. Vile intercourse where virtue has no place.
+19. Then keep each passion down, however dear;
+20. Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
+21. Her sensual snares, let faithless pleasure lay,
+22. With craft and skill, to ruin and betray;
+23. Soar not too high to fall, but stoop to rise.
+24. We masters grow of all that we despise.
+25. Oh, then, renounce that impious self-esteem;
+26. Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.
+27. Think not ambition wise because 'tis brave,
+28. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
+29. What is ambition?--'tis a glorious cheat!--
+30. Only destructive to the brave and great.
+31. What's all the gaudy glitter of a crown?
+32. The way to bliss lies not on beds of down.
+33. How long we live, not years but actions tell;
+34. That man lives twice who lives the first life well.
+35. Make, then, while yet ye may, your God your friend,
+36. Whom Christians worship yet not comprehend.
+37. The trust that's given guard, and to yourself be just;
+38. For, live we how we can, yet die we must.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+[Footnote 1: 1. Young; 2. Dr. Johnson; 3. Pope; 4. Prior; 5. Sewell;
+6. Spenser; 7. Daniell; 8. Sir Walter Raleigh; 9. Longfellow;
+10. Southwell; 11. Congreve; 12. Churchill; 13. Rochester; 14.
+Armstrong; 15. Milton; 16. Bailey; 17. Trench; 18. Somerville;
+19. Thomson; 20. Byron; 21. Smollett; 22. Crabbe; 23. Massinger;
+24. Cowley; 25. Beattie; 26. Cowper; 27. Sir Walter
+Davenant; 28. Gray; 29. Willis; 30. Addison; 31. Dryden; 32.
+Francis Quarles; 33. Watkins; 34. Herrick; 35. William Mason;
+36. Hill; 37. Dana; 38. Shakespeare.]
+
+
+
+
+ ODE TO THE HUMAN HEART
+
+
+Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides,
+ Pursue the triumph and partake the gale!
+Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees,
+ To point a moral or adorn a tale.
+
+Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
+ Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears,
+Like angels' visits, few and far between,
+ Deck the long vista of departed years.
+
+Man never is, but always to be bless'd;
+ The tenth transmitter of a foolish face,
+Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest,
+ And makes a sunshine in the shady place.
+
+For man the hermit sigh'd, till woman smiled,
+ To waft a feather or to drown a fly,
+(In wit a man, simplicity a child,)
+ With silent finger pointing to the sky.
+
+But fools rush in where angels fear to tread
+ Far out amid the melancholy main;
+As when a vulture on Imaus bred,
+ Dies of a rose in aromatic pain.
+
+ _Laman Blanchard._
+
+
+
+
+ A STRIKE AMONG THE POETS
+
+
+In his chamber, weak and dying,
+ While the Norman Baron lay,
+Loud, without, his men were crying,
+ "Shorter hours and better pay."
+
+Know you why the ploughman, fretting,
+ Homeward plods his weary way
+Ere his time? He's after getting
+ Shorter hours and better pay.
+
+See! the _Hesperus_ is swinging
+ Idle in the wintry bay,
+And the skipper's daughter's singing,
+ "Shorter hours and better pay."
+
+Where's the minstrel boy? I've found him
+ Joining in the labour fray
+With his placards slung around him,
+ "Shorter hours and better pay."
+
+Oh, young Lochinvar is coming;
+ Though his hair is getting grey,
+Yet I'm glad to hear him humming,
+ "Shorter hours and, better pay."
+
+E'en the boy upon the burning
+ Deck has got a word to say,
+Something rather cross concerning
+ Shorter hours and better pay.
+
+Lives of great men all remind us
+ We can make as much as they,
+Work no more, until they find us
+ Shorter hours and better pay.
+
+Hail to thee, blithe spirit! (Shelley)
+ Wilt thou be a blackleg? Nay.
+Soaring, sing above the melee,
+ "Shorter hours and better pay."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT
+
+
+Lives there a man with soul so dead
+Who never to himself has said,
+ "Shoot folly as it flies"?
+Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
+Are in that word, farewell, farewell!
+ 'Tis folly to be wise.
+
+And what is friendship but a name,
+That boils on Etna's breast of flame?
+ Thus runs the world away,
+Sweet is the ship that's under sail
+To where yon taper cheers the vale,
+ With hospitable ray!
+
+Drink to me only with thine eyes
+Through cloudless climes and starry skies!
+ My native land, good night!
+Adieu, adieu, my native shore;
+'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more--
+ Whatever is, is right!
+
+ _Laman Blanchard._
+
+
+
+
+ NOTHING
+
+
+Mysterious Nothing! how shall I define
+Thy shapeless, baseless, placeless emptiness?
+Nor form, nor colour, sound, nor size is thine,
+Nor words nor fingers can thy voice express;
+But though we cannot thee to aught compare,
+A thousand things to thee may likened be,
+And though thou art with nobody nowhere,
+Yet half mankind devote themselves to thee.
+How many books thy history contain;
+How many heads thy mighty plans pursue;
+What labouring hands thy portion only gain;
+What busy bodies thy doings only do!
+To thee the great, the proud, the giddy bend,
+And--like my sonnet--all in nothing end.
+
+ _Richard Porson._
+
+
+
+
+ DIRGE
+
+To the memory of Miss Ellen Gee, of Kew, who died in consequence of
+being stung in the eye.
+
+
+Peerless yet hapless maid of Q!
+ Accomplish'd LN G!
+Never again shall I and U
+ Together sip our T.
+
+For, ah! the Fates I know not Y,
+ Sent 'midst the flowers a B,
+Which ven'mous stung her in the I,
+ So that she could not C.
+
+LN exclaim'd, "Vile spiteful B!
+ If ever I catch U
+On jess'mine, rosebud, or sweet P,
+ I'll change your singing Q.
+
+"I'll send you like a lamb or U
+ Across th' Atlantic C.
+From our delightful village Q
+ To distant O Y E.
+
+"A stream runs from my wounded I,
+ Salt as the briny C
+As rapid as the X or Y,
+ The OIO or D.
+
+"Then fare thee ill, insensate B!
+ Who stung, nor yet knew Y,
+Since not for wealthy Durham's C
+ Would I have lost my I."
+
+They bear with tears fair LN G
+ In funeral R A,
+A clay-cold corse now doom'd to B
+ Whilst I mourn her DK.
+Ye nymphs of Q, then shun each B,
+ List to the reason Y;
+For should A B C U at T,
+ He'll surely sting your I.
+
+Now in a grave L deep in Q,
+ She's cold as cold can B,
+Whilst robins sing upon A U
+ Her dirge and LEG.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ O D V
+
+CONTAINING A FULL, TRUE, AND PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF THE TERRIBLE FATE OF
+ABRAHAM ISAACS, OF IVY LANE
+
+
+"True 'tis P T, and P T 'tis, 'tis true."
+
+In I V Lane, of C T fame,
+ There lived a man D C,
+And A B I 6 was his name,
+ Now mark his history.
+
+Long time his conduct free from blame
+ Did merit L O G,
+Until an evil spirit came
+ In the shape of O D V.
+
+"O! that a man into his mouth
+ Should put an N M E
+To steal away his brains"--no drouth
+ Such course from sin may free.
+
+Well, A B drank, the O T loon!
+ And learned to swear, sans ruth;
+And then he gamed, and U Z soon
+ To D V 8 from truth.
+
+An hourly glass with him was play,
+ He'd swallow that with phlegm;
+Judge what he'd M T in a day,
+ "X P D _Herculem_."
+
+Of virtue none to sots, I trow,
+ With F E K C prate;
+And O of N R G could now
+ From A B M N 8.
+
+Who on strong liquor badly dote,
+ Soon poverty must know;
+Thus A B in a C D coat
+ Was shortly forced to go.
+
+From poverty D C T he caught,
+ And cheated not A F U,
+For what he purchased paying O,
+ Or but an "I O U."
+
+Or else when he had tried B 4,
+ To shirk a debt, his wits,
+He'd cry, "You shan't wait N E more,
+ I'll W or quits."
+
+So lost did I 6 now A P R,
+ That said his wife, said she,
+"F U act so, your fate quite clear
+ Is for 1 2 4 C."
+
+His inside soon was out and out
+ More fiery than K N;
+And while his state was thereabout
+ A cough C V R came.
+
+He I P K Q N A tried,
+ And linseed T and rue;
+But O could save him, so he died
+ As every 1 must 2.
+
+Poor wight! till black in' the face he raved,
+ 'Twas P T S 2 C
+His latest spirit "spirit" craved--
+ His last words, "O D V."
+
+ MORAL
+
+I'll not S A to preach and prate,
+ But tell U if U do
+Drink O D V at such R 8,
+ Death will 4 stall U 2.
+
+O U then who A Y Z have,
+ Shun O D V as a wraith,
+For 'tis a bonus to the grave,
+ An S A unto death.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ A MAN OF WORDS
+
+
+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.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ SIMILES
+
+
+As wet as a fish--as dry as a bone;
+As live as a bird--as dead as a stone;
+As plump as a partridge--as poor as a rat;
+As strong as a horse--as weak as a cat;
+As hard as a flint--as soft as a mole;
+As white as a lily--as black as a coal;
+As plain as a pike-staff--as rough as a bear;
+As light as a drum--as free as the air;
+As heavy as lead--as light as a feather;
+As steady as time--uncertain as weather;
+As hot as an oven--as cold as a frog;
+As gay as a lark--as sick as a dog;
+As slow as the tortoise--as swift as the wind;
+As true as the Gospel--as false as mankind;
+As thin as a herring--as fat as a pig;
+As proud as a peacock--as blithe as a grig;
+As savage as tigers--as mild as a dove;
+As stiff as a poker--as limp as a glove;
+As blind as a bat--as deaf as a post;
+As cool as a cucumber--as warm as a toast;
+As flat as a flounder--as round as a ball;
+As blunt as a hammer--as sharp as an awl;
+As red as a ferret--as safe as the stocks;
+As bold as a thief--as sly as a fox;
+As straight as an arrow--as crook'd as a bow;
+As yellow as saffron--as black as a sloe;
+As brittle as glass--as tough as gristle;
+As neat as my nail--as clean as a whistle;
+As good as a feast--as had as a witch;
+As light as is day--as dark as is pitch;
+As brisk as a bee--as dull as an ass;
+As full as a tick--as solid as brass.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ NO!
+
+
+ No sun--no moon!
+ No morn--no noon--
+No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--
+ No sky--no earthly view--
+ No distance looking blue--
+No road--no street--no "t'other side the way"--
+ No end to any Row--
+ No indications where the Crescents go--
+ No top to any steeple--
+No recognitions of familiar people--
+ No courtesies for showing 'em--
+ No knowing 'em!
+No travelling at all--no locomotion,
+No inkling of the way--no notion--
+ "No go"--by land or ocean--
+ No mail--no post--
+ No news from any foreign coast--
+No park--no ring--no afternoon gentility--
+ No company--no nobility--
+No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
+No comfortable feel in any member--
+No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
+No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!
+
+ _Thomas Hood._
+
+
+
+
+ FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN
+
+
+Young Ben he was a nice young man,
+ A carpenter by trade;
+And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
+ That was a lady's maid.
+
+But as they fetched a walk one day,
+ They met a press-gang crew;
+And Sally she did faint away,
+ Whilst Ben he was brought to.
+
+The boatswain swore with wicked words,
+ Enough to shock a saint,
+That though she did seem in a fit,
+ 'Twas nothing but a feint.
+
+"Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head,
+ He'll be as good as me;
+For when your swain is in our boat,
+ A boatswain he will be."
+
+So when they'd made their game of her,
+ And taken off her elf,
+She roused, and found she only was
+ A coming to herself.
+
+"And is he gone, and is he gone?"
+ She cried, and wept outright:
+"Then I will to the water side,
+ And see him out of sight."
+
+A waterman came up to her,--
+ "Now, young woman," said he,
+"If you weep on so, you will make
+ Eye-water in the sea."
+
+"Alas! they've taken my beau, Ben,
+ To sail with old Benbow;"
+And her woe began to run afresh,
+ As if she'd said, "Gee woe!"
+
+Says he, "They've only taken him
+ To the Tender-ship, you see;"
+"The Tender-ship," cried Sally Brown,
+ "What a hard-ship that must be!
+
+"O! would I were a mermaid now,
+ For then I'd follow him;
+But, O!--I'm not a fish-woman,
+ And so I cannot swim.
+
+"Alas! I was not born beneath
+ The virgin and the scales,
+So I must curse my cruel stars,
+ And walk about in Wales."
+
+Now Ben had sailed to many a place
+ That's underneath the world;
+But in two years the ship came home,
+ And all her sails were furled.
+
+But when he called on Sally Brown,
+ To see how she got on,
+He found she'd got another Ben,
+ Whose Christian name was John.
+
+"O, Sally Brown, O, Sally Brown,
+ How could you serve me so?
+I've met with many a breeze before,
+ But never such a blow!"
+
+Then reading on his 'bacco-box,
+ He heaved a heavy sigh,
+And then began to eye his pipe,
+ And then to pipe his eye.
+
+And then he tried to sing "All's Well,"
+ But could not, though he tried;
+His head was turned, and so he chewed
+ His pigtail till he died.
+
+His death, which happened in his berth,
+ At forty-odd befell:
+They went and told the sexton, and
+ The sexton tolled the bell.
+
+ _Thomas Hood._
+
+
+
+
+ TIM TURPIN
+
+
+Tim Turpin he was gravel blind,
+ And ne'er had seen the skies:
+For Nature, when his head was made,
+ Forgot to dot his eyes.
+
+So, like a Christmas pedagogue,
+ Poor Tim was forced to do,--
+Look out for pupils, for he had
+ A vacancy for two.
+
+There's some have specs to help their sight
+ Of objects dim and small;
+But Tim had _specks_ within his eyes,
+ And could not see at all.
+
+Now Tim he wooed a servant maid,
+ And took her to his arms;
+For he, like Pyramus, had cast
+ A wall-eye on her charms.
+
+By day she led him up and down
+ Where'er he wished to jog,
+A happy wife, although she led
+ The life of any dog.
+
+But just when Tim had lived a month
+ In honey with his wife,
+A surgeon oped his Milton eyes,
+ Like oysters, with a knife.
+
+But when his eyes were opened thus,
+ He wished them dark again;
+For when he looked upon his wife,
+ He saw her very plain.
+
+Her face was bad, her figure worse,
+ He couldn't bear to eat;
+For she was anything but like
+ A Grace before his meat.
+
+Now Tim he was a feeling man:
+ For when his sight was thick,
+It made him feel for everything,--
+ But that was with a stick.
+
+So, with a cudgel in his hand,--
+ It was not light or slim,--
+He knocked at his wife's head until
+ It opened unto him.
+
+And when the corpse was stiff and cold,
+ He took his slaughtered spouse,
+And laid her in a heap with all
+ The ashes of her house.
+
+But, like a wicked murderer,
+ He lived in constant fear
+From day to day, and so he cut
+ His throat from ear to ear.
+
+The neighbors fetched a doctor in:
+ Said he, "This wound I dread
+Can hardly be sewed up,--his life
+ Is hanging on a thread."
+
+But when another week was gone,
+ He gave him stronger hope,--
+Instead of hanging on a thread,
+ Of hanging on a rope.
+
+Ah! when he hid his bloody work,
+ In ashes round about,
+How little he supposed the truth
+ Would soon be sifted out!
+
+But when the parish dustman came,
+ His rubbish to withdraw,
+He found more dust within the heap
+ Than he contracted for!
+
+A dozen men to try the fact,
+ Were sworn that very day;
+But though they all were jurors, yet
+ No conjurors were they.
+
+Said Tim unto those jurymen,
+ "You need not waste your breath,
+For I confess myself, at once,
+ The author of her death.
+
+"And O, when I reflect upon
+ The blood that I have spilt,
+Just like a button is my soul,
+ Inscribed with double _guilt_!"
+
+Then turning round his head again
+ He saw before his eyes
+A great judge, and a little judge,
+ The judges of a-size!
+
+The great judge took his judgment-cap,
+ And put it on his head,
+And sentenced Tim by law to hang
+ Till he was three times dead.
+
+So he was tried, and he was hung
+ (Fit punishment for such)
+On Horsham drop, and none can say
+ It was a drop too much.
+
+ _Thomas Hood._
+
+
+
+
+ FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY
+
+
+Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
+ And used to war's alarms:
+But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
+ So he laid down his arms!
+
+Now, as they bore him off the field,
+ Said he, "Let others shoot,
+For here I leave my second leg,
+ And the Forty-second Foot!"
+
+The army surgeons made him limbs:
+ Said he, "They're only pegs;
+But there's as wooden members quite,
+ As represent my legs!"
+
+Now Ben he loved a pretty maid,
+ Her name was Nelly Gray;
+So he went to pay her his devours
+ When he'd devoured his pay!
+
+But when he called on Nelly Gray,
+ She made him quite a scoff;
+And when she saw his wooden legs,
+ Began to take them off!
+
+"O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
+ Is this your love so warm?
+The love that loves a scarlet coat,
+ Should be more uniform!"
+
+Said she, "I loved a soldier once,
+ For he was blithe and brave;
+But I will never have a man
+ With both legs in the grave!
+
+"Before you had those timber toes,
+ Your love I did allow,
+But then you know, you stand upon
+ Another footing now!"
+
+"O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
+ For all your jeering speeches,
+At duty's call I left my legs
+ In Badajos's breaches!"
+
+"Why, then," said she, "you've lost the feet
+ Of legs in war's alarms,
+And now you cannot wear your shoes
+ Upon your feats of arms!"
+
+"Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray;
+ I know why you refuse:
+Though I've no feet--some other man
+ Is standing in my shoes!
+
+"I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
+ But now a long farewell!
+For you will be my death--alas!
+ You will not be my Nell!"
+
+Now, when he went from Nelly Gray,
+ His heart so heavy got--
+And life was such a burden grown,
+ It made him take a knot!
+
+So round his melancholy neck
+ A rope he did entwine,
+And, for his second time in life
+ Enlisted in the Line!
+
+One end he tied around a beam,
+ And then removed his pegs,
+And as his legs were off,--of course,
+ He soon was off his legs!
+
+And there he hung till he was dead
+ As any nail in town,--
+For though distress had cut him up,
+ It could not cut him down!
+
+A dozen men sat on his corpse,
+ To find out why he died--
+And they buried Ben in four cross-roads,
+ With a stake in his inside!
+
+ _Thomas Hood._
+
+
+
+
+ SALLY SIMPKIN'S LAMENT
+
+
+"Oh! what is that comes gliding in,
+ And quite in middling haste?
+It is the picture of my Jones,
+ And painted to the waist.
+
+"It is not painted to the life,
+ For where's the trousers blue?
+O Jones, my dear!--Oh, dear! my Jones,
+ What is become of you?"
+
+"O Sally, dear, it is too true,--
+ The half that you remark
+Is come to say my other half
+ Is bit off by a shark!
+
+"O Sally, sharks do things by halves,
+ Yet most completely do!
+A bite in one place seems enough,
+ But I've been bit in two.
+
+"You know I once was all your own,
+ But now a shark must share!
+But let that pass--for now to you
+ I'm neither here nor there.
+
+"Alas! death has a strange divorce
+ Effected in the sea,
+It has divided me from you,
+ And even me from me!
+
+"Don't fear my ghost will walk o' nights
+ To haunt, as people say;
+My ghost _can't_ walk, for, oh! my legs
+ Are many leagues away!
+
+"Lord! think when I am swimming round,
+ And looking where the boat is,
+A shark just snaps away a _half,_
+ Without 'a _quarter's notice_.'
+
+"One half is here, the other half
+ Is near Columbia placed;
+O Sally, I have got the whole
+ Atlantic for my waist.
+
+"But now, adieu--a long adieu!
+ I've solved death's awful riddle,
+And would say more, but I am doomed
+ To break off in the middle!"
+
+ _Thomas Hood._
+
+
+
+
+ DEATH'S RAMBLE
+
+
+One day the dreary old King of Death
+ Inclined for some sport with the carnal,
+So he tied a pack of darts on his back,
+ And quietly stole from his charnel.
+
+His head was bald of flesh and of hair,
+ His body was lean and lank;
+His joints at each stir made a crack, and the cur
+ Took a gnaw, by the way, at his shank.
+
+And what did he do with his deadly darts,
+ This goblin of grisly bone?
+He dabbled and spilled man's blood, and he killed
+ Like a butcher that kills his own.
+
+The first he slaughtered it made him laugh
+ (For the man was a coffin-maker),
+To think how the mutes, and men in black suits,
+ Would mourn for an undertaker.
+
+Death saw two Quakers sitting at church;
+ Quoth he, "We shall not differ."
+And he let them alone, like figures of stone,
+ For he could not make them stiffer.
+
+He saw two duellists going to fight,
+ In fear they could not smother;
+And he shot one through at once--for he knew
+ They never would shoot each other.
+
+He saw a watchman fast in his box,
+ And he gave a snore infernal;
+Said Death, "He may keep his breath, for his sleep
+ Can never be more eternal."
+
+He met a coachman driving a coach
+ So slow that his fare grew sick;
+But he let him stray on his tedious way,
+ For Death only wars on the _quick_.
+
+Death saw a tollman taking a toll,
+ In the spirit of his fraternity;
+But he knew that sort of man would extort,
+ Though summoned to all eternity.
+
+He found an author writing his life,
+ But he let him write no further;
+For Death, who strikes whenever he likes,
+ Is jealous of all self-murther!
+
+Death saw a patient that pulled out his purse,
+ And a doctor that took the sum;
+But he let them be--for he knew that the "fee"
+ Was a prelude to "faw" and "fum."
+
+He met a dustman ringing a bell,
+ And he gave him a mortal thrust;
+For himself, by law, since Adam's flaw,
+ Is contractor for all our dust.
+
+He saw a sailor mixing his grog,
+ And he marked him out for slaughter;
+For on water he scarcely had cared for death,
+ And never on rum-and-water.
+
+Death saw two players playing at cards,
+ But the game wasn't worth a dump,
+For he quickly laid them flat with a spade,
+ To wait for the final trump!
+
+ _Thomas Hood._
+
+
+
+
+ PANEGYRIC ON THE LADIES
+
+ READ ALTERNATE LINES
+
+
+That man must lead a happy life
+ Who's free from matrimonial chains,
+Who is directed by a wife
+ Is sure to suffer for his pains.
+
+Adam could find no solid peace
+ When Eve was given for a mate;
+Until he saw a woman's face
+ Adam was in a happy state.
+
+In all the female race appear
+ Hypocrisy, deceit, and pride;
+Truth, darling of a heart sincere,
+ In woman never did reside.
+
+What tongue is able to unfold
+ The failings that in woman dwell?
+The worth in woman we behold
+ Is almost imperceptible.
+
+Confusion take the man, I say,
+ Who changes from his singleness,
+Who will not yield to woman's sway
+ Is sure of earthly blessedness.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ AMBIGUOUS LINES
+
+READ WITH A COMMA AFTER THE FIRST NOUN IN EACH LINE
+
+
+I saw a peacock with a fiery tail
+I saw a blazing comet pour down hail
+I saw a cloud all wrapt with ivy round
+I saw a lofty oak creep on the ground
+I saw a beetle swallow up a whale
+I saw a foaming sea brimful of ale
+I saw a pewter cup sixteen feet deep
+I saw a well full of men's tears that weep
+I saw wet eyes in flames of living fire
+I saw a house as high as the moon and higher
+I saw the glorious sun at deep midnight
+I saw the man who saw this wondrous sight.
+
+I saw a pack of cards gnawing a bone
+I saw a dog seated on Britain's throne
+I saw King George shut up within a box
+I saw an orange driving a fat ox
+I saw a butcher not a twelvemonth old
+I saw a great-coat all of solid gold
+I saw two buttons telling of their dreams
+I saw my friends who wished I'd quit these themes.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ SURNAMES
+
+
+Men once were surnamed for their shape or estate
+ (You all may from history worm 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.
+
+ _James Smith._
+
+
+
+
+A TERNARY OF LITTLES, UPON A PIPKIN OF JELLY SENT TO A LADY
+
+
+A little saint best fits a little shrine,
+A little prop best fits a little vine;
+As my small cruse best fits my little wine.
+
+A little seed best fits a little soil,
+A little trade best fits a little toil;
+As my small jar best fits my little oil.
+
+A little bin best fits a little bread,
+A little garland fits a little head;
+As my small stuff best fits my little shed.
+
+A little hearth best fits a little fire,
+A little chapel fits a little choir;
+As my small bell best fits my little spire.
+
+A little stream best fits a little boat,
+A little lead best fits a little float;
+As my small pipe best fits my little note.
+
+A little meat best fits a little belly,
+As sweetly, lady, give me leave to tell ye,
+This little pipkin fits this little jelly.
+
+ _Robert Herrick._
+
+
+
+
+ A CARMAN'S ACCOUNT OF A LAW-SUIT
+
+
+Marry, I lent my gossip my mare, to fetch home coals,
+And he her drowned into the quarry holes;
+And I ran to the Consistory, for to 'plain,
+And there I happened among a greedy meine.
+They gave me first a thing they call Citandum;
+Within eight days, I got but Libellandum;
+Within a month, I got Ad oppenendum;
+In half a year, I got Interloquendum;
+And then I got--how call ye it?--Ad replicandum.
+But I could never one word yet understand them;
+And then, they caused me cast out many placks,
+And made me pay for four-and-twenty acts.
+But, ere they came half gait to Concludendum,
+The fiend one plack was left for to defend him.
+Thus they postponed me two years, with their train,
+Then, hodie ad octo, bade me come again,
+And then, these rooks, they roupit wonder fast,
+For sentence silver, they cried at the last.
+Of Pronunciandum they made me wonder fain;
+But I got never my good grey mare again.
+
+ _Sir David Lindesay._
+
+
+
+
+ OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND
+
+
+The oft'ner seen, the more I lust,
+The more I lust, the more I smart,
+The more I smart, the more I trust,
+The more I trust, the heavier heart,
+The heavy heart breeds mine unrest,
+Thy absence therefore I like best.
+
+The rarer seen, the less in mind,
+The less in mind, the lesser pain,
+The lesser pain, less grief I find,
+The lesser grief, the greater gain,
+The greater gain, the merrier I,
+Therefore I wish thy sight to fly.
+
+The further off, the more I joy,
+The more I joy, the happier life,
+The happier life, less hurts annoy,
+The lesser hurts, pleasure most rife,
+Such pleasures rife shall I obtain
+When distance doth depart us train.
+
+ _Barnaby Googe._
+
+
+
+
+ NONGTONGPAW
+
+
+John Bull for pastime took a prance,
+Some time ago, to peep at France;
+To talk of sciences and arts,
+And knowledge gain'd in foreign parts.
+Monsieur, obsequious, heard him speak,
+And answer'd John in heathen Greek:
+To all he ask'd, 'bout all he saw,
+'Twas, _Monsieur, je vous n'entends pas_.
+
+John, to the Palais-Royal come,
+Its splendor almost struck him dumb.
+"I say, whose house is that there here?"
+"House! _Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur._"
+"What, Nongtongpaw again!" cries John;
+"This fellow is some mighty Don:
+No doubt he's plenty for the maw,
+I'll breakfast with this Nongtongpaw."
+
+John saw Versailles from Marli's height,
+And cried, astonish'd at the sight,
+"Whose fine estate is that there here?"
+"State! _Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur._"
+"His? what! the land and houses, too?
+The fellow's richer than a Jew:
+On _everything_ he lays his claw!
+I'd like to dine with Nongtongpaw."
+
+Next tripping came a courtly fair,
+John cried, enchanted with her air,
+"What lovely wench is that there here?"
+"Ventch! _Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur._"
+"What, he again? Upon, my life!
+A palace, lands, and then a wife
+Sir Joshua might delight to draw!
+I'd like to sup with Nongtongpaw."
+
+"But hold! whose funeral's that?" cries John.
+"_Je vous n'entends pas._"--"What! is he gone?
+Wealth, fame, and beauty could not save
+Poor Nongtongpaw then from the grave!
+His race is run, his game is up,--
+I'd with him breakfast, dine, and sup;
+But since he chooses to withdraw,
+Good night t'ye, Mounseer Nongtongpaw!"
+
+ _Charles Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+ LOGICAL ENGLISH
+
+
+I said, "This horse, sir, will you shoe?"
+ And soon the horse was shod.
+I said, "This deed, sir, will you do?"
+ And soon the deed was dod!
+
+I said, "This stick, sir, will you break?"
+ At once the stick he broke.
+I said, "This coat, sir, will you make?"
+ And soon the coat he moke!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ LOGIC
+
+
+I have a copper penny and another copper penny,
+ Well, then, of course, I have two copper pence;
+I have a cousin Jenny and another cousin Jenny,
+ Well, pray, then, do I have two cousin Jence?
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CAREFUL PENMAN
+
+
+A Persian penman named Aziz,
+ Remarked, "I think I know my biz.
+For when I write my name as is,
+ It is Aziz as is Aziz."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ QUESTIONS WITH ANSWERS
+
+
+What is earth, sexton?--A place to dig graves;
+What is earth, rich men?--A place to work slaves,
+What is earth, grey-beard?--A place to grow old;
+What is earth, miser?--A place to dig gold;
+What is earth, school-boy?--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 'tis given;
+What is earth, Christian?--The gateway of heaven.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ CONJUGAL CONJUGATIONS
+
+
+ Dear maid, let me speak
+ What I never yet spoke:
+ You have made my heart squeak
+ As it never yet squoke,
+And for sight of you, both my eyes ache as they ne'er before oak.
+
+ With your voice my ears ring,
+ And a sweeter ne'er rung,
+ Like a bird's on the wing
+ When at morn it has wung.
+And gladness to me it doth bring, such as never voice brung.
+
+ My feelings I'd write,
+ But they cannot be wrote,
+ And who can indite
+ What was never indote!
+And my love I hasten to plight--the first that I plote.
+
+ Yes, you would I choose,
+ Whom I long ago chose,
+ And my fond spirit sues
+ As it never yet sose,
+And ever on you do I muse, as never man mose.
+
+ The house where you bide
+ Is a blessed abode;
+ Sure, my hopes I can't hide,
+ For they will not be hode,
+And no person living has sighed, as, darling, I've sode.
+
+ Your glances they shine
+ As no others have shone,
+ And all else I'd resign
+ That a man could resone,
+And surely no other could pine as I lately have pone.
+
+ And don't you forget
+ You will ne'er be forgot,
+ You never should fret
+ As at times you have frot,
+I would chase all the cares that beset, if they ever besot.
+
+ For you I would weave
+ Songs that never were wove,
+ And deeds I'd achieve
+ Which no man yet achove,
+And for me you never should grieve, as for you I have grove.
+
+ I'm as worthy a catch
+ As ever, was caught.
+ O, your answer I watch
+ As a man never waught,
+And we'd make the most elegant match as ever was maught.
+
+ Let my longings not sink;
+ I would die if they sunk.
+ O, I ask you to think
+ As you never have thunk,
+And our fortunes and lives let us link, as no lives could be lunk.
+
+ _A. W. Bellow._
+
+
+
+
+ LOVE'S MOODS AND SENSES
+
+
+Sally Salter, she was a young lady who taught,
+And her friend Charley Church was a preacher who praught!
+Though his enemies called him a screecher who scraught.
+
+His heart when he saw her kept sinking and sunk,
+And his eye, meeting hers, began winking and wunk;
+While she in her turn fell to thinking, and thunk.
+
+He hastened to woo her, and sweetly he wooed,
+For his love grew until to a mountain it grewed,
+And what he was longing to do then he doed.
+
+In secret he wanted to speak, and he spoke,
+To seek with his lips what his heart long had soke;
+So he managed to let the truth leak, and it loke.
+
+He asked her to ride to the church, and they rode,
+They so sweetly did glide, that they both thought they glode,
+And they came to the place to be tied, and were tode.
+
+Then, "homeward" he said, "let us drive" and they drove,
+And soon as they wished to arrive, they arrove;
+For whatever he couldn't contrive she controve.
+
+The kiss he was dying to steal, then he stole:
+At the feet where he wanted to kneel, then he knole,
+And said, "I feel better than ever I fole."
+
+So they to each other kept clinging, and clung;
+While time his swift circuit was winging, and wung;
+And this was the thing he was bringing, and brung:
+
+The man Sally wanted to catch, and had caught--
+That she wanted from others to snatch, and had snaught--
+Was the one that she now liked to scratch and she scraught.
+
+And Charley's warm love began freezing and froze,
+While he took to teasing, and cruelly toze
+The girl he had wished to be squeezing and squoze.
+
+"Wretch!" he cried, when she threatened to leave him, and left,
+"How could you deceive me, as you have deceft?"
+And she answered, "I promised to cleave, and I've cleft!"
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE SIEGE OF BELGRADE
+
+
+An Austrian army, awfully array'd,
+Boldly by battery besiege Belgrade;
+Cossack commanders cannonading come,
+Deal devastation's dire destructive doom;
+Ev'ry endeavour engineers essay,
+For fame, for freedom, fight, fierce furious fray.
+Gen'rals 'gainst gen'rals grapple,--gracious God!
+How honors Heav'n heroic hardihood!
+Infuriate, indiscriminate in ill,
+Just Jesus, instant innocence instill!
+Kinsmen kill kinsmen, kindred kindred kill.
+Labour low levels longest, loftiest lines;
+Men march 'midst mounds, motes, mountains, murd'rous mines.
+Now noisy, noxious numbers notice nought,
+Of outward obstacles o'ercoming ought;
+Poor patriots perish, persecution's pest!
+Quite quiet Quakers "Quarter, quarter," quest;
+Reason returns, religion, right, redounds,
+Suwarow stop such sanguinary sounds!
+Truce to thee, Turkey, terror to thy train!
+Unwise, unjust, unmerciful Ukraine!
+Vanish vile vengeance, vanish victory vain!
+Why wish we warfare? wherefore welcome won
+Xerxes, Nantippus, Navier, Xenophon?
+Yield, ye young Yaghier yeomen, yield your yell!
+Zimmerman's, Zoroaster's, Zeno's zeal
+Again attract; arts against arms appeal.
+All, all ambitious aims, avaunt, away!
+Et cetera, et cetera, et ceterae.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE HAPPY MAN
+
+
+La Galisse now I wish to touch;
+ Droll air! if I can strike it,
+I'm sure the song will please you much;
+ That is, if you should like it.
+
+La Galisse was, indeed, I grant,
+ Not used to any dainty,
+When he was born; but could not want
+ As long as he had plenty.
+
+Instructed with the greatest care,
+ He always was well bred,
+And never used a hat to wear
+ But when 'twas on his head.
+
+His temper was exceeding good,
+ Just of his father's fashion;
+And never quarrels boiled his blood
+ Except when in a passion.
+
+His mind was on devotion bent;
+ He kept with care each high day,
+And Holy Thursday always spent
+ The day before Good Friday.
+
+He liked good claret very well,
+ I just presume to think it;
+For ere its flavour he could tell
+ He thought it best to drink it.
+
+Than doctors more he loved the cook,
+ Though food would make him gross,
+And never any physic took
+ But when he took a dose.
+
+Oh, happy, happy is the swain
+ The ladies so adore;
+For many followed in his train
+ Whene'er he walked before.
+
+Bright as the sun his flowing hair
+ In golden ringlets shone;
+And no one could with him compare,
+ If he had been alone.
+
+His talents I cannot rehearse,
+ But every one allows
+That whatsoe'er he wrote in verse,
+ No one could call it prose.
+
+He argued with precision nice,
+ The learned all declare;
+And it was his decision wise,
+ No horse could be a mare.
+
+His powerful logic would surprise,
+ Amaze, and much delight:
+He proved that dimness of the eyes
+ Was hurtful to the sight.
+
+They liked him much--so it appears
+ Most plainly--who preferred him;
+And those did never want their ears
+ Who any time had heard him.
+
+He was not always right, 'tis true,
+ And then he must be wrong;
+But none had found it out, he knew,
+ If he had held his tongue.
+
+Whene'er a tender tear he shed,
+ 'Twas certain that he wept;
+And he would lie awake in bed,
+ Unless, indeed, he slept.
+
+In tilting everybody knew
+ His very high renown;
+Yet no opponents he o'erthrew
+ But those that he knocked down.
+
+At last they smote him in the head,--
+ What hero ever fought all?
+And when they saw that he was dead,
+ They knew the wound was mortal.
+
+And when at last he lost his breath,
+ It closed his every strife;
+For that sad day that sealed his death
+ Deprived him of his life.
+
+ _Gilles Menage._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BELLS
+
+
+Oh, it's H-A-P-P-Y I am, and it's F-R-double-E,
+And it's G-L-O-R-Y to know that I'm S-A-V-E-D.
+Once I was B-O-U-N-D by the chains of S-I-N
+And it's L-U-C-K-Y I am that all is well again.
+
+Oh, the bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling
+ For you, but not for me.
+The bells of Heaven go sing-a-ling-a-ling
+ For there I soon shall be.
+Oh, Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling
+ Oh, Grave, thy victorie-e.
+No Ting-a-ling-a-ling, no sting-a-ling-a-ling
+ But sing-a-ling-a-ling for me.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ TAKINGS
+
+
+He took her fancy when he came,
+ He took her hand, he took a kiss,
+He took no notice of the shame
+ That glowed her happy cheek at this.
+
+He took to come of afternoons,
+ He took an oath he'd ne'er deceive,
+He took her master's silver spoons,
+ And after that he took his leave.
+
+ _Thomas Hood, Jr._
+
+
+
+
+ A BACHELOR'S MONO-RHYME
+
+
+Do you think I'd marry a woman
+ That can neither cook nor sew,
+Nor mend a rent in her gloves
+ Or a tuck in her furbelow;
+Who spends her time in reading
+ The novels that come and go;
+Who tortures heavenly music,
+ And makes it a thing of woe;
+Who deems three-fourths of my income
+ Too little, by half, to show
+What a figure she'd make, if I'd let her,
+ 'Mid the belles of Rotten Row;
+Who has not a thought in her head
+ Where thoughts are expected to grow,
+Except of trumpery scandals
+ Too small for a man to know?
+Do you think I'd wed with _that_,
+ Because both high and low
+Are charmed by her youthful graces
+ And her shoulders white as snow?
+Ah no! I've a wish to be happy,
+ I've a thousand a year or so,
+'Tis all I can expect
+ That fortune will bestow!
+So, pretty one, idle one, stupid one!
+ You're not for me, I trow,
+To-day, nor yet to-morrow,
+ No, no! decidedly no!
+
+ _Charlts Mackay._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ART OF BOOK-KEEPING
+
+
+How hard, when those who do not wish
+ To lend, that's lose, their books,
+Are snared by anglers--folks that fish
+ With literary hooks;
+
+Who call and take some favourite tome,
+ But never read it through;
+They thus complete their set at home,
+ By making one at you.
+
+Behold the bookshelf of a dunce
+ Who borrows--never lends;
+Yon work, in twenty volumes, once
+ Belonged to twenty friends.
+
+New tales and novels you may shut
+ From view--'tis all in vain;
+They're gone--and though the leaves are "cut"
+ They never "come again."
+
+For pamphlets lent I look around,
+ For tracts my tears are spilt;
+But when they take a book that's bound,
+ 'Tis surely extra guilt.
+
+A circulating library
+ Is mine--my birds are flown;
+There's one odd volume left, to be
+ Like all the rest, a-lone.
+
+I, of my "Spenser" quite bereft,
+ Last winter sore was shaken;
+Of "Lamb" I've but a quarter left,
+ Nor could I save my "Bacon."
+
+My "Hall" and "Hill" were levelled flat,
+ But "Moore" was still the cry;
+And then, although I threw them "Sprat,"
+ They swallowed up my "Pye."
+
+O'er everything, however slight,
+ They seized some airy trammel;
+They snatched my "Hogg" and "Fox" one night,
+ And pocketed my "Campbell."
+
+And then I saw my "Crabbe" at last,
+ Like Hamlet's, backward go;
+And as my tide was ebbing fast,
+ Of course I lost my "Rowe."
+
+I wondered into what balloon
+ My books their course had bent;
+And yet, with all my marvelling, soon
+ I found my "Marvell" went.
+
+My "Mallet" served to knock me down,
+ Which makes me thus a talker;
+And once, while I was out of town,
+ My "Johnson" proved a "Walker."
+
+While studying o'er the fire one day
+ My "Hobbes" amidst the smoke;
+They bore my "Colman" clean away,
+ And carried off my "Coke."
+
+They picked my "Locke," to me far more
+ Than Bramah's patent's worth;
+And now my losses I deplore,
+ Without a "Home" on earth.
+
+If once a book you let them lift,
+ Another they conceal,
+For though I caught them stealing "Swift,"
+ As swiftly went my "Steele."
+
+"Hope" is not now upon my shelf,
+ Where late he stood elated;
+But, what is strange, my "Pope" himself
+ Is excommunicated.
+
+My little "Suckling" in the grave
+ Is sunk, to swell the ravage;
+And what 'twas Crusoe's fate to save
+ 'Twas mine to lose--a "Savage."
+
+Even "Glover's" works I cannot put
+ My frozen hands upon;
+Though ever since I lost my "Foote,"
+ My "Bunyan" has been gone.
+
+My "Hoyle" with "Cotton" went; oppressed,
+ My "Taylor" too must fail;
+To save my "Goldsmith" from arrest,
+ In vain I offered "Bayle."
+
+I "Prior," sought, but could not see
+ The "Hood" so late in front;
+And when I turned to hunt for "Lee,"
+ Oh! where was my "Leigh Hunt!"
+
+I tried to laugh, old care to tickle,
+ Yet could not "Tickell" touch;
+And then, alas! I missed my "Mickle,"
+ And surely mickle's much.
+
+'Tis quite enough my griefs to feed,
+ My sorrows to excuse,
+To think I cannot read my "Reid,"
+ Nor even use my "Hughes."
+
+To "West," to "South," I turn my head,
+ Exposed alike to odd jeers;
+For since my "Roger Ascham's" fled,
+ I ask 'em for my "Rogers."
+
+They took my "Horne"--and "Horne Tooke" too,
+ And thus my treasures flit;
+I feel when I would "Hazlitt" view,
+ The flames that it has lit.
+
+My word's worth little, "Wordsworth" gone,
+ If I survive its doom;
+How many a bard I doted on
+ Was swept off--with my "Broome."
+
+My classics would not quiet lie,
+ A thing so fondly hoped;
+Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry,
+ "My 'Livy' has eloped!"
+
+My life is wasting fast away--
+ I suffer from these shocks;
+And though I fixed a lock on "Grey"
+ There's grey upon my locks.
+
+I'm far from young--am growing pale--
+ I see my "Butter" fly;
+And when they ask about my _ail_,
+ 'Tis "Burton" I reply.
+
+They still have made me slight returns,
+ And thus my griefs divide;
+For oh! they've cured me of my "Burns,"
+ And eased my "Akenside."
+
+But all I think I shall not say,
+ Nor let my anger burn;
+For as they never found me "Gay,"
+ They have not left me "Sterne."
+
+ _Laman Blanchard._
+
+
+
+
+ AN INVITATION TO THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS
+
+ BY A STUTTERING LOVER
+
+
+I have found out a gig-gig-gift for my fuf-fuf-fair,
+ I have found where the rattlesnakes bub-bub-breed;
+Will you co-co-come, and I'll show you the bub-bub-bear,
+ And the lions and tit-tit-tigers at fuf-fuf-feed.
+
+I know where the co-co-cockatoo's song
+ Makes mum-mum-melody through the sweet vale;
+Where the mum-monkeys gig-gig-grin all the day long,
+ Or gracefully swing by the tit-tit-tit-tail.
+
+You shall pip-play, dear, some did-did-delicate joke
+ With the bub-bub-bear on the tit-tit-top of his pip-pip-pip-pole;
+But observe, 'tis forbidden to pip-pip-poke
+ At the bub-bub-bear with your pip-pip-pink pip-pip-pip-pip-parasol!
+
+You shall see the huge elephant pip-pip-play,
+ You shall gig-gig-gaze on the stit-stit-stately raccoon;
+And then, did-did-dear, together we'll stray
+ To the cage of the bub-bub-blue-faced bab-bab-boon.
+
+You wished (I r-r-remember it well,
+ And I lul-lul-loved you the m-m-more for the wish)
+To witness the bub-bub-beautiful pip-pip-pelican
+ swallow the l-l-live little fuf-fuf-fish!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ 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, hasting 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 3, 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
+Georgy, or Charley, 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._
+
+
+
+
+ LOVELILTS
+
+
+Thine eyes, dear one, dot dot, are like, dash, what?
+They, pure as sacred oils, bless and anoint
+My sin-swamped soul which at thy feet sobs out,
+O exclamation point, O point, O point!
+
+Ah, had I words, blank blank, which, dot, I've not,
+I'd swoon in songs which should'st illume the dark
+With light of thee. Ah, God (it's _strong_ to swear)
+Why, why, interrogation mark, why, mark?
+
+Dot dot dot dot. And so, dash, yet, but nay!
+My tongue takes pause; some words must not be said,
+For fear the world, cold hyphen-eyed, austere,
+Should'st shake thee by the throat till reason fled.
+
+One hour of love we've had. Dost thou recall
+Dot dot dash blank interrogation mark?
+The night was ours, blue heaven over all
+Dash, God! dot stars, keep thou our secret dark!
+
+ _Marion Hill._
+
+
+
+
+ JOCOSA LYRA
+
+
+In our hearts is the Great One of Avon
+ Engraven,
+And we climb the cold summits once built on
+ By Milton.
+
+But at times not the air that is rarest
+ Is fairest,
+And we long in the valley to follow
+ Apollo.
+
+Then we drop from the heights atmospheric
+ To Herrick,
+Or we pour the Greek honey, grown blander,
+ Of Landor;
+
+Or our cosiest nook in the shade is
+ Where Praed is,
+Or we toss the light bells of the mocker
+ With Locker.
+
+Oh, the song where not one of the Graces
+ Tight-laces,--
+Where we woo the sweet Muses not starchly
+ But archly,--
+
+Where the verse, like a piper a-Maying,
+ Comes playing,--
+And the rhyme is as gay as a dancer
+ In answer,--
+
+It will last till men weary of pleasure
+ In measure!
+It will last till men weary of laughter ...
+ And after!
+
+ _Austin Dobson._
+
+
+
+
+ TO A THESAURUS
+
+
+O precious code, volume, tome,
+ Book, writing, compilation, work
+Attend the while I pen a pome,
+ A jest, a jape, a quip, a quirk.
+
+For I would pen, engross, indite,
+ Transcribe, set forth, compose, address,
+Record, submit--yea, even write
+ An ode, an elegy to bless--
+
+To bless, set store by, celebrate,
+ Approve, esteem, endow with soul,
+Commend, acclaim, appreciate,
+ Immortalize, laud, praise, extol.
+
+Thy merit, goodness, value, worth,
+ Experience, utility--
+O manna, honey, salt of earth,
+ I sing, I chant, I worship thee!
+
+How could I manage, live, exist,
+ Obtain, produce, be real, prevail,
+Be present in the flesh, subsist,
+ Have place, become, breathe or inhale.
+
+Without thy help, recruit, support,
+ Opitulation, furtherance,
+Assistance, rescue, aid, resort,
+ Favour, sustention and advance?
+
+Alack! Alack! and well-a-day!
+ My case would then be dour and sad,
+Likewise distressing, dismal, gray,
+ Pathetic, mournful, dreary, bad.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Though I could keep this up all day,
+ This lyric, elegiac, song,
+Meseems hath come the time to say
+ Farewell! Adieu! Good-by! So long!
+
+ _Franklin P. Adams._
+
+
+
+
+ THE FUTURE OF THE CLASSICS
+
+
+No longer, O scholars, shall Plautus
+ Be taught us.
+ No more shall professors be partial
+ To Martial.
+ No ninny
+ Will stop playing "shinney"
+ For Pliny.
+ Not even the veriest Mexican Greaser
+ Will stop to read Caesar.
+ No true son of Erin will leave his potato
+ To list to the love-lore of Ovid or Plato.
+ Old Homer,
+ That hapless old roamer,
+Will ne'er find a rest 'neath collegiate dome or
+ Anywhere else. As to Seneca,
+ Any cur
+ Safely may snub him, or urge ill
+ Effects from the reading of Virgil.
+ Cornelius Nepos
+ Wont keep us
+Much longer from pleasure's light errands--
+ Nor Terence.
+The irreverent now may all scoff in ease
+At the shade of poor old Aristophanes.
+And moderns it now doth behoove in all
+Ways to despise poor old Juvenal;
+ And to chivvy
+ Livy.
+ The class-room hereafter will miss a row
+ Of eager young students of Cicero.
+The 'longshoreman--yes, and the dock-rat, he's
+ Down upon Socrates.
+ And what'll
+ Induce us to read Aristotle?
+ We shall fail in
+ Our duty to Galen.
+ No tutor henceforward shall rack us
+ To construe old Horatius Flaccus.
+ We have but a wretched opinion
+ Of Mr. Justinian.
+ In our classical pabulum mix we've no wee sop
+ Of AEsop.
+ Our balance of intellect asks for no ballast
+ From Sallust.
+With feminine scorn no fair Vassar-bred lass at us
+Shall smile if we own that we cannot read Tacitus.
+No admirer shall ever now weathe with begonias
+ The bust of Suetonius.
+ And so, if you follow me,
+ We'll have to cut Ptolemy.
+Besides, it would just be considered facetious
+ To look at Lucretius.
+ And you can
+Not go in Society if 'you read Lucan,
+ And we cannot have any fun
+ Out of Xenophon.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ CAUTIONARY VERSES
+
+
+My little dears, who learn to read, pray early, learn to shun
+That very silly thing indeed which people call a pun;
+Read Entick's rules, and 'twill be found how simple an offence
+It is to make the selfsame sound afford a double sense.
+
+For instance, ale may make you ail, your aunt an ant may kill,
+You in a vale may buy a veil and Bill may pay the bill.
+Or if to France your bark you steer, at Dover it may be
+A peer appears upon the pier, who blind, still goes to sea.
+
+Thus, one might say, when, to a treat, good friends accept our greeting,
+'Tis meet that men who meet to eat should eat their meat when meeting;
+Brawn on the board's no bore indeed, although from boar prepared;
+Nor can the fowl on which we feed, foul feeding be declared.
+
+Thus one ripe fruit may be a pear, and yet be pared again,
+And still be one, which seemeth rare until we do explain.
+It therefore should be all your aim to speak with ample care,
+For who, however fond of game, would choose to swallow hair?
+
+A fat man's gait may make us smile, who have no gate to close;
+The farmer sitting on his stile no stylish person knows.
+Perfumers men of scents must be; some Scilly men are bright;
+A brown man oft deep read we see, a black a wicked wight.
+
+Most wealthy men good manors have, however vulgar they;
+And actors still the harder slave the oftener they play;
+So poets can't the baize obtain, unless their tailors choose;
+While grooms and coachmen, not in vain, each evening seek the Mews.
+
+The dyer, who by dyeing lives, a dire life maintains;
+The glazier, it is known, receives his profits for his panes;
+By gardeners thyme is tied, 'tis true, when spring is in its prime,
+But time or tide won't wait for you if you are tied for time.
+
+Then now you see, my little dears, the way to make a pun;
+A trick which you, through coming years, should sedulously shun;
+The fault admits of no defence; for wheresoe'er 'tis found,
+You sacrifice for sound the sense; the sense is never sound.
+
+So let your words and actions too, one single meaning prove,
+And, just in all you say or do, you'll gain esteem and love;
+In mirth and play no harm you'll know when duty's task is done,
+But parents ne'er should let you go unpunished for a pun!
+
+ _Theodore Hook._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WAR: A-Z
+
+
+An Austrian Archduke, assaulted and assailed,
+Broke Belgium's barriers, by Britain bewailed,
+Causing consternation, confused chaotic crises;
+Diffusing destructive, death dealing devices.
+England engaged earnestly, eager every ear,
+France fought furiously, forsaking foolish fear,
+Great German garrisons grappled Gallic guard,
+Hohenzollern Hussars hammered, heavy, hard.
+Infantry, Imperial, Indian, Irish, intermingling,
+Jackets jaunty, joking, jesting, jostling, jingling.
+Kinetic, Kruppised Kaiser, kingdom's killing knight,
+Laid Louvain lamenting, London lacking light,
+Mobilising millions, marvellous mobility,
+Numberless nonentities, numerous nobility.
+Oligarchies olden opposed olive offering,
+Prussia pressed Paris, Polish protection proffering,
+Quaint Quebec quickly quartered quotidian quota,
+Renascent Russia, resonant, reported regal rota.
+Scotch soldiers, sterling, songs stalwart sung,
+"Tipperary" thundered through titanic tongue.
+United States urging unarmament, unwanted,
+Visualised victory vociferously vaunted,
+Wilson's warnings wasted, world war wild,
+Xenian Nanthochroi Nantippically X-iled.
+Yorkshire's young yeomen yelling youthfully,
+"Zigzag Zeppelins, Zuyder Zee."
+
+ _John R. Edwards._
+
+
+
+
+ LINES TO MISS FLORENCE HUNTINGDON
+
+
+Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy
+ Shall we seek for communion of souls
+Where the deep Mississippi meanders
+ Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls?
+
+Ah, no!--for in Maine I will find thee
+ A sweetly sequestrated nook,
+Where the far-winding Skoodoowabskooksis
+ Conjoins with the Skoodoowabskook.
+
+There wander two beautiful rivers,
+ With many a winding and crook:
+The one is the Skoodoowabskooksis;
+ The other, the Skoodoowabskook.
+
+Ah, sweetest of haunts! though unmentioned
+ In geography, atlas, or book,
+How fair is the Skoodoowabskooksis,
+ When joining the Skoodoowabskook!
+
+Our cot shall be close by the waters,
+ Within that sequestrated nook,
+Reflected by Skoodoowabskooksis,
+ And mirrored in Skoodoowabskook.
+
+You shall sleep to the music of leaflets,
+ By zephyrs in wantonness shook,
+To dream of the Skoodoowabskooksis,
+ And, perhaps, of the Skoodoowabskook.
+
+Your food shall be fish from the waters,
+ Drawn forth on the point of a hook,
+From murmuring Skoodoowabskooksis,
+ Or meandering Skoodoowabskook.
+
+You shall quaff the most sparkling of waters,
+ Drawn forth from a silvery brook,
+Which flows to the Skoodoowabskooksis,
+ And so to the Skoodoowabskook.
+
+And you shall preside at the banquet,
+ And I shall wait on you as cook;
+And we'll talk of the Skoodoowabskooksis,
+ And sing of the Skoodoowabskook.
+
+Let others sing loudly of Saco,
+ Of Quoddy and Tattamagouche,
+Of Kenebeccasis and Quaco,
+ Of Merigoniche and Buctouche,
+
+Of Nashwaak and Magaguadavique,
+ Or Memmerimammericook:--
+There's none like the Skoodoowabskooksis,
+ Excepting the Skoodoowabskook!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ TO MY NOSE
+
+
+Knows he that never took a pinch,
+Nosey, the pleasure thence which flows,
+Knows he the titillating joys
+ Which my nose knows?
+O Nose, I am as proud of thee
+As any mountain of its snows,
+I gaze on thee, and feel that pride
+ A Roman knows!
+
+_Albert A. Forrester (Alfred Crowquill)._
+
+
+
+
+ A POLKA LYRIC
+
+
+Qui nunc dancere vult modo,
+Wants to dance in the fashion, oh!
+Discere debet--ought to know,
+Kickere floor cum heel and toe,
+ One, two, three,
+ Hop with me,
+Whirligig, twirligig, rapide.
+
+Polkam jungere, Virgo, vis,
+Will you join the polka, miss?
+Liberius--most willingly,
+Sic agimus--then let us try:
+ Nunc vide,
+ Skip with me,
+Whirlabout, roundabout, celere.
+
+Tum laeva cito, turn dextra,
+First to the left, and then t'other way;
+Aspice retro in vultu,
+You look at her, and she looks at you.
+ Das palmam
+ Change hands, ma'am;
+Celere--run away, just in sham.
+
+ _Barclay Philips._
+
+
+
+
+ A _CAT_ALECTIC MONODY!
+
+
+A cat I sing, of famous memory,
+Though _cat_achrestical my song may be;
+In a small garden _cat_acomb she lies,
+And _cat_aclysms fill her comrades' eyes;
+Borne on the air, the _cat_acoustic song
+Swells with her virtues' _cat_alogue along,
+No _cat_aplasm could lengthen out her years,
+Though mourning friends shed _cat_aracts of tears.
+Once loud and strong her _cat_echist-like voice
+It dwindled to a _cat_call's squeaking noise;
+Most _cat_egorical her virtues shone,
+By _cat_enation join'd each one to one;--
+But a vile _cat_chpoll dog, with cruel bite,
+Like _cat_ling's cut, her strength disabled quite;
+Her _cat_erwauling pierced the heavy air,
+As _cat_aphracts their arms through legions bear;
+'Tis vain! as _cat_erpillars drag away
+Their lengths, like _cat_tle after busy day,
+She ling'ring died, nor left in kit _kat_ the
+Embodyment of this _cat_astrophe.
+
+ _Cruikshank's Omnibus._
+
+
+
+
+ ODE FOR A SOCIAL MEETING
+
+ WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER
+
+
+Come! fill a fresh bumper,--for why should we go
+ logwood
+While the {nectar} still reddens our cups as they flow?
+ decoction
+Pour out the {rich juices} still bright with the sun,
+ dye-stuff
+Till o'er the brimmed crystal the {rubies} shall run.
+ half-ripened apples
+The {purple-globed clusters} their life-dews have bled;
+ taste sugar of lead
+How sweet is the {breath} of the {fragrance they shed}!
+ rank poisons _wines!!!_
+For Summer's {last roses} lie hid in the {wines}
+ stable-boys smoking long-nines
+That were garnered by {maidens who laughed through the vines},
+ scowl howl scoff sneer
+Then a {smile}, and a {glass}, and a {toast}, and a {cheer},
+ strychnine and whiskey, and ratsbane and beer
+For {all the good wine, and we've some of it here}!
+
+In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall,
+ Down, down with the tyrant that masters us all!
+{Long live the gay servant that laughs for us all!}
+
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
+
+[Transcriber's note: The words in {braces} are struck out in the
+original text with alternatives above.]
+
+
+
+
+ THE JOVIAL PRIEST'S CONFESSION
+
+TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF WALTER DE MAPES, TIME OF HENRY II
+
+
+
+I devise to end my days--in a tavern drinking,
+May some Christian hold for me--the glass when I am shrinking,
+That the cherubim may cry--when they see me sinking,
+God be merciful to a soul--of this gentleman's way of thinking.
+
+A glass of wine amazingly--enlighteneth one's internals;
+'Tis wings bedewed with nectar--that fly up to supernals;
+Bottles cracked in taverns--have much the sweeter kernels,
+Than the sups allowed to us--in the college journals.
+
+Every one by nature hath--a mold which he was cast in;
+I happen to be one of those--who never could write fasting;
+By a single little boy--I should be surpass'd in
+Writing so: I'd just as lief--be buried; tomb'd and grass'd in.
+
+Every one by nature hath--a gift too, a dotation:
+I, when I make verses--do get the inspiration
+Of the very best of wine--that comes into the nation:
+It maketh sermons to astound--for edification.
+
+Just as liquor floweth good--floweth forth my lay so;
+But I must moreover eat--or I could not say so;
+Naught it availeth inwardly--should I write all day so;
+But with God's grace after meat--I beat Ovidius Naso.
+
+Neither is there given to me--prophetic animation,
+Unless when I have eat and drank--yea, ev'n to saturation,
+Then in my upper story--hath Bacchus domination,
+And Ph[oe]bus rushes into me, and beggareth all relation.
+
+ _Leigh Hunt._
+
+
+
+
+ LIMERICKS
+
+
+There was an old man of Tobago,
+Who lived upon rice, gruel and sago;
+ Till, much to his bliss,
+ His physician said this:
+"To a leg, sir, of mutton, you may go."
+
+There was an old soldier of Bister,
+Went walking one day with his sister;
+ When a cow, at one poke,
+ Tossed her into an oak,
+Before the old gentleman missed her.
+
+There was a young man of St. Kitts
+Who was very much troubled with fits;
+ The eclipse of the moon
+ Threw him into a swoon,
+When he tumbled and broke into bits.
+
+There was an old man who said, "Gee!
+_I_ can't multiply seven by three!
+ Though fourteen seems plenty,
+ It _might_ come to twenty,--
+I haven't the slightest idee!"
+
+There was an old man in a pie,
+Who said, "I must fly! I must fly!"
+ When they said, "You can't do it!"
+ He replied that he knew it,
+But he _had_ to get out of that pie!
+
+A Tutor who tooted the flute
+Tried to teach two young tooters to toot;
+ Said the two to the Tutor,
+ "Is it harder to toot, or
+To tutor two tooters to toot?"
+
+ _Carolyn Wells._
+
+
+
+
+ RECITED BY A CHINESE INFANT
+
+
+If-itty-teshi-mow Jays
+Haddee ny up-plo-now-shi-buh nays;
+ ha! ha!
+ He lote im aw dow,
+ Witty motti-fy flow;
+A-flew-ty ho-lot-itty flays! Hee!
+
+ _Translation_
+
+Infinitesimal James
+Had nine unpronounceable names;
+ He wrote them all down,
+ With a mortified frown,
+And threw the whole lot in the flames.
+
+
+For beauty I am not a star,
+There are others more handsome by far;
+ But my face I don't mind it,
+ For I am behind it,
+It's the people in front that I jar.
+
+There was a young lady of Oakham,
+Who would steal your cigars and then soak 'em
+ In treacle and rum,
+ And then smear them with gum,
+So it wasn't a pleasure to smoke 'em.
+
+There was an Old Man in a tree
+Who was horribly bored by a bee;
+ When they said, "Does it buzz?"
+ He replied, "Yes, it does!
+It's a regular brute of a bee."
+
+ _Edward Lear._
+
+
+There was an Old Man of St. Bees
+Who was stung in the arm by a wasp.
+ When asked, "Does it hurt?"
+ He replied, "No, it doesn't,
+But I thought all the while 'twas a hornet."
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+There was an old man of the Rhine,
+When asked at what hour he would dine,
+ Replied, "At eleven,
+ Four, six, three and seven,
+And eight and a quarter of nine."
+
+There was a young man of Laconia,
+Whose mother-in-law had pneumonia;
+ He hoped for the worst,
+ And after March first
+They buried her 'neath a begonia.
+
+There was a young man of the cape
+Who always wore trousers of crepe;
+ When asked, "Don't they tear?"
+ He replied, "Here and there;
+But they keep such a beautiful shape."
+
+There once were some learned M.D.'s,
+Who captured some germs of disease,
+ And infected a train,
+ Which without causing pain,
+Allowed one to catch it with ease.
+
+ _Oliver Herford._
+
+
+There was a young lady of Lynn,
+Who was deep in original sin;
+ When they said, "Do be good,"
+ She said, "Would if I could!"
+And straightway went at it ag'in.
+
+I'd rather have fingers than toes;
+I'd rather have ears than a nose;
+ And as for my hair
+ I'm glad it's all there,
+I'll be awfully sad when it goes.
+
+ _Gelett Burgess._
+
+
+There was a young fellow named Clyde;
+Who was once at a funeral spied.
+ When asked who was dead,
+ He smilingly said,
+"_I_ don't know,--I just came for the ride!"
+
+There was a young lady of Truro,
+Who wished a mahogany bureau;
+ But her father said, "Dod!
+ All the men on Cape Cod
+Couldn't buy a mahogany bureau!"
+
+There was a young man of Ostend
+Who vowed he'd hold out to the end,
+ But when halfway over
+ From Calais to Dover,
+He done what he didn't intend--
+
+There was a young man of Cohoes,
+Wore tar on the end of his nose;
+ When asked why he done it,
+ He said for the fun it
+Afforded the men of Cohoes.
+
+ _Robert J. Burdette._
+
+
+There is a young artist called Whistler,
+Who in every respect is a bristler;
+ A tube of white lead,
+ Or a punch on the head,
+Come equally handy to Whistler.
+
+ _Dante Gabriel Rossetti._
+
+
+There is a creator named God,
+Whose doings are sometimes quite odd;
+ He made a painter named Val,
+ And I say and I shall,
+That he does no great credit to God.
+
+ _J. M. Whistler._
+
+
+There was a young lady of station,
+"I love man!" was her sole exclamation;
+ But when men cried, "You flatter!"
+ She replied, "Oh, no matter!
+Isle of Man, is the true explanation."
+
+ _Lewis Carroll._
+
+
+There was a young lady of Twickenham,
+Whose shoes were too tight to walk quick in 'em;
+ She came back from her walk,
+ Looking white as a chalk,
+And took 'em both off and was sick in 'em.
+
+ _Oliver Herford._
+
+
+"It's a very warm day," observed Billy.
+"I hope that you won't think it silly
+ If I say that this heat
+ Makes me think 'twould be sweet
+If one were a coolie in Chile!"
+
+ _Tudor Jenks._
+
+
+There was a young man from Cornell,
+Who said, "I'm aware of a smell,
+ But whether it's drains
+ Or human remains,
+I'm really unable to tell."
+
+There was a young lady from Joppa,
+Whose friends all decided to drop her;
+ She went with a friend
+ On a trip to Ostend,--
+And the rest of the story's improper.
+
+There once was a sculptor named Phidias,
+Whose statues by some were thought hideous;
+ He made Aphrodite
+ Without any nighty,
+Which shocked all the ultra-fastidious.
+
+John woke on Jan. first and felt queer;
+Said, "Crackers I'll swear off this year!
+ For the lobster and wine
+ And the rabbit were fine,--
+And it certainly wasn't the beer."
+
+There was a young lady of Venice
+Who used hard-boiled eggs to play tennis;
+ When they said, "You are wrong,"
+ She replied, "Go along!
+You don't know how prolific my hen is!"
+
+There was a young man of Fort Blainey,
+Who proposed to his typist named Janey;
+ When his friends said, "Oh, dear!
+ She's so old and so queer!"
+He replied, "But the day was so rainy!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ XIII
+
+ NONSENSE
+
+
+
+
+ LUNAR STANZAS
+
+
+Night saw the crew like pedlers with their packs
+ Altho' it were too dear to pay for eggs;
+Walk crank along with coffin on their backs
+ While in their arms they bow their weary legs.
+
+And yet 'twas strange, and scarce can one suppose
+ That a brown buzzard-fly should steal and wear
+His white jean breeches and black woollen hose,
+ But thence that flies have souls is very clear.
+
+But, Holy Father! what shall save the soul,
+ When cobblers ask three dollars for their shoes?
+When cooks their biscuits with a shot-tower roll,
+ And farmers rake their hay-cocks with their hoes.
+
+Yet, 'twere profuse to see for pendant light,
+ A tea-pot dangle in a lady's ear;
+And 'twere indelicate, although she might
+ Swallow two whales and yet the moon shine clear.
+
+But what to me are woven clouds, or what,
+ If dames from spiders learn to warp their looms?
+If coal-black ghosts turn soldiers for the State,
+ With wooden eyes, and lightning-rods for plumes?
+
+Oh! too, too shocking! barbarous, savage taste!
+ To eat one's mother ere itself was born!
+To gripe the tall town-steeple by the waste,
+ And scoop it out to be his drinking-horn.
+
+No more: no more! I'm sick and dead and gone;
+ Boxed in a coffin, stifled six feet deep;
+Thorns, fat and fearless, prick my skin and bone,
+ And revel o'er me, like a soulless sheep.
+
+ _Henry Coggswell Knight._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WHANGO TREE
+
+
+The woggly bird sat on the whango tree,
+ Nooping the rinkum corn,
+And graper and graper, alas! grew he,
+ And cursed the day he was born.
+His crute was clum and his voice was rum,
+ As curiously thus sang he,
+"Oh, would I'd been rammed and eternally clammed
+ Ere I perched on this whango tree."
+
+Now the whango tree had a bubbly thorn,
+ As sharp as a nootie's bill,
+And it stuck in the woggly bird's umptum lorn
+ And weepadge, the smart did thrill.
+He fumbled and cursed, but that wasn't the worst,
+ For he couldn't at all get free,
+And he cried, "I am gammed, and injustibly nammed
+ On the luggardly whango tree."
+
+And there he sits still, with no worm in his bill,
+ Nor no guggledom in his nest;
+He is hungry and bare, and gobliddered with care,
+ And his grabbles give him no rest;
+He is weary and sore and his tugmut is soar,
+ And nothing to nob has he,
+As he chirps, "I am blammed and corruptibly jammed,
+ In this cuggerdom whango tree."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THREE CHILDREN
+
+
+Three children sliding on the ice
+ Upon 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.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ 'TIS MIDNIGHT
+
+
+'Tis midnight, and the setting sun
+ Is slowly rising in the west;
+The rapid rivers slowly run,
+ The frog is on his downy nest.
+The pensive goat and sportive cow,
+Hilarious, leap from bough to bough.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ COSSIMBAZAR
+
+
+Come fleetly, come fleetly, my hookabadar,
+For the sound of the tam-tam is heard from afar.
+"Banoolah! Banoolah!" The Brahmins are nigh,
+And the depths of the jungle re-echo their cry.
+ _Pestonjee Bomanjee!_
+ Smite the guitar;
+
+Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.
+Heed not the blast of the deadly monsoon,
+Nor the blue Brahmaputra that gleams in the moon
+Stick to thy music, and oh, let the sound
+Be heard with distinctness a mile or two round.
+ _Jamsetjee, Jeejeebhoy!_
+ Sweep the guitar.
+Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.
+
+Art thou a Buddhist, or dost thou indeed
+Put faith in the monstrous Mohammedan creed?
+Art thou a Ghebir--a blinded Parsee?
+Not that it matters an atom to me.
+ _Cursetjee Bomanjee!_
+ Twang the guitar
+Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.
+
+ _Henry S. Leigh._
+
+
+
+
+ AN UNSUSPECTED FACT
+
+
+If down his throat a man should choose
+In fun, to jump or slide,
+He'd scrape his shoes against his teeth,
+Nor dirt his own inside.
+But if his teeth were lost and gone,
+And not a stump to scrape upon,
+He'd see at once how very pat
+His tongue lay there by way of mat,
+And he would wipe his feet on _that_!
+
+ _Edward Cannon._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CUMBERBUNCE
+
+
+I strolled beside the shining sea,
+I was as lonely as could be;
+No one to cheer me in my walk
+But stones and sand, which cannot talk--
+Sand and stones and bits of shell,
+Which never have a thing to tell.
+
+But as I sauntered by the tide
+I saw a something at my side,
+A something green, and blue, and pink,
+And brown, and purple, too, I think.
+I would not say how large it was;
+I would not venture that, because
+It took me rather by surprise,
+And I have not the best of eyes.
+
+Should you compare it to a cat,
+I'd say it was as large as that;
+Or should you ask me if the thing
+Was smaller than a sparrow's wing,
+I should be apt to think you knew,
+And simply answer, "Very true!"
+
+Well, as I looked upon the thing,
+It murmured, "Please, sir, can I sing?"
+And then I knew its name at once--
+It plainly was a Cumberbunce.
+
+You are amazed that I could tell
+The creature's name so quickly? Well,
+I knew it was not a paper-doll,
+A pencil or a parasol,
+A tennis-racket or a cheese,
+And, as it was not one of these,
+And I am not a perfect dunce--
+It had to be a Cumberbunce!
+
+With pleading voice and tearful eye
+It seemed as though about to cry.
+It looked so pitiful and sad
+It made me feel extremely bad.
+My heart was softened to the thing
+That asked me if it, please, could sing.
+Its little hand I longed to shake,
+But, oh, it had no hand to take!
+I bent and drew the creature near,
+And whispered in its pale blue ear,
+"What! Sing, my Cumberbunce? You can!
+Sing on, sing loudly, little man!"
+
+The Cumberbunce, without ado,
+Gazed sadly on the ocean blue,
+And, lifting up its little head,
+In tones of awful longing, said:
+
+ "Oh, I would sing of mackerel skies,
+ And why the sea is wet,
+ Of jelly-fish and conger-eels,
+ And things that I forget.
+ And I would hum a plaintive tune
+ Of why the waves are hot
+ As water boiling on a stove,
+ Excepting that they're not!
+
+ "And I would sing of hooks and eyes,
+ And why the sea is slant,
+ And gayly tips the little ships,
+ Excepting that I can't!
+ I never sang a single song,
+ I never hummed a note.
+ There is in me no melody,
+ No music in my throat.
+
+ "So that is why I do not sing
+ Of sharks, or whales, or anything!"
+
+I looked in innocent surprise,
+My wonder showing in my eyes,
+"Then why, O, Cumberbunce," I cried,
+"Did you come walking at my side
+And ask me if you, please, might sing,
+When you could not warble anything?"
+
+"I did not ask permission, sir,
+I really did not, I aver.
+You, sir, misunderstood me, quite.
+I did not ask you if I _might_.
+Had you correctly understood,
+You'd know I asked you if I _could_.
+So, as I cannot sing a song,
+Your answer, it is plain, was wrong.
+The fact I could not sing I knew,
+But wanted your opinion, too."
+
+ A voice came softly o'er the lea.
+ "Farewell! my mate is calling me!"
+
+I saw the creature disappear,
+Its voice, in parting, smote my ear--
+"I thought all people understood
+The difference 'twixt 'might' and 'could'!"
+
+ _Paul West._
+
+
+
+
+ MR. FINNEY'S TURNIP
+
+
+Mr. Finney had a turnip
+ And it grew and it grew;
+And it grew behind the barn,
+ And that turnip did no harm.
+
+There it grew and it grew
+ Till it could grow no longer;
+Then his daughter Lizzie picked it
+ And put it in the cellar.
+
+There it lay and it lay
+ Till it began to rot;
+And his daughter Susie took it
+ And put it in the pot.
+
+And they boiled it and boiled it
+ As long as they were able,
+And then his daughters took it,
+ And put it on the table.
+
+Mr. Finney and his wife
+ They sat down to sup;
+And they ate and they ate
+ And they ate that turnip up.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ NONSENSE VERSES
+
+
+Lazy-bones, lazy-bones, wake up and peep!
+The cat's in the cupboard, your mother's asleep.
+There you sit snoring, forgetting her ills;
+Who is to give her her Bolus and Pills?
+Twenty fine Angels must come into town,
+All for to help you to make your new gown:
+Dainty aerial Spinsters and Singers;
+Aren't you ashamed to employ such white fingers?
+Delicate hands, unaccustom'd to reels,
+To set 'em working a poor body's wheels?
+Why they came down is to me all a riddle,
+And left Hallelujah broke off in the middle:
+Jove's Court, and the Presence angelical, cut--
+To eke out the work of a lazy young slut.
+Angel-duck, Angel-duck, winged and silly,
+Pouring a watering-pot over a lily,
+Gardener gratuitous, careless of pelf,
+Leave her to water her lily herself,
+Or to neglect it to death if she chuse it:
+Remember the loss is her own if she lose it.
+
+ _Charles Lamb._
+
+
+
+
+ LIKE TO THE THUNDERING TONE
+
+
+Like to the thundering tone of unspoke speeches,
+Or like a lobster clad in logic breeches,
+Or like the gray fur of a crimson cat,
+Or like the mooncalf in a slipshod hat;
+E'en such is he who never was begotten
+Until his children were both dead and rotten.
+
+Like to the fiery tombstone of a cabbage,
+Or like a crab-louse with its bag and baggage,
+Or like the four square circle of a ring,
+Or like to hey ding, ding-a, ding-a, ding;
+E'en such is he who spake, and yet, no doubt,
+Spake to small purpose, when his tongue was out.
+
+Like to a fair, fresh, fading, wither'd rose,
+Or like to rhyming verse that runs in prose,
+Or like the stumbles of a tinder-box,
+Or like a man that's sound yet sickness mocks;
+E'en such is he who died and yet did laugh
+To see these lines writ for his epitaph.
+
+ _Bishop Corbet in 17th century._
+
+
+
+
+ AESTIVATION
+
+
+In candent ire the solar splendour flames;
+The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames;
+His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes,
+And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.
+
+How dolce to vive occult to mortal eyes,
+Dorm on the herb with none to supervise,
+Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine,
+And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine!
+
+To me, alas! no verdurous visions come,
+Save yon exiguous pool's conferva-scum--
+No concave vast repeats the tender hue
+That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue.
+
+Me wretched! let me curr to quercine shades!
+Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous maids!
+Oh, might I vole to some umbrageous clump,--
+Depart--be off,--excede,--evade,--crump!
+
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
+
+
+
+
+UNCLE SIMON AND UNCLE JIM
+
+
+Uncle Simon he
+Clumb up a tree
+To see
+What he could see,
+When presentlee
+Uncle Jim
+Clumb up beside of him
+And squatted down by he.
+
+_Charles Farrar Browne_ (Artemus Ward).
+
+
+
+
+ A TRAGIC STORY
+
+
+There lived a sage in days of yore,
+And he a handsome pigtail wore;
+But wondered much and sorrowed more,
+ Because it hung behind him.
+
+He mused upon this curious case,
+And swore he'd change the pigtail's place,
+And have it hanging at his face,
+ Not dangling there behind him.
+
+Says he, "The mystery I've found,--
+I'll turn me round,"--he turned him round;
+ But still it hung behind him.
+
+Then round and round, and out and in,
+All day the puzzled sage did spin;
+In vain--it mattered not a pin,--
+ The pigtail hung behind him.
+
+And right and left, and round about,
+And up and down, and in and out,
+He turned; but still the pigtail stout
+ Hung steadily behind him.
+
+And though his efforts never slack,
+And though he twist and twirl and tack,
+Alas! still faithful to his back,
+ The pigtail hangs behind him.
+
+ _W. M. Thackeray._
+
+
+
+
+ SONNET FOUND IN A DESERTED MAD HOUSE
+
+
+Oh that my soul a marrow-bone might seize!
+For the old egg of my desire is broken,
+Spilled is the pearly white and spilled the yolk, and
+As the mild melancholy contents grease
+My path the shorn lamb baas like bumblebees.
+Time's trashy purse is as a taken token
+Or like a thrilling recitation, spoken
+By mournful mouths filled full of mirth and cheese.
+
+And yet, why should I clasp the earthful urn?
+Or find the frittered fig that felt the fast?
+Or choose to chase the cheese around the churn?
+Or swallow any pill from out the past?
+Ah, no Love, not while your hot kisses burn
+Like a potato riding on the blast.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE JIM-JAM KING OF THE JOU-JOUS
+
+ AN ARABIAN LEGEND
+
+ Translated from the Arabic
+
+
+Far off in the waste of desert sand,
+The Jim-jam rules in the Jou-jou land:
+He sits on a throne of red-hot rocks,
+And moccasin snakes are his curling locks;
+And the Jou-jous have the conniption fits
+In the far-off land where the Jim-jam sits--
+If things are now as things were then.
+Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!
+
+The country's so dry in Jou-jou land
+You could wet it down with Sahara sand,
+And over its boundaries the air
+Is hotter than 'tis--no matter where:
+A camel drops down completely tanned
+When he crosses the line in Jou-jou land--
+If things are now as things were then.
+Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!
+
+A traveller once got stuck in the sand
+On the fiery edge of Jou-jou land;
+The Jou-jous they confiscated him,
+And the Jim-jam tore him limb from limb;
+But, dying, he said: "If eaten I am,
+I'll disagree with this Dam-jim-jam!
+He'll think his stomach's a Hoodoo's den!"
+Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!
+
+Then the Jim-jam felt so bad inside,
+It just about humbled his royal pride.
+He decided to physic himself with sand,
+And throw up his job in the Jou-jou land.
+He descended his throne of red-hot rocks,
+And hired a barber to cut his locks:
+The barber died of the got-'em-again.
+Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!
+
+And now let every good Mussulman
+Get all the good from this tale he can.
+If you wander off on a Jamboree,
+Across the stretch of the desert sea,
+Look out that right at the height of your booze
+You don't get caught by the Jou-jou-jous!
+You may, for the Jim-jam's at it again.
+Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!
+
+ _Alaric Bertrand Stuart._
+
+
+
+
+ TO MARIE
+
+
+When the breeze from the bluebottle's blustering blim
+ Twirls the toads in a tooroomaloo,
+And the whiskery whine of the wheedlesome whim
+ Drowns the roll of the rattatattoo,
+Then I dream in the shade of the shally-go-shee,
+ And the voice of the bally-molay
+Brings the smell of stale poppy-cods blummered in blee
+ From the willy-wad over the way.
+Ah, the shuddering shoo and the blinketty-blanks
+ When the yungalung falls from the bough
+In the blast of a hurricane's hicketty-hanks
+ On the hills of the hocketty-how!
+Give the rigamarole to the clangery-whang,
+ If they care for such fiddlededee;
+But the thingumbob kiss of the whangery-bang
+ Keeps the higgledy-piggle for me.
+
+ L'ENVOI
+
+It is pilly-po-doddle and aligobung
+ When the lollypop covers the ground,
+Yet the poldiddle perishes punketty-pung
+ When the heart jimmy-coggles around.
+If the soul cannot snoop at the giggle-some cart,
+ Seeking surcease in gluggety-glug,
+It is useless to say to the pulsating heart,
+ "Panky-doodle ker-chuggetty-chug!"
+
+ _John Bennett._
+
+
+
+
+ MY DREAM
+
+
+I dreamed a dream next Tuesday week,
+ Beneath the apple-trees;
+I thought my eyes were big pork-pies,
+ And my nose was Stilton cheese.
+The clock struck twenty minutes to six,
+ When a frog sat on my knee;
+I asked him to lend me eighteenpence,
+ But he borrowed a shilling of me.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE ROLLICKING MASTODON
+
+
+A rollicking Mastodon lived in Spain,
+ In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree.
+His face was plain, but his jocular vein
+ Was a burst of the wildest glee.
+His voice was strong and his laugh so long
+ That people came many a mile,
+And offered to pay a guinea a day
+ For the fractional part of a smile.
+
+The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide--
+ Indeed, 'twas a matter of family pride;
+And oh! so proud of his jocular vein
+ Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+The Rollicking Mastodon said one day,
+ "I feel that I need some air,
+For a little ozone's a tonic for bones,
+ As well as a gloss for the hair."
+So he skipped along and warbled a song
+ In his own triumphulant way.
+His smile was bright and his skip was light
+ As he chirruped his roundelay.
+
+The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along,
+ And sang what Mastodons call a song;
+But every note of it seemed to pain
+ The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+A Little Peetookle came over the hill,
+ Dressed up in a bollitant coat;
+And he said, "You need some harroway seed,
+ And a little advice for your throat."
+The Mastodon smiled and said, "My child,
+ There's a chance for your taste to grow.
+If you polish your mind, you'll certainly find
+ How little, how little you know."
+
+The Little Peetookle, his teeth he ground
+ At the Mastodon's singular sense of sound;
+For he felt it a sort of a musical stain
+ On the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+"Alas! and alas! has it come to this pass?"
+ Said the Little Peetookle. "Dear me!
+It certainly seems your horrible screams
+ Intended for music must be!"
+The Mastodon stopped, his ditty he dropped,
+ And murmured, "Good morning, my dear!
+I never will sing to a sensitive thing
+ That shatters a song with a sneer!"
+
+The Rollicking Mastodon bade him "adieu."
+ Of course 'twas a sensible thing to do;
+For Little Peetookle is spared the strain
+ Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
+
+ _Arthur Macy._
+
+
+
+
+ _NONSENSE VERSES_
+
+ THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE
+
+I'd Never Dare to Walk across
+ A Bridge I Could Not See;
+For Quite afraid of Falling off,
+ I fear that I Should Be!
+
+
+ THE LAZY ROOF
+
+The Roof it has a Lazy Time
+ A-lying in the Sun;
+The Walls they have to Hold Him Up;
+ They do Not Have Much Fun!
+
+
+ MY FEET
+
+My feet, they haul me Round the House,
+ They Hoist me up the Stairs;
+I only have to Steer them and
+ They Ride me Everywheres.
+
+ _Gelett Burgess._
+
+
+
+
+ SPIRK TROLL-DERISIVE
+
+
+The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon,
+ And wistfully gazed on the sea
+Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune
+ To the air of "Ti-fol-de-ding-dee."
+The quavering shriek of the Fliupthecreek
+ Was fitfully wafted afar
+To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek
+ With the pulverized rays of a star.
+
+The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig,
+ And his heart it grew heavy as lead
+As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wig
+ On the opposite side of his head;
+And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill
+ Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies
+To plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill
+ To pick the tears out of his eyes.
+
+The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance;
+ And the Squidjum hid under a tub
+As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance
+ With a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub dub!
+And the Crankadox cried as he laid down and died,
+ "My fate there is none to bewail!"
+While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide
+ With a long piece of crape to her tail.
+
+ _James Whitcomb Riley._
+
+
+
+
+ THE MAN IN THE MOON
+
+
+Said the Raggedy Man on a hot afternoon,
+ "My!
+ Sakes!
+ What a lot o' mistakes
+Some little folks makes on the Man in the Moon
+But people that's been up to see him like Me,
+And calls on him frequent and intimutly,
+Might drop a few hints that would interest you
+ Clean!
+ Through!
+ If you wanted 'em to--
+Some actual facts that might interest you!
+
+"O the Man in the Moon has a crick in his back
+ Whee!
+ Whimm!
+ Ain't you sorry for him?
+And a mole on his nose that is purple and black;
+And his eyes are so weak that they water and run
+If he dares to _dream_ even he looks at the sun,--
+So he jes' dreams of stars, as the doctor's advise--
+ My!
+ Eyes!
+ But isn't he wise--
+To jes' dream of stars, as the doctors advise?
+
+"And the Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear--
+ Whee!
+ Whing!
+ What a singular thing!
+I know! but these facts are authentic, my dear,--
+There's a boil on his ear; and a corn on his chin,--
+He calls it a dimple,--but dimples stick in,--
+Yet it might be a dimple turned over, you know!
+ Whang!
+ Ho!
+ Why certainly so!--
+It might be a dimple turned over, you know!
+
+"And the Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee,
+ Gee!
+ Whizz!
+ What a pity that is!
+And his toes have worked round where his heels ought to be.
+So whenever he wants to go North he goes South,
+And comes back with porridge crumbs all round his mouth,
+And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan,
+ Whing!
+ Whann!
+ What a marvellous man!
+What a very remarkably marvellous man!
+
+"And the Man in the Moon," sighed the Raggedy Man,
+ "Gits!
+ So!
+ Sullonesome, you know!
+Up there by himself since creation began!--
+That when I call on him and then come away,
+He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay,--
+Till--well, if it wasn't for _Jimmy-cum-Jim_,
+ Dadd!
+ Limb!
+ I'd go pardners with him!
+Jes' jump my bob here and be pardners with him!"
+
+ _James Whitcomb Riley._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG
+
+
+Out on the margin of moonshine land,
+ Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs,
+Out where the whing-whang loves to stand
+Writing his name with his tail on the sand,
+And wiping it out with his oogerish hand;
+ Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.
+
+Is it the gibber of gungs and keeks?
+ Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs,
+Or what _is_ the sound the whing-whang seeks,
+Crouching low by the winding creeks,
+And holding his breath for weeks and weeks?
+ Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.
+
+Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things!
+ Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs,
+'Tis a fair whing-whangess with phosphor rings,
+And bridal jewels of fangs and stings,
+And she sits and as sadly and softly sings
+As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings;
+ Tickle me, dear; tickle me here;
+ Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.
+
+ _James Whitcomb Riley._
+
+
+
+
+ THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO
+
+
+ I
+
+On the Coast of Coromandel
+ Where the early pumpkins blow,
+ In the middle of the woods
+ Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+Two old chairs, and half a candle,
+One old jug without a handle,--
+ These were all his worldly goods:
+ In the middle of the woods,
+ These were all the worldly goods
+ Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
+ Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+
+ II
+
+Once, among the Bong-trees walking
+ Where the early pumpkins blow,
+ To a little heap of stones
+ Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+There he heard a Lady talking,
+To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,
+ "'Tis the Lady Jingly Jones!
+ On that little heap of stones
+ Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!"
+ Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
+ Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+
+ III
+
+"Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!
+ Sitting where the pumpkins blow,
+ Will you come and be my wife?"
+ Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
+"I am tired of living singly,--
+On this coast so wild and shingly,--
+ I'm a-weary of my life;
+ If you'll come and be my wife,
+ Quite serene would be my life!"
+ Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
+ Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+
+ IV
+
+"On this Coast of Coromandel
+ Shrimps and watercresses grow,
+ Prawns are plentiful and cheap,"
+ Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+"You shall have my chairs and candle,
+And my jug without a handle!
+ Gaze upon the rolling deep
+ (Fish is plentiful and cheap):
+ As the sea, my love is deep!"
+ Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
+ Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+
+ V
+
+Lady Jingly answered sadly,
+ And her tears began to flow,--
+ "Your proposal comes too late,
+ Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
+I would be your wife most gladly!"
+(Here she twirled her fingers madly,)
+ "But in England I've a mate!
+ Yes! you've asked me far too late,
+ For in England I've a mate,
+ Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
+ Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
+
+ VI
+
+"Mr. Jones (his name is Handel,--
+ Handel Jones, Esquire & Co.)
+ Dorking fowls delights to send,
+ Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
+Keep, oh, keep your chairs and candle,
+And your jug without a handle,--
+ I can merely be your friend!
+ Should my Jones more Dorkings send,
+ I will give you three, my friend!
+ Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
+ Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
+
+ VII
+
+"Though you've such a tiny body,
+ And your head so large doth grow,--
+ Though your hat may blow away,
+ Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
+Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy,
+Yet I wish that I could modi-
+ fy the words I needs must say!
+ Will you please to go away?
+ That is all I have to say,
+ Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
+ Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!"
+
+ VIII
+
+Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,
+ Where the early pumpkins blow,
+ To the calm and silent sea
+ Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle,
+Lay a large and lively Turtle.
+ "You're the Cove," he said, "for me:
+ On your back beyond the sea,
+ Turtle, you shall carry me!"
+ Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
+ Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+
+ IX
+
+Through the silent roaring ocean
+ Did the Turtle swiftly go;
+ Holding fast upon his shell
+ Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+With a sad primaeval motion
+Toward the sunset isles of Boshen
+ Still the Turtle bore him well,
+ Holding fast upon his shell.
+ "Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!"
+ Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
+ Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+
+ X
+
+From the Coast of Coromandel
+ Did that Lady never go,
+ On that heap of stones she mourns
+ For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+On that Coast of Coromandel,
+In his jug without a handle
+ Still she weeps, and daily moans;
+ On the little heap of stones
+ To her Dorking Hens she moans,
+ For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
+ For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
+
+ _Edward Lear._
+
+
+
+
+ THE JUMBLIES
+
+
+ I
+
+They went to sea in a sieve, they did;
+ In a sieve they went to sea:
+In spite of all their friends could say,
+On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
+ In a sieve they went to sea.
+And when the sieve turned round and round,
+And every one cried, "You'll all be drowned!"
+They called aloud, "Our sieve ain't big;
+But we don't care a button, we don't care a fig:
+ In a sieve we'll go to sea!"
+Far and few, far and few,
+ Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
+Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;
+ And they went to sea in a sieve.
+
+ II
+
+They sailed away in a sieve, they did,
+ In a sieve they sailed so fast,
+With only a beautiful pea-green veil
+Tied with a ribbon by way of a sail,
+ To a small tobacco-pipe mast.
+And every one said who saw them go,
+"Oh! won't they soon be upset, you know?
+For the sky is dark and the voyage is long,
+And, happen what may, it's extremely wrong
+ In a sieve to sail so fast."
+ Far and few, far and few,
+ Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
+ Their heads are green and their hands are blue;
+ And they went to sea in a sieve.
+
+ III
+
+The water it soon came in, it did;
+ The water it soon came in:
+So, to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
+In a pinky paper all folded neat;
+ And they fastened it down with a pin.
+And they passed the night in a crockery-jar;
+And each of them said, "How wise we are!
+Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
+Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
+ While round in our sieve we spin."
+ Far and few, far and few,
+ Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
+ Their heads are green and their hands are blue;
+ And they went to sea in a sieve.
+
+ IV
+
+And all night long they sailed away;
+ And when the sun went down,
+They whistled and warbled a moony song
+To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
+ In the shade of the mountains brown.
+"O Timballoo! How happy we are
+When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar!
+And all night long, in the moonlight pale,
+We sail away with a pea-green sail
+ In the shade of the mountains brown."
+ Far and few, far and few,
+ Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
+ Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;
+ And they went to sea in a sieve.
+
+ V
+
+They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,--
+ To a land all covered with trees;
+And they bought an owl and a useful cart,
+And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart,
+ And a hive of silvery bees;
+And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws,
+And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws,
+And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree,
+ And no end of Stilton cheese.
+ Far and few, far and few,
+ Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
+ Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;
+ And they went to sea in a sieve.
+
+ VI
+
+And in twenty years they all came back,--
+ In twenty years or more;
+And every one said, "How tall they've grown!
+For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
+ And the hills of the Chankly Bore."
+And they drank their health, and gave them a feast--
+Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
+And every one said, "If we only live,
+We, too, will go to sea in a sieve,
+ To the hills of the Chankly Bore."
+ Far and few, far and few,
+ Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
+ Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;
+ And they went to sea in a sieve.
+
+ _Edward Lear._
+
+
+
+
+ THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES
+
+
+The Pobble who has no toes
+ Had once as many as we;
+When they said, "Some day you may lose them all,"
+ He replied, "Fish fiddle de-dee!"
+And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink
+Lavender water tinged with pink;
+For she said, "The World in general knows
+There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!"
+
+The Pobble who has no toes
+ Swam across the Bristol Channel;
+But before he set out he wrapped his nose
+ In a piece of scarlet flannel.
+For his Aunt Jobiska said, "No harm
+Can came to his toes if his nose is warm;
+And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes
+Are safe--provided he minds his nose."
+
+The Pobble swam fast and well,
+ And when boats or ships came near him,
+He tinkledy-binkledy-winkled a bell
+ So that all the world could hear him.
+And all the Sailors and Admirals cried,
+When they saw him nearing the farther side,
+"He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's
+Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!"
+
+But before he touched the shore--
+ The shore of the Bristol Channel,
+A sea-green Porpoise carried away
+ His wrapper of scarlet flannel.
+And when he came to observe his feet,
+Formerly garnished with toes so neat,
+His face at once became forlorn
+On perceiving that all his toes were gone!
+
+And nobody ever knew,
+ From that dark day to the present,
+Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes,
+ In a manner so far from pleasant.
+Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray,
+Or crafty mermaids stole them away,
+Nobody knew; and nobody knows
+How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!
+
+The Pobble who has no toes
+ Was placed in a friendly Bark,
+And they rowed him back and carried him up
+ To his Aunt Jobiska's Park.
+And she made him a feast at his earnest wish,
+Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish;
+And she said, "It's a fact the whole world knows,
+That Pobbles are happier without their toes."
+
+ _Edward Lear._
+
+
+
+
+ THE NEW VESTMENTS
+
+
+There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess,
+Who invented a purely original dress;
+And when it was perfectly made and complete,
+He opened the door and walked into the street.
+
+By way of a hat he'd a loaf of Brown Bread,
+In the middle of which he inserted his head;
+His Shirt was made up of no end of dead Mice,
+The warmth of whose skins was quite fluffy and nice;
+His Drawers were of Rabbit-skins, so were his Shoes,
+His Stockings were skins, but it is not known whose;
+His Waistcoat and Trowsers were made of Pork Chops;
+His Buttons were Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.
+
+His Coat was all Pancakes with Jam for a border,
+And a girdle of Biscuits to keep it in order.
+And he wore over all, as a screen from bad weather,
+A Cloak of green Cabbage leaves, stitched all together.
+
+He had walked a short way, when he heard a great noise
+Of all sorts of Beasticles, Birdlings and Boys;
+And from every long street and dark lane in the town
+Beasts, Birdies and Boys in a tumult rushed down.
+Two Cows and a Calf ate his Cabbage leaf Cloak;
+Four Apes seized his girdle which vanished like smoke;
+Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat,
+And the tails were devoured by an ancient He Goat.
+An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore _up_ his
+Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies;
+And while they were growling and mumbling the Chops
+Ten Boys prigged the Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.
+He tried to run back to his house, but in vain,
+For scores of fat Pigs came again and again;
+They rushed out of stables and hovels and doors,
+They tore off his Stockings, his Shoes and his Drawers.
+And now from the housetops with screechings descend
+Striped, spotted, white, black and grey Cats without end;
+They jumped on his shoulders and knocked off his hat,
+When Crows, Ducks and Hens made a mincemeat of that.
+They speedily flew at his sleeves in a trice
+And utterly tore up his Shirt of dead Mice;
+They swallowed the last of his Shirt with a squall,--
+Whereon he ran home with no clothes on at all.
+And he said to himself as he bolted the door,
+"I will not wear a similar dress any more,
+Any more, any more, any more, nevermore!"
+
+ _Edward Lear._
+
+
+
+
+ THE TWO OLD BACHELORS
+
+
+Two old Bachelors were living in one house;
+One caught a Muffin, the other caught a Mouse.
+Said he who caught the Muffin to him who caught the Mouse,
+"This happens just in time, for we've nothing in the house,
+Save a tiny slice of lemon and a teaspoonful of honey,
+And what to do for dinner,--since we haven't any money?
+And what can we expect if we haven't any dinner
+But to lose our teeth and eyelashes and keep on growing thinner?"
+
+Said he who caught the Mouse to him who caught the Muffin,
+"We might cook this little Mouse if we only had some Stuffin'!
+If we had but Sage and Onions we could do extremely well,
+But how to get that Stuffin' it is difficult to tell!"
+
+And then those two old Bachelors ran quickly to the town
+And asked for Sage and Onions as they wandered up an down;
+They borrowed two large Onions, but no Sage was to be found
+In the Shops or in the Market or in all the Gardens round.
+
+But some one said, "A hill there is, a little to the north,
+And to its purpledicular top a narrow way leads forth;
+And there among the rugged rocks abides an ancient Sage,--
+An earnest Man, who reads all day a most perplexing page.
+Climb up and seize him by the toes,--all studious as he sits,--
+And pull him down, and chop him into endless little bits!
+Then mix him with your Onion (cut up likewise into scraps),
+And your Stuffin' will be ready, and very good--perhaps."
+
+And then those two old Bachelors, without loss of time,
+The nearly purpledicular crags at once began to climb;
+And at the top among the rocks, all seated in a nook,
+They saw that Sage a-reading of a most enormous book.
+"You earnest Sage!" aloud they cried, "your book you've read enough in!
+We wish to chop you into bits and mix you into Stuffin'!"
+
+But that old Sage looked calmly up, and with his awful book
+At those two Bachelors' bald heads a certain aim he took;
+And over crag and precipice they rolled promiscuous down,--
+At once they rolled, and never stopped in lane or field or town;
+And when they reached their house, they found (besides their want of
+ Stuffin')
+The Mouse had fled--and previously had eaten up the Muffin.
+
+They left their home in silence by the once convivial door;
+And from that hour those Bachelors were never heard of more.
+
+ _Edward Lear._
+
+
+
+
+ JABBERWOCKY
+
+
+'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
+ Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
+All mimsy were the borogoves,
+ And the mome raths outgrabe.
+
+"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
+ The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
+Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
+ The frumious Bandersnatch!"
+
+He took his vorpal sword in hand:
+ Long time the manxome foe he sought.
+So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
+ And stood awhile in thought.
+
+And as in uffish thought he stood,
+ The Jabberwock with eyes of flame,
+Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
+ And burbled as it came!
+
+One, two! One, two! And through, and through
+ The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
+He left it dead, and with its head
+ He went galumphing back.
+
+"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
+ Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
+Oh, frabjous day! Callooh! callay!"
+ He chortled in his joy.
+
+'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
+ Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
+All mimsy were the borogoves
+ And the mome raths outgrabe.
+
+ _Lewis Carroll._
+
+
+
+
+ WAYS AND MEANS
+
+
+I'll tell thee everything I can;
+ There's little to relate.
+I saw an aged aged man,
+ A-sitting on a gate.
+"Who are you, aged man?" I said,
+ "And how is it you live?"
+His answer trickled through my head
+ Like water through a sieve.
+
+He said, "I look for butterflies
+ That sleep among the wheat:
+I make them into mutton-pies,
+ And sell them in the street.
+I sell them unto men," he said,
+ "Who sail on stormy seas;
+And that's the way I get my bread--
+ A trifle, if you please."
+
+But I was thinking of a plan
+ To dye one's whiskers green,
+And always use so large a fan
+ That they could not be seen.
+So, having no reply to give
+ To what the old man said,
+I cried, "Come, tell me how you live!"
+ And thumped him on the head.
+
+His accents mild took up the tale;
+ He said, "I go my ways
+And when I find a mountain-rill
+ I set it in a blaze;
+And thence they make a stuff they call
+ Rowland's Macassar Oil--
+Yet twopence-halfpenny is all
+ They give me for my toil."
+
+But I was thinking of a way
+ To feed oneself on batter,
+And so go on from day to day
+ Getting a little fatter.
+I shook him well from side to side,
+ Until his face was blue;
+"Come, tell me how you live," I cried,
+ "And what it is you do!"
+
+He said, "I hunt for haddock's eyes
+ Among the heather bright,
+And work them into waistcoat-buttons
+ In the silent night.
+And these I do not sell for gold
+ Or coin of silvery shine,
+But for a copper halfpenny
+ And that will purchase nine.
+
+"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
+ Or set limed twigs for crabs;
+I sometimes search the grassy knolls
+ For wheels of Hansom cabs.
+And that's the way" (he gave a wink)
+ "By which I get my wealth--
+And very gladly will I drink
+ Your Honor's noble health."
+
+I heard him then, for I had just
+ Completed my design
+To keep the Menai Bridge from rust
+ By boiling it in wine.
+I thanked him much for telling me
+ The way he got his wealth,
+But chiefly for his wish that he
+ Might drink my noble health.
+
+And now if e'er by chance I put
+ My fingers into glue,
+Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
+ Into a left-hand shoe,
+Or if I drop upon my toe
+ A very heavy weight,
+I weep, for it reminds me so
+ Of that old man I used to know--
+Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow,
+Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
+Whose face was very like a crow,
+With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
+Who seemed distracted with his woe,
+Who rocked his body to and fro,
+And muttered mumblingly, and low,
+As if his mouth were full of dough,
+Who snorted like a buffalo--
+That summer evening, long ago,
+ A-sitting on a gate.
+
+ _Lewis Carroll._
+
+
+
+
+ HUMPTY DUMPTY'S RECITATION
+
+
+"In winter, when the fields are white,
+I sing this song for your delight----
+
+"In spring, when woods are getting green,
+I'll try and tell you what I mean:"
+
+"In summer, when the days are long,
+Perhaps you'll understand the song:
+
+In autumn, when the leaves are brown,
+Take pen and ink, and write it down."
+
+"I sent a message to the fish:
+I told them 'This is what I wish.'
+
+The little fishes of the sea,
+They sent an answer back to me.
+
+The little fishes' answer was,
+'We cannot do it, Sir, because----'"
+
+"I sent to them again to say
+'It will be better to obey.'
+
+The fishes answered, with a grin,
+'Why, what a temper you are in!'
+
+I told them once, I told them twice:
+They would not listen to advice.
+
+I took a kettle large and new,
+Fit for the deed I had to do.
+
+My heart went hop, my heart went thump:
+I filled the kettle at the pump.
+
+Then some one came to me and said,
+'The little fishes are in bed.'
+
+I said to him, I said it plain,
+'Then you must wake them up again.'
+
+I said it very loud and clear:
+I went and shouted in his ear.
+
+But he was very stiff and proud:
+He said, 'You needn't shout so loud!'
+
+And he was very proud and stiff:
+He said, 'I'd go and wake them, if----'
+
+I took a corkscrew from the shelf:
+I went to wake them up myself.
+
+And when I found the door was locked,
+I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked.
+
+And when I found the door was shut,
+I tried to turn the handle, but----"
+
+ _Lewis Carroll._
+
+
+
+
+ SOME HALLUCINATIONS
+
+
+He thought he saw an Elephant,
+ That practised on a fife:
+He looked again, and found it was
+ A letter from his wife.
+"At length I realise," he said,
+ "The bitterness of Life!"
+
+He thought he saw a Buffalo
+ Upon the chimney-piece:
+He looked again, and found it was
+ His Sister's Husband's Niece.
+"Unless you leave this house," he said,
+ "I'll send for the Police!"
+
+He thought he saw a Rattlesnake
+ That questioned him in Greek:
+He looked again, and found it was
+ The Middle of Next Week.
+"The one thing I regret," he said,
+ "Is that it cannot speak!"
+
+He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
+ Descending from the 'bus:
+He looked again, and found it was
+ A Hippopotamus:
+"If this should stay to dine," he said,
+ "There won't be much for us!"
+
+He thought he saw an Albatross
+ That fluttered round the lamp:
+He looked again, and found it was
+ A Penny-Postage-Stamp.
+"You'd best be getting home," he said;
+ "The nights are very damp!"
+
+He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
+ That stood beside his bed:
+He looked again, and found it was
+ A Bear without a Head.
+"Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing!
+ It's waiting to be fed!"
+
+He thought he saw a Kangaroo
+ That worked a coffee-mill:
+He looked again, and found it was
+ A Vegetable-Pill.
+"Were I to swallow this," he said,
+ "I should be very ill!"
+
+ _Lewis Carroll._
+
+
+
+
+ SING FOR THE GARISH EYE
+
+
+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!
+
+The wracking globe unstrung,
+ Unstrung in the frittering light
+Of a moon that knows no day,
+ Of a day that knows no night!
+Diving away in the crowd
+ Of sparkling frets in spray,
+The bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
+ And the throngers croon in May!
+
+Hasten, O hapful blue,
+ Blue, of the shimmering brow,
+Hasten the deed to do
+ That shall roddle the welkin now!
+For never again shall a cloud
+ Out-thribble the babbling day,
+When bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
+ And the throngers croon in May!
+
+ _W. S. Gilbert._
+
+
+
+
+ THE SHIPWRECK
+
+
+Upon the poop the captain stands,
+ As starboard as may be;
+And pipes on deck the topsail hands
+To reef the topsail-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 vanished
+ 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 scandalize 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.
+
+ _E. H. Palmer._
+
+
+
+
+ UFFIA
+
+
+When sporgles spanned the floreate mead
+ And cogwogs gleet upon the lea,
+Uffia gopped to meet her love
+ Who smeeged upon the equat sea.
+
+Dately she walked aglost the sand;
+ The boreal wind seet in her face;
+The moggling waves yalped at her feet;
+ Pangwangling was her pace.
+
+ _Harriet R. White._
+
+
+
+
+ 'TIS SWEET TO ROAM
+
+
+'Tis sweet to roam when morning's light
+ Resounds across the deep;
+And the crystal song of the woodbine bright
+ Hushes the rocks to sleep,
+And the blood-red moon in the blaze of noon
+ Is bathed in a crumbling dew,
+And the wolf rings out with a glittering shout,
+ To-whit, to-whit, to-whoo!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THREE JOVIAL HUNTSMEN
+
+
+There were three jovial huntsmen,
+ As I have heard them say,
+And they would go a-hunting
+ All on a summer's day.
+
+All the day they hunted,
+ And nothing could they find
+But a ship a-sailing,
+ A-sailing with the wind.
+
+One said it was a ship,
+ The other said Nay;
+The third said it was a house
+ With the chimney blown away.
+
+And all the night they hunted,
+ And nothing could they find;
+But the moon a-gliding,
+ A-gliding with the wind.
+
+One said it was the moon,
+ The other said Nay;
+The third said it was a cheese,
+ And half o't cut away.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ KING ARTHUR
+
+
+When good King Arthur ruled the land,
+ He was a goodly king:
+He stole 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.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ HYDER IDDLE
+
+
+Hyder iddle diddle dell,
+A yard of pudding is not an ell;
+Not forgetting tweedle-dye,
+A tailor's goose will never fly.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE OCEAN WANDERER
+
+
+Bright breaks the warrior o'er the ocean wave
+Through realms that rove not, clouds that cannot save,
+Sinks in the sunshine; dazzles o'er the tomb
+And mocks the mutiny of Memory's gloom.
+Oh! who can feel the crimson ecstasy
+That soothes with bickering jar the Glorious Tree?
+O'er the high rock the foam of gladness throws,
+While star-beams lull Vesuvius to repose:
+Girds the white spray, and in the blue lagoon,
+Weeps like a walrus o'er the waning moon?
+Who can declare?--not thou, pervading boy
+Whom pibrochs pierce not, crystals cannot cloy;--
+Not thou soft Architect of silvery gleams,
+Whose soul would simmer in Hesperian streams,
+Th' exhaustless fire--the bosom's azure bliss,
+That hurtles, life-like, o'er a scene like this;--
+Defies the distant agony of Day--
+And sweeps o'er hecatombs--away! away!
+Say shall Destruction's lava load the gale,
+The furnace quiver and the mountain quail?
+Say shall the son of Sympathy pretend
+His cedar fragrance with our Chief's to blend?
+There, where the gnarled monuments of sand
+Howl their dark whirlwinds to the levin brand;
+Conclusive tenderness; fraternal grog,
+Tidy conjunction; adamantine bog,
+Impetuous arrant toadstool; Thundering quince,
+Repentant dog-star, inessential Prince,
+Expound. Pre-Adamite eventful gun,
+Crush retribution, currant-jelly, pun,
+Oh! eligible Darkness, fender, sting,
+Heav'n-born Insanity, courageous thing.
+Intending, bending, scouring, piercing all,
+Death like pomatum, tea, and crabs must fall.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ SCIENTIFIC PROOF
+
+
+If we square a lump of pemmican
+ And cube a pot of tea,
+Divide a musk ox by the span
+ From noon to half-past three;
+If we calculate the Eskimo
+ By solar parallax,
+Divide the sextant by a floe
+ And multiply the cracks
+By nth-powered igloos, we may prove
+ All correlated facts.
+
+If we prolongate the parallel
+ Indefinitely forth,
+And cube a sledge till we can tell
+ The real square root of North;
+Bisect a seal and bifurcate
+ The tangent with a pack
+Of Polar ice, we get the rate
+ Along the Polar track,
+And proof of corollary things
+ Which otherwise we lack.
+
+If we multiply the Arctic night
+ By X times ox times moose,
+And build an igloo on the site
+ Of its hypotenuse;
+If we circumscribe an arc about
+ An Arctic dog and weigh
+A segment of it, every doubt
+ Is made as clear as day.
+We also get the price of ice
+ F. O. B. Baffin's Bay.
+
+If we amplify the Arctic breeze
+ By logarithmic signs,
+And run through the isosceles
+ Imaginary lines,
+We find that twice the half of one
+ Is equal to the whole.
+Which, when the calculus is done,
+ Quite demonstrates the Pole.
+It also gives its length and breadth
+ And what's the price of coal.
+
+ _J. W. Foley._
+
+
+
+
+ THE THINGUMBOB
+
+ A PASTEL
+
+
+The Thingumbob sat at eventide,
+ On the shore of a shoreless sea,
+Expecting an unexpected attack
+ From something it could not foresee.
+
+A still calm rests on the angry waves,
+ The low wind whistles a mournful tune,
+And the Thingumbob sighs to himself, "Alas,
+ I've had no supper now since noon."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ WONDERS OF NATURE
+
+
+Ah! who has seen the mailed lobster rise,
+Clap her broad wings, and, soaring, claim the skies?
+When did the owl, descending from her bower,
+Crop, 'midst the fleecy flocks, the tender flower;
+Or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb,
+In the salt wave, and, fish-like, try to swim?
+The same with plants, potatoes 'tatoes breed,
+The costly cabbage springs from cabbage-seed;
+Lettuce to lettuce, leeks to leeks succeed;
+Nor e'er did cooling cucumbers presume
+To flower like myrtle, or like violets bloom.
+
+ _The Anti-Jacobin._
+
+
+
+
+ LINES BY AN OLD FOGY
+
+
+I'm thankful that the sun and moon
+ Are both hung up so high,
+That no presumptuous hand can stretch
+ And pull them from the sky.
+If they were not, I have no doubt
+But some reforming ass
+Would recommend to take them down
+And light the world with gas.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ A COUNTRY SUMMER PASTORAL
+
+As written by a learned scholar of the city from knowledge derived from
+etymological deductions rather than from actual experience.
+
+
+I would flee from the city's rule and law,
+ From its fashion and form cut loose,
+And go where the strawberry grows on its straw,
+ And the gooseberry on its goose;
+Where the catnip tree is climbed by the cat
+ As she crouches for her prey--
+The guileless and unsuspecting rat
+ On the rattan bush at play.
+
+I will watch at ease for the saffron cow
+ And the cowlet in their glee,
+As they leap in joy from bough to bough
+ On the top of the cowslip tree;
+Where the musical partridge drums on his drum,
+ And the dog devours the dogwood plum
+And the wood chuck chucks his wood,
+ In the primitive solitude.
+
+And then to the whitewashed dairy I'll turn,
+ Where the dairymaid hastening hies,
+Her ruddy and golden-haired butter to churn
+ From the milk of her butterflies;
+And I'll rise at morn with the early bird,
+ To the fragrant farm-yard pass,
+When the farmer turns his beautiful herd
+ Of grasshoppers out to grass.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ TURVEY TOP
+
+
+'Twas after a supper of Norfolk brawn
+ That into a doze I chanced to drop,
+And thence awoke in the grey of dawn,
+ In the wonder-land of Turvey Top.
+
+A land so strange I never had seen,
+ And could not choose but look and laugh--
+A land where the small the great includes,
+ And the whole is less than the half!
+
+A land where the circles were not lines
+ Round central points, as schoolmen show,
+And the parallels met whenever they chose,
+ And went playing at touch-and-go!
+
+There--except that every round was square,
+ And save that all the squares were rounds--
+No surface had limits anywhere,
+ So they never could beat the bounds.
+
+In their gardens, fruit before blossom came,
+ And the trees diminished as they grew;
+And you never went out to walk a mile,
+ It was the mile that walked to you.
+
+The people there are not tall or short,
+ Heavy or light, or stout or thin,
+And their lives begin where they should leave off,
+ Or leave off where they should begin.
+
+There childhood, with naught of childish glee,
+ Looks on the world with thoughtful brow;
+'Tis only the aged who laugh and crow,
+ And cry "We have done with it now!";
+
+A singular race! what lives they spent!
+ Got up before they went to bed!
+And never a man said what he meant,
+ Or a woman meant what she said.
+
+They blended colours that will not blend,
+ All hideous contrasts voted sweet;
+In yellow and red their Quakers dress'd,
+ And considered it rather neat.
+
+They didn't believe in the wise and good,
+ Said the best were worst, the wisest fools;
+And 'twas only to have their teachers taught
+ That they founded national schools.
+
+They read in "books that are no books,"
+ Their classics--chess-boards neatly bound;
+Those their greatest authors who never wrote,
+ And their deepest the least profound.
+
+Now, such were the folks of that wonder-land,
+ A curious people, as you will own;
+But are there none of the race abroad,
+ Are no specimens elsewhere known?
+
+Well, I think that he whose views of life
+ Are crooked, wrong, perverse, and odd,
+Who looks upon all with jaundiced eyes--
+ Sees himself and believes it God,
+
+Who sneers at the good, and makes the ill,
+ Curses a world he cannot mend;
+Who measures life by the rule of wrong
+ And abuses its aim and end,
+
+The man who stays when he ought to move,
+ And only goes when he ought to stop--
+Is strangely like the folk in my dream,
+ And would flourish in Turvey Top.
+
+ _William Sawyer._
+
+
+
+
+ A BALLAD OF BEDLAM
+
+
+O lady wake!--the azure moon
+ Is rippling in the verdant skies,
+The owl is warbling his soft tune,
+ Awaiting but thy snowy eyes.
+The joys of future years are past,
+ To-morrow's hopes have fled away;
+Still let us love, and e'en at last,
+ We shall be happy yesterday.
+
+The early beam of rosy night
+ Drives off the ebon morn afar,
+While through the murmur of the light
+ The huntsman winds his mad guitar.
+Then, lady, wake! my brigantine
+ Pants, neighs, and prances to be free;
+Till the creation I am thine.
+ To some rich desert fly with me.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ XIV
+
+ NATURAL HISTORY
+
+
+
+
+ THE FASTIDIOUS SERPENT
+
+
+There was a snake that dwelt in Skye,
+ Over the misty sea, oh;
+He lived upon nothing but gooseberry pie
+ For breakfast, dinner and tea, oh.
+
+Now gooseberry pie--as is very well known,--
+ Over the misty sea, oh,
+Is not to be found under every stone,
+ Nor yet upon every tree, oh.
+
+And being so ill to please with his meat,
+ Over the misty sea, oh;
+The snake had sometimes nothing to eat,
+ And an angry snake was he, oh.
+
+Then he'd flick his tongue and his head he'd shake,
+ Over the misty sea, oh,
+Crying, "Gooseberry pie! For goodness' sake,
+ Some gooseberry pie for me, oh."
+
+And if gooseberry pie was not to be had,
+ Over the misty sea, oh,
+He'd twine and twist like an eel gone mad,
+ Or a worm just stung by a bee, oh.
+
+But though he might shout and wriggle about,
+ Over the misty sea, oh,
+The snake had often to go without
+ His breakfast, dinner and tea, oh.
+
+ _Henry Johnstone._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LEGEND OF THE FIRST CAM-U-EL
+
+ AN ARABIAN APOLOGUE
+
+
+ Across the sands of Syria,
+ Or, possibly, Algeria,
+Or some benighted neighbourhood of barrenness and drouth,
+ There came the Prophet Sam-u-el
+ Upon the Only Cam-u-el--
+A bumpy, grumpy Quadruped of discontented mouth.
+
+ The atmosphere was glutinous;
+ The Cam-u-el was mutinous;
+He dumped the pack from off his back; with horrid grunts and squeals
+ He made the desert hideous;
+ With strategy perfidious
+He tied his neck in curlicues, he kicked his paddy heels.
+
+ Then quoth the gentle Sam-u-el,
+ "You rogue, I ought to lam you well!
+Though zealously I've shielded you from every grief and woe,
+ It seems, to voice a platitude,
+ You haven't any gratitude.
+I'd like to hear what cause you have for doing thus and so!"
+
+ To him replied the Cam-u-el,
+ "I beg your pardon, Sam-u-el.
+I know that I'm a Reprobate, I know that I'm a Freak;
+ But, oh! this utter loneliness!
+ My too-distinguished Onliness!
+Were there but other Cam-u-els I wouldn't be Unique."
+
+ The Prophet beamed beguilingly.
+ "Aha," he answered, smilingly,
+"You feel the need of company? I clearly understand.
+ We'll speedily create for you
+ The corresponding mate for you--
+Ho! presto, change-o, dinglebat!"--he waved a potent hand,
+
+ And, lo! from out Vacuity
+ A second Incongruity,
+To wit, a Lady Cam-u-el was born through magic art.
+ Her structure anatomical,
+ Her form and face were comical;
+She was, in short, a Cam-u-el, the other's counterpart.
+
+ As Spaniards gaze on Aragon,
+ Upon that Female Paragon
+So gazed the Prophet's Cam-u-el, that primal Desert Ship.
+ A connoisseur meticulous,
+ He found her that ridiculous
+He grinned from ear to auricle _until he split his lip_!
+
+ Because of his temerity
+ That Cam-u-el's posterity
+Must wear divided upper lips through all their solemn lives!
+ A prodigy astonishing
+ Reproachfully admonishing
+Those, wicked, heartless married men who ridicule their wives.
+
+ _Arthur Guiterman._
+
+
+
+
+ UNSATISFIED YEARNING
+
+
+Down in the silent hallway
+ Scampers the dog about,
+And whines, and barks, and scratches,
+ In order to get out.
+
+Once in the glittering starlight,
+ He straightway doth begin
+To set up a doleful howling
+ In order to get in.
+
+ _R. K. Munkittrick._
+
+
+
+
+ KINDLY ADVICE
+
+
+Be kind to the panther! for when thou wert young,
+ In thy country far over the sea,
+'Twas a panther ate up thy papa and mama,
+ And had several mouthfuls of thee!
+
+Be kind to the badger! for who shall decide
+ The depth of his badgery soul?
+And think of the tapir, when flashes the lamp
+ O'er the fast and the free flowing bowl.
+
+Be kind to the camel! nor let word of thine
+ Ever put up his bactrian back;
+And cherish the she-kangaroo with her bag,
+ Nor venture to give her the sack.
+
+Be kind to the ostrich! for how canst thou hope
+ To have such a stomach as it?
+And when the proud day of your "bridal" shall come,
+ Do give the poor birdie a "bit."
+
+Be kind to the walrus! nor ever forget
+ To have it on Tuesday to tea;
+But butter the crumpets on only one side,
+ Save such as are eaten by thee.
+
+Be kind to the bison! and let the jackal
+ In the light of thy love have a share;
+And coax the ichneumon to grow a new tail,
+ And have lots of larks in its lair!
+
+Be kind to the bustard, that genial bird,
+ And humour its wishes and ways;
+And when the poor elephant suffers from bile,
+ Then tenderly lace up his stays!
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ KINDNESS TO ANIMALS
+
+
+Speak gently to the herring and kindly to the calf,
+Be blithesome with the bunny, at barnacles don't laugh!
+Give nuts unto the monkey, and buns unto the bear,
+Ne'er hint at currant jelly if you chance to see a hare!
+Oh, little girls, pray hide your combs when tortoises draw nigh,
+And never in the hearing of a pigeon whisper Pie!
+But give the stranded jelly-fish a shove into the sea,--
+Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!
+
+Oh, make not game of sparrows, nor faces at the ram,
+And ne'er allude to mint sauce when calling on a lamb.
+Don't beard the thoughtful oyster, don't dare the cod to crimp,
+Don't cheat the pike, or ever try to pot the playful shrimp.
+Tread lightly on the turning worm, don't bruise the butterfly,
+Don't ridicule the wry-neck, nor sneer at salmon-fry;
+Oh, ne'er delight to make dogs fight, nor bantams disagree,--
+Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!
+
+Be lenient with lobsters, and ever kind to crabs,
+And be not disrespectful to cuttle-fish or dabs;
+Chase not the Cochin-China, chaff not the ox obese,
+And babble not of feather-beds in company with geese.
+Be tender with the tadpole, and let the limpet thrive,
+Be merciful to mussels, don't skin your eels alive;
+When talking to a turtle don't mention calipee--
+Be always kind to animals wherever you may be.
+
+ _J. Ashby-Sterry._
+
+
+
+
+ TO BE OR NOT TO BE
+
+
+ I
+
+I sometimes think I'd rather crow
+And be a rooster than to roost
+And be a crow. But I dunno.
+
+ II
+
+A rooster he can roost also,
+Which don't seem fair when crows can't crow.
+Which may help some. Still I dunno.
+
+ III
+
+Crows should be glad of one thing, though;
+Nobody thinks of eating crow,
+While roosters they are good enough
+For anyone unless they're tough.
+
+ IV
+
+There are lots of tough old roosters, though,
+And anyway a crow can't crow,
+So mebby roosters stand more show.
+It looks that way. But I dunno.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE HEN
+
+
+Was once a hen of wit not small
+ (In fact, 'twas not amazing),
+And apt at laying eggs withal,
+Who, when she'd done, would scream and bawl,
+ As if the house were blazing.
+A turkey-cock, of age mature,
+ Felt thereat indignation;
+'Twas quite improper, he was sure--
+He would no more the thing endure;
+ So, after cogitation,
+He to the lady straight repaired,
+And thus his business he declared:
+ "Madam, pray, what's the matter,
+That always, when you've laid an egg,
+ You make so great a clatter?
+I wish you'd do the thing in quiet.
+Do be advised by me, and try it."
+"Advised by you!" the lady cried,
+And tossed her head with proper pride;
+"And what do you know, now I pray,
+Of the fashion of the present day,
+You creature ignorant and low?
+However, if you want to know,
+This is the reason why I do it:
+I lay my egg, and then review it!"
+
+ _Matthew Claudius._
+
+
+
+
+ OF BAITING THE LION
+
+
+Remembering his taste for blood
+ You'd better bait him with a cow;
+Persuade the brute to chew the cud
+ Her tail suspended from a bough;
+It thrills the lion through and through
+ To hear the milky creature moo.
+
+Having arranged this simple ruse,
+ Yourself you climb a neighboring tree;
+See to it that the spot you choose
+ Commands the coming tragedy;
+Take up a smallish Maxim gun,
+ A search-light, whisky, and a bun.
+
+It's safer, too, to have your bike
+ Standing immediately below,
+In case your piece should fail to strike,
+ Or deal an ineffective blow;
+The Lion moves with perfect grace,
+ But cannot go the scorcher's pace.
+
+Keep open ear for subtle signs;
+ Thus, when the cow profusely moans,
+That means to say, the Lion dines.
+ The crunching sound, of course, is bones;
+Silence resumes her ancient reign--
+ This shows the cow is out of pain.
+
+But when a fat and torpid hum
+ Escapes the eater's unctuous nose,
+Turn up the light and let it come
+ Full on his innocent repose;
+Then pour your shot between his eyes,
+ And go on pouring till he dies.
+
+Play, even so, discretion's part;
+ Descend with stealth; bring on your gun;
+Then lay your hand above his heart
+ To see if he is really done;
+Don't skin him till you know he's dead
+ Or you may perish in his stead!
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Years hence, at home, when talk is tall,
+ You'll set the gun-room wide agape,
+Describing how with just a small
+ Pea-rifle, going after ape
+You met a Lion unaware,
+ And felled him flying through the air.
+
+ _Owen Seaman._
+
+
+
+
+ THE FLAMINGO
+
+Inspired by reading a chorus of spirits in a German play
+
+
+ |First Voice|
+Oh! tell me have you ever seen a red, long-leg'd Flamingo?
+Oh! tell me have you ever yet seen him the water in go?
+
+ |Second voice|
+Oh! yes at Bowling-Green I've seen a red long-leg'd Flamingo,
+Oh! yes at Bowling-Green I've there seen him the water in go.
+
+ |First Voice|
+Oh! tell me did you ever see a bird so funny stand-o
+When forth he from the water comes and gets upon the land-o?
+
+ |Second Voice|
+No! in my life I ne'er did see a bird so funny stand-o
+When forth he from the water comes and gets upon the land-o.
+
+ |First Voice|
+He has a leg some three feet long, or near it, so they say, Sir.
+Stiff upon one alone he stands, t'other he stows away, Sir.
+
+ |Second Voice|
+And what an ugly head he's got! I wonder that he'd wear it.
+But rather _more_ I wonder that his long, thin neck can bear it.
+
+ |First voice|
+And think, this length of neck and legs (no doubt they have their uses)
+Are members of a little frame, much smaller than a goose's!
+
+ |Both|
+Oh! isn't he a curious bird, that red, long-leg'd Flamingo?
+A water bird, a gawky bird, a sing'lar bird, by jingo!
+
+ _Lewis Gaylord Clark._
+
+
+
+
+ WHY DOTH A PUSSY CAT?
+
+
+Why doth a pussy cat prefer,
+ When dozing, drowsy, on the sill,
+To purr and purr and purr and purr
+ Instead of merely keeping still?
+With nodding head and folded paws,
+She keeps it up without a cause.
+
+Why doth she flaunt her lofty tail
+ In such a stiff right-angled pose?
+If lax and limp she let it trail
+ 'Twould seem more restful, Goodness knows!
+When strolling 'neath the chairs or bed,
+She lets it bump above her head.
+
+Why doth she suddenly refrain
+ From anything she's busied in
+And start to wash, with might and main,
+ Most any place upon her skin?
+Why doth she pick that special spot,
+Not seeing if it's soiled or not?
+
+Why doth she never seem to care
+ To come directly when you call,
+But makes approach from here and there,
+ Or sidles half around the wall?
+Though doors are opened at her mew,
+You often have to push her through.
+
+Why doth she this? Why doth she that?
+ I seek for cause--I yearn for clews;
+The subject of the pussy cat
+ Doth endlessly inspire the mews.
+Why doth a pussy cat? Ah, me,
+I haven't got the least idee.
+
+ _Burges Johnson._
+
+
+
+
+ THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER
+
+
+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.
+
+"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 not 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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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 came there none--
+And this was scarcely odd, because
+ They'd eaten every one.
+
+ _Lewis Carroll._
+
+
+
+
+ NIRVANA
+
+
+I am
+ A Clam!
+Come learn of me
+Unclouded peace and calm content,
+ Serene, supreme tranquillity,
+Where thoughtless dreams and dreamless thoughts are blent.
+
+When the salt tide is rising to the flood,
+ In billows blue my placid pulp I lave;
+And when it ebbs I slumber in the mud,
+ Content alike with ooze or crystal wave.
+
+I do not shudder when in chowder stewed,
+ Nor when the Coney Islander engulfs me raw.
+When in the church soup's dreary solitude
+ Alone I wander, do I shudder? Naw!
+
+If jarring tempests beat upon my bed,
+ Or summer peace there be,
+I do not care: as I have said,
+ All's one to me;
+ A Clam
+ I am.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CATFISH
+
+
+The saddest fish that swims the briny ocean,
+ The Catfish I bewail.
+I cannot even think without emotion
+ Of his distressful tail.
+When with my pencil once I tried to draw one,
+ (I dare not show it here)
+Mayhap it is because I never saw one,
+ The picture looked so queer.
+I vision him half feline and half fishy,
+ A paradox in twins,
+Unmixable as vitriol and vichy--
+ A thing of fur and fins.
+A feline Tantalus, forever chasing
+ His fishy self to rend;
+His finny self forever self-effacing
+ In circles without end.
+This tale may have a Moral running through it
+ As AEsop had in his;
+If so, dear reader, you are welcome to it,
+ If you know what it is!
+
+ _Oliver Herford._
+
+
+
+
+ WAR RELIEF
+
+
+"Can you spare a Threepenny bit,
+ Dear Miss Turkey," said Sir Mouse,
+"For Job's Turkey's benefit?
+ I've engaged the Opera House!"
+
+"Alas! I've naught to spare!"
+ Said Miss Turkey, "save advice,
+I am getting up a Fair,
+ To relieve the Poor Church Mice."
+
+ _Oliver Herford._
+
+
+
+
+ THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT
+
+
+The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
+ In a beautiful pea-green boat:
+They took some honey, and plenty of money
+ Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
+The Owl looked up to the stars above,
+ And sang to a small guitar,
+"Oh, lovely Pussy, oh, Pussy, my love,
+ What a beautiful Pussy you are,
+ You are,
+ You are!
+ What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
+
+Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl,
+ How charmingly sweet you sing!
+Oh, let us be married; too long we have tarried:
+ But what shall we do for a ring?"
+They sailed away for a year and a day,
+ To the land where the bong-tree grows;
+And there in the wood a Piggy-wig stood,
+ With a ring at the end of his nose,
+ His nose,
+ His nose,
+ With a ring at the end of his nose.
+
+"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
+ Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
+So they took it away and were married next day
+ By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
+They dined on mince and slices of quince,
+ Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
+And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
+ They danced by the light of the moon,
+ The moon,
+ The moon,
+ They danced by the light of the moon.
+
+ _Edward Lear._
+
+
+
+
+ MEXICAN SERENADE
+
+
+When the little armadillo
+With his head upon his pillow
+ Sweetly rests,
+And the parrakeet and lindo
+Flitting past my cabin window
+ Seek their nests,--
+
+When the mists of even settle
+Over Popocatapetl,
+ Dropping dew,--
+Like the condor, over yonder,
+Still I ponder, ever fonder,
+ Dear, of You!
+
+May no revolution shock you,
+May the earthquake gently rock you
+ To repose,
+While the sentimental panthers
+Sniff the pollen-laden anthers
+ Of the rose!
+
+While the pelican is pining,
+While the moon is softly shining
+ On the stream,
+May the song that I am singing
+Send a tender cadence winging
+ Through your dream!
+
+I have just one wish to utter--
+That you twinkle through your shutter
+ Like a star,
+While, according to convention,
+I shall cas-u-ally mention
+ My guitar.
+
+Senorita Maraquita,
+Muy bonita, pobracita!--
+ Hear me weep!--
+But the night is growing wetter,
+So I guess that you had better
+ Go to sleep.
+
+ _Arthur Guiterman._
+
+
+
+
+ ORPHAN BORN
+
+
+I am a lone, unfathered chick,
+ Of artificial hatching,
+A pilgrim in a desert wild,
+By happier, mothered chicks reviled,
+From all relationships exiled,
+ To do my own lone scratching.
+
+Fair science smiled upon my birth
+ One raw and gusty morning;
+But ah, the sounds of barnyard mirth
+To lonely me have little worth;
+Alone am I in all the earth--
+ An orphan without borning.
+
+Seek I my mother? I would find
+ A heartless personator;
+A thing brass-feathered, man-designed,
+With steam-pipe arteries intermined,
+And pulseless cotton-batting lined--
+ A patent incubator.
+
+It wearies me to think, you see--
+ Death would be better, rather--
+Should downy chicks be hatched of me,
+By fate's most pitiless decree,
+My piping pullets still would be
+ With never a grandfather.
+
+And when to earth I bid adieu
+ To seek a planet greater,
+I will not do as others do,
+Who fly to join the ancestral crew,
+For I will just be gathered to
+ My incubator.
+
+ _Robert J. Burdette._
+
+
+
+
+ DIVIDED DESTINIES
+
+
+It was an artless Bandar, and he danced upon a pine,
+And much I wondered how he lived, and where the beast might dine,
+And many, many other things, till, o'er my morning smoke,
+I slept the sleep of idleness and dreamed that Bandar spoke.
+
+He said: "Oh, man of many clothes! sad crawler on the Hills!
+Observe, I know not Ranken's shop, nor Ranken's monthly bills!
+I take no heed to trousers or the coats that you call dress;
+Nor am I plagued with little cards for little drinks at Mess.
+
+"I steal the bunnia's grain at morn, at noon and eventide
+(For he is fat and I am spare), I roam the mountainside,
+I follow no man's carriage, and no, never in my life
+Have I flirted at Peliti's with another Bandar's wife.
+
+"Oh, man of futile fopperies--unnecessary wraps;
+I own no ponies in the Hills, I drive no tall-wheeled traps;
+I buy me not twelve-button gloves, 'short-sixes' eke, or rings,
+Nor do I waste at Hamilton's my wealth on pretty things.
+
+"I quarrel with my wife at home, we never fight abroad;
+But Mrs. B. has grasped the fact I am her only lord.
+I never heard of fever--dumps nor debts depress my soul;
+And I pity and despise you!" Here he pouched my breakfast-roll.
+
+His hide was very mangy and his face was very red,
+And undisguisedly he scratched with energy his head.
+His manners were not always nice, but how my spirit cried
+To be an artless Bandar loose upon the mountainside!
+
+So I answered: "Gentle Bandar, an inscrutable Decree
+Makes thee a gleesome, fleasome Thou, and me a wretched Me.
+Go! Depart in peace, my brother, to thy home amid the pine;
+Yet forget not once a mortal wished to change his lot with thine."
+
+ _Rudyard Kipling._
+
+
+
+
+ THE VIPER
+
+
+Yet another great truth I record in my verse,
+That some Vipers are venomous, some the reverse;
+ A fact you may prove if you try,
+By procuring two Vipers and letting them bite;
+With the first you are only the worse for a fright,
+ But after the second you die.
+
+ _Hilaire Belloc._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LLAMA
+
+
+The Llama is a woolly sort of fleecy, hairy goat,
+With an indolent expression and an undulating throat,
+ Like an unsuccessful literary man.
+And I know the place he lives in (or at least I think I do)
+It is Ecuador, Brazil or Chile--possibly Peru;
+ You must find it in the Atlas if you can.
+
+The Llama of the Pampases you never should confound
+(In spite of a deceptive similarity of sound),
+ With the Lhama who is Lord of Turkestan.
+For the former is a beautiful and valuable beast,
+But the latter is not lovable nor useful in the least;
+And the Ruminant is preferable surely to the Priest
+Who battens on the woful superstitions of the East,
+ The Mongol of the Monastery of Shan.
+
+ _Hilaire Belloc._
+
+
+
+
+ THE YAK
+
+
+As a friend to the children commend me the yak,
+ You will find it exactly the thing:
+It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back,
+ Or lead it about with a string.
+
+A Tartar who dwells on the plains of Thibet
+ (A desolate region of snow)
+Has for centuries made it a nursery pet,
+ And surely the Tartar should know!
+
+Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got,
+ And if he is awfully rich,
+He will buy you the creature--or else he will not,
+ (I cannot be positive which).
+
+
+
+
+ THE FROG
+
+
+Be kind and tender to the Frog,
+ And do not call him names,
+As "Slimy-Skin," or "Polly-wog,"
+ Or likewise, "Uncle James,"
+Or "Gape-a-grin," or "Toad-gone-wrong,"
+ Or, "Billy-Bandy-knees;"
+The Frog is justly sensitive
+ To epithets like these.
+
+No animal will more repay
+ A treatment kind and fair,
+At least, so lonely people say
+Who keep a frog (and, by the way,
+ They are extremely rare).
+
+ _Hilaire Belloc._
+
+
+
+
+ THE MICROBE
+
+
+The Microbe is so very small
+You cannot make him out at all,
+But many sanguine people hope
+To see him through a microscope.
+His jointed tongue that lies beneath
+A hundred curious rows of teeth;
+His seven tufted tails with lots
+Of lovely pink and purple spots
+
+On each of which a pattern stands,
+ Composed of forty separate bands;
+ His eyebrows of a tender green;
+ All these have never yet been seen--
+ But Scientists, who ought to know,
+ Assure us that they must be so....
+ Oh! let us never, never doubt
+ What nobody is sure about!
+
+ _Hilaire Belloc._
+
+
+
+
+ THE GREAT BLACK CROW
+
+
+The crow--the crow! the great black crow!
+He cares not to meet us wherever we go;
+He cares not for man, beast, friend, nor foe,
+For nothing will eat him he well doth know.
+ Know--know! you great black crow!
+It's a comfort to feel like a great black crow!
+
+The crow--the crow! the great black crow!
+He loves the fat meadow--his taste is low;
+He loves the fat worms, and he dines in a row
+With fifty fine cousins all black as a sloe.
+ Sloe--sloe! you great black crow!
+But it's jolly to fare like a great black crow!
+
+The crow--the crow! the great black crow!
+He never gets drunk on the rain or snow;
+He never gets drunk, but he never says no!
+If you press him to tipple ever so.
+ So--so! you great black crow!
+It's an honour to soak like a great black crow!
+
+The crow--the crow! the great black crow!
+He lives for a hundred year and mo';
+He lives till he dies, and he dies as slow
+As the morning mists down the hill that go.
+ Go--go! you great black crow!
+But it's fine to live and die like a great black crow!
+
+ _Philip James Bailey._
+
+
+
+
+ THE COLUBRIAD
+
+
+Close by the threshold of a door nailed fast,
+Three kittens sat; each kitten looked aghast.
+I, passing swift and inattentive by,
+At the three kittens cast a careless eye;
+Not much concerned to know what they did there;
+Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care.
+But presently, a loud and furious hiss
+Caused me to stop, and to exclaim, "What's this?"
+When lo! upon the threshold met my view,
+With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue,
+A viper long as Count de Grasse's queue.
+Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws,
+Darting it full against a kitten's nose;
+Who, having never seen, in field or house,
+The like, sat still and silent as a mouse;
+Only projecting, with attention due,
+Her whiskered face, she asked him, "Who are you?"
+On to the hall went I, with pace not slow,
+But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe:
+With which well armed, I hastened to the spot
+To find the viper--but I found him not.
+And, turning up the leaves and shrubs around,
+Found only that he was not to be found;
+But still the kittens, sitting as before,
+Sat watching close the bottom of the door.
+"I hope," said I, "the villain I would kill
+Has slipped between the door and the door-sill;
+And if I make despatch, and follow hard,
+No doubt but I shall find him in the yard:"
+(For long ere now it should have been rehearsed,
+'Twas in the garden that I found him first.)
+E'en there I found him: there the full-grown cat
+His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat;
+As curious as the kittens erst had been
+To learn what this phenomenon might mean.
+Filled with heroic ardour at the sight,
+And fearing every moment he would bite,
+And rob our household of our only cat
+That was of age to combat with a rat;
+With outstretched hoe I slew him at the door,
+And taught him never to come there no more!
+
+ _William Cowper._
+
+
+
+
+ THE RETIRED CAT
+
+
+A Poet's Cat, sedate and grave
+As poet well could wish to have,
+Was much addicted to inquire
+For nooks to which she might retire,
+And where, secure as mouse in chink,
+She might repose, or sit and think.
+I know not where she caught the trick;
+Nature perhaps herself had cast her
+In such a mold |philosophique|,
+Or else she learned it of her master.
+Sometimes ascending, debonair,
+An apple-tree, or lofty pear,
+Lodged with convenience in the fork,
+She watched the gardener at his work;
+Sometimes her ease and solace sought
+In an old empty watering-pot,
+There wanting nothing, save a fan,
+To seem some nymph in her sedan,
+Appareled in exactest sort,
+And ready to be borne to court.
+
+But love of change it seems has place
+Not only in our wiser race;
+Cats also feel, as well as we,
+That passion's force, and so did she.
+Her climbing, she began to find,
+Exposed her too much to the wind,
+And the old utensil of tin
+Was cold and comfortless within:
+She therefore wished, instead of those,
+Some place of more serene repose,
+Where neither cold might come, nor air
+Too rudely wanton in her hair,
+And sought it in the likeliest mode
+Within her master's snug abode.
+
+A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined
+With linen of the softest kind,
+With such as merchants introduce
+From India, for the ladies' use;
+A drawer, impending o'er the rest,
+Half open, in the topmost chest,
+Of depth enough, and none to spare,
+Invited her to slumber there;
+Puss with delight beyond expression,
+Surveyed the scene and took possession.
+Recumbent at her ease, ere long,
+And lulled by her own humdrum song,
+She left the cares of life behind,
+And slept as she would sleep her last,
+When in came, housewifely inclined,
+The chambermaid, and shut it fast,
+By no malignity impelled,
+But all unconscious whom it held.
+
+Awakened by the shock (cried puss)
+"Was ever cat attended thus!
+The open drawer was left, I see,
+Merely to prove a nest for me,
+For soon as I was well composed,
+Then came the maid, and it was closed.
+How smooth those 'kerchiefs, and how sweet
+Oh what a delicate retreat!
+I will resign myself to rest
+Till Sol declining in the west,
+Shall call to supper, when, no doubt,
+Susan will come, and let me out."
+
+The evening came, the sun descended,
+And puss remained still unattended.
+The night rolled tardily away
+(With her indeed 'twas never day),
+The sprightly morn her course renewed,
+The evening gray again ensued,
+And puss came into mind no more
+Than if entombed the day before;
+With hunger pinched, and pinched for room,
+She now presaged approaching doom.
+Nor slept a single wink, nor purred,
+Conscious of jeopardy incurred.
+
+That night, by chance, the poet, watching,
+Heard an inexplicable scratching;
+His noble heart went pit-a-pat,
+And to himself he said--"What's that?"
+He drew the curtain at his side,
+And forth he peeped, but nothing spied.
+Yet, by his ear directed, guessed
+Something imprisoned in the chest;
+And, doubtful what, with prudent care
+Resolved it should continue there.
+At length a voice which well he knew,
+A long and melancholy mew,
+Saluting his poetic ears,
+Consoled him, and dispelled his fears;
+He left his bed, he trod the floor,
+He 'gan in haste the drawers explore,
+The lowest first, and without stop
+The next in order to the top.
+For 'tis a truth well known to most,
+That whatsoever thing is lost,
+We seek it, ere it come to light,
+In every cranny but the right.
+Forth skipped the cat, not now replete
+As erst with airy self-conceit,
+Nor in her own fond comprehension,
+A theme for all the world's attention,
+But modest, sober, cured of all
+Her notions hyperbolical,
+And wishing for a place of rest,
+Any thing rather than a chest.
+Then stepped the poet into bed
+With this reflection in his head:
+
+ MORAL
+
+Beware of too sublime a sense
+Of your own worth and consequence.
+The man who dreams himself so great,
+And his importance of such weight,
+That all around in all that's done
+Must move and act for him alone,
+Will learn in school of tribulation
+The folly of his expectation.
+
+ _William Cowper._
+
+
+
+
+ A DARWINIAN BALLAD
+
+
+Oh, many have told of the monkeys of old,
+ What a pleasant race they were,
+And it seems most true that I and you
+ Are derived from an apish pair.
+They all had nails, and some had tails,
+ And some--no "accounts in arrear";
+They climbed up the trees, and they scratched out the--these
+ Of course I will not mention here.
+
+They slept in a wood, or wherever they could,
+ For they didn't know how to make beds;
+They hadn't got huts; they dined upon nuts,
+ Which they cracked upon each other's heads.
+They hadn't much scope, for a comb, brush or soap,
+ Or towels, or kettle or fire.
+They had no coats nor capes, for ne'er did these apes
+ Invent what they didn't require.
+
+The sharpest baboon never used fork or spoon,
+ Nor made any boots for his toes,
+Nor could any thief steal a silk handker-chief,
+ For no ape thought much of his nose;
+They had cold collations; they ate poor relations:
+ Provided for thus, by-the-bye.
+No Ou-rang-ou-tang a song ever sang--
+ He couldn't, and so didn't try.
+
+From these though descended our manners are mended,
+ Though still we can grin and backbite!
+We cut up each other, be he friend or brother,
+ And tales are the fashion--at night.
+This origination is all speculation--
+ We gamble in various shapes;
+So Mr. Darwin may speculate in
+ Our ancestors having been apes.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE PIG
+
+ A COLLOQUIAL POEM
+
+
+Jacob! I do not like to see thy nose
+Turn'd up in scornful curve at yonder pig,
+It would be well, my friend, if we like him,
+Were perfect in our kind!... And why despise
+The sow-born grunter?... He is obstinate,
+Thou answerest; ugly, and the filthiest beast
+That banquets upon offal.... Now I pray you
+Hear the pig's counsel.
+ Is he obstinate?
+We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words;
+We must not take them as unheeding hands
+Receive base money at the current worth
+But with a just suspicion try their sound,
+And in the even balance weight them well
+See now to what this obstinacy comes:
+A poor, mistreated, democratic beast,
+He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek
+Their profit, and not his. He hath not learned
+That pigs were made for man,... born to be brawn'd
+And baconized: that he must please to give
+Just what his gracious masters please to take;
+Perhaps his tusks, the weapons Nature gave
+For self-defense, the general privilege;
+Perhaps,... hark, Jacob! dost thou hear that horn?
+Woe to the young posterity of Pork!
+Their enemy is at hand.
+ Again. Thou say'st
+The pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him!
+Those eyes have taught the lover flattery.
+His face,... nay, Jacob! Jacob! were it fair
+To judge a lady in her dishabille?
+Fancy it dressed, and with saltpeter rouged.
+Behold his tail, my friend; with curls like that
+The wanton hop marries her stately spouse:
+So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair
+Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love.
+And what is beauty, but the aptitude
+Of parts harmonious? Give thy fancy scope,
+And thou wilt find that no imagined change
+Can beautify this beast. Place at his end
+The starry glories of the peacock's pride,
+Give him the swan's white breast; for his horn-hoofs
+Shape such a foot and ankle as the waves
+Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss
+When Venus from the enamor'd sea arose;...
+Jacob, thou canst but make a monster of him!
+An alteration man could think, would mar
+His pig-perfection.
+ The last charge,... he lives
+A dirty life. Here I could shelter him
+With noble and right-reverend precedents.
+And show by sanction of authority
+That 'tis a very honorable thing
+To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest
+On better ground the unanswerable defense.
+The pig is a philosopher, who knows
+No prejudice. Dirt?... Jacob, what is dirt?
+If matter,... why the delicate dish that tempts
+An o'ergorged epicure to the last morsel
+That stuffs him to the throat-gates, is no more.
+If matter be not, but as sages say,
+Spirit is all, and all things visible
+Are one, the infinitely modified,
+Think, Jacob, what that pig is, and the mire
+Wherein he stands knee-deep!
+ And there! the breeze
+Pleads with me, and has won thee to a smile
+That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd field
+Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise.
+
+ _Robert Southey._
+
+
+
+
+ A FISH STORY
+
+
+A whale of great porosity
+ And small specific gravity,
+Dived down with much velocity
+ Beneath the sea's concavity.
+
+But soon the weight of water
+ Squeezed in his fat immensity,
+Which varied--as it ought to--
+ Inversely as his density.
+
+It would have moved to pity
+ An Ogre or a Hessian,
+To see poor Spermaceti
+ Thus suffering compression.
+
+The while he lay a-roaring
+ In agonies gigantic,
+The lamp-oil out came pouring,
+ And greased the wide Atlantic.
+
+(Would we'd been in the Navy,
+ And cruising there! Imagine us
+All in a sea of gravy,
+ With billow oleaginous!)
+
+At length old million-pounder,
+ Low on a bed of coral,
+Gave his last dying flounder,
+ Whereto I pen this moral.
+
+ MORAL
+
+O, let this tale dramatic,
+ Anent the whale Norwegian
+And pressure hydrostatic,
+ Warn you, my young collegian,
+
+That down-compelling forces
+ Increase as you get deeper;
+The lower down your course is,
+ The upward path's the steeper.
+
+ _Henry A. Beers._
+
+
+
+
+ THE CAMERONIAN CAT
+
+
+There was a Cameronian cat
+ Was hunting for a prey,
+And in the house she catched a mouse
+ Upon the Sabbath-day.
+
+The Whig, being offended
+ At such an act profane,
+Laid by his book, the cat he took,
+ And bound her in a chain.
+
+"Thou damned, thou cursed creature!
+ This deed so dark with thee!
+Think'st thou to bring to hell below
+ My holy wife and me?
+
+"Assure thyself that for the deed
+ Thou blood for blood shalt pay,
+For killing of the Lord's own mouse
+ Upon the Sabbath-day."
+
+The presbyter laid by the book,
+ And earnestly he prayed
+That the great sin the cat had done
+ Might not on him be laid.
+
+And straight to execution
+ Poor pussy she was drawn,
+And high hanged up upon a tree--
+ The preacher sung a psalm.
+
+And, when the work was ended,
+ They thought the cat near dead;
+She gave a paw, and then a mew,
+ And stretched out her head.
+
+"Thy name," said he, "shall certainly
+ A beacon still remain,
+A terror unto evil ones
+ For evermore, Amen."
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE YOUNG GAZELLE
+
+ A MOORE-ISH TALE
+
+
+In early youth, as you may guess,
+ I revelled in poetic lore,
+And while my schoolmates studied less,
+ I resolutely studied _Moore_.
+
+Those touching lines from "Lalla Rookh,"--
+ "Ah, ever thus--" you know them well,
+Such root within my bosom took,
+ I wished _I_ had a young Gazelle.
+
+Oh, yes! a sweet, a sweet Gazelle,
+ "To charm me with its soft black eye,"
+So soft, so liquid, that a spell
+ Seems in that gem-like orb to lie.
+
+Years, childhood passed, youth fled away,
+ My vain desire I'd learned to quell,
+Till came that most auspicious day
+ When _some one gave me a Gazelle_.
+
+With care, and trouble, and expense,
+ 'Twas brought from Afric's northern cape;
+It seemed of great intelligence,
+ And oh! so beautiful a shape.
+
+Its lustrous, liquid eye was bent
+ With special lovingness on me;
+No gift that mortal could present
+ More welcome to my heart could be.
+
+I brought him food with fond caress,
+ Built him a hut, snug, neat, and warm;
+I called him "Selim," to express
+ The marked _s(e)lim_ness of his form.
+
+The little creature grew so tame,
+ He "learned to know (the neighbors) well;"
+And then the ladies, when they came,
+ Oh! how they "nursed that dear Gazelle."
+
+But, woe is me! on earthly ground
+ Some ill with every blessing dwells;
+And soon to my dismay I found
+ That this applies to young Gazelles.
+
+When free allowed to roam indoors,
+ The mischief that he did was great;
+The walls, the furniture, the floors,
+ He made in a terrific state.
+
+He nibbled at the table-cloth,
+ And trod the carpet into holes,
+And in his gambols, nothing loth,
+ Kicked over scuttles full of coals.
+
+To view his image in the glass,
+ He reared upon his hinder legs;
+And thus one morn I found, alas!
+ Two porcelain vases smashed like eggs.
+
+Whatever did his fancy catch
+ By way of food, he would not wait
+To be invited, but would snatch
+ It from one's table, hand, or plate.
+
+He riled the dog, annoyed the cat,
+ And scared the goldfish into fits;
+He butted through my newest hat,
+ And tore my manuscript to bits.
+
+'Twas strange, so light his hooflets weighed,
+ His limbs as slender as a hare's,
+The noise my little Selim made
+ In trotting up and down the stairs.
+
+To tie him up I thought was wise,
+ But loss of freedom gave him pain;
+I could not stand those pleading eyes,
+ And so I let him go again.
+
+How sweet to see him skip and prance
+ Upon the gravel or the lawn;
+More light in step than fairies' dance,
+ More graceful than an English fawn.
+
+But then he spoilt the garden so,
+ Trod down the beds, raked up the seeds,
+And ate the plants--nor did he show
+ The least compunction for his deeds.
+
+He trespassed on the neighbors' ground,
+ And broke two costly melon frames,
+With other damages--a pound
+ To pay, resulted from his games.
+
+In short, the mischief was immense
+ That from his gamesome pranks befel,
+And, truly, in a double sense,
+ He proved a _very_ "dear Gazelle."
+
+At length I sighed--"Ah, ever thus
+ Doth disappointment mock each hope;
+But 'tis in vain to make a fuss;
+ You'll have to go, my antelope."
+
+The chance I wished for did occur;
+ A lady going to the East
+Was willing; so I gave to her
+ That little antelopian beast.
+
+I said, "This antler'd desert child
+ In Turkish palaces may roam,
+But he is much too free and wild
+ To keep in any English home."
+
+Yes, tho' I gave him up with tears,
+ Experience had broke the spell,
+And if I live a thousand years,
+ I'll never have a young Gazelle.
+
+ _Walter Parke._
+
+
+
+
+ THE BALLAD OF THE EMEU
+
+
+O say, have you seen at the Willows so green--
+ So charming and rurally true--
+A Singular bird; with a manner absurd,
+ Which they call the Australian Emeu?
+ Have you?
+ Ever seen this Australian Emeu?
+
+It trots all around with its head on the ground,
+ Or erects it quite out of your view;
+And the ladies all cry, when its figure they spy,
+ "O, what a sweet pretty Emeu!
+ Oh! do
+ Just look at that lovely Emeu!"
+
+One day to this spot, when the weather was hot,
+ Came Matilda Hortense Fortescue;
+And beside her there came a youth of high name
+ Augustus Florell Montague:
+ The two
+ Both loved that wild foreign Emeu.
+
+With two loaves of bread then they fed it, instead
+ Of the flesh of the white cockatoo,
+Which once was its food in that wild neighbourhood
+ Where ranges the sweet kangaroo
+ That, too,
+ Is game for the famous Emeu!
+
+Old saws and gimlets but its appetite whet
+ Like the world famous bark of Peru;
+There's nothing so hard that the bird will discard,
+ And nothing its taste will eschew,
+ That you
+ Can give that long-legged Emeu!
+
+The time slipped away in this innocent play,
+ When up jumped the bold Montague:
+"Where's that specimen pin that I gaily did win
+ In raffle, and gave unto you,
+ Fortescue?"
+ No word spoke the guilty Emeu!
+
+"Quick! tell me his name whom thou gavest that same,
+ Ere these hands in thy blood I imbrue!"
+"Nay, dearest," she cried as she clung to his side,
+ "I'm innocent as that Emeu!"
+ "Adieu!"
+ He replied, "Miss M. H. Fortescue!"
+
+Down she dropped at his feet, all as white as a sheet,
+ As wildly he fled from her view;
+He thought 'twas her sin--for he knew not the pin
+ Had been gobbled up by the Emeu;
+ All through
+ "I'm innocent as that Emeu!"
+
+ _Bret Harte._
+
+
+
+
+ THE TURTLE AND FLAMINGO
+
+
+A lively young turtle lived down by the banks
+Of a dark rolling stream called the Jingo;
+And one summer day, as he went out to play,
+Fell in love with a charming flamingo--
+An enormously genteel flamingo!
+An expansively crimson flamingo!
+A beautiful, bouncing flamingo!
+
+Spake the turtle, in tones like a delicate wheeze:
+"To the water I've oft seen you in go,
+And your form has impressed itself deep on my shell,
+You perfectly modelled flamingo!
+You tremendously A-1 flamingo!
+You in-ex-press-_i_-ble flamingo!
+
+"To be sure, I'm a turtle, and you are a belle,
+And my language is not your fine lingo;
+But smile on me, tall one, and be my bright flame,
+You miraculous, wondrous flamingo!
+You blazingly beauteous flamingo!
+You turtle-absorbing flamingo!
+You inflammably gorgeous flamingo!"
+
+Then the proud bird blushed redder than ever before,
+And that was quite un-nec-es-_sa_-ry,
+And she stood on one leg and looked out of one eye,
+The position of things for to vary,--
+This aquatical, musing flamingo!
+This dreamy, uncertain flamingo!
+This embarrasing, harassing flamingo!
+
+Then she cried to the quadruped, greatly amazed:
+"Why your passion toward _me_ do you hurtle?
+I'm an ornithological wonder of grace,
+And you're an illogical turtle,--
+A waddling, impossible turtle!
+A low-minded, grass-eating turtle!
+A highly improbable turtle!"
+
+Then the turtle sneaked off with his nose to the ground
+And never more looked at the lasses;
+And falling asleep, while indulging his grief,
+Was gobbled up whole by Agassiz,--
+The peripatetic Agassiz!
+The turtle-dissecting Agassiz!
+The illustrious, industrious Agassiz!
+
+Go with me to Cambridge some cool, pleasant day,
+And the skeleton lover I'll show you;
+He's in a hard case, but he'll look in your face,
+Pretending (the rogue!) he don't know you!
+Oh, the deeply deceptive young turtle!
+The double-faced, glassy-cased turtle!
+The _green_ but a very _mock_ turtle!
+
+ _James Thomas Fields._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ XV
+
+ JUNIORS
+
+
+
+
+ PRIOR TO MISS BELLE'S APPEARANCE
+
+
+What makes you come _here_ fer, Mister,
+ So much to _our_ house?--_Say_?
+Come to see our big sister!--
+An' Charley he says 'at you kissed her
+ An' he ketched you, thuther day!--
+Didn' you, Charley?--But we p'omised Belle
+And crossed our heart to never to tell--
+'Cause _she_ gived us some o' them-er
+Chawk'lut-drops 'at you bringed to her!
+
+Charley he's my little b'uther--
+ An' we has a-mostest fun,
+Don't we, Charley?--Our Muther,
+Whenever we whips one-anuther,
+ Tries to whip _us_--an' we _run_--
+Don't we, Charley?--An' nen, bime-by,
+Nen she gives us cake--an' pie--
+Don't she, Charley?--when we come in
+An' p'omise never to do it agin!
+
+_He's_ named Charley.--I'm _Willie_--
+ An' I'm got the purtiest name!
+But Uncle Bob _he_ calls me "Billy"--
+Don't he, Charley?--'Nour filly
+ We named "Billy," the same
+Ist like me! An' our Ma said
+'At "Bob put foolishnuss into our head!"--
+Didn' she, Charley?--An' _she_ don't know
+Much about _boys_!--'Cause Bob said so!
+
+Baby's a funniest feller!
+ Naint no hair on his head--
+_Is_ they, Charley? It's meller
+Wite up there! An' ef Belle er
+ Us ask wuz _we_ that way, Ma said,--
+"Yes; an' yer _Pa's_ head wuz soft as that,
+An' it's that way yet!"--An' Pa grabs his hat
+An' says, "Yes, childern, she's right about Pa--
+'Cause that's the reason he married yer Ma!"
+
+An' our Ma says 'at "Belle couldn'
+ Ketch nothin 'at all but ist _'bows!'_"
+An' _Pa_ says 'at "you're soft as puddun!"--
+An _Uncle Bob_ says "you're a good-un--
+ 'Cause he can tell by yer nose!"--
+Didn' he, Charley? And when Belle'll play
+In the poller on th' pianer, some day,
+Bob makes up funny songs about you,
+Till she gits mad--like he wants her to!
+
+Our sister _Fanny_, she's _'leven_
+ Years old. 'At's mucher 'an _I_--
+Ain't it, Charley?... I'm seven!--
+But our sister Fanny's in _Heaven_!
+ Nere's where you go ef you die!--
+Don't you, Charley? Nen you has _wings_--
+_Ist like Fanny_!--an' _purtiest things_!--
+Don't you, Charley? An' nen you can _fly_--
+Ist fly--an' _ever'_thing!... Wisht _I'd_ die!
+
+ _James Whitcomb Riley._
+
+
+
+
+ THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL
+
+
+There was a little girl,
+And she had a little curl
+ Right in the middle of her forehead.
+When she was good
+She was very, very good,
+ And when she was bad she was horrid.
+
+One day she went upstairs,
+When her parents, unawares,
+ In the kitchen were occupied with meals
+And she stood upon her head
+In her little trundle-bed,
+ And then began hooraying with her heels.
+
+Her mother heard the noise,
+And she thought it was the boys
+ A-playing at a combat in the attic;
+But when she climbed the stair,
+And found Jemima there,
+ She took and she did spank her most emphatic.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE NAUGHTY DARKEY BOY
+
+
+There was a cruel darkey boy,
+ Who sat upon the shore,
+A catching little fishes by
+ The dozen and the score.
+
+And as they squirmed and wriggled there,
+ He shouted loud with glee,
+"You surely cannot want to live,
+ You're little-er dan me."
+
+Just then with a malicious leer,
+ And a capacious smile,
+Before him from the water deep
+ There rose a crocodile.
+
+He eyed the little darkey boy,
+ Then heaved a blubbering sigh,
+And said, "You cannot want to live,
+ You're little-er than I."
+
+The fishes squirm and wriggle still,
+ Beside that sandy shore,
+The cruel little darkey boy,
+ Was never heard of more.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ DUTCH LULLABY
+
+
+Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
+ Sailed off in a wooden shoe,--
+Sailed on a river of misty light
+ Into a sea of dew.
+"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
+ The old moon asked the three.
+"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
+ That live in this beautiful sea;
+ Nets of silver and gold have we,"
+ Said Wynken,
+ Blynken,
+ And Nod.
+
+The old moon laughed and sung a song,
+ As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
+And the wind that sped them all night long
+ Ruffled the waves of dew;
+The little stars were the herring-fish
+ That lived in the beautiful sea.
+"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,
+ But never afeard are we!"
+ So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
+ Wynken,
+ Blynken,
+ And Nod.
+
+All night long their nets they threw
+ For the fish in the twinkling foam,
+Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe,
+ Bringing the fishermen home;
+'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
+ As if it could not be;
+And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
+ Of sailing that beautiful sea;
+ But I shall name you the fishermen three:
+ Wynken,
+ Blynken,
+ And Nod.
+
+Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
+ And Nod is a little head,
+And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
+ Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
+So shut your eyes while Mother sings
+ Of wonderful sights that be,
+And you shall see the beautiful things
+ As you rock on the misty sea
+ Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,
+ Wynken,
+ Blynken,
+ And Nod.
+
+ _Eugene Field._
+
+
+
+
+ THE DINKEY-BIRD
+
+
+In an ocean, 'way out yonder
+ (As all sapient people know),
+Is the land of Wonder-Wander,
+ Whither children love to go;
+It's their playing, romping, swinging,
+ That give great joy to me
+While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing
+ In the Amfalula-tree!
+
+There the gum-drops grow like cherries,
+ And taffy's thick as peas,--
+Caramels you pick like berries
+ When, and where, and how you please
+Big red sugar-plums are clinging
+ To the cliffs beside that sea
+Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing
+ In the Amfalula-tree.
+
+So when children shout and scamper
+ And make merry all the day,
+When there's naught to put a damper
+ To the ardor of their play;
+When I hear their laughter ringing,
+ Then I'm sure as sure can be
+That the Dinkey-Bird is singing
+ In the Amfalula-tree.
+
+For the Dinkey-Bird's bravuras
+ And staccatos are so sweet--
+His roulades, appogiaturas,
+ And robustos so complete,
+That the youth of every nation--
+ Be they near or far away--
+Have especial delectation
+ In that gladsome roundelay.
+
+Their eyes grow bright and brighter,
+ Their lungs begin to crow,
+Their hearts get light and lighter,
+ And their cheeks are all aglow;
+For an echo cometh bringing
+ The news to all and me
+That the Dinkey-Bird is singing
+ In the Amfalula-tree.
+
+I'm sure you'd like to go there
+ To see your feathered friend--
+And so many goodies grow there
+ You would like to comprehend!
+_Speed, little dreams, your winging
+ To that land across the sea
+Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing
+ In the Amfalula-Tree!_
+
+ _Eugene Field._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LITTLE PEACH
+
+
+A little peach in the orchard grew,
+A little peach of emerald hue:
+Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew,
+ It grew.
+
+One day, walking the orchard through,
+That little peach dawned on the view
+Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue--
+ Those two.
+
+Up at the peach a club they threw:
+Down from the limb on which it grew,
+Fell the little peach of emerald hue--
+ Too true!
+
+John took a bite, and Sue took a chew,
+And then the trouble began to brew,--
+Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue,--
+ Paregoric too.
+
+Under the turf where the daisies grew,
+They planted John and his sister Sue;
+And their little souls to the angels flew--
+ Boo-hoo!
+
+But what of the peach of emerald hue,
+Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew?
+Ah, well! its mission on earth is through--
+ Adieu!
+
+ _Eugene Field._
+
+
+
+
+ COUNSEL TO THOSE THAT EAT
+
+
+With chocolate-cream that you buy in the cake
+Large mouthfuls and hurry are quite a mistake.
+
+Wise persons prolong it as long as they can
+But putting in practice this excellent plan.
+
+The cream from the chocolate lining they dig
+With a Runaway match or a clean little twig.
+
+Many hundreds,--nay, thousands--of scoopings they make
+Before they've exhausted a twopenny cake.
+
+With ices 'tis equally wrongful to haste;
+You ought to go slowly and dwell on each taste.
+
+Large mouthfuls are painful, as well as unwise,
+For they lead to an ache at the back of the eyes.
+
+And the delicate sip is e'en better, one finds,
+If the ice is a mixture of different kinds.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ HOME AND MOTHER
+
+
+ Sleep, my own darling,
+ By, baby, by;
+ Mother is with thee,
+ By, baby, by.
+There, baby. (Oh, how the wild winds wail!)
+Hush, baby. (Turning to sleet and hail;
+Ah, how the pine-tree moans and mutters!--
+I wonder if Ellen will think of the shutters?)
+
+ Sleep, my own darling,
+ By, baby, by;
+ Mother is with thee,
+ By, baby, by.
+Rest thee. (She couldn't have left the blower
+Down in the parlor? There's so much to show her!)
+By-by, my sweetest. (Now the rain's pouring!
+Is it wind or the dining-room fire that's roaring?)
+
+ Sleep, my own darling,
+ By, baby, by;
+ Mother is with thee,
+ By, baby, by.
+How lovely his forehead!--my own blessed pet!
+He's nearly asleep. (Now I mustn't forget
+That pork in the brine, and the stair-rods to-morrow.)
+Heaven shield him forever from trouble and sorrow!
+
+ Sleep, my own darling,
+ By, baby, by;
+ Mother is with thee,
+ By, baby, by.
+Those dear little ringlets, so silky and bright!
+(I do hope the muffins will be nice and light.)
+How lovely he is! (Yes, she said she could fry.)
+Oh, what would I do if my baby should die!
+
+ Sleep, my own darling,
+ By, baby, by;
+ Mother is with thee,
+ By, baby, by.
+That sweet little hand, and the soft, dimpled cheek!
+Sleep, darling. (I'll have his clothes shortened this week.
+How tightly he's holding my dress; I'm afraid
+He'll wake when I move. There! his bed isn't made!)
+
+ Sleep, my own darling,
+ By, baby, by;
+ In thy soft cradle
+ Peacefully lie.
+(He's settled at last. But I can't leave him so,
+Though I ought to be going this instant, I know.
+There's everything standing and waiting down-stairs.
+Ah me, but a mother is cumbered with cares!)
+
+ _Mary Mapes Dodge._
+
+
+
+
+ LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE
+
+
+Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
+An' wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
+An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
+An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
+An' all us other children, when the supper things is done,
+We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
+A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
+An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
+ Ef you
+ Don't
+ Watch
+ Out!
+
+Onc't there was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs--
+An' when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,
+His mammy heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl,
+An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all!
+An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
+An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess;
+But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout!
+An' the Gobble-uns'll git you
+ Ef you
+ Don't
+ Watch
+ Out!
+
+An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
+An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
+An' onc't when they was "company," an' ole folks was there,
+She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
+An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
+They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
+An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's
+ about!
+An' the Gobble-uns'll git you
+ Ef you
+ Don't
+ Watch
+ Out!
+
+An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
+An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
+An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
+An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
+You better mind yer parents, and yer teachers fond and dear,
+An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
+An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
+Er the Gobble-uns'll git you
+ Ef you
+ Don't
+ Watch
+ Out!
+
+ _James Whitcomb Riley._
+
+
+
+
+ A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS
+
+
+'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
+Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
+The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
+In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
+The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
+While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
+And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
+Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
+When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
+I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
+Away to the window I flew like a flash,
+Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
+The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
+Gave a luster of mid-day to objects below,
+When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
+But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
+With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
+I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
+More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
+And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
+"Now, _Dasher_! now, _Dancer_! now, _Prancer_ and _Vixen_!
+On, _Comet_! on, _Cupid_! on, _Dunder_ and _Blitzen_!
+To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
+Now, dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
+As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
+When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
+So up to the housetop the coursers they flew,
+With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas, too.
+And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
+The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
+As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
+Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
+He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
+And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
+A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
+And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
+His eyes--how they twinkled!--his dimples how merry!
+His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
+His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
+And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
+The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
+And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
+He had a broad face and a round little belly,
+That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
+He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
+And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
+A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
+Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
+He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
+And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
+And laying his finger aside of his nose,
+And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
+He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
+And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
+But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
+"_Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night_!"
+
+ _Clement Clarke Moore._
+
+
+
+
+ A NURSERY LEGEND
+
+
+Oh! listen, little children, to a proper little song
+Of a naughty little urchin who was always doing wrong:
+He disobey'd his mammy, and he disobey'd his dad,
+And he disobey'd his uncle, which was very near as bad.
+He wouldn't learn to cipher, and he wouldn't learn to write,
+But he _would_ tear up his copy-books to fabricate a kite;
+And he used his slate and pencil in so barbarous a way,
+That the grinders of his governess got looser ev'ry day.
+
+At last he grew so obstinate that no one could contrive
+To cure him of a theory that two and two made five
+And, when they taught him how to spell, he show'd his wicked whims
+By mutilating Pinnock and mislaying Watts's Hymns.
+Instead of all such pretty books, (which _must_ improve the mind,)
+He cultivated volumes of a most improper kind;
+Directories and almanacks he studied on the sly,
+And gloated over Bradshaw's Guide when nobody was by.
+
+From such a course of reading you can easily divine
+The condition of his morals at the age of eight or nine.
+His tone of conversation kept becoming worse and worse,
+Till it scandalised his governess and horrified his nurse.
+He quoted bits of Bradshaw that were quite unfit to hear,
+And recited from the Almanack, no matter who was near:
+He talked of Reigate Junction and of trains both up and down,
+And referr'd to men who call'd themselves Jones, Robinson, and Brown.
+
+But when this naughty boy grew up he found the proverb true,
+That Fate one day makes people pay for all the wrong they do.
+He was cheated out of money by a man whose name was Brown,
+And got crippled in a railway smash while coming up to town.
+So, little boys and little girls, take warning while you can,
+And profit by the history of this unhappy man.
+Read Dr. Watts and Pinnock, dears; and when you learn to spell,
+Shun Railway Guides, Directories, and Almanacks as well!
+
+ _Henry S. Leigh._
+
+
+
+
+ A LITTLE GOOSE
+
+
+The chill November day was done,
+ The working world home faring;
+The wind came roaring through the streets
+ And set the gas-lights flaring;
+And hopelessly and aimlessly
+ The scared old leaves were flying;
+When, mingled with the sighing wind,
+ I heard a small voice crying.
+
+And shivering on the corner stood
+ A child of four, or over;
+No cloak or hat her small, soft arms,
+ And wind blown curls to cover.
+Her dimpled face was stained with tears;
+ Her round blue eyes ran over;
+She cherished in her wee, cold hand,
+ A bunch of faded clover.
+
+And one hand round her treasure while
+ She slipped in mine the other:
+Half scared, half confidential, said,
+ "Oh! please, I want my mother!"
+"Tell me your street and number, pet:
+ Don't cry, I'll take you to it."
+Sobbing she answered, "I forget:
+ The organ made me do it.
+
+"He came and played at Milly's steps,
+ The monkey took the money;
+And so I followed down the street,
+ The monkey was so funny.
+I've walked about a hundred hours,
+ From one street to another:
+The monkey's gone, I've spoiled my flowers,
+ Oh! please, I want my mother."
+
+"But what's your mother's name? and what
+ The street? Now think a minute."
+"My mother's name is mamma dear--
+ The street--I can't begin it."
+"But what is strange about the house,
+ Or new--not like the others?"
+"I guess you mean my trundle-bed,
+ Mine and my little brother's.
+
+"Oh dear! I ought to be at home
+ To help him say his prayers,--
+He's such a baby he forgets;
+ And we are both such players;--
+And there's a bar to keep us both
+ From pitching on each other,
+For Harry rolls when he's asleep:
+ Oh dear! I want my mother."
+
+The sky grew stormy; people passed
+ All muffled, homeward faring:
+"You'll have to spend the night with me,"
+ I said at last, despairing,
+I tied a kerchief round her neck--
+ "What ribbon's this, my blossom?"
+"Why don't you know!" she smiling, said,
+ And drew it from her bosom.
+
+A card with number, street, and name;
+ My eyes astonished met it;
+"For," said the little one, "you see
+ I might sometimes forget it:
+And so I wear a little thing
+ That tells you all about it;
+For mother says she's very sure
+ I should get lost without it."
+
+ _Eliza Sproat Turner._
+
+
+
+
+ LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS
+
+
+I haf von funny leedle poy,
+ Vot comes schust to mine knee;
+Der queerest schap, der createst rogue,
+ As efer you dit see.
+He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings
+ In all barts off der house:
+But vot off dot? He vas mine son,
+ Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.
+
+He get der measles und der mumbs
+ And eferyding dot's oudt;
+He sbills mine glass off lager bier,
+ Poots schnuff indo mine kraut.
+He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese--
+ Dot vas der roughest chouse;
+I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy
+ But leedle Yawcob Strauss.
+
+He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,
+ Und cuts mine cane in dwo,
+To make der schticks to beat it mit--
+ Mine cracious, dot vas drue!
+I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart,
+ He kicks oup sooch a touse:
+But nefer mind; der poys vas few
+ Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.
+
+He asks me questions sooch as dese:
+ Who baints mine nose so red?
+Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt
+ Vrom der hair ubon mine hed?
+Und vere dere plaze goes vrom her lamp
+ Vene'er der glim I douse.
+How gan I all dose dings eggsblain
+ To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss?
+
+I somedimes dink I schall go vild
+ Mit sooch a grazy poy,
+Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest,
+ Und beaceful dimes enshoy;
+But ven he vas aschleep in ped
+ So guiet as a mouse,
+I prays der Lord, "Dake anyding,
+ But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss."
+
+ _Charles Follen Adams._
+
+
+
+
+A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS
+
+
+ Thou happy, happy elf!
+(But stop,--first let me kiss away that tear)--
+ Thou tiny image of myself!
+(My love, he's poking peas into his ear!)
+ Thou merry, laughing sprite!
+ With spirits feather-light,
+Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin--
+(Good Heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!)
+
+ Thou little tricksy Puck!
+With antic toys so funnily bestuck,
+Light as the singing bird that wings the air--
+(The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!)
+ Thou darling of thy sire!
+(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!)
+ Thou imp of mirth and joy!
+In love's dear chain, so strong and bright a link,
+Thou idol of thy parents--(Drat the boy!
+ There goes my ink!)
+
+ Thou cherub--but of earth;
+Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale,
+ In harmless sport and mirth,
+(That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!)
+ Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey
+From every blossom in the world that blows,
+ Singing in youth's elysium ever sunny,
+(Another tumble!--that's his precious nose!)
+
+ Thy father's pride and hope!
+(He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!)
+With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint--
+(Where _did_ he learn that squint?)
+ Thou young domestic dove!
+(He'll have that jug off with another shove!)
+ Dear nursling of the Hymeneal nest!
+ (Are those torn clothes his best?)
+ Little epitome of man!
+(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!)
+Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life
+ (He's got a knife!)
+
+ Thou enviable being!
+No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing,
+ Play on, play on,
+ My elfin John!
+Toss the light ball--bestride the stick--
+(I knew so many cakes would make him sick!)
+With fancies, buoyant as the thistle-down,
+Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk,
+ With many a lamb-like frisk,
+(He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!)
+ Thou pretty opening rose!
+(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!)
+Balmy and breathing music like the South,
+(He really brings my heart into my mouth!)
+Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star,--
+(I wish that window had an iron bar!)
+Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove,--
+ (I'll tell you what, my love,
+I cannot write unless he's sent above!)
+
+ _Thomas Hood._
+
+
+
+
+ LITTLE MAMMA
+
+
+Why is it the children don't love me
+ As they do Mamma?
+That they put her ever above me--
+ "Little Mamma?"
+I'm sure I do all that I can do,
+What more can a rather big man do,
+ Who can't be Mamma--
+ Little Mamma?
+
+Any game that the tyrants suggest,
+"Logomachy,"--which I detest,--
+Doll-babies, hop-scotch, or baseball,
+I'm always on hand at the call.
+When Noah and the others embark,
+I'm the elephant saved in the ark.
+I creep, and I climb, and I crawl--
+By turns am the animals all.
+ For the show on the stair
+ I'm always the bear,
+Chimpanzee, camel, or kangaroo.
+ It is never, "Mamma,--
+ _Little_ Mamma,--
+ Won't _you_?"
+
+My umbrella's the pony, if any--
+None ride on Mamma's parasol:
+I'm supposed to have always the penny
+For bonbons, and beggars, and all.
+My room is the one where they clatter--
+Am I reading, or writing, what matter!
+My knee is the one for a trot,
+My foot is the stirrup for Dot.
+If his fractions get into a snarl
+Who straightens the tangles for Karl?
+Who bounds Massachusetts and Maine,
+And tries to bound flimsy old Spain?
+ Why,
+ It is _I_,
+ Papa,--
+ Not Little Mamma!
+
+That the youngsters are ingrates don't say.
+I think they love me--in a way--
+As one does the old clock on the stair,--
+Any curious, cumbrous affair
+That one's used to having about,
+And would feel rather lonely without.
+I think that they love me, I say,
+In a sort of a tolerant way;
+ But it's plain that Papa
+ Isn't Little Mamma.
+
+Thus when twilight comes stealing anear,
+When things in the firelight look queer;
+And shadows the playroom enwrap,
+They never climb into my lap
+And toy with _my_ head, smooth and bare,
+As they do with Mamma's shining hair;
+Nor feel round my throat and my chin
+For dimples to put fingers in;
+Nor lock my neck in a loving vise,
+And say they're "mousies"--that's mice--
+ And will nibble my ears,
+ Will nibble and bite
+With their little mice-teeth, so sharp and so white,
+If I do not kiss them this very minute--
+Don't-wait-a-bit-but-at-once-begin-it--
+ Dear little Papa!
+That's what they say and do to Mamma.
+
+If, mildly hinting, I quietly say that
+Kissing's a game that more can play at,
+They turn up at once those innocent eyes,
+And I suddenly learn to my great surprise
+ That my face has "prickles"--
+ My moustache tickles.
+If, storming their camp, I seize a pert shaver,
+And take as a right what was asked as a favor,
+ It is, "Oh, Papa,
+ How horrid you are--
+You taste exactly like a cigar!"
+
+But though the rebels protest and pout,
+And make a pretence of driving me out,
+I hold, after all, the main redoubt,--
+Not by force of arms nor the force of will,
+But the power of love, which is mightier still.
+And very deep in their hearts, I know,
+Under the saucy and petulant "Oh,"
+The doubtful "Yes," or the naughty "No,"
+ They love Papa.
+
+And down in the heart that no one sees,
+Where I hold my feasts and my jubilees,
+I know that I would not abate one jot
+Of the love that is held by my little Dot
+Or my great big boy for their little Mamma,
+Though out in the cold it crowded Papa.
+I would not abate it the tiniest whit,
+And I am not jealous the least little bit;
+For I'll tell you a secret: Come, my dears,
+And I'll whisper it--right-into-your-ears--
+ I, too, love Mamma,
+ Little Mamma!
+
+ _Charles Henry Webb._
+
+
+
+
+ THE COMICAL GIRL
+
+
+There was a child, as I have been told,
+Who when she was young didn't look very old.
+Another thing, too, some people have said,
+At the top of her body there grew out a head;
+And what perhaps might make some people stare
+Her little bald pate was all covered with hair.
+Another strange thing which made gossipers talk,
+Was that she often attempted to walk.
+And then, do you know, she occasioned much fun
+By moving so fast as sometimes to run.
+Nay, indeed, I have heard that some people say
+She often would smile and often would play.
+And what is a fact, though it seems very odd,
+She had monstrous dislike to the feel of a rod.
+This strange little child sometimes hungry would be
+And then she delighted her victuals to see.
+Even drink she would swallow, and though strange it appears
+Whenever she listened it was with her ears.
+With her eyes she could see, and strange to relate
+Her peepers were placed in front of her pate.
+There, too, was her mouth and also her nose,
+And on her two feet were placed her ten toes.
+Her teeth, I've been told, were fixed in her gums,
+And beside having fingers she also had thumbs.
+A droll child she therefore most surely must be,
+For not being blind she was able to see.
+One circumstance more had slipped from my mind
+Which is when not cross she always was kind.
+And, strangest of any that yet I have said,
+She every night went to sleep on her bed.
+And, what may occasion you no small surprise,
+When napping, she always shut close up her eyes.
+
+ _M. Pelham._
+
+
+
+
+ BUNCHES OF GRAPES
+
+
+"Bunches of grapes," says Timothy,
+ "Pomegrantes pink," says Elaine;
+"A junket of cream and a cranberry tart
+ For me," says Jane.
+
+"Love-in-a-mist," says Timothy,
+ "Primroses pale," says Elaine;
+"A nosegay of pinks and mignonette
+ For me," says Jane.
+
+"Chariots of gold," says Timothy,
+ "Silvery wings," says Elaine;
+"A bumpety ride in a waggon of hay
+ For me," says Jane.
+
+ _Walter Ramal._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ XVI
+
+ IMMORTAL STANZAS
+
+
+
+
+ THE PURPLE COW
+
+
+I never saw a Purple Cow,
+I never hope to see one;
+But I can tell you, anyhow,
+I'd rather see than be one.
+
+ _Gelett Burgess._
+
+
+
+
+ THE YOUNG LADY OF NIGER
+
+
+There was a young lady of Niger
+Who smiled as she rode on a Tiger;
+ They came back from the ride
+ With the lady inside,
+And the smile on the face of the Tiger.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ THE LAUGHING WILLOW
+
+
+To see the Kaiser's epitaph
+Would make a weeping willow laugh.
+
+ _Oliver Herford._
+
+
+
+
+ SAID OPIE READ
+
+
+Said Opie Read to E. P. Roe,
+"How do you like Gaboriau?"
+"I like him very much indeed!"
+Said E. P. Roe to Opie Read.
+
+_Julian Street_ and _James Montgomery Flagg._
+
+
+
+
+ MANILA
+
+
+Oh, dewy was the morning, upon the first of May,
+And Dewey was the admiral, down in Manila Bay;
+And dewy were the Regent's eyes, them royal orbs of blue,
+And do we feel discouraged? We do not think we do!
+
+ _Eugene F. Ware._
+
+
+
+
+ ON THE ARISTOCRACY OF HARVARD
+
+
+I come from good old Boston,
+ The home of the bean and the cod;
+Where the Cabots speak only to Lowells,
+ And the Lowells speak only to God!
+
+ _Dr. Samuel G. Bushnell._
+
+
+
+
+ ON THE DEMOCRACY OF YALE
+
+
+Here's to the town of New Haven,
+ The home of the truth and the light;
+Where God speaks to Jones in the very same tones,
+ That he uses with Hadley and Dwight!
+
+ _Dean Jones._
+
+
+
+
+ THE HERRING
+
+
+"The Herring he loves the merry moonlight
+And the Mackerel loves the wind,
+But the Oyster loves the dredging song
+For he comes of a gentler kind."
+
+ _Sir Walter Scott._
+
+
+
+
+ IF THE MAN
+
+
+If the man who turnips cries,
+Cry not when his father dies,
+'Tis a proof that he had rather
+Have a turnip than his father.
+
+ _Samuel Johnson._
+
+
+
+
+ THE KILKENNY CATS
+
+
+There wanst was two cats of Kilkenny,
+Each thought there was one cat too many,
+ So they quarrell'd and fit,
+ They scratch'd and they bit,
+ Till, barrin' their nails,
+ And the tips of their tails,
+Instead of two cats, there warnt any.
+
+ _Unknown._
+
+
+
+
+ POOR DEAR GRANDPAPA
+
+
+What is the matter with Grandpapa?
+ What can the matter be?
+He's broken his leg in trying to spell
+ Tommy without a T.
+
+ _D'Arcy W. Thompson._
+
+
+
+
+ MORE WALKS
+
+
+Whene'er I take my walks abroad,
+ How many rich I see;
+There's A. and B. and C. and D.
+ All better off than me!
+
+ _Richard Harris Barham._
+
+
+
+
+ INDIFFERENCE
+
+
+The cat is in the parlour,
+ The dog is in the lake;
+The cow is in the hammock,--
+ What difference does it make?
+
+
+
+
+ MADAME SANS SOUCI
+
+
+"Bon jour, Madame Sans Souci;
+Combien coutent ces soucis ci?"
+"Six sous." "Six sous ces soucis ci!
+C'est trop cher, Madame Sans Souci!"
+
+
+
+
+ A RIDDLE
+
+
+The man in the wilderness asked of me
+How many strawberries grew in the sea.
+I answered him as I thought good,
+As many as red herrings grow in the wood.
+
+
+
+
+ IF
+
+
+If all the land were apple-pie,
+ And all the sea were ink;
+And all the trees were bread and cheese,
+ What should we do for drink?
+
+
+ THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ INDICES
+
+
+
+
+ INDEX OF AUTHORS
+
+ |page|
+|Authors Unknown|
+ All's Well That Ends Well 264
+ Amazing Facts About Food 91
+ Ambiguous Lines 804
+ Any One Will Do 169
+ As To The Weather 107
+ Ballad of Bedlam, A 886
+ Ballad of High Endeavor, A 484
+ Bellagcholly Days 747
+ Bells, The 816
+ Cameronian Cat, The 917
+ Careful Penman, The 810
+ Catalectic Monody, A 833
+ Categorical Courtship 207
+ Chemist to His Love, A 206
+ Christmas Chimes 284
+ Clown's Courtship, The 217
+ Conjugal Conundrum, A 371
+ Cosmic Egg, The 771
+ Cosmopolitan Woman, A 167
+ Counsel to Those That Eat 932
+ Country Summer Pastoral, A 883
+ Cupid's Darts 67
+ Darwinian Ballad 913
+ Dirge 787
+ Father William 531
+ Fin de Siecle 357
+ Fragment, A 450
+ Future of the Classics, The 826
+ Gillian 511
+ Hom[oe]opathic Soup 76
+ Hyder Iddle 879
+ Idyll of Phatte and Leene, An 406
+ If 951
+ Imagiste Love Lines 383
+ Imaginative Crisis, The 451
+ Imitations of Walt Whitman 434
+ Indifference 950
+ Invitation to the Zoological Gardens, An 822
+ Israfiddlestrings 472
+ Justice to Scotland 384
+ Kilkenny Cats, The 950
+ Kindly Advice 890
+ King John and the Abbot 554
+ King Arthur 879
+ Learned Negro, The 274
+ Life 783
+ Lines 456
+ Lines by an Old Fogy 882
+ Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon 830
+ Lines Written After a Battle 456
+ Little Star, The 476
+ Logic 809
+ Logical English 809
+ Lost Spectacles, The 287
+ Love's Moods and Tenses 812
+ Man of Words, A 790
+ Man's Place in Nature 89
+ Maudle-in-Ballad, A 510
+ Midsummer Madness 377
+ Minguillo's Kiss 122
+ Mme. Sans Souci 951
+ Modern Hiawatha, The 482
+ Mr. Finney's Turnip 847
+ My Dream 853
+ My Foe 529
+ Naughty Darkey Boy, The 927
+ Nirvana 900
+ North, East, South and West 403
+ Nursery Rhymes a la Mode 509
+ Nursery Song in Pidgin English 530
+ Ocean Wanderer, The 879
+ Ode to a Bobtailed Cat 736
+ Odv 788
+ On a Deaf Housekeeper 76
+ Origin of Ireland, The 106
+ Original Lamb, The 477
+ Panegyric on the Ladies 803
+ Questions with Answers 810
+ Rev. Gabe Tucker's Remarks 312
+ Riddle, A 951
+ Rural Raptures 450
+ Sainte Margerie 477
+ Siege of Belgrade, The 813
+ Similes 791
+ Song of the Springtide 527
+ Sonnet Found in a Deserted Mad House 851
+ Stanzas to Pale Ale 732
+ Strike Among the Poets, A 785
+ Susan Simpson 774
+ There was a Little Girl 926
+ Thingumbob, The 882
+ Three Children 843
+ Three Jovial Huntsmen 878
+ 'Tis Midnight 843
+ 'Tis Sweet to Roam 878
+ To an Importunate Host 534
+ To Be or Not To Be 891
+ Transcendentalism 92
+ Trust in Women 276
+ Two Fishers 188
+ Ultimate Joy, The 32
+ Unfortunate Miss-Bailey 702
+ Village Choir, The 528
+ Whango Tree, The 842
+ What is a Woman Like? 118
+ Whenceness of the Which 476
+ Whistler, The 133
+ Wonders of Nature 882
+ Wordsworthian Reminiscence 470
+ Young Lady of Niger, The 948
+ Young Lochinvar 381
+
+|Adams, Charles Follen|
+ Leedle Yawcob Strauss 940
+
+|Adams, Franklin P.|
+ Erring in Company 55
+ Popular Ballad: "Never Forget Your Parents" 394
+ To a Thesaurus 825
+ Translated Way 427
+
+|Addison, Joseph|
+ Song 751
+ To a Capricious Friend 368
+
+|Aldrich, Dr. Henry|
+ Reasons for Drinking 364
+
+|Anstey, F.|
+ Select Passages from a Coming Poet 410
+
+|Aristophanes|
+ Chorus of Women 126
+
+|Ashby-Sterry, J.|
+ Kindness to Animals 891
+ Pet's Punishment 184
+
+|Atwell, Roy|
+ Some Little Bug 77
+
+|Aytoun, William E.|
+ Bitter Bit, The 451
+ Broken Pitcher, The 196
+ Comfort in Affliction 453
+ Husband's Petition, The 454
+ Lay of the Lover's Friend, The 88
+
+|Aytoun, William E.|, _and_ |Martin|
+ Lay of the Love Lorn, The 537
+
+|Bailey, Philip James|
+ Great Black Crow, The 908
+
+|Ballard, Harlan Hoge|
+ In the Catacombs 52
+
+|Bangs, John Kendrick|
+ "Mona Lisa" 95
+
+|Barham, Richard Harris| [|Thomas Ingoldsby|]
+ Confession, The 443
+ Forlorn One, The 449
+ Jackdaw of Rheims, The 586
+ Knight and the Lady, The 590
+ Misadventures at Margate 558
+ More Walks 950
+
+|Bayly, Thomas Haynes|
+ Why Don't the Men Propose? 130
+
+|Bede, Cuthbert|
+ In Memoriam 463
+
+|Beers, Henry A.|
+ Fish Story, A 916
+
+|Bellaw, A. W.|
+ Conjugal Conjugations 810
+ Old Line Fence, The 760
+
+|Belloc, Hilaire|
+ Frog, The 907
+ Llama, The 906
+ Microbe, The 907
+ Viper, The 906
+ Yak, The 906
+
+|Bennett, John|
+ To Marie 852
+
+|Birdseye, George|
+ Paradise 281
+
+|Blake, Rodney|
+ Hoch! der Kaiser 291
+
+|Blake, William|
+ Cupid 56
+ Little Vagabond, The 269
+
+|Blanchard, Laman|
+ Art of Book-Keeping, The 818
+ False Love and True Logic 183
+ Ode to a Human Heart 784
+ Whatever is, is Right 786
+
+|Bridges, Madeline|
+ Third Proposition, The 345
+
+|Bridgman, L. J.|
+ On Knowing When to Stop 312
+
+|Browne, Charles Farrar| [|Artemus Ward|]
+ Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim 849
+
+|Brownell, Henry Howard|
+ Lawyer's Invocation to Spring, The 402
+
+|Browning, Robert|
+ Pied Piper of Hamelin, The 603
+ Pope and the Net, The 286
+ Youth and Art 339
+
+|Bunner, H. C.|
+ Behold the Deeds 397
+ Home Sweet Home with Variations 498
+ Shake, Mulleary and Go-Ethe 40
+ Way to Arcady, The 201
+
+|Burdette, Robert J.|
+ Orphan Born 903
+ Romance of the Carpet, The 674
+ "Soldier, Rest!" 374
+ "Songs without Words" 413
+ What Will We Do? 311
+
+|Burgess, Gelett|
+ Dighton is Engaged 647
+ Extracts from the Rubaiyat of Omar Cayenne 512
+ Invisible Bridge, The 855
+ Kitty Wants to Write 646
+ Lazy Roof, The 855
+ My Feet 855
+ Purple Cow, The 948
+ Villanelle of Things Amusing 73
+
+|Burnand, F. C.|
+ Fisherman's Chant, The 81
+ Oh, My Geraldine 180
+ True to Poll 275
+
+|Burns, Robert|
+ Address to the Toothache 724
+ Holy Willie's Prayer 272
+ John Barleycorn 730
+ Tam O'Shanter 623
+
+|Bushnell, Dr. Samuel G.|
+ On the Aristocracy of Harvard 949
+
+|Butler, Ellis Parker|
+ Secret Combination, The 209
+
+|Butler, Samuel|
+ Hypocrisy 365
+ Religion of Hudibras, The 271
+ Smatterers 365
+
+|Butler, William Allen|
+ Nothing to Wear 148
+
+|Byron, John|
+ Three Black Crows 254
+ Which is Which 368
+
+|Byron, Lord|
+ Written After Swimming from Sestos to Abydos 80
+
+|Calverley, Charles Stuart|
+ Ballad 467
+ Cock and the Bull, The 464
+ Companions 63
+ Disaster 469
+ First Love 116
+ Lovers and a Reflection 372
+ Ode to Tobacco 732
+ Schoolmaster, The 64
+
+|Cannan, Edward|
+ Unexpected Fact, An 844
+
+|Canning, George|
+ Elderly Gentlemen, The 665
+ Knife-grinder, The 249
+ Song 84
+
+|Carey, Henry|
+ Sally in Our Alley 182
+
+|Carleton, Will|
+ New Church Organ, The 162
+
+|Carroll, Lewis|
+ Father William 485
+ Humpty Dumpty's Recitation 872
+ Hunting of the Snark, The 676
+ Jabberwocky 869
+ Some Hallucinations 874
+ Walrus and the Carpenter, The 896
+ Ways and Means 870
+
+|Carryl, Charles E.|
+ Post Captain, The 615
+ Robinson Crusoe's Story 617
+
+|Carryl, Guy Wetmore|
+ Ballad, A 426
+ Girl was too Reckless of Grammar, A 395
+
+|Cary, Phoebe|
+ Ballad of the Canal 492
+ "The Day is Done" 490
+ Jacob 491
+ John Thomson's Daughter 494
+ There's a Bower of Bean-vines 493
+ Reuben 493
+ When Lovely Woman 494
+ Wife, The 494
+
+|Cayley, George John|
+ Epitaph, An 366
+
+|Chambers, Robert W.|
+ Officer Brady 232
+ Recruit, The 230
+
+|Chaucer, Geoffrey|
+ To My Empty Purse 58
+
+|Cheney, John Vance|
+ Kitchen Clock, The 220
+
+|Chesterfield, Lord|
+ On a Full-length Portrait of Beau Marsh 369
+
+|Chesterton, G. K.|
+ Ballade of an Anti-Puritan, A 337
+ Ballade of Suicide, A 224
+
+|Cholmondeley-Pennell, H.|
+ How the Daughters Come Down At Dunoon 533
+ Lay of the Deserted Influenzaed 746
+ Our Traveller 445
+
+|Clarke, H. E.|
+ Lady Mine 221
+
+|Clarke, Lewis Gaylord|
+ Flamingo, The 894
+
+|Claudius, Matthew|
+ Hen, The 892
+
+|Cleveland|
+ On Scotland 369
+
+|Clough, Arthur Hugh|
+ Latest Decalogue, The 261
+
+|Coleridge, Samuel Taylor|
+ Cologne 363
+ Eternal Poem, An 364
+ Giles's Hope 363
+ House that Jack Built, The 407
+ Job 364
+ On a Bad Singer 364
+ Rhymester, A 363
+
+|Collins, Mortimer|
+ Ad Chloen, M.A. 184
+ Chloe, M.A. 185
+ If 436
+ Martial in London 316
+ My Aunt's Spectre 600
+ Positivists, The 315
+ Salad 436
+ Sky-Making 314
+
+|Cone, Helen Gray|
+ Ballad of Cassandra Brown, The 345
+
+|Congreve, William|
+ Buxom Joan 179
+
+|Cook, Rev. Joseph|
+ Boston Nursery Rhymes 324
+
+|Corbet, Bishop|
+ Like to the Thundering Tone 848
+
+|Cotton, Charles|
+ Joys of Marriage, The 344
+
+|Cowley, Abraham|
+ Chronicle: A Ballad, The 176
+
+|Cowper, William|
+ Colubriad, The 909
+ Diverting History of John Gilpin, The 564
+ Pairing-Time Anticipated 212
+ Report of an Adjudged Case 82
+ Retired Cat, The 910
+
+|Crane, Stephen|
+ Man, The 248
+
+|Croffut, William Augustus|
+ Dirge, A 737
+
+|Cunningham, Allan|
+ John Grumlie 326
+
+|Daniell, Edith|
+ Inspect Us 471
+
+|Davison, Francis|
+ Are Women Fair? 189
+
+|Day, Holman F.|
+ Grampy Sings a Song 670
+
+|Deane, Anthony C.|
+ Here is the Tale 421
+ Imitation 375
+ Rural Bliss 97
+
+|DeBurgh, H. J.|
+ Half Hours with the Classics 779
+
+|Denison, J. P.|
+ Wing Tee Wee 139
+
+|Dibdin, Charles|
+ Nongtongpaw 808
+
+|Dillon, Viscount|
+ Donnybrook Jig, The 700
+
+|Dobson, Austin|
+ Dialogue From Plato, A 142
+ Dora Versus Rose 144
+ Jocosa Lyra 824
+ Rondeau, The 782
+ Tu Quoque 146
+
+|Dodge, H. C.|
+ If 268
+ Splendid Fellow, A 267
+
+|Dodge, Mary Mapes|
+ Home and Mother 932
+ Life in Laconics 311
+ Over the Way 125
+ Zealless Xylographer, The 759
+
+|Dole, Nathan Haskell|
+ Our Native Birds 53
+
+|Donne, John|
+ Song 330
+
+|Drummond, William Henry|
+ Wreck of the "Julie Plante" 662
+
+|Dreyden, John|
+ Epitaph Intended for His Wife 368
+
+|Edwards, John R.|
+ War: A-Z, The 829
+
+|Emerson, Ralph Waldo|
+ Fable 290
+
+|Fanshawe, Catherine M.|
+ Enigma on the Letter H 762
+ Imitation of Wordsworth, An 535
+
+|Farrow, G. E.|
+ Converted Cannibals, The 683
+ Retired Pork-Butcher and the Spook, The 685
+
+|Field, Eugene|
+ Dinkey Bird, The 929
+ Dutch Lullaby 928
+ Little Peach, The 931
+ Truth About Horace, The 50
+
+|Fields, James Thomas|
+ Alarmed Skipper, The 664
+ Owl-Critic, The 309
+ Turtle and the Flamingo, The 923
+
+|Fink, William W.|
+ Larrie O'Dee 165
+
+|Flagg, James Montgomery| [_with_ |Julian Street|]
+ Said Opie Reed 948
+
+|Foley, J. W.|
+ Nemesis 94
+ Scientific Proof 880
+
+|Forrester, Alfred A.| [|Alfred Croquill|]
+ To My Nose 832
+
+|Foss, Sam Walter|
+ Husband and Heather 160
+ Ideal Husband to His Wife, The 246
+ Meeting of the Clabberhuses, The 244
+ A Philosopher 242
+ Prayer of Cyrus Brown, The 54
+ Then Ag'in 357
+
+
+|Gallienne, Richard Le|
+ Melton Mowbray Pork-Pie, A 472
+
+|Gay, John|
+ New Song, A 754
+
+|Gilbert, Paul T.|
+ Triolet 120
+
+|Gilbert, W. S.|
+ Etiquette 256
+ Ferdinando and Elvira 635
+ Gentle Alice Brown 639
+ Mighty Must, The 376
+ Played-Out Humorist, The 25
+ Practical Joker, The 26
+ Sing for the Garish Eye 875
+ Sir Guy the Crusader 644
+ Story of Prince Agib, The 641
+ To Phoebe 28
+ To the Terrestrial Globe 256
+ Yarn of the "Nancy Bell" 632
+
+|Gillinan, S. W.|
+ Finnigin to Flannigan 225
+
+|Godley, A. D.|
+ After Horace 320
+ Pensees de Noel 336
+
+|Goldsmith, Oliver|
+ Elegy, An 740
+ Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, An 764
+ Parson Gray 741
+
+|Googe, Barnaby|
+ Out of Sight, Out of Mind 807
+
+|Graves, Alfred Perceval|
+ Father O'Flynn 719
+ Ould Doctor Macke 717
+
+|Gray, Thomas|
+ On the Death of a Favorite Cat 557
+
+|Greene, Albert Gorton|
+ Old Grimes 766
+
+|Grissom, Arthur|
+ Ballade of Forgotten Loves 223
+
+|Guiterman, Arthur|
+ Elegy 445
+ Legend of the First Cam-u-el, The 888
+ Mavrone 378
+ Mexican Serenade 902
+ Sketch from the Life, A 121
+ Strictly Germ Proof 87
+
+|Halpine, Charles Graham|
+ Feminine Arithmetic 191
+
+|Harrington, Sir John|
+ Of a Certain Man 282
+ Of a Precise Tailor 322
+
+|Harte, Bret|
+ Ballad of the Emeu, The 921
+ "Jim" 652
+ Plain Language from Truthful James 648
+ Society Upon the Stanislaus, The 650
+ To the Pliocene Skull 46
+ Willows, The 423
+
+|Hartswick, F. G.|
+ Somewhere-in-Europe-Wodky 482
+
+|Hastings, Lady T.|
+ "Exactly So" 61
+
+|Hay, John|
+ Distichs 247
+ Enchanted Shirt, The 658
+ Good and Bad Luck 334
+ Jim Bludso 661
+ Little Breeches 657
+
+|Hazzard, John Edward|
+ Ain't It Awful, Mabel? 137
+
+|Heber, Reginald|
+ Sympathy 270
+
+|Henley, William Ernest|
+ Culture in the Slums 400
+ Her Little Feet 59
+ Triolet, The 782
+ Villon's Straight Tip to All Cross Coves 399
+
+|Herford, Oliver|
+ Catfish, The 900
+ Cloud, The 134
+ Laughing Willow, The 948
+ Mark Twain: A Pipe Dream 30
+ Phyllis Lee 139
+ War Relief 901
+
+|Herrick, Robert|
+ Five Wives 772
+ No Fault in Women 166
+ Ternary of Littles Upon a Pipkin of Jelly Sent
+ to a Lady, A 806
+
+|Hill, Marion|
+ Lovelilts 824
+
+|Hogg, James|
+ Love is Like a Dizziness 218
+
+|Holmes, Oliver Wendell|
+ [OE]stivation 849
+ Ballad of the Oysterman, The 583
+ Cacoethes Scribendi 238
+ Contentment 238
+ The Deacon's Masterpiece 580
+ Familiar Letter to Several Correspondents, A 36
+ Height of the Ridiculous, The 38
+ Ode for a Social Meeting 833
+ Our Hymn 374
+ To the Portrait of "A Gentleman" 236
+
+|Hood, Thomas|
+ Bachelor's Dream, The 342
+ Ben Bluff 619
+ Death's Ramble 801
+ Faithless Nellie Gray 797
+ Faithless Sally Brown 792
+ No! 792
+ Nocturnal Sketch, A 823
+ Parental Ode to my Son Aged Three Years and Five
+ Months, A 941
+ Sally Simpkin's Lament 800
+ Tim Turpin 795
+ To Minerva 49
+
+|Hood, Thomas,| _Jr._
+ In Memoriam Technicam 413
+ Takings 817
+ Wedding, The 412
+
+|Hook, Theodore|
+ Cautionary Verses 828
+
+|Hovey, Richard|
+ Barney McGee 721
+
+|Hunt, Leigh|
+ Jovial Priest's Confession, The 834
+ Nun, The 206
+
+|Huntley, Stanley|
+ Annabel Lee 497
+
+|Ingoldsby, Thomas| [_See_ |Richard Harris Barham|]
+
+|Irwin, Wallace|
+ Blow Me Eyes! 115
+ Constant Cannibal Maiden, The 194
+ Grain of Salt, A 241
+
+|Jenks, Tudor|
+ Old Bachelor, An 98
+
+|Johnson, Burges|
+ Why Doth a Pussy Cat? 895
+
+|Johnson, Hilda|
+ Quest of the Purple Cow, The 100
+
+|Johnson, Rossiter|
+ Ninety-nine in the Shade 781
+
+|Johnson, Samuel|
+ If the Man 949
+
+|Johnston, William|
+ On the Downtown Side of an Uptown Street 79
+
+|Johnstone, Henry|
+ Fastidious Serpent, The 887
+
+|Jones, Dean|
+ On the Democracy of Yale 949
+
+|Jonson, Ben|
+ Answer to Master Wither's Song, "Shall I, Wasting
+ in Despair?" 526
+ Cupid 211
+ To Doctor Empiric 365
+
+
+|Keats, John|
+ Portrait, A 496
+
+|Kerr, Orpheus| [_See_ |Robert H. Newell|]
+
+|King, Ben|
+ How Often 489
+ If I Should Die To-night 489
+ Pessimist, The 358
+
+|Kingsley, Charles|
+ Oubit, The 330
+
+|Kipling, Rudyard|
+ Commonplaces 427
+ Divided Destinies 904
+ Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink 226
+
+|Knight, Henry Coggswell|
+ Lunar Stanzas 841
+
+|Lamb, Charles|
+ Farewell to Tobacco, A 726
+ Nonsense Verses 848
+
+|Lampton, W. J.|
+ New Persion, The 90
+
+|Landor, Walter Savage|
+ Honey-moon, The 366
+ Gifts Returned 198
+
+|Lang, Andrew|
+ Ballad of the Primitive Jest 72
+ Double Ballad of Primitive Man 331
+
+|Langbridge, Frederick|
+ Quite By Chance 205
+
+|Lanigan, George Thomas|
+ Ahkoond of Swat, The 710
+ Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal 712
+
+|Lear, Edward|
+ Ahkoond of Swat, The 708
+ Jumbles, The 862
+ New Vestments, The 866
+ Owl and the Pussy Cat, The 901
+ Pobble Who Has No Toes, The 865
+ Two Old Bachelors, The 868
+ Yongby-Bonghy-Bo, The 859
+
+|Leigh, Henry S.|
+ Cossimbazar 843
+ Maud 188
+ My Love and My Heart 204
+ Nursery Legend, A 937
+ Only Seven 543
+ Romanunt of Humpty Dumpty, The 411
+ 'Twas Ever Thus 544
+ Twins, The 108
+
+|Leland, Charles Godfrey|
+ Ballad of Charity, A 613
+ Ballad of Hans Breitmann 669
+ Hans Breitmann's Party 668
+ Legend of Heinz Von Stein, The 49
+
+|Lemke, E.|
+ Rhyme of Musicians, A 772
+
+|Lemon, Mark|
+ How to Make a Man of Consequence 280
+
+|Lessing|
+ Mendax 369
+ To a Slow Walker and Quick Eater 369
+
+|Lever, Charles|
+ Pope, The 70
+ Widow Malone, The 126
+
+|Lindesay, Sir David|
+ Carman's Account of a Law Suit, A 807
+
+|Locker-Lampson, Frederick|
+ Circumstance 444
+ Mrs. Smith 155
+ My Mistress's Boots 153
+ On a Sense of Humor 367
+ Some Ladies 367
+ Susan 157
+ Terrible Infant, A 156
+
+|Loines, Russell Hilliard|
+ On a Magazine Sonnet 281
+
+|Loomis, Charles Battell|
+ O-u-g-h 761
+ Propinquity Needed 51
+ Song of Sorrow, A 386
+
+|Loring, Fred W.|
+ Fair Millinger, The 186
+
+|Lovelace, Richard|
+ Song 241
+
+|Lover, Samuel|
+ Birth of Saint Patrick, The 58
+ Father Malloy 307
+ How to Ask and Have 181
+ Lanty Leary 208
+ Paddy O'Rafther 571
+ Quaker's Meeting, The 576
+ Rory O'More; or, Good Omens 141
+
+|Lowell, James Russell|
+ Candidate's Creed, The 294
+ Courtin', The 110
+ What Mr. Robinson Thinks 292
+ Without and Within 359
+
+|Ludlow, Fitz Hugh|
+ Too Late 348
+
+|Lummis, C. F.|
+ Poe-'em of Passion, A 532
+
+|Lysaght, Edward|
+ Kitty of Coleraine 130
+
+
+|Mackay, Charles|
+ Bachelor's Mono-Rhyme, A 817
+ Cynical Ode to an Ultra-Cynical Public 339
+
+|Mackintosh, Newton|
+ Lucy Lake 463
+ Optimism 445
+ Pessimism 338
+
+|Macy, Arthur|
+ Rollicking Mastodon, The 853
+
+|Maginn, William|
+ Irishman and the Lady, The 742
+ St. Patrick, of Ireland, My Dear! 101
+
+|Marquis, Don|
+ For I Am Sad 379
+ Lilies 379
+
+|Marriott, John|
+ Devonshire Lane, The 266
+
+|Masson, Tom|
+ Kiss, The 109
+
+|Maxwell, J. C.|
+ Rigid Body Sings 483
+
+|Mayhew, Horace|
+ Travesty of Miss Fanshawe's Enigma 763
+
+|Menage, Gilles|
+ Happy Man, The 814
+
+|Merivale, Herman C.|
+ Darwinity 409
+ Town of Nice, The 438
+
+|Miller, Alice Duer|
+ If They Meant All They Said 247
+
+|Miller, Joaquin|
+ That Gentle Man From Boston Town 629
+ That Texan Cattle Man 288
+ William Brown of Oregon 653
+
+|Milne, A. A.|
+ From a Full Heart 31
+
+|Milton, John|
+ On the Oxford Carrier 780
+
+|Mix, Parmenas|
+ Accepted and Will Appear 268
+ He Came to Pay 447
+
+|Moore, Augustus M.|
+ Ballade of Ballade-Mongers, A 441
+
+|Moore, Clement Clarke|
+ Visit from St. Nicholas, A 935
+
+|Moore, Thomas|
+ If you Have Seen 444
+ Lying 86
+ Of All the Men 370
+ On Taking a Wife 367
+ Upon Being Obliged to Leave a Pleasant Party 367
+ What's My Thought Like? 370
+
+|Morgan, Bessie|
+ 'Spaecially Jim 129
+
+|Morris, Captain C.|
+ Contrast, The 265
+
+|Morris, George Pope|
+ Retort, The 174
+
+|Motteux, Peter A.|
+ Rondelay, A 41
+
+|Moxon, Frederick|
+ All at Sea 70
+
+|Munkittrick, R. K.|
+ Unsatisfied Yearning 889
+ What's in a Name? 347
+ Winter Dusk 42
+
+|Nack, James|
+ Here She Goes and There She Goes 572
+
+|Nairne, Lady|
+ The Laird o' Cockpen 703
+
+|Newell, Robert H.| [|Orpheus C. Kerr|]
+ American Traveller, The 757
+ Editor's Wooing, The 389
+ Great Fight, A 697
+ Rejected "National Hymns," The 387
+
+
+|O'Keefe, John|
+ Friar of Orders Gray, The 282
+
+|O'Leary, Cormac|
+ Reflections on Cleopathera's Needle 105
+
+|O'Reilly, John Boyle|
+ Constancy 137
+
+|Osborn, Selleck|
+ Modest Wit, A 260
+
+|Outram, George|
+ Annuity, The 350
+ On Hearing a Lady Praise a Certain Rev.
+ Doctor's Eyes 368
+
+|Pain, Barry|
+ Bangkolidye 334
+ Martin Luther at Potsdam 404
+ Oh! Weary Mother 000
+ Poets at Tea, The 486
+
+|Paine, Albert Bigelow|
+ Mis' Smith 119
+ Sary "Fixes Up" Things 192
+
+|Palmer, E. H.|
+ Parterre, The 180
+ Shipwreck, The 876
+
+|Palmer, William Pitt|
+ Smack in School, The 128
+
+|Parke, Walter|
+ Foam and Fangs 544
+ His Mother-in-Law 75
+ My Madeline 773
+ Vague Story, A 74
+ Young Gazelle 918
+
+|Paull, H. M.|
+ Eastern Question, An 598
+
+|Peck, Samuel Minturn|
+ Bessie Brown, M.D. 120
+ Kiss in the Rain, A 123
+
+|Pelham, M.|
+ Comical Girl, The 946
+
+|Perry, Nora|
+ Love Knot, The 124
+
+|Philips, Barclay|
+ Polka Lyric, A 832
+
+|Philips, John|
+ Splendid Shilling, The 316
+
+|Piggot, Mostyn T.|
+ Hundred Best Books, The 769
+
+|Planche, J. R.|
+ Song 99
+
+|Pontalais, Jehan Du|
+ Money 323
+
+|Pope, Alexander|
+ Fool and the Poet, The 363
+ Ruling Passion, The 285
+ To a Blockhead 362
+
+|Porson, Richard|
+ Dido 366
+ Nothing 786
+
+|Porter, H. H.|
+ Forty Years After 210
+
+|Praed, Winthrop Mackworth|
+ Belle of the Ball, The 171
+ Song of Impossibilities, A 327
+
+|Pratt, Florence E.|
+ Courting in Kentucky 168
+
+|Prior, Matthew|
+ Epitaph, An 765
+ Phillis's Age 332
+ Remedy Worse Than the Disease, A 365
+ Simile, A 262
+
+|Proudfit, David Law|
+ Prehistoric Smith 83
+
+|Prout, Father|
+ Malbrouck 28
+ Sabine Farmer's Serenade, The 214
+
+
+|Ramal, Walter|
+ Bunches of Grapes 947
+
+|Rands, W. B.|
+ Clean Clara 283
+
+|Riley, James Whitcomb|
+ Little Orphant Annie 934
+ Lugubrious Whing-Whang, The 858
+ Man in the Moon, The 856
+ Old Man and Jim, The 678
+ Prior to Miss Belle's Appearance 925
+ Spirk Throll-Derisive 855
+ When the Frost Is on the Punkin 34
+
+|Robertson, Harrison|
+ Kentucky Philosophy 325
+
+|Robinson, Edwin Arlington|
+ Miniver Cheevy 229
+ Two Men 35
+
+|Roche, James Jeffrey|
+ Boston Lullaby, A 240
+ Lament of the Scotch Irish Exile 385
+ Sailor's Yarn, A 680
+ V-A-S-E, The 227
+
+|Rodger, Alexander|
+ Behave Yoursel' Before Folk 174
+
+|Romaine, Harry|
+ Unattainable, The 141
+
+|Ropes, Arthur Reed|
+ Lost Pleiad, The 161
+
+|Russell, Irwin|
+ First Banjo, The 672
+
+|Sancta-Clara, a Abraham|
+ St. Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes 251
+
+|Saxe, John G.|
+ Comic Miseries 42
+ Early Rising 44
+ Echo 750
+ Rhyme of the Rail 748
+ Sonnet to a Clam 734
+ Woman's Will 362
+
+|Sawyer, William|
+ "Caudal" Lecture, A 92
+ Cremation 534
+ Turvey Top 884
+
+|Scollard, Clinton|
+ Ballade of the Golfer in Love 222
+ Noureddin, the Son of the Shah 199
+
+|Scott, Sir Walter|
+ Herring, The 949
+ Nora's Vow 159
+
+|Seaman, Owen|
+ At the Sign of the Cock 414
+ Of Baiting the Lion 893
+ Plea for Trigamy, A 68
+ Presto Furioso 417
+ To Julia in Shooting Togs 418
+
+|Sheridan, Richard Brinsley|
+ Literary Lady, The 278
+ Wife, A 366
+
+|Shults, George Francis|
+ Under the Mistletoe 196
+
+|Sibley, Charles|
+ Plaidie, The 190
+
+|Sidney, James A.|
+ Irish Schoolmaster, The 103
+
+|Sims, George R.|
+ By Parcels Post 262
+
+|Smith, Harry B.|
+ "I Didn't Like Him" 157
+ My Angeline 158
+ Same Old Story 360
+
+|Smith, Horace|
+ Gouty Merchant and the Stranger, The 563
+ Jester Condemned to Death, The 378
+
+|Smith, James|
+ Baby's Debut, The 390
+ Surnames 804
+
+|Smith, Sydney|
+ Salad 93
+
+|Southey, Robert|
+ Battle of Blenheim, The 252
+ Cataract of Lodore, The 743
+ Devil's Walk on Earth, The 298
+ March to Moscow, The 775
+ Pig, The 914
+ Well of St. Keyne, The 584
+
+|Stanton, Frank Libby|
+ How to Eat Watermelons 73
+
+|Stephen, James Kenneth|
+ Cynicus to W. Shakespeare 362
+ Last Ride Together, The 431
+ Millennium, The 60
+ School 60
+ Senex to Matt. Prior 362
+ Thought, A 248
+
+|Stevens, H. P.|
+ Why 214
+
+|Street, Julian| [_with_ |James Montgomery Flagg|]
+ Said Opie Reed 948
+
+|Stuart, Alaric Bertrand|
+ Jim-Jam King of the Jou-jous, The 851
+
+|Stuart, Ruth McEnery|
+ Endless Song, The 768
+ Hen-Roost Man, The 247
+
+|Suckling, Sir John|
+ Out Upon It 218
+ Wedding, A 704
+
+|Swift, Dean|
+ Gentle Echo On Woman, A 752
+ Twelve Articles 279
+
+|Swinburne, Algernon Charles|
+ Higher Pantheism in a Nutshell, The 458
+ Nephelidia 459
+ Up the Spout 460
+
+|Taber, Harry Parsons|
+ Jaberwocky of Authors, The 437
+
+|Taylor, Bayard|
+ Angelo Orders His Dinner 428
+ Camerados 430
+ Cantelope, The 393
+ Hiram Hover 113
+ Palabras Grandiosas 407
+ Promissory Note, The 429
+
+|Taylor, Bert Leston|
+ Bygones 383
+ Farewell 419
+ Old Stuff 48
+ Post-Impressionism 235
+
+|Tennyson, Lord|
+ Goose, The 611
+ Northern Farmer 354
+
+|Thackeray, W. M.|
+ Ballad of Bouillabaisse, The 714
+ Crystal Palace, The 547
+ Little Billee 546
+ Old Fashioned Fun 33
+ Sorrows of Werther, The 140
+ Tragic Story, A 850
+ When Moonlike Ore the Hazure Seas 34
+ Willow-Tree, The 439
+ Wofle New Ballad of Jane Roney and Mary Brown, The 552
+
+|Thayer, Ernest Lawrence|
+ Casey at the Bat 601
+
+|Thompson, D'Arcy W.|
+ Poor Dear Grandpapa 950
+
+|Towne, Charles Hanson|
+ Messed Damozel, The 471
+
+|Traill, H. D.|
+ After Dilettante Concetti 474
+
+|Trowbridge, John Townsend|
+ Darius Green and His Flying-Machine 690
+
+|Turner, Eliza Sproat|
+ Little Goose, A 938
+
+|Turner, Godfrey|
+ Love Playnt, A 408
+
+|Tytler, James|
+ I Hae Laid a Herring in Saut 216
+
+|Untermeyer, Louis|
+ Owen Seaman 480
+ Robert Frost 479
+
+|Vandyne, Mary E.|
+ The Bald-headed Tyrant 720
+
+|Villon, Francois|
+ All Things Except Myself I Know 343
+
+|Wake, William Basil|
+ Saying Not Meaning 666
+
+|Ward, Artemus| [_See_ |Charles Farrar Browne|]
+
+|Ware, Eugene Fitch|
+ He and She 109
+ Manila 949
+ Siege of Djklxprwbz, The 96
+
+|Warren, George F.|
+ Lord Guy 191
+
+|Waterman, Nixon|
+ If We Didn't Have to Eat 57
+
+|Weatherly, Frederic E.|
+ Bird in the Hand, A 170
+ Thursday 313
+ Usual Way, The 200
+
+|Webb, Charles Henry|
+ Little Mamma 943
+
+|Wells, Carolyn|
+ Diversions of the Re-Echo Club 515
+ Limericks 835
+ Styx River Anthology 521
+
+|West, Paul|
+ Cumberbunce, The 844
+
+|Wesley, Rev. Samuel|
+ On Butler's Monument 370
+
+|Witcher, Frances M.|
+ K. K.--Can't Calculate 353
+ Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles 195
+
+|White, Harriet R.|
+ Uffia 877
+
+|Whittier, John Greenleaf|
+ Skipper Ireson's Ride 688
+
+|Wilcox, Ella Wheeler|
+ Pin, A 132
+
+|Wildgoose, Oscuro|
+ More Impressions 509
+
+|Wilkie, A. C.|
+ Old Song By New Singers, An 506
+
+|Willis, N. P.|
+ Declaration, The 446
+
+|Willson, Arabella|
+ Appeal for Are to the Sextant of the Old Brick
+ Meetinouse, A 66
+
+|Wolcot, John|
+ Actor, The 287
+ Pilgrims and the Peas, The 621
+ Razor Seller, The 297
+ To a Fly 734
+
+|Yates, Edmund|
+ All-Saints 280
+
+|Ybarra, Thomas R.|
+ Lay of Ancient Rome 753
+ Little Swirl of Vers Libre, A 380
+ Ode to Work in Springtime 47
+
+|Yriarte, Tomaso de|
+ Musical Ass, The 249
+
+
+
+
+ INDEX OF FIRST LINES
+
+ |page|
+A brace of sinners, for no good 621
+A brow austere, a circumspective eye 280
+A captain bold from Halifax who dwelt in country quarters 702
+A cat I sing, of famous memory 833
+A country curate visiting his flock 287
+A district school, not far away 128
+A fellow in a market town 297
+A fellow near Kentuck's clime 494
+A fig for St. Denis of France 101
+A friend of mine was married to a scold 264
+A hindoo died--a happy thing to do 281
+A knight and a lady once met in a grove 270
+A little peach in the orchard grew 931
+A little saint best fits a little shrine 806
+A lively young turtle lived down by the banks 923
+A lovely young lady I mourn in my rhymes 366
+A maiden once, of certain age 169
+A man of words and not of deeds 790
+A man said to the universe 248
+A man sat on a rock and sought 83
+A Persian penman named Aziz 810
+A Poet's Cat, sedate and grave 910
+A quiet home had Parson Gray 741
+A rollicking Mastodon lived in Spain 853
+A Russian sailed over the blue Black Sea 374
+A shabby fellow chanced one day to meet 287
+A soldier and a sailor 179
+A soldier of the Russians 90
+A speech, both pithy and concise 61
+A street there is in Paris famous 714
+A supercilious nabob of the East 260
+A tailor, a man of an upright dealing 322
+A traveller wended the wilds among 576
+A well there is in the west country 584
+A whale of great porosity 916
+A woman is like to--but stay 118
+A xylographer started to cross the sea 759
+A young man once was sitting 394
+Across the sands of Syria 888
+Ah! Matt, old age has brought to me 362
+Ah, Night! blind germ of days to be 484
+Ah! poor intoxicated little knave 734
+Ah, those hours when by-gone sages 779
+Ah! who has seen the mailed lobster rise 882
+Ah! why those piteous sounds of woe 449
+Alas, unhappy land; ill-fated spot 712
+All day she hurried to get through 119
+All smatterers are more brisk and pert 365
+Alone I sit at eventide 53
+An ancient story I'll tell you anon 554
+An Austrian Archduke, assaulted and assailed 829
+An Austrian army, awfully array'd 813
+An igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this week 552
+And so our royal relative was dead! 737
+And this reft house is that the which he built 407
+"Are women fair?" Ay, wondrous fair to see, too 189
+As a friend to the children commend me the yak 906
+As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping 130
+As I was walkin' the jungle round, a-killin' of tigers an' time 426
+As long as I dwell on some stupendous 60
+As wet as a fish--as dry as a bone 791
+Ask me no more: I've had enough Chablis 534
+At a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper 635
+At morning's call 374
+Baby's brain is tired of thinking 240
+Back in the years when Phlagstaff, the Dane, was monarch 387
+Barney McGee, there's no end of good luck in you 721
+Basking in peace in the warm spring sun 674
+Be brave, faint heart 445
+Be kind and tender to the Frog 907
+Be kind to the panther! for when thou wert young 890
+Beauties, have ye seen this toy 211
+Before a Turkish town 96
+Behave yoursel' before folk 174
+Ben Battle was a soldier bold 797
+Ben Bluff was a whaler, and many a day 619
+Beside a Primrose 'broider'd Rill 139
+Between Adam and me the great difference is 367
+Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose 82
+Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides 784
+"Bon jour, Madame Sans Souci 950
+Bright breaks the warrior o'er the ocean wave 879
+Brisk methinks I am, and fine 772
+"Bunches of grapes," says Timothy 947
+By the side of a murmuring stream an elderly gentleman sat 665
+Bye Baby Bunting 324
+Calm and implacable 375
+"Can you spare a Threepenny bit 901
+Careless rhymer, it is true 185
+Celestine Silvousplait Justine de Mouton Rosalie 51
+Charm is a woman's strongest arm 247
+Chilly Dovebber with his boadigg blast 747
+Close by the threshold of a door nailed fast 909
+"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life 367
+Come! fill a fresh bumper,--for why should we go 833
+Come fleetly, come fleetly, my hooksbadar 843
+"Come here, my boy; hould up your head 103
+Come hither, my heart's darling 454
+Come into the Whenceness Which 476
+"Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again 676
+Come mighty Must! 376
+Comrades, you may pass the rosy. With permission of the chair 537
+De Hen-roost Man he'll preach about Paul 247
+Dear maid, let me speak 810
+Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold 269
+Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop 262
+Delmonico's is where he dines 267
+Der Kaiser of dis Faterland 291
+Der noble Ritter Hugo 669
+Did you hear of the Widow Malone 126
+Dighton is engaged! Think of it and tremble! 647
+Do not worry if I scurry from the grill room in a hurry 67
+Do you know why the rabbits are caught in the snare 214
+Do you think I'll marry a woman 817
+Doe, doe! 746
+Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaaey? 354
+Down in the silent hallway 889
+Easy is the triolet 782
+Echo, tell me, while I wander 751
+Even is come; and from the dark Park, hark 823
+Everywhere, everywhere, following me 430
+Exquisite wines and comestibles 316
+Far off in the waste of desert sand 851
+Far, oh, far is the Mango island 194
+"Farewell!" Another gloomy word 419
+Felis Infelix Cat unfortunate 736
+First there's the Bible 769
+For his religion it was fit 271
+From Arranmore the weary miles I've come 378
+From his brimstone bed at break of day 298
+From the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn through 459
+From the madding crowd they stand apart 227
+From the tragic-est novels at Mudie's 144
+"Gentle, modest little flower 28
+"Gimme my scarlet tie," 334
+Gin a body meet a body 483
+Gineral B. is a sensible man 292
+Given a roof, and a taste for rations 311
+Go and catch a falling star 330
+Go 'way, fiddle; folks is tired o' hearin' you a-squawkin' 672
+"God bless the King! God bless the faith's defender! 368
+"God bless the man who first invented sleep!" 44
+God makes sech nights, all white an' still 110
+Good Luck is the gayest of all gay girls 334
+Good people all, of every sort 764
+Good people all, with one accord 740
+Good reader! if you e'er have seen 444
+"Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom 369
+Half a bar, half a bar 528
+Hamelin Town's in Brunswick 603
+Handel, Bendel, Mendelssohn 772
+Hans Breitmann gife a barty 668
+Happy the man, who, void of cares and strife 316
+Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay 580
+He cannot be complete in aught 367
+He dropt a tear on Susan's bier 157
+He dwelt among "Apartments let," 491
+He girded on his shining sword 100
+He is too weet a melancholy carle 496
+He killed the noble Mudjokivis 482
+He lived in a cave by the seas 331
+He stood on his head by the wild seashore 75
+He thought he saw an Elephant 874
+He took her fancy when he came 817
+He was the chairman of the Guild 244
+Hear what Highland Nora said 159
+Her heart she locked fast in her breast 209
+Her little feet! Beneath us ranged the sea 59
+Her washing ended with the day 494
+Here lies my wife: here let her lie! 368
+Here lieth one, who did not most truly prove 780
+Here's to the town of New Haven 949
+Hi! Just you drop that! Stop, I say! 460
+His eye was stern and wild--his cheek was pale and cold as clay 450
+History, and nature, too, repeat themselves, they say 360
+How do the daughters 533
+"How does the water 743
+How hard, when those who do not wish 818
+How old may Philis be, you ask 332
+How uneasy is his life 344
+Hyder iddle didle dell 879
+Hypocrisy will serve as well 365
+I am 900
+I am a friar of orders gray 282
+I am an ancient Jest! 72
+I come from good old Boston 949
+I am a hearthrug 377
+I am a lone, unfeathered chick 903
+I am numb from world-pain 380
+I, Angelo, obese, black-garmented 428
+I asked of Echo, t'other day 750
+I cannot praise the doctor's eyes 368
+I cannot sing the old songs 413
+I cannot tell you how I love 235
+I couldn't help weeping with delight 521
+I count it true which sages teach 413
+I devise to end my days--in a tavern drinking 834
+I du believe in Freedom's cause 294
+I do confess, in many a sigh 86
+I don't go much on religion 657
+I don't know any greatest treat 180
+I dreamed a dream next Tuesday week 853
+I dwells in the Hearth, and I breathes in the Hair 763
+I gaed to spend a week in Fife 350
+I hae laid a herring in saut 216
+I haf von funny leedle poy 940
+I have a bookcase, which is what 40
+I have a copper penny and another copper penny 809
+I have felt the thrill of passion in the poet's mystic book 32
+I have found out a gig-gig-gift for my fuf-fuf-fair 822
+I have made me an end of the moods of maidens 511
+I have watch'd thee with rapture, and dwelt on thy charms 456
+I knew an old wife lean and poor 611
+I know not of what we ponder'd 63
+I know when milk does flies contain 343
+I lately lived in quiet ease 218
+I lay i' the bosom of the sun 407
+I love my lady with a deep purple love 383
+I love thee, Mary, and thou lovest me 206
+"I love you, my lord!" 120
+I marvell'd why a simple child 543
+I may as well 685
+I never rear'd a young gazelle 544
+I never saw a Purple Cow 948
+"I never saw a purple cow 515
+I recollect a nurse call'd Ann 156
+I remember, I remember 107
+I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James 650
+I said, "This horse, sir, will you shoe?" 809
+I sat one night beside a blue-eyed girl 207
+I saw a certain sailorman who sat beside the sea 70
+I saw a peacock with a fiery tail 804
+I sent for Ratcliffe; was so ill 365
+I sent my love a parcel 262
+I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau 212
+I sometimes think I'd rather crow 891
+I strolled beside the shining sea 844
+I tell thee, Dick, where I have been 704
+I walked and came upon a picket fence 470
+I was in Margate last July. I walk'd upon the pier 558
+I wonder what your thoughts are, little cloud 134
+I would all womankind were dead 88
+I would flee from the city's rule and law 883
+I would that all men my hard case might know 397
+I wrote some lines once on a time 38
+I wus mighty good-lookin' when I was young 129
+I yearn to bite on a Colloid 91
+I'd Never Dare to Walk across 855
+I'd read three hours. Both notes and text 142
+If all be true that I do think 364
+If all the harm women have done 248
+If all the land were apple-pie 951
+If all the trees in all the woods were men 238
+If down his throat a man should choose 844
+If e'er my rhyming be at fault 55
+If ever there lived a Yankee lad 690
+If I go to see the play 48
+If I should die to-night 489
+If I were thine, I'd fail not of endeavour 345
+If I were you, when ladies at the play, Sir 146
+If, in the month of dark December 80
+If life were never bitter 436
+If the man who turnips cries 949
+If there is a vile, pernicious 60
+If thou wouldst stand on Etna's burning brow 445
+If we square a lump of pemmican 880
+If you become a nun, dear 206
+I'll sing you a song, not very long 275
+I'll tell thee everything I can 870
+I'm taught p-l-o-u-g-h 761
+I'm thankful that the sun and moon 882
+"Immortal Newton never spoke 369
+In a church which is furnish'd with mullion and gable, I 280
+In a Devonshire lane as I trotted along 266
+In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow 368
+In an ocean, 'way out yonder 929
+In Ballades things always contrive to get lost 441
+In Broad Street Buildings on a winter night 563
+In candent ire the solar splendour flames 849
+In days of peace my fellow-men 31
+In early youth, as you may guess 918
+In form and feature, face and limb 108
+In heaven a spirit doth dwell 472
+In his chamber, weak and dying 785
+In Koeln, a town of monks and bones 363
+In letters large upon the frame 347
+In London I never know what I'd be at 265
+In our hearts is the Great One of Avon 824
+In the age that was golden, the halcyon time 338
+In the "Foursome" some would fain 222
+In the lonesome latter years 429
+In these days of indigestion 77
+"In winter, when the fields are white 872
+Inglorious friend! most confident I am 734
+Interred beneath this marble stone 765
+Is moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter 372
+It is told, on Buddhi-theosophic schools 92
+It is very aggravating 50
+It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day 601
+It may be so--perhaps thou hast 236
+It once might have been, once only 339
+It was a millinger most gay 186
+It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by the well 196
+It was a robber's daughter, and her name was Alice Brown 639
+It was a summer's evening 252
+It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side 583
+It was an artless Bandar, and he danced upon a pine 904
+It was a hairy oubit, sac proud he crept alabg 330
+It was in a pleasant deepo, sequestered from the rain 613
+It was many and many a year ago 532
+It ripen'd by the river banks 444
+It worries me to beat the band 137
+Its eyes are gray 121
+I've been trying to fashion a wifely ideal 68
+Jacob! I do not like to see thy nose 914
+Jem writes his verses with more speed 363
+Jim Bowker, he said, if he'd had a fair show 357
+John Alcohol, my foe, John 529
+John Bull for pastime took a prance 808
+John Gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown 564
+John Grumlie Swore by the light o' the moon 326
+Just take a trifling handful, O philosopher 314
+Kitty wants to write! Kitty intellectual! 646
+Knitting is the maid o' the kitchen, Milly 220
+Knows he that never took a pinch 832
+La Galisse now I wish to touch 814
+Lady Clara Vere de Vere! 412
+Lady, I loved you all last year 327
+Lady mine, most fair thou art 221
+Lady, very fair are you 184
+Lanty was in love, you see 208
+Last year I trod these fields with Di 155
+Lazy-bones, lazy-bones, wake up and peep! 848
+Lest it may more quarrels breed 279
+Life and the Universe show spontaneity 315
+Life is a gift that most of us hold dear 357
+Life would be an easy matter 57
+Lilies, lilies, white lilies and yellow 379
+Like to the thundering tone of unspoke speeches 848
+Little bopeepals 324
+Little I ask; my wants are few 238
+Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay 934
+Little Penelope Socrates 284
+Lives there a man with a soul so dead 786
+Long by the willow-trees 439
+Lord Erskine, at women presuming to rail 366
+Malbrouck, the prince of commanders 28
+Man is for woman made 41
+Many a long, long year ago 664
+Margarita first possess'd 176
+Marry, I lent my gossip my mare, to fetch home coals 807
+Mary had a little lamb 506
+Matilda Maud Mackenzie frankly hadn't any chin 395
+May the Babylonish curse 726
+Men, Dying, make their wills, but wives 362
+Men once were surnamed for their shape or estate 804
+'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam 498
+Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn 229
+Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa! 95
+Miss Flora McFlimsey, of Madison Square 148
+Mr. Finney had a turnip 847
+My brother Jack was nine in May 390
+My coachman, in the moonlight there 359
+My curse upon you venom'd stang 724
+My dear young friend, whose shining wit 42
+My feet, they haul me Round the House 855
+My Heart will break--I'm sure it will 183
+My lank limp lily, my long lithe lily 510
+My little dears, who learn to read, pray early, learn to shun 828
+My Love has sicklied unto Loath 410
+My Madeline! my Madeline! 773
+My passion is as mustard strong 754
+My pipe is lit, my grog is mixed 342
+My temples throb, my pulses boil 49
+My William was a soldier, and he says to me, says he 598
+Mysterious Nothing! how shall I define 786
+Nay, I cannot come into the garden just now 188
+"Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going? 249
+Night saw the crew like pedlars with their packs 841
+No fault in women, to refuse 166
+No longer, O scholars, shall Platus 826
+No sun--no moon! 792
+No usual words can bear the woe I feel 379
+Nothing to do but work 358
+Now Jake looked up--it was time to sup, and the buckets was
+ yet to fill 421
+Now the Widow Mcgee 165
+O cool in the summer is salad 436
+"O Crikey, Bill!" she ses to me, she ses 400
+O for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers! 781
+O, if my love offended me 184
+O lady wake!--the azure moon 886
+O mickle yeuks the keckle doup 384
+O my earliest love, who, ere I number'd 116
+O nymph with the nicest of noses 544
+O precious code, volume, tome 825
+O reverend sir, I do declare 195
+O say, have you seen at the willows so green 921
+O Season supposed of all free flowers 527
+O the quietest home on earth had I 720
+O thou wha in the heavens dost dwell 272
+O what harper could worthily harp it 64
+O'er the men of Ethiopia she would pour her cornucopia 160
+Of all life's plagues I recommend to no man 76
+Of all the girls that are so smart 182
+Of all the mismated pairs ever created 480
+Of all the men one meets about 370
+Of all the rides since the birth of time 688
+Of all the wimming doubly blest 241
+Of priests we can offer a charmin' variety 719
+Oh, but she was dark and shrill 509
+Oh, dewy was the morning, upon the first of May 949
+Oh, I have been North, and I have been South, and the East
+ hath seen me pass 403
+Oh! I have loved thee fondly, ever 732
+Oh, I know a certain woman who is reckoned with the good 132
+Oh, I used to sing a song 768
+Oh, I want to win me hame 385
+Oh listen, little children, to a proper little song 937
+Oh, many have told of the monkeys of old 913
+Oh, Mary had a little lamb, regarding whose cuticular 477
+Oh, my Geraldine 180
+Oh, sing a song of phosphates 324
+Oh, solitude thou wonder-working fay 457
+Oh, tell me have you ever seen a red, long-leg'd Flamingo? 894
+Oh that my soul a marrow-bone might seize! 851
+Oh, the days were ever shiny 204
+Oh, the fisherman is a happy wight! 81
+Oh, the Roman was a rogue 753
+"Oh, 'tis time I should talk to your mother 181
+Oh, 'twas O'Nolan M'Figg 700
+Oh, what a fund of joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes! 26
+"Oh! what is that comes gliding in 800
+Oh, what's the way to Arcady? 201
+Oh, Wing Tee Wee 139
+Oh, would that working I might shun 47
+Oh, yes, we've be'n fixin' some sence we sold that piece o'
+ groun' 192
+Oh! young Lochinvar has come out of the West 381
+Old Grimes is dead; that good old man 766
+Old man never had much to say 678
+Old Nick, who taught the village school 174
+On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre 662
+On me he shall ne'er put a ring 191
+On the Coast of Goromandel 859
+On the downtown side of an uptown street 79
+On the eighth day of March it was, some people say 58
+One day the dreary old King of death 801
+One evening while reclining 268
+One morning when Spring was in her teens 188
+One of the kings of Scanderoon 578
+One stormy morn I chanced to meet 123
+One, who is not, we see; but one, whom we see not, is 458
+Or ever a lick of Art was done 383
+Out of the clothes that cover me 471
+Out on the margin of moonshine land 858
+Out rode from his wild, dark castle 49
+Out upon it, I have loved 218
+Over the way, over the way 125
+Paddy, in want of a dinner one day 571
+Paddy McCabe was dying one day 307
+Peerless yet hapless maid of Q! 787
+Perchance it was her eyes of blue 74
+Perhaps you may a-noticed I been soht o' solemn lately 157
+Philosophy shows us 'twixt monkey and man 92
+Ph, it's H-A-P-P-Y I am, and it's F-R-double-E 816
+Poor Lucy Lake was overgrown 463
+Potiphar Gubbins, C.E. 226
+Pour varlet, pour the water 486
+Power to thine elbow, thou newest of sciences 409
+Quest.--Why is a pump like Viscount Castlereagh? 370
+Qui nune dancere vult modo 832
+Quixotic is his enterprise and hopeless his adventure is 25
+Quoth John to Joan, will thou have me 217
+Rain on the face of the sea 427
+Remembering his taste for blood 893
+Roll on, thou ball, roll on! 256
+Rooster her sign 414
+Row-diddy, dow de, my little sis 670
+Said Opie Read to E. P. Roe 948
+Said the Raggedy Man on a hot afternoon 856
+Saint Anthony at church 251
+Sally Salter, she was a young lady who taught 812
+Sam Brown was a fellow from way down East 52
+Say there! P'r'aps 652
+Scintillate scintillate, globule orific 476
+"Scorn not the sonnet," though its strength be sapped 281
+See yonder goes old Mendax, telling lies 369
+Sez Alderman Grady 232
+Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden 230
+Shall I, mine affections slack 526
+She flung the parlour window wide 205
+Shepherd. Echo, I wean, will in the woods reply 752
+She kept her secret well, oh, yes 158
+She stood beneath the mistletoe 196
+She went around and asked subscriptions 167
+Side by side in the crowded streets 393
+Sin, I admit your general rule 363
+Since for kissing thee, Minguillo 122
+Sing for the garish eye 875
+Singee a songee sick a pence 530
+Singing through the forests 748
+Sir Guy was a doughty crusader 644
+Sleep, my own darling 932
+Slim feet than lilies tenderer 477
+Sly Beelzebub took all occasions 364
+So slowly you walk, and so quickly you eat 369
+So that's Cleopathera's Needle, bedad 105
+Some ladies now make pretty songs 367
+Some poets sing of sweethearts dead 223
+Speak gently to the herring and kindly to the calf 891
+"Speak, O man less recent! 46
+Spontaneous Us! 417
+Stiff are the warrior's muscles 456
+Strange pie that is almost a passion 472
+Strike the concertina's melancholy string! 641
+Sudden swallows swiftly skimming 774
+Superintendent wuz Flannigan 225
+Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack? 399
+Swans sing before they die:--'twere no bad thing 364
+Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy 830
+Take a robin's leg 76
+That man must lead a happy life 803
+That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not) 493
+The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup 87
+The auld wife sat at her ivied door 467
+The Ballyshannon foundered off the coast of Cariboo 256
+The cat is in the parlour 950
+The chill November day was done 938
+The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon 855
+The crow--the crow! the great black crow! 908
+The day was done, and darkness 490
+The editor sat with his head in his hands 447
+The Emperor Nap he would set off 775
+The fable which I now present 249
+The frugal crone, whom praying priest attend 285
+The gallows in my garden, people say 224
+The hale John Spratt--oft called for shortness, Jack 406
+"The Herring he loves the merry moonlight 949
+The honey-moon is very strange 366
+The jackals prowl, the serpents hiss 445
+The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair! 586
+The King was sick. His cheek was red 658
+The Lady Jane was tall and slim 590
+The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud and he's great 703
+The Llama is a woolly sort of fleecy, hairy goat 906
+The man in the wilderness asked of me 951
+The man who invented women's waists that button down behind 94
+The Messed Damozel leaned out 471
+The Microbe is so very small 907
+The mountain and the squirrel 290
+The night was thick and hazy 617
+The oft'ner seen, the more I lust 807
+The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea 901
+The Pobble who has no toes 865
+The poet is, or ought to be, a hater of the city 97
+The Pope he leads a happy life 70
+"The proper way for a man to pray," 54
+The prospect is bare and white 42
+The Roof it has a Lazy Time 855
+The saddest fish that swims the briny ocean 900
+The sextant of the meetinouse, which sweeps 66
+The skies they were ashen and sober 423
+The sun is in the sky, mother, the flowers are springing fair 451
+The sun was setting, and vespers done 313
+The sun was shining on the sea 896
+The Thingumbob sat at eventide 882
+The town of Nice! the town of Nice! 438
+The woggly bird sat on the whango tree 842
+The woodchuck told it all about 312
+There be two men of all mankind 35
+There is a river clear and fair 535
+There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess 866
+There lived a sage in days of yore 850
+There once was a Shah had a second son 199
+There sat an old man on a rock 348
+There's a bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard 493
+There's somewhat on my breast, father 443
+There wanst was two cats at Kilkenny 950
+There was a Cameronian cat 917
+There was a child, as I have been told 946
+There was a cruel darkey boy 927
+There was a lady liv'd at Leith 742
+There was a little girl 926
+There was a man in Arkansaw 697
+There was a negro preacher, I have heard 274
+There was an old man of Tobago 835
+There was a snake that dwelt in Skye 887
+There was a young lady of Niger 948
+There was (not a certain when) a certain preacher 282
+There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took 200
+There were three jovial huntsmen 878
+There were three kings into the east 730
+There were three young maids of Lee 170
+There were three sailors of Bristol City 546
+There were two of us left in the berry-patch 479
+These are the things that make me laugh 73
+They called him Bill, the hired man 653
+They nearly strike me dumb 153
+They're always abusing the women 126
+They spoke of Progress spiring round 337
+They stood on the bridge at midnight 489
+They tell me (but I really can't 600
+They told hum gently he was made 89
+They've got a brand-new organ, Sue 162
+They went to sea in a sieve, they did 862
+Thine eyes, dear ones, dot dot, are like, dash, what? 824
+This is the tale that was told to me 680
+Thou art like unto a Flower 427
+Thou happy, happy elf! 941
+Thou shall have one God only, who 261
+Thou who, when fears attack 732
+Though I met her in the summer, when one's heart lies round at
+ east 345
+Three children sliding on the ice 843
+Three score and ten by common calculation 99
+Tim Turpin he was gravel blind 795
+'Tis midnight and the moonbeam sleeps 411
+'Tis midnight, and the setting sun 843
+'Tis sweet at dewy eve to rove 450
+'Tis sweet to roam when morning's light 878
+To Lake Aghmoogenegamook 757
+To make this condiment, your poet begs 93
+The outer senses they are geese 509
+To see the Kaiser's epitaph 948
+To Urn, or not to Urn? that is the question 534
+To you, my purse, and to none other wight 58
+Tom's album was filled with the pictures of belles 141
+Trilobite, Graphtolite, Nautilus pie 324
+"True 'tis a P T, and P T 'tis, 'tis true" 788
+'Twas a pretty little maiden 161
+'Twas after supper of Norfolk brawn 884
+'Twas April when she came to town 120
+'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves 869
+'Twas brussels, and the loose liege 482
+'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour! 469
+'Twas gilbert. The kchesterton 437
+'Twas late, and the gay company was gone 446
+'Twas more than a million years ago 497
+'Twas on a lofty vase's side 557
+'Twas on a windy night 214
+'Twas on the shores that round our coast 632
+'Twas raw, and chill, and cold outside 98
+'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house 935
+'Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered in hell 762
+Two gentlemen their appetite had fed 666
+Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand 254
+Two old Bachelors were living in one house 868
+Two webfoot brothers loved a fair 629
+Two Yankee wags, one summer day 572
+Tying her bonnet under her chin 124
+Uncle Simon he 849
+Upon a rock, yet uncreate 771
+Upon an island, all alone 683
+Upon ane stormy Sunday 190
+Upon the poop the captain stands 876
+Wake! for the Hack can scatter into flight 512
+Wal, no! I can't tell whar he lives 661
+Wan from the wild and woful West 386
+Was once a hen of wit not small 892
+We climbed to the top of Goat Point hill 210
+We love thee Ann Maria Smith 389
+We rode the tawny Texan hills 288
+We seek to know, and knowing seek 463
+We were crowded in the cabin 492
+We've lived for forty years, dear wife 246
+Well I recall how first I met 30
+Werther had a love for Charlotte 140
+What asks the Bard? He prays for nought 320
+What, he on whom our voices unanimously ran 286
+What is Earth, sexton--A place to dig graves 810
+What is the matter with Grandpapa? 950
+What lightning shall light it? What thunder shall tell it? 404
+What makes you come here fer, Mister 925
+What motley cares Corilla's mind perplex 278
+What! not know our Clean Clara? 283
+"What other men have dared, I dare." 109
+What poor short-sighted worms we be 353
+What? rise again with all one's bones 363
+What, what, what 710
+What will we do when the good days come 311
+Whenas to shoot my Julia goes 418
+When Chapman billies leave the street 623
+When dido found Aeneas would not come 366
+When good King Arthur ruled the land 879
+When I am dead you'll find it hard 109
+When I had firmly answered "no," 431
+When I was young and full o' pride 115
+When lovely woman wants a favor 494
+When Mary Ann Dollinger got the skule daown thar on Injun Bay 168
+When men a dangerous disease did 'scape 365
+When moonlike ore the hazure seas 34
+When nettles in winter bring forth roses red 276
+When sporgles spanned the floreate mead 877
+When swallows Northward flew 191
+When that old joke was new 33
+When the breeze from the bluebottle's blustering blim 852
+When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock 34
+When the landlord wants the rent 336
+When the little armadillo 902
+When they heard the Captain humming and beheld the dancing crew 615
+When you slice a Georgy melon you mus' know what you is at 73
+Whene'er I take my walks abroad 950
+Whene'er with haggard eyes I view 84
+Where the Moosatockmaguntic 113
+Whereas, on certain boughs and sprays 402
+"Wherefore starts my bosom's lord? 453
+Which I wish to remark 648
+Which is of greater value, prythee, say 371
+While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive 370
+Who am I? 434
+Who money hast, well wages the campaign 323
+Who, or why, or which, or what 708
+"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop 309
+1. Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? 783
+"Why do you wear your hair like a man 474
+Why don't the men propose, mamma? 130
+Why doth the pussy cat prefer 895
+Why is it the children don't love me 943
+Why should you swear I am forsworn 241
+Why was Cupid a boy 56
+Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her 247
+With chocolate-cream that you buy in the cake 932
+With due condescension, I'd call your attention 106
+With ganial foire 547
+Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night 928
+Ye may tramp the world over 717
+Years--years ago--ere yet my dreams 171
+Yes, write if you want to--there's nothing like trying 36
+Yet another great truth I record in my verse 906
+"You are old, Father William," the young man said 485
+"You are old, Father William," the young man said 531
+You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come 362
+You bid me try, Blue-eyes, to write 782
+"You gave me the key of your heart, my love 137
+"You have heard," said a youth to his sweetheart, who stood 133
+You may notch it on the palin's as a mighty resky plan 312
+"You must give back," her mother said 198
+You prefer a buffoon to a scholar 339
+You see this pebble-stone? It's a thing I bought 464
+You Wi'yum, sir, dis minute. Wut dat you got 325
+You wrote a line too much, my sage 362
+Young Ben he was a nice young man 792
+Young Rory O'More courted Kathleen Bawn 141
+Your poem must eternal be 364
+Zack Bumstead useter flosserfize 242
+Zig-zagging it went 760
+
+
+
+ INDEX OF TITLES
+
+ |page|
+ A
+Accepted and Will Appear _Parmenas Mix_ 268
+Actor, An _John Wolcot_ 287
+Ad Chloen, M. A. _Mortimer Collins_ 184
+Address to the Toothache _Robert Burns_ 724
+AEstivation _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 849
+After Dilettante Concetti _H. D. Traill_ 474
+After Horace _A. D. Godley_ 320
+Ahkoond of Swat, The _George Thomas Lanigan_ 710
+Ahkond of Swat, The _Edward Lear_ 708
+Ain't It Awful, Mabel? _John Edward Hazzard_ 137
+Alarmed Skipper, The _James Thomas Fields_ 664
+All at Sea _Frederick Moxon_ 70
+All-Saints _Edmund Yates_ 280
+All's Well That Ends Well _Unknown_ 264
+All Things Except Myself I Know _Francois Villon_ 343
+Amazing Facts About Food _Unknown_ 91
+Ambiguous Lines _Unknown_ 804
+American Traveller, The _Robert H. Newell_ (_Orpheus C. Kerr_) 751
+Angelo Orders His Dinner _Bayard Taylor_ 428
+Annabel Lee _Stanley Huntley_ 497
+Annuity, The _George Outram_ 350
+Answer to Master Wither's Song, "Shall I, Wasting in Despair?"
+ _Ben Jonson_ 526
+Any One Will Do _Unknown_ 169
+Appeal for Are to the Sextant of the Old Brick Meetinouse, A
+ _Arabella Willson_ 66
+Are Women Fair? _Francis Davison_ 189
+Art of Book-keeping, The _Laman Blanchard_ 818
+As to the Weather _Unknown_ 107
+At the Sign of the Cock _Owen Seaman_ 414
+
+ B
+Baby's Debut, The _James Smith_ 390
+Bachelor's Dream, The _Thomas Hood_ 342
+Bachelor's Mono-Rhyme, A _Charles Mackay_ 817
+Bald-headed Tyrant, The _Mary E. Vandyne_ 720
+Ballad _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 467
+Ballad, A _Guy Wetmore Carryl_ 426
+Ballade of An Anti-Puritan, A _G. K. Chesterton_ 337
+Ballade of Ballade-Mongers, A _Augustus M. Moore_ 441
+Ballad of Bedlam, A _Unknown_ 886
+Ballad of Bouillabaisse, The _W. M. Thackeray_ 714
+Ballad of the Canal _Ph[oe]be Cary_ 492
+Ballad of Cassandra Brown, The _Helen Gray Cone_ 345
+Ballad of Charity, A _Charles Godfrey Leland_ 613
+Ballad of the Emeu, The _Bret Harte_ 921
+Ballade of Forgotten Loves _Arthur Grissom_ 223
+Ballade of the Golfer in Love _Clinton Scollard_ 222
+Ballad of Hans Breitmann _Charles Godfrey Leland_ 669
+Ballad of High Endeavor, A _Unknown_ 484
+Ballad of the Oysterman, The _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 583
+Ballad of the Primitive Jest _Andrew Lang_ 72
+Ballade of Suicide, A _G. K. Chesterton_ 224
+Bangkolidye _Barry Pain_ 334
+Barney McGee _Richard Hovey_ 721
+Battle of Blenheim, The _Robert Southey_ 252
+Behave Yoursel' Before Folk _Alexander Rodger_ 174
+Behold the Deeds _H. C. Bunner_ 397
+Bellancholly Days _Unknown_ 747
+Belle of the Ball, The _Winthrop Mackworth Praed_ 171
+Bells, The _Unknown_ 816
+Ben Bluff _Thomas Hood_ 619
+Bessie Brown, M. D. _Samuel Minturn Peck_ 120
+Bird in the Hand, A _Frederic E. Weatherly_ 170
+Birth of Saint Patrick, The _Samuel Lover_ 58
+Bitter Bit, The _William E. Aytoun_ 451
+Blow Me Eyes! _Wallace Irwin_ 115
+Boston Lullaby, A _James Jeffrey Roche_ 240
+Boston Nursery Rhymes _Rev. Joseph Cook_ 324
+Broken Pitcher, The _William E. Aytoun_ 86
+Bunches of Grapes _Walter Ramal_ 947
+Buxom Joan _William Congreve_ 179
+Bygones _Bert Leston Taylor_ 383
+By Parcels Post _George R. Sims_ 262
+
+ C
+Cacoethes Scribendi _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 238
+Camerados _Bayard Taylor_ 430
+Cameronian Cat, The _Unknown_ 917
+Candidate's Creed, The _James Russell Lowell_ 294
+Cantelope, The _Bayard Taylor_ 393
+Careful Penman, The _Unknown_ 810
+Carman's Account of a Law Suit, A _Sir David Lindesay_ 807
+Casey at the Bat _Ernest Lawrence Thayer_ 601
+Catalectic Monody, A _Unknown_ 833
+Cataract of Lodore, The _Robert Southey_ 743
+Categorical Courtship _Unknown_ 207
+Catfish, The _Oliver Herford_ 900
+"Caudal" Lecture, A _William Sawyer_ 92
+Cautionary Verses _Theodore Hook_ 828
+Chemist to His Love, The _Unknown_ 206
+Chloe, M. A. _Mortimer Collins_ 185
+Chorus of Women _Aristophanes_ 126
+Christmas Chimes _Unknown_ 284
+Chronicle: A Ballad, The _Abraham Cowley_ 176
+Circumstance _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 444
+Clean Clara _W. B. Rands_ 283
+Cloud, The _Oliver Herford_ 134
+Clown's Courtship, The _Unknown_ 217
+Cock and the Bull, The _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 464
+Cologne _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 363
+Colubriad, The _William Cowper_ 909
+Comfort in Affliction _William E. Aytoun_ 453
+Comic Miseries _John G. Saxe_ 42
+Comical Girl, The _M. Pelham_ 946
+Commonplaces _Rudyard Kipling_ 427
+Companions _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 63
+Confession, The _Richard Harris Barham_ (_Thomas Ingoldsby_) 443
+Conjugal Conjugations _A. W. Bellaw_ 810
+Conjugal Conundrum, A _Unknown_ 371
+Constancy _John Boyle O'Reilly_ 137
+Constant Cannibal Maiden, The _Wallace Irwin_ 194
+Contentment _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 238
+Contrast, The _Captain C. Morris_ 265
+Converted Cannibals, The _G. E. Farrow_ 683
+Cosmic Egg, The _Unknown_ 771
+Cosmopolitan Woman, A _Unknown_ 167
+Cossimbazar _Henry S. Leigh_ 843
+Counsel to Those That Eat _Unknown_ 932
+Country Summer Pastoral, A _Unknown_ 883
+Courtin', The _James Russell Lowell_ 110
+Courting in Kentucky _Florence E. Pratt_ 168
+Cremation _William Sawyer_ 534
+Crystal Palace, The _W. M. Thackeray_ 547
+Culture in the Slums _William Ernest Henley_ 400
+Cumberbunce, The _Paul West_ 844
+Cupid _William Blake_ 56
+Cupid _Ben Jonson_ 211
+Cupid's Darts _Unknown_ 67
+Cynical Ode to An Ultra-Cynical Public _Charles Mackay_ 339
+Cynicus to W. Shakespeare _James Kenneth Stephen_ 362
+
+ D
+Darius Green and His Flying-Machine _John Townsend Trowbridge_ 690
+Darwinian Ballad _Unknown_ 913
+Darwinity _Herman C. Merivale_ 409
+Day Is Done," "The _Ph[oe] be Cary_ 490
+Deacon's Masterpiece, The _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 580
+Death's Ramble _Thomas Hood_ 801
+Declaration, The _N. P. Willis_ 446
+Devil's Walk on Earth, The _Robert Southey_ 298
+Devonshire Lane, The _John Marriott_ 266
+Dialogue from Plato, A _Austin Dobson_ 142
+Dido _Richard Porson_ 366
+Dighton Is Engaged _Gelett Burgess_ 647
+Dinkey-Bird, The _Eugene Field_ 929
+Dirge _Unknown_ 787
+Dirge, A _William Augustus Croffut_ 737
+Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal _George T. Lanigan_ 712
+Disaster _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 469
+Distichs _John Hay_ 247
+Diversions of the Re-Echo Club _Carolyn Wells_ 515
+Diverting History of John Gilpin, The _William Cowper_ 564
+Divided Destinies _Rudyard Kipling_ 704
+Donnybrook Jig, The _Viscount Dillon_ 700
+Dora Versus Rose _Austin Dobson_ 144
+Double Ballade of Primitive Man _Andrew Lang_ 331
+Dutch Lullaby _Eugene Field_ 928
+
+ E
+Early Rising _J. G. Saxe_ 44
+Eastern Question, An _H. M. Paull_ 598
+Echo _J. G. Saxe_ 750
+Editor's Wooing, The _Robert H. Newell_ (_Orpheus C. Kerr_) 389
+Elderly Gentleman, The _George Canning_ 665
+Elegy _Arthur Guiterman_ 445
+Elegy, An _Oliver Goldsmith_ 740
+Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, An _Oliver Goldsmith_ 764
+Enchanted Shirt, The _John Hay_ 658
+Endless Song, The _Ruth McEnery Stuart_ 968
+Enigma on the Letter H _Catherine Fanshawe_ 762
+Epitaph, An _George John Cayley_ 366
+Epitaph, An _Matthew Prior_ 765
+Epitaph Intended for His Wife _John Dryden_ 368
+Erring in Company _Franklin P. Adams_ 55
+Eternal Poem, An _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 364
+Etiquette _W. S. Gilbert_ 256
+"Exactly So" _Lady T. Hastings_ 61
+Extracts from the Rubaiyat of Omar Cayenne _Gelett Burgess_ 512
+
+ F
+Fable, _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 290
+Fair Millinger, The _Fred W. Loring_ 186
+Faithless Nellie Gray _Thomas Hood_ 797
+Faithless Sally Brown _Thomas Hood_ 792
+False Love and True Logic _Laman Blanchard_ 183
+Familiar Letter to Several Correspondents, A
+ _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 36
+Farewell _Bert Leston Taylor_ 419
+Farewell to Tobacco, A _Charles Lamb_ 726
+Fastidious Serpent, The _Henry Johnstons_ 887
+Father Molloy. _Samuel Lover_ 307
+Father O'Flynn _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 719
+Father William _Lewis Carroll_ 485
+Father William _Unknown_ 531
+Feminine Arithmetic _Charles Graham Halpine_ 191
+Fernando and Elvira _W. S. Gilbert_ 635
+Fin de Siecle _Unknown_ 357
+Finnigin to Flannigan _S. W. Gillinan_ 225
+First Banjo, The _Irwin Russell_ 672
+First Love _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 116
+Fish Story, A _Henry A. Beers_ 916
+Fisherman's Chant, The _F. C. Burnand_ 81
+Five Wives _Robert Herrick_ 772
+Flamingo, The _Lewis Gaylord Clark_ 894
+Foam and Fangs _Walter Parke_ 544
+Fool and the Poet, The _Alexander Pope_ 363
+For I Am Sad _Don Marquis_ 379
+Forlorn One, The _Richard Harris Barham_ (_Thomas Ingoldsby_) 449
+Forty Years After _H. H. Porter_ 210
+Fragment, A _Unknown_ 450
+Friar of Orders Gray, The _John O'Keefe_ 282
+Frog, The _Hilaire Belloc_ 907
+From a Full Heart _A. A. Milne_ 31
+Future of the Classics, The _Anonymous_ 826
+
+ G
+Gentle Alice Brown _W. S. Gilbert_ 639
+Gentle Echo on Woman, A _Dean Swift_ 752
+Gifts Returned _Walter Savage Landor_ 198
+Giles's Hope _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 363
+Girl Was Too Reckless of Grammar, A _Guy Wetmore Carryl_ 395
+Good and Bad Luck _John Hay_ 334
+Goose, The _Lord Tennyson_ 611
+Gouty Marchant and the Stranger, The _Horace Smith_ 563
+Grain of Salt, A _Wallace Irwin_ 241
+Grampy Sings a Song _Holman F. Day_ 670
+Great Black Crow, The _Philip James Bailey_ 908
+Great Fight, A _Robert H. Newell_ (_Orpheus C. Kerr_) 697
+
+ H
+Half Hours with the Classics _H. J. DeBurgh_ 779
+Hans Breitmann's Party _Charles Godfrey Leland_ 668
+Happy Man, The _Gilles Menage_ 814
+He and She _Eugene Fitch Ware_ 109
+He Came to Pay _Parmenas Mix_ 447
+Height of the Ridiculous, The _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 38
+Hen, The _Matthew Claudius_ 892
+Hen-Roost Man, The _Ruth McEnery Stuart_ 247
+Here Is the Tale _Anthony C. Deane_ 421
+Here She Goes and There She Goes _James Nack_ 572
+Her Little Feet _William Ernest Henley_ 59
+Herring, The _Sir Walter Scott_ 949
+Higher Pantheism in a Nutshell, The _Algernon Charles Swinburne_ 458
+Hiram Hover _Bayard Taylor_ 113
+His Mother-in-Law _Walter Parke_ 75
+Hoch! Der Kaiser _Rodney Blake_ 291
+Holy Willie's Prayer _Robert Burns_ 272
+Home and Mother _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 932
+Hom[oe]opathic Soup _Unknown_ 76
+Home Sweet Home with Variations _H. C. Bunner_ 498
+Honey-Moon, The _Walter Savage Landor_ 366
+House That Jack Built, The _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 407
+How the Daughters Come Down at Dunoon _H. Chalmondeley-Pennell_ 533
+How Often _Ben King_ 489
+How to Ask and Have _Samuel Lover_ 181
+How to Eat Watermelons _Frank Libby Stanton_ 73
+How to Make a Man of Consequence _Mark Lemon_ 280
+Humpty Dumpty's Recitations _Lewis Carroll_ 872
+Hundred Best Books, The _Mostyn T. Pigott_ 769
+Hunting of the Snark, The _Lewis Carroll_ 676
+Husband and Heathen Sam _Walter Foss_ 160
+Husband's Petition, The _William B. Aytoun_ 454
+Hyder Iddle _Unknown_ 879
+Hypocrisy _Samuel Butler_ 365
+
+ I
+Ideal Husband to His Wife, The _Sam Walter Foss_ 246
+"I Didn't Like Him" _Harry B. Smith_ 157
+Idyll of Phatte and Leene, An _Unknown_ 406
+If _Unknown_ 951
+If _Mortimer Collins_ 436
+If _H. C. Dodge_ 268
+If I Should Die To-night _Ben King_ 489
+If the Man _Samuel Johnson_ 949
+If They Meant All They Said _Alice Duer Miller_ 247
+If We Didn't Have to Eat _Nixon Waterman_ 57
+If You Have Seen _Thomas Moore_ 444
+I Hae Laid a Herring in Saut _James Tytler_ 216
+Imaginative Crisis, The _Unknown_ 457
+Imagiste Love Lines _Unknown_ 383
+Imitation _Anthony C. Deane_ 375
+Imitation of Walt Whitman _Unknown_ 434
+Imitation of Wordsworth, An _Catherine M. Fanshawe_ 535
+Indifference _Unknown_ 950
+In Memoriam _Cuthbert Bede_ 463
+In Memoriam Technicam _Thomas Hood, Jr._ 413
+Invisible Bridge, The _Gelett Burgess_ 855
+Invitation to the Zoological Gardens, An _Unknown_ 822
+Inspect Us _Edith Daniell_ 471
+In the Catacombs _Harlan Hoge Ballard_ 52
+Irishman and the Lady, The _William Maginn_ 742
+Irish Schoolmaster, The _James A. Sidey_ 103
+Israfiddlestrings _Unknown_ 472
+
+ J
+Jabberwocky _Lewis Carroll_ 869
+Jabberwocky of Authors, The _Harry Parsons Taber_ 437
+Jackdaw of Rheims, The _Richard Harris Barham_
+ (_Thomas Ingoldsby_) 586
+Jacob _Ph[oe]be Cary_ 491
+Jester Condemned to Death, The _Horace Smith_ 578
+"Jim" _Bret Harte_ 652
+Jim Bludso _John Hay_ 661
+Jim-Jam King of the Jou-Jous _Alaric Bertrand Stuart_ 851
+Job _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 364
+Jocosa Lyra _Austin Dobson_ 824
+John Barleycorn _Robert Burns_ 730
+John Grumlie _Allen Cunningham_ 326
+John Thompson's Daughter _Ph[oe]be Cary_ 494
+Jovial Priest's Confession, The _Leigh Hunt_ 834
+Joys of Marriage, The _Charles Cotton_ 344
+Jumbles, The _Edward Lear_ 862
+Justice to Scotland _Unknown_ 384
+
+ K
+K. K.--Can't Calculate _Frances M. Whitcher_ 353
+Kentucky Philosophy _Harrison Robertson_ 325
+Kindly Advice _Unknown_ 890
+Kindness to Animals _J. Ashby-Sterry_ 891
+King Arthur _Unknown_ 879
+King John and the Abbot _Unknown_ 554
+Kilkenny Cats, The _Unknown_ 950
+Kiss, The _Tom Masson_ 109
+Kiss in the Rain, A _Samuel Minturn Peck_ 123
+Kitchen Clock, The _John Vance Cheney_ 220
+Kitty of Coleraine _Edward Lysaght_ 130
+Kitty Wants to Write _Gelett Burgess_ 646
+K. K.--Can't Calculate _F. M. Witcher_ 354
+Knife-Grinder, The _George Canning_ 249
+Knight and the Lady, The _Richard Harris Barham_
+ (_Thomas Ingoldsby_) 590
+
+ L
+Lady Mine _H. E. Clarke_ 221
+Laird O'Cockpen, The _Lady Nairne_ 703
+Lament of the Scotch Irish Exile _James Jeffrey Roche_ 385
+Lanty Leary _Samuel Lover_ 208
+Larrie O'Dee, _William W. Fink_ 165
+Last Ride Together, The _James Kenneth Stephen_ 431
+Latest Decalogue, The _Arthur Hugh Clough_ 261
+Laughing Willow, The _Oliver Herford_ 948
+Lawyer's Invocation to Spring, The _Henry Howard Brownell_ 402
+Lay of Ancient Rome _Thomas R. Ybarra_ 753
+Lay of the Deserted Influenzaed _N. Cholmondeley-Pennell_ 746
+Lay of the Love Lorn, The _Aytoun, William E._, and _Martin_ 537
+Lay of the Lover's Friend, The _William E. Aytoun_ 88
+Lazy Roof, The _Gelett Burgess_ 855
+Learned Negro, The _Unknown_ 274
+Leedle Yawcob Straus _Charles Follen Adams_ 940
+Legend of the First Cam-u-el, The _Arthur Guiterman_ 888
+Legend of Heinz von Stein, The _Charles Godfrey Leland_ 49
+Life _Unknown_ 783
+Life in Laconics _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 311
+Like to the Thundering Tone _Bishop Corbet_ 848
+Lilies _Don Marquis_ 379
+Limericks _Carolyn Wells_ 835
+Lines _Unknown_ 456
+Lines by an Old Fogy _Unknown_ 882
+Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon _Unknown_ 830
+Lines Written After a Battle _Unknown_ 456
+Literary Lady, The _Richard Brinsley Sheridan_ 278
+Little Billee _W. M. Thackeray_ 546
+Little Breeches _John Hay_ 657
+Little Goose, A _Eliza Sproat Turner_ 938
+Little Mamma _Charles Henry Webb_ 943
+Little Orphant Annie _James Whitcomb Riley_ 934
+Little Peach, The _Eugene Field_ 931
+Little Star, The _Unknown_ 476
+Little Swirl of Vers Libre, A _Thomas R. Ybarra_ 380
+Little Vagabond, The _William Blake_ 269
+Llama, The _Hilaire Belloc_ 906
+Logic _Unknown_ 809
+Logical English _Unknown_ 809
+Lord Guy _George F. Warren_ 191
+Lost Pleiad, The _Arthur Reed Ropes_ 161
+Lost Spectacles, The _Unknown_ 287
+Love is Like a Dizziness _James Hogg_ 218
+Lovers and a Reflection _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 372
+Love Knot, The _Nora Perry_ 124
+Lovelilts _Marion Hill_ 824
+Love Playnt, A _Godfrey Turner_ 408
+Love's Moods and Tenses _Unknown_ 812
+Lucy Lake _Newton Mackintosh_ 463
+Lugubrious Whing-Whang, The _James Whitcomb Riley_ 858
+Lunar Stanzas _Henry Coggswell Knight_ 841
+Lying _Thomas Moore_ 86
+
+ M
+Madame Sans Souci _Unknown_ 951
+Malbrouck _Father Prout_ 28
+Man, The _Stephen Crane_ 248
+Man in the Moon, The _James Whitcomb Riley_ 856
+Man of Words, A _Unknown_ 790
+Man's Place in Nature _Unknown_ 89
+Manila _Eugene Fitch Ware_ 949
+March to Moscow, The _Robert Southey_ 775
+Mark Twain: A Pipe Dream _Oliver Herford_ 30
+Martial in London _Mortimer Collins_ 316
+Martin Luther at Potsdam _Barry Pain_ 404
+Maud _Henry S. Leigh_ 188
+Maudle-in-Ballad _Unknown_ 510
+Mavrone _Arthur Guiterman_ 378
+Meeting of the Clabberhuses, The _Sam Walter Foss_ 244
+Melton Mowbray Pork-Pie, A _Richard le Gallienne_ 472
+Mendax _Lessing_ 369
+Messed Damozel, The _Charles Hanson Towne_ 471
+Mexican Serenade _Arthur Guiterman_ 902
+Microbe, The _Hilaire Belloc_ 907
+Midsummer Madness _Unknown_ 377
+Mighty Must, The _W. S. Gilbert_ 376
+Millennuim, The _Robert Browning_ 60
+Minguillo's Kiss _Unknown_ 122
+Miniver Cheevy _Edward Arlington Robinson_ 229
+Misadventures at Margate _Richard Harris Barham_
+ (_Thomas Ingoldsby_) 558
+Mis' Smith _Albert Bigelow Paine_ 119
+Modern Hiawatha, The _Unknown_ 482
+Modest Wit, A _Selleck Osborn_ 260
+"Mona Lisa" _John Kendrick Bangs_ 95
+Money _Jehan du Pontalais_ 323
+More Impressions _Oscuro Wildgoose_ 509
+More Walks _Richard Harris Barham_ (_Thomas Ingoldsby_) 950
+Mr. Finney's Turnip _Unknown_ 847
+Mrs. Smith _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 155
+Musical Ass, The _Tomaso de Yriarte_ 249
+My Angeline _Harry B. Smith_ 158
+My Aunt's Spectre _Mortimer Collins_ 600
+My Dream _Unknown_ 853
+My Feet _Gelett Burgess_ 855
+My Foe _Unknown_ 529
+My Love and My Heart _Henry S. Leigh_ 204
+My Madeline _Walter Parke_ 773
+My Mistress's Boots _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 153
+
+ N
+Naughty Darkey Boy, The _Unknown_ 927
+Nemesis _J. W. Foley_ 94
+Nephelidia _Algernon Charles Swinburne_ 459
+"Never Forget Your Parents" _Franklin P. Adams_ 394
+New Church Organ, The _Will Carleton_ 162
+New Song, A _John Gay_ 754
+New Version, The _W. J. Lampton_ 90
+New Vestments _Edward Lear_ 866
+Ninety-Nine in the Shade _Rossiter Johnson_ 781
+Nirvana _Unknown_ 900
+No! _Thomas Hood_ 792
+No Fault in Women _Robert Herrick_ 166
+Nocturnal Sketch, A _Thomas Hood_ 823
+Nongtongpaw _Charles Dibdin_ 808
+Nonsense Verses _Charles Lamb_ 848
+Nora's Vow _Sir Walter Scott_ 159
+Northern Farmer _Lord Tennyson_ 354
+North, East, South and West _Unknown_ 403
+Nothing _Richard Porson_ 786
+Nothing to Wear _William Allen Butler_ 148
+Noureddin, The Son of the Shah _Clinton Scollard_ 199
+Nun, The _Leigh Hunt_ 206
+Nursery Legend, A _Henry S. Leigh_ 937
+Nursery Rhymes a la Mode _Unknown_ 509
+Nursery Song in Pidgin English _Unknown_ 530
+
+ O
+Ocean Wanderer, The _Unknown_ 879
+Ode for a Social Meeting _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 833
+Ode for a Social Meeting _Leigh Hunt_ 834
+Ode to a Bobtailed Cat _Unknown_ 936
+Ode to the Human Heart _Laman Blanchard_ 784
+Ode to Tobacco _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 732
+Ode to Work in Springtime _Thomas R. Ybarra_ 47
+O D V _Unknown_ 788
+Of a Certain Man _Sir John Harrington_ 282
+Of All the Men _Thomas Moore_ 370
+Of a Precise Tailor _Sir John Harrington_ 322
+Of Baiting the Lion _Owen Seaman_ 893
+Officer Brady _Robert W. Chambers_ 232
+Oh, My Geraldine _F. C. Burnand_ 180
+Old Bachelor, An _Tudor Jenks_ 98
+Old Fashioned Fun _W. M. Thackery_ 33
+Old Grimes _Albert Gorton Greene_ 766
+Old Line Fence, The _A. W. Bellaw_ 760
+Old Man and Jim, The _James Whitcomb Riley_ 678
+Old Song by New Singers, An _A. C. Wilkie_ 506
+Old Stuff _Bert Leston Taylor_ 48
+On the Aristocracy of Harvard _Dr. Samuel G. Bushnell_ 949
+On a Bad Singer _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 364
+On Butler's Monument _Rev. Samuel Wesley_ 370
+On a Deaf Housekeeper _Unknown_ 76
+On the Death of a Favorite Cat _Thomas Gray_ 557
+On the Democracy of Yale _Dean Jones_ 949
+On the Downtown Side of an Uptown Street _William Johnstone_ 79
+On a Full-Length Portrait of Beau Marsh _Lord Chesterfield_ 369
+On Hearing a Lady Praise a Certain Rev. Doctor's Eyes
+ _George Outram_ 368
+On Knowing When to Stop _L. J. Bridgman_ 312
+On a Magazine Sonnet _Russell Hilliard Loines_ 281
+On the Oxford Carrier _John Milton_ 780
+On Scotland _Cleveland_ 369
+On a Sense of Humor _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 367
+On Taking a Wife _Thomas Moore_ 367
+Only Seven _Henry S. Leigh_ 543
+Optimism _Newton Mackintosh_ 445
+Origin of Ireland, The _Unknown_ 106
+Original Lamb, The _Unknown_ 477
+Orphan Born _Robert J. Burdette_ 903
+Oubit, The _Charles Kingsley_ 330
+O-u-g-h _Charles Battell Loomis_ 761
+Ould Doctor Mack _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 717
+Our Hymn _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 374
+Our Native Birds _Nathan Haskell Dole_ 53
+Our Traveller _Henry Cholmondeley-Pennell_ 445
+Out of Sight, Out of Mind _Barnaby Googe_ 807
+Out Upon it _Sir John Suckling_ 218
+Over the Way _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 125
+Owen Seaman _Louis Untermeyer_ 480
+Owl and the Pussy Cat, The _Edward Lear_ 901
+Owl-Critic, The _James Thomas Fields_ 309
+
+ P
+Paddy O'Rafther _Samuel Lover_ 571
+Pairing-Time Anticipated _William Cowper_ 212
+Palabras Grandiosas _Bayard Taylor_ 407
+Panegyric on the Ladies _Unknown_ 803
+Paradise _George Birdseye_ 281
+Parental Ode to My Son, Aged Three Years and Five Months, A
+ _Thomas Hood_ 941
+Parson Gray _Oliver Goldsmith_ 741
+Parterre, The _E. H. Palmer_ 180
+Pensees de Noel _A. D. Godley_ 336
+Pessimism _Newton Mackintosh_ 338
+Pessimist, The _Ben King_ 358
+Pet's Punishment _J. Ashby-Sterry_ 184
+Phillis's Age _Matthew Prior_ 332
+Philosopher, A _Sam Walter Foss_ 242
+Phyllis Lee _Oliver Herford_ 139
+Pied Piper of Hamelin, The _Robert Browning_ 603
+Pig, The _Robert Southey_ 914
+Pilgrims and the Peas, The _John Wolcot_ 621
+Pin, A _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ 132
+Plaidie, The _Charles Sibley_ 190
+Plain Language from Truthful James _Bret Harte_ 648
+Played-Out Humorist, The _W. S. Gilbert_ 25
+Plea for Trigamy, A _Owen Seaman_ 68
+Pobble Who Has No Toes, The _Edward Lear_ 865
+Poe-'em of Passion, A _C. F. Lummis_ 532
+Poets at Tea, The _Barry Pain_ 486
+Polka Lyric, A _Barclay Philips_ 832
+Poor Dear Grandpapa _D'Arcy W. Thompson_ 950
+Pope, The _Chas. Lever_ 70
+Pope and the Net, The _Robert Browning_ 286
+Portrait, A _John Keats_ 496
+Positivists, The _Mortimer Collins_ 315
+Post Captain, The _Charles E. Carryl_ 615
+Post-Impressionism _Bert Leston Taylor_ 235
+Practical Joker, The _W. S. Gilbert_ 26
+Prayer of Cyrus Brown, The _Sam Walter Foss_ 54
+Prehistoric Smith _David Law Proudfit_ 83
+Presto Furioso _Owen Seaman_ 417
+Prior to Miss Belle's Appearance _James Whitcomb Riley_ 925
+Promissory Note, The _Bayard Taylor_ 429
+Propinquity Needed _Charles Battell Loomis_ 51
+Purple Cow, The _Gelett Burgess_ 948
+
+ Q
+Quaker's Meeting, The _Samuel Lover_ 576
+Quest of the Purple Cow, The _Hilda Johnson_ 100
+Questions with Answers _Unknown_ 810
+Quite by Chance _Frederick Langbridge_ 205
+
+ R
+Razor Seller, The _John Wolcot_ 297
+Reasons for Drinking _Dr. Henry Aldrich_ 364
+Recruit, The _Robert W. Chambers_ 230
+Reflections on Cleopathera's Needle _Cormac O'Leary_ 105
+Rejected "National Hymns," The _Robert H. Newell_
+ (_Orpheus C. Kerr_) 387
+Religion of Hudibras, The _Samuel Butler_ 271
+Remedy Worse than the Disease, A _Matthew Prior_ 365
+Report of an Adjudged Case _William Cowper_ 82
+Retired Cat, The _William Cowper_ 910
+Retired Pork-Butcher and the Spook _G. E. Farrow_ 685
+Retort, The _George Pope Morris_ 174
+Rev. Gabe Tucker's Remarks _Unknown_ 312
+Reuben _Ph[oe]be Cary_ 493
+Rhyme for Musicians, A _E. Lemke_ 772
+Rhyme of the Rail _John G. Saxe_ 748
+Rhymester, A _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 363
+Riddle, A _Unknown_ 951
+Rigid Body Sings _J. C. Maxwell_ 483
+Robert Frost _Louis Untermeyer_ 479
+Robinson Crusoe's Story _Charles E. Carryl_ 617
+Rollicking Mastodon, The _Arthur Macy_ 853
+Romance of the Carpet, The _Robert J. Burdette_ 674
+Romaunt of Humpty Dumpty The _Henry S. Leigh_ 411
+Rondeau, The _Austin Dobson_ 782
+Rondelay, A _Peter A. Motteux_ 41
+Rory O'More; or, Good Omens _Samuel Lover_ 141
+Ruling Passion, The _Alexander Pope_ 285
+Rural Bliss _Anthony C. Deane_ 97
+Rural Raptures _Unknown_ 450
+
+ S
+Sabine Farmer's Serenade, The _Father Prout_ 214
+Said Opie Reed _Julian Street_ and _Montgomery Flagg_ 948
+Sailor's Yarn, A _James Jeffrey Roche_ 680
+Sainte Margerie _Unknown_ 477
+Salad _Mortimer Collins_ 436
+Salad _Sydney Smith_ 93
+Sally in Our Alley _Henry Carey_ 182
+Sally Simkin's Lament _Thomas Hood_ 800
+Same Old Story _Harry B. Smith_ 360
+Sary "Fixes Up" Things _Albert Bigelow Paine_ 192
+Saying, Not Meaning _William Basil Wake_ 666
+School _James Kenneth Stephen_ 60
+Schoolmaster, The _Charles Stuart Calverley_ 64
+Scientific Proof _J. W. Foley_ 880
+Secret Combination, The _Ellis Parker Butler_ 209
+Select Passages from a Coming Poet _F. Anstey_ 410
+Senex to Matt. Prior _James Kenneth Stephen_ 362
+Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe _H. C. Bunner_ 40
+Shipwreck, The _H. Palmer_ 876
+Siege of Belgrade, The _Unknown_ 813
+Siege of Djklxprwbz, The _Eugene Fitch Ware_ 96
+Similes _Unknown_ 791
+Simile, A _Matthew Prior_ 262
+Sing for the Garish Eye _W. S. Gilbert_ 875
+Sir Guy the Crusader _W. S. Gilbert_ 644
+Sketch from the Life, A _Arthur Guiterman_ 121
+Skipper Treson's Ride _John Greenleat Whittier_ 688
+Sky-Making _Mortimer Collins_ 314
+Smack in School, The _William Pitt Palmer_ 128
+Smatterers _Samuel Butler_ 365
+Society upon the Stanislaus The _Bret Harte_ 650
+"Soldier, Rest!" _Robert J. Burdette_ 374
+Some Hallucinations _Lewis Carroll_ 874
+Some Ladies _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 367
+Some Little Bug _Roy Atwell_ 77
+Somewhere-in-Europe-Wocky _F. G. Hartswick_ 482
+Song _Joseph Addison_ 751
+Song _George Canning_ 84
+Song _John Donne_ 330
+Song _Richard Lovelace_ 241
+Song _J. R. Ptanche_ 99
+Song of Impossibilities, A _Winthrop Mackintosh Praed_ 327
+Song of Sorrow, A _Charles Battell Loomis_ 386
+Song of the Springtide _Unknown_ 527
+"Songs Without Words" _Robert J. Burdette_ 413
+Sonnet Found in a Deserted Mad House _Unknown_ 851
+Sonnet to a Clam _John G. Saxe_ 734
+Sorrows of Werther, The _W. M. Thackeray_ 140
+'Spacially Jim _Bessie Morgan_ 129
+Spirk Throll-Derisiye _James Whitcomb Riley_ 855
+Splendid Fellow, A _H. C. Dodge_ 267
+Splendid Shilling, The _John Philips_ 316
+St. Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes _Abraham a Sancta-Clara_ 251
+Stanzas to Pale Ale _Unknown_ 732
+St. Patrick of Ireland, My Dear! _William Maginn_ 101
+Story of Prince Agib, The _W. S. Gilbert_ 641
+Strictly Germ-Proof _Arthur Guiterman_ 87
+Strike Among the Poets, A _Unknown_ 785
+Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink _Rudyard Kipling_ 226
+Styx River Anthology _Carolyn Wells_ 521
+Surnames _James Smith_ 804
+Susan _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 157
+Susan Simpson _Unknown_ 774
+Sympathy _Reginald Heber_ 270
+
+ T
+Takings _Thomas Hood, Jr._ 817
+Tam o' Shanter _Robert Burns_ 623
+Ternary of Littles, Upon a Pipkin of Jelly Sent to a Lady, A
+ _Robert Herrick_ 806
+Terrible Infant, A _Frederick Locker-Lampson_ 156
+'Tis Midnight _Unknown_ 843
+'Tis Sweet to Roam _Unknown_ 878
+That Gentle Man from Boston Town _Joaquin Miller_ 629
+That Texan Cattle Man _Joaquin Miller_ 288
+Thingumbob, The _Unknown_ 882
+Then Ag'in _Sam Walter Foss_ 357
+"There's a Bower of Bean-vines" _Ph[oe]be Cary_ 493
+There Was a Little Girl _Unknown_ 926
+Third Proposition, The _Madeline Bridges_ 345
+Thought, A _James Kenneth Stephen_ 248
+Three Black Crows, The _John Byrom_ 254
+Three Children _Unknown_ 843
+Three Jovial Huntsmen _Unknown_ 878
+Thursday _Frederick E. Weatherly_ 313
+Tim Turpin _Thomas Hood_ 795
+To a Blockhead _Alexander Pope_ 362
+To a Capricious Friend _Joseph Addison_ 368
+To a Fly _John Wolcot_ 734
+To an Importunate Host _Unknown_ 534
+To a Slow Walker and Quick Eater _Lessing_ 369
+To a Thesaurus _Franklin P. Adams_ 825
+To Be or Not To Be _Unknown_ 891
+To Doctor Empiric _Ben Jonson_ 365
+To Julia in Shooting Togs _Owen Seaman_ 418
+To Marie _John Bennett_ 852
+To Minerva _Thomas Hood_ 49
+To My Empty Purse _Geoffrey Chaucer_ 58
+To My Nose _Alfred A. Forrester_ (_Alfred Croquill_) 832
+Too Late _Fitz Hugh Ludlow_ 348
+To Ph[oe]be _W. S. Gilbert_ 28
+To the Pliocene Skull _Bret Harte_ 46
+To the Portrait of "A Gentleman" _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 236
+To the Terrestrial Globe _W. S. Gilbert_ 256
+Town of Nice, The _Herman C. Merivale_ 438
+Tragic Story, A _W. M. Thackeray_ 850
+Transcendentalism _Unknown_ 92
+Translated Way _Franklin P. Adams_ 427
+Travesty of Miss Fanshawe's Enigma _Horace Mayhew_ 763
+Triolet _Paul T. Gilbert_ 120
+Triolet, The _William Ernest Henley_ 782
+True to Poll _F. C. Burnand_ 275
+Trust in Women _Unknown_ 276
+Truth About Horace, The _Eugene Field_ 50
+Tu Quoque _Austin Dobson_ 146
+Turtle and the Flamingo, The _James Thomas Fields_ 923
+Turvey Top _William Sawyer_ 884
+'Twas Ever Thus _Henry S. Leigh_ 544
+Twelve Articles _Dean Swift_ 279
+Twins, The _Henry S. Leigh_ 108
+Two Fishes _Unknown_ 188
+Two Men _Edwin Arlington Robinson_ 35
+Two Old Bachelors, The _Edward Lear_ 868
+
+ U
+Uffia _Harriet R. White_ 877
+Ultimate Joy, The _Unknown_ 32
+Unattainable, The _Harry Romaine_ 141
+Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim _Charles Farrar Browne_
+ (_Artemus Ward_) 849
+Under the Mistletoe _George Francis Schults_ 196
+Unexpected Fact, An _Edward Cannon_ 844
+Unfortunate Miss Bailey _Unknown_ 702
+Unsatisfied Yearning _R. K. Munkittrick_ 889
+Upon Being Obliged to Leave a Pleasant Party _Thomas Moore_ 367
+Up the Spout _Algernon Charles Swinburne_ 460
+Usual Way, The _Frederick E. Weatherly_ 200
+
+ V
+Vague Story, A _Walter Parke_ 74
+V-A-S-E, The _James Jeffrey Roche_ 227
+Village Choir, The _Unknown_ 528
+Villanelle of Things Amusing _Gelett Burgess_ 73
+Villon's Straight Tip to All Cross Coves _William Ernest Henley_ 399
+Viper, The _Hilaire Belloc_ 906
+Visit from St. Nicholas, A _Clement Clarke Moore_ 935
+
+ W
+Walrus and the Carpenter, The _Lewis Carroll_ 896
+The Whango Tree _Unknown_ 842
+War: A-Z, The _John R. Edwards_ 829
+War Relief _Oliver Herford_ 901
+Ways and Means _Lewis Carroll_ 870
+Way to Arcady, The _H. C. Bunner_ 201
+Wedding, A _Sir John Suckling_ 704
+Wedding, The _Thomas Hood, Jr._ 412
+Well of St. Keyne, The _Robert Southey_ 584
+What is a Woman Like? _Unknown_ 118
+What's In a Name? _R. K. Munkittrick_ 347
+What's My Thought Like? _Thomas Moore_ 370
+What Will We Do? _Robert J. Burdette_ 311
+Whatever Is, Is Right _Laman Blanchard_ 786
+What Mr. Robinson Thinks _James Russell Lowell_ 292
+Whenceness of the Which _Unknown_ 476
+When Lovely Woman _Phoebe Cary_ 494
+When Moonlike Ore the Hazure Seas _W. M. Thackeray_ 34
+When the Frost Is on the Punkin _James Whitcomb Riley_ 34
+Which Is Which _John Byrom_ 368
+Whistler, The _Unknown_ 133
+Why? _H. P. Stevens_ 214
+Why Don't the Men Propose? _Thomas Haynes Bayly_ 131
+Why Doth a Pussy Cat? _Surges Johnson_ 895
+Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles _Frances M. Whicher_ 195
+Widow Malone, The _Charles Lever_ 126
+Wife, A _Richard Brinsley Sheridan_ 366
+Wife, The _Phoebe Cary_ 494
+William Brown of Oregon _Joaquin Miller_ 653
+Willows, The _Bret Harte_ 423
+Willow-Tree, The _W. M. Thackeray_ 439
+Wing Tee Wee _J. P. Denison_ 139
+Winter Dusk _R. K. Munkittrick_ 42
+Within and Without _James Russell Lowell_ 359
+Wofle New Ballad of Jane Roney and Mary Brown, The
+ _W. M. Thackeray_ 552
+Woman's Will _John G. Saxe_ 362
+Wonders of Nature _Unknown_ 470
+Wordsworthian Reminiscence _Unknown_ 470
+Wreck of the "Julie Plante" _William Henry Drummond_ 662
+Written After Swimming from Sestos to Abydos _Lord Byron_ 80
+
+ Y
+Yak, The _Hilaire Belloc_ 906
+Yarn of the "Nancy Bell" _W. S. Gilbert_ 632
+Yonghy-Bonghy Ho, The _Edward Lear_ 859
+Young Gazelle _Walter Parke_ 918
+Young Lady of Niger, The _Unknown_ 948
+Young Lochinvar _Unknown_ 381
+Youth and Art _Robert Browning_ 339
+
+ Z
+Zealless Nylographer, The _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 759
+
+
+
+ * * * * *
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes
+
+ Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
+
+ It is not always obvious if verses in the original have been split
+ through pagination; if there is doubt the split has been retained.
+
+ 'Ode for a Social Meeting' has some words struck out and replaced
+ above with alternatives. This has been represented with the
+ struck-out words underlined in red and the alternate words in boxes
+ above. The font has been switched to monospaced to accurately align
+ the two.
+
+ Both "Geoffrey" and "Goeffrey" are used as spellings for Geoffrey
+ Chaucer's name without obvious reason. The spelling has been
+ standardised here to the more commonly accepted (today) version
+ "Geoffrey".
+
+ The title of "Spirk, Troll-Derisive" uses both "Troll" and "Throll"
+ throughout the original text. The spelling has been standardised
+ here to "Troll".
+
+ "There is no poem in the original beginning 'Oh! Weary mother' and
+ it appears to have been an error. The page reference, '000,' is
+ from the original."
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF HUMOROUS VERSE***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 23972.txt or 23972.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/9/7/23972
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://www.gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
+paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works. See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+ the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+ you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
+ owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+ has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+ Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
+ must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+ prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+ returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+ sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+ address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+ the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+ you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+ does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+ License. You must require such a user to return or
+ destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+ and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+ Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+ money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+ electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+ of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+ distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+ Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+ Chief Executive and Director
+ gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+ http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-07-14 20:23:12 +0000