Have studied Mill,
And all that sage has taught, too.
Now both promote
Jill's claim to vote,
As every good girl ought too.'
"Even the pleasures of life have their duties, and the child needs to be
instructed in the polite relaxation of society. The unmeaning jingle of
'Hey diddle diddle,' might be invested with some utility of a social kind:
'I did an idyl on Joachim's fiddle,
At a classical soiree in June,
While jolly dogs laughed at themes from Spöhr,
And longed for a popular tune.'
"And the importance of securing a good _parti_, of rejecting ineligible
candidates, and of modifying flirtations by a strict regard to the future,
might be impressed upon the female mind at an early age in the following
moral:
'Little Miss Muffit
Sat at a buffet
Eating a _bonbon sucre_;
A younger son spied her,
And edged up beside her,
But she properly frowned him away.'"
The preceding is all very well, but there are others which have been
travestied and changed also--"Mary's little Lamb," for instance, will
never be allowed to rest in its true Saxon garb, but is being constantly
dressed in every tongue and dialect. But recently one has arisen bold
enough to doubt the story altogether, and throw discredit on the song. Mr.
Baring Gould, and iconoclasts like him, strive to show that William Tell
and other ancient heroes never did live, but we never expected to doubt
the existence of "Mary's little Lamb," yet a correspondent to a magazine
sent not long ago what he says is the "true story of Mary and her lamb,"
hoping it will take the place of the garbled version hitherto received as
authentic:
"Mary had a little lamb,
Whose fleece was white as snow,
And every place that Mary went,
The lamb it would _not_ go.
So Mary took that little lamb,
And beat it for a spell;
The family had it fried next day,
And it went very well."
We have still another way of it, in what may be termed an exaggerated
synonymic adherence to the central idea of the ballad:
"Mary possessed a diminutive sheep,
Whose external covering was as devoid of colour as the aqueous fluid
which sometimes presents unsurmountable barriers on the Sierras.
And everywhere Mary peregrinated
This juvenile Southdown would be sure to get up and go right after her.
It followed her to the alphabet dispensary one day,
Which was contrary to the 243d subdivision of the 714th article of the
constitution of that academy of erudition;
It caused the adolescent disciples there assembled to titillate their
risibles and indulge in interludes of sportive hilarity," &c. &c.
Linguistic renderings of many of these ancient songs may be found in the
works of the Rev. Francis Mahoney (Father Prout), Dr. Maginn, &c., as well
as in the "Arundines Cami" of the Rev. H. Drury. Of these here follow a
few:
LITTLE BO-PEEP.
"Petit Bo-peep
A perdu ses moutons
Et ne sait pas que les a pris,
O laisses les tranquilles
Ill viendront en ville
Et chacun sa que apres lui."
BA, BA, BLACK SHEEP.
"Ba, ba, mouton noir,
Avez vous de laine?
Oui Monsieur, non Monsieur,
Trois sacs pleine.
Un pour mon maitre, un pour ma dame,
Pas un pour le jeune enfant que pleure dan le chemin."
Here is a song of Mahoney's, which is given complete:
"Quam pulchra sunt ova
Cum alba et nova,
In stabulo scite leguntur;
Et a Margery bella,
Quæ festiva puella!
Pinguis lardi cum frustris coquuntur.
Ut belles in prato,
Aprico et lato
Sub sole tam lacte renident;
Ova tosta in mensa
Mappa bene extensa,
Nittidissima lanse consident."
Which, put into English, is:
"Oh! 'tis eggs are a treat,
When so white and so sweet
From under the manger they're taken;
And by fair Margery
(Och! 'tis she's full of glee!)
They are fried with fat rashers of bacon.
Just like daisies all spread,
O'er a broad sunny mead,
In the sunbeams so gaudily shining,
Are fried eggs, when displayed
On a dish, when we've laid
The cloth, and are thinking of dining!"
The last of these we give is from the "Arundines Cami":
TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR.
"Mica, mica, parva Stella,
Miror, quænam sis tam bella!
Splendens eminus in illo
Alba velut gemma, coelo."
This familiar nursery rhyme has also been "revised" by a committee of
eminent preceptors and scholars, with this result:
"Shine with irregular, intermitted light, sparkle at intervals,
diminutive, luminous, heavenly body.
How I conjecture, with surprise, not unmixed with uncertainty, what you
are,
Located, apparently, at such a remote distance from, and at a height so
vastly superior to this earth, the planet we inhabit,
Similar in general appearance and refractory powers to the precious
primitive octahedron crystal of pure carbon, set in the aërial
region surrounding the earth."
Dr. Lang, in his book on "Queensland," &c., is wroth against the colonists
for the system of nomenclature they have pursued, in so far as introducing
such names as Deptford, Codrington, Greenwich, and so on. Conceding that
there may be some confusion by the duplication in this way of names from
the old country, they are surely better than the jaw-breaking native names
which are strung together in the following lines:
"I like the native names, as Parramatta,
And Illawarra and Wooloomooloo,
Tongabbee, Mittagong, and Coolingatta,
Euranania, Jackwa, Bulkomatta,
Nandowra, Tumbwumba, Woogaroo;
The Wollondilly and the Wingycarribbeo,
The Warragumby, Dalby, and Bungarribbe."
The following _jeu d'esprit_, in which many of the absurd and
unpronounceable names of American towns and villages are happily hit off,
is from the _Orpheus C. Kerr_ (office-seeker) _Papers_, by R. H. Newell, a
work containing many of those humorous, semi-political effusions, which
were so common in the United States during the Civil War:
THE AMERICAN TRAVELLER.
"To Lake Aghmoogenegamook,
All in the State of Maine,
A man from Wittequergaugaum came
One evening in the rain.
'I am a traveller,' said he,
'Just started on a tour,
And go to Nomjamskillicook
To-morrow morn at four.'
He took a tavern-bed that night,
And with the morrow's sun,
By way of Sekledobskus went,
With carpet-bag and gun.
A week passed on; and next we find
Our native tourist come
To that sequester'd village called
Genasagarnagum.
From thence he went to Absequoit,
And there--quite tired of Maine--
He sought the mountains of Vermont,
Upon a railroad train.
Dog Hollow, in the Green Mount State,
Was his first stopping-place,
And then Skunk's Misery displayed
Its sweetness and its grace.
By easy stages then he went
To visit Devil's Den;
And Scrabble Hollow, by the way,
Did come within his ken.
Then _via_ Nine Holes and Goose Green,
He travelled through the State,
And to Virginia, finally,
Was guided by his fate.
Within the Old Dominion's bounds,
He wandered up and down;
To-day at Buzzard Roost ensconced,
To-morrow at Hell Town.
At Pole Cat, too, he spent a week,
Till friends from Bull Ring came,
And made him spend the day with them
In hunting forest game.
Then, with his carpet-bag in hand,
To Dog Town next he went;
Though stopping at Free Negro Town,
Where half a day he spent.
From thence, into Negationburg
His route of travel lay,
Which having gained, he left the State
And took a southward way.
North Carolina's friendly soil
He trod at fall of night,
And, on a bed of softest down,
He slept at Hell's Delight.
Morn found him on the road again,
To Lousy Level bound;
At Bull's Tail, and Lick Lizard too,
Good provender he found.
The country all about Pinch Gut
So beautiful did seem,
That the beholder thought it like
A picture in a dream.
But the plantations near Burnt Coat
Were even finer still,
And made the wond'ring tourist feel
A soft delicious thrill.
At Tear Shirt, too, the scenery
Most charming did appear,
With Snatch It in the distance far,
And Purgatory near.
But spite of all these pleasant scenes,
The tourist stoutly swore
That home is brightest after all,
And travel is a bore.
So back he went to Maine, straightway
A little wife he took;
And now is making nutmegs at
Moosehicmagunticook."
A RHYME FOR MUSICIANS.
"Haendel, Bendel, Mendelssohn,
Brendel, Wendel, Jadasshon,
Muller, Hiller, Heller, Franz,
Blothow, Flotow, Burto, Gantz.
Meyer, Geyer, Meyerbeer,
Heyer, Weyer, Beyer, Beer,
Lichner, Lachnar, Schachner, Dietz,
Hill, Will, Bruell, Grill Drill, Reiss, Reitz.
Hansen, Jansen, Jensen, Kiehl,
Siade, Gade, Laade, Stiehl,
Naumann, Riemann, Diener, Wurst,
Niemann, Kiemann, Diener Wurst.
Kochler, Dochler, Rubenstein,
Himmel, Hummel, Rosenkyn,
Lauer, Bauer, Kleincke,
Homberg, Plomberg, Reinecke."
--_E. Lemke._
SURNAMES.
BY JAMES SMITH, ONE OF THE AUTHORS OF "REJECTED ADDRESSES."
"Men once were surnamed for their shape or estate
(You all may from history learn it),
There was Louis the Bulky, and Henry the Great,
John Lackland, and Peter the Hermit.
But now, when the doorplates of misters and dames
Are read, each so constantly varies;
From the owner's trade, figure, and calling, surnames
Seem given by the rule of contraries.
Mr. Wise is a dunce, Mr. King is a whig,
Mr. Coffin's uncommonly sprightly,
And huge Mr. Little broke down in a gig,
While driving fat Mrs. Golightly.
At Bath, where the feeble go more than the stout,
(A conduct well worthy of Nero,)
Over poor Mr. Lightfoot, confined with the gout,
Mr. Heavyside danced a bolero.
Miss Joy, wretched maid, when she chose Mr. Love,
Found nothing but sorrow await her;
She now holds in wedlock, as true as a dove,
That fondest of mates, Mr. Hayter.
Mr. Oldcastle dwells in a modern-built hut;
Miss Sage is of madcaps the archest;
Of all the queer bachelors Cupid e'er cut,
Old Mr. Younghusband's the starchest.
Mr. Child, in a passion, knock'd down Mr. Rock;
Mr. Stone like an aspen-leaf shivers;
Miss Pool used to dance, but she stands like a stock
Ever since she became Mrs. Rivers.
Mr. Swift hobbles onward, no mortal knows how,
He moves as though cords had entwined him;
Mr. Metcalf ran off upon meeting a cow,
With pale Mr. Turnbull behind him.
Mr. Barker's as mute as a fish in the sea,
Mr. Miles never moves on a journey,
Mr. Gotobed sits up till half after three,
Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney.
Mr. Gardener can't tell a flower from a root,
Mr. Wild with timidity draws back;
Mr. Ryder performs all his journeys on foot,
Mr. Foot all his journeys on horseback.
Mr. Penny, whose father was rolling in wealth,
Consumed all the fortune his dad won;
Large Mr. Le Fever's the picture of health;
Mr. Goodenough is but a bad one.
Mr. Cruikshank stept into three thousand a year
By showing his leg to an heiress:
Now I hope you'll acknowledge I've made it quite clear
Surnames ever go by contraries."
The next verses are somewhat similar, and are taken from an old number of
the _European Magazine_:
COINCIDENCES AND CONTRARIETIES.
"Tis curious to find, in this overgrown town,
While through its long streets we are dodging,
That many a man is in trade settled down,
Whose name don't agree with his lodging!
For instance, Jack Munday in Friday Street dwells,
Mr. Pitt in Fox Court is residing;
Mr. White in Black's Buildings green-grocery sells,
While East in West Square is abiding!
Mr. Lamb in Red Lion Street perks up his head,
To Lamb's, Conduit Street, Lyon goes courting;
Mr. Boxer at Battle Bridge hires a bed,
While Moon is in Sun Street disporting.
Bill Brown up to Green Street to live now is gone,
In Stanhope mews Dennet keeps horses;
Doctor Low lives in High Street, Saint Mary-le-Bone,
In Brown Street one Johnny White's door sees.
But still much more curious it is, when the streets
Accord with the names of their tenants;
And yet with such curious accordance one meets,
In taking a town-tour like Pennant's.
For instance, in Crown Street George King you may note,
To Booth, in Mayfair, you go shopping;
And Porter, of Brewer Street, goes in a boat
To Waters, of River Street, Wapping!
Mr. Sparrow in Bird Street has feathered his nest,
Mr. Archer in Bow Street wooes Sally:
Mr. Windham in Air Street gets zephyr'd to rest,
Mr. Dancer resides in Ball Alley.
Mr. Fisher on Finsbury fixes his views,
Mrs. Foote in Shoe Lane works at carding;
Mr. Hawke has a residence close to the Mews,
And Winter puts up at Spring Gardens!
In Orange Street, Lemon vends porter and ale,
In Hart Street, Jack Deer keeps a stable;
In Hill Street located you'll find Mr. Dale,
In Blue Anchor Row, Mr. Cable.
In Knight-Rider Street, you've both Walker and Day,
In Castle Street, Champion and Spearman;
In Blackman Street, Lillywhite makes a display,
In Cheapside lives sweet Mrs. Dearman.
In Paradise Row, Mr. Adam sells figs,
Eve, in Apple Tree Yard, rooms has taken;
Mr. Coltman, in Foley Street, fits you with wigs,
In Hog Lane you call upon Bacon.
Old Homer in Greek Street sells barrels and staves,
While Pope, in Cross Lane, is a baker;
In Liquorpond Street, Mr. Drinkwater shaves,
In Cow Lane lives A. Veal, undertaker."
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
"A pretty deer is dear to me,
A hare with downy hair;
I love a hart with all my heart,
But barely bear a bear.
'Tis plain that no one takes a plane
To pare a pair of pears;
A rake, though, often takes a rake
To tear away the tares.
All rays raise thyme, time razes all;
And, through the whole, hole wears.
A writ, in writing 'right,' may write
It 'wright,' and still be wrong--
For 'wright' and 'rite' are neither 'right,'
And don't to 'write' belong.
Beer often brings a bier to man,
Coughing a coffin brings;
And too much ale will make us ail,
As well as other things.
The person lies who says he lies
When he is but reclining;
And when consumptive folks decline,
They all decline declining.
A quail don't quail before a storm--
A bough will bow before it;
We cannot rein the rain at all--
No earthly powers reign o'er it;
The dyer dyes awhile, then dies;
To dye he's always trying,
Until upon his dying bed
He thinks no more of dyeing.
A son of Mars mars many a sun;
All deys must have their days,
And every knight should pray each night
To Him who weighs his ways.
'Tis meet that man should mete out meat
To feed misfortune's son;
The fair should fare on love alone,
Else one cannot be won.
A lass, alas! is something false;
Of faults a maid is made;
Her waist is but a barren waste--
Though stayed she is not staid.
The springs spring forth in spring, and shoots
Shoot forward one and all;
Though summer kills the flowers, it leaves
The leaves to fall in fall.
I would a story here commence,
But you might find it stale;
So let's suppose that we have reached
The tail end of our tale."
SPELLING REFORM.
"With tragic air the love-lorn heir
Once chased the chaste Louise;
She quickly guessed her guest was there
To please her with his pleas.
Now at her side he kneeling sighed,
His sighs of woeful size;
'Oh, hear me here, for lo, most low
I rise before your eyes.
'This soul is sole thine own, Louise--
'Twill never wean, I ween,
The love that I for aye shall feel,
Though mean may be its mien!'
'You know I cannot tell you no,'
The maid made answer true;
'I love you aught, as sure I ought--
To you 'tis due I do!'
'Since you are won, Oh fairest one,
The marriage rite is right--
The chapel aisle I'll lead you up
This night,' exclaimed the knight."
--_Yonkers' Gazette, U.S._
OWED TO MY CREDITORS.
"In vain I lament what is past,
And pity their woe-begone looks,
Though they grin at the credit they gave,
I know I am in their best books.
To my _tailor_ my _breaches_ of faith,
On my conscience now but lightly sit,
For such lengths in his _measures_ he's gone,
He has given me many a _fit_.
My bootmaker, finding at _last_
That my _soul_ was too stubborn to suit,
_Waxed_ wroth when he found he had got
Anything but the _length of my foot_.
My hatmaker cunningly _felt_
He'd seen many like me before,
So _brimful_ of insolence, vowed
On credit he'd crown me no more.
My baker was _crusty_ and _burnt_,
When he found himself quite _overdone_
By a _fancy-bred_ chap like myself,--
Ay, as _cross_ as a _Good Friday's bun_.
Next, my laundress, who washed pretty clean,
In behaviour was dirty and bad;
For into hot water she popped
All the shirts and the dickies I had.
Then my butcher, who'd little at _stake_,
Most surlily opened his _chops_,
And swore my affairs out of _joint_,
So on to my carcase he pops.
In my lodgings exceedingly high,
Though low in the rent to be sure,
Without warning my landlady seized,
Took my things and the key of the door.
Thus cruelly used by the world,
In the Bench I can smile at its hate;
For a time I must alter my _style_,
For I cannot get out of the _gate_."
AN ORIGINAL LOVE STORY.
"He struggled to kiss her. She struggled the same
To prevent him, so bold and undaunted;
But, as smitten by lightning, he heard her exclaim,
'Avaunt, sir!' and off he avaunted.
But when he returned, with the fiendishest laugh,
Showing clearly that he was affronted,
And threatened by main force to carry her off,
She cried 'Don't!' and the poor fellow donted.
When he meekly approached, and sat down at her feet,
Praying aloud, as before he had ranted,
That she would forgive him and try to be sweet,
And said, 'Can't you!' the dear girl recanted.
Then softly he whispered, 'How could you do so?
I certainly thought I was jilted;
But come thou with me, to the parson we'll go;
Say, wilt thou, my dear?' and she wilted."
PREVALENT POETRY.
"A wandering tribe, called the Siouxs,
Wear moccasins, having no shiouxs.
They are made of buckskin,
With the fleshy side in,
Embroidered with beads of bright hyiouxs.
When out on the war-path, the Siouxs
March single file--never by tiouxs--
And by 'blazing' the trees
Can return at their ease,
And their way through the forests ne'er liouxs.
All new-fashioned boats he eschiouxs,
And uses the birch-bark caniouxs;
These are handy and light,
And, inverted at night,
Give shelter from storms and from dyiouxs.
The principal food of the Siouxs
Is Indian maize, which they briouxs
And hominy make,
Or mix in a cake,
And eat it with fork, as they chiouxs."
--_Scribner's Magazine._
A TEMPERANCE SERMON.
"If for a stomach ache you tache
Each time some whisky, it will break
You down and meak you sheak and quache,
And you will see a horrid snache.
Much whisky doth your wits beguile,
Your breath defuile, yourself make vuile;
You lose your style, likewise your pyle,
If you erewhyle too often smuile.
But should there be, like now, a drought,
When water and your strength give ought,
None will your good name then malign
If you confign your drink to wign."
--_H. C. Dodge._
"There was a young man in Bordeaux,
He said to himself--'Oh, heaux!
The girls have gone back on me seaux,
What to do I really don't kneaux.'"
_TECHNICAL VERSE._
ANTICIPATORY DIRGE ON PROFESSOR BUCKLAND, THE GEOLOGIST.
BY BISHOP SHUTTLEWORTH.
"Mourn, Ammonites, mourn o'er his funeral urn,
Whose neck ye must grace no more;
Gneiss, Granite, and Slate!--he settled your date,
And his ye must now deplore.
Weep, Caverns, weep! with infiltering drip,
Your recesses he'll cease to explore;
For mineral veins or organic remains
No Stratum again will he bore.
Oh! his wit shone like crystal!--his knowledge profound
From Gravel to Granite descended;
No Trap could deceive him, no Slip could confound,
Nor specimen, true or pretended.
He knew the birth-rock of each pebble so round,
And how far its tour had extended.
His eloquence rolled like the Deluge retiring,
Which Mastodon carcases floated;
To a subject obscure he gave charms so inspiring
Young and old on Geology doated.
He stood forth like an Outlier; his hearers admiring
In pencil each anecdote noted.
Where shall we our great professor inter,
That in peace may rest his bones?
If we hew him a rocky sepulchre,
He'll rise up and break the stones,
And examine each Stratum that lies around,
For he's quite in his element underground.
If with mattock and spade his body we lay
In the common Alluvial soil;
He'll start up and snatch those tools away
Of his own geological toil;
In a Stratum so young the professor disdains
That embedded should be his Organic Remains.
Then, exposed to the drip of some case-hard'ning spring,
His carcase let Stalactite cover;
And to Oxford the petrified sage let us bring,
When he is encrusted all over,
There, mid Mammoths and Crocodiles, high on a shelf,
Let him stand as a Monument raised to himself."
When Professor Buckland's grave was being dug in Islip churchyard, in
August 1856, the men came unexpectedly upon the solid limestone rock,
which they were obliged to blast with gunpowder. The coincidence of this
fact with some of the verses in the above anticipatory dirge is somewhat
remarkable.
The following is by Jacob F. Henrici, and appeared originally in
_Scribner' s Magazine_ for November 1879:
A MICROSCOPIC SERENADE.
"Oh come, my love, and seek with me
A realm by grosser eye unseen,
Where fairy forms will welcome thee,
And dainty creatures hail thee queen.
In silent pools the tube I'll ply,
Where green conferva-threads lie curled,
And proudly bring to thy bright eye
The trophies of the protist world.
We'll rouse the stentor from his lair,
And gaze into the cyclops' eye;
In chara and nitella hair
The protoplasmic stream descry,
For ever weaving to and fro
With faint molecular melody;
And curious rotifers I'll show,
And graceful vorticellidæ.
Where melicertæ ply their craft
We'll watch the playful water-bear,
And no envenomed hydra's shaft
Shall mar our peaceful pleasure there;
But while we whisper love's sweet tale
We'll trace, with sympathetic art,
Within the embryonic snail
The growing rudimental heart.
Where rolls the volvox sphere of green,
And plastids move in Brownian dance--
If, wandering 'mid that gentle scene,
Two fond amoebæ shall perchance
Be changed to one beneath our sight
By process of biocrasis,
We'll recognise, with rare delight,
A type of our prospective bliss.
Oh dearer thou by far to me
In thy sweet maidenly estate
Than any seventy-fifth could be,
Of aperture however great!
Come, go with me, and we will stray
Through realm by grosser eye unseen,
Where protophytes shall homage pay,
And protozoa hail thee queen."
The epitaph following was written by the learned and witty Dr. Charles
Smith, author of the histories of Cork and Waterford. It was read at a
meeting of the Dublin Medico-Philosophical Society on July 1, 1756, and is
a very curious specimen of the "terminology of chemistry:"
"BOYLE GODFREY, CHYMIST AND DOCTOR OF MEDICINE.
EPITAPHIUM CHEMICUM.