He up and said to Emmie (who had impudence for six),
"MISS EMILY, I love you--will you marry? Say the word!"
And EMILY said, "Certainly, ALPHONSO, like a bird!"
[Illustration]
I do not recommend a newly-married pair to try
To carry on as PETER carried on with SARAH BLIGH,
But still their shy behaviour was more laudable in them
Than that of PETER'S brother with MISS SARAH'S sister EM.
[Illustration]
A NIGHTMARE
When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is
taboo'd by anxiety,
I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in without
impropriety;
For your brain is on fire--the bedclothes conspire of usual slumber
to plunder you:
First your counterpane goes and uncovers your toes, and your sheet
slips demurely from under you;
Then the blanketing tickles--you feel like mixed pickles, so
terribly sharp is the pricking,
And you're hot, and you're cross, and you tumble and toss till
there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking.
Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick
'em all up in a tangle;
Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its
usual angle!
Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eyeballs
and head ever aching,
But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you'd very
much better be waking;
For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a
steamer from Harwich,
Which is something between a large bathing-machine and a very small
second-class carriage;
And you're giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of
friends and relations--
They're a ravenous horde--and they all came on board at Sloane
Square and South Kensington Stations.
And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that
morning from Devon);
He's a bit undersized, and you don't feel surprised when he tells
you he's only eleven.
Well, you're driving like mad with this singular lad (by the bye the
ship's now a four-wheeler),
And you're playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you
tell him that "ties pay the dealer";
But this you can't stand, so you throw up your hand, and you find
you're as cold as an icicle,
In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks),
crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle:
And he and the crew are on bicycles too--which they've somehow or
other invested in--
And he's telling the tars all the particu_lars_ of a company he's
interested in--
It's a scheme of devices to get at low prices all goods from cough
mixtures to cables
(Which tickled the sailors) by treating retailers as though they
were all vege_ta_bles--
You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take off
his boots with a boot-tree),
And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and they'll
blossom and bud like a fruit-tree--
From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea, cauliflower,
pineapple, and cranberries,
While the pastry-cook plant cherry-brandy will grant--apple puffs,
and three-corners, and banberries--
The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by ROTHSCHILD AND
BARING,
And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder
despairing--
You're a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no wonder you
snore, for your head's on the floor, and you've needles and pins
from your soles to your shins, and your flesh is a-creep, for
your left leg's asleep, and you've cramp in your toes, and a fly
on your nose, and some fluff in your lung, and a feverish
tongue, and a thirst that's intense, and a general sense that
you haven't been sleeping in clover;
But the darkness has passed, and it's daylight at last, and the
night has been long--ditto, ditto my song--and thank goodness
they're both of them over!
[Illustration]
THE MARTINET
Some time ago, in simple verse,
I sang the story true
Of CAPTAIN REECE, _The Mantelpiece_,
And all her happy crew.
I showed how any captain may
Attach his men to him,
If he but heeds their smallest needs,
And studies every whim.
Now mark how, by Draconic rule
And _hauteur_ ill-advised,
The noblest crew upon the blue
May be demoralised.
When his ungrateful country placed
Kind REECE upon half-pay,
Without much claim SIR BERKELY came,
And took command one day.
SIR BERKELY was a martinet--
A stern unyielding soul--
Who ruled his ship by dint of whip
And horrible black-hole.
[Illustration]
A sailor who was overcome
From having freely dined,
And chanced to reel when at the wheel,
He instantly confined!
And tars who, when an action raged,
Appeared alarmed or scared,
And those below who wished to go,
He very seldom spared.
E'en he who smote his officer
For punishment was booked,
And mutinies upon the seas
He rarely overlooked.
In short, the happy _Mantelpiece_
Where all had gone so well,
Beneath that fool SIR BERKELY'S rule
Became a floating hell.
When first SIR BERKELY came aboard
He read a speech to all,
And told them how he'd made a vow
To act on duty's call.
Then WILLIAM LEE, he up and said
(The captain's coxswain he):
"We've heard the speech your honour's made,
And werry pleased we be.
"We won't pretend, my lad, as how
We're glad to lose our REECE;
Urbane, polite, he suited quite
The saucy _Mantelpiece_.
"But if your honour gives your mind
To study all our ways,
With dance and song we'll jog along
As in those happy days.
"I like your honour's looks, and feel
You're worthy of your sword.
Your hand, my lad--I'm doosid glad
To welcome you aboard!"
[Illustration]
SIR BERKELY looked amazed, as though
He did not understand.
"Don't shake your head," good WILLIAM said,
"It is an honest hand.
"It's grasped a better hand than yourn--
Come, gov'nor, I insist!"
The Captain stared--the coxswain glared--
The hand became a fist!
"Down, upstart!" said the hardy salt;
But BERKELY dodged his aim,
And made him go in chains below:
The seamen murmured "Shame!"
He stopped all songs at 12 P.M.,
Stopped hornpipes when at sea,
And swore his cot (or bunk) should not
Be used by aught than he.
[Illustration]
He never joined their daily mess,
Nor asked them to his own,
But chaffed in gay and social way
The officers alone.
His First Lieutenant, PETER, was
As useless as could be,
A helpless stick, and always sick
When there was any sea.
This First Lieutenant proved to be
His foster-sister MAY,
Who went to sea for love of he,
In masculine array.
And when he learnt the curious fact
Did he emotion show,
Or dry her tears, or end her fears
By marrying her? No!
[Illustration]
Or did he even try to soothe
This maiden in her teens?
Oh no!--instead he made her wed
The Sergeant of Marines!
Of course such Spartan discipline
Would make an angel fret.
They drew a lot, and straightway shot
This fearful martinet.
The Admiralty saw how ill
They'd treated CAPTAIN REECE;
He was restored once more aboard
The saucy _Mantelpiece_.
[Illustration]
DON'T FORGET!
Now, Marco, dear,
My wishes hear:
While you're away
It's understood
You will be good,
And not too gay.
To every trace
Of maiden grace
You will be blind.
And will not glance
By any chance
On womankind!
If you are wise,
You'll shut your eyes
Till we arrive,
And not address
A lady less
Than forty-five;
You'll please to frown
On every gown
That you may see;
And O, my pet,
You won't forget
You've married me!
O, my darling, O, my pet,
Whatever else you may forget,
In yonder isle beyond the sea,
O, don't forget you've married me!
You'll lay your head
Upon your bed
At set of sun.
You will not sing
Of anything
To any one:
You'll sit and mope
All day, I hope,
And shed a tear
Upon the life
Your little wife
Is passing here!
And if so be
You think of me,
Please tell the moon;
I'll read it all
In rays that fall
On the lagoon:
You'll be so kind
As tell the wind
How you may be,
And send me words
By little birds
To comfort me!
And O, my darling, O, my pet,
Whatever else you may forget,
In yonder isle beyond the sea,
O, don't forget you've married me!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE SAILOR BOY TO HIS LASS
I go away, this blessed day,
To sail across the sea, MATILDA!
My vessel sails for various parts
At twenty after three, MATILDA;
I hardly know where we may go,
Or if it's near or far, MATILDA,
For CAPTAIN HYDE does not confide
In any 'fore-mast tar, MATILDA!
Beneath my ban that mystic man
Shall suffer, _coûte que coûte_, MATILDA!
What right has he to keep from me
The Admiralty route, MATILDA?
Because, forsooth! I am a youth
Of common sailors' lot, MATILDA!
Am I a man on human plan
Designed, or am I not, MATILDA?
But there, my lass, we'll let that pass!
With anxious love I burn, MATILDA.
I want to know if we shall go
To church when I return, MATILDA?
Your eyes are red, you bow your head;
It's pretty clear you thirst, MATILDA,
To name the day--What's that you say?--
"You'll see me further first," MATILDA?
I can't mistake the signs you make,
Although you barely speak, MATILDA;
Though pure and young, you thrust your tongue
Right in your pretty cheek, MATILDA!
My dear, I fear I hear you sneer--
I do--I'm sure I do, MATILDA--
With simple grace you make a face,
Ejaculating, "Ugh!" MATILDA.
Oh, pause to think before you drink
The dregs of Lethe's cup, MATILDA!
Remember, do, what I've gone through,
Before you give me up, MATILDA!
Recall again the mental pain
Of what I've had to do, MATILDA!
And be assured that I've endured
It, all along of you, MATILDA!
Do you forget, my blithesome pet,
How once with jealous rage, MATILDA,
I watched you walk and gaily talk
With some one thrice your age, MATILDA?
You squatted free upon his knee,
A sight that made me sad, MATILDA?
You pinched his cheek with friendly tweak,
Which almost drove me mad, MATILDA!
[Illustration]
I knew him not, but thought to spot
Some man you wished to wed, MATILDA!
I took a gun, my darling one,
And shot him through the head, MATILDA!
I'm made of stuff that's rough and gruff
Enough, I own; but, ah, MATILDA!
It _did_ annoy your poor old boy
To find it was your pa, MATILDA!
I've passed a life of toil and strife,
And disappointments deep, MATILDA;
I've lain awake with dental ache
Until I fell asleep, MATILDA;
At times again I've missed a train,
Or p'raps run short of tin, MATILDA,
And worn a boot on corns that shoot,
Or, shaving, cut my chin, MATILDA!
But, oh! no trains--no dental pains--
Believe me when I say, MATILDA,
No corns that shoot--no pinching boot
Upon a summer day, MATILDA--
It's my belief, could cause such grief
As that I've suffered for, MATILDA,
My having shot in vital spot
Your old progenitor, MATILDA!
Bethink you how I've kept the vow
I made one winter day, MATILDA--
That, come what could, I never would
Remain too long away, MATILDA.
And, oh! the crimes with which, at times,
I've charged my gentle mind, MATILDA,
To keep the vow I made--and now
You treat me so unkind, MATILDA!
For when at sea off Caribbee,
I felt my passion burn, MATILDA;
By impulse egged, I went and begged
The captain to return, MATILDA;
And when, my pet, I couldn't get
That captain to agree, MATILDA,
Right through a sort of open port
I pitched him in the sea, MATILDA!
[Illustration]
Remember, too, how all the crew,
With indignation blind, MATILDA,
Distinctly swore they ne'er before
Had thought me so unkind, MATILDA;
And how they'd shun me one by one--
An unforgiving group, MATILDA--
I stopped their howls and sulky scowls
By pizening their soup, MATILDA!
So pause to think, before you drink
The dregs of Lethe's cup, MATILDA;
Remember, do, what I've gone through,
Before you give me up, MATILDA.
Recall again the mental pain
Of what I've had to do, MATILDA,
And be assured that I've endured
It, all along of you, MATILDA!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE
On a tree by a river a little tomtit
Sang "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
And I said to him, "Dicky-bird, why do you sit
Singing 'Willow, titwillow, titwillow'?
Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?" I cried,
"Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?"
With a shake of his poor little head he replied,
"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
He slapped at his chest, as he sat on that bough,
Singing "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
And a cold perspiration bespangled his brow,
Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!
He sobbed and he sighed, and a gurgle he gave,
Then he threw himself into the billowy wave,
And an echo arose from the suicide's grave--
"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
Now I feel just as sure as I'm sure that my name
Isn't Willow, titwillow, titwillow,
That 'twas blighted affection that made him exclaim,
"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
And if you remain callous and obdurate, I
Shall perish as he did, and you will know why,
Though I probably shall not exclaim as I die,
"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE REVEREND SIMON MAGUS
A rich advowson, highly prized,
For private sale was advertised;
And many a parson made a bid;
The REVEREND SIMON MAGUS did.
He sought the agent's: "Agent, I
Have come prepared at once to buy
(If your demand is not too big)
The Cure of Otium-cum-Digge."
"Ah!" said the agent, "_there's_ a berth--
The snuggest vicarage on earth;
No sort of duty (so I hear),
And fifteen hundred pounds a year!
"If on the price we should agree,
The living soon will vacant be:
The good incumbent's ninety-five,
And cannot very long survive.
"See--here's his photograph--you see,
He's in his dotage." "Ah, dear me!
Poor soul!" said Simon. "His decease
Would be a merciful release!"
The agent laughed--the agent blinked--
The agent blew his nose and winked
And poked the parson's ribs in play--
It was that agent's vulgar way.
The REVEREND SIMON frowned: "I grieve
This light demeanour to perceive;
It's scarcely _comme il faut_, I think:
Now--pray oblige me--do not wink.
"Don't dig my waistcoat into holes--
Your mission is to sell the souls
Of human sheep and human kids
To that divine who highest bids.
"Do well in this, and on your head
Unnumbered honours will be shed."
The agent said, "Well, truth to tell,
I _have_ been doing pretty well."
"You should," said SIMON, "at your age;
But now about the parsonage.
How many rooms does it contain?
Show me the photograph again.
"A poor apostle's humble house
Must not be too luxurious;
No stately halls with oaken floor--
It should be decent and no more.
"No billiard-rooms--no stately trees--
No croquet-grounds or pineries."
"Ah!" sighed the agent, "very true:
This property won't do for you.
"All these about the house you'll find"--
"Well," said the parson, "never mind;
I'll manage to submit to these
Luxurious superfluities.
"A clergyman who does not shirk
The various calls of Christian work,
Will have no leisure to employ
These 'common forms' of worldly joy.
"To preach three times on Sabbath days--
To wean the lost from wicked ways--
The sick to soothe--the sane to wed--
The poor to feed with meat and bread;
"These are the various wholesome ways
In which I'll spend my nights and days:
My zeal will have no time to cool
At croquet, archery, or pool."
The agent said, "From what I hear,
This living will not suit, I fear--
There are no poor, no sick at all;
For services there is no call."
[Illustration]
The reverend gent looked grave. "Dear me!
Then there is _no_ 'society'?--
I mean, of course, no sinners there
Whose souls will be my special care?"
The cunning agent shook his head,
"No, none--except"--(the agent said)--
"The DUKE OF A., the EARL OF B.,
The MARQUIS C., and VISCOUNT D.
"But you will not be quite alone,
For, though they've chaplains of their own,
Of course this noble well-bred clan
Receive the parish clergyman."
"Oh, silence, sir!" said SIMON M.,
"Dukes--earls! What should I care for them?
These worldly ranks I scorn and flout!"
"Of course," the agent said, "no doubt."
"Yet I might show these men of birth
The hollowness of rank on earth."
The agent answered, "Very true--
But I should not, if I were you."
"Who sells this rich advowson, pray?"
The agent winked--it was his way--
"His name is HART; 'twixt me and you,
He is, I'm griev'd to say, a Jew!"
"A Jew?" said SIMON, "happy find!
I purchase this advowson, mind.
My life shall be devoted to
Converting that unhappy Jew!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
HE AND SHE
HE. I know a youth who loves a little maid--
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Silent is he, for he's modest and afraid--
(Hey, but he's timid as a youth can be!)
SHE. I know a maid who loves a gallant youth--
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
_She_ cannot tell him all the sad, sad truth--
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
BOTH. Now tell me pray, and tell me true,
What in the world should the poor soul do?
HE. He cannot eat and he cannot sleep--
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Daily he goes for to wail--for to weep--
(Hey, but he's wretched as a youth can be!)
SHE. She's very thin and she's very pale--
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
Daily she goes for to weep--for to wail--
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
BOTH. Now tell me pray, and tell me true,
What in the world should the poor soul do?
SHE. If I were the youth I should offer her my name--
(Hey, but her face is a sight for to see!)
HE. If I were the maid I should fan his honest flame--
(Hey, but he's bashful as a youth can be!)
SHE. If I were the youth I should speak to her to-day--
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
HE. If I were the maid I should meet the lad half way--
(For I really do believe that timid youth will die!)
BOTH. I thank you much for your counsel true;
I've learnt what that poor soul ought to do!
[Illustration]
DAMON _v._ PYTHIAS
Two better friends you wouldn't pass
Throughout a summer's day,
Than DAMON and his PYTHIAS,--
Two merchant princes they.
At school together they contrived
All sorts of boyish larks;
And, later on, together thrived
As merry merchants' clerks.
And then, when many years had flown,
They rose together till
They bought a business of their own--
And they conduct it still.
They loved each other all their lives,
Dissent they never knew,
And, stranger still, their very wives
Were rather friendly too.
Perhaps you think, to serve my ends,
These statements I refute,
When I admit that these dear friends
Were parties to a suit?
But 'twas a friendly action, for
Good PYTHIAS, as you see,
Fought merely as executor,
And DAMON as trustee.
They laughed to think, as through the throng
Of suitors sad they passed,
That they, who'd lived and loved so long,
Should go to law at last.
The junior briefs they kindly let
Two sucking counsel hold;
These learned persons never yet
Had fingered suitors' gold.
[Illustration]
But though the happy suitors two
Were friendly as could be,
Not so the junior counsel who
Were earning maiden fee.
They too, till then, were friends. At school
They'd done each other's sums,
And under Oxford's gentle rule
Had been the closest chums.
But now they met with scowl and grin
In every public place,
And often snapped their fingers in
Each other's learned face.
It almost ended in a fight
When they on path or stair
Met face to face. They made it quite
A personal affair.
And when at length the case was called
(It came on rather late),
Spectators really were appalled
To see their deadly hate.
One junior rose--with eyeballs tense,
And swollen frontal veins:
To all his powers of eloquence
He gave the fullest reins.
His argument was novel--for
A verdict he relied
On blackening the junior
Upon the other side.
"Oh," said the Judge, in robe and fur,
"The matter in dispute
To arbitration pray refer--
This is a friendly suit."
And PYTHIAS, in merry mood,
Digged DAMON in the side;
And DAMON, tickled with the feud,
With other digs replied.
But oh! those deadly counsel twain,
Who were such friends before,
Were never reconciled again----
They quarrelled more and more.
At length it happened that they met
On Alpine heights one day,
And thus they paid each one his debt,
Their fury had its way--
They seized each other in a trice,
With scorn and hatred filled,
And, falling from a precipice,
They, both of them, were killed.
[Illustration]
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!
[Illustration]
MY DREAM
The other night, from cares exempt,
I slept--and what d'you think I dreamt?
I dreamt that somehow I had come
To dwell in Topsy-Turveydom!--
Where vice is virtue--virtue, vice:
Where nice is nasty--nasty, nice:
Where right is wrong and wrong is right--
Where white is black and black is white.
Where babies, much to their surprise,
Are born astonishingly wise;
With every Science on their lips,
And Art at all their finger-tips.
For, as their nurses dandle them,
They crow binomial theorem,
With views (it seems absurd to us)
On differential calculus.
But though a babe, as I have said,
Is born with learning in his head,
He must forget it, if he can,
Before he calls himself a man.
For that which we call folly here,
Is wisdom in that favoured sphere;
The wisdom we so highly prize
Is blatant folly in their eyes.
A boy, if he would push his way,
Must learn some nonsense every day;
And cut, to carry out this view,
His wisdom teeth and wisdom too.
Historians burn their midnight oils,
Intent on giant-killers' toils;
And sages close their aged eyes
To other sages' lullabies.
_Our_ magistrates, in duty bound,
Commit all robbers who are found;
But there the beaks (so people said)
Commit all robberies instead.
_Our_ judges, pure and wise in tone,
Know crime from theory alone.
And glean the motives of a thief
From books and popular belief.
But there, a judge who wants to prime
His mind with true ideas of crime,
Derives them from the common sense
Of practical experience.
[Illustration]
Policemen march all folks away
Who practise virtue every day--
Of course, I mean to say, you know,
What we call virtue here below.
For only scoundrels dare to do
What we consider just and true,
And only good men do, in fact,
What we should think a dirty act.
But strangest of these social twirls,
The girls are boys--the boys are girls!
The men are women, too--but then
_Per contra_, women all are men.
To one who to tradition clings
This seems an awkward state of things,
But if to think it out you try,
It doesn't really signify.
[Illustration]
With them, as surely as can be,
A sailor should be sick at sea,
And not a passenger may sail
Who cannot smoke right through a gale.
A soldier (save by rarest luck)
Is always shot for showing pluck--
That is, if others can be found
With pluck enough to fire a round.
"How strange," I said to one I saw,
"You quite upset our every law.
However can you get along
So systematically wrong?"
[Illustration]
"Dear me," my mad informant said,
"Have you no eyes within your head?
You sneer when you your hat should doff:
Why, we begin where you leave off!
"Your wisest men are very far
Less learned than our babies are!"
I mused awhile--and then, oh me!
I framed this brilliant repartee:
"Although your babes are wiser far
Than our most valued sages are,
Your sages, with their toys and cots,
Are duller than our idiots!"
But this remark, I grieve to state,
Came just a little bit too late;
For as I framed it in my head,
I woke and found myself in bed.
Still I could wish that, 'stead of here,
My lot were in that favoured sphere!--
Where greatest fools bear off the bell
I ought to do extremely well.
[Illustration]
A MIRAGE
Were I thy bride,
Then the whole world beside
Were not too wide
To hold my wealth of love--
Were I thy bride!
Upon thy breast
My loving head would rest,
As on her nest
The tender turtle-dove--
Were I thy bride!
This heart of mine
Would be one heart with thine,
And in that shrine
Our happiness would dwell--
Were I thy bride!
And all day long
Our lives should be a song:
No grief, no wrong
Should make my heart rebel--
Were I thy bride!
The silvery flute,
The melancholy lute,
Were night-owl's hoot
To my low-whispered coo--
Were I thy bride!
The skylark's trill
Were but discordance shrill
To the soft thrill
Of wooing as I'd woo--
Were I thy bride!