["He (Mr. GLADSTONE) has not as yet even secured the spoil,
but the Vultures are already gathered together."--_Mr.
Chamberlain at Birmingham._]
The Vultures, dear JOE? Nay, it needs no apology
To say you are out in your new ornithology.
The Vultures are carrion-birds, be it said;
And the Man and the Cause you detest are _not_ dead!
Much as his decease was desired, he's alive,
And the Cause is no carcase. So, JOE, you must strive
To get nearer the truth. Shall we help you? All fowls
Are not Vultures. For instance, dear JOE, there are Owls,
(Like JESSE) and Ravens much given to croaking,
(in Ulster they're noisy, though some think they're joking),
Then Parrots are plentiful everywhere, JOE,
(They keep on repeating your chatter, you know,
As they did in the days when you railed about ransom;
But Parrots are never wise birds, JOE, though handsome);
Then Geese, Jays, and Daws; yet they're birds of a feather,
And they, my dear JOSEPH, _are_ gathered together,
To hiss, squeal and peck at the Party they'd foil,
But who're like to secure--as you phrase it--"the spoil."
Yes, these be the birds most _en évidence_ now;
And by Jingo, my JOE, they _are_ raising a row.
They're full of cacophonous fuss, and loud spite;
And they don't take their licking as well as they might.
In fact, they're a rather contemptible crew;
And--well, of which species, dear JOSEPH, are _you_?
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE BEWILDERED TOURIST AND THE RIVAL SIRENS.
(_A LONG WAY AFTER TENNYSON'S "THE DESERTED HOUSE_.")
"_June and July have passed away,_
_Like a tide._
_Doors are open, windows wide._
_Why in stuffy London stay?_"
Sing the Sirens (slyboots they!)
With a Tennysonian twang,
To the Tourist,
(Not the poorest
You may bet your bottom dollar,
Which those Sirens aim to "collar."
_Demoiselles_, excuse the slang!)
"All within is dark as night,
In Town's windows is no light,
And no caller at your door,
Swell or beggar, chum or bore!
Close the door, the shutters close,
Or thro' windows folks will see,
The nakedness and vacancy,
Of the dark deserted house!"
"Come away! no more of mirth
Is here, or merry-making sound.
The house is shut, and o'er the earth
Man roves upon the Regular Round
Come away! Life, Love, Trade, Thought,
Here no longer dwell;
Shopkeepers censorious
Sigh, "What swells would buy, they've bought.
They are off! No more we'll sell.
Would they could have stayed with us!"
"Come away!" So Sirens sing--
Sly, seducious, and skittish--
To the Tourist, wealthy, British,
When Society's on the wing,
Or should be, for "Foreign Parts."
British BULL mistrusts their arts.
"Come away!"
(One doth say),
"_Our Emperor is quiet to-day!_"
Cries another,
"Come, my brother,
"_Avalanches down again!_"
Sings a third, with beckoning fingers,
"_Come, come, where the Cholera lingers_."
While a fourth--is it her fun?--
With the wide blue eyes of Hope
(As though advertising Soap),
Shouts, with glee,
"Come with me,
Unto Norroway, o'er the foam,
Far from home,
Wait there to see
Our (invisible) Midnight Sun!"
BULL, the tweed-clad British Tourist,
Muses--"Home seems the securest,
On the whole. Why widely ramble,
Tramp, and climb, and spend, and gamble,
Face infection, dulness, danger,
All the woe that waits "the Stranger,"
And the Tourist (rich) environs,
At the call of foreign Sirens,
When home charmers, bright-eyed, active,
Offer "metal more attractive?"
Four such darlings who'll discover
O'er the seas? Shall I, their lover,
Still discard them for yon minxes,
Harpies with the eyes of "lynxes"?
ALBION dear, and CAMBRIA mild,
CALEDONIA stern and wild,
As your poet said, but pretty;
HIBEBNIA mavourneen, jetty-
Hair'd, and azure-eyed, I greet ye!
Darlings, I am charmed to meet ye.
_Why_ go wandering o'er the foam,
Like a latter-day ULYSSES,
When warm charms and wooing-kisses
Of such Sirens Four wait me at home?"
* * * * *
[Illustration: UNLUCKY COMPLIMENT.
_Shoeblack_ (_wishing to please liberal and important Customer_).
"SHOULDN'T LIKE TO GET A KICK FROM _You_, Sin!" [_Gets one on the
spot._]
* * * * *
"L'HOMME PROPOSE--."
[Gentlemen are now coached "How to Propose."]
[Illustration]
They sat it out upon the stairs,
Those dear old stairs! Ah me; how many
A time they've cost, all unawares,
A pretty penny!
Why they were fools enough to go
To sit on stairs, and miss the fun,
Quite baffles me; but still, you know,
It _has_ been done.
The lights were low--lights often are--
I deem the fact though worth the noting,
And strains of music from afar
Came softly floating.
So whilst she pondered what Mamma
Would think, the band commenced to play
The epidemical "_Ta-ra-_
_ra-boom-de-ay!_"
He gazed into her eyes (of blue),
Sighed once as if it hurt him badly,
Then told her how 'twas but too true
He loved her madly.
With highly creditable skill
He turned the well-worn platitude--
His own unworthiness until
You really could
Not but admire each word, each look.
His speech was quite unrivalled in its
Intensity--in fact it took
At least ten minutes.
A peroration full of flowers,
A moisture in his other eye,
And then a pause--it seemed of hours--
For her reply.
Her answer came. He thought of it,
It haunted him for long years after,
She simply burst into a fit
Of ribald laughter.
And certainly it was absurd,
She laughed till she could laugh no more;
She'd heard the same thing, to a word,
The day before.
Two tyros in the Art of Love,
Each ARABELLA's ardent suitor,
Unluckily were pupils of
The self-same tutor!
So, should you fail to understand
A maiden's answer, this may show
Why sometimes Man proposes and
The Girl says "No!"
* * * * *
SKIRTS AND FIGURES.--M. JACOBI, of the Alhambra, has composed a
"Skirt-dance," which has recently appeared in the _Figaro_. That the
skirts for which the Composer has written are brand-new, and require
no mending, is evident from the fact that, from first to last, there
is no "Skirt-sew"--in Italian, _Scherzo_--movement.
* * * * *