(_To the Air of the Harrow Song, "Fairies."_)
When in the Springtime cold and bleak,
In spite of wind and weather,
The Blues and Buffs, the strong and weak
Throng out of school together;
Off to their homes alert and gay
From long sederunts risen,
Majors and minors rush to play,
Live lags let loose from prison.
There you behold "Big BILL," the bold!
Hear how his heart rejoices--
"Ho ho! ha ha! Tra-la-la-la!"--
Booms his most bass of voices.
He cocks a snook at slate and book.
He's had his work _this_ term, boys,
But has contrived, by hook or crook,
To keep his footing firm, boys.
He's had to fight, like DIBDIN'S tar,
'Gainst many a would-be boarder.
It needed wit as well as war
To keep the school in order.
But he has shown both wit and grit,
And patience linked about it.
"Ho ho! ha ha! Tra-la-la-la!"--
Young ARTY hears him shout it.
ARTY had hoped he could have coped
With BILL, and licked him hollow;
That JACK had kicked, and SANDY moped,
And PAT refused to follow.
But BILL has proved a dodgy one,
As well as a hard hitter;
And that has somewhat marred the fun,
And disappointment's bitter.
What wonder then BILL'S Tra-la-la
Sets ARTY shouting shrilly,
"Boohoo and pah! Yah-boo-yah-bah!
You wait a bit, Big BILLY!
"With spur and rein, whip-stroke and strain,
Jehu _plus_ artful jockey,
You've kept your team in tow again,
And you look blessed cocky.
Wait till the way shows sludge and clay,
And you the pace would quicken!
Over you'll roll long ere the goal,
And _then_ the fun will thicken!"--
BILL cocks his chins, and skips and grins
Like any Jumping-Jingle.
His loud Ha, ha! Tra-la-la-la!
Sets ARTY'S blood a-tingle.
"Bah! You've done fairly well this half:
Think you'll survive another
As the school's 'Cock,' you great fat calf?
Look out for my Big Brother!
When _he_ gets hold of you,--my eye!--
You won't look quite so jolly.
Think you've licked me! Wait till you try
A round or two with SOLLY!
He's waiting for a turn at you!
_You_ think you're a smart smiter?
'Tra-la-la-la'? Yah! bully! yah!
_He_'ll show you who's cock fighter!"
* * * * *
To Tara, My (Un-)Fair Neighbour.
(_"Moore"--where this comes from._)
"The harp that once through TARA'S walls"
Poor me disturbed in bed,
Is nightly twang'd to feline squalls
That wrack my aching head.
I sleep not as in former days,
Her voice cries "Sleep no more!"
Ah, would she hadn't got this craze,
And did not live next door!
* * * * *
A NEW LITERARY VENTURE.--In distinct opposition to the "Key-note
series" will be started a "Wed-lock-and-Key note series."
* * * * *
"PRIDE AND PREJUDICE."
["Canada, unlike the mother-country, has the sense to be proud
of its minor poets."--_Mr. Le Gallienne in "The Realm."_]
Really this bitter and bold accusation of
Conduct so culpable cannot be borne;
Are we indeed but a barbarous nation of
Philistines treating our poets with scorn?
Are we contemptuous, then, in reality,
Of the effusions our lyricists write--
Singing sweet songs of the Modern Morality,
Praising each other from morning to night?
Modesty, clearly, is somehow availing to
Burke them of glory which should be their own,
Modesty, morbid, excessive--a failing to
Which, it's notorious, poets are prone.
Only, he tells us, in Canada's latitude
Honour to singers is duly allowed:
Nay, how can Britons be backward in gratitude,
Having LE GALLIENNE, are they not proud?
Yes, when we Englishmen boast of our national
Glories and deeds, though the scoffers deride,
This is the greatest and really most rational
Source of supreme and legitimate pride--
Not in the struggles or deeds of iniquity
Wrought by our sires in desperate fray,
Still less in SHAKSPEARE, or bards of antiquity,
But in the poets amongst us to-day!
Might we suggest, though, if, in the opinion of
Mr. LE GALLIENNE, England's to blame,
He and his comrades should seek the Dominion of
Canada, where they'll be certain of fame?
* * * * *
[Illustration: NOT DONE YET.
MASTER ARTY B-LF-R (_to_ MASTER BILL H-RC-T). "HA! YOU'VE BEEN PRETTY
COCKY THIS HALF, BUT WAIT TILL 'MY BIG BROTHER' GETS HOLD OF YER!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: SO VERY CONSIDERATE.
_Stout Coster._ "WHERE ARE YER GOIN' TO, BILL?"
_Bill._ "INTER THE COUNTRY FOR A NICE DRIVE, BEIN' BANK 'OLIDY."
_Stout Coster._ "SAME 'ERE. I SY! DON'T YER THINK WE MIGHT SWOP
MISSESES JUST FOR A FEW HOURS? IT WOULD BE SO MUCH KINDER TO THE
HANIMILE!"]
* * * * *