"We could not have been prouder of him had he been one of
us."--_Times_.
Bard of two worlds, and friend of both,
As ripe in years as culture, verily
To miss that voice two worlds are loth,
In which much wisdom spake so merrily.
A voice, and no mere echo, thine,
Of many tones, but manly ever.
Thy rustic _Biglow's_ rugged line
A grateful world neglecteth never!
It smote hypocrisy and cant
With flail-like force; sleek bards that ripple
Like shallow pools--who pose and pant,
And vaguely smudge or softly stipple,--
These have not brain or heart to sing
As _Biglow_ sang, our quaint _Hosea_,
Whose "Sunthin in the Pastoral line,"
Full primed with picture and idea,
Lives, with "The Courtin'," unforgot,
And worth whole volumes of sham-Shen-stone.
Yes, you could catch, as prigs may not,
Pure women's speech and valiant men's tone.
_Zekle_ and _Huldy_ in our hearts
Have found a place. But a true Poet,
Like SHAKSPEARE's Man, plays many parts.
You chid us sharply, well we know it,
For you'd the gift of Satire strong,
And knew just how to lay the lash on.
You smote what you thought British wrong,
Well, _that_ won't put us in a passion.
"I _ken_ write long-tailed if I please,"
You said. And truly, polished writer,
More like "a gentleman at ease,"
Never touched quill than this shrewd smiter.
Your "moral breath of temperament"
Found scope in scholarly urbanity;
And wheresoever LOWELL went
Sounded the voice of Sense and Sanity.
We loved you, and we loved your wit.
Thinking of you, uncramped, uncranky;
Our hearts, ere we're aware of it,
"Run helter-skelter into Yankee."
"For puttin' in a downright lick
'Twixt Humbug's eyes, there's few to metch it."
Faith, how _you_ used it; ever quick
Where'er Truth dwelt, to dive and fetch it.
Vernacular or cultured verse,
The scholar's speech, the ploughman's patter
You'd use, but still in each were terse,
As clear in point as full in matter.
You'd not disdain "the trivial flute,"
The rustic Pan-pipe you would finger,
Yet could you touch "Apollo's lute"
To tones on which Love's ear would linger.
Farewell, farewell! Two countries loved,
Two countries mourn you. None will quarrel
With English hands, which, unreproved,
Lay on your bier an English Laurel!
* * * * *
AN OLD SCHOOL BUOY.--Under the heading of "Church and Schools," the
_St. James's Gazette_ gave an interesting illustration of "public
spirit in schools." It recounted how "An Old Bedford Boy"--no relation
to ROBERT, the Waiter, we believe--in the course of returning thanks,
said, "I have bathed in all the great rivers of the world." Then he
added, "the water of the sluggish Ouse is the sweetest of them all."
Oddly enough his name was "ZINCKE," though evidently he must be a
first-rate "Zwimmer." With genuine love for his old school, he might
have added that he wished he was a Buoy again. But he seems to have
got on swimmingly everywhere.
* * * * *
"HELPS" AND WHELPS.
The following advertisement appeared some little time since in
the columns of a daily contemporary:--
To those who have not time to give their dogs sufficient
exercise in London.--A Lady, experienced, would EXERCISE DOGS
in the Park. Terms, one hour daily, 5s. a week; two hours, 7s.
6d.--Address, &c.
[Illustration]
Listen to this, _Rover_, my hound!
This passes expectation!
A "Lady Guide," who'll trot you round
For scant remuneration!
When pain and anguish wring my brow
Because I'm doomed to hark
To your "Why-not-go-out?" bow-wow,
_She_'ll take you to the Park!
Cometh this ministering sprite,
Smiling upon us meekly,
And says, "I'll make your burden light
For seven-and-sixpence weekly."
They talk of "woman's sphere," when sole,
Her hemisphere, when mated;
But surely here she's reached the goal
For which she was created!
She'll _chaperon_ you down the Row,
With silken cord she'll lead
Your footsteps where the flowerets blow,--
A "lucky dog," indeed!
She'll win your love by bits of cake,
She'll let you bark, or growl,
And fight with other dogs, and make
War on the water-fowl.
Yet is it right your wayward tramp
Her maiden steps should hamper?
No one who knows you for a scamp
Would take you for a scamper!
And oh!--a thought most base and black,
That puts me in a fluster--
My _Rover, would she bring you back?_
No, no, I will not trust her!
The offer tempts--(again that bark!)--
But no--'tis weak to falter;
The chain that leads _you_ to the Park
May lead _me_ to the Altar!
* * * * *
FROM A VERY OCCASIONAL CORRESPONDENT.--"At Craig-y-nos we've been
keeping up quite Craig-y-noces. High jinks up here. Craig-y-nos means
the 'Rock of the Night,' but, mind you, no rock has been required by
any of us when we did go to bed, even though we had real Welsh rabbits
for supper. Madame PATTI, who takes the Patti-cake here, is far too
wiry ever to be a _Patti de foie gras_. Delicious air here, as any air
must be in which PATTI has a voice.--Yours truly,
"THE APPIEST OF THE AP JONESES."
* * * * *
[Illustration: GRANDOLPH HAVING STUDIED THE PRÆTORIAN PARLIAMENT, IS
OF OPINION THAT THE PROCEEDINGS IN THE COMMONS MIGHT BE CONSIDERABLY
IMPROVED DURING THE SUMMER MONTHS, AND SENDS MR. PUNCH THIS OUTLINE OF
HIS SUGGESTIONS.]
* * * * *