(_By a Fogey._)
I would I were a boy!
Not for the tarts we once were fain to eat,
The penny ice, the jumble sticky-sweet,
The tip's deciduous joy--
Not; for the keen delight
Of break-neck 'scapes, the charm of getting wet,
The joy of battle (strongest when you get
Two other chaps to fight).
No! times have changed since then.
The social whirlpool has engulfed the boys;
Robb'd of their simple, hardy, rowdy joys,
They start from scratch as men.
The winners in the race!
Secure of worship, each his triumphs tells,
Weighing with faintly-praising syllables
The fairest form and face.
Once, in the mazy crush,
Ingenuous youth, half timid, and half proud,
By girlhood's pity had its claims allow'd,
And worshipp'd with a blush.
Time was when tender years
Would hug sweet sorrow to the heart, and blur
The cross-barr'd bliss of the confectioner
With crushed affection's tears.
That humbleness is sped,
The vivid blazon of self-conscious youth,
The unwilling witness to whole-hearted truth,
Ne'er troubles boyhood's head.
Now with a solemn pride,
Lord of the future's limitless expanse,
The Stoic stripling tolerates the dance
Weary, yet dignified.
Propping the mirror'd wall,
No joy of motion, no desire to please,
Thaws those high-collar'd Caryatides,
Inane, imperial.
Girls, with their collars too,
Their mannish maskings, and their unveil'd eyes,
Would feel, if girls can be surprised, surprise
Should courteous worship woo.
From their exalted place
The boys their favours dole, as seems them well,
Woman's calm tyrants, showing, truth to tell,
More tolerance than grace.
* * * * *
DOUBLE RIDDLE.--Why is a whist-player, fast asleep after his fifth
game, like one of the latest-patented cabs? Because he can be briefly
alluded to as "Rubber Tires." (_Riddle adaptable also to exhausted
manipulator in Turkish Bath after a hard day's work._)
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE MONEY-BOXING KANGAROO.
(_Knocked-Out--for the Time!_)]
Pity the sorrows of a poor "Old Man,"
Whose pouch is emptied of its golden store;
Whose girth seems dwindling to its shortest span,
Who needs relief, and needs it more and more.
_Punch's_ appeal for the marsupial martyr
Is based upon an ancient nursery model;
But he will find that he has caught a Tartar,
Who hints that _Punch_ is talking heartless twaddle.
Knocked out this round, and verily no wonder!
The Money-boxing Kangaroo is plucky:
But when a chance-blow smites the jaw like thunder,
A champion may succumb to fluke unlucky.
The Australian Cricketers in their first game
Went down; but BLACKHAM'S bhoys high hopes still foster;
Duffers who think 'twill always be the same,
Reckoned without their GIFFEN! Just ask GLO'STER!
So our pouched pugilist, though his chance _looks_ poor,
Will come up smiling soon, surviving failure;
And an admiring ring will shout once more,
(_Pardon the Cockney rhyme!_) "Advance, Australia!!!"
* * * * *
THE ARMS (AND LEGS) OF THE ISLE OF MAN.--At a discussion on
Sunday-trading, one day last month, there was an attempt made to raise
a question as to breach of privilege. The Speaker, however, stopped
this at the outset, advising them that they "hadn't a leg to stand
upon." Very little advantage in having three legs on such an occasion.
The odd part of these Manx-men's legs is that they are their arms.
It was originally selected as pictorially exhibiting the innocent
character of the Manx Islanders. For their greatest enemy must own
that "the strange device" of the three legs is utterly 'armless.
* * * * *