(_By a Sympathetic, but Superficial Observer._)
Oh! the hardest of hearts some compassion must feel
For that modern Ixion, the Man on the Wheel!
See him scouring the roads on his spindly-spoked spider,
Dust-hid till you scarce tell the "bike" from its rider;
His abdomen shrunken, his shoulders up-humped,
With the gaping parched lips of one awfully pumped.
_Could_ a camel condemned to the treadmill look worse?
Sure those lips, could he close them, would shape to a curse
On his horrible doom! As I gaze and stand by,
With a pang at my heart, and a tear in my eye,
I think of Ixion, the Wandering Jew,
That Cork-leggèd Dutchman--the Flying One, too,
And other poor victims of pitiless speed;
And I own, while _their_ cases were frightful indeed,
The Bicyclist's fate is the worser by far.
Poor soul!!! The small "pub," and a "pull" at the "bar,"
Appear your best comfort. Imagine the cheer
Of a slave of the "bike" whose sole solace is beer!
You can't see the prospect; your eyes are cast down
Like BUNYAN'S _Muck-raker_; your brows in a frown
Of purposeless effort are woefully knit;
Of Nature's best charms you perceive not a bit.
The hedge your horizon, the long, dusty road
Is your sole point of sight. Wretched victim, what goad
Of Fate, or sheer folly, thus urges you on?
Old torments--like poor Io's gadfly--are gone,
And yet, like Orestes, the Fury-whipped, you
Wheel on, as some comet wheels on through the blue
In billion-leagued cycles less dreary than is
The cycle on which round the wide world you whiz!
Eh? _Cutting a record?_ You _like_ it? The goose!!!
A task without pleasure, a toil without use!
Poor soul! You are worse than Ixion, I feel,
For _he_ was not tied _by himself_ to the wheel!
* * * * *
[Illustration: CONJUGAL EGOTISM.
"WHAT A STUPID PAPER THIS IS, ROBERT! NOT A WORD ABOUT _YOU_ IN IT!"]
* * * * *
The Plaint of the Unwilling Peer.
From my M.P.'s seat I--oh, the pity!--must move.
I am one of Rank's sorrowful heirs;
For the Commons Fate bids me dissemble my love,
But _why_ did she kick me upstairs?
* * * * *
ON TICK.--The Modern Novel is a blend of the Erotic, the Neurotic, and
the Tommy-rotic.
* * * * *