(_Another Version of_ SHELLEY'S _partial view of the subject_.)
I bring cats and dogs, and November fogs,
For the folks of Cockney land;
And I brew the flood of slush and mud
In Fleet Street and the Strand.
From my watery bed spring colds in the head,
And highly inflam'd sore-throats;
And I'm the Mama[7] of the bad Catarrh,
And the Mother of Waterproof Coats.
I gave birth to Goloshes and Macintoshes,
The clog, the cork sole, and the patten;
And I act as wet Nus to each Omnibus,
For 'tis on my moisture they fatten.
I come down pretty thick at every Pic Nic,
And throw my cold water upon it;
And delight at each Fête that is called a Champêtre,
To spoil every new silk bonnet;
I'm more kind to each Jarvey than was Wittle Harvey,
When he was Commiss'oner of Stamps;
I'm the foe of Vauxhall's Grand Fancy Dress Balls,
Where I love to extinguish the Lamps;
And whenever a fellow leaves at home his Umbrella,
Oh Lord! how I chuckle and grin!
For then you may warrant I'll come down in a torrent,
And soak the poor wretch to the skin.
Footnote 7:
Be pleased to give this word the proper Cockney pronunciation—MamAR!
None others are genuine.
JUPITER AND THE MOTHER.
AN IDYLL.
At the altar of Jupiter knelt a poor woman. She was about to become a
Mother, and thus she invoked the God:—
"Oh Jupiter! King of the Heavens! and Ruler of the Earth! grant that the
dear burthen which I now bear may be a Stranger to the cares of Life!
Vouchsafe unto it such gifts that it may be the most admired of all thy
Children,—the richest—the happiest of Men. Oh Jupiter! King of the
Heavens! and Ruler of the Earth! hear me!"
She spoke, and Mercury, the winged messenger of Jove, stood before her.
"Mortal!" said he, "return with Joy to thy hearth! He who wieldeth the
sceptre of Fate hath heard thy petition; and the Child shall be as thou
hast asked."
In time the Mother bore a Son. His form rivalled that of the boy-god
Cupid. And she rejoiced to think he was the blest of Jupiter.
A year passed on, and the proud Mother saw the Infant bud blossom into
the Child.
But the second year came and went, and the Boy increased not in Stature.
The third year stole away, and still the little thing grew not.
The fourth—the fifth—the sixth rolled by, and yet the Child remained in
figure as at the end of the first.
Albeit the Mother murmured not, for she remembered the promise of him
who wieldeth the sceptre of Fate, and hoped in patience.
But when twelve summers had gone, and the anxious Matron beheld her Boy
still a Babe in form though a Youth in years, Hope and Patience left
her; and thus she complained:—
"Oh Jupiter! Jupiter! have the promises of the Gods become as those of
Men? Didst thou not in thy bounty vouchsafe unto me a Boy that should be
the most admired of all thy Children? And what hast thou sent me? A
little thing to whom even the shape of Manhood is denied! and at whose
stunted figure the world gapes with pitying wonder. Oh Jupiter! Jupiter!
for what mysterious good hast thou thus visited me?"
The cloud-compelling Jove heard the Mother's murmurs and thus from on
high rebuked her:—
[Illustration]