VIII.

There with those bugbears of the town Before him, stood the wretched man; There stood young Wilkins with loose-hanging gown. Was it a dream? Ah! no, He heard his sentence flow, He heard the ready bobbies lie, And felt all hope within him die. Ah! who could have believed That he the velvet-sleeved Could have so small, so weak a mind, And ever trust those worms of dust, Those banes of student kind. With indignation flashing from his eye, He left the room, nor cast one look behind.

From _Lays of Modern Oxford_, by Adon. LONDON, CHAPMAN & HALL, 1874

[Illustration]

THE CATARACT OF LODORE.

HOW DOES THE WATER COME DOWN AT LODORE.

Here it comes sparkling, And there it lies darkling; Here smoking and frothing, Its tumult and wrath in, It hastens along, conflicting, strong, Now striking and raging, As if a war waging, Its caverns and rocks among.

Rising and leaping, Sinking and creeping, Swelling and flinging, Showering and springing, Eddying and whisking, Spouting and frisking, Twining and twisting, Around and around, Collecting, disjecting, With endless rebound; Smiting and fighting, A sight to delight in; Confounding, astounding, Dizzing and deafening the ear with its sound.

Reeding and speeding, And shocking and rocking, And darting and parting, And threading and spreading, And whizzing and hissing, And dripping and skipping, And whitening and brightening, And quivering and shivering, And hitting and splitting, And shining and twining, And rattling and battling, And shaking and quaking, And pouring and roaring, And waving and raving, And tossing and crossing, And flowing and growing, And running and stunning, And hurrying and skurrying, And glittering and frittering, And gathering and feathering, And dinning and spinning, And foaming and roaming, And dropping and hopping, And working and jerking, And heaving and cleaving, And thundering and floundering, And falling and crawling and sprawling, And driving and riving and striving, And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, And sounding and bounding and rounding, And bubbling and troubling and doubling, Dividing and gliding and sliding, And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, And clattering and battering and shattering, And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting, Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling, And thumping and flumping and bumping and jumping, And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing; And so never ending, but always descending, Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending, All at once and all o’er, with a mighty uproar,―― And this way the water comes down at Lodore.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

――――:o:――――

BEFORE AND AFTER MARRIAGE.

BEFORE.

How do the Gentlemen do before marriage? Oh! then they come flattering, Soft nonsense chattering, Praising your pickling. Playing at tickling, Love verses writing, Acrostics inditing, If your finger aches, fretting, Fondling and petting, “My loving,”――“my doving,” “Petseying,”――“wetseying,” Now sighing, now dying, Now dear diamonds buying, Or yards of Chantilly, like a great big silly, Cashmere shawls――brandy balls, Oranges, apples――gloves, _Gros de Naples_, Sweet pretty “skuggies”――ugly pet puggies; Now with an ear-ring themselves endearing, Or squandering guineas upon _Sevignés_ Now fingers squeezing or playfully teazing, Bringing you bull’s eyes, casting you sheep’s eyes, Looking in faces while working braces; Never once heeding what they are reading, But soiling one’s hose by pressing one’s toes; Or else so zealous, and nice, and jealous of all the fellows, Darting fierce glances, if ever one dances, with a son of France’s; Or finding great faults, and threatening assaults whenever you “Valtz;” Or fuming and fussing enough for a dozen if you romp with your cousin; Continually stopping, when out-a-shopping, and bank notes dropping, Not seeking to win money, calling it “tin” money, and promising pin-money; Liking picnics at Twickenham, off lovely cold chicken, ham and champagne to quicken ’em; Detesting one’s walking without John too goes stalking, to prevent the men talking; Think you still in your teens, wont let you eat “greens,” and hate Crinolines; Or heaping caresses, if you curl your back tresses, or wear low-neck’d dresses; Or when up the river, almost sure to _diskiver_ that it beats all to shiver the sweet Guadalquiver; Or seeing death-fetches if the toothache one catches, making picturesque sketches of the houses of wretches; Or with loud double knocks bring from Eber’s a box, to see “BOX AND COX,” or pilfer one’s locks to mark their new socks; Or, whilst you are singing a love song so stinging, they vow they’ll be swinging, or in serpentine springing, unless to them clinging your’ll go wedding-ringing, and for life mend their linen. Now the gentlemen sure I’ve no wish to disparage, But this is the way they go on _before_ marriage.

AFTER.

How do they do after marriage? Oh, then nothing pleases ’em, But everything teases ’em; Then they’re grumbling and snarling―― You’re a “fool,” not a “darling”; Though they’re rich as the _Ingies_, They’re the stingiest of stingies; And what is so funny, They’ve _never_ got money; Only ask them for any And they haven’t a penny; But what passes all bounds, On themselves they’ll spend pounds―― Give guineas for lunch Off real turtle and punch; Each week a noise brings about, when they pitch all the things about Now bowing in mockery, now smashing the crockery; Scolding and swearing, their bald heads tearing, Storming and raging past all assuaging. Heaven preserve us! it makes one so nervous, To hear the door slam to, be called simple ma’am too: (I wonder if Adam called Mrs. Eve _Madam_;) As a matter of course they’ll have a divorce; Or “my Lord Duke” intends to send you home to your friends; Allow ten pounds a quarter for yourself and your daughter; Though you strive all your might you can do nothing right; While the maids――the old song――can do nothing wrong; “Ev’ry shirt wants a button”! Every day they’ve cold mutton; They’re always a-flurrying one, or else they’re a-hurrying one, or else they’re a-worrying one; Threatening to smother your dear sainted mother, or kick your big brother; After all your fine doings, your strugglings and stewings――why “the house is in ruins!” Then the wine goes like winking, and they cannot help thinking you’ve taken to drinking; They’re perpetually rows keeping, ’cause out of house-keeping they’re in bonnets their spouse keeping; So when they’ve been meated if with pies they’re not treated, they vow that they’re cheated; Then against Ascot Races, and all such sweet places, they set their old faces; And they’ll never leave town, nor to Broadstairs go down, though with bile you’re quite brown; For their wife, they unwilling are, after cooing and billing her, to stand a cap from a Milliner――e’en a paltry twelve shillinger; And it gives them the vapours to witness the capers, of those bowers and scrapers the young linen drapers; Then to add to your woes, they say nobody knows how the money all goes, but they pay through the nose for the dear children’s clothes; Though you strive and endeavour, they’re so mightily clever, that please them you’ll never, till you leave them for ever!――Yes! the hundredth time sever――“_for ever and ever_”!! Now the gentlemen sure I’ve no wish to disparage, But this is the way they go on _after_ marriage.

From _George Cruikshank’s Comic Almanac_, for 1850.

* * * * *

HOW THE DAUGHTERS COME DOWN AT DUNOON.

_“There standyth on one side of Dunoon, a hill or moleock of passynge steepnesse, and right slipperie withal; whereupon, in gaye times, ye youths and ye maidens of that towne do exceedingly disport themselves and take their pleasaunce; runnynge both uppe and downe with great glee and joyous- nesse, to the much en- dangerment of their fair nekkes.”_ KIRKE’S _Memoirs_.

How do the daughters Come down at Dunoon? Daintily, slidingly, Gingerly, slippingly, Tenderly, trippingly, Fairily, skippingly, Glidingly, clippingly, Dashing and flying, And clashing and shying, And starting and bolting, And darting and jolting, And rushing and crushing, And leaping and creeping. Feathers a-flying all――bonnets untying all―― Crinolines rapping and flapping and slapping all, Balmorals dancing and glancing, entrancing all,

Feats of activity―― Nymphs on declivity―― Sweethearts in ecstacies―― Mothers in vexaties―― Lady-loves whisking and frisking and clinging on True lovers puffing and blowing and springing on, Flushing and blushing and wriggling and giggling on, Teasing and pleasing and wheezing and squeezing on, Everlastingly falling and bawling and sprawling on, Flurrying and worrying and hurrying and skurrying on, Tottering and staggering and lumbering and slithering on, Any fine afternoon About July or June That’s how the daughters Come down at Dunoon!

From _Puck on Pegasus_, by H. Cholmondeley Pennell―― London, Chatto and Windus.

――――

HOW DOES THE DRUNKARD GO DOWN TO THE TOMB?

Here he comes crawling, And there he lies sprawling, Here growling and muttering, His gloomy thoughts uttering, He totters along, with passions so strong, Now striking and raging. Or wordy war waging, His drunken companions among.

Sitting and drinking, ogling and winking, Rising and leaping, peering and peeping, Humming and singing, swelling and flinging, Turning and twisting, around and around, Hallooing and cooing, with endless rebound; Sparring and fighting, Lewd pieces reciting, Blundering, thundering, Disgusting and deafening the ear with the sound.

Laughing and scoffing, sneering and jeering, Hissing and kissing, sporting and courting, Spouting and shouting, rhyming and chiming, Smoking and joking, jesting, detesting, Huffing and puffing, bouncing and pouncing, Sweating and betting, winning and dinning, Slapping and rapping, whipping and skipping, Scuffling and shuffling, rattling and battling, Ranting and panting, blustering and flustering, Reading, receding, With antic so frantic, Conceited, pedantic.

Jumping and bumping and thumping, Dancing and glancing and prancing, Bawling and squalling and calling, Chattering and shattering and battering, Scaring and swearing and tearing, Tiring, persevering, The fumes are expiring; Money gone, credit none, Kicked about, bolted out. Staggering, swaggering, whirling, twirling, Wheeling, reeling, tumbling, grumbling, Pondering, wandering, moping, groping, Here he goes with broken nose, Battered face, sad grimace, Chairs he crashes, crockery smashes, Wife he thrashes, children lashes, Passions deadly, such a medley.

Sighing, crying, snoring, roaring, Groaning, moaning, sleeping, weeping. Screaming, dreaming, screeching, retching All the night, till morning light; Then on waking, head is aching, Shaking, quaking, shivering, quivering, Whining, pining, quailing, wailing, He seems to see spirits dire, With eyes of fire, and fiendish glee, Mocking at his misery.

Yet spite of all his pain And woes, he goes And seeks it yet again. To himself he’s a fool, To liquor a slave, To the landlord a tool, To his friends he’s a knave, And he makes his own winding-sheet, digs his own grave. Cut down in his bloom, He seals his own doom, And this way the drunkard goes down to the tomb.

ANONYMOUS.

――――

ALL THE LUXURIES OF THE SEASON.

How do the jolly days Pass in the holidays? Joking, and smoking, In Wales or at Woking, And riding, and hunting, And lazily punting, Canoeing, and boating, And swimming, and floating, And using in bathing, The sea as a plaything, And watching with glasses Each ship as she passes; And punning, and rhyming, And glacier-climbing, And fishing and shooting: New theories mooting In desolate islands, Or up in the Highlands; And yachting, rope-knotting, And random notes jotting, And sailing and baling, And picnic-regaling, Deerstalking and walking, And merrily talking, And skipping and prancing, And glancing and dancing, And flirting, exerting Each talent diverting; And playing at racquets In white flannel jackets; Golf, cricket, and touring, Hard labour enduring, In quest of new pleasure, And spending your leisure In dicing and gambling, And quietly rambling, And trudging with trouble O’er turf and o’er stubble, Exploding your cartridge At grouse or at partridge; Returning to table, And feeling well able To eat a whole elk up Washed down with moselle cup And drinking, and eating, At each merry meeting, Beef, venison, and mutton, Not caring a button, Because indigestion Is out of the question; Or, better and better, Avoiding a debtor. (Perhaps growing pale, if You think of a bailiff,) And audience attracting By Amateur acting, And singing, and playing, And modestly staying At Ramsgate or Margate, Destroying a target By accurate aiming, And sporting and gaming And draining the bubbly can Of beer-bearing publican, Chastising a slow moke With cudgel of holm-oak, Your animal thrashing, And beating and lashing, To carry his master A little bit faster; At croquet excelling, And tale of love telling To charming young lady With hair black and raidy; Oh! sweetly the jolly days Pass in the holidays!

From _Banter_, edited by G. A. Sala. September 23, 1867

――――

HOW THE HORSES COME ROUND AT THE CORNER.

How do the horses come round at The Corner? When eyes are all straining, To see which is gaining, And far-distant humming Grows louder and clearer,――Grows stronger and nearer. “They’re off!” “They are coming!” “Who leads?” “Black and red!”――“No! Green, by a head!” “The Earl!” “No, the Lady!”――” Typhœus looks shady!” “Orion! Orion,――To live or to die on!” “Twenty pounds to a crown――On the little Blue Gown.” “I’ll venture my whole in――That colt by Tom Bowline!” “Paul Jones!” “Rosicrucian!” “Green Sleeve!” “Restitution!” “Le Sarrazin!” “Pace!” “It’s Mercury’s race!” Then on they come lashing, and slashing, and dashing, Their colours all flashing like lightning-gleams gashing The darkness, where, clashing, the thunder is crashing! With whipping and thrashing, With crowding and smashing, With pressing and stirring, With lifting and spurring, With pulling and striving, With pushing and driving, With kicking and sporting, With neighing and snorting, With frisking and whisking, With racing and chasing, With straining and gaining, With longing and thronging, With plunging and lunging, With fretting and sweating, With bustling, and hustling, and justling, With surging, and urging and scourging, With rushing, and brushing, and crushing, With scattering, and pattering, and clattering, With hurrying, and scurrying, and flurrying, and worrying, With sliding, and gliding, and riding, and striding, With crying, and flying, and shying, and plying, With tying, and vying, and trying, and hieing! Till rapidly spinning, The ranks quickly thinning, The crowd is beginning To see which is winning:―― Some faces grow brighter――and some grow forlorner: And that’s how the horses come round at The Corner!

_Fun_, May 30, 1868.

――――

MAY IN LINCOLNSHIRE. (_After the manner of Southey’s Cataract of Lodore._)

What are the chief delights of May―― This season, verdant, sweet, and gay? The leafy trees, the fragrant flowers, The genial sun, the reviving showers, The feathered songsters of the grove―― All nature redolent of love. So poets write, and write it true; Alas! there’s a prosaic view, Dwellings are turned quite inside out; The household madly rush about――

Cleaning and changing, Counting and ranging, Painting and lining, Tinting and priming, Stirring and mixing, Glueing and fixing, Mounting and glazing, Hauling and raising, Thatching and tiling, Crowding and piling, Dragging and trailing, Sprigging and nailing, Stitching and lining, Twisting and twining, Turning and clipping, Sorting and ripping, Fing’ring and thumbing, Sticking and gumming, Stretching and climbing, Draining and griming, Rembling[60] and raving,[61] Tewing[62] and taving,[63] Noising and clatting,[64] Rightling and scratting,[65] Sanding and grinding, Fussing and finding, From garret to ground No peace to be found! Slaving and laving, Shoving and moving, Working and shirking, Lifting and shifting, Soaping and groping, Washing and splashing, Routing and clouting, Messing and pressing, Bending and rending, Greasing and squeezing, Kneeling and wheeling, Humming and drumming, Pailing and baling, Lugging and tugging, Laughing and chaffing, Dusting and thrusting, Tripping and dripping, Unbedding, blackleading, Upsetting and wetting, They come with their brooms, Invading the rooms, Carry off all the books, In spite of black looks, Such confusion and riot, Destruction to quiet!

And filling, and swilling, and spilling; And mopping, and flopping, and slopping; And racing, and chasing, and placing; And hustling, and rustling, and bustling; And holding, and folding, and scolding; And sudding, and flooding, and thudding; And banging, and clanging, and hanging; And clapping, and rapping, and frapping; And pasting, and hasting, and wasting;

Inspecting, selecting, rejecting; Varnishing, tarnishing, garnishing; Hurrying, scurrying, flurrying; Bothering, pothering, smothering; Unrusting, adjusting, disgusting; Clattering, spattering, chattering; Whitening, tightening, brightening; Ransacking, attacking, unpacking; Reviewing, renewing, and doing.

Charing, and airing, hammering, and clamouring; And mending, and sending, and spending, and ending; And tacking, and blacking, and cracking, and packing; And oiling, and soiling, and moiling, and toiling; And creaking and squeaking, and reeking, and seeking; And racking, and sacking, and smacking, and clacking; And thumping, and bumping, and lumping, and pumping; And wrapping, and strapping, and tapping, and clapping; And heaping, and steeping, and creeping, and sweeping; And wringing, and dinging, and bringing, and singing; And knocking, and rocking, and flocking, and shocking; And jamming, and cramming, and slamming, and ramming; And rubbing, and scrubbing, and tubbing, and grubbing; And huddling, and muddling, and puddling, and ruddling;[66] And patching, and matching, and catching, and snatching; And rushing, and gushing, and slushing, and brushing; And rumbling, and jumbling, and tumbling, and grumbling;

Thus, in the manner that I have been telling, May-fever spreads over the whole of the dwelling.

This clever parody appeared, anonymously, in _Once a Week_, June 8, 1872.

――――

THE BOAT-RACE. (_A Retrospect._)

How do the ’Varsities come to the Race?―― All a-rowing, and knowing their pluck they are showing, And blowing, and going the deuce of a pace; With the ending depending on strong arms extending, And bending oars rending the waves in the chase. With a spurting, exerting their muscles, and hurting Their hearts, say the Doctors (but that’s a rare case), With too much book-making, and arms next day aching―― And that’s how the Varsities come to the Race?

How do the Ladies come down to the Race?―― With a rustle and bustle, and zest for the tussle, With a hustle and jostle, and tearing of lace. With a gushing and blushing, and little feet rushing, And pushing and crushing to get a good place. With a petting and getting the odds in the betting, And letting their fretting be seen in their face: With a swarming so charming, in toilettes alarming, And that’s how the Ladies come down to the Race!

How do the Gentlemen come to the Race?―― With a walking and talking, and pleasant “dear”-stalking; Uncorking and forking out “pegs” from a case. With a smoking and joking, and badinage-poking, Invoking the Stroke in the boat that they “place.” With a laughing, Bass-quafting, and eke shandy-gaffing And chaffing the cads till they’re black in the face, And hurraying, and laying the odds――and then paying―― And that’s how the Gentlemen come to the Race!

How do the Roughs and Cads come to the Race?―― With a cheering and beering, and sneering and jeering; “My dear”-ing and leering at each pretty face. With a scowling, and fouling the air with their howling, And prowling and growling, and grin and grimace, With a swearing and tearing, and blue rosettes wearing, And a daring uncaring what things they abase―― And a reeling, and feeling for fighting, and stealing―― And that’s how the Roughs and Cads come to the Race!

_Punch_, April 27, 1878.

――――

READY FOR THE START.

Here they come sparkling, There they go darkling, A tide that flows onward conflicting and strong: Some betting, some fretting At losing relations At choked railway stations, And storming and raging, And hansoms engaging, Or aught upon wheels that will drag them along; While tramps, the path keeping, Are running and leaping, And slinking and creeping, Eddying and whisking, Panting and frisking, Slouching and twisting, Planning for trysting When reaching the ground, Collecting, expecting Where flats may be found.

Smiting and fighting Some crowds fun delighting, Strong language abounding, Confounding, astounding, Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound; Feeding and speeding, And shockingly mocking, And tripping and skipping, And sipping and whipping, And nipping and slipping, Quivering and shivering, And vainly endeavouring By pushing and rushing, And craving and raving, And waving and staving, And tossing and crossing, And working and jerking, And wriggling and giggling, And hugging and mugging, And boring and roaring, And thundering and blundering, And hauling, and falling, and sprawling, And frequently naughty names calling, And striving and hiving and driving, And sounding and rounding and bounding, And grumbling and tumbling, much humbling, And chattering and battering and shattering, And thumping and bumping, and plumping and stumping, And flashing and splashing, and dashing and crashing, Such sounds and such motions for evermore blending, Till at last, with a tumult that seems never ending, By train, carriage, drag, coach, cab, wheelbarrow, cart, The thousands reach Epsom in time for the start.

_Funny Folks_, June 8, 1878.

――――

THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.

(Lord Dufferin has suggested that Ontario and New York should combine to make a Public International Park at Niagara Falls. All visitors to the World’s Wonder must hope that his proposition may succeed.)

“How does the water Come down at Niagara?” Somebody asked me Thus once on a time; And moreover he tasked me To tell him in rhyme How the Rapids’ broad tracts And the Falls might be seen. So without hesitation I made explanation And gave him the facts, For I feared he was green.

When you leave your hotel, To enjoy the sight well, And, in wonder At the thunder, To Goat Island go, Fifty cents is the pittance They charge for admittance To gaze at the show. Again you pay fifty (Unless you are thrifty) To take a not very Smooth trip o’er the ferry; And the victim soon finds It is three times as much to the Cave of the Winds. It is twenty cents here, and it’s forty cents there; Half dollars and more when you’ve money to spare.

At all the good places For seeing the way In which the flood races, There’s something to pay. Wherever you walk, As a bird by a hawk, You are worried and flurried By beggarly louts, Importunate touts, And hackmen who, swarming around, Waylay you at starting, And, never departing, Keep stopping, confusing, Annoying, abusing, And plotting and scheming, And often blaspheming, And pumping and bumping, And dunning and stunning, And shouting and spouting, And pressing and guessing, And beckoning and reckoning, And following and holloaing, All over the ground; Although so inviting, Far, far from delighting, Confounding, astounding, Pestering and maddening the ear with their sound. So with a sensation of great irritation, Of native extortion quite out of proportion, Of vanishing dollars and rather damp collars, Of guides never ending, but always attending, Wherever your fugitive footsteps are wending, You may get, at a cost that will cause you to stagger, a Precious dear sight of the Falls of Niagara.

_Funny Folks_, November 23, 1878.

――――

HOW THE CUSTOMERS COME TO THE SANDOWN BAZAAR.

(The following parody was written for the programme of the Sandown Bazaar, Isle of Wight, in 1879. With a few verbal alterations it might easily be applied to a similar purpose in any other locality.)

_If “Robert the Rhymer” were alive, I’d implore, Forgiveness, for trying to copy “Lodore.”_

“What things do you want For the Sandown Bazaar?” My kind friends have ask’d me Thus, time after time. Moreover some wish’d me To tell them in rhyme, So what with one friend, And then with another, Eagerly urging The request of each other; I promised to tell them What things we required For the Sandown Bazaar From near and afar, As many a time We have had them before; And to tell them in rhyme, For of rhymes I have store; Though ’tis not my vocation, But their recreation That makes me thus sing, Because I am anxious To please in this thing. From sources which well In the heart’s deepest cell; From fountains In the mountains Of thought and good will.

Through post and through rail We expect things to come; Then rest for awhile In some kind friends home; And thence at departing After effort at starting, They will quickly proceed, With a general stampede, To the Hall of the Town. Helter-skelter, Hurry-scurry, Every one seems In a terrible flurry. Hammering and clammering, The tumult and banging, Making a furious Terrible roar. ’Mid all this confusion, The boxes are placed On the Town Hall floor. Then arms which are strong Drag them along To the stalls, where there falls On the faces of “graces”―― All found in their places, A light of delight. Laughing and talking, Smiling and walking, Turning and twisting, Walking and frisking, Soon all are agreed That a sight to delight in, At last is displayed, As the stalls are arrayed In articles useful and fancy, As if by the aid of necromancy.

Tatting and platting, Matting and blacking, And crochet and croquet And crewls and jewels, And baskets and caskets, And brackets and rackets, And lustres and dusters, And feathers and leathers, And towels and trowels, And cradles and ladles, And sables and tables, And mittens and kittens, And dresses and presses, And dishes and fishes, And cases and braces, And pencils and lentils, And pictures and tinctures, And bangles and mangles, And brushes and thrushes, And coffee and toffee, And bonnets and sonnets, And pickles and sickles, And papers and scrapers, And slippers and nippers, And sashes and taches, And money and honey. And screens and machines, And ferns and epergnes, And coseys and poseys, And lamps and stamps, And games and frames, And spoons and balloons, And quilts and stilts, And yachts and whatnots, And telephones and microphones, And phonographs and photographs, And oleographs and chromographs, And telescopes and stereoscopes, And pinafores and battledores, And lemonade and gingerade, And cheffoniers and caffetiers, And letter racks and knickknacks, And cocoatina and farina,

And barometers and thermometers, And refrigerators and perambulators, And chrysanthemums and kettle-drums, And pelargoniums and harmoniums, And canaries and cassowaries,

And clocks and socks and frocks. And stools and wools and tools, And bibs and cribs and nibs. And rugs and jugs and mugs, And muffs and cuffs and stuffs, And caps and maps and scraps,

And thus without ceasing and ever increasing, I might go on telling what things we’ll be selling, If they only come here, from near and afar, To make most successful the SANDOWN BAZAAR!

W. J. CRAIG. 1879.

――――

In November, 1879, the Editor of _The World_ selected Southey’s _Cataract of Lodore_ as the original for a Parody Competition, on the subject of THE HOME RULERS, and the following parodies were printed:――

FIRST PRIZE.

Is it how the Home Rulers, Make spaches, me boys? Whist! I’ll tell ye the tale In a ‘three-cornered’ rhyme, Wid the laste taste, iv brogue―― Be the mortial, its prime!

Where they riz thim quare clothes, Sorra, one iv me knows! Their wondherful ‘caubeens,’ Their illegant ‘dhudeens,’ Their rings and sich things, But we saw them wid joy Comin’ over the bogs, In sich beautiful togs, Each a broth iv a boy. So they kem walking, Chattering and talking, Wid ivery long word That iver ye heard, Blarneying and fighting, Dividing, uniting; Wid the finest iv action Explaining and proving, All scruples removing, To their own satisfaction.

Stamping, hurrahing, Erin-go-bragh-ing, Jumping and pushing, Wildly ‘hoorooshing,’ Shaking shillalies, Brandishing ‘dailies,’ Tearing their hair, Sawing the air (Be jabers, ’twas quare!) Storming and raving, Deluding, ‘desaving――’ Demosthenes would have been struck with despair.

Objecting, correcting, Defying, denying, Remarking and barking, And shouting and spouting, Rebelling and yelling and telling, And growling and howling and scowling, Deriding, deciding, and chiding and hiding, Rejecting, reflecting, projecting, directing, Refusing, abusing, confusing, amusing, An’ taching and praching and shaking and spaking, Wid the gift of the gab such a shindy awaking, That the author of mischief might listen wid joy―― That’s the way the Home Rulers make spaches, me boy.

(_Miss Story._) FABULA SED VERA.

SECOND PRIZE. _How do the Home Rulers behave in the House._

Here they come broguing, Together colloquing, Here jangling and wrangling, The Queen’s English mangling, Staircase and hall and lobby along: Execrating, dilating, On methods of baiting, The Sassenach foe for their fancied wrong.

Then rising and bawling, Caterwauling and squalling, Perspiring, untiring, And sputtering and spluttering, With ceaseless outpour, Blustering and flustering, Explanation mistrusting, A sight full disgusting, Amazing, gorge-raising, Half crazing the House by their senseless uproar.

For dry rot eternal Commend me to Parnell: For bosh by the gallon, Go listen to Callan; Like a train in a tunnel Is the voice of O’Donnell; For imbecile vigour Unrivalled is Biggar. Nagging and bragging, And canting and ranting, Speech-prolonging, sing-songing. Face-contorting and snorting, And stranger espying, In gallery prying, Mispronouncing and bouncing and flouncing, Impeding Bill-reading proceeding, And scorning the dawning of morning, Rage inducing, time-losing, abusing, Naught-revering but jeering and sneering. Unremitting, late sitting, straw-splitting, and twitting, Body-swaying, inveighing, and braying, and neighing; Blue-book spouting and shouting, and doubting and pouting; Ear-shattering, dirt-spattering, and clattering and smattering, And so never stopping, but always upcropping, Fresh batches in-dropping to keep up the ball, Disloyal Obstructionist bores one and all; From the start of the year till the shooting of grouse―― This is how the Home Rulers behave in the House.

(_C. L. Graves._) TROT.

――――

Here they come wrangling, And there they go jangling, Here mumbling and fumbling, With tumult and grumbling, They wander about in trouble and doubt; Now calling and squalling, As if they were brawling, With many an angry shout. Storming and groaning, Scolding and moaning, Their bad taste disowning, With gibes and with jeers; Fluttering and muttering While uttering their sneers. Now bouncing and flouncing, And madly denouncing, And filling the air with their wild Irish cheers. Rebelling and yelling, Haggling and naggling, Jabbering and blabbering, Sweating and fretting, Exploding and goading, Embarrassing, harrassing, Chaffing and laughing, And talking and balking, Vapouring and capering, Bewailing and railing, And sparring and jarring, And growling and howling, Discussing and fussing, Retorting and thwarting, And thrashing and slashing, Disquieting and rioting, ‘Bejaber’-ing and labouring, And hustling and bustling and tussling, And leaguing, fatiguing, and often intriguing, Provoking and joking and choking and croaking, And poking and prying, and ‘strangers espying,’ Delighting in smiting, inciting to fighting, Interfering and jeering, domineering and sneering, Exceeding good breeding by rudely impeding, And figuring and sniggering, and Parnelling and Biggaring, And always obstructing, and oft misconducting, And flaring and daring and wearing and tearing, And blundering and sundering and wondering and thundering, And clustering and mustering and flustering and blustering; Hindering and teasing, they bring without ceasing Their ‘questions’ and ‘motions’ for ever increasing, And rush to the fore with a mighty uproar, These Irish Home Rulers whose freaks we deplore.

PEMBROKE.

――――

Just out of one bother Into another. Gone is the Fenian―― Here comes his brother, Worse than the other. Whence is this fooling Of Irish Home Ruling?

From English invasion, At Irish persuasion, Of Paddy’s first unity In village community―― Not with impunity; From _his_ horror of digging, From _his_ habit of pigging, From _his_ love of things smooth Better far than the truth;

From _our_ law-codes too drastic, From our treatment too plastic―― Neither elastic;

Generally speaking, Without further seeking―― From Irish obliquities, From English iniquities; Of such-like antiquities Eight centuries reckoned From Henry II. Thence come Home Rulers, Both fools and befoolers, Here they stand spouting Our Parliament flouting; There they go shouting, At this silly season To Irish unreason Murder and treason;

Lunging of gunning, Plotting at potting, Mooting of looting, Hooting of shooting, Braying of slaying, Rent-paying delaying, Some of them hedging, Scruples alleging, while treason is fledging, Hoping to get the thin end of their wedge in!

Yet they cut a poor figure, This Parnell and Biggar. With all their pretension. As they linger and linger With a trembling finger On the racketty trigger Of their glorious National Irish Convention!

HOYLE. _The World_, November 5, 1879.

――――

HOW THE HOME RULERS BEHAVE AT ST. STEPHEN’S.

Here they come shouting, And there they sit pouting; Here fuming and raging. A wordy war waging, They stand a most irate throng Now fussing and fretting As though much regretting They cannot fight all night long!

Collecting, dispersing, Rejecting and cursing, Hurrying and flurrying, Tormenting and worrying Like some snarling bow-wow; Taking delight in Abusing and fighting, Deafening all with their terrible row! Vapouring and capering, Grumbling and mumbling, And wrangling and jangling, And growling and scowling, And squalling and bawling, And jumping and thumping, And roaring and boring, And moaning and groaning, And laughing and quaffing, And hissing and missing, And tearing and swearing, And thundering and blundering, And querying and wearying,

And hating, and prating, and rating, And leering, and peering, and jeering, And dancing, and glancing, and prancing, And masking, and asking, and tasking, And stammering, and hammering, and clamouring, And teasing, and wheezing, and sneezing, And stunning, and funning, and punning,

And stumping, and pumping, and jumping, and thumping, And twitting, and hitting, and sitting, and flitting, And hashing, and gnashing, and lashing, and slashing, And mustering, and clustering, and flustering, and blustering, Replying, denying, and eyeing, and crying, Tallying, and dallying, and rallying, and sallying, And staring, and glaring, and daring, and flaring, And railing, and wailing, and quailing, and failing, And therefore the House they can never have peace in, The tumult unceasing, for ever increasing, Rolls restlessly on like some huge tidal wave, And this is the way the Home Rulers behave!]

From _Snatches of Song_, by F. B. DOVETON. Wyman and Sons, London, 1880.

――――

THE SHORE.

How do Cheap Trippers Come down to the shore?

* * * * *

From their sources they wend In the squalid East-end; From Whitechapel, Surge and grapple Its ’Arries and its Carries. Through court and through lane They run and they shout For awhile, till they’re out By their own special train, And thence, at departing All bawling at starting, They drink and they feed; And away they proceed Through the dark tunnels, ’Mid smoke from the funnels, Where they shriek in their flurry, Helter skelter, hurry skurry, Now singing, now smoking, Now practical joking, Till, in this rapid ride On which they are bent They reach the sea-side And make their descent.

* * * * *

The excursion crowd strong Then plunges along, Running and leaping Over rocks creeping, Kicking and flinging, “Kiss-in-the-ring”-ing, Pulls at the whisky, Making them frisky. Smiting and fightin’―― A thing they delight in―― Confounding, astounding, Dizzying and deafening the ear with their sound.

* * * * *

Sea-weeding and feeding, And mocking and shocking, And kissing and missing, And skipping and dipping, And drinking and winking, And wading and bathing, Shell picking and sticking, In mud-holes and kicking. And going a rowing, And fishing and wishing, And roaming in gloaming, Sight-seeing and teaing, And larking and sparking, Love-making and taking To beering and jeering, Donkey-riding and hiding, And squeaking and seeking.

* * * * *

And galloping and walloping, And wandering and maundering, Uncoating and boating and floating, Upsetting and getting a wetting, And crying and drying and spying, Immersing, dispersing, and cursing, And meeting and greeting and seating and eating, And fuddling and muddling and huddling and puddling; And so never ending, but always descending, The Cockneys for ever and ever are wending, All at once and all o’er with a mighty uproar―― And this way Cheap-Trippers come down to the shore!

_Punch_, August 7, 1880.

――――

THE MEETING OF THE MEDICINAL “WATERS.”

How do the Waters come down on the public? Here they come bouncing, All rivals denouncing, “Untradesmanlike falsehoods” tremendously trouncing, Swearing that hurt is meant By foe’s advertisement; Public ear stuffing, And rubbish be-puffing. Greek meeting Greek――in the crackjawish names of ’em; Polyglot rot setting forth bogus claims of ’em. Loquaciously gassing Of merits surpassing, Phosphates and carbonates, jargon empirical Blazoning each pseudo-medical miracle, Taunting and vaunting, Their praises loud chanting, And bothering and pothering And boasting, and posting On hoardings and boardings Their pictures and strictures, And much advertising, And circularising; Till one wishes the roar Of these Waters were o’er, And votes the whole business no end of a bore.

_Punch_, June 4, 1881.

――――

A LEGISLATIVE CATARACT; OR HOW THE COMMONS RUSH IN THROUGH THE DOOR.

“How do the members, Rush in through the door?” A curious friend asked me Last year at this time; And, furthermore, tasked me To tell him in rhyme. So anon, thus possess’d Of his wish in the matter, My muse I entreated To come when address’d And describe how those seated With clamour and clatter, Rush in through the door, And swarm over the floor When so eager they are To press to the bar And to hear the Queen’s Speech As they’ve heard it of yore!

The result of my prayer To my Muse for her aid, You will see in the rare List of rhymes I have made. Tho’ the strict truth to tell, Robert Southey as well, By writing before Of the Falls of Lodore, Has a prominent share, In this little affair.

* * * * *

“From all parts of the town Have the members come down, To renew legislation―― For this favored nation; From South, West, and North, They have all issued forth; Brought by brougham and train They have mustered again; And the signal awaiting Are busy debating; Excitement controlling, And friends button-holing, And some even napping, Till Black-Rod comes rapping. But, then, ere he’s done, Off the nimble ones run Up passages, stairs, Four-a-breast, or in pairs, Till some even swelter, So fierce is their flurry; Helter-skelter, Hurry-scurry,

There they go rushing, And here they come crushing, And rudely rebuffing, (But Warton is snuffing) With a chorus of “oh’s,” And much treading on toes, Till increasing their pace, For quite reckless they are, They tear on in their race To be at the Bar.

Some five hundred strong, They hasten along, Fuming and raging, As though a war waging. Slighting and smiting, And old ones affrighting; Dodging and darting, With gouty feet smarting, Limping and hustling, And fussily bustling; Talking whilst walking, And punning whilst running, Twisting and turning Sharp corners around, Selfishly spurning The friends that abound; Calling and bawling, (Some actually sprawling), And hooting and yelling, With outcry so swelling, That all who are near they completely astound.

Pressing, progressing, Proceeding and speeding, And threading and spreading, And shocking and mocking, And tattling and battling, And coursing and forcing, And pouring and roaring, And waving and raving, And going tip-toeing, And hopping and stopping, And gaining and straining, And hieing and vieing, And flouncing and bouncing, And seizing and squeezing, And catching and snatching, And ambling and scrambling, And stripping and slipping, And singing and swinging, And doubling and troubling, And pining and whining, And shifting and drifting, And filing and smiling, And dinning and winning, And moaning and groaning; And thundering and blundering, And hurrying and scurrying, And quivering and shivering, And parrying and harrying, And hastening and chastening, And cantering and bantering;

Dividing, and sliding, and striding, And bumping, and lumping, and jumping, And stumbling, and tumbling, and grumbling, And chasing, and racing, and pacing, And clattering, and battering, and chattering And bounding, and rounding, and pounding, And steering, and jeering, and fearing. And contriving, and driving, and striving, And stooping, and whooping, and trooping; Retreating, and eating, and meeting, and greeting, Delaying, and straying, and staying, and saying, Advancing, and prancing, and chancing, and glancing, Recoiling, embroiling, turmoiling, and toiling, And steaming, and beaming, and scheming, and teaming, And clapping, and slapping, and rapping, and tapping, And crushing, and brushing, and gushing, and rushing, And backing, and tracking, and hacking, and packing, And dashing, and clashing, and smashing, and crashing, And glaring, and daring, and pairing, and flaring, So seeming ne’er ending, but always ascending, These sounds and these motions are loudly contending, As five hundred and more with a mighty uproar, On their way to the Bar, hurry in through the door.”

_Truth_, February 9, 1882.

――――

THE MEETING OF THE LANDLORDS. _How do the Landlords “come down on” the Act?_

Here they come hurrying, there they come scurrying, Their minds about destiny dreadfully worrying; With big “Resolutions” and plaints against “Wrong,” They hasten along, more sounding than strong. Posing and glosing, Dread dangers disclosing, And hinting that Providence sure must be dozing. Blaming, and shaming, Declaiming, and flaming, And large “Compensation” commandingly claiming. Sobbing, and throbbing, ’Gainst Radical robbing, Sighing and crying; Rack-renting denying With stinging jobation Against confiscation, And much botheration About Valuation; Spouting, and flouting, and doubting, Denouncing, and bouncing, and flouncing; And fluttering, and muttering, and sputtering; And swearing repairing the past is uptearing, Society’s self from its basis and bearing; And flaring, and blaring, and simple souls scaring By wild elocution About Revolution; Proclaiming that law is now putting a stopper On Property’s game in a manner improper: That Civilization is coming a cropper. _So_ the Landlords galore, Like Cassandras, deplore, And down on the Land Act like Cataracts pour, O’er and o’er, o’er and o’er, With a mighty uproar. While the World says,――“_We’ve heard all this Shindy before_!”

_Punch_, January 14, 1882.

――――

THAT’S HOW THE TOURISTS COME DOWN TO THE SHORE.

Cheerily, Wearily, Warily, Merrily, Slidingly, Glidingly, Trippingly, Skippingly,

Leaping and creeping, At nymphs slyly peeping, Mashing and dashing, In salt water splashing, Billing and cooing, The wooed and the wooing,

Hobbies entrancing all, beauty enhancing all, Laughter and jollity ruling and schooling all, Neptune from ocean arising surprising all.

Ceaseless vivacity, Reckless audacity, Some in high ecstasies, Others in vextasies.

Merry girls spooning and flirting and catching on, Elderly matrons with schemes of love matching on, Old gents asthmatical, wheezing and sneezing on, Artists all sketching and etching and painting on, Geologists searching and peering and diving on, Climbers ascending and wearily wending on,

## Activity endless with never an ending on.

When the season arrives, And the big billows roar, That’s how the tourists Come down to the shore.

_The Detroit Free Press_, Summer Number, 1885.

In 1880, Mr. E. Harris-Bickford, of Camborne, published a long poem on the Falls of Niagara, it also was written in imitation of Southey’s _Cataract of Lodore_.

[Illustration]

THE OLD MAN’S COMFORTS AND HOW HE GAINED THEM.

“You are old, father William,” the young man cried, “The few locks that are left you are grey: You are hale, father William, a hearty old man: Now tell me the reason, I pray.”

“In the days of my youth,” father William replied, “I remember’d that youth would fly fast, And abus’d not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last.”

“You are old, father William,” the young man cried, “And pleasures with youth pass away, And yet you lament not the days that are gone: Now tell me the reason, I pray.”

“In the days of my youth,” father William replied, “I remembered that youth could not last; I thought of the future whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past.”

“You are old, father William,” the young man cried, “And life must be hast’ning away; You are cheerful and love to converse upon death; Now tell me reason, I pray.”

“I am cheerful, young man,” father William replied, “Let the cause thy attention engage; In the days of my youth I remember’d my God, And he hath not forgotten my age.”

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

――――

Father William.

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said, “And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head, _Do_ you think at your age it is right?”

“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son, “I feared it might injure the brain, But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back sommersault in at the door, Pray, _what_ is the reason of that?”

“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, “I kept all my limbs very supple, By the use of this ointment――one shilling the box, Allow me to sell you a couple.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet, Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak, Pray how did you manage to do it?”

“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife, And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose, That your eye was as steady as ever, Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose, What made you so _awfully_ clever?”

“I have answered three questions and that is enough,” Said his father. “don’t give yourself airs, “Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”

From _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_, by Lewis Carroll. (Macmillan and Co., London.)

――――

THE OLD MAN’S COLD, AND HOW HE GOT IT. BY NORTHEY-SOUTHEY-EASTEY-WESTEY.

“You are cold, Father William,” the young man cried, “You shake and you shiver, I say, You’ve a cold, Father William, your nose it is red; Now tell me the reason, I pray.”

“In the days of my youth,” Father William replied―― (He was a dissembling old man), “I put lumps of ice in my grandpapa’s boots, And snowballed my aunt Mary Ann.”

“Go along! Father William.” the young man cried, “You are trying it on, sir, to-day; What makes your teeth chatter like bone castanettes? Come, tell me the reason, I pray.”

“In the days of my youth,” Father William replied, “I went to the North Pole with Parry; And now, my sweet boy, the Arc-tic doloreux Plays with this old man the Old Harry.”

“Get out! Father William,” the young man cried, “Come you shouldn’t go on in this way; You are funny, but still you’ve a frightful bad cold―― Now tell me the reason I pray.”

“I am cold, then, dear youth,” Father William replied, “I’ve a cold my impertinent son, Because for some weeks my coals have been bought At forty-eight shillings a ton!”

This parody appeared in _The Figaro_, (London,) March 1st, 1873, and seems to have been so much admired by the editor of that journal, that he served up a second edition of it, with some alterations, on July 15, 1874, as follows:――

You seem cold, Father William, the young man cried, And chilblains are massed round your nose, I rarely in all my experience before Saw chilblains so broken as those.

You are right, my young man, Father William replied, These chilblains you see are the fruits Of the snowballs I put, when a youngster like you, In my Aunt Mary Ann’s Sunday boots.

You seem cold, father William, the young man cried, And if I may venture to say so, You have influenza most awfully bad, Come, why do you wheeze in that way so?

In the days of my youth, father William replied, I found it uncommonly easy To sit on the ice when I wanted to skate, ’Tis hence that I now am so wheezy.

You seem cold, father William, the young man cried, And I see you incessantly shiver; Do you think, aged pal, such a jellyish trick Is good, at four score, for the liver?

I shiver, young man, father William replied, Because, with your mirth bubbling o’er, You slipped lumps of ice down the nape of my neck, But I’m blowed if I stand any more!

O. P. Q. PHILANDER SMIFF, ESQ., _in his remarks on the Weather_.

――――

THE CAUSE OF TRUTH.

(Few are aware that Southey’s beautiful and much lauded Poem of “Old Father William,” is copied almost verbatim from an old American ballad. Far be it from us to comment upon the fact, but truth compels us to remark that a more barefaced piece of plagiarism has never come under our notice. In order to convince the public of the veracity of our statements, we subjoin the original ballad as found by us in an old MS. entitled “Wild Cat Warblings.”)

“You air old, Father William, an elderly cuss, But I reckon you air real grit, For the high handed way you sailed into that muss Astonished creation a bit.”

“Waal, fact is,” said William, removing his quid, “I allus was cheerful and spry; And my motto is, ‘Do, or you’re sure to be did,’ And ‘Root little hog, or die.’”

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said, “Your fingers are stiff you’ll agree; Yet you euchred the boys till they hadn’t a red, And bust up the heathen Chinee.”

“In the days of my youth,” Father William replied, “I played on the square, you perceive; But now I have let old integrity slide, And I keep the best bower in my sleeve.”

“You are old, Father William, and whiskey took neat, Unsettles the sight I opine; Yet you wiped out the digger who called you a cheat, In a way that was powerful fine.”

“Take the lead when you can,” was his father’s response, “That’s a bully old rule you’ll allow; Besides, if you settle a critter at once, It saves you from having a row.”

“You are old, Father William, and soon I expect To be taking you round in a hearse; Yet somehow you never appear to reflect That you’re goin’ from wicked to worse.”

“Go slow” said his father, replacing his chaw, “You are getting too all fired proud; I reckon we’ve had just enough of your jaw, Let’s licker. Hi! drinks for the crowd.”

_Zoz_ (Dublin), October, 1878.

――――

YOUTH AND AGE.

“You are old, Father William,” the young men cried, “A disciple of Fox and of Grey; Yet you prattle of peace at a Palmerston Club; Come tell me the reason, I pray.”

“Oh, what’s in a name?” Father William replied, “Against Pam’s pet ideas I am planning; But your Militant Tories are spouting next door, ’Neath the peaceable ægis of Canning.”

“While here, Father William,” the young men cried, “At Benjamin’s baseness you rave; But like Balaam when called on the Jew to confound, At Westminster blessings you gave.”

“At Oxford, my sons,” Father William replied, “I smote with my staff, I’m aware; But I spoke to the Asses in Westminster Hall, For I knew they could answer me there.”

“Oh, fie, Father William, you should not employ Your talents in personal strife; These picnic orations bad temper betray; Is it seemly at your time of life?”

“In office and out,” Father William replied, “Has Beaconsfield filled me with rage; In the days of my youth I remember his sneers, And I will not forget in my age.”

_Mayfair_, February 12, 1878.

――――

THE OLD MAN’S SORROW, AND HOW HE CAUSED IT. (_A Ballad of the Future._)

“You are sad, People’s William,” the young man cried, “And you seem to your years to succumb; You are weak, People’s William, though not very old, And have a large corn on your thumb.”

“In the years lately past,” People’s William replied. “I weakly attempted too much; I abused both my health and my vigour, and now There is scarcely a task I dare touch.”

“Dearie me, People’s William,” the young man cried. “It grieves me to hear you speak so, But still I should like” (here he gazed at the corn) “Something more of your history to know.”

“In the years lately pass’d,” People’s William replied, “I knew not the meaning of rest; For I cut down big trees by way of relief, Then return’d to my desk with new zest.

I wrote, towards the end, for some six magazines, “Every month several pamphlets likewise, And of post cards and letters, some four score a day―― Ah, you listen, I see, with surprise.”

“That I do; People’s William,” the young man cried, “As your various achievements you sum, But ’tis not with wonder that longer I view That well defined corn on your thumb.”

“Nor was this all I did,” People’s William replied, “For I strove with my tongue, too, to teach, And I lost ne’er a chance, howsoever it came, Of making an _à propos_ speech.”

“But, stay, People’s William!” the young man cried, “You surely some holidays took, When, flying from home to some district unknown, You work for the moment forsook.”

“Nay, nay, ’twas not so!” People’s William replied; “’Twas the same on my holiday trips; Wheresoever I was, I had always to keep A ready-made speech on my lips.

As I stept on a pier from steamer’s poop-deck, “Or put my head out of a train; As I enter’d a city, or went from a town, I could not from speaking refrain.

Where two or three gather’d together forthwith, I gave them a taste of my tongue; No matter their sex, no matter the place, I spared neither aged nor young.”

“Enough! People’s William!” the young man cried; “It is clear to me now that I gaze On a man who has foolishly tried in the past To spend in hard work _all_ his days.”

“That is so, my young man,” People’s William replied; “So me as a warning employ To teach that all work and no play in the end Makes William, like Jack, a dull boy!”

_Truth_, October 24, 1878.

――――

WHAT THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE GOBBLER. ALSO WHAT THE GOBBLER SAID IN REPLY.

“You are old, turkey gobbler,” the young man cried; “Your flesh must be terribly tough, Yet they’ll cook you to-morrow for dinner, I’ll bet―― Don’t you think that exceedingly rough?”

“I am no longer young, I admit,” said the fowl, “Yet remember I cost but a shillin’; Your landlady thought (and with her I agree) That, considering the price, I’d be fillin’.”

“You are old as the hills,” the young man remarked, “And I fear you are not very fat, Though they’ve fed you on pumpkin seeds now for a month―― Pray what will you answer to that?”

“I’m not very fat――you’ve hit it again; In truth I’m as lean as a lizard, For some chronic complaint, with a long Latin name, Is eating away my gizzard.”

“Your gizzard! good gracious! don’t say so, by Jove!” The youth in dismay fairly roared; “Why, that is the part sure to fall to my lot, When, as now, I’m behind with my board!”

“I am sorry for that,” replied the old fowl; “I assure you ’tis no fault of mine; But I s’pose if you choose to prefer something else, ’Twill be easy enough to decline.”

“You are old, you are tough, you are sickly besides; Your lot my compassion doth move; Don’t you think,” said the youth, “that a change of scene Your condition would greatly improve?”

“I acknowledge the corn and a change of air Would do me much good I believe; But I have an engagement to-morrow, you see, I cannot very well leave.”

“I’ll break your engagement,” the young man cried, As he smashed in the coop with an axe, Whereupon for a healthier neighbourhood The old turkey gobbler made tracks. * * * * * “There’ll be turkey for dinner,” the boarders all cried, But, alas! they were greatly mistaken, For the landlady brought in that Christmas day The usual liver and bacon.

_Free Press Flashes_, 1882.

――――

THE GRAND YOUNG MAN, OR FATHER WILLIAM “EWART” ANSWERED.

“You look young, little Randolph,” the Old One cried, “Yet you’re up on your legs every day; You have impudence, too, an amazing amount! Now tell me the reason, I pray.”

“Your wisdom, your years,” little Randolph replied, “And the honours that some think your due, Merely force me to strut in your path and proclaim I’m as good every bit, sir, as you.”

“You _are_ young, little Randolph,” the Old One cried, “If your elders excite but your jeers; But tell me, now do, how it comes that, though young, You are so ill-behaved for your years.”

“I am so ill-behaved,” little Randolph replied, “Because I believe in myself, And regard such old fogies as Northcote and you As lumber but fit for the shelf.”

“You’re _too_ good, little Randolph,” the Old One cried, “And of gumption you’re certainly full; But I never could quite understand why you seem To enjoy playing frog to my bull.”

“Old pippin, it’s clear,” little Randolph replied. “A fine Grand _Old Man_ you may be,―― But I’m making my game, and the public all round Hail the coming _Grand Young ’Un_ in me!”

_Punch_, November 18, 1882.

――――

_Truth_ for April 5, 1883, contained nineteen competition parodies of “You are old, Father William,” amongst which the following are the most interesting, the others are nearly all out of date:――

“You are old, Father William,” the young man cried, “Yet your step is still springy and gay; You are strong, Father William, a muscular man, Now, tell me the reason, I pray?”

“In the days of my strength, Mr. G――dst――e replied, “I, by exercise, strength still amass’d; That, devoted to England and Statesmanship first, I might flourish my axe to the last.”

“You are old, Father William,” the young man cried, “In the Commons to lead is not play; And yet you accept not the peerage you’ve earned; Now, tell me the reason, I pray?”

“In the tomb of the Lords,” Mr. G――dst――e replied, “I’d not bury my eloquence vast; But as Clark speaks of rest, in the future may do That I never have done in the past.”

“You are bold, Father William,” the young man cried “Though majorities dwindle away: Oft your acts men estrange, yet you talk them all back, Now, teach me the secret, I pray.”

“Mark me, Herbert, my son,” Mr. G――dst――e replied, “Let my words your discretion engage; In the days of my youth, had I chatter’d like you, “None had hearkened to me in my age.”

REPEALER.

――――

“You are young, Master Randolph,” the Premier cried; “You are scarce from your nursemaid set free. And I was a Statesman before you were born, So don’t come dictating to me.”

“I own that I’m young,” Master Randolph replied, “And you are old, WEG, that no one denies. But I’m really surprised that you have not yet learnt That in age no criterion lies.”

“It’s exceedinly rude,” Father William rejoined, “To speak thus to your elders and betters. Remember, ‘Small boys should be seen and not heard,’ As you’ll read when they teach you your letters.”

“But, being so old,” the Coming One cried, “You ought to be wiser, it’s plain. But no――a thought strikes me――I see it, of course: You are entering your childhood again.”

“This impudence really exceeds all belief; Since I was young, things are much changed. When I was a Tory, small boys knew their place―― My lad, I’m afraid you’re deranged.”

“Father William,” the other rejoined, with a laugh, “Of my talents you’re jealous, I see; And this I know well, though you scoff at my youth, That you’d gladly change ages with me.”

PICKWICK.

――――

“You’re a Peer, now Lord Wolseley,” a subaltern cried “Scarce your breast can more medals display. By the Horse Guards unsnubbed, to the War Office dear, How on earth you have managed it, say?”

“’Tis advertisement does it,” Lord Wolseley replied, “I went in for monthly reviews; In each new magazine Wolseleyistics were seen, But I minded my p’s and my q’s.”

“You’re a General, Lord Wolseley,” the subaltern cried, “And our only one, so people say; In your twopenny wars no great captains you fought, How got you such fame? tell, I pray.”

“In my Ashantee campaign,” Lord Wolseley replied, “I had made what cute Yanks call a ‘Ring,’ And, buttering all round from ‘the Duke’ to the ground, Praised my friends that my praise they might sing.”

“You’re a Patron, Lord Wolseley,” the subaltern cried, “Of a wine club, ‘The Vine,’ yet you say The best soldier is he who drinks nothing but tea; Expound me this thusness, I pray.”

“At swallowing camels,” Lord Wolseley replied, “Dear England’s digestion’s not weak. She will gulp down whole arkfuls――like me to succeed, Try advertisement, butter, and――cheek!”

SKRIKER.

――――

“New honours, Lord Wolseley,” cried Roberts “you get, Though your victories were very small; You’re head of the army, and War Office pet―― Pray how have you managed it all!”

“In war,” he replied, “all manœuvres are fair, So by others the hard work was done; Their failures I blamed, took their praise as my share, And so that’s how my honours were won.”

* * * * * OLD LOG.

――――

“You are old, Lady William,” the _débutante_ cried, “And by this time your hair should be grey; Yet fair golden locks still encircle your head, Now, how do you do that, I pray?”

“The locks of my youth,” Lady William replied, “Were a carroty ginger they said; But by wise application of Mexican Balm, I attained to this delicate shade.”

“You are old, Lady William,” the _débutante_ cried, “And all the folks call you a guy: Yet the bloom on your cheek far outrivals my own, Now tell me the dodge or I die.”

“A complexion like mine.” Lady William replied, “Is expensive and peerless, I hope; I obtained it by dint of much trouble and care, And the free use of Pears’ patent soap.”

“You are old, Lady William,” the _débutante_ cried, “At least, so your enemies say; But the census last year puts your age down, I see, As thirty-five years to a day.”

“When my youth ’gan to fade,” Lady William replied, “I thought I’d remain at this stage; My friends and my enemies doubted and scoffed But by now they’ve forgotten my age.”

THIRD RAVEN.

――――

“You are old, Kaiser Wilhelm,” the young Prince cried, “Do you mean with us always to stay? You’ve been shot at, Sir Kaiser, some three or four times, Yet you’re coming up smiling to-day.”

“In the days of my youth,” Kaiser Wilhelm replied, “I was hardy, and healthy, and strong; And as to the shooting, my boy, it is said That threatened men always live long.”

“You were bold, Kaiser Wilhelm,” the young Prince cried, “When you popped Prussia’s crown on your brow; And yet you were right as the sequel has proved, For they’ve made you an Emperor now.”

“Why, certainly, Prince!” Kaiser Wilhelm replied. “I remembered that thrones do not last. I thought of the bird, and the hand, and the bush, And I nailed ‘Right Divine’ to the mast.”

“They were sold, Kaiser Wilhelm,” the young Prince cried, “Those French who would march to Berlin; For there’s poor little Denmark, and Austria too, They’ve all been obliged to cave in.”

“Yes, I’ve had a good time!” Kaiser Wilhelm replied, Though there’s one little flaw, I confess; That obstinate Pope is the thorn in my side, Or else I’m a perfect success.”

T.S.G.

――――

“You are plain, Mr. Biggar,” the maiden cried, “Though your hair has not yet turned to grey; But you’re nice Mr. Biggar, a sensible man, Why not marry me, Joseph, I pray?”

“In the days of my youth,” Mr. Biggar replied, “The marital rocks I steered past, And carefully kept myself free from the knot, That I ne’er might repent it at last.”

“You’re not young, Mr. Biggar,” the maiden cried, “And the troubles of age creep apace; You may need a sweet wife――a soft, loving nurse―― In your heart why not give me a place?”

“In the days of my youth,” smiling Joseph replied, “That request was oft made to me too, There are ‘obstacles’ very much stand in the way Of my marriage, dear Fanny, to you.”

“You are good, Mr. Biggar,” the maiden cried, “To church shall we both now repair, Pray these ‘obstacles’ somehow at once be removed That your future your Fanny may share?”

“I gladly agree, dear,” Joe Biggar replied, “The idea my attention shall claim; Meanwhile, let me give you a few pair of hose―― On the way we will purchase the same.”

PASTE.

――――

“You are young, Randolph Churchill,” the old man cried, “And you have not a hair that is grey! Yet you set yourself up against Stafford and me, Now, tell me the reason, I pray?”

“In the days of one’s youth,” Randolph Churchill replied, “’Tis important to get oneself known; And the best way of making a mark in the House, Is to strike out a line of one’s own.”

“You are young, Randolph Churchill,” the old man cried, “And wisdom with age comes, they say; Yet on every topic you claim to be heard, Now, tell me the reason, I pray?”

“I am young, it is true,” Randolph Churchill replied, “But a smattering of most things I know; And give all men credit for knowing still less, And often I find this is so.”

“You are young, Randolph Churchill,” the old man cried, “Yet you’re eloquent, too, in your way; And your speeches are always reported at length, Now, tell me the reason, I pray?”

“If I only can make enough noise while I’m young,” Said Randolph――“Perhaps when I’m grey Folks may come to believe me, and so I shall be, A ‘Grand Old Man’ also some day.”

YASH.

――――

“You are old, Father William,” a pert youth said, “I can see it, you know, in your face; And still you go on with your prating and rating, Pray how do you keep up the pace.”

“In the days of my youth,” the old man replied, “I foresaw I was destined for strife; I found a high collar supported the ‘jaw,’ And have stuck to it all through my life.”

“You are old, Father William,” the youth then said, “You’ll excuse my remarking again; But still you fell trees with remarkable ease, Now can you this wonder explain?”

“In the days of my youth,” said the Grand Old Man, “To keep little Herbert from harm, With healthy correction his faults I restrained, This accounts for the strength of my arm.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “yet it’s easy to see That your brain is as fertile as ever, And your facts, though a fiction, defy contradiction; What made you so dreadfully clever?”

“I’ve answered two questions, that’s surely enough, You have got to the end of your tether; When puzzled, reply in a meaningless way, Or refuse to reply altogether.”

DON JUAN.

Of the _Truth_ Parodies omitted, some were political, two were in reference to the action for breach of promise of marriage brought against Mr. Joseph Biggar, M.P., and one related to pigeon shooting. The extraordinary story set afloat by Lady Florence Dixie, that she had been waylaid by two men who attempted to murder her in broad daylight and close to the high road, was thus explained:――

“You have told, Lady Florence,” the young man cried, “A story that reads like a play; And your tale, Lady Florence, is hard to believe―― Oh! why did you tell it, I pray?”

“In the tales that I tell,” Lady Florence replied, “I remember that rumour flies fast; And all that I cannot conjecture at first, Gets somehow put in at the last.”

“But those men, Lady Florence,” the young man cried. “Those ruffians, with knives, got away, And yet of your struggle all traces are gone―― Oh, where are their footmarks, I pray?”

“Of your questions, bold youth,” Lady Florence replied, “I hoped I had heard quite the last; I thought of my figure whatever I did, And my corsets must vouch for the past!”

“But the truth, Lady Florence,” the young man cried, “Credulity’s passing away; You are cheerful, while Leaguers are bent on your death―― Oh, tell me the secret, I pray!”

“I am cheerful, young man,” Lady Florence replied, “For my case doth both houses engage; And Royalty’s sent to ask how I am―― In fact, I am just now the rage.”

OHR.

――――

THE LORDS AND THE YOUNG RADICAL.

You are old, Noble Senate, the young Rad cried, Nor can long your departure delay; Indeed it is strange you have lasted so long, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

Your whole Constitution, that Senate replied, Would fail, if the Lords should depart; As the Queen is the Hand, and the Commons the Head, Of the nation the Lords are the Heart.

You are old, Noble Senate, the young Rad cried, And I think you should now clear away, Yet you all seem determined to stick to your House, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

Whatever we may be, the Peers’ House replied, We are English and pluck do not lack; We shall never desert a good cause we espouse, Or to foes turn a cowardly back.

You are old, Noble Senate, the young Rad cried, And in my view no longer should stay, Though with some you were popular once, I confess, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

In the days of our youth, the Assembly replied, We earned the true love of the land; Magna Charta we won――of its earliest laws The best were the work of our hand.

You are old, Noble Senate, the young Rad cried, But, if it is useful to-day To remind us of good you did centuries back, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

We have faith in the people, the Peers’ House replied, Far stronger than you can avow; In the days of our youth if for them we strove hard, They will hardly turn round on us now.

You are old, Noble Senate, the young Rad cried, And long since have seen your best day, But still you are proud of your body effete, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

In the days of our youth, the Assembly replied, Nothing good or ennobling was scorned: Clive, Wellington, Nelson, Howe, Liverpool, Pitt, Made us proud of the House they adorned.

You are old, Noble Senate, the young Rad cried, And to talk of your youth is to bray, But if you are proud of the age you have reached, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

There are men in our House, the Assembly replied, Its promise of youth who fulfil, And Salisbury, Wolseley, Lytton, Tennyson, Cairns, Uphold and ennoble it still!

You are old, Noble Senate, the young Rad cried, But, for all you may venture to say, You can’t be immortal, or if you so claim, Now, tell me the reason, I pray.

Our glory will wane not, the Peers’ House replied, So long as the Sword and the Pen, The Courts and the Commons, th’ Exchange and the Church Shall send us the best of their men!

From _A Pen’orth o’ Poetry for the Poor_, London, 1884.

――――

THE OLD MAN OF THE COMMONS.

“You are old, Father William.” the young man cried; “The few locks that are left you are grey; Yet you’re still a most hale and remarkable man―― Now, tell me the reason, I pray.”

“In the days of my youth,” William Ewart replied, “I remembered that youth would fly fast; And abused not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might lack them at last.”

“You are hale, William Ewart,” the young man cried, “And you never are heard to complain; But yet I can sadness perceive in your looks; Pray, what is the source of your pain?”

“Nay, nay, as to that,” William Ewart replied, “Too closely you’re seeking to pry; But if you insist upon knowing the cause, The Whigs can the answer supply.”

“You are old, William Ewart,” the young man cried. “And yet you’re more honoured each day; Now tell me, I beg, what the reason can be You’re beloved in this wonderful way.”

All the days of my life.” William Ewart replied, “To do what is right I have tried; And fearless of scorn and regardless of jeers, I have ever made duty my guide.”

“You are old, William Ewart,” the young man cried, “Yet thousands but yesterday sat Devouring, for hours, every word that you spoke; Now, what is the reason of that?”

“Whenever I speak,” William Ewart replied, “I never am acting a part; But I say what I feel, and each sentence comes straight From the depths of an Englishman’s heart!”

“You are old, William Ewart,” the young man cried. “And honours are surely your due; Then prithee explain why a title or cross Has ne’er been accepted by you?”

“In a cross or a star,” William Ewart replied, “No kind of attraction I see; No, the love of the land, and its people’s respect Are honours sufficient for me!”

“You are old, William Ewart,” the young man cried, “And you live in the nation’s esteem; Then why do the Tories insist that a base And most truculent traitor you seem?”

“’Gainst all honest attacks,” William Ewart replied, “I am safe, thanks to Liberal might; So much foul-mouthed abuse must be due, I suppose, To an impotent partisan spite.”

“You are old, William Ewart,” the young man cried, And yet every year that you live, You nearer approach to the Radical’s creed What reason for this can you give?”

“In the days of my youth,” William Ewart replied, “Of politics what could I know? But now every year that I live, I contrive Still wiser and wiser to grow.”

“You are old, William Ewart,” the young man cried, “And life must be fleeting away, Yet you stick to your post, and refuse to take rest; Now, what is your reason I pray?”

“I stick to my post,” William Ewart replied, “Because a great work I’ve begun, And mean not to rest, though the peers do their worst, Until that great work I have done.”

_Truth_, 1884.

――――

“Encouraged by the success which has attended the interviewers of Fred Archer in America, we thought we would send a man to try his hand on William Archer _père_, at his residence at Cheltenham. He had an audience of the Patriarch, and has focussed the result in the following”:――

OLD WILLIAM ARCHER INTERVIEWED.

“You are old, Father William,” the Editor cried, “And too stout for a race, I suspect; Yet they say that you once were a good ’un to ride, Now tell me if that is correct?”

“In my youth,” Father William replied to the scribe, “I rode for the famed Romanoff, And the grog which in Russia I used to imbibe, Put on what I never got off.”

“You are stout, Father William, as I said before, And my questions may savour of cheek. If you clapped on the sweaters and used them once more, How much could you waste in a week?”

“In my youth,” said old Billy, “in flannels and wraps I’ve toiled over mountain and plain; But such practices never suit podgy old chaps, So I’m blest if I do it again.”

“You are ’cute,” said the Scribe, “and your intellect’s clear, Your son is of jockeys the crack; As the Derby’s approaching, I’m anxious to hear Which horse you advise me to back.”

“See here,” said the Old ’Un, “you want a straight tip, And I’ll give one your merits to suit, Get out of my diggings, you artful Old Rip! Or I’ll give you the toe of my boot.”

_The Sporting Times_, May 2, 1885.

――――

“That terrible _Lancet_ has discovered that the public requires to be put on its guard against the practice of licking adhesive stamps and envelopes. Local irritation, sore tongues, and the like lie in wait for the licker, and it seems, furthermore, that ‘every now and again we hear of special propagation of disease by the habit.’ Our medical contemporary’s caution suggests a wholly new version of an old rhyme:――

“You are old, Father William,” the young man cried, “Yet your health is quite perfect, I wis, And your back is unbent, and your muscles are strong, Pray explain, sir, the meaning of this.”

“As a lad,” said the sage, with a glance that was sly, “In my watch on myself I was strict, _I refrained when the postage-stamp courted my tongue, And I let envelopes go unlicked_.”

_Funny Folks_, June 6, 1885.

――――

THE SEQUEL TO A GREAT POEM.

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said, “The few locks that are left you are grey; To revive and embellish your winterbound head, There is obviously only one way.”

“Ere my fogeydom days,” Father William replied, “I spent money to make myself spry, But the hoar-frost of age, all cosmetiques defied, Though I tried every advertised dye.”

“That may be,” said the youth, with self satisfied air, (He belonged to a set that was fast,) Yet, why, Father William, give way to despair, Are the days of discoveries past?”

“Not so,” cried the old man, “I read but yestr’een, ‘There is hope for the aged and grey,’ You know you young dog very well what I mean, The Reviver of Great Count D’Orsay.”

(From an advertisement.) _Once a Week_, 1886.

――――

ON IRISH POLICY.

You are old, Father Will――one might almost expect That your head was as sage as it’s hoary; Yet your blunders are easy for babes to detect, And your wits have, it seems, gone to glory.

You preached upon “Peace,” and your text wouldn’t mar By applying Coercion to “Pat”; Yet you’d turn a back somersault, go in for war; Pray, what is the reason of that?

Of the Empire’s integrity, careless as well As your own, you must needs turn Home-Rule-ish, And stoop to intrigue with that traitor P――ll; What made you so awfully foolish?

“Peace, Randolph,” replied Father Will, in a huff, “No questions!――I’m lofty and pure, “Not made like you Tories of bloodthirsty stuff, “Be off, or you’ll get the _Clôture_.”

_A New Alphabet of Irish Policy_, by Sphinx (John Heywood, Manchester).

――――

A VALENTINE. _From Miss Hibernia to W. E. G._

You are old, sweetheart William――your hair is grown grey But your heart is still tender and true; And though often in anger I’ve turned me away, Yet I’ve ever been faithful to you.

You are old, sweetheart William――you’ve courted me long, And you’ve given me presents galore; But I want――and I hope you won’t think I am wrong―― I want just one little thing more.

Don’t refuse, sweetheart William, my modest request―― The control of my household affairs; And our union at last may be happily blest, And I’ll never more give myself airs!

JAMES G. MEAGHER. _The Weekly Dispatch_, February 14, 1886.

[Illustration]

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

It was a summer evening, Old Caspar’s work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, That he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Caspar took it from the boy. Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh―― “’Tis some poor fellow’s skull,” said he, “Who fell in the great victory,”

“I find them in the garden, for There’s many here about; And often, when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out; For many a thousand men,” said he, “Were slain in that great victory.”

“Now tell us what ’twas all about,” Young Peterkin he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; “Now tell us all about the war, And what they killed each other for!”

“It was the English,” Caspar cried, “That put the French to rout; But what they killed each other for I could not well make out; But everybody said,” quoth he, “That ’twas a famous victory!”

“My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little streams hard by; They burned his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly; So with his wife and child he fled. Nor had he where to rest his head.

“With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide; And many a childing mother then And new born infant died: But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory.

“They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many a thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun: But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory.”

“Great praise the Duke of Marlbro’ won, And our good Prince Eugene.” “Why, ’twas a very wicked thing!” Said little Wilhelmine. “Nay, nay, my little girl,” quoth he, “It was a famous victory!”

“And everybody praised the Duke, Who such a fight did win.” “But what good came of it at last?” Quoth little Peterkin. “Why, that I cannot tell,” said he, “But ’twas a famous victory!”

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Mr. J. Dixon, in a recent number of _Notes and Queries_, remarks that “while writing this popular little poem Southey seems to have ‘forgotten his history’ in making Caspar, an old Bavarian peasant, call Prince Eugene of Savoy, “_our_ good prince.” He and the Duke of Marlborough, as commanders of the allied forces, defeated the combined army of the French and Bavarians, and old Caspar could look upon Prince Eugene only as an enemy and alien. Southey calls the little boy _Peterkin_, a name quite unknown in South Germany. _Blenheim_ has been so universally accepted as giving a name to the battle, and so many places in England have been called after it, that it would be absurd to expect that the real name of the village――‘Blindheim’――should ever replace it; but certain it is that no such place as _Blenheim_ exists in Germany.”

A BATTLE WITH BILLINGSGATE.

It was the Christmas holidays, And seated in the pit, A Father saw the new Burlesque, That was so full of wit. And by him sat――in slang unskill’d―― His pretty little girl, Clotilde.

She heard some “ladies” on the stage Say they would “cut their sticks!” And one in male attire declare That she’d “go it like bricks.” She asked her Father what were “bricks”? And what they meant by “cut their sticks?”

The Father heard the audience laugh, As at some witty stroke; And the old man he scratch’d his head, For he couldn’t see the joke. “I don’t know what they mean,” said he, “But sure ’tis some facetiæ.”

And then she heard one, nearly nude, Say something else about, “Has your fond mother sold her mangle? And does she know you’re out?” And when the people laughed, cried she, “Oh, Pa! there’s more facetiæ!”

And then the little maiden said, “Now tell me why, Papa, That lady ask’d him if the mangle Was sold by his mamma?” “I can’t tell why, my dear,” said he, Though, of course, ’tis some facetiæ.”

But when she saw the lady’s fingers Unto her nose applied, “Why, ’tis a very vulgar thing!” The little maiden cried. “The papers all, my child, agree, ’Tis brimful of facetiæ.

“And everybody says the piece With brilliant wit is filled;” “And what is wit, my dear Papa?” Quoth innocent Clotilde. “Why, that I cannot say,” quoth he, “But wit is _not_――vulgarity.”

From _George Cruikshank’s Comic Almanack_ for 1847.

――――

A SEASONABLE GOSSIP.

It was a Sunday evening, Old Simpson’s pipe was fill’d, And on the hob his porter stood (He always took it “chill’d”) And near him, from the _Times_ outspread, His little grandson Thomas read.

(Here follow seven verses descriptive of the principal events in the French Revolution of 1848. These are ancient history now.)

“Great praise, no doubt, the men deserve, Who for their rights have fought.” “But what will come of it at last?” Asked little Tom, in thought. “Why, that I cannot tell,” said he, “But not, I fear, Tranquillity.”

_The Puppet Show_, May 13, 1848.

――――

THE BATTLE OF JOBBING. _A Prospective Scene_.――_Time about_ 1893.

It was a winter’s evening; Old Thomson’s work was done, And he, before a small wood fire, Sat crouching like a crone; And by him sat, as cold as stones, His trusty neighbours, Scott and Jones.

He saw his nephew bringing in A something large and round, That in the garden at the back, In digging there he’d found. He came to ask what he had found That was so large, and black, and round.

Old Thomson took it from the youth, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And answered with a sigh―― “A lump of that sea-coal,” said he, “Our fathers used so lavishly.”

They find it near Newcastle, for There’s plenty thereabout; But Shipping Law and City Dues Combine to keep it out. And such poor wretched folks as we Can’t purchase such a luxury.”

“Now tell me what ’tis all about,” The youth cried with surprise; And neighbours Scott and Jones looked up With wonder in their eyes:―― “Now tell us all about the Law, And what the City Dues are for?”

“The Law is this――all foreign ships Are by our rulers told, They shall not bring us coal while ours Are off for Melbourne gold; And so the coal comes as it can―― A cheap and most efficient plan!

“The City lent an orphan fund To merry Charles the Second; Full seven hundred thousand pounds I think the sum was reckon’d; But what they lent it for,” quoth he, “No mortal man could ever see.

“But though Charles could not meet his bill The loan was not so rash; For soon they put a tax on coals, Which paid them back their cash A hundred-fold; but then, you know, That money makes the Mayor to go.

“On ev’ry fire for twenty miles They laid this City tax, And what they lost by _merry_ Charles They put on other’s backs; And still they keep the tax, you know, For money makes the Mayor to go.

“We think it is a splendid sight On a November day, To see the Lord Mayor’s coach and six, With bands and banners gay; But then we know, beneath the show, _What_ money makes the Mayor to go.

Great praise the Corporation wins For hospitality.” “Why, they’re a set of jobbing knaves!” Exclaimed the other three. “Hush, hush! my friends,” quoth he, “you know, That money makes the Mayor to go.

“And after feasts much broken food Is given to the poor,” “Why, they but give them back their own!” Exclaim’d they, as before. “Well, that,” said he, “I do not know, But money makes the Mayor to go.”

_Diogenes_, October, 1853.

――――

THE BATTLE OF BERLIN. (_As it may be described some day._)

It was a summer’s evening, Old Monty’s[67] work was done, And he, before his garden door, Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green, His little grandchild Hughendine.

She saw her brother Benjamin Bring something tied around With broad red tape, which he inside A Cabinet had found: He came to ask what he had found, That was so neatly tied around.

Old Monty took it from the boy, And sighing, shook his head, “It is my relic of the fight That congress waged,” he said―― “The Berlin Treaty, which,” quoth he, “We won in the great victory.”

“Now, tell us what ’twas all about,” Young Benjamin he cries; And little Hughendine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes―― “Now tell us why the Congress met, And what advantage did we get.”

“It was our Premier,” Monty cried, “That put them all to rout; Though how and when he managed it I could not well make out; But every body said,” quoth he, “That ’twas a famous victory.

“True, Russia most successfully Did play her little game; And Austria got heaps of spoil, And even Greece the same: But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory.

“Great praise the Duke of Cyprus won, And Salisbury too, I ween.” “For simply faring like the rest!” Said little Hughendine. “Nay, nay, my little girl,” quoth he, “It was a famous victory.

“And everybody praised the Duke Who such a fight did win.” “But, pray, what good has come of it?” Quoth little Benjamin. “Why, that I cannot tell,” said he; “But ’twas a famous victory.”

_Funny Folks_, August 3, 1878.

――――

CHILDREN AT THE PANTOMIME. First Prize poem published in _The World_ February 4, 1880.

It was a winter’s evening; The father’s work was done, And in a box at Drury Lane He sat to see the fun, And nestling closely at his side Were Mat and Mabel eager-eyed.

They gloated over Blue Beard’s crimes; They pitied Sister Ann; They clapped the transformation scene, As only children can; Then Columbine and Harlequin, With Clown and Pantaloon, come in.

“Now tell us what it’s all about,” Young Mat expectant cries; And little Mabel seconds him With shining wistful eyes. “Now tell us all about the fuss, And why they whack each other thus.”

“It is their way,” the father said; “They act it in dumb show; But what they whack each other for I really do not know. But everybody calls it prime―― It is a famous pantomime,

“But still, they say, ’tis sad to see Those girls so young and fair, Who charmed you so just now, at home, And all the squalor there. But things like these in every clime Attend a famous pantomime.

“Great credit has the manager From all the people gained.” “Why those poor girls _appeared_ so gay!” Quoth Mabel, greatly pained. “Hush, hush, thou little lass o’ mine; It is a famous pantomime!

“And folk have praised the good lessee, Who’s furnished us the fun.” “But what’s the meaning of it all?” Quoth Mat, his tiny son. Said dad, “You’ll know it all in time; But ’tis a famous pantomime.”

ORCHIS. (_F. B. Doveton._)

_Second Prize Poem._

It was a winter’s evening, Had closed the tedious day, And grandpapa and Master Tom Had come to see the play, And, shyly peeping at the scene, His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

Then Master Tommy’s mouth and eyes Grew very large and round, With awestruck gaze of mute surprise At that enchanted ground; “Please tell us what they do, you know, And why they slap each other so.”

“They play those tricks to make us laugh, (Just hear the people shout!) Though what they slap each other for, I never could make out; But everybody says this time It is a famous pantomime.

“And some are kings, and some are queens, And some are knights and squires. And some have friends behind the scenes, And fly――by means of wires; For many hundred at a time, Perform in this great pantomime.

“Some smile, like that for weeks and weeks, And twirl upon their toes; Some paint their eyebrows and their cheeks, And prance about in rows; And everybody says, ‘How prime! It is a famous pantomime.’

“Great praise the foremost actors win Whenever they are seen――” “But tis a very silly thing!” Said little Wilhelmine. “Nay, nay, my little girl; this time It is a famous pantomime.

“Perhaps poor Joe, who laughs so loud, Feels more inclined to cry; Perhaps _his_ little Wilhelmine Is sick, and like to die: But every one, you know, some time Must play in the great pantomime.”

CUCUMBER. (_A. Salter._)

――――

THE BATTLE OF BRUMMAGEM. _By Robert Mouthey._

It was an April evening, The polling day was o’er; And Grandpa STONE in sadden’d mood, Reclined his fire before; Recrimination, blame, were done, GEM, RANDALL, HOPKINS,――all,――were gone.

His little grandson, playing near, A printed sheet had found, With letters cover’d, bold and clear, And figures large and round; In vain he tried to make it out, And came to ask what ’twas about.

Old STONE then took it from the child, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And heav’d a natural sigh,―― “It tells of all who went,” said he, And poll’d in the great victory!”

“I see it in the papers told, There’s many here about; And often when their tales I read, In lies I find them out; We Tories never feared,” said he, “To gain a glorious victory!”