IN IMMEMORIAM

COMRADES, you may pass the rosy. With permission of the chair,I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air.Whether 'twas the sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger-beer,Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little queer.Let me go. Nay, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul, this is too bad!When you want me, ask the waiter; he knows where I'm to be had.Whew! This is a great relief now! Let me but undo my stock;Resting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady like a rock.In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes—Bless my heart, how very odd! Why surely there's a brace of moons!See! the stars! how bright they twinkle, winking with a frosty glare,Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to despair.Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted! Oh, my Amy! No, confound it,I must wear the mournful willow,—all around my heart I've bound it!Falser than the bank of fancy, frailer than a shining glove,Puppet to a father's anger, minion to a nabob's love!Is it well to wish thee happy? Having known me, could you everStoop to marry half a heart, and a little more than half a liver?Happy! Damme! Thou shalt lower to his level day by day,Changing from the best of china to the commonest of clay.As the husband is, the wife is,—he is stomach-plagued and old;And his curry soups will make thy cheek the color of his gold.When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely thenSomething lower than his hookah,—something less than his cayenne.What is this? His eyes are pinky. Was 't the claret? Oh, no, no,—Bless your soul! it was the salmon,—salmon always makes him so.Take him to thy dainty chamber—soothe him with thy lightest fancies;He will understand thee, won't he?—pay thee with a lover's glances?Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest ophicleide,Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride.Sweet repose, delightful music! Gaze upon thy noble charge,Till the spirit fill thy bosom that inspired the meek Laffarge.Better thou wert dead before me,—better, better that I stood,Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel Good!Better thou and I were lying, cold and timber-stiff and dead,With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial bed!Cursed be the Bank of England's notes, that tempt the soul to sin!Cursed be the wants of acres,—doubly cursed the want of tin!Cursed be the marriage-contract, that enslaved thy soul to greed!Cursed be the sallow lawyer that prepared and drew the deed!Cursed be his foul apprentice, who the loathsome fees did earn!Cursed be the clerk and parson,—cursed be the whole concern!Oh, 'tis well that I should bluster,—much I'm like to make of that;Better comfort have I found in singing "All Around my Hat."But that song, so wildly plaintive, palls upon my British ears.'Twill not do to pine for ever,—I am getting up in years.Can't I turn the honest penny, scribbling for the weekly press,And in writing Sunday libels drown my private wretchedness?Oh, to feel the wild pulsation that in manhood's dawn I knew,When my days were all before me, and my years were twenty-two!When I smoked my independent pipe along the Quadrant wide,With the many larks of London flaring up on every side;When I went the pace so wildly, caring little what might come;Coffee-milling care and sorrow with a nose-adapted thumb;Felt the exquisite enjoyment, tossing nightly off, oh, heavens!Brandies at the Cider Cellars, kidneys smoking hot at Evans'!Or in the Adelphi sitting, half in rapture, half in tears,Saw the glorious melodrama conjure up the shades of years!Saw Jack Sheppard, noble stripling, act his wondrous feats again,Snapping Newgate's bars of iron, like an infant's daisy chain.Might was right, and all the terrors, which had held the world in awe,Were despised, and priggings prospered, spite of Laurie, spite of law.In such scenes as these I triumphed, ere my passion's edge was rusted,And my cousin's cold refusal left me very much disgusted!Since, my heart is sere and withered, and I do not care a curseWhether worse shall be the better, or the better be the worse.Hark! my merry comrades call me, bawling for another jorum;They would mock me in derision, should I thus appear before 'em.Womankind shall no more vex me, such at least as go arrayedIn the most expensive satins and the newest silk brocade.I'll to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yieldsRarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spitalfields.Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self asideI shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval pride;Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich cassava root,Lots of dates and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden fruit.Never comes the trader thither, never o'er the purple mainSounds the oath of British commerce, or the accent of Cockaigne.There, methinks, would be enjoyment, where no envious rule prevents;Sink the Steamboats! cuss the railways! rot, oh, rot the Three per Cents!There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have space to breathe, my cousin!I will wed some savage woman—nay, I'll wed at least a dozen.There I'll rear my young mulattoes, as no Bond Street brats are reared;They shall dive for alligators, catch the wild goats by the beard—Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced baboon,Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo in the Mountains of the Moon.I myself, in far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood will daily quaff,Ride a tiger-hunting, mounted on a thorough-bred giraffe.Fiercely shall I shout the war-whoop, as some sullen stream he crosses,Startling from their noonday slumbers iron-bound rhinoceroses.Fool! again the dream, the fancy! But I know my words are mad,For I hold the gray barbarian lower than the Christian cad.I the swell—the city dandy! I to seek such horrid places,—I to haunt with squalid negroes, blubber-lips, and monkey-faces.I to wed with Coromantees! I, who managed—very near—To secure the heart and fortune of the widow Shillibeer!Stuff and nonsense! let me never fling a single chance away;Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another maiden may.Morning Post(The Timeswon't trust me) help me, as I know you can;I will pen an advertisement,—that's a never failing plan."Wanted—by a bard, in wedlock, some young interesting woman;Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners be forthcoming!"Hymen's chains the advertiser vows shall be but silken fetters;Please address to A. T., Chelsea. N. B.—You must pay the letters."That's the sort of thing to do it. Now I'll go and taste the balmy,—Rest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted Cousin Amy!William Aytoun.

COMRADES, you may pass the rosy. With permission of the chair,I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air.

COMRADES, you may pass the rosy. With permission of the chair,

I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air.

Whether 'twas the sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger-beer,Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little queer.

Whether 'twas the sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger-beer,

Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little queer.

Let me go. Nay, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul, this is too bad!When you want me, ask the waiter; he knows where I'm to be had.

Let me go. Nay, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul, this is too bad!

When you want me, ask the waiter; he knows where I'm to be had.

Whew! This is a great relief now! Let me but undo my stock;Resting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady like a rock.

Whew! This is a great relief now! Let me but undo my stock;

Resting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady like a rock.

In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes—Bless my heart, how very odd! Why surely there's a brace of moons!

In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes—

Bless my heart, how very odd! Why surely there's a brace of moons!

See! the stars! how bright they twinkle, winking with a frosty glare,Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to despair.

See! the stars! how bright they twinkle, winking with a frosty glare,

Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to despair.

Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted! Oh, my Amy! No, confound it,I must wear the mournful willow,—all around my heart I've bound it!

Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted! Oh, my Amy! No, confound it,

I must wear the mournful willow,—all around my heart I've bound it!

Falser than the bank of fancy, frailer than a shining glove,Puppet to a father's anger, minion to a nabob's love!

Falser than the bank of fancy, frailer than a shining glove,

Puppet to a father's anger, minion to a nabob's love!

Is it well to wish thee happy? Having known me, could you everStoop to marry half a heart, and a little more than half a liver?

Is it well to wish thee happy? Having known me, could you ever

Stoop to marry half a heart, and a little more than half a liver?

Happy! Damme! Thou shalt lower to his level day by day,Changing from the best of china to the commonest of clay.

Happy! Damme! Thou shalt lower to his level day by day,

Changing from the best of china to the commonest of clay.

As the husband is, the wife is,—he is stomach-plagued and old;And his curry soups will make thy cheek the color of his gold.

As the husband is, the wife is,—he is stomach-plagued and old;

And his curry soups will make thy cheek the color of his gold.

When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely thenSomething lower than his hookah,—something less than his cayenne.

When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely then

Something lower than his hookah,—something less than his cayenne.

What is this? His eyes are pinky. Was 't the claret? Oh, no, no,—Bless your soul! it was the salmon,—salmon always makes him so.

What is this? His eyes are pinky. Was 't the claret? Oh, no, no,—

Bless your soul! it was the salmon,—salmon always makes him so.

Take him to thy dainty chamber—soothe him with thy lightest fancies;He will understand thee, won't he?—pay thee with a lover's glances?

Take him to thy dainty chamber—soothe him with thy lightest fancies;

He will understand thee, won't he?—pay thee with a lover's glances?

Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest ophicleide,Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride.

Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest ophicleide,

Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride.

Sweet repose, delightful music! Gaze upon thy noble charge,Till the spirit fill thy bosom that inspired the meek Laffarge.

Sweet repose, delightful music! Gaze upon thy noble charge,

Till the spirit fill thy bosom that inspired the meek Laffarge.

Better thou wert dead before me,—better, better that I stood,Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel Good!

Better thou wert dead before me,—better, better that I stood,

Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel Good!

Better thou and I were lying, cold and timber-stiff and dead,With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial bed!

Better thou and I were lying, cold and timber-stiff and dead,

With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial bed!

Cursed be the Bank of England's notes, that tempt the soul to sin!Cursed be the wants of acres,—doubly cursed the want of tin!

Cursed be the Bank of England's notes, that tempt the soul to sin!

Cursed be the wants of acres,—doubly cursed the want of tin!

Cursed be the marriage-contract, that enslaved thy soul to greed!Cursed be the sallow lawyer that prepared and drew the deed!

Cursed be the marriage-contract, that enslaved thy soul to greed!

Cursed be the sallow lawyer that prepared and drew the deed!

Cursed be his foul apprentice, who the loathsome fees did earn!Cursed be the clerk and parson,—cursed be the whole concern!

Cursed be his foul apprentice, who the loathsome fees did earn!

Cursed be the clerk and parson,—cursed be the whole concern!

Oh, 'tis well that I should bluster,—much I'm like to make of that;Better comfort have I found in singing "All Around my Hat."

Oh, 'tis well that I should bluster,—much I'm like to make of that;

Better comfort have I found in singing "All Around my Hat."

But that song, so wildly plaintive, palls upon my British ears.'Twill not do to pine for ever,—I am getting up in years.

But that song, so wildly plaintive, palls upon my British ears.

'Twill not do to pine for ever,—I am getting up in years.

Can't I turn the honest penny, scribbling for the weekly press,And in writing Sunday libels drown my private wretchedness?

Can't I turn the honest penny, scribbling for the weekly press,

And in writing Sunday libels drown my private wretchedness?

Oh, to feel the wild pulsation that in manhood's dawn I knew,When my days were all before me, and my years were twenty-two!

Oh, to feel the wild pulsation that in manhood's dawn I knew,

When my days were all before me, and my years were twenty-two!

When I smoked my independent pipe along the Quadrant wide,With the many larks of London flaring up on every side;

When I smoked my independent pipe along the Quadrant wide,

With the many larks of London flaring up on every side;

When I went the pace so wildly, caring little what might come;Coffee-milling care and sorrow with a nose-adapted thumb;

When I went the pace so wildly, caring little what might come;

Coffee-milling care and sorrow with a nose-adapted thumb;

Felt the exquisite enjoyment, tossing nightly off, oh, heavens!Brandies at the Cider Cellars, kidneys smoking hot at Evans'!

Felt the exquisite enjoyment, tossing nightly off, oh, heavens!

Brandies at the Cider Cellars, kidneys smoking hot at Evans'!

Or in the Adelphi sitting, half in rapture, half in tears,Saw the glorious melodrama conjure up the shades of years!

Or in the Adelphi sitting, half in rapture, half in tears,

Saw the glorious melodrama conjure up the shades of years!

Saw Jack Sheppard, noble stripling, act his wondrous feats again,Snapping Newgate's bars of iron, like an infant's daisy chain.

Saw Jack Sheppard, noble stripling, act his wondrous feats again,

Snapping Newgate's bars of iron, like an infant's daisy chain.

Might was right, and all the terrors, which had held the world in awe,Were despised, and priggings prospered, spite of Laurie, spite of law.

Might was right, and all the terrors, which had held the world in awe,

Were despised, and priggings prospered, spite of Laurie, spite of law.

In such scenes as these I triumphed, ere my passion's edge was rusted,And my cousin's cold refusal left me very much disgusted!

In such scenes as these I triumphed, ere my passion's edge was rusted,

And my cousin's cold refusal left me very much disgusted!

Since, my heart is sere and withered, and I do not care a curseWhether worse shall be the better, or the better be the worse.

Since, my heart is sere and withered, and I do not care a curse

Whether worse shall be the better, or the better be the worse.

Hark! my merry comrades call me, bawling for another jorum;They would mock me in derision, should I thus appear before 'em.

Hark! my merry comrades call me, bawling for another jorum;

They would mock me in derision, should I thus appear before 'em.

Womankind shall no more vex me, such at least as go arrayedIn the most expensive satins and the newest silk brocade.

Womankind shall no more vex me, such at least as go arrayed

In the most expensive satins and the newest silk brocade.

I'll to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yieldsRarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spitalfields.

I'll to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yields

Rarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spitalfields.

Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self asideI shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval pride;

Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self aside

I shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval pride;

Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich cassava root,Lots of dates and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden fruit.

Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich cassava root,

Lots of dates and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden fruit.

Never comes the trader thither, never o'er the purple mainSounds the oath of British commerce, or the accent of Cockaigne.

Never comes the trader thither, never o'er the purple main

Sounds the oath of British commerce, or the accent of Cockaigne.

There, methinks, would be enjoyment, where no envious rule prevents;Sink the Steamboats! cuss the railways! rot, oh, rot the Three per Cents!

There, methinks, would be enjoyment, where no envious rule prevents;

Sink the Steamboats! cuss the railways! rot, oh, rot the Three per Cents!

There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have space to breathe, my cousin!I will wed some savage woman—nay, I'll wed at least a dozen.

There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have space to breathe, my cousin!

I will wed some savage woman—nay, I'll wed at least a dozen.

There I'll rear my young mulattoes, as no Bond Street brats are reared;They shall dive for alligators, catch the wild goats by the beard—

There I'll rear my young mulattoes, as no Bond Street brats are reared;

They shall dive for alligators, catch the wild goats by the beard—

Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced baboon,Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo in the Mountains of the Moon.

Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced baboon,

Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo in the Mountains of the Moon.

I myself, in far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood will daily quaff,Ride a tiger-hunting, mounted on a thorough-bred giraffe.

I myself, in far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood will daily quaff,

Ride a tiger-hunting, mounted on a thorough-bred giraffe.

Fiercely shall I shout the war-whoop, as some sullen stream he crosses,Startling from their noonday slumbers iron-bound rhinoceroses.

Fiercely shall I shout the war-whoop, as some sullen stream he crosses,

Startling from their noonday slumbers iron-bound rhinoceroses.

Fool! again the dream, the fancy! But I know my words are mad,For I hold the gray barbarian lower than the Christian cad.

Fool! again the dream, the fancy! But I know my words are mad,

For I hold the gray barbarian lower than the Christian cad.

I the swell—the city dandy! I to seek such horrid places,—I to haunt with squalid negroes, blubber-lips, and monkey-faces.

I the swell—the city dandy! I to seek such horrid places,—

I to haunt with squalid negroes, blubber-lips, and monkey-faces.

I to wed with Coromantees! I, who managed—very near—To secure the heart and fortune of the widow Shillibeer!

I to wed with Coromantees! I, who managed—very near—

To secure the heart and fortune of the widow Shillibeer!

Stuff and nonsense! let me never fling a single chance away;Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another maiden may.

Stuff and nonsense! let me never fling a single chance away;

Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another maiden may.

Morning Post(The Timeswon't trust me) help me, as I know you can;I will pen an advertisement,—that's a never failing plan.

Morning Post(The Timeswon't trust me) help me, as I know you can;

I will pen an advertisement,—that's a never failing plan.

"Wanted—by a bard, in wedlock, some young interesting woman;Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners be forthcoming!

"Wanted—by a bard, in wedlock, some young interesting woman;

Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners be forthcoming!

"Hymen's chains the advertiser vows shall be but silken fetters;Please address to A. T., Chelsea. N. B.—You must pay the letters."

"Hymen's chains the advertiser vows shall be but silken fetters;

Please address to A. T., Chelsea. N. B.—You must pay the letters."

That's the sort of thing to do it. Now I'll go and taste the balmy,—Rest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted Cousin Amy!William Aytoun.

That's the sort of thing to do it. Now I'll go and taste the balmy,—

Rest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted Cousin Amy!

William Aytoun.

WE seek to know, and knowing seek;We seek, we know, and every senseIs trembling with the great IntenseAnd vibrating to what we speak.We ask too much, we seek too oft,We know enough, and should no more;And yet we skim through Fancy's loreAnd look to earth and not aloft.A something comes from out the gloom;I know it not, nor seek to know;I only see it swell and grow,And more than this world would presume.Meseems, a circling void I fill,And I, unchanged where all is changed;It seems unreal; I own it strange,Yet nurse the thoughts I cannot kill.I hear the ocean's surging tide,Raise quiring on its carol-tune;I watch the golden-sickled moon,And clearer voices call besides.O Sea! whose ancient ripples lieOn red-ribbed sands where seaweeds shone;O Moon! whose golden sickle's gone;O Voices all! like ye I die!Cuthbert Bede.

WE seek to know, and knowing seek;We seek, we know, and every senseIs trembling with the great IntenseAnd vibrating to what we speak.

WE seek to know, and knowing seek;

We seek, we know, and every sense

Is trembling with the great Intense

And vibrating to what we speak.

We ask too much, we seek too oft,We know enough, and should no more;And yet we skim through Fancy's loreAnd look to earth and not aloft.

We ask too much, we seek too oft,

We know enough, and should no more;

And yet we skim through Fancy's lore

And look to earth and not aloft.

A something comes from out the gloom;I know it not, nor seek to know;I only see it swell and grow,And more than this world would presume.

A something comes from out the gloom;

I know it not, nor seek to know;

I only see it swell and grow,

And more than this world would presume.

Meseems, a circling void I fill,And I, unchanged where all is changed;It seems unreal; I own it strange,Yet nurse the thoughts I cannot kill.

Meseems, a circling void I fill,

And I, unchanged where all is changed;

It seems unreal; I own it strange,

Yet nurse the thoughts I cannot kill.

I hear the ocean's surging tide,Raise quiring on its carol-tune;I watch the golden-sickled moon,And clearer voices call besides.

I hear the ocean's surging tide,

Raise quiring on its carol-tune;

I watch the golden-sickled moon,

And clearer voices call besides.

O Sea! whose ancient ripples lieOn red-ribbed sands where seaweeds shone;O Moon! whose golden sickle's gone;O Voices all! like ye I die!Cuthbert Bede.

O Sea! whose ancient ripples lie

On red-ribbed sands where seaweeds shone;

O Moon! whose golden sickle's gone;

O Voices all! like ye I die!

Cuthbert Bede.

FORTH from the purple battlements he fared,Sir Eggnogg of the Rampant Lily, namedFrom that embrasure of his argent shieldGiven by a thousand leagues of heraldryOn snuffy parchments drawn. So forth he fared,By bosky boles and autumn leaves he fared,Where grew the juniper with berries black,The sphery mansions of the future gin.But naught of this decoyed his mind, so bentOn fair Miasma, Saxon-blooded girl,Who laughed his loving lullabies to scorn,And would have snatched his hero-sword to deckHer haughty brow, or warm her hands withal,So scornful she; and thence Sir Eggnogg cursedBetween his teeth, and chewed his iron bootsIn spleen of love. But ere the morn was highIn the robustious heaven, the postern-towerClang to the harsh, discordant, slivering screamOf the tire-woman, at the window bentTo dress her crispéd hair. She saw, ah, woe!The fair Miasma, overbalanced, hurledO'er the flamboyant parapet which ridgedThe muffled coping of the castle's peak,Prone on the ivory pavement of the court,Which caught and cleft her fairest skull, and sentHer rosy brains to fleck the Orient floor.This saw Sir Eggnogg, in his stirrups poised.Saw he and cursed, with many a deep-mouthed oath,And, finding nothing more could reuniteThe splintered form of fair Miasma, rodeOn his careering palfrey to the wars,And there found death, another death than hers.Bayard Taylor.

FORTH from the purple battlements he fared,

Sir Eggnogg of the Rampant Lily, named

From that embrasure of his argent shield

Given by a thousand leagues of heraldry

On snuffy parchments drawn. So forth he fared,

By bosky boles and autumn leaves he fared,

Where grew the juniper with berries black,

The sphery mansions of the future gin.

But naught of this decoyed his mind, so bent

On fair Miasma, Saxon-blooded girl,

Who laughed his loving lullabies to scorn,

And would have snatched his hero-sword to deck

Her haughty brow, or warm her hands withal,

So scornful she; and thence Sir Eggnogg cursed

Between his teeth, and chewed his iron boots

In spleen of love. But ere the morn was high

In the robustious heaven, the postern-tower

Clang to the harsh, discordant, slivering scream

Of the tire-woman, at the window bent

To dress her crispéd hair. She saw, ah, woe!

The fair Miasma, overbalanced, hurled

O'er the flamboyant parapet which ridged

The muffled coping of the castle's peak,

Prone on the ivory pavement of the court,

Which caught and cleft her fairest skull, and sent

Her rosy brains to fleck the Orient floor.

This saw Sir Eggnogg, in his stirrups poised.

Saw he and cursed, with many a deep-mouthed oath,

And, finding nothing more could reunite

The splintered form of fair Miasma, rode

On his careering palfrey to the wars,

And there found death, another death than hers.

Bayard Taylor.

"IWAITED for the Train at Coventry,"The Train was several hundred years too late(It had not been invented yet, you see);Such is the Cold Cast Irony of Fate.At last the Train arrived, and with it tooYour Book—a Precious Package marked "collect."Raptured I read it through and through, and through,And then I paused in sadness to reflect—How that same Book had been a priceless boon,But for a little accident of Date;If only I had not been born so soon,Or if you had not gone to press so late.O Book, if only you had come to meEre I rode forth upon that morning sad!In naught but Faith and Hope and Charity,And other Vague Abstractions thinly clad;In whole Editions I would have invested(I hope you get good Royalties therefrom),To keep the naughty townfolk interestedAnd most Particularly, Peeping Tom.Oliver Herford.

"IWAITED for the Train at Coventry,"

The Train was several hundred years too late

(It had not been invented yet, you see);

Such is the Cold Cast Irony of Fate.

At last the Train arrived, and with it too

Your Book—a Precious Package marked "collect."

Raptured I read it through and through, and through,

And then I paused in sadness to reflect—

How that same Book had been a priceless boon,

But for a little accident of Date;

If only I had not been born so soon,

Or if you had not gone to press so late.

O Book, if only you had come to me

Ere I rode forth upon that morning sad!

In naught but Faith and Hope and Charity,

And other Vague Abstractions thinly clad;

In whole Editions I would have invested

(I hope you get good Royalties therefrom),

To keep the naughty townfolk interested

And most Particularly, Peeping Tom.

Oliver Herford.

(Rough-weather notes from the New Birthday-Book)

IF you're waking, please don't call me, please don't call me, Currie dear,For they tell me that to-morrow toward the open we're to steer!No doubt, for you and those aloft, the maddest merriest way,—But I always feel best in a bay, Currie,I always feel best in a bay.

IF you're waking, please don't call me, please don't call me, Currie dear,

For they tell me that to-morrow toward the open we're to steer!

No doubt, for you and those aloft, the maddest merriest way,—

But I always feel best in a bay, Currie,

I always feel best in a bay.

Take, take, take?What will I take for tea?The thinnest slice—no butter,And that's quite enough for me.

Take, take, take?

What will I take for tea?

The thinnest slice—no butter,

And that's quite enough for me.

It is the little roll within the berthThat, by and by, will put an end to mirth,And, never ceasing, slowly prostrate all.

It is the little roll within the berth

That, by and by, will put an end to mirth,

And, never ceasing, slowly prostrate all.

Let me alone! What pleasure can you haveIn chaffing evil? Tell me what's the funOf ever climbing up the climbing wave?All you, the rest, you know how to behaveIn roughish weather! I, for oneAsk for the shore—or death, dark death,—I am so done.

Let me alone! What pleasure can you haveIn chaffing evil? Tell me what's the funOf ever climbing up the climbing wave?

Let me alone! What pleasure can you have

In chaffing evil? Tell me what's the fun

Of ever climbing up the climbing wave?

All you, the rest, you know how to behaveIn roughish weather! I, for oneAsk for the shore—or death, dark death,—I am so done.

All you, the rest, you know how to behave

In roughish weather! I, for one

Ask for the shore—or death, dark death,—

I am so done.

Twelve knots an hour! But what am I?A poet with no land in sight,Insisting that he feels "all right,"With half a smile and half a sigh.

Twelve knots an hour! But what am I?

A poet with no land in sight,

Insisting that he feels "all right,"

With half a smile and half a sigh.

Comfort? Comfort scorned of lubbers! Hear this truth the Poet roar,That a sorrow's crown of sorrows is remembering days on shore.Drug his soda lest he learn it when the foreland gleams a speckIn the dead unhappy night, when he can't sit up on deck!

Comfort? Comfort scorned of lubbers! Hear this truth the Poet roar,

That a sorrow's crown of sorrows is remembering days on shore.

Drug his soda lest he learn it when the foreland gleams a speck

In the dead unhappy night, when he can't sit up on deck!

Ah! you've called me nice and early, nice and early, Currie dear!What? Really in? Well, come, the news I'm precious glad to hear;For though in such good company I willingly would stay—I'm glad to be back in the bay, Currie,I'm glad to be back in the bay.Punch.

Ah! you've called me nice and early, nice and early, Currie dear!

What? Really in? Well, come, the news I'm precious glad to hear;

For though in such good company I willingly would stay—

I'm glad to be back in the bay, Currie,

I'm glad to be back in the bay.

Punch.

HOME they brought her sailor son,Grown a man across the sea,Tall and broad and black of beard,And hoarse of voice as man may be.Hand to shake and mouth to kiss,Both he offered ere he spoke;But she said—"What man is thisComes to play a sorry joke?"Then they praised him—call'd him "smart,""Tightest lad that ever stept;"But her son she did not know,And she neither smiled nor wept.Rose, a nurse of ninety years,Set a pigeon-pie in sight;She saw him eat—"'Tis he! 'tis he!"She knew him—by his appetite!William Sawyer.

HOME they brought her sailor son,Grown a man across the sea,Tall and broad and black of beard,And hoarse of voice as man may be.

HOME they brought her sailor son,

Grown a man across the sea,

Tall and broad and black of beard,

And hoarse of voice as man may be.

Hand to shake and mouth to kiss,Both he offered ere he spoke;But she said—"What man is thisComes to play a sorry joke?"

Hand to shake and mouth to kiss,

Both he offered ere he spoke;

But she said—"What man is this

Comes to play a sorry joke?"

Then they praised him—call'd him "smart,""Tightest lad that ever stept;"But her son she did not know,And she neither smiled nor wept.

Then they praised him—call'd him "smart,"

"Tightest lad that ever stept;"

But her son she did not know,

And she neither smiled nor wept.

Rose, a nurse of ninety years,Set a pigeon-pie in sight;She saw him eat—"'Tis he! 'tis he!"She knew him—by his appetite!William Sawyer.

Rose, a nurse of ninety years,

Set a pigeon-pie in sight;

She saw him eat—"'Tis he! 'tis he!"

She knew him—by his appetite!

William Sawyer.

ONE, who is not, we see; but one, whom we see not, is;Surely this is not that: but that is assuredly this.What, and wherefore, and whence? for under is over and under;If thunder could be without lightning, lightning could be without thunder.Doubt is faith in the main: but faith, on the whole, is doubt;We cannot believe by proof: but could we believe without?Why, and whither, and how? for barley and rye are not clover;Neither are straight lines curves: yet over is under and over.Two and two may be four: but four and four are not eight;Fate and God may be twain: but God is the same thing as fate.Ask a man what he thinks, and get from a man what he feels;God, once caught in the fact, shews you a fair pair of heels.Body and spirit are twins: God only knows which is which;The soul squats down in the flesh, like a tinker drunk in a ditch.One and two are not one: but one and nothing is two;Truth can hardly be false, if falsehood cannot be true.Once the mastodon was: pterodactyls were common as cocks;Then the mammoth was God: now is He a prize ox.Parallels all things are: yet many of these are askew.You are certainly I: but certainly I am not you.Springs the rock from the plain, shoots the stream from the rock;Cocks exist for the hen: but hens exist for the cock.God, whom we see not, is: and God, who is not, we see;Fiddle, we know, is diddle: and diddle, we take it, is dee.Algernon Charles Swinburne.

ONE, who is not, we see; but one, whom we see not, is;Surely this is not that: but that is assuredly this.

ONE, who is not, we see; but one, whom we see not, is;

Surely this is not that: but that is assuredly this.

What, and wherefore, and whence? for under is over and under;If thunder could be without lightning, lightning could be without thunder.

What, and wherefore, and whence? for under is over and under;

If thunder could be without lightning, lightning could be without thunder.

Doubt is faith in the main: but faith, on the whole, is doubt;We cannot believe by proof: but could we believe without?

Doubt is faith in the main: but faith, on the whole, is doubt;

We cannot believe by proof: but could we believe without?

Why, and whither, and how? for barley and rye are not clover;Neither are straight lines curves: yet over is under and over.

Why, and whither, and how? for barley and rye are not clover;

Neither are straight lines curves: yet over is under and over.

Two and two may be four: but four and four are not eight;Fate and God may be twain: but God is the same thing as fate.

Two and two may be four: but four and four are not eight;

Fate and God may be twain: but God is the same thing as fate.

Ask a man what he thinks, and get from a man what he feels;God, once caught in the fact, shews you a fair pair of heels.

Ask a man what he thinks, and get from a man what he feels;

God, once caught in the fact, shews you a fair pair of heels.

Body and spirit are twins: God only knows which is which;The soul squats down in the flesh, like a tinker drunk in a ditch.

Body and spirit are twins: God only knows which is which;

The soul squats down in the flesh, like a tinker drunk in a ditch.

One and two are not one: but one and nothing is two;Truth can hardly be false, if falsehood cannot be true.

One and two are not one: but one and nothing is two;

Truth can hardly be false, if falsehood cannot be true.

Once the mastodon was: pterodactyls were common as cocks;Then the mammoth was God: now is He a prize ox.

Once the mastodon was: pterodactyls were common as cocks;

Then the mammoth was God: now is He a prize ox.

Parallels all things are: yet many of these are askew.You are certainly I: but certainly I am not you.

Parallels all things are: yet many of these are askew.

You are certainly I: but certainly I am not you.

Springs the rock from the plain, shoots the stream from the rock;Cocks exist for the hen: but hens exist for the cock.

Springs the rock from the plain, shoots the stream from the rock;

Cocks exist for the hen: but hens exist for the cock.

God, whom we see not, is: and God, who is not, we see;Fiddle, we know, is diddle: and diddle, we take it, is dee.Algernon Charles Swinburne.

God, whom we see not, is: and God, who is not, we see;

Fiddle, we know, is diddle: and diddle, we take it, is dee.

Algernon Charles Swinburne.

The situation.

1IN Africa (a Quarter of the World),Men's skins are black, their hair is crisp and curl'd,And somewhere there, unknown to public view,A mighty city lies, called Timbuctoo.The natural history.5There stalks the tiger,—there the lion roars,Who sometimes eats the luckless blackamoors;All that he leaves of them the monster throwsTo jackals, vultures, dogs, cats, kites, and crows;His hunger thus the forest monster gluts,10And then lies down 'neath trees called cocoa-nuts.The lion hunt.Quick issue out, with musket, torch, and brand,The sturdy blackamoors, a dusky band!The beast is found—pop goes the musketoons—The lion falls covered with horrid wounds.Their lives at home.15At home their lives in pleasure always flow,But many have a different lot to know!Abroad.They're often caught and sold as slaves, alas!Reflections on the foregoing.Thus men from highest joy to sorrow pass;Yet though thy monarch and thy nobles boil20Rack and molasses in Jamaica's isle,Desolate Africa! thou art lovely yet!One heart yet beats which ne'er thee shall forget.What though thy maidens are a blackish brown,Does virtue dwell in whiter breasts alone?25Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!It shall not, must not, cannot, e'er be so.The day shall come when Albion's self shall feelStern Afric's wrath, and writhe 'neath Afric's steel.I see her tribes the hill of glory mount,30And sell their sugars on their own account;While round her throne the prostrate nations come,Sue for her rice, and barter for her rum!

1IN Africa (a Quarter of the World),Men's skins are black, their hair is crisp and curl'd,And somewhere there, unknown to public view,A mighty city lies, called Timbuctoo.

IN Africa (a Quarter of the World),

Men's skins are black, their hair is crisp and curl'd,

And somewhere there, unknown to public view,

A mighty city lies, called Timbuctoo.

The natural history.

5There stalks the tiger,—there the lion roars,Who sometimes eats the luckless blackamoors;All that he leaves of them the monster throwsTo jackals, vultures, dogs, cats, kites, and crows;His hunger thus the forest monster gluts,10And then lies down 'neath trees called cocoa-nuts.

There stalks the tiger,—there the lion roars,

Who sometimes eats the luckless blackamoors;

All that he leaves of them the monster throws

To jackals, vultures, dogs, cats, kites, and crows;

His hunger thus the forest monster gluts,

And then lies down 'neath trees called cocoa-nuts.

The lion hunt.

Quick issue out, with musket, torch, and brand,The sturdy blackamoors, a dusky band!The beast is found—pop goes the musketoons—The lion falls covered with horrid wounds.

Quick issue out, with musket, torch, and brand,

The sturdy blackamoors, a dusky band!

The beast is found—pop goes the musketoons—

The lion falls covered with horrid wounds.

Their lives at home.

15At home their lives in pleasure always flow,But many have a different lot to know!

At home their lives in pleasure always flow,

But many have a different lot to know!

Abroad.

They're often caught and sold as slaves, alas!

Reflections on the foregoing.

Thus men from highest joy to sorrow pass;Yet though thy monarch and thy nobles boil20Rack and molasses in Jamaica's isle,Desolate Africa! thou art lovely yet!One heart yet beats which ne'er thee shall forget.What though thy maidens are a blackish brown,Does virtue dwell in whiter breasts alone?25Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!It shall not, must not, cannot, e'er be so.The day shall come when Albion's self shall feelStern Afric's wrath, and writhe 'neath Afric's steel.I see her tribes the hill of glory mount,30And sell their sugars on their own account;While round her throne the prostrate nations come,Sue for her rice, and barter for her rum!

Thus men from highest joy to sorrow pass;

Yet though thy monarch and thy nobles boil

Rack and molasses in Jamaica's isle,

Desolate Africa! thou art lovely yet!

One heart yet beats which ne'er thee shall forget.

What though thy maidens are a blackish brown,Does virtue dwell in whiter breasts alone?25Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!It shall not, must not, cannot, e'er be so.The day shall come when Albion's self shall feelStern Afric's wrath, and writhe 'neath Afric's steel.

What though thy maidens are a blackish brown,

Does virtue dwell in whiter breasts alone?

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!

It shall not, must not, cannot, e'er be so.

The day shall come when Albion's self shall feel

Stern Afric's wrath, and writhe 'neath Afric's steel.

I see her tribes the hill of glory mount,30And sell their sugars on their own account;While round her throne the prostrate nations come,Sue for her rice, and barter for her rum!

I see her tribes the hill of glory mount,

And sell their sugars on their own account;

While round her throne the prostrate nations come,

Sue for her rice, and barter for her rum!

Notes.—Lines 1 and 2.—See Guthrie's Geography. The site of Timbuctoo is doubtful; the author has neatly expressed this in the poem, at the same time giving us some slight hints relative to its situation.Line 5.—So Horace: leonum arida nutrix.Line 13.—"Pop goes the musketoons." A learned friend suggested "Bang" as a stronger expression, but as African gunpowder is notoriously bad, the author thought "Pop" the better word.Lines 15-18.—A concise but affecting description is here given of the domestic habits of the people. The infamous manner in which they are entrapped and sold as slaves is described, and the whole ends with an appropriate moral sentiment. The enthusiasm the author feels is beautifully expressed in lines 25 and 26.

Line 5.—So Horace: leonum arida nutrix.

Line 13.—"Pop goes the musketoons." A learned friend suggested "Bang" as a stronger expression, but as African gunpowder is notoriously bad, the author thought "Pop" the better word.

Lines 15-18.—A concise but affecting description is here given of the domestic habits of the people. The infamous manner in which they are entrapped and sold as slaves is described, and the whole ends with an appropriate moral sentiment. The enthusiasm the author feels is beautifully expressed in lines 25 and 26.

W. M. Thackeray.

CHOOSE judiciously thy friends; for to discard them is undesirable,Yet it is better to drop thy friends, O my daughter, than to drop thy H's.Dost thou know a wise woman? yea, wiser than the children of light?Hath she a position? and a title? and are her parties in theMorning Post?If thou dost, cleave unto her, and give up unto her thy body and mind;Think with her ideas, and distribute thy smiles at her bidding:So shalt thou become like unto her; and thy manners shall be "formed,"And thy name shall be a Sesame, at which the doors of the great shall fly open:Thou shalt know every Peer, his arms, and the date of his creation,His pedigree and their intermarriages, and cousins to the sixth remove:Thou shalt kiss the hand of Royalty, and lo! in next morning's papers,Side by side with rumors of wars, and stories of shipwrecks and sieges,Shall appear thy name, and the minutiæ of thy head-dress and petticoat,For an enraptured public to muse upon over their matutinal muffin.Charles S. Calverley.

CHOOSE judiciously thy friends; for to discard them is undesirable,

Yet it is better to drop thy friends, O my daughter, than to drop thy H's.

Dost thou know a wise woman? yea, wiser than the children of light?

Hath she a position? and a title? and are her parties in theMorning Post?

If thou dost, cleave unto her, and give up unto her thy body and mind;

Think with her ideas, and distribute thy smiles at her bidding:

So shalt thou become like unto her; and thy manners shall be "formed,"

And thy name shall be a Sesame, at which the doors of the great shall fly open:

Thou shalt know every Peer, his arms, and the date of his creation,

His pedigree and their intermarriages, and cousins to the sixth remove:

Thou shalt kiss the hand of Royalty, and lo! in next morning's papers,

Side by side with rumors of wars, and stories of shipwrecks and sieges,

Shall appear thy name, and the minutiæ of thy head-dress and petticoat,

For an enraptured public to muse upon over their matutinal muffin.

Charles S. Calverley.

READ not Milton, for he is dry; nor Shakespeare, for he wrote of common life;Nor Scott, for his romances, though fascinating, are yet intelligible;Nor Thackeray, for he is a Hogarth, a photographer who flattereth not;Nor Kingsley, for he shall teach thee that thou shouldest not dream, but do.Read incessantly thy Burke; that Burke who, nobler than he of old,Treateth of the Peer and Peeress, the truly Sublime and Beautiful;Likewise study the "creations" of "the Prince of modern Romance;"Sigh over Leonard the Martyr, and smile on Pelham the puppy;Learn how "love is the dram-drinking of existence;"And how we "invoke, in the Gadara of our still closets,The beautiful ghost of the Ideal, with the simple wand of the pen."Listen how Maltravers and the orphan "forgot all but love,"And how Devereux's family chaplain "made and unmade kings;"How Eugene Aram, though a thief, a liar, and a murderer,Yet, being intellectual, was amongst the noblest of mankind;So shalt thou live in a world peopled with heroes and master spiritsAnd if thou canst not realize the Ideal, thou shalt at least idealize the Real.Charles S. Calverley.

READ not Milton, for he is dry; nor Shakespeare, for he wrote of common life;

Nor Scott, for his romances, though fascinating, are yet intelligible;

Nor Thackeray, for he is a Hogarth, a photographer who flattereth not;

Nor Kingsley, for he shall teach thee that thou shouldest not dream, but do.

Read incessantly thy Burke; that Burke who, nobler than he of old,

Treateth of the Peer and Peeress, the truly Sublime and Beautiful;

Likewise study the "creations" of "the Prince of modern Romance;"

Sigh over Leonard the Martyr, and smile on Pelham the puppy;

Learn how "love is the dram-drinking of existence;"

And how we "invoke, in the Gadara of our still closets,

The beautiful ghost of the Ideal, with the simple wand of the pen."

Listen how Maltravers and the orphan "forgot all but love,"

And how Devereux's family chaplain "made and unmade kings;"

How Eugene Aram, though a thief, a liar, and a murderer,

Yet, being intellectual, was amongst the noblest of mankind;

So shalt thou live in a world peopled with heroes and master spirits

And if thou canst not realize the Ideal, thou shalt at least idealize the Real.

Charles S. Calverley.

(Another version)

LONG by the willow-treesVainly they sought her,Wild rang the mother's screamsO'er the gray water:"Where is my lovely one?Where is my daughter?"Rouse thee, Sir Constable—Rouse thee and look;Fisherman, bring your net,Boatman, your hook.Beat in the lily-beds,Dive in the brook!"Vainly the constableShouted and called her;Vainly the fishermanBeat the green alder;Vainly he flung the net,Never it hauled her!Mother beside the fireSat, her nightcap in;Father, in easy chair,Gloomily napping,When at the window-sillCame a light tapping!And a pale countenanceLooked through the casement,Loud beat the mother's heart,Sick with amazement,And at the vision whichCame to surprise her,Shrieked in an agony—"Lor'! it's Elizar!"Yes, 'twas Elizabeth—Yes, 'twas their girl;Pale was her cheek, and herHair out of curl."Mother," the loving one,Blushing exclaimed,"Let not your innocentLizzy be blamed."Yesterday, going to AuntJones's to tea,Mother, dear mother, IForgot the door-key!And as the night was coldAnd the way steep,Mrs. Jones kept me toBreakfast and sleep."Whether her Pa and MaFully believed her,That we shall never know,Stern they received her;And for the work of thatCruel, though short, nightSent her to bed withoutTea for a fortnight.

LONG by the willow-treesVainly they sought her,Wild rang the mother's screamsO'er the gray water:"Where is my lovely one?Where is my daughter?

LONG by the willow-trees

Vainly they sought her,

Wild rang the mother's screams

O'er the gray water:

"Where is my lovely one?

Where is my daughter?

"Rouse thee, Sir Constable—Rouse thee and look;Fisherman, bring your net,Boatman, your hook.Beat in the lily-beds,Dive in the brook!"

"Rouse thee, Sir Constable—

Rouse thee and look;

Fisherman, bring your net,

Boatman, your hook.

Beat in the lily-beds,

Dive in the brook!"

Vainly the constableShouted and called her;Vainly the fishermanBeat the green alder;Vainly he flung the net,Never it hauled her!

Vainly the constable

Shouted and called her;

Vainly the fisherman

Beat the green alder;

Vainly he flung the net,

Never it hauled her!

Mother beside the fireSat, her nightcap in;Father, in easy chair,Gloomily napping,When at the window-sillCame a light tapping!

Mother beside the fire

Sat, her nightcap in;

Father, in easy chair,

Gloomily napping,

When at the window-sill

Came a light tapping!

And a pale countenanceLooked through the casement,Loud beat the mother's heart,Sick with amazement,And at the vision whichCame to surprise her,Shrieked in an agony—"Lor'! it's Elizar!"

And a pale countenance

Looked through the casement,

Loud beat the mother's heart,

Sick with amazement,

And at the vision which

Came to surprise her,

Shrieked in an agony—

"Lor'! it's Elizar!"

Yes, 'twas Elizabeth—Yes, 'twas their girl;Pale was her cheek, and herHair out of curl."Mother," the loving one,Blushing exclaimed,"Let not your innocentLizzy be blamed.

Yes, 'twas Elizabeth—

Yes, 'twas their girl;

Pale was her cheek, and her

Hair out of curl.

"Mother," the loving one,

Blushing exclaimed,

"Let not your innocent

Lizzy be blamed.

"Yesterday, going to AuntJones's to tea,Mother, dear mother, IForgot the door-key!And as the night was coldAnd the way steep,Mrs. Jones kept me toBreakfast and sleep."

"Yesterday, going to Aunt

Jones's to tea,

Mother, dear mother, I

Forgot the door-key!

And as the night was cold

And the way steep,

Mrs. Jones kept me to

Breakfast and sleep."

Whether her Pa and MaFully believed her,That we shall never know,Stern they received her;And for the work of thatCruel, though short, nightSent her to bed withoutTea for a fortnight.

Whether her Pa and Ma

Fully believed her,

That we shall never know,

Stern they received her;

And for the work of that

Cruel, though short, night

Sent her to bed without

Tea for a fortnight.

MORAL

Hey diddle diddlety,Cat and the fiddlety,Maidens of England, take caution by she!Let love and suicideNever tempt you aside,And always remember to take the door-key.W. M. Thackeray.

Hey diddle diddlety,

Cat and the fiddlety,

Maidens of England, take caution by she!

Let love and suicide

Never tempt you aside,

And always remember to take the door-key.

W. M. Thackeray.

(Dedicated to Darwin and Huxley)

THEY told him gently he was madeOf nicely tempered mud,That man no lengthened part had playedAnterior to the Flood.'Twas all in vain; he heeded not,Referring plant and worm,Fish, reptile, ape, and Hottentot,To one primordial germ.They asked him whether he could bearTo think his kind alliedTo all those brutal forms which wereIn structure Pithecoid;Whether he thought the apes and usHomologous in form;He said, "Homo and PithecusCame from one common germ."They called him "atheistical,""Sceptic," and "infidel."They swore his doctrines without failWould plunge him into hell.But he with proofs in no way lame.Made this deduction firm,That all organic beings cameFrom one primordial germ.That as for the Noachian flood,'Twas long ago disproved,That as for man being made of mud,All by whom truth is lovedAccept as fact what,malgréstrife,Research tends to confirm—That man, and everything with life,Came from one common germ.Anonymous.

THEY told him gently he was made

Of nicely tempered mud,

That man no lengthened part had played

Anterior to the Flood.

'Twas all in vain; he heeded not,

Referring plant and worm,

Fish, reptile, ape, and Hottentot,

To one primordial germ.

They asked him whether he could bearTo think his kind alliedTo all those brutal forms which wereIn structure Pithecoid;Whether he thought the apes and usHomologous in form;He said, "Homo and PithecusCame from one common germ."

They asked him whether he could bear

To think his kind allied

To all those brutal forms which were

In structure Pithecoid;

Whether he thought the apes and us

Homologous in form;

He said, "Homo and Pithecus

Came from one common germ."

They called him "atheistical,""Sceptic," and "infidel."They swore his doctrines without failWould plunge him into hell.But he with proofs in no way lame.Made this deduction firm,That all organic beings cameFrom one primordial germ.

They called him "atheistical,"

"Sceptic," and "infidel."

They swore his doctrines without fail

Would plunge him into hell.

But he with proofs in no way lame.

Made this deduction firm,

That all organic beings came

From one primordial germ.

That as for the Noachian flood,'Twas long ago disproved,That as for man being made of mud,All by whom truth is lovedAccept as fact what,malgréstrife,Research tends to confirm—That man, and everything with life,Came from one common germ.Anonymous.

That as for the Noachian flood,

'Twas long ago disproved,

That as for man being made of mud,

All by whom truth is loved

Accept as fact what,malgréstrife,

Research tends to confirm—

That man, and everything with life,

Came from one common germ.

Anonymous.

"OH! to be in EnglandNow that April's there.And whoever wakes in EnglandSees some morning" in despair;There's a horrible fog i' the heart o' the town,And the greasy pavement is damp and brown,While the rain-drop falls from the laden boughIn England——now!

"OH! to be in England

Now that April's there.

And whoever wakes in England

Sees some morning" in despair;

There's a horrible fog i' the heart o' the town,

And the greasy pavement is damp and brown,

While the rain-drop falls from the laden bough

In England——now!

"And after April when May follows,"How foolish seem the returning swallows.Hark! how the east wind sweeps along the street,And how we give one universal sneeze!The hapless lambs at thought of mint-sauce bleat,And ducks are conscious of the coming peas.Lest you should think the Spring is really present,A biting frost will come to make things pleasant;And though the reckless flowers begin to blow,They'd better far have nestled down below;An English Spring sets men and women frowning,Despite the rhapsodies of Robert Browning.Anonymous.

"And after April when May follows,"

How foolish seem the returning swallows.

Hark! how the east wind sweeps along the street,

And how we give one universal sneeze!

The hapless lambs at thought of mint-sauce bleat,

And ducks are conscious of the coming peas.

Lest you should think the Spring is really present,

A biting frost will come to make things pleasant;

And though the reckless flowers begin to blow,

They'd better far have nestled down below;

An English Spring sets men and women frowning,

Despite the rhapsodies of Robert Browning.

Anonymous.

NOT that I care for ceremonies—no;But still there are occasions, as you see(Observe the costumes—gallantly they showTo my poor judgment!) which, twixt you and me,Not to come forth, one's few remaining hairs,Or wig,—it matters little,—bravely brushedAnd oiled, dress-coated, sprucely-clad, the tearsAnd tweaks and wrenches, people overflushedWith—well, not wine—oh, no, we'll rather sayAnticipation, the delight of seeingNo matter what! inflict upon you (prayRemove your elbow, friend!) in spite of beingNot quite the man one used to be, and notSo young as once one was, would argue oneChurlish, indifferent, hipped, rheumatic, whatYou please to say.So, not to spoil the fun—Comprenez-vous?—observe that lady there,In native worth! Aha! you see the jest?Not bad, I think. My own, too! Woman's fair.Or not—the odds so long as she is dressed?They're coming! Soh! Ha, Bennett's Barcarole—A poor thing, but mine own! That minor thirdIs not so bad now! Mum, sirs! (Bless my soul,I wonder what her veil cost!) Mum's the word!Anonymous.

NOT that I care for ceremonies—no;

But still there are occasions, as you see

(Observe the costumes—gallantly they show

To my poor judgment!) which, twixt you and me,

Not to come forth, one's few remaining hairs,

Or wig,—it matters little,—bravely brushed

And oiled, dress-coated, sprucely-clad, the tears

And tweaks and wrenches, people overflushed

With—well, not wine—oh, no, we'll rather say

Anticipation, the delight of seeing

No matter what! inflict upon you (pray

Remove your elbow, friend!) in spite of being

Not quite the man one used to be, and not

So young as once one was, would argue one

Churlish, indifferent, hipped, rheumatic, what

You please to say.

So, not to spoil the fun—Comprenez-vous?—observe that lady there,In native worth! Aha! you see the jest?Not bad, I think. My own, too! Woman's fair.Or not—the odds so long as she is dressed?They're coming! Soh! Ha, Bennett's Barcarole—A poor thing, but mine own! That minor thirdIs not so bad now! Mum, sirs! (Bless my soul,I wonder what her veil cost!) Mum's the word!Anonymous.

So, not to spoil the fun—

Comprenez-vous?—observe that lady there,

In native worth! Aha! you see the jest?

Not bad, I think. My own, too! Woman's fair.

Or not—the odds so long as she is dressed?

They're coming! Soh! Ha, Bennett's Barcarole—

A poor thing, but mine own! That minor third

Is not so bad now! Mum, sirs! (Bless my soul,

I wonder what her veil cost!) Mum's the word!

Anonymous.

YOU see this pebble-stone? It's a thing I boughtOff a bit of a chit of a boy i' the mid o' the day.I like to dock the smaller parts o' speech,As we curtail the already cur-tail'd cur—(You catch the paronomasia, play 'po' words?)Did, rather, i' the pre-Landseerian days.Well, to my muttons. I purchased the concern,And clapt it i' my poke, having given for sameBy way o' chop, swop, barter or exchange—"Chop" was my snickering dandiprat's own term—One shilling and fourpence, current coin o' the realm.O-n-e one, and f-o-u-r fourPence, one and fourpence—you are with me, sir?—What hour it skills not: ten or eleven o' the clock,One day (and what a roaring day it wasGo shop or sight-see—bar a spit o' rain!)In February, eighteen sixty-nine,Alexandria Victoria, Fidei—Hm—hm—how runs the jargon? being on the throne.Such, sir, are all the facts, succinctly put,The basis or substratum—what you will will—Of the impending eighty thousand lines."Not much in 'em either," quoth perhaps simple Hodge.But there's a superstructure. Wait a bit.Mark first the rationale of the thing:Hear logic rivel and levigate the deed.That shilling—and for matter o' that, the pence—I had o' course upo' me—wi' me say—(Mecum's the Latin, make a note o' that)When I popp'd pen i' stand, scratch'd ear, wiped snout,(Let everybody wipe his own himself)Sniff'd—tch!—at snuff-box; tumbled up, ne-heed,Haw-haw'd (not hee-haw'd, that's another guess thing),Then fumbled at, and stumbled out of, door.I shoved the timber ope wi' my omoplat;Andin vestibulo, i' the lobby to wit(Iacobi Facciolati's rendering, sir),Donn'd galligaskins, antigropeloes,And so forth; and, complete with hat and gloves,One on and one a-dangle i' my hand,And ombrifuge (Lord love you!), case o' rain,I flopp'd forth, 'sbuddikins! on my own ten toes(I do assure you there be ten of them),And went clump-clumping up hill and down daleTo find myself o' the sudden i' front o' the boy.But case I hadn't 'em on me, could I ha' boughtThis sort-o'-kind-o'-what-you-might-call toy,This pebble thing, o' the boy-thing? Q. E. D.That's proven without aid from mumping Pope,Sleek porporate or bloated Cardinal.(Isn't it, old Fatchaps? You're in Euclid now.)So, having the shilling—having i' fact a lot—And pence and halfpence, ever so many o' them,I purchased, as I think I said before,The pebble (lapis,lapidis,-di,-dem,-de—What nouns 'crease short i' the genitive, Fatchaps, eh?)O' the boy, a bare-legg'd beggarly son of a gun,for one and fourpence. Here we are again.Now Law steps in, bigwigg'd, voluminous-jaw'd;Investigates and re-investigates.Was the transaction illegal? Law shakes headPerpend, sir, all the bearings of the case.At first the coin was mine, the chattel his.But now (by virtue of the said exchangeAnd barter)vice versaall the coin,Per juris operationem, vestsI' the boy and his assigns till ding o' doom;(In sæcula sæculo-o-o-rum;I think I hear the Abate mouth out that.)To have and hold the same to him and them.Confersome idiot on Conveyancing.Whereas the pebble and every part thereof,And all that appertaineth thereunto,Quodcunque pertinet ad eam rem(I fancy, sir, my Latin's rather pat),Or shall, will, may, might, can, could, would or should(Subaudi cætera—clap we to the close—For what's the good of Law in a case o' the kind),Is mine to all intents and purposes.This settled, I resume the thread o' the tale.Now for a touch o' the vendor's quality.He says a gen'lman bought a pebble of him(This pebble i' sooth, sir, which I hold i' my hand),And paid for't,likea gen'lman, on the nail."Did I o'ercharge him a ha'penny? Devil a bit.Fiddlepin's end! Get out, you blazing ass!Gabble o' the goose. Don't bugaboo-babyme!Go double or quits? Yah! tittup! what's the odds?"There's the transaction view'd i' the vendor's light.Next ask that dumpled hag, stood snuffling by,With her three frowsy blowsy brats o' babes,The scum o' the kennel, cream o' the filth-heap—Faugh!Aie, aie, aie, aie! οτοτοτοτοτοἱ('Stead which we blurt out Hoighty toighty now),And the baker and candlestickmaker, and Jack and Jill,Blear'd Goody this and queasy Gaffer that.Ask the schoolmaster. Take schoolmaster first.He saw a gentleman purchase of a ladA stone, and pay for itrite, on the square,And carry it offper saltum, jauntily,Propria quae maribus, gentleman's property now(Agreeably to the law explain'd above),In proprium usum, for his private ends,The boy he chuck'd a brown i' the air, and bitI' the face the shilling; heaved a thumping stoneAt a lean hen that ran cluck clucking by(And hit her, dead as nail i' post o' door),Thenabiit—what's the Ciceronian phrase?—Excessit, evasit, erupit—off slogs boy;Off like bird,avi similis—(you observedThe dative? Pretty i' the Mantuan!)—AngliceOff in three flea skips.Hactenus, so far,So good,tam bene.Bene, satis, male,—Where was I with my trope 'bout one in a quag?I did once hitch the syntax into verse:Verbum personale, a verb personal,Concordat—ay, "agrees," old Fatchaps—cumNominativo, with its nominative,Genere, i' point o' gender,numero,O' number,et persona, and person.Ut,Instance:Sol ruit, down flops sun,et, and,Montes umbrantur, out flounce mountains. Pah!Excuse me, sir, I think I'm going mad.You see the trick on't though, and can yourselfContinue the discoursead libitum.It takes up about eighty thousand lines,A thing imagination boggles at;And might, odds-bobs, sir! in judicious hands,Extend from here to Mesopotamy.Charles S. Calverley.

YOU see this pebble-stone? It's a thing I bought

Off a bit of a chit of a boy i' the mid o' the day.

I like to dock the smaller parts o' speech,

As we curtail the already cur-tail'd cur—

(You catch the paronomasia, play 'po' words?)

Did, rather, i' the pre-Landseerian days.

Well, to my muttons. I purchased the concern,

And clapt it i' my poke, having given for same

By way o' chop, swop, barter or exchange—

"Chop" was my snickering dandiprat's own term—

One shilling and fourpence, current coin o' the realm.

O-n-e one, and f-o-u-r four

Pence, one and fourpence—you are with me, sir?—

What hour it skills not: ten or eleven o' the clock,

One day (and what a roaring day it was

Go shop or sight-see—bar a spit o' rain!)

In February, eighteen sixty-nine,

Alexandria Victoria, Fidei—

Hm—hm—how runs the jargon? being on the throne.

Such, sir, are all the facts, succinctly put,The basis or substratum—what you will will—Of the impending eighty thousand lines."Not much in 'em either," quoth perhaps simple Hodge.But there's a superstructure. Wait a bit.Mark first the rationale of the thing:Hear logic rivel and levigate the deed.That shilling—and for matter o' that, the pence—I had o' course upo' me—wi' me say—(Mecum's the Latin, make a note o' that)When I popp'd pen i' stand, scratch'd ear, wiped snout,(Let everybody wipe his own himself)Sniff'd—tch!—at snuff-box; tumbled up, ne-heed,Haw-haw'd (not hee-haw'd, that's another guess thing),Then fumbled at, and stumbled out of, door.I shoved the timber ope wi' my omoplat;Andin vestibulo, i' the lobby to wit(Iacobi Facciolati's rendering, sir),Donn'd galligaskins, antigropeloes,And so forth; and, complete with hat and gloves,One on and one a-dangle i' my hand,And ombrifuge (Lord love you!), case o' rain,I flopp'd forth, 'sbuddikins! on my own ten toes(I do assure you there be ten of them),And went clump-clumping up hill and down daleTo find myself o' the sudden i' front o' the boy.But case I hadn't 'em on me, could I ha' boughtThis sort-o'-kind-o'-what-you-might-call toy,This pebble thing, o' the boy-thing? Q. E. D.That's proven without aid from mumping Pope,Sleek porporate or bloated Cardinal.(Isn't it, old Fatchaps? You're in Euclid now.)So, having the shilling—having i' fact a lot—And pence and halfpence, ever so many o' them,I purchased, as I think I said before,The pebble (lapis,lapidis,-di,-dem,-de—What nouns 'crease short i' the genitive, Fatchaps, eh?)O' the boy, a bare-legg'd beggarly son of a gun,for one and fourpence. Here we are again.

Such, sir, are all the facts, succinctly put,

The basis or substratum—what you will will—

Of the impending eighty thousand lines.

"Not much in 'em either," quoth perhaps simple Hodge.

But there's a superstructure. Wait a bit.

Mark first the rationale of the thing:

Hear logic rivel and levigate the deed.

That shilling—and for matter o' that, the pence—

I had o' course upo' me—wi' me say—

(Mecum's the Latin, make a note o' that)

When I popp'd pen i' stand, scratch'd ear, wiped snout,

(Let everybody wipe his own himself)

Sniff'd—tch!—at snuff-box; tumbled up, ne-heed,

Haw-haw'd (not hee-haw'd, that's another guess thing),

Then fumbled at, and stumbled out of, door.

I shoved the timber ope wi' my omoplat;

Andin vestibulo, i' the lobby to wit

(Iacobi Facciolati's rendering, sir),

Donn'd galligaskins, antigropeloes,

And so forth; and, complete with hat and gloves,

One on and one a-dangle i' my hand,

And ombrifuge (Lord love you!), case o' rain,

I flopp'd forth, 'sbuddikins! on my own ten toes

(I do assure you there be ten of them),

And went clump-clumping up hill and down dale

To find myself o' the sudden i' front o' the boy.

But case I hadn't 'em on me, could I ha' bought

This sort-o'-kind-o'-what-you-might-call toy,

This pebble thing, o' the boy-thing? Q. E. D.

That's proven without aid from mumping Pope,

Sleek porporate or bloated Cardinal.

(Isn't it, old Fatchaps? You're in Euclid now.)

So, having the shilling—having i' fact a lot—

And pence and halfpence, ever so many o' them,

I purchased, as I think I said before,

The pebble (lapis,lapidis,-di,-dem,-de—

What nouns 'crease short i' the genitive, Fatchaps, eh?)

O' the boy, a bare-legg'd beggarly son of a gun,

for one and fourpence. Here we are again.

Now Law steps in, bigwigg'd, voluminous-jaw'd;Investigates and re-investigates.Was the transaction illegal? Law shakes headPerpend, sir, all the bearings of the case.

Now Law steps in, bigwigg'd, voluminous-jaw'd;

Investigates and re-investigates.

Was the transaction illegal? Law shakes head

Perpend, sir, all the bearings of the case.

At first the coin was mine, the chattel his.But now (by virtue of the said exchangeAnd barter)vice versaall the coin,Per juris operationem, vestsI' the boy and his assigns till ding o' doom;(In sæcula sæculo-o-o-rum;I think I hear the Abate mouth out that.)To have and hold the same to him and them.Confersome idiot on Conveyancing.

At first the coin was mine, the chattel his.

But now (by virtue of the said exchange

And barter)vice versaall the coin,

Per juris operationem, vests

I' the boy and his assigns till ding o' doom;

(In sæcula sæculo-o-o-rum;

I think I hear the Abate mouth out that.)

To have and hold the same to him and them.

Confersome idiot on Conveyancing.

Whereas the pebble and every part thereof,And all that appertaineth thereunto,Quodcunque pertinet ad eam rem(I fancy, sir, my Latin's rather pat),Or shall, will, may, might, can, could, would or should(Subaudi cætera—clap we to the close—For what's the good of Law in a case o' the kind),Is mine to all intents and purposes.This settled, I resume the thread o' the tale.Now for a touch o' the vendor's quality.He says a gen'lman bought a pebble of him(This pebble i' sooth, sir, which I hold i' my hand),And paid for't,likea gen'lman, on the nail."Did I o'ercharge him a ha'penny? Devil a bit.Fiddlepin's end! Get out, you blazing ass!Gabble o' the goose. Don't bugaboo-babyme!Go double or quits? Yah! tittup! what's the odds?"There's the transaction view'd i' the vendor's light.

Whereas the pebble and every part thereof,

And all that appertaineth thereunto,

Quodcunque pertinet ad eam rem

(I fancy, sir, my Latin's rather pat),

Or shall, will, may, might, can, could, would or should

(Subaudi cætera—clap we to the close—

For what's the good of Law in a case o' the kind),

Is mine to all intents and purposes.

This settled, I resume the thread o' the tale.

Now for a touch o' the vendor's quality.

He says a gen'lman bought a pebble of him

(This pebble i' sooth, sir, which I hold i' my hand),

And paid for't,likea gen'lman, on the nail.

"Did I o'ercharge him a ha'penny? Devil a bit.

Fiddlepin's end! Get out, you blazing ass!

Gabble o' the goose. Don't bugaboo-babyme!

Go double or quits? Yah! tittup! what's the odds?"

There's the transaction view'd i' the vendor's light.

Next ask that dumpled hag, stood snuffling by,With her three frowsy blowsy brats o' babes,The scum o' the kennel, cream o' the filth-heap—Faugh!Aie, aie, aie, aie! οτοτοτοτοτοἱ('Stead which we blurt out Hoighty toighty now),And the baker and candlestickmaker, and Jack and Jill,Blear'd Goody this and queasy Gaffer that.Ask the schoolmaster. Take schoolmaster first.

Next ask that dumpled hag, stood snuffling by,

With her three frowsy blowsy brats o' babes,

The scum o' the kennel, cream o' the filth-heap—Faugh!

Aie, aie, aie, aie! οτοτοτοτοτοἱ

('Stead which we blurt out Hoighty toighty now),

And the baker and candlestickmaker, and Jack and Jill,

Blear'd Goody this and queasy Gaffer that.

Ask the schoolmaster. Take schoolmaster first.

He saw a gentleman purchase of a ladA stone, and pay for itrite, on the square,And carry it offper saltum, jauntily,Propria quae maribus, gentleman's property now(Agreeably to the law explain'd above),In proprium usum, for his private ends,The boy he chuck'd a brown i' the air, and bitI' the face the shilling; heaved a thumping stoneAt a lean hen that ran cluck clucking by(And hit her, dead as nail i' post o' door),Thenabiit—what's the Ciceronian phrase?—Excessit, evasit, erupit—off slogs boy;Off like bird,avi similis—(you observedThe dative? Pretty i' the Mantuan!)—AngliceOff in three flea skips.Hactenus, so far,So good,tam bene.Bene, satis, male,—Where was I with my trope 'bout one in a quag?I did once hitch the syntax into verse:Verbum personale, a verb personal,Concordat—ay, "agrees," old Fatchaps—cumNominativo, with its nominative,Genere, i' point o' gender,numero,O' number,et persona, and person.Ut,Instance:Sol ruit, down flops sun,et, and,Montes umbrantur, out flounce mountains. Pah!Excuse me, sir, I think I'm going mad.You see the trick on't though, and can yourselfContinue the discoursead libitum.It takes up about eighty thousand lines,A thing imagination boggles at;And might, odds-bobs, sir! in judicious hands,Extend from here to Mesopotamy.Charles S. Calverley.

He saw a gentleman purchase of a lad

A stone, and pay for itrite, on the square,

And carry it offper saltum, jauntily,

Propria quae maribus, gentleman's property now

(Agreeably to the law explain'd above),

In proprium usum, for his private ends,

The boy he chuck'd a brown i' the air, and bit

I' the face the shilling; heaved a thumping stone

At a lean hen that ran cluck clucking by

(And hit her, dead as nail i' post o' door),

Thenabiit—what's the Ciceronian phrase?—

Excessit, evasit, erupit—off slogs boy;

Off like bird,avi similis—(you observed

The dative? Pretty i' the Mantuan!)—Anglice

Off in three flea skips.Hactenus, so far,

So good,tam bene.Bene, satis, male,—

Where was I with my trope 'bout one in a quag?

I did once hitch the syntax into verse:

Verbum personale, a verb personal,

Concordat—ay, "agrees," old Fatchaps—cum

Nominativo, with its nominative,

Genere, i' point o' gender,numero,

O' number,et persona, and person.Ut,

Instance:Sol ruit, down flops sun,et, and,

Montes umbrantur, out flounce mountains. Pah!

Excuse me, sir, I think I'm going mad.

You see the trick on't though, and can yourself

Continue the discoursead libitum.

It takes up about eighty thousand lines,

A thing imagination boggles at;

And might, odds-bobs, sir! in judicious hands,

Extend from here to Mesopotamy.

Charles S. Calverley.

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