Chapter I: SPOSE ’tis I—and yet, so strange

I feel, I doubt if I’m all right.
Only since Tuesday last this change,
And this is Friday night.

On Monday, life was very drear,
My missus was _so_ cross,
’Cos how I’d spilt a jug of beer—
She, who calls money dross.

She thinks herself a very saint,
‘Cos she reads prayers to us;
But Sal the cook, and I, we ain’t
Imposed on by her fuss.

’Tis not the prayers I think is bad,
But those who are so good
Should act as if they feelings had
Towards we—who are flesh and blood.

But _now_ if missus ’gins to scold
I do not care a straw,
For Tom, on Tuesday morning, told
Me not to mind her jaw.

I now can dance, and laugh, and sing,
Altho’ I work all day.
_Surely_ it is a funny thing,
I’m all at once so gay.

All ’cos Tom’s in love with me,
And I’m sure he says what’s true.
_He_ says love’s a mystery
Which in Eden’s garden grew.

_I_ call love witchcraft, that I do;
It’s made me quite another;
Instead of being Mary Roe,
I may be any other.

Missus thinks I’m going mad,
I work with such good glee;
’Tis only that my heart is glad
’Cos Tom’s in love with me.

I wish some man would missus love;
She might be kinder then.
She says her ’fections are above,
’Cos sinful are all men.

If she but had the chance, I b’lieve,
She’d ’cept the first with glee,
And would not any longer grieve
O’er man’s depravity.

She’d be as different as I—
Oh, laws! what fun ’twould be;
For missus is a very guy,
’Twixt you and Tom and me.

P’rhaps love would make her young once more,
And change her temper too,
For certain, love has witchcraft’s power,
All things he likes, to do.

Tom says _so_, and _so_ ’tis true,
Tom never tells a lie;
And what Tom bids I’ll always do,
Until at last I die.

CHIVALRY.

CHIVALRY, ho yes, I have heerd of such a thing, but I don’t mind owning—not allus having a Tomson’s Dixonary aside o’ me—as I never rightly unnerstood the full meanin’ o’ the word until this very day, when the subjick was suggested and my opinion arxed, which, why should I deny, I _had_ supposed it strictly limited to the man in Brass ninth o’ November Lord Mayor’s Show, as they says it is to be abolished in future times, and a great loss I’m sure to the rising generation, though apt to be mostly all mud and squeeging and more pains than profit to grownups, and likewise in Christmas pantomines and bur-lesks at theayters I have seen Alls of Chivalry most georgius to beeold with young ladies in uncountless troops coming out o’ shells and flowers and bells and stars as made the rime of infancy seem quite reesnable, though why slugs and snails only for the other sect is more than I can explain, and I don’t blush to own free and frank as I believed the time for it in reel life was past and gone these ages, though efforts made many a year back at the Eglintown Turnamount rung through the country, and well I remember seeing picters of queens o’ beauty and gentlemen done up in harmer and a hossback as looked when once they was hup it was more than they could do to save their lives to get down again without most competent assistance, and far from comfortable or easy I should say them mettal dresses was, as it stands to reesin, man being of a active character, was never intended by nature to go about with a shell outside of him like snails, which is both slow and useless, _I_ should say, unless making your palings slimy and nibbling at your cabbage sprouts is useful acts, which much I doubt, though how I’ve got from Chivalry to snails is most surpriging, only the workings of the huming mind _is_ so surpriging as no one never need be surpriged at nothing of the sort,—where was I, ho at harmer which, if you arx my opinion, I do consider such a ill-conwenience as there ought to be a deal to make up for it, and if you can’t have Chivalry without harmer I must say I think we’re better as we are, fur what with crinnerlin the world’s ardly big enough as it is, and if these coats of male was to come in, made of steel likewise, you couldn’t walk in London, excep in Portland Place, praps, and in quiet distrix like Islington and Upper Baker Street, while as for omnibuses, my belief is they’re only kep going as it is by the lightness and tightness of manly figgers and costoom, and if _they_ took to harmer there’d be an end of twelve inside, much less of thirteen out, and pit seats would have to be enlarged, as also pews in church, and especially pulpits, likewise the Houses of Parliament and the Corts of Lor, and everythink would be deranged together fur no particklar good that I can see, but Mrs. Jones she ses it’s not the harmer, it’s not the outside man as needs a haltering in this year age of ourn, it’s not the costoom she ses, it’s the manners, she ses, which in ancient times was so much superior to any think we know on in the presint day, she ses, fur in them distant days there was galliant knights which wore a scarve or a ribbing of the lady as they preferred, and went about the world with long spears a defying all the other knights to say as that there lady of theirs wasn’t the most beautifulest of all living ladies, and fight they would with them spears, and sometimes got ard nox too, in spite of their harmer, but got up again a hossback mostly, and went off to other parts a doing the same thing, which, if that’s chivalry, why I arx you what on erth is the good of such goings on as that, but ho Mrs. Jones ses, that’s not all, she ses, and torx at me fur hours on end, she does, a trying to show me what a deal more obliginger and politer was the manners of them there knights to the manners of these year days, and how they was always a helping of the helpless, and a succouring the distressed, and how they thought it a honner and no trouble to put theirselves to all sorts of inconvenience to oblige one of our sect which, especially the unprotected female, was their joy and pride, never you mind how many bangboxes she might have, nor how pouring of rain, outside of the omnibuses of the period them knights would go immediate, and only count it a ordinary part of what they called their devour to the fare, which I will own I _have_ met with quite contrairy condick from well drest pussons, as doubtless calls theirselves gentlemen, and after standing hours, I may say, in Regint Circus or corner of Tottenham Court Road, have been pushed from getting of my place inside by the very harms that in other times Mrs. Jones ses would have been lifted to my haid, but lor! I ses to her, though this may appen occasional, I ses, what can you expeck in London in the midst of millions of snobs as thinks only of theirselves, and has never learned any better, poor deers, which I’m sorry fur ’em, fur sure I am as the feelins is much more comfortabler of a reel and right down _gentle_ man, which the word explains itself, don’t it, and we don’t want no knights in harmer while there’s men left, and proud I am to say I know a many such, and have met with kindness from a many more as I don’t know the names on, which if they’d had harmer on twice over couldn’t be more ready to lend their strength to the weak, and their elp to the elpless, and chivalry can’t mean no more than that, so let alone the harmer, we can’t have too much of it, _I_ ses, and Mrs. Jones she ses so too, and we ses it not as wimming only but as humane beings as likes to see their feller creeturs a growing in good arts and appiness, not forgetting as wimming likewise has _our_ duties, which is seldom done as well as one could wish, and so has no manner of rite to preech, which much I fear I’ve been a running on most unconscionable, and took up a deal too much of your time, but umbly arx your parding and won’t intrude no further.

CHILDHOOD’S CASTLES IN THE AIR.

GENTLY, no pushing; there’s room to sit
All three without grumbling,
One in front, two behind, well you fit,
And mamma to hold you from tumbling.
Rock, rock, old rocking chair,
You’ll last us a long time with care,
And still without balking
Of us four any one,
From rocking and talking—
That is what we call fun.

Curtains drawn, and no candles lit,
Great red caves in the fire,
This is the time for us four to sit
Rocking and talking all till we tire.
Rock, rock, old rocking chair,
How the fire-light glows up there,
Red on the white ceiling;
The shadows every one
Might be giants, reeling
On their great heads, for fun.

Shall we call this a boat out at sea,
We, four sailors rowing?
Can you fancy it well? As for me
I feel the salt wind blowing.
Up, up and down, lazy boat,
On the top of a wave we float,
Down we go with a rush;
Far off I see a strand
Glimmer; our boat we’ll push
Ashore on Fairy-land.

The fairy people come running
To meet us down on the sand,
Each holding out toward us the very thing
We’ve long wished for, held in his hand.
Up, up again; one wave more
Holds us back from the fairy shore;
Let’s pull all together,
Then with it, up we’ll climb,
To the always fine weather
That makes up fairy time.

Come to us through the dark, children,
Hark! the fairy people call,
But a step between us and you, children,
And in Fairy-land room for us all.
Climb the main and you will be
Landed safe in gay Fairie,
Sporting, feasting, both night and noon,
No pause in fairy pleasures;
Silver ships that sail to the moon,
Magic toys for treasures.

Ah! the tide sweeps us out of our track,
The glimmer dies in the fire,
There’s no climbing the wave that holds back
Just the things that we all most desire!
Never mind, rock, rocking-chair;
While there’s room for us four there,
To sit by fire-light swinging,
Till some one open the door,
Birds in their own nest singing
Ain’t happier than we four.

AUTUMN LEAVES.

I.

WHO cares to think of autumn leaves in spring?
When the birds sing,
And buds are new, and every tree is seen
Veil’d in a mist of tender gradual green;
And every bole and bough
Makes ready for the soft low-brooding wings
Of nested ones to settle there and prove
How sweet is love;
Alas, who then will notice or avow
Such bygone things?

II.

For, hath not spring the promise of the year?
Is she not always dear
To those who can look forward and forget?
Her woods do nurse the violet;
With cowslips fair her fragrant fields are set;
And freckled butterflies
Gleam in her gleaming skies;
And life looks larger, as each lengthening day
Withdraws the shadow, and drinks up the tear:
Youth shall be youth for ever; and the gay
High-hearted summer with her pomps is near.

III.

Yes; but the soul that meditates and grieves,
And guards a precious past,
And feels that neither joy nor loveliness can last—
To her, the fervid flutter of our Spring
Is like the warmth of that barbarian hall
To the scared bird, whose wet and wearied wing
Shot through it once, and came not back at all.
Poor shrunken soul! she knows her fate too well;
Too surely she can tell
That each most delicate toy her fancy made,
And she herself, and what she prized and knew,
And all her loved ones too,
Shall soon lie low, forgotten and decay’d,
Like autumn leaves.

SILENCE. (OF A DEAF PERSON.)