Chapter I: SING a legend of the sea,

So hard-a-port upon your lee!
A ship on starboard tack!
She’s bound upon a private cruise—
(This is the kind of spice I use
To give a salt-sea smack).

Behold, on every afternoon
(Save in a gale or strong Monsoon)
Great CAPTAIN CAPEL CLEGGS
(Great morally, though rather short)
Sat at an open weather-port
And aired his shapely legs.

And Mermaids hung around in flocks,
On cable chains and distant rocks,
To gaze upon those limbs;
For legs like those, of flesh and bone,
Are things “not generally known”
To any Merman TIMBS.

But Mermen didn’t seem to care
Much time (as far as I’m aware)
With CLEGGS’S legs to spend;
Though Mermaids swam around all day
And gazed, exclaiming, “_That’s_ the way
A gentleman should end!

“A pair of legs with well-cut knees,
And calves and ankles such as these
Which we in rapture hail,
Are far more eloquent, it’s clear
(When clothed in silk and kerseymere),
Than any nasty tail.”

And CLEGGS—a worthy kind old boy—
Rejoiced to add to others’ joy,
And, when the day was dry,
Because it pleased the lookers-on,
He sat from morn till night—though con-
Stitutionally shy.

At first the Mermen laughed, “Pooh! pooh!”
But finally they jealous grew,
And sounded loud recalls;
But vainly. So these fishy males
Declared they too would clothe their tails
In silken hose and smalls.

They set to work, these water-men,
And made their nether robes—but when
They drew with dainty touch
The kerseymere upon their tails,
They found it scraped against their scales,
And hurt them very much.

The silk, besides, with which they chose
To deck their tails by way of hose
(They never thought of shoon),
For such a use was much too thin,—
It tore against the caudal fin,
And “went in ladders” soon.

So they designed another plan:
They sent their most seductive man
This note to him to show—
“Our Monarch sends to CAPTAIN CLEGGS
His humble compliments, and begs
He’ll join him down below;

“We’ve pleasant homes below the sea—
Besides, if CAPTAIN CLEGGS should be
(As our advices say)
A judge of Mermaids, he will find
Our lady-fish of every kind
Inspection will repay.”

Good CAPEL sent a kind reply,
For CAPEL thought he could descry
An admirable plan
To study all their ways and laws—
(But not their lady-fish, because
He was a married man).

The Merman sank—the Captain too
Jumped overboard, and dropped from view
Like stone from catapult;
And when he reached the Merman’s lair,
He certainly was welcomed there,
But, ah! with what result?

They didn’t let him learn their law,
Or make a note of what he saw,
Or interesting mem.:
The lady-fish he couldn’t find,
But that, of course, he didn’t mind—
He didn’t come for them.

For though, when CAPTAIN CAPEL sank,
The Mermen drawn in double rank
Gave him a hearty hail,
Yet when secure of CAPTAIN CLEGGS,
They cut off both his lovely legs,
And gave him _such_ a tail!

When CAPTAIN CLEGGS returned aboard,
His blithesome crew convulsive roar’d,
To see him altered so.
The Admiralty did insist
That he upon the Half-pay List
Immediately should go.

In vain declared the poor old salt,
“It’s my misfortune—not my fault,”
With tear and trembling lip—
In vain poor CAPEL begged and begged.
“A man must be completely legged
Who rules a British ship.”

So spake the stern First Lord aloud—
He was a wag, though very proud,
And much rejoiced to say,
“You’re only half a captain now—
And so, my worthy friend, I vow
You’ll only get half-pay!”

ANNIE PROTHEROE

A LEGEND OF STRATFORD-LE-BOW

OH! listen to the tale of little ANNIE PROTHEROE.
She kept a small post-office in the neighbourhood of BOW;
She loved a skilled mechanic, who was famous in his day—
A gentle executioner whose name was GILBERT CLAY.

I think I hear you say, “A dreadful subject for your rhymes!”
O reader, do not shrink—he didn’t live in modern times!
He lived so long ago (the sketch will show it at a glance)
That all his actions glitter with the lime-light of Romance.

In busy times he laboured at his gentle craft all day—
“No doubt you mean his Cal-craft,” you amusingly will say—
But, no—he didn’t operate with common bits of string,
He was a Public Headsman, which is quite another thing.

And when his work was over, they would ramble o’er the lea,
And sit beneath the frondage of an elderberry tree,
And ANNIE’S simple prattle entertained him on his walk,
For public executions formed the subject of her talk.

And sometimes he’d explain to her, which charmed her very much,
How famous operators vary very much in touch,
And then, perhaps, he’d show how he himself performed the trick,
And illustrate his meaning with a poppy and a stick.

Or, if it rained, the little maid would stop at home, and look
At his favourable notices, all pasted in a book,
And then her cheek would flush—her swimming eyes would dance with joy
In a glow of admiration at the prowess of her boy.

One summer eve, at supper-time, the gentle GILBERT said
(As he helped his pretty ANNIE to a slice of collared head),
“This reminds me I must settle on the next ensuing day
The hash of that unmitigated villain PETER GRAY.”

He saw his ANNIE tremble and he saw his ANNIE start,
Her changing colour trumpeted the flutter at her heart;
Young GILBERT’S manly bosom rose and sank with jealous fear,
And he said, “O gentle ANNIE, what’s the meaning of this here?”

And ANNIE answered, blushing in an interesting way,
“You think, no doubt, I’m sighing for that felon PETER GRAY:
That I was his young woman is unquestionably true,
But not since I began a-keeping company with you.”

Then GILBERT, who was irritable, rose and loudly swore
He’d know the reason why if she refused to tell him more;
And she answered (all the woman in her flashing from her eyes)
“You mustn’t ask no questions, and you won’t be told no lies!

“Few lovers have the privilege enjoyed, my dear, by you,
Of chopping off a rival’s head and quartering him too!
Of vengeance, dear, to-morrow you will surely take your fill!”
And GILBERT ground his molars as he answered her, “I will!”

Young GILBERT rose from table with a stern determined look,
And, frowning, took an inexpensive hatchet from its hook;
And ANNIE watched his movements with an interested air—
For the morrow—for the morrow he was going to prepare!

He chipped it with a hammer and he chopped it with a bill,
He poured sulphuric acid on the edge of it, until
This terrible Avenger of the Majesty of Law
Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw.

And ANNIE said, “O GILBERT, dear, I do not understand
Why ever you are injuring that hatchet in your hand?”
He said, “It is intended for to lacerate and flay
The neck of that unmitigated villain PETER GRAY!”

“Now, GILBERT,” ANNIE answered, “wicked headsman, just beware—
I won’t have PETER tortured with that horrible affair;
If you appear with that, you may depend you’ll rue the day.”
But GILBERT said, “Oh, shall I?” which was just his nasty way.

He saw a look of anger from her eyes distinctly dart,
For ANNIE was a _woman_, and had pity in her heart!
She wished him a good evening—he answered with a glare;
She only said, “Remember, for your ANNIE will be there!”

* * * * * * * *

The morrow GILBERT boldly on the scaffold took his stand,
With a vizor on his face and with a hatchet in his hand,
And all the people noticed that the Engine of the Law
Was far less like a hatchet than a dissipated saw.

The felon very coolly loosed his collar and his stock,
And placed his wicked head upon the handy little block.
The hatchet was uplifted for to settle PETER GRAY,
When GILBERT plainly heard a woman’s voice exclaiming, “Stay!”

’Twas ANNIE, gentle ANNIE, as you’ll easily believe.
“O GILBERT, you must spare him, for I bring him a reprieve,
It came from our Home Secretary many weeks ago,
And passed through that post-office which I used to keep at Bow.

“I loved you, loved you madly, and you know it, GILBERT CLAY,
And as I’d quite surrendered all idea of PETER GRAY,
I quietly suppressed it, as you’ll clearly understand,
For I thought it might be awkward if he came and claimed my hand.

“In anger at my secret (which I could not tell before),
To lacerate poor PETER GRAY vindictively you swore;
I told you if you used that blunted axe you’d rue the day,
And so you will, young GILBERT, for I’ll marry PETER GRAY!”

[_And so she did_.

AN UNFORTUNATE LIKENESS

I’VE painted SHAKESPEARE all my life—
“An infant” (even then at “play”!)
“A boy,” with stage-ambition rife,
Then “Married to ANN HATHAWAY.”

“The bard’s first ticket night” (or “ben.”),
His “First appearance on the stage,”
His “Call before the curtain”—then
“Rejoicings when he came of age.”

The bard play-writing in his room,
The bard a humble lawyer’s clerk.
The bard a lawyer {287a}—parson {287b}—groom {287c}—
The bard deer-stealing, after dark.

The bard a tradesman {288a}—and a Jew {288b}—
The bard a botanist {288c}—a beak {288d}—
The bard a skilled musician {288e} too—
A sheriff {288f} and a surgeon {288g} eke!

Yet critics say (a friendly stock)
That, though it’s evident I try,
Yet even I can barely mock
The glimmer of his wondrous eye!

One morning as a work I framed,
There passed a person, walking hard:
“My gracious goodness,” I exclaimed,
“How very like my dear old bard!

“Oh, what a model he would make!”
I rushed outside—impulsive me!—
“Forgive the liberty I take,
But you’re so very”—“Stop!” said he.

“You needn’t waste your breath or time,—
I know what you are going to say,—
That you’re an artist, and that I’m
Remarkably like SHAKESPEARE. Eh?

“You wish that I would sit to you?”
I clasped him madly round the waist,
And breathlessly replied, “I do!”
“All right,” said he, “but please make haste.”

I led him by his hallowed sleeve,
And worked away at him apace,
I painted him till dewy eve,—
There never was a nobler face!

“Oh, sir,” I said, “a fortune grand
Is yours, by dint of merest chance,—
To sport _his_ brow at second-hand,
To wear _his_ cast-off countenance!

“To rub _his_ eyes whene’er they ache—
To wear _his_ baldness ere you’re old—
To clean _his_ teeth when you awake—
To blow _his_ nose when you’ve a cold!”

His eyeballs glistened in his eyes—
I sat and watched and smoked my pipe;
“Bravo!” I said, “I recognize
The phrensy of your prototype!”

His scanty hair he wildly tore:
“That’s right,” said I, “it shows your breed.”
He danced—he stamped—he wildly swore—
“Bless me, that’s very fine indeed!”

“Sir,” said the grand Shakesperian boy
(Continuing to blaze away),
“You think my face a source of joy;
That shows you know not what you say.

“Forgive these yells and cellar-flaps:
I’m always thrown in some such state
When on his face well-meaning chaps
This wretched man congratulate.

“For, oh! this face—this pointed chin—
This nose—this brow—these eyeballs too,
Have always been the origin
Of all the woes I ever knew!

“If to the play my way I find,
To see a grand Shakesperian piece,
I have no rest, no ease of mind
Until the author’s puppets cease.

“Men nudge each other—thus—and say,
‘This certainly is SHAKESPEARE’S son,’
And merry wags (of course in play)
Cry ‘Author!’ when the piece is done.

“In church the people stare at me,
Their soul the sermon never binds;
I catch them looking round to see,
And thoughts of SHAKESPEARE fill their minds.

“And sculptors, fraught with cunning wile,
Who find it difficult to crown
A bust with BROWN’S insipid smile,
Or TOMKINS’S unmannered frown,

“Yet boldly make my face their own,
When (oh, presumption!) they require
To animate a paving-stone
With SHAKESPEARE’S intellectual fire.

“At parties where young ladies gaze,
And I attempt to speak my joy,
‘Hush, pray,’ some lovely creature says,
‘The fond illusion don’t destroy!’

“Whene’er I speak, my soul is wrung
With these or some such whisperings:
‘’Tis pity that a SHAKESPEARE’S tongue
Should say such un-Shakesperian things!’

“I should not thus be criticised
Had I a face of common wont:
Don’t envy me—now, be advised!”
And, now I think of it, I don’t!

GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.

A LEAFY cot, where no dry rot
Had ever been by tenant seen,
Where ivy clung and wopses stung,
Where beeses hummed and drummed and strummed,
Where treeses grew and breezes blew—
A thatchy roof, quite waterproof,
Where countless herds of dicky-birds
Built twiggy beds to lay their heads
(My mother begs I’ll make it “eggs,”
But though it’s true that dickies do
Construct a nest with chirpy noise,
With view to rest their eggy joys,
’Neath eavy sheds, yet eggs and beds,
As I explain to her in vain
Five hundred times, are faulty rhymes).
’Neath such a cot, built on a plot
Of freehold land, dwelt MARY and
Her worthy father, named by me
GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.

He knew no guile, this simple man,
No worldly wile, or plot, or plan,
Except that plot of freehold land
That held the cot, and MARY, and
Her worthy father, named by me
GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.

A grave and learned scholar he,
Yet simple as a child could be.
He’d shirk his meal to sit and cram
A goodish deal of Eton Gram.
No man alive could him nonplus
With vocative of _filius_;
No man alive more fully knew
The passive of a verb or two;
None better knew the worth than he
Of words that end in _b_, _d_, _t_.
Upon his green in early spring
He might be seen endeavouring
To understand the hooks and crooks
Of HENRY and his Latin books;
Or calling for his “Cæsar on
The Gallic War,” like any don;
Or, p’raps, expounding unto all
How mythic BALBUS built a wall.
So lived the sage who’s named by me
GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.

To him one autumn day there came
A lovely youth of mystic name:
He took a lodging in the house,
And fell a-dodging snipe and grouse,
For, oh! that mild scholastic one
Let shooting for a single gun.

By three or four, when sport was o’er,
The Mystic One laid by his gun,
And made sheep’s eyes of giant size,
Till after tea, at MARY P.
And MARY P. (so kind was she),
She, too, made eyes of giant size,
Whose every dart right through the heart
Appeared to run that Mystic One.
The Doctor’s whim engrossing him,
He did not know they flirted so.
For, save at tea, “_musa musæ_,”
As I’m advised, monopolised
And rendered blind his giant mind.
But looking up above his cup
One afternoon, he saw them spoon.
“Aha!” quoth he, “you naughty lass!
As quaint old OVID says, ‘Amas!’”

The Mystic Youth avowed the truth,
And, claiming ruth, he said, “In sooth
I love your daughter, aged man:
Refuse to join us if you can.
Treat not my offer, sir, with scorn,
I’m wealthy though I’m lowly born.”
“Young sir,” the aged scholar said,
“I never thought you meant to wed:
Engrossed completely with my books,
I little noticed lovers’ looks.
I’ve lived so long away from man,
I do not know of any plan
By which to test a lover’s worth,
Except, perhaps, the test of birth.
I’ve half forgotten in this wild
A father’s duty to his child.
It is his place, I think it’s said,
To see his daughters richly wed
To dignitaries of the earth—
If possible, of noble birth.
If noble birth is not at hand,
A father may, I understand
(And this affords a chance for you),
Be satisfied to wed her to
A BOUCICAULT or BARING—which
Means any one who’s very rich.
Now, there’s an Earl who lives hard by,—
My child and I will go and try
If he will make the maid his bride—
If not, to you she shall be tied.”

They sought the Earl that very day;
The Sage began to say his say.
The Earl (a very wicked man,
Whose face bore Vice’s blackest ban)
Cut short the scholar’s simple tale,
And said in voice to make them quail,
“Pooh! go along! you’re drunk, no doubt—
Here, PETERS, turn these people out!”

The Sage, rebuffed in mode uncouth,
Returning, met the Mystic Youth.
“My darling boy,” the Scholar said,
“Take MARY—blessings on your head!”

The Mystic Boy undid his vest,
And took a parchment from his breast,
And said, “Now, by that noble brow,
I ne’er knew father such as thou!
The sterling rule of common sense
Now reaps its proper recompense.
Rejoice, my soul’s unequalled Queen,
For I am DUKE OF GRETNA GREEN!”

THE KING OF CANOODLE-DUM

THE story of FREDERICK GOWLER,
A mariner of the sea,
Who quitted his ship, the _Howler_,
A-sailing in Caribbee.
For many a day he wandered,
Till he met in a state of rum
CALAMITY POP VON PEPPERMINT DROP,
The King of Canoodle-Dum.

That monarch addressed him gaily,
“Hum! Golly de do to-day?
Hum! Lily-white Buckra Sailee”—
(You notice his playful way?)—
“What dickens you doin’ here, sar?
Why debbil you want to come?
Hum! Picaninnee, dere isn’t no sea
In City Canoodle-Dum!”

And GOWLER he answered sadly,
“Oh, mine is a doleful tale!
They’ve treated me werry badly
In Lunnon, from where I hail.
I’m one of the Family Royal—
No common Jack Tar you see;
I’m WILLIAM THE FOURTH, far up in the North,
A King in my own countree!”

Bang-bang! How the tom-toms thundered!
Bang-bang! How they thumped this gongs!
Bang-bang! How the people wondered!
Bang-bang! At it hammer and tongs!
Alliance with Kings of Europe
Is an honour Canoodlers seek,
Her monarchs don’t stop with PEPPERMINT DROP
Every day in the week!

FRED told them that he was _un_done,
For his people all went insane,
And fired the Tower of London,
And Grinnidge’s Naval Fane.
And some of them racked St. James’s,
And vented their rage upon
The Church of St. Paul, the Fishmongers’ Hall,
And the Angel at Islington.

CALAMITY POP implored him
In his capital to remain
Till those people of his restored him
To power and rank again.
CALAMITY POP he made him
A Prince of Canoodle-Dum,
With a couple of caves, some beautiful slaves,
And the run of the royal rum.

Pop gave him his only daughter,
HUM PICKETY WIMPLE TIP:
FRED vowed that if over the water
He went, in an English ship,
He’d make her his Queen,—though truly
It is an unusual thing
For a Caribbee brat who’s as black as your hat
To be wife of an English King.

And all the Canoodle-Dummers
They copied his rolling walk,
His method of draining rummers,
His emblematical talk.
For his dress and his graceful breeding,
His delicate taste in rum,
And his nautical way, were the talk of the day
In the Court of Canoodle-Dum.

CALAMITY POP most wisely
Determined in everything
To model his Court precisely
On that of the English King;
And ordered that every lady
And every lady’s lord
Should masticate jacky (a kind of tobaccy),
And scatter its juice abroad.

They signified wonder roundly
At any astounding yarn,
By darning their dear eyes roundly
(’T was all they had to darn).
They “hoisted their slacks,” adjusting
Garments of plantain-leaves
With nautical twitches (as if they wore breeches,
Instead of a dress like EVE’S!)

They shivered their timbers proudly,
At a phantom forelock dragged,
And called for a hornpipe loudly
Whenever amusement flagged.
“Hum! Golly! him POP resemble,
Him Britisher sov’reign, hum!
CALAMITY POP VON PEPPERMINT DROP,
De King of Canoodle-Dum!”

The mariner’s lively “Hollo!”
Enlivened Canoodle’s plain
(For blessings unnumbered follow
In Civilization’s train).
But Fortune, who loves a bathos,
A terrible ending planned,
For ADMIRAL D. CHICKABIDDY, C.B.,
Placed foot on Canoodle land!

That rebel, he seized KING GOWLER,
He threatened his royal brains,
And put him aboard the _Howler_,
And fastened him down with chains.
The _Howler_ she weighed her anchor,
With FREDERICK nicely nailed,
And off to the North with WILLIAM THE FOURTH
These horrible pirates sailed.

CALAMITY said (with folly),
“Hum! nebber want him again—
Him civilize all of us, golly!
CALAMITY suck him brain!”
The people, however, were pained when
They saw him aboard his ship,
But none of them wept for their FREDDY, except
HUM PICKETY WIMPLE TIP.

FIRST LOVE

A CLERGYMAN in Berkshire dwelt,
The REVEREND BERNARD POWLES,
And in his church there weekly knelt
At least a hundred souls.

There little ELLEN you might see,
The modest rustic belle;
In maidenly simplicity,
She loved her BERNARD well.

Though ELLEN wore a plain silk gown
Untrimmed with lace or fur,
Yet not a husband in the town
But wished his wife like her.

Though sterner memories might fade,
You never could forget
The child-form of that baby-maid,
The Village Violet!

A simple frightened loveliness,
Whose sacred spirit-part
Shrank timidly from worldly stress,
And nestled in your heart.

POWLES woo’d with every well-worn plan
And all the usual wiles
With which a well-schooled gentleman
A simple heart beguiles.

The hackneyed compliments that bore
World-folks like you and me,
Appeared to her as if they wore
The crown of Poesy.

His winking eyelid sang a song
Her heart could understand,
Eternity seemed scarce too long
When BERNARD squeezed her hand.

He ordered down the martial crew
Of GODFREY’S Grenadiers,
And COOTE conspired with TINNEY to
Ecstaticise her ears.

Beneath her window, veiled from eye,
They nightly took their stand;
On birthdays supplemented by
The Covent Garden band.

And little ELLEN, all alone,
Enraptured sat above,
And thought how blest she was to own
The wealth of POWLES’S love.

I often, often wonder what
Poor ELLEN saw in him;
For calculated he was _not_
To please a woman’s whim.

He wasn’t good, despite the air
An M.B. waistcoat gives;
Indeed, his dearest friends declare
No greater humbug lives.

No kind of virtue decked this priest,
He’d nothing to allure;
He wasn’t handsome in the least,—
He wasn’t even poor.

No—he was cursed with acres fat
(A Christian’s direst ban),
And gold—yet, notwithstanding that,
Poor ELLEN loved the man.

As unlike BERNARD as could be
Was poor old AARON WOOD
(Disgraceful BERNARD’S curate he):
He was extremely good.

A BAYARD in his moral pluck
Without reproach or fear,
A quiet venerable duck
With fifty pounds a year.

No fault had he—no fad, except
A tendency to strum,
In mode at which you would have wept,
A dull harmonium.

He had no gold with which to hire
The minstrels who could best
Convey a notion of the fire
That raged within his breast.

And so, when COOTE and TINNEY’S Own
Had tootled all they knew,
And when the Guards, completely blown,
Exhaustedly withdrew,

And NELL began to sleepy feel,
Poor AARON then would come,
And underneath her window wheel
His plain harmonium.

He woke her every morn at two,
And having gained her ear,
In vivid colours AARON drew
The sluggard’s grim career.

He warbled Apiarian praise,
And taught her in his chant
To shun the dog’s pugnacious ways,
And imitate the ant.

Still NELL seemed not, how much he played,
To love him out and out,
Although the admirable maid
Respected him, no doubt.

She told him of her early vow,
And said as BERNARD’S wife
It might be hers to show him how
To rectify his life.

“You are so pure, so kind, so true,
Your goodness shines so bright,
What use would ELLEN be to you?
Believe me, you’re all right.”

She wished him happiness and health,
And flew on lightning wings
To BERNARD with his dangerous wealth
And all the woes it brings.

BRAVE ALUM BEY

OH, big was the bosom of brave ALUM BEY,
And also the region that under it lay,
In safety and peril remarkably cool,
And he dwelt on the banks of the river Stamboul.

Each morning he went to his garden, to cull
A bunch of zenana or sprig of bul-bul,
And offered the bouquet, in exquisite bloom,
To BACKSHEESH, the daughter of RAHAT LAKOUM.

No maiden like BACKSHEESH could tastily cook
A kettle of kismet or joint of tchibouk,
As ALUM, brave fellow! sat pensively by,
With a bright sympathetic ka-bob in his eye.

Stern duty compelled him to leave her one day—
(A ship’s supercargo was brave ALUM BEY)—
To pretty young BACKSHEESH he made a salaam,
And sailed to the isle of Seringapatam.

“O ALUM,” said she, “think again, ere you go—
Hareems may arise and Moguls they may blow;
You may strike on a fez, or be drowned, which is wuss!”
But ALUM embraced her and spoke to her thus:

“Cease weeping, fair BACKSHEESH! I willingly swear
Cork jackets and trousers I always will wear,
And I also throw in a large number of oaths
That I never—no, _never_—will take off my clothes!”

* * * * *

They left Madagascar away on their right,
And made Clapham Common the following night,
Then lay on their oars for a fortnight or two,
Becalmed in the ocean of Honololu.

One day ALUM saw, with alarm in his breast,
A cloud on the nor-sow-sow-nor-sow-nor-west;
The wind it arose, and the crew gave a scream,
For they knew it—they knew it!—the dreaded Hareem!!

The mast it went over, and so did the sails,
Brave ALUM threw over his casks and his bales;
The billows arose as the weather grew thick,
And all except ALUM were terribly sick.

The crew were but three, but they holloa’d for nine,
They howled and they blubbered with wail and with whine:
The skipper he fainted away in the fore,
For he hadn’t the heart for to skip any more.

“Ho, coward!” said ALUM, “with heart of a child!
Thou son of a party whose grave is defiled!
Is ALUM in terror? is ALUM afeard?
Ho! ho! If you had one I’d laugh at your beard.”

His eyeball it gleamed like a furnace of coke;
He boldly inflated his clothes as he spoke;
He daringly felt for the corks on his chest,
And he recklessly tightened the belt at his breast.

For he knew, the brave ALUM, that, happen what might,
With belts and cork-jacketing, _he_ was all right;
Though others might sink, he was certain to swim,—
No Hareem whatever had terrors for him!

They begged him to spare from his personal store
A single cork garment—they asked for no more;
But he couldn’t, because of the number of oaths
That he never—no, never!—would take off his clothes.

The billows dash o’er them and topple around,
They see they are pretty near sure to be drowned.
A terrible wave o’er the quarter-deck breaks,
And the vessel it sinks in a couple of shakes!

The dreadful Hareem, though it knows how to blow,
Expends all its strength in a minute or so;
When the vessel had foundered, as I have detailed,
The tempest subsided, and quiet prevailed.

One seized on a cork with a yelling “Ha! ha!”
(Its bottle had ’prisoned a pint of Pacha)—
Another a toothpick—another a tray—
“Alas! it is useless!” said brave ALUM BEY.

“To holloa and kick is a very bad plan:
Get it over, my tulips, as soon as you can;
You’d better lay hold of a good lump of lead,
And cling to it tightly until you are dead.

“Just raise your hands over your pretty heads—so—
Right down to the bottom you’re certain to go.
Ta! ta! I’m afraid we shall not meet again”—
For the truly courageous are truly humane.

Brave ALUM was picked up the very next day—
A man-o’-war sighted him smoking away;
With hunger and cold he was ready to drop,
So they sent him below and they gave him a chop.

O reader, or readress, whichever you be,
You weep for the crew who have sunk in the sea?
O reader, or readress, read farther, and dry
The bright sympathetic ka-bob in your eye.

That ship had a grapple with three iron spikes,—
It’s lowered, and, ha! on a something it strikes!
They haul it aboard with a British “heave-ho!”
And what it has fished the drawing will show.

There was WILSON, and PARKER, and TOMLINSON, too—
(The first was the captain, the others the crew)—
As lively and spry as a Malabar ape,
Quite pleased and surprised at their happy escape.

And ALUM, brave fellow, who stood in the fore,
And never expected to look on them more,
Was really delighted to see them again,
For the truly courageous are truly humane.

SIR BARNABY BAMPTON BOO

THIS is SIR BARNABY BAMPTON BOO,
Last of a noble race,
BARNABY BAMPTON, coming to woo,
All at a deuce of a pace.
BARNABY BAMPTON BOO,
Here is a health to you:
Here is wishing you luck, you elderly buck—
BARNABY BAMPTON BOO!

The excellent women of Tuptonvee
Knew SIR BARNABY BOO;
One of them surely his bride would be,
But dickens a soul knew who.
Women of Tuptonvee,
Here is a health to ye
For a Baronet, dears, you would cut off your ears,
Women of Tuptonvee!

Here are old MR. and MRS. DE PLOW
(PETER his Christian name),
They kept seven oxen, a pig, and a cow—
Farming it was their game.
Worthy old PETER DE PLOW,
Here is a health to thou:
Your race isn’t run, though you’re seventy-one,
Worthy old PETER DE PLOW!

To excellent MR. and MRS. DE PLOW
Came SIR BARNABY BOO,
He asked for their daughter, and told ’em as how
He was as rich as a Jew.
BARNABY BAMPTON’S wealth,
Here is your jolly good health:
I’d never repine if you came to be mine,
BARNABY BAMPTON’S wealth!

“O great SIR BARNABY BAMPTON BOO”
(Said PLOW to that titled swell),
“My missus has given me daughters two—
AMELIA and VOLATILE NELL!”
AMELIA and VOLATILE NELL,
I hope you’re uncommonly well:
You two pretty pearls—you extremely nice girls—
AMELIA and VOLATILE NELL!

“AMELIA is passable only, in face,
But, oh! she’s a worthy girl;
Superior morals like hers would grace
The home of a belted Earl.”
Morality, heavenly link!
To you I’ll eternally drink:
I’m awfully fond of that heavenly bond,
Morality, heavenly link!

“Now NELLY’S the prettier, p’raps, of my gals,
But, oh! she’s a wayward chit;
She dresses herself in her showy fal-lals,
And doesn’t read TUPPER a bit!”
O TUPPER, philosopher true,
How do you happen to do?
A publisher looks with respect on your books,
For they _do_ sell, philosopher true!

The Bart. (I’ll be hanged if I drink him again,
Or care if he’s ill or well),
He sneered at the goodness of MILLY THE PLAIN,
And cottoned to VOLATILE NELL!
O VOLATILE NELLY DE P.!
Be hanged if I’ll empty to thee:
I like worthy maids, not mere frivolous jades,
VOLATILE NELLY DE P.!

They bolted, the Bart. and his frivolous dear,
And MILLY was left to pout;
For years they’ve got on very well, as I hear,
But soon he will rue it, no doubt.
O excellent MILLY DE PLOW,
I really can’t drink to you now;
My head isn’t strong, and the song has been long,
Excellent MILLY DE PLOW!

THE MODEST COUPLE

WHEN man and maiden meet, I like to see a drooping eye,
I always droop my own—I am the shyest of the shy.
I’m also fond of bashfulness, and sitting down on thorns,
For modesty’s a quality that womankind adorns.

Whenever I am introduced to any pretty maid,
My knees they knock together, just as if I were afraid;
I flutter, and I stammer, and I turn a pleasing red,
For to laugh, and flirt, and ogle I consider most ill-bred.

But still in all these matters, as in other things below,
There is a proper medium, as I’m about to show.
I do not recommend a newly-married pair to try
To carry on as PETER carried on with SARAH BLIGH.

Betrothed they were when very young—before they’d learnt to speak
(For SARAH was but six days old, and PETER was a week);
Though little more than babies at those early ages, yet
They bashfully would faint when they occasionally met.

They blushed, and flushed, and fainted, till they reached the age of
nine,
When PETER’S good papa (he was a Baron of the Rhine)
Determined to endeavour some sound argument to find
To bring these shy young people to a proper frame of mind.

He told them that as SARAH was to be his PETER’S bride,
They might at least consent to sit at table side by side;
He begged that they would now and then shake hands, till he was
hoarse,
Which SARAH thought indelicate, and PETER very coarse.

And PETER in a tremble to the blushing maid would say,
“You must excuse papa, MISS BLIGH,—it is his mountain way.”
Says SARAH, “His behaviour I’ll endeavour to forget,
But your papa’s the coarsest person that I ever met.

“He plighted us without our leave, when we were very young,
Before we had begun articulating with the tongue.
His underbred suggestions fill your SARAH with alarm;
Why, gracious me! he’ll ask us next to walk out arm-in-arm!”

At length when SARAH reached the legal age of twenty-one,
The Baron he determined to unite her to his son;
And SARAH in a fainting-fit for weeks unconscious lay,
And PETER blushed so hard you might have heard him miles away.

And when the time arrived for taking SARAH to his heart,
They were married in two churches half-a-dozen miles apart
(Intending to escape all public ridicule and chaff),
And the service was conducted by electric telegraph.

And when it was concluded, and the priest had said his say,
Until the time arrived when they were both to drive away,
They never spoke or offered for to fondle or to fawn,
For _he_ waited in the attic, and _she_ waited on the lawn.

At length, when four o’clock arrived, and it was time to go,
The carriage was announced, but decent SARAH answered “No!
Upon my word, I’d rather sleep my everlasting nap,
Than go and ride alone with MR. PETER in a trap.”

And PETER’S over-sensitive and highly-polished mind
Wouldn’t suffer him to sanction a proceeding of the kind;
And further, he declared he suffered overwhelming shocks
At the bare idea of having any coachman on the box.

So PETER into one turn-out incontinently rushed,
While SARAH in a second trap sat modestly and blushed;
And MR. NEWMAN’S coachman, on authority I’ve heard,
Drove away in gallant style upon the coach-box of a third.

Now, though this modest couple in the matter of the car
Were very likely carrying a principle too far,
I hold their shy behaviour was more laudable in them
Than that of PETER’S brother with MISS SARAH’S sister EM.

ALPHONSO, who in cool assurance all creation licks,
He up and said to EMMIE (who had impudence for six),
“MISS EMILY, I love you—will you marry? Say the word!”
And EMILY said, “Certainly, ALPHONSO, like a bird!”

I do not recommend a newly-married pair to try
To carry on as PETER carried on with SARAH BLIGH,
But still their shy behaviour was more laudable in them
Than that of PETER’S brother with MISS SARAH’S sister EM.

THE MARTINET

SOME time ago, in simple verse
I sang the story true
Of CAPTAIN REECE, the _Mantelpiece_,
And all her happy crew.

I showed how any captain may
Attach his men to him,
If he but heeds their smallest needs,
And studies every whim.

Now mark how, by Draconic rule
And _hauteur_ ill-advised,
The noblest crew upon the Blue
May be demoralized.

When his ungrateful country placed
Kind REECE upon half-pay,
Without much claim SIR BERKELY came,
And took command one day.

SIR BERKELY was a martinet—
A stern unyielding soul—
Who ruled his ship by dint of whip
And horrible black-hole.

A sailor who was overcome
From having freely dined,
And chanced to reel when at the wheel,
He instantly confined!

And tars who, when an action raged,
Appeared alarmed or scared,
And those below who wished to go,
He very seldom spared.

E’en he who smote his officer
For punishment was booked,
And mutinies upon the seas
He rarely overlooked.

In short, the happy _Mantelpiece_,
Where all had gone so well,
Beneath that fool SIR BERKELY’S rule
Became a floating hell.

When first SIR BERKELY came aboard
He read a speech to all,
And told them how he’d made a vow
To act on duty’s call.

Then WILLIAM LEE, he up and said
(The Captain’s coxswain he),
“We’ve heard the speech your honour’s made,
And werry pleased we be.

“We won’t pretend, my lad, as how
We’re glad to lose our REECE;
Urbane, polite, he suited quite
The saucy _Mantelpiece_.

“But if your honour gives your mind
To study all our ways,
With dance and song we’ll jog along
As in those happy days.

“I like your honour’s looks, and feel
You’re worthy of your sword.
Your hand, my lad—I’m doosid glad
To welcome you aboard!”

SIR BERKELY looked amazed, as though
He didn’t understand.
“Don’t shake your head,” good WILLIAM said,
“It is an honest hand.

“It’s grasped a better hand than yourn—
Come, gov’nor, I insist!”
The Captain stared—the coxswain glared—
The hand became a fist!

“Down, upstart!” said the hardy salt;
But BERKELY dodged his aim,
And made him go in chains below:
The seamen murmured “Shame!”

He stopped all songs at 12 p.m.,
Stopped hornpipes when at sea,
And swore his cot (or bunk) should not
Be used by aught than he.

He never joined their daily mess,
Nor asked them to his own,
But chaffed in gay and social way
The officers alone.

His First Lieutenant, PETER, was
As useless as could be,
A helpless stick, and always sick
When there was any sea.

This First Lieutenant proved to be
His foster-sister MAY,
Who went to sea for love of he
In masculine array.

And when he learnt the curious fact,
Did he emotion show,
Or dry her tears or end her fears
By marrying her? No!

Or did he even try to soothe
This maiden in her teens?
Oh, no!—instead he made her wed
The Sergeant of Marines!

Of course such Spartan discipline
Would make an angel fret;
They drew a lot, and WILLIAM shot
This fearful martinet.

The Admiralty saw how ill
They’d treated CAPTAIN REECE;
He was restored once more aboard
The saucy _Mantelpiece_.

THE SAILOR BOY TO HIS LASS