Chapter XI: Part 48: Songs by the Hon. Mrs. Norton, and various old English (11)

At length I became as rich as the Gurneys――
An incubus then I thought her,
So I threw over that rich attorney’s
Elderly, ugly daughter.
The rich attorney my character high,
Tried vainly to disparage――
And now, if you please, I’m ready to try
This Breach of Promise of Marriage!

_Chorus._――And now, if you please, &c.

W. S. GILBERT.

――――

BREACH OF PROMISE OF MARRIAGE.

Mr. Herschel’s motion for the abolition of actions for breach of promise of marriage, excepting where actual pecuniary loss had been incurred, was carried in the House of Commons by a substantial majority. He thus addresses an aspiring youth of the Temple:――

When you, my friend, are called to the Bar,
Your wit may be fresh and hearty;
You may be, as many young barristers are,
A somewhat jocular party.
But you won’t, in the course of your legal journeys,
Be required to cross the water
To plead, as advised by ’cute attorneys,
For somebody’s jilted daughter.

A cute attorney jumps with joy
When he hears a maid’s confession,
And chuckles to think how he’ll bully the boy,
In revenge for his retrogression.
“You’ll get big damages, sure,” he’ll say,
And cautiously remind her
That her mother should bring her to court on the day,
And her brother stand close behind her.

No, no. You won’t grow rich as the Gurneys
Through accustomed legal slaughter;
To the courts no more shall ’cute attorneys
Bring somebody’s jilted daughter.
That species of extortion I
Most heartily disparage,
And mean that henceforward no judge shall try
A Breach of Promise of Marriage.”

_Funny Folks._ May 17, 1879.

――――:o:――――

H.M.S. PINAFORE.

THE MAHDI OF MID-LOTHIAN.
(_The Mahdi and Chorus of Radicals._)

_The Mahdi_――I am the Mahdi of Mid-Lothian.

_Chorus_―― And a very queer Mahdi too.

_The Mahdi_――You are very, very rude;
And I’d have it understood
I command a motley crew.
Though a Tory I was born,
My creed I have forsworn,
And am a Rad of a deepish dye,
I never turn my coat
With a view to catch a vote,
And I never tell a big, big――――official statement.

_Chorus_―― What, never?

_The Mahdi_――No, never.

_Chorus_―― What, never?

_The Mahdi_――Well, hardly ever.

_Chorus_―― Then give three cheers for the Grand Old Man,
The Grand Old Mahdi of Mid-Lothian;
Then give three cheers for the Grand Old Man,
For the Mahdi of Mid-Lothian.

_The Mahdi_――I’ve trimmed my sails to satisfy you all.

_Chorus_―― And we never knew what you meant.

_The Mahdi_――Why, that’s my little game
But I tell you all the same
You are most impertinent.
An insincere excuse
I never, never use,
Whatever the emergency.
And I never, never ape,
In any form or shape,
The conduct of the late Lord B.

_Chorus_―― What, never?

_The Mahdi_――No, never.

_Chorus_―― What, never?

_The Mahdi_――Well, hardly ever.

_Chorus_―― Then give three cheers for the Grand Old Man,
The Grand Old Mahdi of Mid-Lothian:
Then give three cheers for the Grand Old Man,
For the Mahdi of Mid-Lothian.

_Manchester Courier._ 1885.

――――

H.M. HOME RULE CORPS.

_Captain Gladstone_――I am the captain of this Home Rule Corps!

_All_―― And a right good captain too!

_Captain_―― You’re a very mix’d lot,
Some are cold, some are hot,
But you’re safe “pretty far” to go.

_All_―― We’re a very mix’d lot,
Some are cold, some are hot,
But we’re safe “pretty far” to go.

_Captain_―― I care for no Whig mutineer,
For “three courses” I can steer,
Bold pilot in extremity,
I’ve never miss’d my mark,
With Tory, Turk, or Bismarck.
Nor lost the Lib’ral ship at sea!

_All_―― What, never?

_Captain_―― No, never!

_All_―― What, NEVER?

_Captain_―― HARDLY ever!

_All_―― Hardly ever lost ship at sea!
Then give three cheers and one cheer more,
For the hardy captain of this Home Rule Corps.

_Captain_―― I’ll do my best to satisfy you all――

_All_―― But will you satisfy Parnell?

_Captain_―― That is neither here nor there,
I play upon the square,
And will “box the compass” well!

_All_―― We’re neither here nor there,
He plays upon the square,
And he’ll “box the compass” well

_Captain_―― Veil’d words I never use,
Nor Lib’ral trust abuse,
Whatever the emergency;
Lose my temper I may,
But friend nor foe can say
I ever do it with a big, big D――――

_All_―― What, never?

_Captain_―― No, never!

_All_―― What, NEVER?

_Captain_―― HARDLY ever!

_All_―― Hardly ever does it with a big, big D――――
Then give three cheers and one cheer more
For the well-bred captain of the Home Rule Corps.

_All_―― For he _is_ the captain of this Home Rule Corps;
And a right good captain too!

_Captain_―― I’ve had many a sore fall,
Ere made captain of you all,
But you’re a promising crew!

_All_―― He’s had many a sore fall,
Ere made captain of us all,
And we’re a promising crew.

_Captain_―― I’ll hit upon a plan,
To please the Parnell clan,
Yet keep united Nations Three;
They’ll play Parli’ment for diversion,
Ne’er bother ’bout coercion
Nor brick-bat Constabul’ry!

_All_―― What, never?

_Captain_―― No, never!

_All_―― What, NEVER?

_Captain_―― HARDLY ever!

_All_―― Hardly ever brick-bat Constabul’ry!
Then give three cheers and one cheer more,
For the daring captain of this Home Rule Corps.

_The North British Daily Mail._ February 8, 1886.

――――

GIANT LANDLORD.

I’m the curse of my country, the terror of all,
Especially those who are feeble and small;
I’m a grabber of land, and the people know me
As a big-acred Landlord and J. of the P.
Yes, I am a J. of the big, big P.,
And a very funny J. I’m too;
For I never, never saw any practice in the law,
And I never know what to do.
But the clerk to whom I look, finds the law out in a book,
And he whispers what it ought to be;
And the pris’ners at the bar,
Who or what-so-e’er they are,
They never mercy get from me!

_Jack_―― What, never?

_Giant L._――No, never!

_Jack_―― What, never?

_Giant L_.――No, never!
No, never mercy get from me!

_Jack and the Villagers_――
Then give three groans, and three times three,
For the cruel J. of the big, big P.
Aye, give three groans, and three times three,
For the J, of the big, big P.

_Truth_. Christmas Number. 1884.

――――

LORD BEACONSFIELD’S SONG.

When I was a lad I served a term
As clerk to a decent attorney’s firm;
But the trammels of the office were so vile a bore,
That I longed to be stepping from the big front-door!
I slipped through that portal so read_ilee_,
That now I am a noble and, to boot, K.G.!

As novel-writer I made such a mark,
That a Seat was discovered for the lawyer’s clerk;
Then I sneered and flouted with a smile so bland,
Till at last I had the Tories in my own right hand!
I chaffed my opponents in a style so free,
That now I am a noble, and a big K.G.!

By “slanging” Liberals I made such a name,
That a full-blown Premier I soon became;
With a “brute majority” to dance to my flute,
I made an Indian Empress, and an Earl to boot!
And that smart, Imperial juggle did so well for me,
That now I am a noble and, you know, K.G.!

I grew so trusted that I was sent
To the Congress, Britain for to represent.
I cut up Turkey and insulted Greece;
But you know I collared Cyprus, and I “brought back peace.”
For a “peace with honour” they rewarded me
By making of a nobleman a brave K.G.!

Now, statesmen all, whoever you may be,
If you’re wishful to emulate this “big, big D.,”
If your souls are not fettered to the Lower House,
Be careful to be guided by the rule of nous:
Stick close to the Crown, and never chop down trees,
And you all may be noblemen, and all K.G.’s.

_Funny Folks._ September 7, 1878.

――――

PRESIDENT GARFIELD.

When he was a lad he served a term
On a big canal with a boatman’s firm:
With a heart so free, and a will so strong,
On the towpath drove two mules along;
And he drove those mules so carefullee
He’s a candidate now for the Presidencee.

As a driver boy he made such a mark
He came to the deck of the inland barque
And all of the perils to boat and crew
He stood at the helm and guided thro’.
He stood at the helm so manfullee
He’s a candidate now for the Presidencee.

He did so well with the helm and the mules,
They made him a teacher of district schools;
And when from college in a bran new suit,
A Greek professor at the Institute,
Where Greek and Latin he taught so free
He’s a candidate now for the Presidencee.

The song traces General Garfield’s history through ten stanzas, and closes in this moral and improving strain:――

Now boys who cherish ambitious schemes,
Though now you may be but drivers of teams,
Look well to the work you may chance to do,
And do it with a hand that is kind and true.
Whatever you do, do it faithfullee,
And you may aspire to the Presidencee.

From a United States pamphlet, entitled _Republican
Campaign Songs_, 1880.

A political parody of the same original, but of purely local interest, was published in _Melbourne Punch_, August 26, 1880, describing the career of Mr. Berry, an Australian politician.

――――

_LITTLE PRIMROSE’S SONG._
(_After Little Buttercup_.)

_Lord B._―― A many years ago,
When I became a Tory,
My brain was all aglow
With dreams of fame and glory.

_Ministers_―― Now hear his artless story!
When he became a Tory
He dreamt of fame and glory
A many years ago.

_Lord B._―― One tender thought I “nussed”――
To gain a high position,
And mix with upper crust
Was ever my ambition.

_Ministers_―― Now, hear his frank admission!
To be a sham patrician
Was always his ambition
A many years ago.

_Lord B._―― Oh, bitter was my lot!
Oh, vast was my vexation!
They never once forgot
My former humble station.

_Ministers_―― Oh, what humiliation!
They seized on each occasion
To mock his humble station
A many years ago.

_Lord B._―― But soon I made a hit,
And nobody could doubt it:
They cheered my ready wit,
They couldn’t do without it!

_Ministers_―― Now this is all about it――
He’d wit and none could doubt it,
Nor could they do without it
A many years ago.

_Lord B._―― My Party wanted power,
And I so aptly taught it,
That in a lucky hour
To Office back I brought it.

_Ministers_―― So artfully he taught it,
That back to Place he brought it;
Now who’d have ever thought it
_A many years ago?_

_Funny Folks._ March 6, 1880.

――――

DUET.
(_By two Persons of Quality._)

_First Person of Quality._

Your Grace, we have important information――
Sing hey, the silly Liberal that you are!――
About a certain intimate relation
Between the artful Afghan and the CZAR.
Sing hey, the artful Afghan,
The crafty, treacherous Afghan,
The sneaking, dangerous Afghan, and the CZAR!

_Second Person of Quality._

My Lord, in your romantic vein you’re speaking――
Sing hey, the wily Hebrew that you are!――
We don’t believe there’s any kind of sneaking
Between the virtuous Afghan and the CZAR.
Sing hey, the virtuous Afghan,
The well-intentioned Afghan,
The harmless, truthful Afghan, and the CZAR!

_First Person of Quality._

Your Grace has not a spark of patriot feeling――
Sing hey, the factious Radical you are!――
Or you’d know we cannot letters be revealing,
That touch a friendly Potentate, the CZAR.
(_Con expressione._)
Sing hey, the friendly Monarch,
The much-respected Monarch,
Our best of foreign relatives, the CZAR.

_Second Person of Quality (Con furia)._

My Lord, we give you fair and timely warning――
Sing hey, the Tory criminal you are!――
We’ll talk to the Electors, one fine morning,
About the ill-used Afghan, and the CZAR.
(_Lagrimando._)
’Bout the poor ill-usèd Afghan,
The much malignèd Afghan,
The loyal faithful Afghan, and the CZAR!

_Punch._ March 13, 1880.

――――

The Tichborne Claimant wrote:――“It is a fine thing to be an Englishman. Fool that I used to be to think so! I should feel prouder now if I could say I was an American Indian. For if ever a man felt ashamed to own a country as his native land, I do this.”

“For he himself has said it,
That it’s much to his discredit
That he’s an Englishman.
He would rather be a Rooshan,
A Turk, or Greek, or Prooshan,
Or else Red In-di-an;
And his future aspirations
Will be turned to other nations,
_Not_ to be an Englishman.”

_Funny Folks._
――――

THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE.

SONG FOR A POLICEMAN.

Hem! I represent the law,
’Sent the law.
Of the Beak upon the Bench, well, I’m the claw,
I’m the claw.
I’m a terror and a snare
To all not upon the square;
And some envy me my uniform of blue,
Yes, they _due_,
_Many_ envy me my uniform of blue.

Duty calls me on some roads,
On some roads,
Where, I own, I meet with pleasant episodes,
Episodes;
Where the housemaids have good looks,
And obliging are the cooks,
With no beastly barracks near to make ’em rue,
Make ’em rue;
Yes, it’s valued then, this uniform of blue.

For the credit of the Force,
Of the Force,
A proper pride I cultivate, of course,
’Vate, of course;
But, though sad, it must be told,
All that glitters is not gold,
And the statement Mr. Gilbert made is true,
Made is true,――
No! it’s _not_ all joy to wear this dress of blue.

_Judy._ July 11, 1883.

――――

_Song._――BY THE PRINCE OF WALES.

When a Prince is not engaged in his employment――
His employment,
Such as laying by the score foundation stones――
’Dation stones,
His capacity for innocent enjoyment――
’Cent enjoyment,
For the cares of Princely etiquette atones――
’Quette atones――

When he’s finished holding Levée’s for his mother――
For his mother,
And has done official duties for the day――
For the day,
He contrives his Princely weariness to smother――
’Ness to smother,
By indulging in a visit to the play――
To the play!

So he’s often at one playhouse or another――
Or another,
When there is no public dinner to be done――
To be done;
And take one consideration with another――
With another,
A Prince’s lot might be a sadder one――
Sadder one!
When there’s no official business to be done,
A Prince’s life might be a sadder one!

_Truth Christmas Number._ 1884.

――――

AN ELECTION EFFUSION.

When the Free and Independent goes a voting――goes voting,
He is very apt to make his presence felt;
And election-news is nowadays denoting――a denoting,
That a nasty knock to Gladstone he has dealt――
Amid the Separation dust, and smother――dusty smother,
The Unionists their task have bravely done,
Taking one consideration with another――with another,
They all wisely took the tip of Mr. FUN――wondrous FUN!
When preserving of the Empire’s to be done――to be done,
It’s always safe to follow Mr. FUN.

* * * * *

_Fun._ July 21, 1886.

――――

THE WHEELISTS’ CHORUS.

When the city man has finished his employment,
――His employment;
When anxiety and all its cares are o’er,
――Cares are o’er;
He devotes his mind to wheeling as enjoyment,
――As enjoyment
And voteth all his business is a bore,
――Is a bore.

His feelings he’ll with difficulty smother;
――Culty smother;
When after all his daily toil is done,
Toil is done;
Taking one consideration with another,
With another;
The Wheelist’s lot it is a happy one,
Happy one.

When the enterprising Wheelist’s not a wheeling,
Not a wheeling,
When the Wheelist isn’t occupied on wheels,
――Pied on wheels,
He loves to saunter in the evening early,
Evening early,
And listen to the distant village peals,
Village peals.

When the tourist’s not engaged in his vocation,
His vocation.
He loves to go a touring in the sun,
In the sun;
Taking all things into due consideration,
――Sideration,
The Wheelist’s lot it is a happy one,
Happy one.

ALFRED GIBBONS.
_Wheeling Annual_ 1885.

Another very long song, on the same model, was printed in _Wheeling_, January 14, 1885, signed G. F. Benson.

――――

SONG AND CHORUS.
(_Picked up near the Opera Comique._)

When Lord Beaky’s not engaged in lamentation――
Lamentation,
He’s tearing all his pretty curly hair――
Curly hair;
When Northcote can control his agitation――
Agitation,
He is asking “How the rabid nation dare?”
Nation dare?
When the enterprising Cross is not a-sobbing――
Not a-sobbing,
When Manners is not making dismal rhymes――
Dismal rhymes,
The former big big D’s his water-jobbing――
Water-jobbing,
The last inveighs ’gainst _Telegraph_ and _Times_――
_-graph_ and _Times_.
When Smith has finished dancing in ill-humour――
In ill-humour,
He grinds his little tootsicums like fun――
-cums like fun;
Oh! despite the Disappointed Party’s rumour――
Party’s rumour,
The Tories’ lot is not a happy one――
Happy one!

_Funny Folks._ April 24, 1880.

――――

THE SECRETARY’S SONG.

I.

When a fellow finds in Tennis his enjoyment,
Or maturing his pot-hunting little plans,
If the Secretarial duty’s his employment,
He had rather it were any other man’s.
He wishes he’d a cousin or a brother,
Who would do the little job and think it fun,
Oh, take one consideration with another,
His official lot is not a happy one;
Ah!
When a Secretary’s duty’s to be done,
His official lot is not a happy one.

II.

When the cunning young mug-lumb’rer’s not mug-lumb’ring,
When the shirker doesn’t fail to come to time,
Still the Secretary mustn’t be caught slumb’ring,
Nor waiting for the distant village chime.
When the players fall a-wrangling with each other,
Or the Referee’s dry sherry short has run,
Oh, take one consideration with another,
His official lot is not a happy one,
Ah!
When the Secretary’s duty’s to be done,
His official lot is not a happy one.

III.

When the grass is very hard, or wet and sloppy,
Or your spikes are ploughing furrows in the ground,
Every ball will be “found dead,” or much too hoppy,
And, of course, will “hardly ever” fairly bound,
Then you’ll surely find the cause of all the bother
In the Secretary’s duty badly done;
Oh, take one consideration with another,
His official lot is not a happy one.
Ah!
When the Secretary’s duty’s to be done,
His official lot is not a happy one.

IV.

When the weather is propitious, bright, and sunny,
Our tournament successfully we hold;
Then how gleefully we gather up the money,
And the Secretary gladly counts the gold.
But, when clouds and wind and rains the heavens smother,
Then the Secretary’s blamed for lack of sun;
Oh, take one consideration with another,
His official lot is not a happy one.
Ah!
When the Secretary’s duty’s to be done,
His official lot is not a happy one.

From _Tennis Cuts and Quips_. London, Field and Tuer.

――――

THE WHEELIST KING.
(_Parody on_ “The Pirate King.”――_Pirates of Penzance._)

Oh, better far to ride a bike
Through the air on a frosty night,
And catch the breezes as they blow
Till cheeks all ruddy and a glow,
You feel as though you’re a man of might,
And fly through the air as a thing of light,
Than stay at home and mope away
The length’ning night of a winter’s day.
For I am the wheeling king.
I am the wheeling king,
And it is, it is a glorious thing
To be the wheeling king.

Oh, better far the path to ride
Of cinders, merrily side by side,
And rank as a racing man of might,
Than dwindle away a summer’s night.
For honour is due to racer brave,
And scoff the reward of the moping slave;
So still I’ll ride, and the song I’ll sing
Will be that I’m the wheeling king.
For I am the wheeling king,
I am the wheeling king,
And it is, it is a glorious thing
To be the wheeling king.

A. GIBBONS.
_Wheeling Annual._ 1885.

――――:o:――――

PATIENCE;
OR, BUNTHORNE’S BRIDE!

This delightful opera was produced on Saturday, 23rd April, 1881, at a time when the Æsthetic movement was the talk of London, and Mr. Burnand’s vamped-up old play, with the new and meaningless title, _The Colonel_, was drawing crowded houses. The plot of _The Colonel_ was taken from Mr. Morris Barnett’s _The Serious Family_, produced in 1849, whereas Mr. Gilbert’s plot was entirely original, and although it was not performed until April, 1881, the libretto of _Patience_ was completed in November, 1880.

In both pieces the main idea was to ridicule Æstheticism and the Æsthetes; in _The Colonel_ this was effected by representing the movement as a sham, and its votaries as humbugs and swindlers; in _Patience_ the style, manners, and conversation of the extreme Æsthetes were so gently and gracefully exaggerated, that even the most Utter and Intense amongst them could scarcely take offence at its lively sarcasms.

The excitement about Æstheticism has now subsided, but the beneficial results of this artistic movement are to be seen on every side. In house building, furniture, and decoration; in china, pottery, and glass, even in ladies costumes, far more taste and skill are now displayed than prior to this much ridiculed Renaissance of Art and Culture, which was inaugurated by the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood, consisting of Dante Gabriel Rossetti; W. M. Rossetti; William Morris; John Ruskin; Holman Hunt; and Thomas Woolner.

Further details on this subject would be out of place in this collection, but a full account will be found in _The Æsthetic Movement in England_, published by Messrs. Reeves and Turner, London, 1882.

THE COLONEL’S SONG. (_Patience._)

When I first put this uniform on,
I said, as I looked in the glass,
“It’s one to a million
That any civilian,
My figure and form will surpass.
Gold lace has a charm for the fair,
And I’ve plenty of that, and to spare,
While a lover’s professions,
When uttered in Hessians,
Are eloquent everywhere!”
A fact that I counted upon,
When I first put this uniform on!

_Chorus of Dragoons_――

By a simple coincidence, few
Could ever have reckoned upon,
The same thing occurred to me too,
When I first put this uniform on!

* * * * *

THE IMPECUNIOUS OFFICER.

But I’m bound to confess that it comes rather hard
Upon those who’ve not much but their pay,
To have all the Horse Guards commands to regard
As to how we’ve ourselves to array.
It is now――let me see――close on twenty-one years
Since I had my regimentals to don;
And, oh, how they’ve changed them,
And re-re-arranged them,
Since I first put this uniform on.

The Duke, our commander, an excellent man,
Has seemingly spent all his days
In trying original methods to plan
For putting on lace in new ways;
For cutting out tunics and altering caps,
To similar lengths he has gone;
Scores of times he has changed them,
And re-re-arranged them,
Since I first put this uniform on!

_Truth, Christmas Number._ 1882.

――――

SONG BY PRINCE HENRY OF BATTENBERG.

“When I first had the garments to don,
Which are worn by the Highlander bold,
The kilt I’d to wear
Left my kneecaps so bare,
That I shiver’d and shook with the cold!
But for dear mamma-in-law’s sake,
I continued to shiver and shake;
Yes, though the keen breeze
Seem’d my marrow to freeze,
Her favour I knew was at stake
And ’twas this that I reckoned upon,
When I still kept that uniform on.

“But though I continued to wear
Those very remarkable clothes,
I am sorry to say
There was scarcely a day
That I did not use strong (German) oaths
For the mists were so damp and so chill,
And the wind grew so cuttingly shrill,
That at length I was fain
To in sorrow complain
That the kilt would me certainly kill――
A fact p’rhaps not counted upon
When they put me that Highland dress on.

“Yet though I the tartan foreswore,
And the kilt and the philibeg too,
And was able to shirk
Both the sporran and dirk,
And the bonnet of Roderick Dhu,
Yet still I in public, ’twas clear,
In some uniform must appear;
So my mother-in-law
Colonel Atherley saw,
And I soon was a bold Volunteer!
The Colonel, by fiction polite,
Of the valorous Fifth Isle of Wight.

“But when I its uniform donned,
Of a dull and invisible green,
With green, too, for facings,
And few tags or lacings,
I own that I thought it looked mean,
Compared with the liveries splendid
Of those on the Queen who attended.
Aye, I felt it was hard
That the Yeoman on guard
Had a costume that mine far transcended;
Whilst the flunkeys, I had to confess,
Beat me too in the matter of dress.

* * * * *

“And so it at length was agreed,
When we many projects had weigh’d,
For me to petition
A Captain’s Commission
In Her Majesty’s Household Brigade;
And as it was felt the jack-boot
Would my legs most undoubtedly suit;
And that I to assume
The cuirass and the plume
Was fine enough, past all dispute,
’Twas further decided that I
The Life Guards to join should apply.

“Meanwhile, though, I’m sorry to say,
There has been some strange opposition;
And I haven’t as yet
Been enabled to get
This much-desired Captain’s commission;
And so I at present don’t dare,
The uniform, handsome, to wear,
But still must be seen,
In my Volunteer Green,
Whene’er in State functions I share;
A fact I think well to disclose,
To those who my purpose oppose.

“And I, amongst these, I am told,
Not only M.P.’s must include,
But the officers, too,
Who essay to taboo
What they call my attempt to obtrude.
But, surely, they will not maintain
Their attitude now I’ve made plain
Why it is that I fear
To in public appear
As a Volunteer Colonel again.
No; when they my plight think upon
They’ll let me their uniform don!

_Truth._ March 4, 1886.

――――

WHEN I FIRST PUT JOE’S UNIFORM ON.
(_Dissident Liberal_.)

When I first put Joe’s uniform on,
I said as I looked in the glass,
“A conscience that’s hearty
Should rise above Party,
And trust for support to the Mass.
Independence of spirit is rare,
But I’ll prove that of that I’ve to spare,
While a patriot’s pleadings,
Though backed by secedings.
Are eloquent everywhere!”
A fact that I counted upon,
When I first put Joe’s uniform on!

_Chorus of other Dissident Liberals_――

By a simple coincidence, few
Could ever have reckoned upon,
The same thing occurred to me, too!
When I first put Joe’s uniform on!

I said, when I first put it on,
“It is plain to the veriest dunce,
That every voter
With duty for motor,
Must plump for the Empire at once!
They will see that a statesman debased
By our Chamberlain squad has been placed
In an odd situation
To pass Separation.
Which will surely be quite to their taste.
Yes, that’s what I counted upon,
When I first put Joe’s uniform on!

_Chorus of other Dissident Liberals_――

By a simple coincidence, &c.

But alas! now it’s come to the pinch,
I discover, unfortunate man!
That the Lib’ral elector
Is not an objector
To Gladstone’s deplorable plan.
He ranks me with Tories――oh, dear!
Nor do arguments specious appear
To gammon the Caucus
That’s striving to baulk us,
And my chance in especial to “queer”!
Which I never counted upon
When I first put Joe’s uniform on!

_Chorus of other Dissident Liberals_――

By a simple coincidence, few
Could ever have reckoned upon,
I damaged my prospects――like you――
When I first put Joe’s uniform on!

_Funny Folks._ June 26, 1886.

Another parody of this song appeared in _The Wheel World_ for June, 1882.

――――

THE COLONEL’S SONG.

If you want a receipt for that popular mystery,
Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,
Take all the remarkable people in history,
Rattle them off to a popular tune.
The pluck of Lord Nelson on board of the _Victory_――
Genius of Bismarck devising a plan;
The humour of Fielding (which sounds contradictory,)
Coolness of Paget, about to trepan.
Take of these elements all that is fusible,
Melt them all down in a pipkin or crucible,
Set them to simmer and take off the scum,
And a heavy Dragoon is the residuum!

_Chorus_――Yes! yes! yes! yes!
A Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!

* * * * *

ADVISE TO A SHORTHAND JENIUS.

I.

If you want a resiet for a novel stenografy,
a paragon sistem, fonetik and true,
and which in a trise shal extinguish Phonography,
list, and I’l tel you just what you shud do.
Note what inventions old authorz hav hit upon,
boldly appropriate all that you kan;
take the quintessens ov all that you’v lit upon,
arranje it anew on a different plan;
shuffel the strokes til you’v got a new alfabet;
skatter the dots here and there for the vowelz:
the serkelz and kurvz you must mix up yourself a bit;
abbreviate words by ejekting their bowelz;
lengthen your outlinez to make an addition;
shorten them now to show an omission;
kompile a whole pajeful ov neat intersektionz;
ov rulez and exseptionz make bulky kollektionz;
ov frazez and grammalogz next ad a few;
turn on some digrafs and poligrafs too.
Take ov theze elements all that’s most horribel;
stir them together in fashion deplorribel;
set them to simmer, and take of the skum;
and a new shorthand sistem’z the re-sid-u-um.
Yes, yes, yes, yes!
A new shorthand sistem’z the re-sid-u-um!

II.

If you want a resiet for th’ advertisement part ov it,
don’t let dul modesty stand in the way.
Write a tall prefase, extolling the art ov it;
’gainst every rival most loudly inveigh:
announs that none other dezervz popularity;
state that ther’z everything exsellent in it,
that its writerz’ attain an astounding selerity――
nine hundred and ninety-nine wordz in a minit!
Next kritisize Pitman in languaje sensorious;
deklare that hiz sistem’z playd out and effete,
that your own method’z quickly bekuming viktorious,
and wil soon make Phonography take a back seat.
What tho your outlinez be shocking monstrositiz,
useles, exsept az sublime kuriositiz;
what tho your sistem abound with absurditiz
so that when a sign’z written you kan’t tel what word it iz:
pen pamflets, and posterz, and frendly reviewz;
hand-billz and serkularz widely diffuze.
If singly theze elements don’t seem respektabel,
mix them together in fashion delektabel,
set them to simmer, and take of the scum,
and a short span ov fame iz the resid-u-um.
Yes, yes, yes, yes!
A short span ov fame is the re-sid-u-um.

From _The Phonetic Journal_, 1886.

――――

BUNTHORNE’S SONG.

If you’re anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line
As a man of culture rare,
You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms,
And plant them everywhere.
You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases
Of your complicated state of mind.
The meaning doesn’t matter if it’s only idle chatter
Of a transcendental kind.
And everyone will say,
As you walk your mystic way,
“If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for _me_,
Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man
must be!”

* * * * *

THE CULTURED ASSISTANT.

If you want to cut a shine in Professor Attfield’s line
Of high-class pharmacy,
You must get up all the germs and the new-notation terms
Of everything you see.
You must learn about the daisies, and cram botanic phrases
On every flower you find.
If you’ve only got a smattering, be everlasting chattering
To expose your “cultured mind.”
And every one shall say, as you walk your mystic way,
“If this young man converses in terms that are far too deep
for me,
Why, what a pharmaceutically-deep young man, then, this young
man must be.”

Be sure you never praise those very ancient days
When trade was sure to pay,
But make them plainly see that eighteen eighty-three
Is “culture’s” palmiest day.
Of course you will pooh pooh whate’er they used to do,
And pronounce it crude and mean,
And declare “that oil and smalts, or pennyworths of salts,
Are things you’ve never seen.”
And everyone will say, as you walk your mystic way,
“If that’s not good enough for him, that is good enough for me,
Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of youth
must be.”

You must study sight and sound, for these, it has been found,
Are required in making pills;
And in keeping up your stock, the philosophy of Locke
A wond’rous power instills.
And mind you never drop a word about the “shop”
For it’s plain as plain can be,
You bid farewell to trade, when acquaintance has been made
With high-class pharmacy;
Though employers oft may say, as you walk your “cultured” way,
“If _he’s_ content with scientific lore, he’ll certainly _not_
suit me,
For a money-making, practical, and business man _my_ kind of
man must be.”

PHIL. BOSECIC.
_From a Chemical Journal._

――――:o:――――

DUET.
_Patience and Grosvenor._

_Grosvenor_――

Prithee, pretty maiden――prithee tell me true,
(Hey, but I’m doleful, willow willow waly!)
Have you e’er a lover a dangling after you?
Hey, willow waly O!
I would fain discover
If you have a lover?
Hey, willow waly O!

_Patience_――

Gentle Sir, my heart is frolicsome and free――
(Hey, but he’s doleful, willow willow waly!)
Nobody I care for comes a courting me――
Hey, willow waly O!
Nobody I care for
Comes a courting――therefore,
Hey, willow waly O!

* * * * *

When _The Times_ had some pretensions to the title of the leading English newspaper, it was known as “The Thunderer of Printing House Square,” but it has recently been re-christened _The Blunderer; or, the Political Weathercock_, a name which recalls the subsidiary titles Mr. Gilbert gives to all his operas. The silly misprints, and other errors, which are to be found daily in _The Times_ show the careless manner in which it is edited, whilst several disgraceful hoaxes practised upon it by the compositors on its staff, prove how unpopular the management must have been, and that a chronic state of mutiny existed in Printing House Square. One of these practical jokes was perpetrated on _The Times_ by an audacious compositor, who altered an advertisement which appeared on Tuesday, February 21, 1882, so that it read:――_On the 20th instant, at ―― Park Lane, W., the wife of_ ALBERT EDWARD, _of a son_.” Whilst a still worse hoax appeared in _The Times_ of Monday, June 12, 1882, in an advertisement of a book entitled _Every-Day Life in our Public Schools_, which title was amplified in a manner never contemplated by the editor.

But the grossest case of all was that contained in the report of a speech delivered at Burton-on-Trent by Sir William Vernon Harcourt, then Home Secretary. This speech was reported at length in _The Times_ of Monday, January 23, 1882, and thousands of copies were sold before the infallible authorities found out that the pompous Sir W. V. Harcourt’s speech had been adorned, by their compositors, with flowers of speech of a very unclassical nature. Every effort was then made to call in the unsold copies, but the mischief was done, and for weeks _The Times_ was the laughing stock of London, and fabulous prices were given for copies containing the objectionable paragraph.

DUET.
_Mr. Gladstone, and Sir W. Vernon Harcourt._

_Mr. Gladstone_――

Prithee, Vernon Harcourt, prithee tell me true
(Hey, but it’s shocking, willow, willow waly!)
Did you speak the words attributed to you?
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
I should like to know, sir,
How far did you go, sir?
Hey, willow, waly, oh!

_Sir W. Vernon Harcourt_――

Gentle chief, my words may frolicsome have been
(Hey, but it’s surprising, willow, willow, waly!)
Yet to such a length I did not go, I ween.
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
There was nought indecent,
In my speech so recent,
Hey, willow, waly, oh!

_Mr. Gladstone_――

Prithee, Vernon Harcourt, will you _sell_ to me
(Hey, but I’m anxious, willow, willow, waly!),
The paper, where reported, I your speech shall see?
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
Anything, I’ll pay you;
What’s your price? Come, say you;
Hey, willow, waly, oh!

_Sir W. Vernon Harcourt_――

Gentle chief, although to purchase you design
(Hey, but it’s tempting, willow, willow, waly!)
My paper’s not for sale, so I fear I must decline;
Hey, willow, waly, oh!
Money will not buy it,
It’s no good to try it;
Hey, willow, waly oh!

(_Together._)

_Sir W. V. Harcourt_――

Though to use such words would very wicked be.

_Mr. Gladstone_――

(Hey, but it’s shameful, willow, willow, waly!)
Printed in _The Times_, they’d most amusing be!

_Sir W. V. Harcourt_――

Hey, willow, waly, oh!
I shall get a chaffing,
All the world is laughing;
Hey, willow, waly, oh!

_The Sporting Times._ January 28, 1882.

――――

A DUET OF THE DAY.

(In consequence of the numerous applications which have been made at the Home Office for an appointment to the place of public executioner, the Secretary of State has published a statement that it is neither his right, nor his duty, to make such appointment, as the selection in reality rests with the Sheriffs.)

_Candidate_――

Prithee, Secretary, what’s the latest news?
(Hey, but I’m eager, willow, willow waly!)
Has another Marwood stepped into _his_ shoes?
Hey, willow waly, O!
Never mind the pang, man――
_Have_ they got a hangman?
Hey, willow waly, O!

_Secretary of State_――

Gentle sir, the post unoccupied you see――
(Hey, but he’s eager, willow, willow waly!)
But you’ll p’raps explain now why you’re teasing _me_――
Hey, willow waly, O!
Kindly, please, inform one
Why you come and storm one,
Hey, willow waly, O!

_Candidate_――

Prithee, Secretary, give the place to me――
(Hey, but I’m hopeful, willow willow waly!)
I may say, at once, I shall scrag ’em properlee――
Hey, willow waly, O!
Only deign to try me,
Come, you can’t deny me,
Hey, willow waly, O!

_Secretary of State_――

Gentle sir, although I honour your design――
(Hey, but he’s hopeful, willow, willow waly!)
I’ve not the appointment, and so I must decline,
Hey, willow waly, O!
To sheriffs straightway go you――
Observe the door I show you.
Hey, willow waly, O!

_Funny Folks._ September 22, 1883.

――――

A NEW DUET FROM “PATIENCE.”

_Salisbury_――

Prithee, gentle working-man, once my bugaboo,
(Hey, but he’s civil, isn’t he now, rale-y?)
Are there any Radicals dangling after you,
Hey, willow waly, O!
I would fain climb over your shoulder into clover,
Hey, willow waly, O!

_Working-Man_――

Noble lord, my vote is quite unpledged and free,
(Hey, but he’s civil, isn’t he now, rale-y?)
The Rads don’t seem to care for to take the stump for me,
Hey, willow waly, O!
And what you are there for――oh, well I know the wherefore,
Hey, willow waly, O!

_Salisbury_――

Prithee, gentle working-man, won’t you vote for me?
(Hey, but I’m hopeful, willow waly),
And leave the Grand Old Man at home to chop his tree,
Hey, willow waly, O?

_Truth._ November 15, 1883.

――――

TRIO IN “PATIENCE.”
(_Duke_, _Colonel_, and _Major_.)

It’s clear that Mediæval art alone retains its zest,
To charm and please its devotees we’ve done our little best.
We’re not quite sure if all we do has the Early English ring;
But, as far as we can judge, it’s something like this sort of
thing;
You hold yourself like this,
You hold yourself like that,
By hook and crook you try to look both angular and flat.
We venture to expect
That what we recollect,
Though but a part of true High Art will have its due effect.

If this is not exactly right, we hope you won’t upbraid;
You can’t get high Æsthetic tastes, like trousers, ready made.
True views on Mediævalism, Time alone will bring,
But, as far as we can judge, it’s something like this sort of
thing:
You hold yourself like this
&c., &c.

――――

THE TROUBLESOME TRIO.
_Appearing nightly during the Performance of “Impatience,”
at St. Stephen’s._

We’ve long opined the House should prove a sort of hornet’s nest;
At least to turn it into one we’ve done our little best;
And though our pranks upon ourselves no credit seem to bring,
Still, when the Grand Old Man’s our game――we’re up to anything!
We gibe at him like this, we snap at him like that;
We yawn or laugh: sometimes we chaff, or contradict him flat;
And, if he make a slip,
We roar and yell and skip,
And trust our brass may muster pass
Somehow for Statesmanship!

If you should think our posturings our Party but degrade,
Reflect, “Our Party’s” but ourselves, and we’re all ready made:
Tact, reason, judgment to their work, wise politicians bring,
But when the Grand Old Man’s the butt――why, fools can have their
fling.
So, we gibe at him like this, we snap at him like that;
We yawn and laugh; sometimes we chaff, or contradict him flat;
And, if he make a slip,
We have him by the hip!
By Jove, our brass, though not high-class,
Is all our Statesmanship.

It isn’t that we really mean to irritate the Chair,
Or worry old Sir Stafford till he’s fit to tear his hair,
Nor o’er our friends do we desire our party mud to fling,
But when the Grand Old Man gets up――we’re up to anything!
So, we gibe at him like this, we snap at him like that,
We yawn, we laugh; sometimes we chaff, or contradict him flat;
And, if he make a slip,
Like Cannibals we skip,
And show the House what depths of _nous_,
Has Jingo Statesmanship!

_Punch._ November 11, 1882.

The cartoon at the head of this parody, drawn by Sambourne, represented Lord Randolph Churchill, with a note of interrogation; Mr. Ashmead Bartlett, with a peacock’s feather; and Sir Drummond Wolff, with a sunflower; clad in _Patience_ costumes, and adopting the attitudes assumed by the Duke, the Colonel, and the Major, when singing the original trio.

――――

SONG.――THE SOCIAL BELLE.

It’s clear, if I’m to hold my own, I must, with ardent zest,
To supplement my natural charms attempt my artful best.
What Nature’s done is very well, but Art can do yet more
To round, to smooth, to renovate, to polish, and restore.
So I lace myself like this (_does so_),
I pad myself like that (_does so_),
Make what is angular look round, and what bony is look fat.
I hair-pin on this hair (_does so_),
Frisettes I stick in there (_does so_),
And to be in the fashion quite this bird-cage thus I wear.

I take my blushes from a box, complexion from a jar,
My dimples are to order made (a guinea each they are),
My curls were purchased through the Stores (a very cheap job lot),
The alabaster of my neck is four-and-six per pot.
And I line my eyes like this (_does so_).
I mark my veins like that (_does so_),
Fill up this wrinkle so, lay this excrescence flat (_does so_)
I fix and I cement (_does so_),
I powder, puff, and scent (_does so_),
Until, at last, my form is fit in public to present!

_Truth._ Christmas Number, 1884.

――――:o:――――

“THE ST. JAMES’S GAZETTE” ON MR. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN IN 1885.

When first I went to Parliament I gazed with mock humility,
On Gladstone and on Hartington, on Derby and on Bright;
I followed their directions with unquestioning docility,
And said that what they bid me do must certainly be right.
I flattered all and each of them,
And daily did beseech of them
Some counsel or advice, which I accepted with civility.
I hastened to defer to them;
When talking, I said “Sir” to them;
And all my early conduct was remarkably polite,
I bowed to them,
Kowtowed to them,
Each day from morn till night:
I laughed with them,
And chaffed with them,
And played the parasite.

But as the proverb predicates, complete familiarity
Affects a mam’s ideals with a kind of moral blight:
And G. and H. and D. and B. (observe the singularity!)
Revealed defects of character that shocked their proselyte.
I could no longer follow them, or go to them as reference;
Their methods, I discovered, differed totally from mine:
And therefore I reluctantly, and quite against my preference,
Informed them, “Either you or I, good people must resign.”

They simply would not hear of it:
They had the greatest fear of it:
They treated what I said to them with unaccustomed deference:
They never would demur to me:
They even whispered “Sir” to me;
And one and all they flattered me, and asked me home to dine.
They bowed to me,
Kowtowed to me:
And how could I decline?
I sneered at them
And jeered at them,
But went, and drank their wine.

Don’t talk to me of impudence, deception, or audacity.
I worried them, I flurried them, I worked upon their fears:
And now they duly recognise my value and capacity,
And meekly let me lead them by their noses and their ears.

――――:o:――――

“WHO ARE THEY?”

A very long-nosed young man,
An evil-disposed young man,
An oily-tongued, empty pate,
Down with the Church and State――
Brother to Dilke young man.

A very astute young man,
A remarkably ’cute young man,
A very good act is his
Gainst corrupt practices――
Try it at Taunton young man.

A “Rabbit and Hares” young man,
Confront-me-who-dares young man,
A modern Trebonius,
Mighty Pomponius――
Take-care-of-himself young man.

A slap-at-the-Crown young man,
A levelling down young man;
A robbery, jobbery,
Quakery, snobbery,
Chamberlain-Bright young man.

A dignified grand young man,
A lord of the land young man;
A stand-no-rebukery,
Heir to a dukery,
Devonshire House young man.

A genial and kind young man,
Who does all the good that he can;
But the job quite bewilders
Poor darling old Childers,
Our army reform young man.

A stolid and square young man,
A troubled-with-care young man;
A buckshotty, bullety,
Utter futility,
Message-of-peace young man.

A plausible, bland old man;
A shifty-as-sand old man;
To aid Revolution
Laws, Land, Constitution,
He’d fling to the winds, old man.

_The Morning Post._ January, 1882.

――――

THE FLIPPITY-FLOP YOUNG MAN.

I once was a matter of fact young man,
And thrived on port and sherry;
But now I’m a kind of a cracked young man,
The reverse of or-din-ary.
I flip and I flop (_echo_)
All over the shop (_echo_)
And take it for granted you can;
I’m a very Sunflowery, Aprily showery,
Eastcheapy, Towery man.

_Chorus_――

I’m a very æsthetic young man,
A non energetic young man,
Slippity sloppity over the shoppity,
Flippity flop young man.

I once was a hymny and tract young man,
And sternly opposed to stooping;
A kind of a stick up the back young man,
But now I incline to drooping,
Consummately if (_echo_)
On no account stiff (_echo_)
I scarcely know how I began;
I’m a bitter and mildy, naturey childy,
Oscary Wylde-y man.

_Chorus_――

I’m a Fuller’s earth colour young man,
A greeny and “yuller” young man:
Pretty externally “Patience” and “Colonelly,”
Utterly, utter young man.

I once was a cobby and hack young man.
And a little bit calico bally,
A picture card out of the pack young man,
And frequently Music Hally.
I’d sing and I’d shout (_echo_)
“Poor ’Liza” about (_echo_)
And after the ladies I ran,
Said Jenny to Amily, Oh, he’s a jammily,
“Morally, family man.”

_Chorus_――

But I’m now a good goody young man,
A head rather “Woody” young man:
Body quite rickety, pose plas-tickety,
Never go wrong young man.

I once was a three-and-six dinner young man,
And at table knew which was the best end;
But now you would not find a thinner young man
Tho’ you walk from the East to the West End.
Two steps and a stop (_echo_)
A skip and a hop (_echo_)
I require but a puff and a fan;
I’m a Regent Street cuttery, skip o’er the guttery,
New bread and buttery man.

_Chorus_――

I’m a worship the lily young man,
Crutch and tooth pick-a-dilly young man,
Cracked in the filberty, Burnand and Gilberty,
Strike you with paper young man.

HARRY ADAMS.

This song was set to music by E. Jonghmans, and published by Francis, Bros. & Day, London. There were also some additional verses, but they were inferior to the above.

――――

SIR WILFRID LAWSON.

A down-with-the-Tories M.P.,
A never-drink-spirits M.P.,
A won’t-touch-a-drop-ery
Ginger-y, pop-ery,
Friend-to-the-pump M.P.

_Judy._ October 5, 1881.

――――

F. C. BURNAND.

A threepenny _Punch_ Young Man,
A Happy-Thought Young Man;
A try-to-make _Punch_,
The best of the bunch,
But bad is the best Young Man.

HENRY IRVING AND MISS TERRY.

A very-much sought Young Pair,
An angular, well-matched Pair;
A worship-the-Bard,
Whilst he proves a safe card,
Then fall back on Wills Young Pair!

GENERAL AND MRS. BOOTH.

A very acute Old Pair,
A ranting and roaring Pair;
A bawling, fanatical.
Send-round-the-hat-i-cal,
Pick-up-the-pence Old Pair!

THE DAILY TELEGRAPH.

A caught in the act _D. T._,
A swiftly-condemned _D. T._;
A basely sensational,
False informational,
Properly hanged _D. T._!

MR. GLADSTONE.

A regular Grand Old Man,
An easily-drawn Old Man;
A _noli-me-tangere_,
Quickly-made-anger-y,
Not to be chaffed Old Man.

MARQUIS OF SALISBURY.

A reckless and fierce Old Man,
A not-mind-a-fib Old Man;
A Schouvaloff-Treatery,
Up-to-deceitery,
Berlin fiasco Old Man!

SIR STAFFORD H. NORTHCOTE.

A worthy but weak Old Dame,
A limp and defied Old Dame;
An often-defeated,
Ungratefully-treated,
Can’t-manage-her-brats Old Dame.

_Truth._ Christmas Number, 1882.

――――

AN AMERICAN IDEAL.

A common-place young girl;
A decidedly rare young girl;
Stay home at night,
Do what is right.
Help-her-old-mother young girl.

A hard-to-find young girl;
A reader-of-fact young girl;
An extra poetical,
Anti-æsthetical,
Care-nothing-for-novels young girl.

A minus her bangs young girl;
A show-on-her-brains young girl;
With an unpowdered face;
One that don’t lace,
A dress-for-her-health young girl.

An up-in-the-morning young girl;
A help-in-the-wash young girl;
One that can rub,
Not afraid of the tub,
A roll-up-her-sleeves young girl.

A quiet-and-modest young girl;
A sweet-and-pure young girl;
An upright, ambitious,
Lovely, delicious,
A pride-of-the-home young girl.

A remarkably scarce young girl;
A very much wanted young girl;
A truly-American,
Too-utter paragon,
The kind-that-I-like young girl.

_New York Independent._

――――:o:――――

IOLANTHE;
OR, THE PEER AND THE PERI.

――――:o:――――

PLAYERS AT PLAYING.

_Chorus of Fashionable Amateurs._

When upon the stage we play,
Tantantara!
Our acting that of pro’s surpasses,
Yaas!
So pro’s and public, please, make way,
And view us through your opera-glasses,
Tantantara! Make room!

Bow, bow, ye playhouse-loving masses,
We’re taught by “coaches” and in classes,
Such the power of brass is, that, although we’re asses
To act we all presume.

Though we boast high rank and station,
Acting is our recreation,
And we startle all the nation,
Tantantara! Make room!

_Solo._

Spurn not the wealthy swell
(Whose mind’s affected),
Nor with disdain repel
Pro’s self-elected.
Once we would sink with shame
If actors near us came,
Now by rich swell and dame
That art’s respected.
We swells! We swells!
Fair actresses would once select
And them “protect,”
But now we act ourselves――we swells!

_Chorus._

In tragedy and comedy to shine is our intention.

_Swells._

Yaas, yaas――for acting is in vogue;
And we hope the pwo’s appweciate our gwacious condescension.

_Pro’s._

To Colney Hatch you ought to be removed, _we_ say,
You noodles pay to act, and of engagements you defraud us,
And often through your little game adversity has gnawed us.

_Swells._

But look how it amuses us, and how our fwiends applaud us――
Besides, it is “the thing,” you know, at acting now to play.

When we seek the “coach” or the S.D.A.,
And wish some famous part to play,
The “coach” wesponds to us, “Just so;
At a matinée you must show.

“To a matinée you must go,
Sir (or ma’am) of highest quality,
You’ll appear at the Fwivolity,
At a matinée you shall show!”

Then each of us fwom gay Belgwaviah
Thinks himself the Stage’s saviah;
And all our fwiends their plaudits thunder,
Voting each of us a wonder.

_Pro’s and Public._

When Billy Shakespeare ruled the stage
In good Queen Bess’s reign,
The swells did not to act attempt;
But they wern’t then, as now, exempt
From anything like brain.
And yet Thalia won her bays
In quaint Queen Bess’s glorious days.

When David Garrick drew the town,
With Woffington la belle,
No Upper-Ten folks paid to play,
And yet the Drama, strange to say,
Succeeded very well,
It did without the swellish craze
In David Garrick’s glorious days.

And then again, in later times,
(Say, up at Sadler’s Wells),
The Drama, somehow, kept alive,
And still it managed to survive
Without the aid of swells.
And actors won renown and praise
In dear old Samuel Phelps’s days.

_Carados._

To escape there is a way:
Don’t go!
Whene’r these idiots play,
Don’t go!
They’ve L.S.D.,
These would-be pro’s
Each fancies he
Great genius shows.
But no:
Take warning from this lay:
Don’t go!

CARADOS.
_The Referee._ April, 1883.

――――:o:――――

THE LAY OF THE LORD CHIEF JUSTICE.[24]

A Lord Chief Justice, by common consent,
Is Law’s most lovely embodiment;
For the Chancellor, though a thing of dread,
Is a sort of a perfunctory figurehead.
And that is why the American Bar
Have selected _Me_ to travel afar.
A very agreeable jaunt, and one
That will lead, I trust, to some excellent fun,
And furnish a capital holiday
For a most mellifluous Lord Chief J.
_All_――And furnish, &c.