Chapter XII: Part 48: Songs by the Hon. Mrs. Norton, and various old English (12)

But though the compliment implied
Inflates me with legitimate pride,
It nevertheless can’t be denied
That it has a――ahem!――dangerous side.
For I’m not so old or melancholic
As to be quite proof ’gainst the love of frolic,
And there’d be the deu―――― well, a certain risk,
If the Lord Chief Justice began to _frisk_.
A possibility, I should say,
For a peripatetic Lord Chief J.
_All_――A possibility, &c.

I must keep on myself strict watch and ward,
Lest in more than one sense I should be abroad;
For the _Themis_ young of America
Is a very agreeable girl, they say;
She has affable manners――and customs free――
And――_she laughs at wigs!_ Oh! deary me.
I must be as careful as careful can be,
Lest _I_ should forget Law’s dignitee.
’Tis a sore temptation to throw in the way
Of _such_ a susceptible Lord Chief J.!

_All_――’Tis a sore temptation, &c.

_Punch._ September 1, 1883.

――――

A SUSCEPTIBLE CHANCELLOR.

“That is a specimen of the complaints which are poured into the letter-box of a susceptible Chancellor of the Exchequer.”――_Mr. Goschen at the Mansion House._

The cry is still “They come,” and I
Could almost wriggle with agony,
For while one man would a tax impose,
Another, remission would fain propose;
One worthy our tea would from duty free.
And another would tax up our mild Bohea;
While many would gladly change the law,
And put the screw upon whisky raw.
Which is exasperating, for
I’m such a susceptible Chancellor.

Then, in the interest of the rats,
I’m asked to discourage the spread of cats;
While a widow lady whose dog is blind
Protests the afflicted should not be fined;
The naughty, some say, a tax should pay
Whenever they go to see the play;
And broadly speaking, the wickeder you,
The worse the penance you ought to do.
Which is to me distressing, for
I’m such a susceptible Chancellor.

_The Liverpool Weekly Post._ April 2, 1887.

――――:o:――――

THE SONGS OF THE PROFESSIONS.
_The Church._

When I went to the Church, as a very young man,
(Said I to myself, said I)
I’ll work on the good old pluralist plan
(Said I to myself, said I).
I’ll marry the daughter of Bishop or Dean;
To the best paying side in church politics lean,
And whatever the work, remain idly serene
(Said I to myself, said I).
And I’ve managed, I fancy, to do what I say,
For you see what I am by my apron to-day;
And if you but look at the papers you’ll know
To what bigoted lengths I am willing to go.
It is true I’m too weak to my diocese work,
But no one can say my chief duty I shirk.
No, I quarterly draw my prelatical pay,
In the fine, old, full-flavoured Episcopal way!

_The Army._

When I took my commission as a silly young man
(Said I to myself, said I),
I will certainly work on a Barnumesque plan――[25]
(Said I to myself, said I).
I will flatter my General, get in a clique,
My own self-advancement at all times bespeak,
And to puff my own bravery always will seek
(Said I to myself, said I).
So I did it, and thus, as you see me to-day,
Have worked very high in the Army my way,
And now am quite busy in doing my best
The course of my rivals to forthwith arrest,
By striving that they, although equally wise,
May no army discover in which they can rise.
Yes, thanks to the fads in which I persist,
Our army, I take it, will not long exist.

_The Law._

When I went to the bar as a priggish young man
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll work on the regular, old legal plan,
(Said I to myself, said I).
I’ll take more briefs than I can read through,
Nor care though my clients my carelessness rue.
I will stick to my fees whatever I do
(Said I to myself, said I)
Well. I think I have managed to score a success,
And have ruined more clients than ever you’d guess;
And besides, when a chance was presented to me,
I my politics changed and became an M.P.;
And my coat having turned (’twas a very slight wrench),
I soon shall be called as a judge to the bench,
From there to pass sentence, for many an act
In no wise so bad as _my_ deeds were in fact.

_Medicine._

When I hospitals walked as a merry young man
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll proceed to success on a Specialist plan,
(Said I to myself, said I).
I’ll stick to one part of our wonderful frame,
And, spite of my fellow-practitioners’ blame,
I think it will bring me both lucre and fame
(Said I to myself, said I).
The result, I am glad to report, has been good,
For I’ve earned the large fortune I said that I would,
And as to my fame, it is easy to tell
From the way that I’m hated I’ve won that as well.
So jealous, in fact, are my rivals, I think
They hardly from my vivisection would shrink,
In order to find, by their treatment of me,
Where this Nerve most successful they grudge me can be!

_Truth Christmas Number._ 1883.

――――

SOME NEW YEAR’S EVE RESOLVES.

Said a Barrister, low to himself, said he,
“Next year I will keep no unearned fee,
I will hold no briefs that I cannot read,
Nor sully my ‘silk’ with dishonest greed.
Next year I will not be paid for work
Which I know full well that I mean to shirk.
Nay, more, I will make my clerk return
Those cheques which now in my pocket burn.
Aye, straight is the course that I mean to steer
Through the Legal Terms of the Glad New Year!”

* * * *

Said a British General, “I will try
To learn that the Alphabet’s not all ‘I.’
With the year now dawning I mean to seek
To become less bumptious and grow more meek;
And learn to remember in former days
There were Generals, too, who deserved some praise;
And that British soldiers could fight and storm,
Though nought had been heard of _my_ reform.
Yes, all that the Army esteem most dear
I will cease to vex in the Glad New Year!”

Said a West-end Tradesman, “I hereby vow
That reckless credit I’ll not allow,
Nor will I make up for it e’er again
By the shameful profits that I maintain;
Nor will I longer essay to trade
By adulteration’s scurvy aid;
No! I henceforth what is pure will sell,
And the demon of commerce forthwith expel,
Resolved to my vows to close adhere
Through the coming months of the Glad New Year!

Said a Jerry Builder, “Next year shall see
No Jerry dwellings put up by me!
I will purchase no fever-reeking site;
Nor, having bribed to the left and right,
Will I there run up those frail abodes
Which the life of each hapless tenant loads
With cramps and chills and with torture grim,
’Till Death itself seems a boon to him;
No, I as a fiend will not appear
In the happy days of the Glad New Year!”

Said a City Alderman, “I will try
My enemies’ sneers to falsify;
I’ll curb, as much as ever I’m able,
My gluttonous taste at the Civic table;
I’ll do my best, too, myself to force
To become less bigoted, dull, and coarse;
I will also strive to promote no job,
And to cease the poor any more to rob.
’Though, I’m bound to add, I already fear
I’ve promised too much for the Glad New Year!”

Said a Man of Fashion, “Hereby I swear
To think much less of the clothes I wear;
To gamble less when I cannot pay,
Less spirits to drink, less slang essay;
The spiteful talk of the Club to ban,
To take my sport as becomes a man,
To shoot no pigeons, to sell no race,
Nor a gentleman’s name to in aught disgrace:
All this I swear, so I think ’tis clear
I have much to change in the Glad New Year!”

_Truth._ January 3, 1884.

――――

SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I.
(_As sung by Mr. Henry Irving_).

When I took to the stage as a gifted young man,
Said I, &c.,
I’ll act on a new, if peculiar plan,
Said I, &c.
I’ll never consider the _rôle_ that I play,
My method need change to a different way,
From the path that I’ve chosen I never will stray,
Said I &c.

The public are ready for anything new
Said I, &c.,
The æsthetes are raving o’er all that I do,
Said I, &c.
My plan is successful, my manner attracts,
No matter the play, if ’tis Irving that acts,
And places are booked two months off. These are facts
Said I, &c.

I’ll swagger and stagger, I’ll roar and I’ll rant,
Said I, &c.,
I’ll suddenly cease, roll my eyes, gasp and pant,
Said I, &c.
In mounting most costly I’ll not be outdone,
Though in comedy vague my idea of fun,
Yet soon on the boards I shall be number one,
Said I, &c.

I always will keep my peculiar stride,
Said I, &c.,
In Hamlet, Charles, Richelieu, and Romeo beside,
Said I, &c.
With pre-Raffaelite Ellen my woes to assuage,
In London be burlesqued, in Scotland the rage,
We triumph on every American stage.
Said I, &c.

ONNY BRIDGE
_Truth._ November 15, 1883.

――――

THE MASHER CLERK.

(A city firm have just advertised in the _Daily News_ for a clerk, adding that they want “no mashers.”)

When I went to the City a knowing young man
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll follow the fashion as much as I can
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll live upon credit when minus of cash,
In the eyes of the world I will cut such a dash,
That envious chappies shall cry, “Can’t he ‘mash’!”
(Said I to myself, said I).

I’ll never drink anything else but best “cham.”
(Said I to myself, said I),
Or “cotton” to fairies who’re not “real jam”
(Said I to myself, said I);
But of dear little pets I will have the first pick,
And dress in a style most decidedly “chick.”
I’ll get from my tailor unlimited tick
(Said I to myself, said I).

When the “shop” is shut up, and the evening begun
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll then sally forth for some frolic and fun
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll ogle the girls at the Gaiety bar,
Or, soothed by the smoke of a pipe or cigar,
I’ll list to the song of the music-hall star
(Said I to myself, said I).

If I must be a clerk to be perched on a stool
(Said I to myself, said I),
I’ll not give up “mashing,” I’m not such a fool
(Said I to myself, said I).
So now where’s that berth advertised in the _News_?
I’m sure with my figure they cannot refuse――――
Hallo! what is this――“No mashers!” the deuce!
(Said I to myself, said I).

_Funny Folks._ May, 1884.

A political imitation of this song appeared in _England_ for July 4, 1885, but it had little interest, and is now out of date.

THE FAIRY QUEEN’S SONG.
“OH, NATION GAY.”

(Mr. Shaw claimed ten thousand pounds as compensation for his unjust imprisonment by the French.)

_England sings to France._

Oh, nation gay.
Think you, because
Your brave array
Poor China awes,
_I’d_ disobey
Stern Justice’ laws?
Because you’re sly,
And not above
A tendency
The weak to shove,
Resemble I
The timid dove?
Oh, timid dove!
Bird of Ovidius Naso!
This heart of mine
Is not as thine,
And no man dares to say so!

On ire that glows
With heat intense
Turn, France, the hose
Of pounds and pence,
And out it goes
At some expense!
I must maintain
Stern Justice’ law――
That fact is plain;
So kindly draw
A cheque, and gain
The heart of Shaw!
Oh, Mister Shaw!
Long by the Gaul kept under,
Would thy crusade
Without my aid
Attain its end, I wonder?

_Funny Folks._ September, 1883.

――――

SONG OF THE LAWN TENNIS CHAMPIONSHIP.

I.

Oh, foolish swain,
Think you, because
On grassy plain
I mind each clause
Of sovereign
Lawn-tennis laws,――
In brightest gleam
That fancy owns,
Think you, I dream
My cranial bones
With rules can teem
Like those of Jones?
Oh, Mr. Jones,
Type of Lawn-tennis Draco,
This head of mine
Is not as thine,
Although it sometimes ache, Oh!

II.

When heaven glows
With heat intense,
And grass ne’er grows
In any sense,
We ply the hose
At great expense!
When eager calls
And fervent prayers
For brand-new balls
Are heard from players,
The onus falls
On F. H. Ayres.
Oh, Mr. Ayres,
Vendor of balls sewn-under,
How are they made,
Or sold, or paid
For, at such price, I wonder?

III.

Fame’s made or marr’d
At Wimbledon,
And matches hard
Are deftly won,
And scored on card,
Ere set of sun:
But no young gent
Scores with such art
A tournament
In every part
As heaven-sent
Young Mr. Schacht.
Oh, Mr. Schacht,
Type of Lawn-tennis umpire,
Perched up on high,
In summer sky,
No grasshopper could jump higher!

IV.

The lists are set,
The ties are drawn,
And anxious yet,
Ere morning dawn,
We pray, no wet
May spoil our lawn.
The play begins,
Without a flaw,
The fastest spins
We ever saw;
The fav’rite wins,――
’Tis still Renshaw!
Oh, Will Renshaw,
Type of Lawn-tennis champions,
None e’er so quick
The world to lick
From Land’s End to the Grampians!

From _Tennis Cuts and Quips_. (London: Field & Tuer, 1884.)

――――:o:――――

PRINCESS IDA.

――――

THE DISAGREEABLE MAN.

_As Sung by Mr. Henry George, the “Land Nationalization” Comique._

If you give me your attention, I will tell you what I am:
I’m a genuine philanthropist――all other sorts are sham.
Each stupid freak of Fortune and each soc-i-al defect
By my lectures and my volumes I endeavour to correct;
To all their little grievances I ope the people’s eyes,
And pretty plans to crucify the landlords I devise.
I love my fellow creatures――I do all the good I can――
Yet Property declares that I’m a disagreeable man!
And I can’t think why!

To Smith and to Ricardo I’ve a withering reply;
Malthusians I always do my best to mortify;
Political economy I skilfully dissect,
And crevices within its mail I’m ready to detect.
I know everybody’s income and what everybody earns,
And I prove that honest labour doesn’t win its due returns;
But to benefit humanity, however much I plan,
Yet Property will have it I’m a disagreeable man!
And I can’t think why!

I’m sure I am no Marat, I’m as gentle as can be;
The guillotine in Leicester Square I should regret to see.
I merely want the populace to grab all “real estate,”
Without regard to owners’ cry of “Please to compensate.”
To those same owners’ prejudice, I know a thing or two;
I can show them to be curses of the nation――and I do.
But though I try to make myself as pleasant as I can,
Yet Property asserts that I’m a disagreeable man――
And I can’t think why!

_Funny Folks._

――――

THOSE CLEVER CONSERVATIVES.

“Mr. J. W. Harris won Poole for the Conservatives by declaring to the working classes that the Liberals had brought the bad trade, and the Tories would revive the industry of the place, and make everybody rich.”

If green Cheddar you desire
From the moon――from the moon――
They’ll supply what you require
Very soon――very soon.
Then they hope to fill lean purses,
Lacking pence――lacking pence――
With the coin Weg-born reverses
Steal from thence――steal from thence.
And as harvests shirk a nation
’Neath Sol’s ban――’neath Sol’s ban,
To aid farmers by taxation
They’ve a plan――they’ve a plan.
They’ve a firmly-rooted notion
They can bridge Depression’s ocean,
And they’ll set all trades in motion,
If they can――if they can!
These are the phenomena
That Poole expects to come in a
Crack or a jiffee
Now that Harris is M.P.

As for failure, they forswear it,
So they say――so they say,
And prosperity they’ll “square” it,
Some fine day――some fine day.
When the voter they would “sell” him――
Not too “fly”――not too “fly”――
“The Millennium’s,” they tell him
“By-and-bye――by-and-bye!”
So each newly-joined aspirant
To their clan――to their clan――
Must pooh-pooh Hard Times, a tyrant
Known to man――known to man.
They mock at him and flout him,
And they chaff the Rads about him,
For they’re “going to do without him”
If they can――if they can!
These are the phenomena, &c.

From _Funny Folks_. May 3, 1884.

Another parody, of the same original, appeared in _Pastime_, February 13, 1884, relating to the London Athletic Club.

――――

A WASTED “INFANCY.”
(_The Lay of a Man of Forty._)

I was not so very old,
Twenty years ago!
Quite an “infant,” I am told,
Twenty years ago!
How I _might_ have gone the pace
At the cost of tradesmen base,
If I’d only had the face
Twenty years ago!

But I was a trifle shy,
Twenty years ago!
Let the golden time slip by,
Twenty years ago!
Didn’t buy on tick, alas,
“Necessary” things _en masse_――
All which branded me an ass,
Twenty years ago!

_Funny Folks._ April 5, 1884.

――――

THE SCUTTLE.

Of all the plans there are on earth
For Statesmen still to cherish O
Commend me to the Premier’s own
Whose glory ne’er will perish O!
O the Scuttle, the base, ignoble Scuttle.
Chosen fad of Lib and Rad,
Our dear old Gladstone’s Scuttle O!

Forth, forth, from Egypt let us slope
As fast as we can manage O!
And let the Mahdi work his will
The B.P.’ll pay the damage O!
O the Scuttle, the base, ignoble Scuttle,
Chosen fad of Lib and Rad,
Our dear old Gladstone’s Scuttle O!

Forth from Afghanistan as well
In spite of all our bunkum O!
The only way to beat the Russ
Is evermore to funk ’em O!
O the Scuttle, the base, ignoble Scuttle,
Chosen fad of Lib and Rad,
Our _dear_ old Gladstone’s Scuttle O!

So wheresoever threats a foe,
Or dangers England worry O!
We will surmount them all by flight
And out of trouble hurry O!
O the Scuttle, the base, ignoble Scuttle,
Chosen fad of Lib and Rad,
Our dear old Gladstone’s Scuttle O!

_Moonshine._ May, 1885.

――――

THE ARGOSY BRACES

Ye who are cumbersome and slow,
Awkward and ungainly,
We would have you know
The cause is BRACES! mainly
Those of the old fashioned type,
Impeding every movement.
Really the time was ripe
For marvellous improvement.

Then if you’re tired of the vice-like gripping
Grasping, clutching, and irritating slipping,
And your principal complaint
Is physical restraint,
You needn’t have a taint
Of it now.

But when you’re next engaged in shopping,
Into a hosier’s go you popping,
Give the “ARGOSY” a trial;
Then with a placid smile,
Cast off the old ones vile,
As we do.

――――

KNOX ET PRÆTEREA NIHIL!
(_After King Gama’s song in the “Princess Ida.”_)

SCENE.――_Dromore. Leaders of the Local Orange Lodges discovered
in Council._

_First Orange Leader._

Common sense we bar,
That is not our bent;
On the whole we are
_Not_ intelligent.

_Chorus of Leaders._

No, no!
_Not_ intelligent!

_Second Orange Leader._

But with spiteful heart,
Play we here anew
Our abusive part――
Insult is our cue!

_Chorus of Leaders._

Yes, yes!
Insult is our cue!
Bigots fierce and strong, ha! ha!
For the strife we burn;
Who is in the wrong, ha! ha!
We have no concern.
So we wreak our spite, ha! ha!
Little care we, then,
Who is in the right, ha! ha!
For we’re Orangemen!

_Chorus of their followers who have gathered round._――

They are men of might, ha! ha!
Bigots, moved by spite, ha! ha!
Ready for the fight, ha! ha!
Ready for the fight!

_Solo._――THE HON. COLONEL KNOX.

“If you give me your attention I will tell you what I am;
I’m a genuine Orange patriot! all other kinds are sham.
I adore my dear old country, and most viciously I try
To thwart the plan of statesmen who would peace to her supply;
I am full of true devotion to my Queen, and so I use
The most offensive epithets her Viceroy to abuse,
See how I love the Irish! Why, their massacre I plan,
Yet Liberal papers say I’m such an extremely dangerous man!
And I can’t think why!

“I’m so loyally patriotic that I strive with all my might
My Monarch’s chief advisers to humiliate and spite;
I so yearn to see my Ireland free, and Protestant, and great,
That I’d blast its hopes with bloodshed and its people decimate.
No greater stickler for the Law was ever known than I,
So long as it allows me its provisions to defy,
Or assists me in developing some ultra-Orange plan;
Yet moderate critics say I’m such a very odious man!
And I can’t think why!

“I am always for upholding Ulster’s right to freely meet,
To walk with yellow banners, and the noisy drum to beat;
Aye, sweet Freedom is the birthright of us Orangemen so true:
But it is not meant for rebels like Parnell and his black crew.
So with pistol and shillelagh I would quickly smite them down,
If they dare to hold a meeting or perambulate a town;
Thus you see I try to make myself considerate as I can,
Yet everybody says I’m such a disingenuous man!
And I can’t think why!

“I’m blind to every party sin, and personal defect,
But ready any Land League fault most sternly to correct;
’Gainst Orangemen’s besotted crimes I closely shut my eyes,
But mark the slips of Nationalists with most severe surprise.
And when their foul abuse of us I hear them trying at,
Why, I feel they ought to know _we_ claim monopoly of that!
But although I’ve acted in this way since manhood I began,
Yet people will insist I’m such an undesirable man!
And I can’t think why!

“So come, my worthy farmers and poor peasants, look at me,
And try if you as spiteful and intolerant can be;
Denounce the things in others _you_ do without demur,
And make repeated efforts their passions fierce to stir.
Be prejudiced as I am, my spite and malice share,
And as becomes true patriots, for civil war prepare.
In short, I’d have you act upon my patriotic plan,
Though everybody says I’m such a bad, contentious man,
And I can’t think why!”

_Final chorus of Orange Leaders._

Yes, with spiteful heart
Here we’ve played anew
Our abusive part――
Insult is our cue!
Yes! yes!
Insult is our cue!

_Truth._ January 10, 1884.

――――:o:――――

THE MIKADO.

――――

“JAMWILLOW.”

[According to the _Times_ correspondent at Suakin, the frequent “jamming” of the Martini-Henry rifles was due to the defective cartridge in use. The cartridge is regarded, as “a theoretical one;” and a theoretical cartridge might as well be a blank one at once.]

On a battlefield gory a soldier was seen,
Who sang “Willow, jamwillow, jamwillow;”
And I said to him “Warrior, what do you mean
By your ‘Willow, jamwillow, jam willow’?
Act at once, since the foe is approaching,” I cried,
“You had better take aim, or they’ll humble our pride.”
With a shake of his helmet, the fighter replied,
“Oh, willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”

He pulled at the trigger again and again,
Singing, “Willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”
But, alas! all his struggles were clearly in vain,
Oh, “willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”
He threw down the arm, and a “Drat it!” he gave;
Then he turned and he ran, though undoubtedly brave,
And he shouted, while striving his bacon to save,
“Oh, willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”

Now, I feel just as sure as I’m sure that my name
Isn’t Willow, jamwillow, jamwillow;
That a cartridge defective had made him exclaim,
“Oh, willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”
And if something’s not done by the War Office――why,
We shall suffer defeat in the sweet by-and-bye,
And our soldiers will wail as they perish or fly,
“Oh, willow, jamwillow, jamwillow!”

_Funny Folks._ May 9, 1885.

――――

THE “WATERBURY” MAIDS.

Three little maids from school are we,
Proper and good, as we ought to be;
The reason why, you will shortly see,
Three little maids from school.
We were once “real wild,” we “took the bun”
For mischievous pranks and daring fun,
So they put a _watch_ on us, every one,
Three little maids from school.
Three little maids so quick and wary.
The best of all watches was necessary,
That’s why they picked out the “_Waterbury_,”
Three little maids at school.
But now we are all “real nice,” you know,
And always act as our watches go,
Not the least bit “fast,” but by no means “slow,”
Three little maids from school.
From three little maids take these away,
And three little maids would be all astray――
For we’d never be up to the time of day,
Three little maids from school.
Three little maids, delightful very,
Laughing always, so bright and merry,
Everyone with a “_Waterbury_,”
Three little maids from school.

――――

SEWING.

On a seat in the garden
A sweet pretty maid
Was sewing, so sewing, so sewing
And I said to her, “Dearest one!
Why thus so staid?
So sewing, so sewing, so sewing.
Is it stitching for somebody over the sea,
Or a slipper you’re making for impudent me?”
But without looking up she continued to be
Sewing, so sewing, so sewing.

And she sighed a deep sigh as
She sat on that seat
So sewing, so sewing, so sewing;
And her forehead was flushed with
A feverish heat,
So sewing, so sewing, so sewing,
But she still maintained silence
And answered me naught,
Though a smile or a whisper was all that I sought.
She was certainly angry at having been caught
So sewing, so sewing, so sewing.

But when Dick had come back from
His voyage at sea,
She was sewing, so sewing, so sewing;
And the slippers were finished,
As such work should be,
By sewing, so sewing, so sewing.
Now a wedding took place,
But alas! ’twas not mine;
And when Dick is away, if the weather be fine,
She will sit on that seat and her fingers incline
To sewing, so sewing, so sewing.

SAML. PEEL.
From _Gems_.

――――

WORDS FOR MUSIC.

The flowers that bloom in the pot, tra-la,
Have the bulge on the flowers of Spring,
For whether its cold or its hot, tra-la,
They’re placed in temperate spot, tra-la,
And in this have a very soft thing;
So they don’t care a jot
If it freezes or not,
For they feel pretty certain that they have the pot,
Tra-la-la la-la, tra-la-la-la-la.
Oh, theirs is a fortunate lot.

_Rare Bits._ February 5, 1887.

――――

THE SPRING CLEANING.

The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra-la,
You buy for the girl you adore,
For a beautiful smile they bring, tra-la,
And cause her your praises to sing, tra-la,
Till you wish that you’d only bought more,
And that’s what we mean when we say that a thing
Is as welcome as flowers that bloom in the Spring.

The blushes that bloom on her cheek, tra la,
Are painted the men to deceive;
If you doubt, just notice this week, tra la,
When her curls on your arm a rest seek, tra la,
How the blushes will soil your coat-sleeve.
And that’s what we mean when we angrily speak:
A brush for the blushes that bloom on her cheek.

The flour that blooms in the spring, tra la,
We find in confectioner’s cakes
The children unto ’em will cling, tra la,
Though they’re spongy and tough as a string, tra la,
And simply are leathery fakes!
And that’s why we’re sad when they pass us a thing,
Made out of the flour that blooms in the spring.

The houses we clean in the spring, tra la,
Give a blow to all social sunshine,
And we profanely say as we sing, tra la,
That we’d like to be hanged on a _string_, tra la,
But we find that it’s useless _to whine_.
And this is the refrain that we dolefully sing,
Oh, bother the houses we clean in the spring.

THE TUNEFUL LIAR.

_Quips_ (Liverpool.) March 4, 1887.

――――

VERSES ACCIDENTALLY OMITTED AT THE SAVOY THEATRE.

At this General Election some have met with their rejection,
Who never will be missed, who never will be missed!
At last they’ve been found out, although they’ve long escaped
detection,
And we’ve scratched them off the list, we’ve scratched them
off the list,
There’s the foul-mouthed Joseph Leicester sent to “studdy” at
his ease,
With Rogers, whose crude Billingsgate has somehow failed to
please;
And Joseph Arch the humbug, who against the labourers votes,
Has leisure now to understand what’s meant by “hinds” and “goats;”
And Gibb, and Firth, and plenty more, we’ve scratched them off
the list,
But they’ll none of them be missed, they’ll none of them be
missed!

But some there are who’ve scrambled through we well could do
without;
Though they’re still upon the list, they’re still upon the
list!
The traitors who have managed to escape the general rout,
Though they never would be missed, they never would be missed!
First, there’s the Grand Old Madman and his silly little son,
And that “genial ruffian,” Labby, with his weak attempts at fun;
There’s Bombastes Falstaff Harcourt, and J. Morley, prince of
prigs,
Flabby Childers, blatant Russell, half a dozen recreant Whigs,
And all those empty Gladstone bags who’ve got upon the list;
Oh, they’d none of them be missed, they’d none of them be missed!

W.
_St. Stephen’s Review._ July, 1886.

――――

Messrs. Lever Brothers, of Warrington, have published a small pamphlet describing the manufacture of their “Sunlight Soap.” It contains “A respectful Per-version of the Mikado,” from which the following extracts are given, by permission of Messrs. Lever Brothers:――

SONG――BY A LADY OF QUALITY.

As some day a washing soap that is harmless may be found,
I’ve got a little list! I’ve got a little list
Of gowns and things all stowed away, as safe as underground.
Which have constantly been missed! How much they’ve all been
missed!
There’s my charming Dolly Varden, which, alas! is rather
soiled,
My parasol of once white lace, though dirty, it’s not
spoiled.
My chintzes and chinchillas, China crape, and cream
brocade,
My bombazines and silks of every style, and sort, and
shade;
That fetching little bonnet too, in which I first was
kissed,
They’ve all of them been missed! They’ve all been sadly
missed.

_Chorus_――She’s got ’em on her list! She’s got ’em on her list;
And they’ve all of ’em been missed! They’ve all been sadly
missed.

One day a friend said Sunlight Soap I really ought to try,
And as she did insist, I hunted up my list;
For, hearing her experience, I remembered with a sigh,
How much they’d all been missed! How much they’d all been
missed.
So I sent at once for Sunlight Soap, and soon unpicked the
lace,
From that old discarded sunshade and I tacked it in its
place;
Round a muslin-covered bottle, as their little books
direct,
And used the Sunlight Soap with most astonishing effect,
The lace washed quite as good as new――encouraged to persist,
I wondered if it would restore the other things I’d missed.

_Chorus_――She hunted up her list! She got her little list,
And wondered if it would restore the other things she’d
missed.

So one by one I brought to light the things I’d laid aside
For I’d got them on my list! They were all upon my list;
The same success attended each experiment I tried,
And they’ll never more be missed They’ll never more be missed!
The finest fabrics were unharmed, the tints remained intact,
You may think I’m romancing, I assure you it’s a fact;
You try the Sunlight Soap, you’ll find your labour much
reduced,
I only wish that years ago it had been introduced!
Henceforth no more soiled garments will appear upon my list,
For, thanks to harmless Sunlight Soap, they’ll none of them
be missed.

_Chorus_――She’s crossed ’em off her list! She’s crossed ’em off her
list,
For, thanks to harmless Sunlight Soap, they’ll none of ’em
be missed!

TRIO OF SUNLIGHT SOAP TABLETS.

Three little aids to health are we,
Powerful aids in tablets three,
Harbingers all of purity,
Three little aids to health!
Everyone will our virtues own,
Everywhere is our value known,
Everything that is foul hath flown,
From three little aids to health!

Three little tablets, all expelling
Germs of disease from dress and dwelling,
Purity’s advent e’er foretelling――
Three little aids to health!
Three little foes to dire decay,
Driving disease and dirt away,
Pleased to disperse their dread array――
Three little aids to health!

All that is foul we render fair,
No earthly boon can with us compare,
Life is a burden few could bear
But for three little aids to health!
Three little tablets, all expelling
Germs of disease from dress and dwelling,
Purity’s advent e’er foretelling――
Three little aids to health!

THE REASON WHY.

The flowers that bloom in the spring,
Tra la,
Breathe promise of merry Sunlight――
As we merrily dance and we sing,
Tra la,
We welcome the hope that they bring,
Tra la,
Of a summer of roses so bright;
And that’s what we mean when we say that a thing
Is welcome as flowers that bloom in the spring.
Tra la la la la la, &c.

Lever’s Sunlight Soap’s a thing,
Tra la,
That brings sunshine wherever it goes
If you ask us to which we should cling,
Tra la,
It won’t be the flowers of spring,
Tra la,
For they’re useless for washing of clothes;
And that’s what we mean when we say, or we sing,
“It’s better than flowers that bloom in the spring!”
Tra la la la la la, &c.

A PATHETIC BALLAD.

In a cot by a river a lady forlorn
Sang “willow, titwillow, titwillow!”
And I said to her, “pretty one, why do you mourn,
Singing ‘willow, titwillow, titwillow?’
Your love will return ere the sun will have set,
Your honeymoon scarce is completed, and yet
With a shake of your head you reply in a pet,
“Oh willow, titwillow, titwillow!”

But alas! she had wedded for love, not for pelf,
Oh willow, titwillow, titwillow!
So she had to get through all the washing herself,
Oh willow, titwillow, titwillow!
She sobbed and she sighed, and a gurgle she gave,
Then she threw herself into the billowy wave,
And an echo arose from the suicide’s grave――
“Oh willow, titwillow, titwillow!”

Now I feel just as sure as I’m sure that my name
Isn’t willow, titwillow, titwillow,
’Twas inferior soap that thus made her exclaim,
“Oh willow, titwillow, titwillow!”
If Lever’s Sunlight Soap she’d happened to buy,
Her work had been done without trouble, and I
Should never have heard that most desolate cry――
“Oh willow, titwillow, titwillow!”

――――:o:――――

RUDDIGORE;
OR, THE WITCH’S CURSE.

This opera, produced at the Savoy Theatre on Saturday, January 22, 1887, did not at first receive that approval which the Press and the public have hitherto accorded to Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan’s pieces. Objection was taken to the title, and in deference to public opinion the first word was altered from _Ruddygore_ to _Ruddigore_, whilst several passages which occur in the published version of the libretto are either altered, or omitted, in representation, and generally the piece runs more smoothly than it did when first produced.

That Mr. Gilbert himself had some mistrust of his own passion for logical paradoxes may be inferred from the fact that the following passage has, from the first, been omitted in the performance:

_Rod._ It’s not too late, is it?

_Han._ Oh Roddy! (_bashfully_).

_Rod._ I’m quite respectable now, you know.

_Han._ But you’re a ghost, ain’t you?

_Rod._ Well yes――a kind of ghost.

_Han._ But what would be my legal _status_ as a ghost’s wife?

_Rod._ It would be a very respectable position.

_Han._ But I should be the wife of a dead husband, Roddy!

_Rod._ No doubt.

_Han._ But the wife of a dead husband is a widow, Roddy

_Rod._ I suppose she is.

_Han._ And a widow is at liberty to marry again, Roddy!

_Rod._ Dear me, yes――that’s awkward. I never thought of that.

_Han._ No, Roddy――I thought you hadn’t.

_Rod._ When you’ve been a ghost for a considerable time it’s
astonishing how foggy you become!

The acting copy now also dispenses with the equally ingenious quibbles which appeared to give offence to the audience on the first night, as follows:――

_Robin._ Stop a bit――both of you.

_Rod._ This intrusion is unmannerly.

_Han._ I’m surprised at you.

_Robin._ I can’t stop to apologise――an idea has just occurred
to me. A Baronet of Ruddygore can only die through
refusing to commit his daily crime.

_Rod._ No doubt.

_Robin._ Therefore, to refuse to commit a daily crime is
tantamount to suicide!

_Rod._ It would seem so.

_Robin._ But suicide is, itself, a crime――and so, by your own
showing, you ought none of you to have ever died at all!

_Red._ I see――I understand! We are all practically alive!

_Robin._ Every man jack of you!

_Rod._ My brother ancestors! Down from your frames! (_The
Ancestors descend._) You believe yourselves to be
dead――you may take it from me that you’re not, and an
application to the Supreme Court is all that is necessary
to prove that you never ought to have died at all!

(_The Ancestors embrace the Bridesmaids._)

From the omission of this conversation it now follows that the “ancestors,” having once returned to their picture frames, remain there.

――――:o:――――

AN APPEAL, AFTER E. A. POE.

Once upon a midnight dreary, Gilbert pondered weak and weary,
Thinking of a curious title his new Comic Opera for,
When a volume from him flinging, suddenly there came a ringing,
As of some one madly clinging to the bell at his front door;
“It is D’Oyly Carte,” he muttered, “ringing at my big front door,
Merely this, and nothing more.”

Poking then the glowing ember, for ’twas cold as bleak December,
Gilbert said, “Ah, I remember in the olden time of yore,
Yea, and shall forget it never, though I were to live for ever,
How I vainly did endeavour once to see my ‘Pinafore;’
Sat and suffered awful anguish in the stalls at ‘Pinafore,’
Just that once, but nevermore.”

“For the feeling sad uncertain, at the rising of the curtain.
Thrilled me, filled me with such terrors, that a solemn oath I
swore,
And the oath have oft repeated, that though kings and queens
entreated,
I would ne’er again be seated in the stalls as once before,
There to try and see the piece through, as I tried to do before,
Now to do so nevermore.”

Open here was flung the portal by a pompous powdered mortal,
Who then ushered Mr. Carte in, as he oft had done before;
Not a moment stopped or stayed he, but a slight obeisance made
he,
And in voice of thunder said he, “Mr. Carte,”――then slammed the
door,
And in tones stentorian said he, “Mr. Carte,”――then slammed the
door,
Only this, and nothing more.

Mr.Carte then said quite coolly, “Mr. Gilbert, tell me truly,
Have you found a proper title our new Comic Opera for?
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, as you hope to go to Aidenn,
Have you really, really made ’un? Tell, O tell me, I implore!
Tell me what its funny name is――tell, O tell me, I implore!”
Answered Gilbert――“Ruddygore!”

Carte uprose, alarmed, astounded, by this title much confounded,
For this word of dreadful meaning such a world of horror bore;
And he said, “This title gruesome, I feel very sure will do some
Injury, and we shall lose some thousands ere this piece is o’er;
Such a name will surely ruin both your words and Arthur’s score;
Therefore change it, I implore.”

Then said Gilbert, calmly smoking, “D’Oyly Carte, you must be
joking;
I have never found a title that I liked so much before,
For it gives the play the seeming of a drama that is teeming
With deeds of blood all streaming, which the people gloat so o’er;
Of those deeds all grim and ghastly that the people gloat so o’er;
Therefore be it Ruddygore,”

And with title so unfitting, people still are nightly sitting
In the gallery, stalls, and boxes, from the ceiling to the floor;
And although they can’t help glancing at D. Lely when he’s
dancing,
Think Miss Brandram’s song entrancing, and give Grossmith an
encore,
Still all cry, “Oh, Gilbert, Gilbert, change this title,
‘Ruddygore.’
Not in spelling――we want more.”

E. B. V.
_Pall Mall Gazette._ February 12, 1887.

――――:o:――――

THE PLAYWRIGHT’S LAMENT.
_With Chorus of Professional Supers from_ “Ready Goer.”

(_Note._――The long lines are by the Playwright; the short lines are
by the Chorus of Supers.)

Oh, why am I gloomy and sad?
Can’t guess.
And why am I wicked and bad?
Confess.
Because I am _thoroughly_ MAD!
Oh, yes.
You may tell by the rage in my face.

Do you know that I’ve written a play?
Don’t say!
And it was produced yesterday?
Hurrah!
Do the papers a single word say?
Not they!
Now I think that’s a very hard case.

’F I were Gilbert or Sully-vi-_an_――
Oh, ho!
Bronson Howard, the Ah-merry-khan――
Ah, no!
H. A. Jones, or his partner Her_mann_――
Just so!
George R. Sims or Henry Pet-_tett_.

If I were the author of “Jan”――
Who’s he!
Or a thoroughly noted young man――
Dear me!
Or Verdi at distant Mil-_an_――
I see!
I’d get half a column, you bet!

But being at present unknown――
Oh, dear!
No preference for me is shown――
No fear!
So I have to play it alone――
Hear! Hear!!
But I’ll even up with them yet.

LUKE SHARP.
_The Detroit Free Press._ March 19, 1887.

――――:o:――――

COERCION COMING.
_Duet_――Lord Londonderry (_Despard_) and Sir M. Hicks-Beach
(_Mad Margaret_).

_Lond._ I once was a very abandoned person――

_Beach._ Spoiling the hard-up landlords’ chances;

_Lond._ Such people couldn’t conceive a worse ’un――

_Beach._ Or one more subject to sickly fancies.

_Lond._ I blush for my mild extravagances;
But be so kind
To bear in mind

_Beach._ We were the victims of circumstances! [_Dance_
This is one of our contrite dances.

_Beach._ I was as soft as a sweet young lady――

_Lond._ Troubled by Nationalistic vapours.

_Beach._ The squires declared that my ways were shady――

_Lond._ They hinted at penitential tapers.

_Beach._ The Plan of “Pressure” amused the gapers.
My ways were strange
Beyond all range――

_Lond._ And grumbles got into Tory papers! [_Dance._
Here goes to cut coercionist capers.

_Lond._ I’m sorry now for each weak proceeding――”

_Beach._ My taste for a merciful method’s waning.

_Lond._ It’s gag and shackle that Erin’s needing――

_Bench._ We _can’t_ have the Unionists complaining.

_Lond._ Our party’s praises we’d be obtaining.
We’ll try a rule
Of the Iron School.

_Beach._ It won’t be nice, but we’ll stop Campaigning! [_Dance._
Our steps will mend when we’ve had some training.

_Funny Folks._ March 5, 1887.

――――:o:――――

GOOD FOR GOSCHEN.
(_Owed by a De-lighted Pipe._)

Come hither, ye slaves of the weed,
And read;
All ye of fumiferous breed
Take heed;
Through minimised taxing,
The prices they’re axing
For fragrant tobaccos――recede
With speed!

You say that the Budget’s not strong?――
You’re wrong.
You say it contents not the throng?――
Go ’long!
Good smokes it arranges,
And rings in the changes,
And rings out the old with a song――
Ding-dong!

What, say you it’s all for a _puff_?
That’s rough:
_Here_ Goschen deserves no rebuff――
Enough!
Indulgers will glory
In Whig or in Tory
Who’ll give them in ’baccy or snuff
Good stuff!

High duty on weeds they revoke――
Smart stroke――
It’s certain to finish in smoke
(Good joke!)
We welcome, in brief, sir,
Less liquid, more leaf, sir!
When ’baccy in water they soak――
We choke!

When Goschen Pride’s high pyramid
Bestrid,
We openly own that we chid
The kid.
But he gained by _this_ action
The thanks of each faction
That loveth the succulent quid――
He did!

_Funny Folks._ April 30, 1887.

――――:o:――――

Although _Ruddigore_ is, in itself, a burlesque, it occurred to Mr. Toole that some fun might be got out of a caricature of it, and accordingly Messrs. Taylor and Percy Reeve composed a “musical parody” entitled _Ruddy George_, which was produced at Toole’s Theatre. Much talent for mimicry was displayed by the principal performers, and especially by Mr. E. D. Ward, as Robin Redbreast (after George Grossmith) and Mr. Skelton, as Sir Gaspard, in a droll imitation of Rutland Barrington’s portentious manner. The burlesque was, however, most successful in so far as it caricatured the idiosyncracies and eccentricities of Sir Arthur Sullivan’s music. In imitation of the scene in Act II. of the original, where the portraits of Sir Ruthven’s forefathers descend from their frames, kitcat panel likenesses of Mr. Gilbert, Sir Arthur Sullivan, and Mr. D’Oyly Carte suddenly become endowed with life, and utter some mild, and rather pointless jests.

――――:o:――――

KO-KO ON “THE COW AND THREE ACRES.”
(_The Mikado._)

The Rads all the yokels to gain, tra la!
Gave promise of land and a cow.
They argued, “They’re all half-insane, tra la!
“Majority we shall obtain, tra la!
By the help of the sons of the plough.”
And that’s what they meant, as you’ll quite understand,
When they promised a cow and three acres of land,
And told-’em-a-lie-or-two, told-’em-a-lie-or-two――
Promised a cow and some land.

They’ve voted for them, and so now, tra la!
My advice to the “clods” is “Away!
And tell ’em you’re sick of the plough,” tra la!
That you’ve come for your acres and cow, tra la!
And they’ll turn round to you and they’ll say,
“My friends, we would give you the acres and cow,
But, alas! we’ve not got them――at least, not just now.
But we’ve told-you-a-lie-or-two, told-you-a-lie-or-two――
Live by the sweat of your brow!”

_The Sporting Times._ 1886.

――――:o:――――

ODE TO A LONDON FOG.

Roll on, thick haze, roll on!
Through each familiar way
Roll on!
What though I must go out to-day?
What though my lungs are rather queer?
What though asthmatic ills I fear?
What though my wheeziness is clear?
Never _you_ mind!
Roll on!

Roll on, thick haze, roll on!
Through street and square and lane
Roll on!
It’s true I cough and cough again;
It’s true I gasp and puff and blow;
It’s true my trip may lay me low――
But that’s not your affair, you know.
Never _you_ mind!
Roll on!

_Funny Folks Annual._ 1885.

――――:o:――――

A small volume has recently been published by Messrs. Chatto and Windus (London), entitled Mr. Gilbert’s _Original Comic Operas_, it contains The Sorcerer, H. M. S. Pinafore, The Pirates of Penzance, Iolanthe, Patience, Princess Ida, The Mikado, and Trial by Jury. It gives the dates when these pieces were first produced, but unfortunately omits the names of the performers, which all playgoers and collectors of theatrical curiosities will regret.

Numerous imitations and parodies exist of Mr. Gilbert’s writings, other than those connected with Sir Arthur Sullivan’s music, thus his mythological play _Pygmalion and Galatea_ was burlesqued by Miss Alice Maud Meadows in “_Chiselling Pygmalion_,” which was performed in London in December, 1883, by the members of the Grantham Lawn Tennis Club.

A jocular guide to the Edinburgh Exhibition of 1886 was compiled by Mr. George Stronach, and published by Robert Mitchell, of Edinburgh. It was entitled “_Our Own-eries_; or, The Show in the Meadows; a _dog_-gerel _cat_-alogue,” and was profusely and humourously illustrated. It contained several amusing parodies on _The Mikado_, and one on Tennyson’s _Brook_, but as they related only to the Exhibition they were of purely local interest, and are now out of date.

In _The Bab Ballads_, which originally appeared in _Fun_ (London), may be found the germs of several of Mr. Gilbert’s plays and operas, sketches of plots afterwards amplified, and snatches of song which were, later on, to be linked to Arthur Sullivan’s music, and so made famous.

The following, which appeared in _Fun_ twenty years ago, contains part of the plot of _H. M. S. Pinafore_:――

JOE GOLIGHTLY;
OR, THE FIRST LORD’S DAUGHTER.

A tar but poorly prized
Long, shambling, and unsightly,
Thrashed, bullied, and despised,
Was wretched Joe Golightly.

He bore a workhouse brand,
No pa or ma had claimed him,
The Beadle found him, and
The Board of Guardians named him

P’raps some princess’s son――
A beggar p’raps his mother!
_He_ rather thought the one,
_I_ rather think the other.

He liked his ship at sea,
He loved the salt sea-water;
He worshipped junk, and he
Adored the First Lord’s daughter.

The First Lord’s daughter proud,
Snubbed earls and viscounts nightly――
She sneered at barts aloud,
And spurned poor Joe Golightly.

Whene’er he sailed afar
Upon a Channel cruise, he
Unpacked his light guitar
And sang this ballad (Boosey).

_Ballad._

The moon is on the sea,
Willow!
The wind blows towards the lee,
Willow!
But though I sigh and sob and cry,
No Lady Jane for me,
Willow!

She says, “Twere folly quite,
Willow!
For me to wed a wight,
Willow!
Whose lot is cast before the mast;”
And possibly she’s light,
Willow![26]

His skipper (Captain Joyce)
He gave him many a rating,
And almost lost his voice
From thus expostulating:

“Lay out, you lubber, do!
What’s come to that young man, Joe?
Belay!――’vast heaving! you!
Do kindly stop that banjo!”

“I wish, I do――oh, lor!
You’d shipped aboard a trader:
_Are_ you a sailor, or
A negro serenader?”

But still the stricken cad,
Aloft or on his pillow,
Howled forth in accents sad
His aggravating “Willow!”

Stern love of duty had
Been Joyce’s chiefest beauty――
Says he, “I love that lad,
But duty, damme! duty!”

“Twelve years blackhole, I say,
Where daylight never flashes;
And always twice a day
Five hundred thousand lashes!”

But Joseph had a mate.
A sailor stout and lusty,
A man of low estate,
But singularly trusty.

Says he, “Cheer hup, young Joe!
I’ll tell you what I’m arter,
To that Fust Lord I’ll go
And ax him for his darter.

“To that Fust Lord I’ll go
And say you love her dearly.”
And Joe said (weeping low),
“I wish you would, sincerely!”

That sailor to that Lord
Went, soon as he had landed,
And of his own accord
An interview demanded.

Says he, with seaman’s roll,
“My captain (wot’s a Tartar),
Guv Joe twelve years’ black hole,
For lovering your darter.

“He loves Miss Lady Jane
(I own she is his betters),
But if you’ll jine them twain,
They’ll free him from his fetters.

“And if so be as how
You’ll let her come a-boardship,
I’ll take her with me now”――
“Get out!” remarked his Lordship.

That honest tar repaired
To Joe upon the billow,
And told him how he’d fared:
Joe only whispered, “Willow!”

And for that dreadful crime
(Young sailors learn to shun it)
He’s working out his time:
In ten years he’ll have done it.

_Fun._ October 12, 1867.

――――

_The Bab Ballads_ have been often imitated (it is scarcely possible to _parody_ them successfully), but the imitations are for the most part very inferior to the originals, besides which they are generally very long, so that only a few examples can be quoted. The three following appeared in a prize competition in _The World_, the subject selected by the editor being:――

KING THEEBAW OF BURMAH.

FIRST PRIZE.
(_Model: “Sir Guy the Crusader.”_)

Theebaw was a potentate mighty,
“The Magnificent One,
Grandchild of the Sun,”
To put foreign armies to flight he
Shook his magical spear――it was done.

John Bull was his special objection,
A contemptible cad,
An upstart who had
Not a single celestial connection,
And whose form altogether was bad.

Yet this snob, with the coolest assurance,
Sent a party named Shaw
To the court of Theebaw
To remonstrate――O cheek past endurance!――
When he strangled his brothers-in-law.

Says Theebaw, “Shall this prig of a Briton
Be allowed to object――
Such a want of respect!――
When I’ve got a man-torturing fit on?
It’s hard lines if my fun be thus checked!”

So he tried of that prying external
His kingdom to rid,
Which he finally did,
Having scared him to death; but a colonel
Named Browne to replace him was bid.

Now Theebaw, it is right here to mention,
Had very strong views
On the subject of shoes;
At an afternoon call their retention
Was a slip that he could not excuse.

The colonel thought this very cruel,
Took cold in his head,
And before going to bed
Put his feet in hot water, supped gruel,
Packed up the next morning and fled.

Said Bull to Theebaw, “I’m disgusted;
If my delegates are
Thus exposed to catarrh,
With a colonel you shall not be trusted.”
Whereto Theebaw answered with “Yah-r!”

So St. Barbe was left there to be worried,
Till he’d reason to dread,
Being relieved of his head
In a manner less pleasant than hurried;
Then he, too, packed baggage and fled.

So Theebaw was alone in his glory.
He drowned everybody
In the deep Irrawaddy,
And then, as an end to the story,
He finished himself with rum-toddy.

ODD FISH.

SECOND PRIZE.
_The Tale of King Theebaw._

Theebaw was the King of the golden toe,
And the monarch of Mandalay,
And he laughingly said, as he got out of bed,
In a casual sort of way: