Chapter IV: Canto I

Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the Cupboard
To get her poor dog a bone;
When she got there
The Cupboard wan bare.
And so the poor dog had none!

Now, Kind Reader, follow closely whilst I display the hidden beauties of Canto First. You will notice that the author, who now sleeps with the unnumbered dead--a presumption on my part--has no dedication, no introduction, no preface. He scorned a dedication, that misnomer for gratuitous advertising. He wanted no patron, no Lord or Count somebody or other, who might, perhaps, insure the sale of one more copy. No. He determined to paddle his own canoe. And he did, you bet.--He wrote no preface. What was it to the public how many ancient authors he had ransacked to obtain ideas for his poem? What was it to the public how many noble minds he had associated with him to help him in his laborious work? What would the public care about his intentions to have his book in such a form, to appear at such a date, or to be sold for such a price? What would be the use of apologizing to the public for his many weak points, when he thought that he knew more than they? On the contrary, he very naturally determined that if his Poem, wasn't readable, it would not be read, and a Preface of ignorance would make the matter no better.--He kept clear of the folly of an Introduction-a something which a writer gets up just to keep his hand in, perhaps, or to tell the reader that _he_ knows all about it!--The empty dishes on the banquet-board: no one cares for them.

Our felicitous Author, throwing aside all these traditional idiosyncrasies, launches boldly into the billowy sea of his idea-scattered brain[A], and in his very first line gives a full, concise description of the heroine, Mrs. HUBBARD; and having finished her description, enumerates, as was meet, the peculiarities, and, I might say, dogmatic tendencies, of the hero of the tail, Herr Dog! [He (not H.D., but the Author) says "Old Mother HUBBARD."] Here is simplicity for you! Here is brevity! "Old Mother HUBBARD!" How sweetly it sounds; how nicely the words fit each other! What an immense range of thought he must have who first said "Old Mother HUBBARD." Less gifted authors of the present would rejoice exceedingly, could they do likewise. Ah!--and a spark of enthusiasm lightens up your countenance, [Highfalutin,]--they have no HUBBARD. And if they had they would commence with a minute detail of how old she was, how venerable she was, what kind of a mother she was, whose mother she was, and all about her aunt's family.

Alas! for the fallen state of our Literature, which tells you everything, and leaves you nothing to guess at, lest you might not guess correctly. Well, as I previously observed, the author says "Old Mother HUBBARD." He must have been correct. You know how it is yourself.

This felicitous writer then proceeds, and in the next line gives vent to his pent-up feelings thusly: "Went to the Cupboard." "Went!" What a happy expression! How appropriate! Besides, it supplies a deficiency which would have occurred had it been left out. "Went!" There's Saxon for you. Our happy author, overburdened by his transcendent imagination, has not the evil propensity of thrusting upon his reader the mode of how she went; but, noble and manly as he was, he leaves it to you and to me how she went!

Here is a vast range for your imagination. Give your fancy wings. One may think she waddled; another that she rambled. One may say she preambulated; another that she pedalated.[B] One may remark that she crutchalated; [C] but all must concede that she "went". Now whither did she "went"? Ah! methinks your brain is puzzled. Why, she "went to the Cupboard," says our author, who, perhaps, just then took a ten-cent nip. She did not go around it, or about it, or upon it, or under it. She did not let it come to her, but she went herself to the above-mentioned and fore-named Cupboard.

Now, when a woman undertakes to do a thing, she has always a reason for her undertaking; argoul, as my friend, the grave-digger, said, the heroine of this Epic must have had an object in view. Otherwise, what would take her to the Cupboard? She was evidently a strong-minded woman, and would not fritter away her valuable time for nothing. To the Cupboard she went "to get her poor dog a bone," says the author, following out the logical sequence of the plot. The hero of the tail was not in the Cupboard. Of course not. The "bone" was there. Ah! but _was_ the bone there? The sequel will show.

Just imagine the mild complacency, the unutterable sympathy, the affectionate lovingness of the heroine for her hero! And with what gentle expression she speaks of him--"her poor dog." Verily, must there have been an abyss of kindly feeling in that Old Dame's large heart for her poor dog!

But alas! for human care and anxiety. Away ye smiles and hopes.

"L'homme propose, mais Dieu dispose."[D]

In other words, when she got there, to the Cupboard, and peered into its dark recesses, and searched the hidden corners of its many shelves, "the Cupboard was bare."

Alack-a-day for Mr. D.! When he saw his kind mistress toddling along to the receptacle of many a remnant of many a luxurious feast, he was, perchance, filled with affection. Melting tears came to his eyes, and poured, like a cataract, down his noble cheeks. Would it do to have his loving mistress witness the outburst of his long pent-up feelings? Alas! No. He must hide his tears. He tore his tail from the wag which was about to seize it, and gently wiped away his tears! Poor fellow! Your heart warms towards him, and you stretch out your hands to embrace him, or to kiss him for his mother, perhaps. How must the author have felt? If there was one grain of compassion in him, he would feel as I do, as you do, as we all do, and trust that the loving affection of that poor dog would be amply repaid by the promised "bone."

The decrees of Fate are inexorable, however. When she went to the Cupboard, the Cupboard was bare; had not even one bare bone, and so that poor heroic dog "had none." [Very long O.] I pity him truly, and fain would shed tears of grief over his melancholy affliction, if I wasn't so awfully warm. For was never dog so disappointed as this dog. "Nev-a-r-e, by all-l-l that's h-h-holy-y-y-e-e."[E]

Not wishing to be an unwilling witness to the sad scene which was enacted between these two loving creatures on the disappointment of their fondest hopes, I will draw the curtain, and leave them, solitary and alone--alone with themselves, and with no aching eye to witness their grief, to give vent to their heart-bursting anguish.

The author did wisely and well to close the Canto.

Let us have--a rest!

[Footnote A: Original. By GUM.]

[Footnote B: Copyright for sale for all the States.]

[Footnote C: Ditto.]

[Footnote D: This is French--H. D.]

[Footnote E: Quotation from XII T.]

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STANDARD LITERATURE.

A writer in the _Standard_, thinking that the title Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals is clumsy on account of its length, proposes that it be changed to Animalthropic Society. It is not likely that Mr. BERGH, who has some reputation for scholarship, will adopt a suggestion in which a bit of Greek is brought in "wrong end foremost," unless, indeed, his well-known partiality for the canine creature might induce him to look with favor upon a compound so manifestly of the "dog Greek" description.

* * * * *

QUERY

Might not the child's new-fangled humming-top, which is advertised to dance sixty seconds, be said to dance a minuet?

* * * * *

CHEERFUL FOR SHOEMAKERS.

WESTON'S great Feat.

* * * * *

_Learned Professor._ "THESE ARE THE RESTORED REMAINS OF A NOBLE CREATURE LONG SINCE EXTERMINATED BY THE SAVAGES OF PESTILENT INSECTS KNOWN AS POLY TICKS."]

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DESULTORY HINTS AND MAXIMS FOR ANGLERS.

When you see "excellent trouting in a romantic mountain district" advertised in the papers, go somewhere else.

On arriving where you have reason to believe trout exist, inquire of some rural angler which are the best brooks, and fish exclusively in those he runs down.

In making a cast, throw your line as far as you can. The biggest fish are usually obtained from the long Reaches.

Never angle under a blistering sun, nor with Spanish flies.

Keep as far as possible from the brook. If the trout see you they will connect you with the rod, in which case you will find it difficult to connect them with the line.

Many anglers fish up stream, but the surest way to secure a mess of trout is with the Current.

Take some agreeable stimulant with you to the water-side. You will find it a great assistance when Reeling in.

One of the best places for obtaining the speckled prey is under a Waterfall--but you needn't mention this fact to the ladies.

When a brook divides among the trees, angle in the main stream, not in the Branches.

In playing a trout under the willows, be very careful, or you may get Worsted among the Osiers.

When you land a two-pound trout (which you never will,) double the weight, else what's the use of having a Multiplier.

If you wish to take anything heavy you must walk right into the water. The regular Sneezers are generally caught in this way.

The experienced angler goes forth expecting nothing, and is rarely disappointed.

Superstitious Piscators have great faith in the Heavenly Signs, but often fail to find a Sign of a Fish under the fishiest sign of the Zodiac.

Avoid water-courses infested with saw-mills. These dammed streams seldom contain many trout.

To jerk a fish out of the water with a wire is even more despicable than political wire-pulling.

A rod should never consist of more than three sections, and the angler should look well to his joints after a wetting, as they are apt to swell and stiffen in the Sockets.

Rise early if you would have good sport. Should you feel sleepy afterwards, the river has a Bed that you can easily get into.

Catching trout is strictly a summery pleasure, and when indulged in at any other season should be visited by Summary punishment.

There are numerous treatises on angling, but in "JOHN BROWN'S Tract" the youthful Piscator will find the best of Guides.

It often happens that trout do not begin to bite till late in the day, in which case it is advisable to make the most of the _commencement de la Fin._

As the culture of fish is now engaging the attention of philanthropists, it is probable that the superior varieties will hereafter be found in Schools, where, of course, the Rod will be more profitably employed than in Whipping (under present circumstances,) "the complaining brooks that keep the meadows green."

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LOVE IN A BOARDING-HOUSE.

Miss SARAH SAGOE'S boarding-house--I recommend her steaks;
Two plates of pudding she allows, and--oh! what buckwheat cakes!
We're all so very fond of them, (we deprecate the grease,)
But we'd a greater fondness for Miss SARAH SAGOE'S niece.

In heavenly blue her eyes surpassed--the milk; "her teeth were pearl."
That's BROWN! Poetic genius, BROWN, (devoted to that girl.)
JOE TROTT to flowers took; SAWTELL, and PETERS to croquet;
GREEN thrumbed guitar; while as for me, I sighed and pined away.

Not one but lost his appetite--at no less price for board.
Meanwhile this heartless ARABELLE, by all of us adored,
Gives out that she's to marry a rich broker from New York;
We heard the news at dinner--down dropped each knife and fork.

We're glad our eyes are open now, though every one's a dupe,
'Tis queer we didn't see before how she dipped up the soup;
And, now I think it over, I wonder man could wish
To win that hand unmerciful that so harpooned the fish.

"That vulgar girl," as JOE TROTT says, "a helpmeet fine will make"--
She never failed to help herself most handsomely to steak;
The pudding holds out better now that she is gone away--
And it's consolation precious that I've not her board to pay.

* * * * *

THE WEDDING RING AGAIN.

AS PUNCHINELLO WOULD HAVE IT WORN.

(_Suggested by an Indignant Sister of Sorosis._)]

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THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.

Manager DALY found _Frou Frou_ so popular, that he has given us a second dose of M. SARDOU'S Dramatic Mixture, three times stronger than the first, and warranted to restore the moral tone of all repentant Pretty Waiter Girls. The label borne by the new Mixture is "_Fernande_," but as "CLOTILDE," and not "FERNANDE," is the principal ingredient, the name is obviously ill-selected. Though the materials were imported from the celebrated Parisian laboratory of M. SARDOU, the Mixture in its present form was prepared "_in vacuo_" by two dramatic chemists of this city, and ought properly to bear their name. As compared with _Frou Frou_, it is much more palatable, and far more powerful, and there is no reason to suppose that it contains anything deleterious to the moral health of the play-goer. An analysis made by order of PUNCHINELLO shows that it consists of the following materials, combined in the following proportions: