Chapter XVI: Part II (4)

Now as Lady Jane was tall and slim, And Lady Jane was fair. And a good many years the junior of him, There are some might be found entertaining a notion, That such an entire, and exclusive devotion, To that part of science, folks style entomology, Was a positive shame, And, to such a fair dame, Really demanded some sort of apology; Ever poking his nose into this, and to that-- At a gnat, or a bat, or a cat, or a rat, At great ugly things, all legs and wings, With nasty long tails, armed with nasty long stings And eternally thinking, and blinking, and winking, At grubs--when he ought of _her_ to be thinking. But no! ah no! 'twas by no means so With the fair Lady Jane, _Tout au contraire_, no lady so fair, Was e'er known to wear more contented an air; And--let who would call--every day she was there Propounding receipts for some delicate fare, Some toothsome conserve, of quince, apple or pear Or distilling strong waters--or potting a hare-- Or counting her spoons, and her crockery ware; Enough to make less gifted visitors stare.

Nay more; don't suppose With such doings as those This account of her merits must come to a close; No!--examine her conduct more closely, you'll find She by no means neglected improving her mind; For there all the while with an air quite bewitching She sat herring-boning, tambouring, or stitching, Or having an eye to affairs of the kitchen. Close by her side, Sat her kinsman, MacBride-- Captain Dugald MacBride, Royal Scots Fusiliers;-- And I doubt if you'd find, in the whole of his clan, A more highly intelligent, worthy young man; And there he'd be sitting, While she was a-knitting, Reading aloud, with a very grave look, Some very "wise saw," from some very good book-- No matter who came, It was always the same, The Captain was reading aloud to the dame, Till, from having gone through half the books on the shelf, They were _almost_ as wise as Sir Thomas himself.

Well it happened one day-- I really can't say The particular month;--but I _think_ 'twas in May, 'Twas I _know_ in the spring-time, when "nature looks gay," As the poet observes--and on tree-top and spray, The dear little dickey birds carol away, That the whole of the house was thrown into affright, For no soul could conceive what was gone with the Knight.

It seems he had taken A light breakfast--bacon, An egg, a little broiled haddock--at most A round and a half of some hot buttered toast, With a slice of cold sirloin from yesterday's roast. And then, let me see,-- He had two,--perhaps three Cups, with sugar and cream, of strong gunpowder tea,-- But no matter for that-- He had called for his hat, With the brim that I've said was so broad and so flat, And his "specs" with the tortoise-shell rim, and his cane. With the crutch-handled top, which he used to sustain His steps in his walk, or to poke in the shrubs Or the grass, when unearthing his worms or his grubs; Thus armed he set out on a ramble--a-lack! He _set out_, poor dear soul!--but he never came back! "First dinner bell" rang Out its euphonous clang At five--folks kept early hours then--and the "last" Ding-donged, as it ever was wont, at half-past. Still the master was absent--the cook came and said, he Feared dinner would spoil, having been so long ready, That the puddings her ladyship thought such a treat He was morally sure, would be scarce fit to eat! Said the lady, "Dish up! Let the meal be served straight, And let two or three slices be put on a plate, And kept hot for Sir Thomas."--Captain Dugald said grace, Then set himself down in Sir Thomas' place.

Wearily, wearily, all that night,
That live-long night did the hours go by;
And the Lady Jane,
In grief and pain,
She sat herself down to cry!
And Captain MacBride,
Who sat by her side,
Though I really can't say that he actually cried,
At least had a tear in his eye!
As much as can well be expected, perhaps,
From "very young fellows," for very "old chaps."
And if he had said
What he'd got in his head,
'Twould have been, "Poor old Duffer, he's certainly dead!"
The morning dawned--and the next--and the next
And all in the mansion were still perplexed;
No knocker fell,
His approach to tell;
Not so much as a runaway ring at the bell.

Yet the sun shone bright upon tower and tree, And the meads smiled green as green may be, And the dear little dickey birds caroled with glee, And the lambs in the park skipped merry and free.-- Without, all was joy and harmony!

And thus 'twill be--nor long the day-- Ere we, like him, shall pass away! Yon sun that now our bosoms warms, Shall shine--but shine on other forms; Yon grove, whose choir so sweetly cheers Us now, shall sound on other ears; The joyous lambs, as now, shall play, But other eyes its sports survey; The stream we loved shall roll as fair, The flowery sweets, the trim parterre, Shall scent, as now, the ambient air; The tree whose bending branches bear The one loved name--shall yet be there-- But where the hand that carved it? Where?

These were hinted to me as the very ideas Which passed through the mind of the fair Lady Jane, As she walked on the esplanade to and again, With Captain MacBride, Of course at her side, Who could not look _quite_ so forlorn--though he tried, An "idea" in fact, had got into _his_ head, That if "poor dear Sir Thomas" should really be dead, It might be no bad "spec" to be there in his stead, And by simply contriving, in due time, to wed A lady who was young and fair, A lady slim and tall, To set himself down in comfort there, The lord of Tapton Hall.

Thinks he, "We have sent Half over Kent, And nobody knows how much money's been spent, Yet no one's been found to say which way he went! Here's a fortnight and more has gone by, and we've tried Every plan we could hit on--and had him well cried '|Missing|!! _Stolen or Strayed_, _Lost or Mislaid_, |A Gentleman|;--middle-aged, sober and staid; Stoops slightly;--and when he left home was arrayed In a sad-colored suit, somewhat dingy and frayed; Had spectacles on with a tortoise-shell rim, And a hat rather low crowned, and broad in the brim. Whoe'er shall bear, Or send him with care, (Right side uppermost) home; or shall give notice where Said middle-aged |Gentleman| is; or shall state Any fact, that may tend to throw light on his fate, To the man at the turnpike, called _Tappington Gate_, Shall receive a reward of _Five Pounds_ for his trouble. N.B. If defunct, the _Reward_ will be double!!'

"Had he been above ground, He _must_ have been found. No; doubtless he's shot--or he's hanged--or he's drowned! Then his widow--ay! ay! But what will folks say?-- To address her at once, at so early a day. Well--what then--who cares!--let 'em say what they may." When a man has decided As Captain MacBride did, And once fully made up his mind on the matter, he Can't be too prompt in unmasking his battery. He began on the instant, and vowed that her eyes Far exceeded in brilliance the stars in the skies; That her lips were like roses, her cheeks were like lilies; Her breath had the odor of daffadowndillies!-- With a thousand more compliments, equally true, Expressed in similitudes equally new! Then his left arm he placed Round her jimp, taper waist--

Ere she fixed to repulse or return his embrace, Up came running a man at a deuce of a pace, With that very peculiar expression of face Which always betokens dismay or disaster, Crying out--'twas the gard'ner--"Oh, ma'am! we've found master!!" "Where! where?" screamed the lady; and echo screamed, "Where?" The man couldn't say "there!" He had no breath to spare, But gasping for breath he could only respond By pointing--be pointed, alas! |TO THE POND|. 'Twas e'en so; poor dear Knight, with his "specs" and his hat, He'd gone poking his nose into this and to that; When close to the side of the bank, he espied An uncommon fine tadpole, remarkably fat! He stooped;--and he thought her His own;--he had caught her! Got hold of her tail--and to land almost brought her, When--he plumped head and heels into fifteen feet water!

The Lady Jane was tall and slim,
The Lady Jane was fair,
Alas! for Sir Thomas!--she grieved for him,
As she saw two serving men sturdy of limb,
His body between them bear;
She sobbed and she sighed, she lamented and cried,
For of sorrow brimful was her cup;
She swooned, and I think she'd have fallen down and died,
If Captain MacBride
Hadn't been by her side
With the gardener;--they both their assistance supplied,
And managed to hold her up.
But when she "comes to,"
Oh! 'tis shocking to view
The sight which the corpse reveals!
Sir Thomas' body,
It looked so odd--he
Was half eaten up by the eels!

His waistcoat and hose,
And the rest of his clothes,
Were all gnawed through and through;
And out of each shoe,
An eel they drew;
And from each of his pockets they pulled out two!
And the gardener himself had secreted a few,
As well might be supposed he'd do,
For, when he came running to give the alarm,
He had six in the basket that hung on his arm.

Good Father John was summoned anon; Holy water was sprinkled and little bells tinkled, And tapers were lighted, And incense ignited, And masses were sung, and masses were said, All day, for the quiet repose of the dead, And all night no one thought about going to bed.

But Lady Jane was tall and slim, And Lady Jane was fair, And ere morning came, that winsome dame Had made up her mind, or--what's much the same-- Had _thought about_, once more "changing her name," And she said with a pensive air, To Thompson the valet, while taking away, When supper was over, the cloth and the tray, "Eels a many I've ate; but any So good ne'er tasted before!-- They're a fish too, of which I'm remarkably fond-- Go--pop Sir Thomas again in the pond-- Poor dear!--_he'll catch us some more_."

MORAL

All middle-aged gentlemen let me advise, If you're married, and hav'n't got very good eyes, Don't go poking about after blue-bottle flies. If you've spectacles, don't have a tortoise-shell rim, And don't go near the water--unless you can swim. Married ladies, especially such as are fair, Tall and slim, I would next recommend to beware, How, on losing one spouse, they give way to despair, But let them reflect, there are fish, and no doubt on't, As good _in_ the river, as ever came _out_ on't.

_Richard Harris Barham._

AN EASTERN QUESTION

My William was a soldier, and he says to me, says he, "My Susan, I must sail across the South Pacific sea; For we've got to go to Egypt for to fight the old Khedive; But when he's dead I'll marry you, as sure as I'm alive!"

'Twere hard for me to part with him; he couldn't read nor write, So I never had love letters for to keep my memory bright; But Jim, who is our footman, took the _Daily Telegraph_, And told me William's reg-i-ment mowed down the foe like chaff.

So every day Jim come to me to read the Eastern news, And used to bring me bouquets, which I scarcely could refuse; Till one fine day it happened--_how_ it happened, goodness knows,-- He put his arm around me and he started to propose.

I put his hand from off me, and I said in thrilling tones, "I like you, Jim, but _never_ will I give up William Jones; It ain't no good your talking, for my heart is firm and fixed, For William is engaged to me, and naught shall come betwixt."

So Jim he turned a ghastly pale to find there was no hope; And made remarks about a pond, and razors, and a rope; The other servants pitied him, and Rosie said as much; But Rosie was too flighty, and he didn't care for such.

The weeks and months passed slowly, till I heard the Eastern war Was over, and my William would soon be home once more; And I was proud and happy for I knew that I could say I'd been true to my sweet William all the years he'd been away.

Says Jim to me, "I love you, Sue, you know full well I do, And evermore whilst I draw breath I vow I will be true; But my feelings are too sensitive, I really couldn't stand A-seeing of that soldier taking hold your little hand.

"So I've made my mind up finally to throw myself away; There's Rosie loves me truly, and no more I'll say her nay; I've bought a hat on purpose, and I'm going to hire a ring, And I've borrowed father's wedding suit that looks the very thing."

So Jim he married Rosie, just the very day before My William's reg-i-ment was due to reach their native shore; I was there to see him landed and to give him welcome home, And take him to my arms from which he never more should roam.

But I couldn't see my William, for the men were all alike, With their red coats and their rifles, and their helmets with a spike; So I curtseys to a sergeant who was smiling very kind, "Where's William Jones?" I asks him, "if so be you wouldn't mind?"

Then he calls a gawky, red-haired chap, that stood good six-feet two: "Here, Jones," he cries, "this lady here's enquiring after you." "Not me!" I says, "I want a man who 'listed from our Square; With a small moustache, but growing fast, and bright brown curly hair."

The sergeant wiped his eye, and took his helmet from his head, "I'm very sorry, ma'am," he said, "_that_ William Jones is dead; He died from getting sunstroke, and we envied him his lot, For we were melted to our bones, the climate was that hot!"

So that's how 'tis that I'm condemned to lead a single life, For the sergeant, who was struck with me, already had a wife; And Jim is tied to Rosie, and can't get himself untied, Whilst the man that I was faithful to has been and gone and died!

_H. M. Paull._

MY AUNT'S SPECTRE

They tell me (but I really can't
Imagine such a rum thing),
|It| is the phantom of my Aunt,
Who ran away--or something.

|It| is the very worst of bores:
(My Aunt was most delightful).
|It| prowls about the corridors,
And utters noises frightful.

At midnight through the rooms |It| glides,
Behaving very coolly,
Our hearts all throb against our sides--
The lights are burning bluely.

The lady, in her living hours,
Was the most charming vixen
That ever this poor sex of ours
Delighted to play tricks on.

Yes, that's her portrait on the wall,
In quaint old-fangled bodice:
Her eyes are blue--her waist is small--
A ghost! Pooh, pooh,--a goddess!
A fine patrician shape, to suit
My dear old father's sister--
Lips softly curved, a dainty foot:
Happy the man that kissed her!

Light hair of crisp irregular curl
Over fair shoulders scattered--
Egad, she was a pretty girl,
Unless Sir Thomas flattered!

And who the deuce, in these bright days,
Could possibly expect her
To take to dissipated ways,
And plague us as a spectre?

_Mortimer Collins._

CASEY AT THE BAT

It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day, The score stood four to six with but an inning left to play. And so, when Cooney died at first, and Burrows did the same, A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game. A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest, With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast. For they thought if only Casey could get a whack at that, They'd put up even money with Casey at the bat. But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake, And the former was a pudding and the latter was a fake; So on that stricken multitude a death-like silence sat, For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat. But Flynn let drive a single to the wonderment of all, And the much despisèd Blakey tore the cover off the ball, And when the dust had lifted and they saw what had occurred, There was Blakey safe on second, and Flynn a-hugging third. Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell, It bounded from the mountain top and rattled in the dell, It struck upon the hillside, and rebounded on the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place, There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face, And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt, 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt, Five thousand tongues applauded as he wiped them on his shirt; And while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip-- Defiance gleamed from Casey's eye--a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there; Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-- "That hain't my style," said Casey--"Strike one," the Umpire said. From the bleachers black with people there rose a sullen roar, Like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore, "Kill him! kill the Umpire!" shouted some one from the stand-- And it's likely they'd have done it had not Casey raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone, He stilled the rising tumult and he bade the game go on; He signalled to the pitcher and again the spheroid flew, But Casey still ignored it and the Umpire said "Strike two." "Fraud!" yelled the maddened thousands, and the echo answered "Fraud," But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed; They saw his face grow stern and cold; they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey would not let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lip; his teeth are clenched with hate, He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate; And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light, And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville--mighty Casey has "Struck Out."

_Ernest Lawrence Thayer._

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover City;
The river Weser, deep and wide,
Washes its wall on the southern side;
A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But when begins my ditty,
Almost five hundred years ago,
To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin was a pity.

Rats!
They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body
To the Town Hall came flocking:
"Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;
And as for our Corporation--shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What's best to rid us of our vermin!
You hope, because you're old and obese,
To find in the furry civic robe ease?
Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking
To find the remedy we're lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"
At this the Mayor and Corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation.

An hour they sate in council,
At length the Mayor broke silence:
"For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell!
I wish I were a mile hence!
It's easy to bid one rack one's brain--
I'm sure my poor head aches again
I've scratched it so, and all in vain.
Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!"

Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap? "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?" (With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister, Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous), "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

"Come in!"--the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure. His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red; And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in; There was no guessing his kith and kin: And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: "It's as my great grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

He advanced to the council-table; And, "Please your honours," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep or swim or fly or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper." (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the selfsame cheque; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampyre bats: And as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats, Will you give me a thousand guilders?" "One? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the house the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step by step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser Wherein all plunged and perished --Save one, who, stout as Julius Cæsar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary, Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks:

And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon! And just as a bulky sugar puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, Come, bore me! --I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles! Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!"--when suddenly, up the face Of the piper perked in the market-place, With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too. For council dinners made rare havock With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gipsy coat of red and yellow! "Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something to drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke; Beside, our losses have made us thrifty: A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

The Piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait, beside! I've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdad, and accept the prime Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe after another fashion."

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook Being worse treated than a Cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

Once more he stept into the street; And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air), There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running. All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by, And could only follow with the eye

That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However he turned from South to West, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. "He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!" When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern were suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last, The door in the mountain-side shut fast. Did I say--all? No! one was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say,-- "It's dull in our town since my playmates left; I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me; For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings; And horses were born with eagle's wings; And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped, and I stood still, And found myself outside the Hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!"

Alas, alas, for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says, that Heaven's Gate Opes to the Rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South, To offer the Piper by word of mouth, Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children all behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour, And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here On the twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:" And the better in memory to fix The place of the Children's last retreat, They called it the Pied Piper's Street-- Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labour. Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column. And on the great Church Window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people that ascribe The outlandish ways and dress, On which their neighbours lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison, Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick Land, But how or why, they don't understand.

So, Willy, let me and you be wipers Of scores out with all men--especially pipers; And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

_Robert Browning._

THE GOOSE

I knew an old wife lean and poor,
Her rags scarce held together;
There strode a stranger to the door,
And it was windy weather.

He held a goose upon his arm,
He utter'd rhyme and reason,
"Here, take the goose, and keep you warm,
It is a stormy season."

She caught the white goose by the leg,
A goose--'twas no great matter.
The goose let fall a golden egg
With cackle and with clatter.

She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf,
And ran to tell her neighbours;
And bless'd herself, and cursed herself,
And rested from her labours.

And feeding high, and living soft,
Grew plump and able-bodied;
Until the grave churchwarden doff'd,
The parson smirk'd and nodded.

So sitting, served by man and maid,
She felt her heart grow prouder:
But, ah! the more the white goose laid
It clack'd and cackled louder.

It clutter'd here, it chuckled there;
It stirr'd the old wife's mettle:
She shifted in her elbow-chair,
And hurl'd the pan and kettle.

"A quinsy choke thy cursed note!"
Then wax'd her anger stronger.
"Go, take the goose, and wring her throat,
I will not bear it longer."

Then yelp'd the cur, and yawl'd the cat;
Ran Gaffer, stumbled Gammer.
The goose flew this way and flew that,
And fill'd the house with clamour.

As head and heels upon the floor
They flounder'd all together,
There strode a stranger to the door,
And it was windy weather:

He took the goose upon his arm,
He utter'd words of scorning;
"So keep you cold, or keep you warm,
It is a stormy morning."

The wild wind rang from park and plain,
And round the attics rumbled,
Till all the tables danced again,
And half the chimneys tumbled.

The glass blew in, the fire blew out,
The blast was hard and harder.
Her cap blew off, her gown blew up,
And a whirlwind clear'd the larder:

And while on all sides breaking loose
Her household fled the danger,
Quoth she, "The Devil take the goose,
And God forget the stranger!"

_Lord Tennyson._

THE BALLAD OF CHARITY

It was in a pleasant deepô, sequestered from the rain, That many weary passengers were waitin' for the train; Piles of quite expensive baggage, many a gorgeous portmantó, Ivory-handled umberellas made a most touristic show.

Whereunto there came a person, very humble was his mien, Who took an observation of the interestin' scene; Closely scanned the umberellas, watched with joy the mighty trunks, And observed that all the people were securin' Pullman bunks:

Who was followed shortly after by a most unhappy tramp, Upon whose features poverty had jounced her iron stamp; And to make a clear impression as bees sting you while they buzz, She had hit him rather harder than she generally does.

For he was so awful ragged, and in parts so awful bare, That the folks were quite repulsioned to behold him begging there; And instead of drawing currency from out their pocket-books, They drew themselves asunder with aversionary looks.

Sternly gazed the first newcomer on the unindulgent crowd, Then in tones which pierced the deepô he solilicussed aloud:-- "I hev trevelled o'er this cont'nent from Quebec to Bogotáw, But sech a set of scallawags as these I never saw.

"Ye are wealthy, ye are gifted, ye have house and lands and rent, Yet unto a suff'rin' mortal ye will not donate a cent; Ye expend your missionaries to the heathen and the Jew, But there isn't any heathen that is half as small as you.

"Ye are lucky--ye hev cheque-books and deeposits in the bank, And ye squanderate your money on the titled folks of rank; The onyx and the sardonyx upon your garments shine, An' ye drink at every dinner p'r'aps a dollar's wuth of wine.

"Ye are goin' for the summer to the islands by the sea, Where it costs four dollars daily--setch is not for setch as me; Iv'ry-handled umberellas do not come into my plan, But I kin give a dollar to this sufl'rin' fellow-man.

"Hand-bags made of Rooshy leather are not truly at my call, Yet in the eyes of Mussy I am richer 'en you all, For I kin give a dollar wher' you dare not stand a dime, And never miss it nother, nor regret it ary time."

Sayin' this he drew a wallet from the inner of his vest, And gave the tramp a daddy, which it was his level best; Other people havin' heard him soon to charity inclined-- One giver soon makes twenty if you only get their wind.

The first who gave the dollar led the other one about, And at every contribution he a-raised a joyful shout, Exclaimin' how 'twas noble to relieviate distress, And remarkin' that our duty is our present happiness.

Thirty dollars altogether were collected by the tramp, When he bid 'em all good evenin' and went out into the damp, And was followed briefly after by the one who made the speech, And who showed by good example how to practise as to preach.

Which soon around the corner the couple quickly met, And the tramp produced the specie for to liquidate his debt; And the man who did the preachin' took his twenty of the sum, Which you see that out of thirty left a tenner for the bum.

And the couple passed the summer at Bar Harbor with the rest, Greatly changed in their appearance and most elegently dressed. Any fowl with change of feathers may a brilliant bird become: Oh, how hard is life for many! oh, how sweet it is for some!

_Charles Godfrey Leland._

THE POST CAPTAIN

When they heard the Captain humming and beheld the dancing crew, On the "Royal Biddy" frigate was Sir Peter Bombazoo; His mind was full of music and his head was full of tunes, And he cheerfully exhibited on pleasant afternoons.

He could whistle, on his fingers, an invigorating reel, And could imitate a piper on the handles of the wheel; He could play in double octaves, too, all up and down the rail, Or rattle off a rondo on the bottom of a pail.

Then porters with their packages and bakers with their buns, And countesses in carriages and grenadiers with guns, And admirals and commodores arrived from near and far, To listen to the music of this entertaining tar.

When they heard the Captain humming and beheld the dancing crew. The commodores severely said, "Why, this will never do!" And the admirals all hurried home, remarking, "This is most Extraordinary conduct for a captain at his post."

Then they sent some sailing-orders to Sir Peter, in a boat, And he did a little fifing on the edges of the note; But he read the sailing orders, as of course he had to do, And removed the "Royal Biddy" to the Bay of Boohgabooh.

Now, Sir Peter took it kindly, but it's proper to explain He was sent to catch a pirate out upon the Spanish Main. And he played, with variations, an imaginary tune On the buttons of his waistcoat, like a jocular bassoon.

Then a topman saw the pirate come a-sailing in the bay, And reported to the Captain in the ordinary way. "I'll receive him," said Sir Peter, "with a musical salute," And he gave some imitations of a double-jointed flute.

Then the Pirate cried derisively, "I've heard it done before!" And he hoisted up a banner emblematical of gore. But Sir Peter said serenely, "You may double-shot the guns While I sing my little ballad of 'The Butter on the Buns.'"

Then the Pirate banged Sir Peter and Sir Peter banged him back, And they banged away together as they took another tack. Then Sir Peter said, politely, "You may board him, if you like," And he played a little dirge upon the handle of a pike.

Then the "Biddies" poured like hornets down upon the Pirate's deck And Sir Peter caught the Pirate and he took him by the neck, And remarked, "You must excuse me, but you acted like a brute When I gave my imitation of that double-jointed flute."

So they took that wicked Pirate and they took his wicked crew, And tied them up with double knots in packages of two. And left them lying on their backs in rows upon the beach With a little bread and water within comfortable reach.

Now the Pirate had a treasure (mostly silverware and gold), And Sir Peter took and stowed it in the bottom of his hold; And said, "I will retire on this cargo of doubloons, And each of you, my gallant crew, may have some silver spoons."

Now commodores in coach-and-fours and corporals in cabs, And men with carts of pies and tarts and fishermen with crabs, And barristers with wigs, in gigs, still gather on the strand, But there isn't any music save a little German band.

_Charles E. Carryl._

ROBINSON CRUSOE'S STORY

The night was thick and hazy
When the _Piccadilly Daisy_
Carried down the crew and captain in the sea;
And I think the water drowned 'em,
For they never, never found 'em,
And I know they didn't come ashore with me.

Oh! 'twas very sad and lonely
When I found myself the only
Population on this cultivated shore;
But I've made a little tavern
In a rocky little cavern,
And I sit and watch for people at the door.

I spent no time in looking
For a girl to do my cooking,
As I'm quite a clever hand at making stews;
But I had that fellow Friday
Just to keep the tavern tidy,
And to put a Sunday polish on my shoes.

I have a little garden
That I'm cultivating lard in,
As the things I eat are rather tough and dry;
For I live on toasted lizards,
Prickly pears and parrot gizzards,
And I'm really very fond of beetle pie.

The clothes I had were furry,
And it made me fret and worry
When I found the moths were eating off the hair;
And I had to scrape and sand 'em,
And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em,
Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear.

I sometimes seek diversion
In a family excursion,
With the few domestic animals you see;
And we take along a carrot
As refreshment for the parrot,
And a little can of jungleberry tea.

Then we gather as we travel
Bits of moss and dirty gravel,
And we chip off little specimens of stone;
And we carry home as prizes
Funny bugs of handy sizes,
Just to give the day a scientific tone.

If the roads are wet and muddy
We remain at home and study,--
For the Goat is very clever at a sum,--
And the Dog, instead of fighting
Studies ornamental writing,
While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum.

We retire at eleven,
And we rise again at seven;
And I wish to call attention, as I close,
To the fact that all the scholars
Are correct about their collars,
And particular in turning out their toes.

_Charles E. Carryl._

BEN BLUFF

Ben Bluff was a whaler, and many a day Had chased the huge fish about Baffin's old Bay; But time brought a change his diversion to spoil, And that was when Gas took the shine out of Oil.

He turned up his nose at the fumes of the coke, And swore the whole scheme was a bottle of smoke; As to London, he briefly delivered his mind, "Sparma-city," said he,--but the city declined.

So Ben cut his line in a sort of a huff, As soon as his whales had brought profits enough,-- And hard by the Docks settled down for his life, But, true to his text, went to Wales for a wife.

A big one she was, without figure or waist, More bulky than lovely, but that was his taste; In fat she was lapped from her sole to her crown, And, turned into oil, would have lighted a town.

But Ben, like a whaler, was charmed with the match, And thought, very truly, his spouse a great catch; A flesh-and-blood emblem of Plenty and Peace, And would not have changed her for Helen of Greece!

For Greenland was green in his memory still; He'd quitted his trade, but retained the good-will; And often when softened by bumbo and flip, Would cry till he blubbered about his old ship.

No craft like the _Grampus_ could work through a floe, What knots she could run, and what tons she could stow! And then that rich smell he preferred to the rose, By just nosing the hold without holding his nose.

Now Ben he resolved, one fine Saturday night, A snug arctic circle of friends to invite; Old tars in the trade, who related old tales, And drank, and blew clouds that were "very like whales."

Of course with their grog there was plenty of chat, Of canting, and flenching, and cutting up fat; And how gun-harpoons into fashion had got, And if they were meant for the gun-whale or not?

At last they retired, and left Ben to his rest, By fancies cetaceous and drink well possessed, When, lo! as he lay by his partner in bed, He heard something blow through two holes in its head!

"A start!" muttered Ben, in the _Grampus_ afloat, And made but one jump from the deck to the boat! "Huzza! pull away for the blubber and bone,-- I look on that whale as already my own!"

Then groping about by the light of the moon, He soon laid his hand on his trusty harpoon; A moment he poised it, to send it more pat, And then made a plunge to imbed it in fat!

"Starn all!" he sang out, "as you care for your lives,-- Starn all! as you hope to return to your wives,-- Stand by for the flurry! she throws up the foam! Well done, my old iron; I've sent you right home!"

And scarce had he spoken, when lo! bolt upright The leviathan rose in a great sheet of white, And swiftly advanced for a fathom or two, As only a fish out of water could do.

"Starn all!" echoed Ben, with a movement aback, But too slow to escape from the creature's attack; If flippers it had, they were furnished with nails,-- "You willin, I'll teach you that women ain't whales!"

"Avast!" shouted Ben, with a sort of a screech, "I've heard a whale spouting, but here is a speech!" "A-spouting, indeed!--very pretty," said she; "But it's you I'll blow up, not the froth of the sea!

"To go to pretend to take _me_ for a fish! You great polar bear--but I know what you wish; You're sick of a wife that your hankering balks, You want to go back to some young Esquimaux!"

"O dearest," cried Ben, frightened out of his life, "Don't think I would go for to murder a wife I must long have bewailed!" But she only cried, "Stuff!" Don't name it, you brute, you've _be-whaled_ me enough!"

"Lord, Polly!" said Ben, "such a deed could I do? I'd rather have murdered all Wapping than you! Come, forgive what is past." "O you monster!" she cried, "It was none of your fault that it passed off one side!"

However, at last she inclined to forgive; "But, Ben, take this warning as long as you live,-- If the love of harpooning so strong must prevail, Take a whale for a wife,--not a wife for a whale!"

_Thomas Hood._

THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS

A brace of sinners, for no good,
Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine,
Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,
And in a fair white wig look'd wondrous fine.

Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel, With something in their shoes much worse than gravel; In short, their toes so gentle to amuse, The priest had order'd peas into their shoes:

A nostrum, famous in old popish times, For purifying souls that stunk with crimes; A sort of apostolic salt, Which popish parsons for its powers exalt, For keeping souls of sinners sweet, Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.

The knaves set off on the same day, Peas in their shoes, to go and pray: But very different was their speed, I wot: One of the sinners gallop'd on, Swift as a bullet from a gun; The other limp'd, as if he had been shot.

One saw the Virgin soon--_peccavi_ cried--
Had his soul whitewash'd all so clever;
Then home again he nimbly hied,
Made fit with saints above to live forever.

In coming back, however, let me say, He met his brother rogue about half-way, Hobbling, with outstretch'd arms and bended knees, Damning the souls and bodies of the peas; His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brow in sweat, Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.

"How now," the light-toed, white-wash'd pilgrim broke, "You lazy lubber!" "Odds curse it!" cried the other, "'tis no joke; My feet, once hard as any rock, Are now as soft as blubber.

"Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear: As for Loretto, I shall not go there; No! to the Devil my sinful soul must go, For damme if I ha'n't lost every toe. But, brother sinner, pray explain How 'tis that you are not in pain? What power hath work'd a wonder for your toes? Whilst I, just like a snail, am crawling, Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling, Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes?

"How is't that _you_ can like a greyhound go,
Merry as if that naught had happen'd, burn ye!"
"Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must know,
That, just before I ventured on my journey,
To walk a little more at ease,
I took the liberty to boil _my_ peas."

_John Wolcot._

TAM O'SHANTER

When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neibors neibors meet, As market days are wearin' late, And folk begin to tak the gate:

While we sit bousing at the nappy, And gettin' fou and unco happy, We thinkna on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o'Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonny lasses).

O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; That frae November till October, Ae market day thou wasna sober; That ilka melder, wi' the miller Thou sat as lang as thou hadst siller; That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied, that, late or soon, Thou wouldst be found deep drown'd in Doon! Or catch'd wi' warlocks i' the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale:--Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; Tam lo'ed him like a very brither-- They had been fou for weeks thegither! The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter, And aye the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious, Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious The Souter tauld his queerest stories, The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle-- Tam didna mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel' amang the nappy! As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed! Or like the snowfall in the river, A moment white--then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place Or like the rainbow's lovely form, Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride;

That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand The deil had business on his hand.