Chapter 9
He yorked him twice on a crumbling pitch and wiped his eye with a brace, But his guy-rope split with the strain of it and he dropped back out of the race; And I drew a bead on the Meteor's lead, and challenging none too soon, Bent over and patted her garboard strake, and called upon Wooden Spoon.
She was all of a shiver forward, the spoondrift thick on her flanks, But I'd brought her an easy gambit, and nursed her over the banks; She answered her helm--the darling! and woke up now with a rush, While the Meteor's jock, he sat like a rock--he knew we rode for his brush!
There was no one else left in it. The Saint was using his whip, And Safety Match, with a lofting catch, was pocketed deep at slip; And young Ben Bolt with his niblick took miss at Leander's lunge, But topped the net with the ricochet, and Steinitz threw up the sponge.
But none of the lot could stop the rot--nay, don't ask _me_ to stop! The villa had called for lemons, Oom Paul had taken his drop, And both were kicking the referee. Poor fellow! he done his best; But, being in doubt, he'd ruled them out--which he always did when pressed.
So, inch by inch, I tightened the winch, and chucked the sandbags out-- I heard the nursery cannons pop, I heard the bookies shout: "The Meteor wins!" "No, Wooden Spoon!" "Check!" "Vantage!" "Leg Before!" "Last Lap!" "Pass Nap!" At his saddle-flap I put up the helm and wore.
You may overlap at the saddle-flap, and yet be loo'd on the tape: And it all depends upon changing ends, how a seven-year-old will shape; It was tack and tack to the Lepe and back--a fair ding-dong to the Ridge, And he led by his forward canvas yet as we shot 'neath Hammersmith Bridge.
He led by his forward canvas--he led from his strongest suit-- But along we went on a roaring scent, and at Fawley I gained a foot. He fisted off with his jigger, and gave me his wash--too late! Deuce--Vantage--Check! By neck and neck we rounded into the straight.
I could hear the "Conquering 'Ero" a-crashing on Godfrey's band, And my hopes fell sudden to zero, just there, with the race in hand-- In sight of the Turf's Blue Ribbon, in sight of the umpire's tape, As I felt the tack of her spinnaker c-rack! as I heard the steam escape!
Had I lost at that awful juncture my presence of mind? ... but no! I leaned and felt for the puncture, and plugged it there with my toe.... Hand over hand by the Members' Stand I lifted and eased her up, Shot--clean and fair--to the crossbar there, and landed the Jubilee Cup!
"The odd by a head, and leg before," so the Judge he gave the word: And the umpire shouted "Over!" but I neither spoke nor stirred. They crowded round: for there on the ground I lay in a dead-cold swoon, Pitched neck and crop on the turf atop of my beautiful Wooden Spoon.
Her dewlap tire was punctured, her bearings all red hot; She'd a lolling tongue, and her bowsprit sprung, and her running gear in a knot; And amid the sobs of her backers, Sir Robert loosened her girth And led her away to the knacker's. She had raced her last on earth!
But I mind me well of the tear that fell from the eye of our noble Pr*nce, And the things he said as he tucked me in bed--and I 've lain there ever since; Tho' it all gets mixed up queerly that happened before my spill,-- But I draw my thousand yearly: it 'll pay for the doctor's bill.
I'm going out with the tide, lad--you 'll dig me a numble grave, And whiles you will bring your bride, lad, and your sons, if sons you have, And there when the dews are weeping, and the echoes murmur "Peace!" And the salt, salt tide comes creeping and covers the popping-crease;
In the hour when the ducks deposit their eggs with a boasted force, They'll look and whisper "How was it?" and you'll take them over the course, And your voice will break as you try to speak of the glorious first of June, When the Jubilee Cup, with John Jones up, was won upon Wooden Spoon.
_Arthur T. Quiller-Couch_.
A SONG OF IMPOSSIBILITIES
Lady, I loved you all last year, How honestly and well-- Alas! would weary you to hear, And torture me to tell; I raved beneath the midnight sky, I sang beneath the limes-- Orlando in my lunacy, And Petrarch in my rhymes. But all is over! When the sun Dries up the boundless main, When black is white, false-hearted one, I may be yours again!
When passion's early hopes and fears Are not derided things; When truth is found in falling tears, Or faith in golden rings; When the dark Fates that rule our way Instruct me where they hide One woman that would ne'er betray, One friend that never lied; When summer shines without a cloud, And bliss without a pain; When worth is noticed in a crowd, I may be yours again!
When science pours the light of day Upon the lords of lands; When Huskisson is heard to say That Lethbridge understands; When wrinkles work their way in youth, Or Eldon's in a hurry; When lawyers represent the truth, Or Mr. Sumner Surrey; When aldermen taste eloquence Or bricklayers champagne; When common law is common sense, I may be yours again!
When learned judges play the beau, Or learned pigs the tabor; When traveller Bankes beats Cicero, Or Mr. Bishop Weber; When sinking funds discharge a debt, Or female hands a bomb; When bankrupts study the _Gazette_, Or colleges _Tom Thumb_; When little fishes learn to speak, Or poets not to feign; When Dr. Geldart construes Greek, I may be yours again!
When Pole and Thornton honor cheques, Or Mr. Const a rogue; When Jericho's in Middlesex, Or minuets in vogue; When Highgate goes to Devonport, Or fashion to Guildhall; When argument is heard at Court, Or Mr. Wynn at all; When Sydney Smith forgets to jest, Or farmers to complain; When kings that are are not the best, I may be yours again!
When peers from telling money shrink, Or monks from telling lies; When hydrogen begins to sink, Or Grecian scrip to rise; When German poets cease to dream, Americans to guess; When Freedom sheds her holy beam On Negroes, and the Press; When there is any fear of Rome, Or any hope of Spain; When Ireland is a happy home, I may be yours again!
When you can cancel what has been, Or alter what must be, Or bring once more that vanished scene, Those withered joys to me; When you can tune the broken lute, Or deck the blighted wreath, Or rear the garden's richest fruit, Upon a blasted heath; When you can lure the wolf at bay Back to his shattered chain, To-day may then be yesterday-- I may be yours again!
_W.M. Praed_.
TRUST IN WOMEN
When these things following be done to our intent, Then put women in trust and confident.
When nettles in winter bring forth roses red, And all manner of thorn trees bear figs naturally, And geese bear pearls in every mead, And laurel bear cherries abundantly, And oaks bear dates very plenteously, And kisks give of honey superfluence, Then put women in trust and confidence.
When box bear paper in every land and town, And thistles bear berries in every place, And pikes have naturally feathers in their crown, And bulls of the sea sing a good bass, And men be the ships fishes trace, And in women be found no insipience, Then put them in trust and confidence.
When whitings do walk forests to chase harts, And herrings their horns in forests boldly blow, And marmsets mourn in moors and lakes, And gurnards shoot rooks out of a crossbow, And goslings hunt the wolf to overthrow, And sprats bear spears in armes of defence, Then put women in trust and confidence.
When swine be cunning in all points of music, And asses be doctors of every science, And cats do heal men by practising of physic, And buzzards to scripture give any credence, And merchants buy with horn, instead of groats and pence, And pyes be made poets for their eloquence, Then put women in trust and confidence.
When sparrows build churches on a height, And wrens carry sacks unto the mill, And curlews carry timber houses to dight, And fomalls bear butter to market to sell, And woodcocks bear woodknives cranes to kill, And greenfinches to goslings do obedience, Then put women in trust and confidence.
When crows take salmon in woods and parks, And be take with swifts and snails, And camels in the air take swallows and larks, And mice move mountains by wagging of their tails, And shipmen take a ride instead of sails, And when wives to their husbands do no offence, Then put women in trust and confidence.
When antelopes surmount eagles in flight, And swans be swifter than hawks of the tower, And wrens set gos-hawks by force and might, And muskets make verjuice of crabbes sour, And ships sail on dry land, silt give flower, And apes in Westminster give judgment and sentence, Then put women in trust and confidence.
_Anonymous_.
HERE IS THE TALE
AFTER RUDYARD KIPLING
_Here is the tale--and you must make the most of it! Here is the rhyme--ah, listen and attend! Backwards--forwards--read it all and boast of it If you are anything the wiser at the end_!
Now Jack looked up--it was time to sup, and the bucket was yet to fill, And Jack looked round for a space and frowned, then beckoned his sister Jill, And twice he pulled his sister's hair, and thrice he smote her side; "Ha' done, ha' done with your impudent fun--ha' done with your games!" she cried; "You have made mud-pies of a marvellous size--finger and face are black, You have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay--now up and wash you, Jack! Or else, or ever we reach our home, there waiteth an angry dame-- Well you know the weight of her blow--the supperless open shame! Wash, if you will, on yonder hill--wash, if you will, at the spring,-- Or keep your dirt, to your certain hurt, and an imminent walloping!"
"You must wash--you must scrub--you must scrape!" growled Jack, "you must traffic with cans and pails, Nor keep the spoil of the good brown soil in the rim of your finger-nails! The morning path you must tread to your bath--you must wash ere the night descends, And all for the cause of conventional laws and the soapmakers' dividends! But if 'tis sooth that our meal in truth depends on our washing, Jill, By the sacred right of our appetite--haste--haste to the top of the hill!"
They have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay, they have toiled and travelled far, They have climbed to the brow of the hill-top now, where the bubbling fountains are, They have taken the bucket and filled it up--yea, filled it up to the brim; But Jack he sneered at his sister Jill, and Jill she jeered at him: "What, blown already!" Jack cried out (and his was a biting mirth!) "You boast indeed of your wonderful speed--but what is the boasting worth? Now, if you can run as the antelope runs, and if you can turn like a hare, Come, race me, Jill, to the foot of the hill--and prove your boasting fair!"
"Race? What is a race" (and a mocking face had Jill as she spake the word) "Unless for a prize the runner tries? The truth indeed ye heard, For I can run as the antelope runs, and I can turn like a hare:-- The first one down wins half-a-crown--and I will race you there!" "Yea, if for the lesson that you will learn (the lesson of humbled pride) The price you fix at two-and-six, it shall not be denied; Come, take your stand at my right hand, for here is the mark we toe: Now, are you ready, and are you steady? Gird up your petticoats! Go!"
And Jill she ran like a winging bolt, a bolt from the bow released, But Jack like a stream of the lightning gleam, with its pathway duly greased; He ran down hill in front of Jill like a summer-lightning flash-- Till he suddenly tripped on a stone, or slipped, and fell to the earth with a crash. Then straight did rise on his wondering eyes the constellations fair, Arcturus and the Pleiades, the Greater and Lesser Bear, The swirling rain of a comet's train he saw, as he swiftly fell-- And Jill came tumbling after him with a loud triumphant yell: "You have won, you have won, the race is done! And as for the wager laid-- You have fallen down with a broken crown--the half-crown debt is paid!"
They have taken Jack to the room at the back where the family medicines are, And he lies in bed with a broken head in a halo of vinegar; While, in that Jill had laughed her fill as her brother fell to earth, She had felt the sting of a walloping--she hath paid the price of her mirth!
_Here is the tale--and now you have the whole of it, Here is the story--well and wisely planned, Beauty--Duty--these make up the soul of it-- But, ah, my little readers, will you mark and understand_?
_Anthony C. Deane_.
THE AULD WIFE
The auld wife sat at her ivied door, (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) A thing she had frequently done before; And her spectacles lay on her aproned knees.
The piper he piped on the hill-top high, (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) Till the cow said "I die" and the goose asked "Why;" And the dog said nothing, but searched for fleas.
The farmer he strode through the square farmyard; (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) His last brew of ale was a trifle hard, The connection of which with the plot one sees.
The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes, (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies, As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas.
The farmer's daughter hath ripe red lips; (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) If you try to approach her, away she skips Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.
The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair; (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) And I met with a ballad, I can't say where, Which wholly consisted of lines like these.
She sat with her hands 'neath her dimpled cheeks, (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) And spake not a word. While a lady speaks There is hope, but she didn't even sneeze.
She sat with her hands 'neath her crimson cheeks; (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) She gave up mending her father's breeks, And let the cat roll in her best chemise.
She sat with her hands 'neath her burning cheeks (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_), And gazed at the piper for thirteen weeks; Then she followed him out o'er the misty leas.
Her sheep followed her as their tails did them (_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_), And this song is considered a perfect gem, And as to the meaning, it's what you please.
_Charles S. Calverley_.
NOT I
Some like drink In a pint pot, Some like to think, Some not.
Strong Dutch cheese, Old Kentucky Rye, Some like these; Not I.
Some like Poe, And others like Scott; Some like Mrs. Stowe, Some not.
Some like to laugh, Some like to cry, Some like to chaff; Not I.
_R.L. Stevenson_.
MINNIE AND WINNIE
Minnie and Winnie Slept in a shell. Sleep, little ladies! And they slept well.
Pink was the shell within, Silver without; Sounds of the great sea Wandered about.
Sleep little ladies! Wake not soon! Echo on echo Dies to the moon.
Two bright stars Peep'd into the shell, What are they dreaming of? Who can tell?
Started a green linnet Out of the croft; Wake, little ladies, The sun is aloft!
_Lord Tennyson_.
THE MAYOR OF SCUTTLETON
The Mayor of Scuttleton burned his nose Trying to warm his copper toes; He lost his money and spoiled his will By signing his name with an icicle quill; He went bareheaded, and held his breath, And frightened his grandame most to death; He loaded a shovel and tried to shoot, And killed the calf in the leg of his boot;
He melted a snowbird and formed the habit Of dancing jigs with a sad Welsh rabbit; He lived on taffy and taxed the town; And read his newspaper upside down; Then he sighed and hung his hat on a feather, And bade the townspeople come together; But the worst of it all was, nobody knew What the Mayor of Scuttleton next would do.
_Mary Mapes Dodge_.
THE PURPLE COW
I never saw a Purple Cow, I never hope to see one; But I can tell you, anyhow, I'd rather see than be one.
ENVOI
Ah yes, I wrote the Purple Cow, I'm sorry now I wrote it. But I can tell you anyhow, I'll kill you if you quote it.
_Gelett Burgess_.
THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE
I'd Never Dare to Walk across A Bridge I Could Not See; For Quite afraid of Falling off, I fear that I Should Be!
_Gelett Burgess_.
THE LAZY ROOF
The Roof it has a Lazy Time A-lying in the Sun; The Walls they have to Hold Him Up; They do Not Have Much Fun!
_Gelett Burgess_.
MY FEET
My feet, they haul me Round the House, They Hoist me up the Stairs; I only have to Steer them and They Ride me Everywheres.
_Gelett Burgess_.
THE HEN
Alas! my Child, where is the Pen That can do Justice to the Hen? Like Royalty, She goes her way, Laying foundations every day, Though not for Public Buildings, yet For Custard, Cake and Omelette.
Or if too Old for such a use They have their Fling at some Abuse, As when to Censure Plays Unfit Upon the Stage they make a Hit, Or at elections Seal the Fate Of an Obnoxious Candidate. No wonder, Child, we prize the Hen, Whose Egg is Mightier than the Pen.
_Oliver Herford_.
THE COW
The Cow is too well known, I fear, To need an introduction here. If She should vanish from earth's face It would be hard to fill her place; For with the Cow would disappear So much that every one holds Dear. Oh, think of all the Boots and Shoes, Milk Punches, Gladstone Bags and Stews, And Things too numerous to count, Of which, my child, she is the Fount. Let's hope, at least, the Fount may last Until _our_ Generation's past.
_Oliver Herford_.
THE CHIMPANZEE
Children, behold the Chimpanzee: He sits on the ancestral tree From which we sprang in ages gone. I'm glad we sprang: had we held on, We might, for aught that I can say, Be horrid Chimpanzees today.
_Oliver Herford_.
THE HIPPOPOTAMUS
"Oh, say, what is this fearful, wild, Incorrigible cuss?" "This _creature_ (don't say 'cuss,' my child; 'Tis slang)--this creature fierce is styled The Hippopotamus. His curious name derives its source From two Greek words: _hippos_--a horse, _Potamos_--river. See? The river's plain enough, of course; But why they called _that_ thing a _horse_, That's what is Greek to me."
_Oliver Herford_.
THE PLATYPUS
My child, the Duck-billed Platypus A sad example sets for us: From him we learn how Indecision Of character provokes Derision.
This vacillating Thing, you see, Could not decide which he would be, Fish, Flesh or Fowl, and chose all three. The scientists were sorely vexed To classify him; so perplexed Their brains, that they, with Rage at bay, Call him a horrid name one day,-- A name that baffles, frights and shocks us, Ornithorhynchus Paradoxus.
_Oliver Herford_.
SOME GEESE
Ev-er-y child who has the use Of his sen-ses knows a goose. See them un-der-neath the tree Gath-er round the goose-girl's knee, While she reads them by the hour From the works of Scho-pen-hau-er.
How pa-tient-ly the geese at-tend! But do they re-al-ly com-pre-hend What Scho-pen-hau-er's driv-ing at? Oh, not at all; but what of that? Nei-ther do I; nei-ther does she; And, for that mat-ter, nor does he.
_Oliver Herford_.
THE FLAMINGO
_Inspired by reading a chorus of spirits in a German play_
FIRST VOICE.
Oh! tell me have you ever seen a red, long-leg'd Flamingo? Oh! tell me have you ever yet seen him the water in go?
SECOND VOICE.
Oh! yes at Bowling-Green I've seen a red long-leg'd Flamingo, Oh! yes at Bowling-Green I've there seen him the water in go.
FIRST VOICE.
Oh! tell me did you ever see a bird so funny stand-o When forth he from the water comes and gets upon the land-o?
SECOND VOICE.
No! in my life I ne'er did see a bird so funny stand-o When forth he from the water comes and gets upon the land-o.
FIRST VOICE.
He has a leg some three feet long, or near it, so they say, Sir. Stiff upon one alone he stands, t'other he stows away, Sir.
SECOND VOICE.
And what an ugly head he's got! I wonder that he'd wear it. But rather _more_ I wonder that his long, thin neck can bear it.
FIRST VOICE.
And think, this length of neck and legs (no doubt they have their uses) Are members of a little frame, much smaller than a goose's!
BOTH.
Oh! isn't he a curious bird, that red, long-leg'd Flamingo? A water bird, a gawky bird, a sing'lar bird, by jingo!
_Lewis Gaylord Clark_.
KINDNESS TO ANIMALS
Speak gently to the herring and kindly to the calf, Be blithesome with the bunny, at barnacles don't laugh! Give nuts unto the monkey, and buns unto the bear, Ne'er hint at currant jelly if you chance to see a hare! Oh, little girls, pray hide your combs when tortoises draw nigh, And never in the hearing of a pigeon whisper Pie! But give the stranded jelly-fish a shove into the sea,-- Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!
Oh, make not game of sparrows, nor faces at the ram, And ne'er allude to mint sauce when calling on a lamb. Don't beard the thoughtful oyster, don't dare the cod to crimp, Don't cheat the pike, or ever try to pot the playful shrimp. Tread lightly on the turning worm, don't bruise the butterfly, Don't ridicule the wry-neck, nor sneer at salmon-fry; Oh, ne'er delight to make dogs fight, nor bantams disagree,-- Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!
Be lenient with lobsters, and ever kind to crabs, And be not disrespectful to cuttle-fish or dabs; Chase not the Cochin-China, chaff not the ox obese, And babble not of feather-beds in company with geese. Be tender with the tadpole, and let the limpet thrive, Be merciful to mussels, don't skin your eels alive; When talking to a turtle don't mention calipee-- Be always kind to animals wherever you may be.
_J. Ashby-Sterry_.
SAGE COUNSEL
The lion is the beast to fight, He leaps along the plain, And if you run with all your might, He runs with all his mane. I'm glad I'm not a Hottentot, But if I were, with outward cal-lum I'd either faint upon the spot Or hie me up a leafy pal-lum.
The chamois is the beast to hunt; He's fleeter than the wind, And when the chamois is in front, The hunter is behind. The Tyrolese make famous cheese And hunt the chamois o'er the chaz-zums; I'd choose the former if you please, For precipices give me spaz-zums.