Part 2

The King wuz as deloighted, An' as grateful as could be, An' he got devorced from all his woives, An' giv _the lot_ to me; But a steamer, passin' handy, Wuz more plazin' to "yours trooly," An' among the passingers aboard Wuz the "Docthor",—Pat O'Dooley.

VII. THAT OF MY AUNT BETSY.

You may have met, when walking out or thereabout, A lady (angular and plain) Escorted by an ancient swain, Or, possibly, by two, Each leading by a piece of string A lazy, fat, and pampered thing Supposed to be a dog. You may, Perhaps, have noticed them, I say, And, if so, thought, "They do Present unto the public gaze A singular appearance—very." That lady, doubtless, was my aunt, Miss Betsy Jane Priscilla Perry.

The gentleman—or gentle_men_— Attending her were Captain Venne And Major Alec Stubbs. These two For many years had sought to woo My maiden aunt, Miss P., Who never _could_ make up her mind Which one to marry, so was kind To one or other—each in turn— Thus causing jealous pangs to burn. I incidentally Should mention here the quadrupeds— Respectively called "Popsey Petsey,"— A mongrel pug;—and "Baby Heart,"— A poodle—both belonged to Betsy.

You'd notice Captain Venne was tall, And Major Stubbs compact and small; These two on nought could e'er agree, Except in this—they hated me, Sole nephew to Aunt Bess. My aunt was very wealthy, and I think you'll quickly understand The situation, when I say That Captain Venne was on half-pay, And Major Stubbs on _less_. To me it was so very plain And evident, I thought it funny My aunt should never, never see They wanted, not her, but her money.

And Stubbs and Venne they did arrange A plan, intended to estrange My aunt and me. They told her lies; And one day, to my great surprise, A letter came for me. Requesting me to "call at six," For aunt had "heard of all the tricks I had been up to," and "was sad At hearing an account so bad." I went—in time for tea. My aunt was looking so severe I felt confused, a perfect noodle While Major Stubbs caressed the pug, And Captain Venne he nursed the poodle.

"Dear Major Stubbs," my aunt began, "Has told me all—quite all he _can_— Of your sad goings on. Oh, fie! Where will you go to when you die, You naughty wicked boy?" And Captain Venne has told me too What _very_ dreadful things you do. Of course I cannot but believe My two dear friends. _They'd_ not deceive, Nor characters destroy, Without a cause. Go, leave me now, You'll see my purpose shall not falter I'll send at once for Lawyer Slymm, My latest will to bring and alter."

I fear I lost my temper—quite; _I know_ I said what wasn't right; You see, I felt it hard to bear (And really, I contend, unfair), To be misjudged like this. I tried to argue, but 'twas vain, "My mind is fixed—my way is plain," My aunt declared. "Then hear me now!" I hotly cried, "There's naught, I vow, To cause you to dismiss Your nephew thus, but, as you please. And if, perchance, you wish to do it, Your money leave to your two friends; They want it, and—they're welcome to it."

I hurried out. I slammed the door. I vowed I'd never call there more. And neither did I, in my pride, Till six weeks since, when poor aunt died, And then, from Lawyer Slymm I got a little note, which said: "The will on Tuesday will be read." I went, and found that "Baby Heart" From Captain Venne must ne'er depart— She had been left to him; While "Popsey Petsey" Major Stubbs Received as his sole legacy And that was all. The money—oh! The money—that was left to _me_.

VIII. THAT OF THE TUCK-SHOP WOMAN.

Of all the schools throughout the land St. Vedast's is the oldest, and All men are proud (And justly proud) Who claim St. Vedast's as their _Al- Ma mater_. There I went a cal- Low youth. Don't think I'm going to paint The glories of this school—I ain't.

The Rev. Cecil Rowe, M.A., Was classics Master in my day, A learned man (A worthy man) In fact you'd very rarely see A much more clever man than he. But if you think you'll hear a lot About this person,—you will not.

The porter was a man named Clarke; We boys considered it a lark To play him tricks (The usual tricks Boys play at public schools like this), And Clarke would sometimes take amiss These tricks. But don't think I would go And only sing of him. Oh, no!

This ditty, I would beg to state, Professes likewise to relate The latter words (The solemn words) Of her who kept the tuck-shop at St. Vedast's. I'd inform you that The porter was her only son (The reason was—she had but one).

For many years the worthy soul Had kept the shop—the well-loved goal Of little boys (And larger boys) Who bought the tarts, and ginger pop And other things sold at her shop— But, feebler growing year by year, She felt her end was drawing near.

She therefore bade her son attend, That she might whisper, ere her end, A startling tale (A secret tale) That on her happiness had preyed, And heavy on her conscience weighed For many a year. "Alas! my son," She sighed, "injustice has been done.

"Let not your bitter anger rise, Nor gaze with sad reproachful eyes On one who's been (You _know_ I've been) For many years your mother, dear; And though you think my story queer, Believe—or I shall feel distressed— I _thought_ I acted for the best.

"When you were but a tiny boy (Your mother's and your father's joy), Good Mr. Rowe (The Revd. Rowe) Was but a little baby too, Who very much resembled you, And, being poorly off in purse, I took this baby out to nurse.

"Alike in features and in size— So like, indeed, the keenest eyes Would find it hard (Extremely hard) To tell the t'other from the one——" "Hold! though your tale is but begun," The porter cried, "a man may guess The secret of your keen distress.

"You changed the babes at nurse, and I (No wonder that you weep and sigh), Tho' callèd Clarke (School Porter Clarke), Am _really_ Mr. Rowe. I see. And he, of course, poor man, is _me_, While all the fortune he has known Through these long years should be my own.

"Oh falsely, falsely, have you done To call me all this time your son; I've always felt (Distinctly felt) That I was born to better things Than portering, and such-like, brings, I'll hurry now, and tell poor Rowe What, doubtless, he will feel a blow."

"Stay! stay!" the woman cried, "'tis true, My poor ill-treated boy, that you Have every right (Undoubted right) To feel aggrieved. I _had_ the chance Your future welfare to advance By changing babes. I knew I'd rue it, My poor boy—but—_I didn't do it_."

IX. THAT OF S. P. IDERS WEBBE, SOLICITOR.

Young Mr. S. P. Iders Webbe, Solicitor, of Clifford's Inn, Sat working in his chambers, which Were far removed from traffic's din. To those in legal trouble he Lent ready ear of sympathy— And six-and-eightpence was his fee.

To widows and to orphans, too, Young Mr. Webbe was very nice, And turned none from his door away Who came to seek for his advice: To these, I humbly beg to state— The sad and the disconsolate— His fee was merely six-and-eight.

He'd heave a sympathetic sigh, And squeeze each bankrupt client's hand While listening to a tale of woe Salt tears within his eyes would stand. Naught, naught his sympathies could stem, And he would only charge—ahem!— A paltry six-and-eight to _them_.

This gentleman, as I observed, Was calmly seated at his work, When, from the waiting-room, a card Was brought in by the junior clerk. "Nathaniel Blobbs? Pray ask him to Step in," said Webbe. "How do you do? A very pleasant day to you."

"A pleasant day be hanged!" said Blobbs, A wealthy man and very stout (That he was boiling o'er with rage There could not be the slightest doubt). "I'm given, sir, to understand You're suitor for my daughter's hand. An explanation I demand!

"I _know_ your lawyer's tricks, my man; In courting of my daughter Jane— Who's rather plain and not too young— _My_ money's what _you_ seek to gain. Confound you, sir!" the man did roar. "My daughter Jane is no match for A beggarly solicitor!"

At words like these _most_ gentlemen Would really have been somewhat riled; But do not think that Mr. Webbe Was angry. No; he merely _smiled_. But, oh! my friends, the legal smile Is not to trust. 'Tis full of guile. (_So_ smiles the hungry crocodile.)

"I see," Webbe most politely said, "My worthy sir, _your_ point of view. You're wealthy; I am poor. Of course, What I proposed would never do. If only, now, I'd property, And _you_ were—well, as poor as _me_——" "Pooh! that," cried Blobbs, "can _never_ be."

"Think not?" said Webbe. "Well, p'r'aps you're right. And so—there's nothing more to say. You _must_ be going? What! so soon? I'm _sorry_, sir, you cannot stay!" Blobbs went—and slammed the outer door. Webbe calmly made the bill out for The interview—a lengthy score.

He charged—at highest legal rate— For every word he'd uttered; and He even put down six-and-eight "To asking for Miss Blobbs's hand"; Next, in the Court of Common Pleas A "Breach of Promise" case, with ease, He instituted—if you please.

He gained the day, because the maid Was over age, the Judge averred, And Blobbs was forced to "grin and pay," Although he vowed 'twas _most_ absurd. The "damages," of course, were slight; But "legal costs" by no means light. (Webbe shared in these as was his right.)

Outside the Court indignant Blobbs Gave vent to some expressions which Were libellous, and quickly Webbe Was "down on him" for "using sich." Once more the day was Webbe's, and he, By posing as a damagee, Obtained a thousand pounds, you see.

With this round sum he then contrived To buy a vacant small estate Adjoining Blobbs, who went and did _Something_ illegal with a gate. Webbe "had him up" for _that_, of course; Then something else (about a horse), And later on a water-course.

He sued for this, he sued for that, Till action upon action lay, And in the Royal Courts of Law "Webbe _versus_ Blobbs" came on each day. "Law costs" and big "retaining fees," "Mulcted in fines"—such things as these Made Blobbs feel very ill at ease.

As Webbe grew rich, so he grew poor, Till finally he said: "Hang pride! I'll let this fellow, if he must, Have Jane, my daughter, for his bride." He went once more to Clifford's Inn. Webbe welcomed him with genial grin: "My _very_ dear sir, pray step in."

"Look here!" cried Blobbs. "I'll fight no more! You lawyer fellows, on my life, _Will_ have your way. I must give in. My daughter Jane _shall_ be your wife!" "Dear me! this _is_ unfortunate," Said Webbe. "I much regret to state Your condescension comes too late.

"For, sir, I marry this day week (Being a man of property) The young and lovely daughter of Sir Simon Upperten, M.P." Then, in a light and airy way: "I think there's nothing more to say. _Pray_, mind the bottom step. _Good_ day!"

X. THAT OF MONSIEUR ALPHONSE VERT.

Your Mistair Rudyar' Kipling say Ze cricquette man is "flannel fool." _Ah! oui! Très bon!_ I say so too, Since Mastair Jack, _enfant_ at school, He show me how to play ze same. I like it not—ze cricquette game.

My name is Monsieur Alphonse Vert (You call him in ze English "Green"); I go to learn ze English tongue, And lodge myself at Ealing Dean In family of Mistair Brown, Who has _affaire_ each day "in town."

Miss Angelina Brown she is _Très charmante_—what you call "so pretty"; I walk and talk wiz her sometimes When Mr. Brown go to ze City; I fall in love (pardon zese tears) All over head, all over ears.

I buy her books, and flowers (_bouquet_), And tickets for _la matinée_, And to ze cricquette match we go, _Hélas!_ upon one Saturday. To me she speak zere not at all. But watch ze men, and watch ze ball.

Ze cricquette men zey run, zey bat, Zey throw ze ball, zey catch, zey shout; And Angelina clap her hands. Vot for, I know not, all about, And in myself I say "_Ah! oui!_ I _too_ a cricquette man shall be."

To Angelina's brother Jack (His name is also Mastair Brown) I say, "Come, teach me cricquette match, And I will give you half-a-crown." Jack say, "My eye!" (in French _mes yeux_)[1] "Oh! what a treat!" (in French _c'est beau_).

After, to Ealing Common we Go out, with "wicquette" and with "ball," And what Jack calls a "cricquette-bat." (Zese tings I do not know at all; But Angelina I would catch, So "_Allons! Vive la cricquette match!_")

I hold ze "bat," Jack hold ze "ball." "Now zen! Look out!" I hear him cry. I drop ze "bat," I look about; Ze ball—he hit me in ze eye." I cry, "_Parbleu!_" Ze stars I see. I think it is "all up" wiz me.

I try again. Ze "ball" is hard. I catch him two times—on ze nose. I run, I fall, I hurt my arm, I spoil my new white flannel clothes, In every part I'm bruised and sore, So cricquette match I play no more.

I change my clothes, I patch my eye, I tie my nose up in a sling, And to Miss Angelina Brown Myself and all my woes I bring. "Ah, see," I cry, "how love can make Alphonse a hero for thy sake."

But Angelina laugh and laugh, And say, "I know it isn't right To laugh; but you must please forgive Me. You look _such_ a fright!" And next day Jack say, "I say, Bones, My sister's going to marry Jones."

Footnote 1:

Frenchmen could never make these two words rhyme—but Englishmen can.

I've heard 'em. G. E. F.

XI. THAT OF LORD WILLIAM OF PURLEIGH.

Lord William of Purleigh retired for the night With a mind full of worry and trouble, Which was caused by an income uncommonly slight, And expenses uncommonly double. Now the same sort of thing often happens, to me— And perhaps to yourself—for most singularlee One's accounts—if one keeps 'em—will never come right, If, of "moneys received," one spends double.

His lordship had gone rather early to bed, And for several hours had been sleeping, When he suddenly woke—and the hair on his head Slowly rose—he could hear someone creeping About in his room, in the dead of the night, With a lantern, which showed but a glimmer of light, And his impulse, at first, was to cover his head When he heard that there burglar a-creeping.

But presently thinking "Poor fellow, there's naught In the house worth a burglar a-taking, And, being a kind-hearted lord, p'r'aps I ought, To explain the mistake he's a-making." Lord William, then still in his woolly night-cap (For appearances noblemen don't care a rap), His second-best dressing-gown hastily sought, And got up without any noise making.

"I'm exceedingly sorry," his lordship began, "But your visit, I fear, will be fruitless. I possess neither money, nor jewels, my man, So your burglaring here will be bootless. The burglar was startled, but kept a cool head, And bowed, as his lordship, continuing, said: "Excuse me a moment. I'll find if I can My warm slippers, for I _too_ am bootless."

This pleasantry put them both quite at their ease; They discoursed of De Wet, and of Tupper. Then the household his lordship aroused, if you please, And invited the burglar to supper. The burglar told tales of his hardly-won wealth, And each drank to the other one's jolly good health. There's a charm about informal parties like these, And it was a most excellent supper.

Then the lord told the burglar how poor he'd become, And of all which occasioned his lordship distress; And the burglar—who wasn't hard-hearted like some— His sympathy ventured thereat to express: "I've some thoughts in my mind, if I might be so bold As to mention them, but—no—they mustn't be told. They are hopes which, perhaps, I might talk of to some, But which to a lord—no, I dare not express."

"Pooh! Nonsense!" his lordship cried, "Out with it, man! What is it, my friend, that you wish to suggest? Rely upon me. I will do what I can. Come! Let us see what's to be done for the best." "I've a daughter," the burglar remarked with a sigh. "The apple is she, so to speak, of my eye, And she wishes to marry a lord, if she can— And of all that I know—why, your lordship's the best.

"I am wealthy," the burglar continued, "you see, And her fortune will really be ample: I have given her every advantage, and she Is a person quite up to your sample." Lord William, at first, was inclined to look glum, But, on thinking it over, remarked: "I will come In the morning, to-morrow, the lady to see If indeed she _is_ up to the sample."

On the morrow he called, and the lady he saw, And he found her both charming and witty; So he married her, though for a father-in-law He'd a burglar, which p'r'aps was a pity. However, she made him an excellent wife, And the burglar he settled a fortune for life On the pair. What an excellent father-in-law! On the whole, p'r'aps, it _wasn't_ a pity.

XII. THAT OF PASHA ABDULLA BEY.

Abdulla Bey—a Pasha—had A turn for joy and merriment: You never caught _him_ looking sad, Nor glowering in discontent.

His normal attitude was one Of calm, serene placidity; His nature gay, and full of fun, And free from all acidity.

A trifling instance I'll relate Of Pasha Bey's urbanity, The which will clearly indicate His marvellous humanity.

He had a dozen wives or so (In him no immorality; For Eastern custom, as you know, Permits, of wives, plurality).

Yes; quite a dozen wives—or more— Abdulla had, and for a while No sound was heard of strife or war Within Abdulla's domicile.

But, oh! how rare it is to find A dozen ladies who'll consent To think as with a single mind, And live together in content.

Abdulla's wives—altho', no doubt, If taken individually, Would never think of falling out,— Collectively, could _not_ agree.

At first, in quite a playful way, They quarrelled—rather prettily; Then cutting things contrived to say About each other wittily;

Then petty jealousies and sneers Began,—just feeble flickerings— Which grew, alas! to bitter tears, And fierce domestic bickerings.