Chapter 3
"Girls will be girls--you're very young, and flighty in your mind; Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find; We mustn't be too hard upon these little girlish tricks-- Let's see--five crimes at half-a-crown--exactly twelve-and-six."
"Oh, father," little Alice cried, "your kindness makes me weep, You do these little things for me so singularly cheap-- Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget; But, O, there is another crime I haven't mentioned yet!"
"A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple eyes, I've noticed at my window, as I've sat a-catching flies: He passes by it every day as certain as can be-- I blush to say I've winked at him and he has winked at me!"
"For shame," said Father Paul, "my erring daughter! On my word This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard. Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band!
"This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy parents so! They are the most remunerative customers I know; For many years they've kept starvation from my doors, I never knew so criminal a family as yours!
"The common country folk in this insipid neighborhood Have nothing to confess, they're so ridiculously good; And if you marry any one respectable at all, Why, you'll reform, and what will then become of Father Paul?"
The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon his crown, And started off in haste to tell the news to Robber Brown; To tell him how his daughter, who now was for marriage fit, Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it.
Good Robber Brown he muffled up his anger pretty well, He said "I have a notion, and that notion I will tell; I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits, And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits.
"I've studied human nature, and I know a thing or two, Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do-- A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small."
He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square; He watched his opportunity and seized him unaware; He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head, And Mrs. Brown dissected him before she went to bed.
And pretty little Alice grew more settled in her mind, She never more was guilty of a weakness of the kind, Until at length good Robber Brown bestowed her pretty hand On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band.
BEN ALLAH ACHMET;
OR, THE FATAL TUM.
I once did know a Turkish man Whom I upon a two-pair-back met, His name it was Effendi Khan Backsheesh Pasha Ben Allah Achmet.
A Doctor Brown I also knew-- I've often eaten of his bounty-- The Turk and he they lived at Hooe, In Sussex, that delightful county.
I knew a nice young lady there, Her name was Isabella Sherson, And though she wore another's hair, She was an interesting person.
The Turk adored the maid of Hooe (Although his harem would have shocked her); But Brown adored that maiden, too: He was a most seductive doctor.
They'd follow her where'er she'd go-- A course of action most improper; She neither knew by sight, and so For neither of them cared a copper.
Brown did not know that Turkish male, He might have been his sainted mother: The people in this simple tale Are total strangers to each other.
One day that Turk he sickened sore Which threw him straight into a sharp pet; He threw himself upon the floor And rolled about upon his--carpet.
It made him moan--it made him groan And almost wore him to a mummy: Why should I hesitate to own That pain was in his little tummy?
At length a Doctor came and rung (As Allah Achmet had desired) Who felt his pulse, looked up his tongue, And hummed and hawed, and then inquired:
"Where is the pain, that long has preyed Upon you in so sad a way, sir?" The Turk he giggled, blushed, and said, "I don't exactly like to say, sir."
"Come, nonsense!" said good Doctor Brown, "So this is Turkish coyness, is it? You must contrive to fight it down-- Come, come, sir, please to be explicit."
The Turk he shyly bit his thumb, And coyly blushed like one half-witted, "The pain is in my little tum," He, whispering, at length admitted.
"Then take you this, and take you that-- Your blood flows sluggish in its channel-- You must get rid of all this fat, And wear my medicated flannel.
"You'll send for me, when you're in need-- My name is Brown--your life I've saved it!" "My rival!" shrieked the invalid, And drew a mighty sword and waved it.
"This to thy weazand, Christian pest!" Aloud the Turk in frenzy yelled it, And drove right through the Doctor's chest The sabre and the hand that held it.
The blow was a decisive one, And Doctor Brown grew deadly pasty-- "Now see the mischief that you've done,-- You Turks are so extremely hasty.
"There are two Doctor Browns in Hooe, _He's_ short and stout--_I'm_ tall and wizen; You've been and run the wrong one through, That's how the error has arisen."
The accident was thus explained, Apologies were only heard now: "At my mistake I'm really pained, I am, indeed, upon my word now."
"With me, sir, you shall be interred, A Mausoleum grand awaits me"-- "Oh, pray don't say another word, I'm sure that more than compensates me.
"But, p'r'aps, kind Turk, you're full inside?" "There's room," said he, "for any number." And so they laid them down and died. In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber.
SONGS OF A SAVOYARD
THE ENGLISHMAN.
He is an Englishman! For he himself has said it, And it's greatly to his credit, That he is an Englishman! For he might have been a Roosian, A French, or Turk, or Proosian, Or perhaps Itali-an! But in spite of all temptations, To belong to other nations, He remains an Englishman! Hurrah! For the true born Englishman!
THE DISAGREEABLE MAN.
If you give me your attention, I will tell you what I am: I'm a genuine philanthropist--all other kinds are sham. Each little fault of temper and each social defect In my erring fellow creatures, I endeavor to correct. To all their little weaknesses I open people's eyes And little plans to snub the self-sufficient I devise; I love my fellow creatures--I do all the good I can-- Yet everybody say I'm such a disagreeable man! And I can't think why!
To compliments inflated I've a withering reply; And vanity I always do my best to mortify; A charitable action I can skilfully dissect: And interested motives I'm delighted to detect. I know everybody's income and what everybody earns, And I carefully compare it with the income tax returns; But to benefit humanity, however much I plan, Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man! And I can't think why!
I'm sure I'm no ascetic: I'm as pleasant as can be; You'll always find me ready with a crushing repartee; I've an irritating chuckle; I've a celebrated sneer; I've an entertaining snigger; I've a fascinating leer; To everybody's prejudice I know a thing or two; I can tell a woman's age in half a minute--and I do-- But although I try to make myself as pleasant as I can, Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man! And I can't think why!
THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL.
I am the very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral. I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral; I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; I'm very well acquainted too with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse. I'm very good at integral and differential calculus, I know the scientific names of beings animalculous, In short in matters vegetable, animal and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
I know our mythic history--King Arthur's and Sir Caradoc's, I answer hard acrostics, I've a pretty taste for paradox, I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of Heliogabalus, In conies I can floor peculiarities parabolous. I can tell undoubted Raphaels from Gerard Dows and Zoffanies, I know the croaking chorus from the "Frogs" of Aristophanes, Then I can hum a fugue of which I've heard the music's din afore, And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense "Pinafore." Then I can write a washing bill in Babylonic cuneiform, And tell you every detail of Caractacus's uniform. In short in matters vegetable, animal and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
In fact when I know what is meant by "mamelon" and "ravelin," When I can tell at sight a Chassepot rifle from a javelin, When such affairs as _sorties_ and surprises I'm more wary at, And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat, When I have learn what progress has been made in modern gunnery, When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery, In short when I've a smattering of elementary strategy, You'll say a better Major-Gener_al_ has never _sat_ a gee-- For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury, Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century, But still in learning vegetable, animal and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
THE HEAVY DRAGOON.
If you want a receipt for that popular mystery Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon, Take all the remarkable people in history, Rattle them off to a popular tune! The pluck of Lord Nelson on board of the _Victory_-- Genius of Bismarck devising a plan; The humor of Fielding (which sounds contradictory)-- Coolness of Paget about to trepan-- The grace of Mozart, that unparalleled musico-- Wit of Macaulay, who wrote of Queen Anne-- The pathos of Paddy, as rendered by Boucicault-- Style of the Bishop of Sodor and Man-- The dash of a D'Orsay, divested of quackery-- Narrative powers of Dickens and Thackeray Victor Emmanuel--peak-haunting Peveril-- Thomas Aquinas, and Doctor Sacheverell-- Tupper and Tennyson--Daniel Defoe-- Anthony Trollope and Mister Guizot!
Take of these elements all that are fusible, Melt them all down in a pipkin or crucible, Set them to simmer and take off the scum, And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!
If you want a receipt for this soldierlike paragon, Get at the wealth of the Czar (if you can)-- The family pride of a Spaniard from Arragon-- Force of Mephisto pronouncing a ban-- A smack of Lord Waterford, reckless and rollicky-- Swagger of Roderick, heading his clan-- The keen penetration of Paddington Pollaky-- Grace of an Odalisque on a divan-- The genius strategic of Caesar or Hannibal-- Skill of Lord Wolseley in thrashing a cannibal Flavor of Hamlet--the Stranger, a touch of him-- Little of Manfred, (but not very much of him)-- Beadle of Burlington--Richardson's show; Mr. Micawber and Madame Tussaud!
Take of these elements all that are fusible, Melt them all down in a pipkin or crucible, Set them to simmer and take off the scum, And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!
ONLY ROSES!
To a garden full of posies Cometh one to gather flowers, And he wanders through its bowers Toying with the wanton roses, Who, uprising from their beds, Hold on high their shameless heads With their pretty lips a-pouting, Never doubting--never doubting That for Cytherean posies He would gather aught but roses!
In a nest of weeds and nettles, Lay a violet, half hidden, Hoping that his glance unbidden Yet might fall upon her petals, Though she lived alone, apart, Hope lay nestling at her heart, But, alas! the cruel awaking Set her little heart a-breaking, For he gathered for his posies Only roses--only roses!
THEY'LL NONE OF 'EM BE MISSED.
As some day it may happen that a victim must be found, I've got a little list--I've got a little list Of social offenders who might well be underground, And who never would be missed--who never would be missed! There's the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs-- All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs-- All children who are up in dates, and floor you with 'em flat-- All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like _that_-- And all third persons who on spoiling _tete-a-tetes_ insist-- They'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed!
There's the nigger serenader, and the others of his race, And the piano organist--I've got him on the list! And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face, They never would be missed--they never would be missed! Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone, All centuries but this, and every country but his own; And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy, And who doesn't think she waltzes, but would rather like to try; And that singular anomaly, the lady novelist-- I don't think she'd be missed--I'm _sure_ she'd not be missed!
And that _Nisi Prius_ nuisance, who just now is rather rife, The Judicial humorist--I've got _him_ on the list! All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private life-- They'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of them be missed. And apologetic statesmen of the compromising kind, Such as--What-d'ye-call-him--Thing'em-Bob, and likewise--Never-mind, And 'St--'st--'st--and What's-his-name, and also--You-know-who-- (The task of filling up the blanks I'd rather leave to _you_!) But it really doesn't matter whom you put upon the list, For they'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed!
THE POLICEMAN'S LOT.
When a felon's not engaged in his employment Or maturing his felonious little plans. His capacity for innocent enjoyment, Is just as great as any honest man's Our feelings we with difficulty smother When constabulary duty's to be done: Ah, take one consideration with another, A policeman's lot is not a happy one!
When the enterprising burglar isn't burgling, When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime, He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling, And listen to the merry village chime. When the coster's finished jumping on his mother, He loves to lie a-basking in the sun: Ah, take one consideration with another, The policeman's lot is not a happy one!
AN APPEAL.
Oh, is there not one maiden breast Which does not feel the moral beauty Of making worldly interest Subordinate to sense of duly? Who would not give up willingly All matrimonial ambition, To rescue such a one as I From his unfortunate position?
Oh, is there not one maiden here, Whose homely face and bad complexion Have caused all hopes to disappear Of ever winning man's affection? To such a one, if such there be, I swear by Heaven's arch above you, If you will cast your eyes on me,-- However plain you be--I'll love you!
EHEU FUGACES--!
The air is charged with amatory numbers-- Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers' lays. Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers The aching memory of the old, old days?
Time was when Love and I were well acquainted. Time was when we walked ever hand in hand; A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted, None better-loved than I in all the land! Time was, when maidens of the noblest station, Forsaking even military men, Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration-- Ah, me, I was a fair young curate then!
Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled; Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear; Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled; And when I coughed all thought the end was near! I, had no care--no jealous doubts hung o'er me-- For I was loved beyond all other men. Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me! Ah, me! I was a pale young curate then!
A RECIPE.
Take a pair of sparkling eyes, Hidden, ever and anon, In a merciful eclipse-- Do not heed their mild surprise-- Having passed the Rubicon. Take a pair of rosy lips; Take a figure trimly planned-- Such as admiration whets (Be particular in this); Take a tender little hand, Fringed with dainty fingerettes, Press it--in parenthesis;-- Take all these, you lucky man-- Take and keep them, if you can.
Take a pretty little cot-- Quite a miniature affair-- Hung about with trellised vine, Furnish it upon the spot With the treasures rich and rare I've endeavored to define. Live to love and love to live You will ripen at your ease, Growing on the sunny side-- Fate has nothing more to give. You're a dainty man to please If you are not satisfied. Take my counsel, happy man: Act upon it, if you can!
THE FIRST LORD'S SONG.
When I was a lad I served a term As office boy to an Attorney's firm. I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor, And I polished up the handle of the big front door. I polished up that handle so successfullee That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
As office boy I made such a mark That they gave me the post of a junior clerk. I served the writs with a smile so bland, And I copied all the letters in a big round hand. I copied all the letters in a hand so free, That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
In serving writs I made such a name That an articled clerk I soon became; I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit For the Pass Examination at the Institute. And that Pass Examination did so well for me, That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip That they took me into the partnership. And that junior partnership, I ween, Was the only ship that I ever had seen, But that kind of ship so suited me, That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
I grew so rich that I was sent By a pocket borough into Parliament. I always voted at my party's call, And I never thought of thinking for myself at all. I thought so little, they rewarded me, By making me the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
Now, landsmen all, whoever you may be, If you want to rise to the top of the tree, If your soul isn't fettered to an office stool, Be careful to be guided by this golden rule-- Stick close to your desks and _never go to sea_, And you all may be Rulers of the Queen's Navee!
WHEN A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES.
When a merry maiden marries, Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries; Every sound becomes a song, All is right and nothing's wrong! From to-day and ever after Let your tears be tears of laughter-- Every sigh that finds a vent Be a sigh of sweet content! When you marry merry maiden, Then the air with love is laden; Every flower is a rose, Every goose becomes a swan, Every kind of trouble goes Where the last year's snows have gone! Sunlight takes the place of shade When you marry merry maid!
When a merry maiden marries Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries; Every sound becomes a song, All is right, and nothing's wrong. Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow, Get ye gone until to-morrow; Jealousies in grim array, Ye are things of yesterday! When you marry merry maiden, Then the air with joy is laden; All the corners of the earth Ring with music sweetly played, Worry is melodious mirth. Grief is joy in masquerade; Sullen night is laughing day-- All the year is merry May!
THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE.
On a tree by the river a little tomtit Sang "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!" And I said to him, "Dicky-bird, why do you sit Singing 'Willow, titwillow, titwillow?' Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?" I cried, "Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?" With a shake of his poor little head he replied, "Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
He slapped at his chest, as he sat on that bough, Singing "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!" And a cold perspiration bespangled his brow, Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow! He sobbed and he sighed, and a gurgle he gave, Then he threw himself into the billowy wave, And an echo arose from the suicide's grave-- "Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
Now I feel just as sure as I'm sure that my name Isn't Willow, titwillow, titwillow, That 'twas blighted affection that made him exclaim, "Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!" And if you remain callous and obdurate, I Shall perish as he did, and you will know why, Though I probably shall not exclaim as I die, "Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
HE AND SHE.
HE. I know a youth who loves a little maid-- (Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!) Silent is he, for he's modest and afraid-- (Hey, but he's timid as a youth can be!)
SHE. I know a maid who loves a gallant youth, (Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!) She cannot tell him all the sad, sad truth-- (Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
BOTH. Now tell me pray, and tell me true, What in the world should the poor soul do?
HE. He cannot eat and he cannot sleep-- (Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!) Daily he goes for to wail--for to weep-- (Hey, but he's wretched as a youth can be!)
SHE. She's very thin and she's very pale-- (Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!) Daily she goes for to weep--for to wail-- (Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
BOTH. Now tell me pray, and tell me true, What in the world should the poor soul do?
SHE. If I were the youth I should offer her my name-- (Hey, but her face is a sight for to see!)
HE. If I were the maid I should feed his honest flame-- (Hey, but he's bashful as a youth can be!)
SHE. If I were the youth I should speak to her to-day-- (Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
HE. If I were the maid I should meet the lad half way-- (For I really do believe that timid youth will die'!)
BOTH. I thank you much for your counsel true; I've learnt what that poor soul ought to do!
THE LORD CHANCELLOR'S SONG.
The law is the true embodiment Of everything that's excellent. It has no kind of fault or flaw, And I, my lords, embody the Law. The constitutional guardian I Of pretty young Wards in Chancery, All very agreeable girls--and none Are over the age of twenty-one. A pleasant occupation for A rather susceptible Chancellor!
But though the compliment implied Inflates me with legitimate pride, It nevertheless can't be denied That it has its inconvenient side. For I'm not so old, and not so plain, And I'm quite prepared to marry again, But there'd be the deuce to pay in the Lords If I fell in love with one of my Wards: Which rather tries my temper, for I'm _such_ a susceptible Chancellor!
And everyone who'd marry a Ward Must come to me for my accord: So in my court I sit all day, Giving agreeable girls away, With one for him--and one for he-- And one for you--and one for ye-- And one for thou--and one for thee-- But never, oh never a one for me! Which is exasperating, for A highly susceptible Chancellor!
WILLOW WALY!
HE. Prithee, pretty maiden--prithee, tell me true (Hey, but I'm doleful, willow, willow waly!) Have you e'er a lover a-dangling after you? Hey, willow waly O! I fain would discover If you have a lover? Hey, willow waly O!