Part 5

What would you do? You cannot part with the comfortable chair you sit in, and your friends must have their little places; so very likely, if you had no respect for time-honoured things, you would break up some grand old cabinet that your forefathers loved, but that to you appeared useless, and so you'd keep the stove going. And as long as the fire lasted, you and your friends would be warm and snug in your places.

That's just what our Government did--not ours, of course--but the one I am talking of.

They turned their eyes on the king's palace, and they said the nation cannot be saddled with this expense.

They had already saved the nation about a farthing per head per annum, and this new sacrifice would save about an eighth as much more. But you must understand that every man looked at the amount saved in the lump; he never thought of the farthing that was put in his pocket in return for the time he wasted in attending public meetings, but had a vague idea that the golden thousands talked of were in some remote way his rescued property.

What a splendid show of justice, wasn't it now, when bills were plastered all over King Bibbs's palace, to say those desirable premises would be sold by public auction on such a date?

It touched the people to the core; they gave up half a day to flock round the palace, and read the bills; they lost another half-day's work to see the palace sold; they spent a day's wages to get drunk to celebrate this crowning stroke of economy, and in their wild delight at the justice done them, they quite forgot to bank the one-eighth of a farthing which the generous Government had put into their pockets.

How common it is to say, we go from bad to worse, and on that principle I suppose it was that this Liberal Government went from good to better.

If it was good that the poor king should give up his palace and live like a private gentleman, would it not be better that he should go a grade lower, and live like a retired tradesman?

The odd fact was, that the more they stripped poor King Bibbs of the sacred paraphernalia that once adorned his life, the more useless he appeared in the eyes of his subjects; and he was cut down from a palace to a mansion, and from a mansion to a villa; from having one hundred horses to ten; and from ten to none. And so it was that King Bibbs came to be walking in the rain without an umbrella; and so it was, as he reflected on the past he exclaimed,--

"It's all through that Liberal Government."

His most gracious Majesty had been to the reading-rooms to look at the morning papers, and see what his Government were doing. It may seem wrong that he should thus waste a penny; but remember, it was his duty to see how his people were getting on. As he left the rooms there was a quiet, sad smile on the king's face.

"Ah," he muttered, "my prime minister is very clever, but he is all ambition and vanity; he tries to sail the ship with nothing but flags. I do wish he would take in the bunting and put out some canvas, so that we might have a little real progress instead of so much show."

At this time he was just turning the corner of Daisy Road on his way home, when suddenly it began to rain.

"Bless me," said his Majesty, "it's going to pour, and I've forgotten my umbrella, I shall have my crown quite spoilt. Dear! dear! dear!"

The rain fell faster, and the poor king had yet two miles to go. His ermine was getting quite damp.

"What am I to do?" he exclaimed. "I shall be wet through. Dear! dear! I shall be obliged to take a cab."

The king looked along the road, and saw one coming. "Hi! hi!" shouted his most gracious Majesty, and he waved his sceptre till it almost flew out of his hand.

"Going home to change," said the cabman, with a careless air.

"Don't you know I'm the king?" said poor Bibbs.

"Oh, yes, you're know'd well enough," sneered the cabman; "give my love to the old woman."

"There, there!" said the poor monarch, appealing plaintively to the empty street; "there, that comes of having a Liberal Government; as soon as I get a change I'll be a despot."

You see the true royal spirit in him was not quite crushed.

The rain fell faster, and King Bibbs took off his crown and was looking at the great wet spots on the red cotton velvet when a loud voice exclaimed:--"Does your most gracious Majesty want a cab?"

The king was about to enter the cab without a word, when a ragged boy officiously stood by the wheel.

"What do you want?" said the boy's sovereign.

"To keep your most gracious Majesty's royal robe from touching the wheel," said the boy.

"I can do it myself," said the king, in quite an angry tone.

Now in the ordinary way a monarch would look upon such an attention as simply his due, but he knew this ragged young subject was looking for patronage; he wanted a copper, and the king felt he could not afford it. All who have studied the workings of the human heart know how we conceal our motives even from ourselves. To look at King Bibbs you would have thought he simply resented the boy's officiousness. He tried to persuade himself so, but the underlying feeling was his annoyance at not having a copper to spare. How he would have blushed if any of the Great Powers of Europe could have seen him at that moment!

"Go to the devil," said the king to his subject. "Go away! go away!"

"Blow'd if I pay my income tax next week!" said the young traitor as he made a very wicked face at the back of the cab.

"That's a bad boy," muttered Bibbs, as the cab drove off.

Now Bibbs, like many another proud spirit, had enjoyed the noble pleasure of refusing, which is only felt when you have full power to comply. When you are forced to refuse through weakness, it is very galling to a monarch, or even to one of us.

"A d--d bad boy!" he exclaimed, and as if the truth would out in spite of him he muttered: "It's all thro' that Liberal Government."

The house to which King Bibbs had directed the cabman to drive him, was what is now called a villa. It was one of a row, and was certainly not at all suggestive of a palace. Still it had a nice breakfast-parlour underground, and a handsome little drawing-room, with folding doors, upstairs. The rent was low, and the neighbourhood was considered, by those who lived there, fashionable.

At first poor Bibbs was treated with some respect, but after a time he fell into contempt, for kings, like other people, must keep their places.

On arriving at his house the king stepped from the cab and took out his purse. It would have done any Liberal Government good to see a constitutional monarch like Bibbs rubbing the edges of certain light coins to see if they were threepennies or fourpennies. But it would not have done any one good to see the look on the cabman's face as he received his fare. The king turned to go indoors.

"Here, hi!" shouted the cabman.

"What's the matter?" asked the king.

"What's the matter? As if your most gracious Majesty did not know! I want another sixpence."

"You've got your fare," said the king.

"Got my fare!" retorted the cabman; "you're a pretty gracious Majesty, you are. You go about rolling in luxury and wealth out of the hard earnings of sich as me, and that's the way you use the money. Bah! The sooner you're done away with altogether the better. What good are you? Why you ain't worth the crown on your head."

The cabman drove away to swear, and the king paused to reflect. It took the king some time to calculate, but he found he cost that cabman, at his present rate of expenditure--he cost that cabman about an eighth of a farthing every ten years.

The king's lips moved, though he breathed no word; but any one who had watched the kind mouth would have seen that he was muttering something about that Liberal Government.

He took out his latch-key and let himself in; he paused in the passage, gently wiped his crown on the sleeve of his robe, and hung it on a hat-peg, and, placing his sceptre in the stand beside his forgotten umbrella--forgetfulness that had cost him a shilling--walked slowly into the parlour.

He sat down to meditate. You have only to read your Shakespeare to know this is the way of kings. He soliloquised somewhat in this fashion:

"It's quite clear the cheaper I get the more useless I appear. While I was surrounded with pomp, the people ran after and applauded me; now I get abused by a low cabman. I was like a grand ruin: while the columns stand, and the broken entablatures lie about in picturesque profusion, it is visited, made pictures of, and admired. But take away the old adornments, clear away the ground, and leave only a little pile of useless earth to mark the spot, and Admiration and Wonder, as they turn their backs on it, will soon find Respect at their heels--I see my fate."

The king grew reckless, and ordered an egg for his tea.

You have only to read your poets, and you will see that these sudden desperate acts foreshadow impending doom.

At the moment that Bibbs was wiping a small spot of egg from his beard, his ministers were holding a cabinet council to determine what should be their next move to keep up their popularity.

There was nothing to cut down but the places of themselves and their friends and relations. That was out of the question. The labourer is worthy of his hire, and they had laboured hard to get into their present position.

How would it be if they determined that the king should no longer receive any help from the State, but earn his own living? A little hard work would be good for the king's constitution.

The idea was a popular one. It was carried out. But poor King Bibbs was too old to work, so it occurred to one of the ministers, who knew a City gentleman who had an ugly daughter that he wanted to marry to a person of rank, that by his influence the poor king might be got into an almshouse.

After some difficulty it was done, and his most gracious Majesty found himself in possession of two small rooms and ten shillings a week.

Any reasonable old monarch, you would think, might have been very comfortable under these circumstances, but wherever he turned he met unfriendly glances. People said almshouses were meant for industrious but unfortunate tradesmen and their wives, and not for bloated old emperors and kings. Here was a monarch not only grinding them down with taxation, but actually taking from them the just reward of virtuous old age.

At last it happened that a shopkeeper died insolvent, and his aged widow was destitute. There was nothing for it but to put her on the parish, which would be an expense, or get her into an almshouse.

The matter touched the pockets of the parishioners, and you may be pretty sure that soon a fine clamour was raised. What had the king done to deserve charity? Nothing. Meetings were held, bundles of letters were sent to the newspapers, and at last the influential City gentleman, who meant to stand for the borough at the next election, was forced to turn out King Bibbs or lose his popularity.

The influential gentleman assured his most gracious Majesty that he turned him out with great reluctance.

What was to be done now? It was pretty clear that the king must go on the parish. But what parish?

It mattered not where he had lived, he had never paid his rates, and not a parish would have him. Vestries met and discussed the matter. It was referred to committees, minutes were brought up and referred back again; meantime poor Bibbs, who would not go in as a casual, was left, like old Lear, to perish.

It is true that on the first night an old Chartist, who was once imprisoned for treason, took pity on him, and gave him a bed, but when the king found out who his benefactor was, his old pride arose within him, and he turned away.

His most gracious Majesty might have been seen feeling with his thumb-nail the edge of his last coin. It was smooth; King Bibbs had but threepence in the world.

At this moment he saw some men with advertising boards on their backs. He looked at them; they were old and feeble. Ah! thought the king, I think I am strong enough to carry boards. He went up to one of the men, and asked him most respectfully where he got his employment.

The man turned round and sneered out,--

"Oh, you want to rob _us_ now, do you? You want to take the crust out of our mouths. You ain't content with grinding _us_ poor working men down with taxes--you ain't content with having every luxury down to almhouses, but you must interfere with _us_. If I catch your most gracious Majesty with _half_ a board on your back, I'll just smash you. There!"

It will be observed that the people had lost nothing of the outward show of respect, and always addressed the king in the proper way.

Poor Bibbs bought a penny biscuit, and with the remaining twopence a piece of card and a bit of string. He wrote on the card,

"PRAY PITY A POOR CONSTITUTIONAL MONARCH."

And with his crown in his hand to get whatever charity would give, he went into the bitter world to beg his way down to the grave.

* * * * *

Things went on merrily with the ministry for years. They filled all the old places and invented new. They put the king's head on the coin, and put the coin in their pockets.

But one fine day a certain Eastern despot with whom they had been intriguing, thought it a politic thing to pay King Bibbs a visit IN STATE. Here was a pretty kettle of fish! What were they to do for a king?

It would never do to tell the Eastern despot they didn't know where their king was, and they did not care; he would have broken with them at once.

They sent in all directions to inquire for the king, but he was not to be found.

They then tried an advertisement:--

IF THIS SHOULD MEET THE EYE OF KING BIBBS, he is requested to return to his disconsolate ministers, and all shall be forgiven.

But poor Bibbs had not seen a newspaper for years, and his ministers were left disconsolate.

Then appeared another advertisement:--

LOST, A KING ANSWERING TO THE NAME OF BIBBS. If any one will take him to the Treasury he will be _liberally_ rewarded.

Now it so happened that a quiet man of business, as he was passing along a country highway, saw a poor old half crazy man eating a few dry crusts. By his side was a bent sceptre, and on his head an old and battered crown, while his robe of royal purple was torn and soiled, and the ermine on it worn nearly bare and black.

As the stranger approached him, the old man took off his crown, and in a feeble voice said, "Pray pity a poor constitutional monarch."

The stranger looked in his face and exclaimed, "Good heaven, poor soul, what has brought you to this?"

The old man brushed a tear away from his sunken eye, and muttered--

"It was all through that Liberal Government!"

* * * * *

A week after a great city was all aglare with flags, and ablare with trumpets. The streets were lined with people, and a procession passed, at the head of which was a grand carriage drawn by eight horses. In the carriage sat a feeble old man in a splendid robe, and with a new crown that he kept taking off as he bowed to the multitude. At his side was the splendid Eastern despot, who bowed too, for the people not only said "Long live King Bibbs!" but they wished the splendid Eastern despot long life as well. Near the palace gates as they returned, the king left off bowing, and some were shocked at his pride and some at his pallor.

A few days after there was a grand and solemn procession.

And again, a few days after that, a grand and glorious procession.

* * * * *

The Government were true to their policy, and the wording of their advertisement. The stranger who had found King Bibbs, after wasting years in applications, received a note to say his affair was under consideration.

(_By permission of the Author._)

MOLLY MULDOON.

ANONYMOUS.

Molly Muldoon was an Irish girl, And as fine a one As you'd look upon In the cot of a peasant or hall of an earl. Her teeth were white, though not of pearl,-- And dark was her hair, but it did not curl; Yet few who gazed on her teeth and her hair, But owned that a power of beauty was there. Now many a hearty and rattling gorsoon Whose fancy had charmed his heart into tune, Would dare to approach fair Molly Muldoon, But for _that_ in her eye Which made most of them shy And look quite ashamed, though they couldn't tell why-- Her eyes were large, dark blue, and clear, And _heart_ and _mind_ seemed in them blended. If _intellect_ sent you one look severe _Love_ instantly leapt in the next to mend it-- Hers was the eye to check the rude, And hers the eye to stir emotion, To keep the sense and soul subdued And calm desire into devotion.

There was Jemmy O'Hare, As fine a boy as you'd see in a fair, And wherever Molly was he was there. His face was round and his build was square, And he sported as rare And tight a pair Of legs, to be sure, as are found anywhere. And Jemmy would wear His _caubeen_ and hair With such a peculiar and rollicking air, That I'd venture to swear Not a girl in Kildare Nor Victoria's self, if she chanced to be there, Could resist his wild way--called "Devil-may-care." Not a boy in the parish could match him for fun, Nor wrestle, nor leap, nor hurl, nor run With Jemmy--No gorsoon could equal him--None, At wake, or at wedding, at feast or at fight, At throwing the sledge with such dext'rous sleight,-- He was the envy of men, and the women's delight.

Now Molly Muldoon liked Jemmy O'Hare, And in troth Jemmy loved in his heart Miss Muldoon. I believe in my conscience a purtier pair Never danced in a tent at a pattern in June,-- To a bagpipe or fiddle On the rough cabin door That is placed in the middle-- Ye may talk as ye will There's a grace in the limbs of the peasantry there With which people of quality couldn't compare; And Molly and Jemmy were counted the two That would keep up the longest and go the best through All the jigs and the reels That have occupied heels Since the days of the Murtaghs and Brian Boru.

It was on a long bright sunny day They sat on a green knoll side by side, But neither just then had much to say; Their hearts were so full that they only tried To do anything foolish, just to hide What both of them felt, but what Molly denied. They plucked the speckled daisies that grew Close by their arms,--then tore them too; And the bright little leaves that they broke from the stalk They threw at each other for want of talk; While the heart-lit look and the sunny smile Reflected pure souls without art or guile, And every time Molly sighed or smiled, Jem felt himself grow as soft as a child; And he fancied the sky never looked so bright, The grass so green, the daisies so white; Everything looked so gay in his sight That gladly he'd linger to watch them till night,-- And Molly herself thought each little bird Whose warbling notes her calm soul stirred,-- Sang only his lay but by her to be heard.

An Irish courtship's short and sweet, It's sometimes foolish and indiscreet; But who is wise when his young heart's heat Whips the pulse to a galloping beat-- Ties up his judgment neck and feet And makes him the slave of a blind conceit? Sneer not, therefore, at the loves of the poor, Though their manners be rude their affections are pure; They look not by art, and they love not by rule, For their souls are not tempered in fashion's cold school. Oh! give me the love that endures no control But the delicate instinct that springs from the soul, As the mountain stream gushes its freshness and force, Yet obedient, wherever it flows to its source. Yes, give me that but Nature has taught, By rank unallured and by riches unbought; Whose very simplicity keeps it secure-- The love that illumines the heart of the poor.

All blushful was Molly, or shy at least As one week before Lent Jem procured her consent To go the next Sunday and spake to the priest, Shrove-Tuesday was named for the wedding to be, And it dawned as bright as they'd wish to see. And Jemmy was up at the day's first peep For the live-long night, no wink could he sleep; A bran-new coat, with a bright big button, He took from a chest, and carefully put on-- And brogues as well _lampblacked_ as ever went foot on Were greased with the fat of _a quare sort of mutton_! Then a tidier _gorsoon_ couldn't be seen Treading the Emerald sod so green-- Light was his step and bright was his eye As he walked through the _slobbery_ streets of Athy. And each girl he passed, bid "God bless him," and sighed, While she wished in her heart that herself was the bride.

Hush! here's the Priest--let not the least Whisper be heard till the father has ceased. "Come, bridegroom and bride, That the knot may be tied Which no power upon earth can hereafter divide." Up rose the bride, and the bridegroom too, And a passage was made for them both to walk through! And his Rev'rence stood with a sanctified face, Which spread its infection around the place. The bridesmaid bustled and whispered the bride, Who felt so confused that she almost cried, But at last bore up and walked forward, where The Father was standing with solemn air; The bridegroom was following after with pride, _When his piercing eye something awful espied_! He stooped and sighed, Looked round and tried To tell what he saw, but his tongue denied: With a spring and a roar, He jumped to the door, AND THE BRIDE LAID HER EYES ON THE BRIDEGROOM NO MORE!

Some years sped on Yet heard no one Of Jemmy O'Hare, or where he had gone. But since the night of that widowed feast, The strength of poor Molly had ever decreased; Till, at length, from earth's sorrow her soul released, Fled up to be ranked with the saints at least.

And the morning poor Molly to live had ceased, Just five years after the widowed feast, An American letter was brought to the priest, Telling of Jemmy O'Hare deceased! Who ere his death, With his latest breath, To a spiritual father unburdened his breast And the cause of his sudden departure confest,-- "Oh! Father," says he, "I've not long to live, So I'll freely confess, and hope you'll forgive-- That same Molly Muldoon, sure I loved her indeed; Ay, as well, as the Creed That was never forsaken by one of my breed; But I couldn't have married her after I saw"-- "Saw what?" cried the Father desirous to hear-- And the chair that he sat in unconsciously rocking-- "Not in her 'karacter,' yer Rev'rince, a flaw"-- The sick man here dropped a significant tear And died as he whispered in the clergyman's ear-- "But I saw, God forgive her, A HOLE IN HER STOCKING!"

THE HARMONIOUS LOBSTERS.

ROBERT REECE.