Part 2

There often the shadow falls southward at noon, And sunrise is hailed by the pale crescent moon, The sun sets at will in the east or the west, In the grove where the cuckoo is building her nest.

There the milkmaid sits down to the left of the cow, In harvest they sow, and in haytime they plough; While mowers, in attitudes gladsome and blythe, Impossible antics perform with the scythe.

There huntsmen in June after foxes may roam, And horses unbridled go champing with foam; From torrents by winter fierce swollen and high, The proud salmon leaps in pursuit of the fly.

Ah Nature! it's little--I own for my part-- I know of your face save as mirrored in art; Yet, vainly shall critics begrudge me that charm, For a fellow can paint without learning to farm.

* * * * *

* * * * *

OVERHEARD AT A MEETING OF THE UP-IN-A-BALLOON SOCIETY.

_'Arry._ Wot's the difference between Nelson and that cove in the chair?

_Charlie._ Give it up, mate.

_'Arry._ Wy, _Nelson_ was a nautical 'ero, and this chap's a _'ero nautical_, to be sure.

* * * * *

'ARRY 'AD--FOR ONCE.--SCENE--_Exterior of St. James's Hall on a Schumann and Joachim Night._

_'Arry (meeting High-Art Musical Friend, who has come out during an interval, after assisting at Madame Schumann's magnificent reception)._ 'Ullo! What's up? What are they at now?

_High-Art Friend (consulting programme)._ Let me see. They've done "Op. 13." Ah, yes! They've just got to "Op. 44."

_'Arry (astounded)._ 'Op forty-four! St. James's 'All got a dancin' licence! Hooray! I'm all there! I'll go in for 'Op forty-five. What is it, a waltz or a polka?

[_Rushes to the pay-place._]

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE COMPLAINT OF THE COCKNEY CLERK

"I know of no cure but for the Englishman (1) to do his best to compete in the particulars where the German now excels; (2) to try to show that, taken all round, he is worth more than the German."--_Mr. Gladstone on English Clerks and German Competition._

All very fine, O orator illustrious! But I as soon would be a mole or merman, As a short-grubbing, horribly industrious, Linguistic German.

A clerk's a clerk, that is a cove who scribbles All day, and then goes in for cue, and "jigger," And not a mere machine who feeds by nibbles, Slaves like a nigger.

Learn languages? And for two quid a week? Cut barmaids, billiards, bitter beer and betting? Yah! that may suit a sausage, or a sneak! Whistles need wetting.

That is if they are genuine English whistles, And not dry, hoarse, yah-yah Teutonic throttles. _I_'m not a donkey who can thrive on thistles. No, that's "no bottles."

I've learned my native tongue,--and that's a teaser-- I've also learned a lot of slang and patter; But German, French, Italian, Portuguese, sir, For "screw" no fatter?

Not me, my old exuberant wood-chopper! Level _me_ to the straw-haired Carls and Hermanns? No; there's another trick would do me proper,-- Kick out the Germans!

Old Bismarck's "blood and iron's" a receipt meant For sour-krautt gobblers, sandy and sardonic! But for us Britons that Teutonic treatment Is much too tonic.

The cheek of 'em just puts me in a rage, Send 'em back home, ah! even pay their passage Or soon, by Jove, we'll have to call our age, The German "sauce"-age!

* * * * *

* * * * *

"ON A CLIFF BY THE SEA"

(_Whit Monday_)

A verse for "'Arry"? Well, I'm shot! (Excuse my language plain and terse) For such a nuisance I have not A verse.

His praise don't ask me to rehearse, But, if you like--I'll tell you what-- The _rôle_ of Baalam I'll reverse.

Only, like Balak, from this spot Desire me 'Arry's tribe to curse, To grant that prayer you'll find me not Averse!

* * * * *

* * * * *

'ARRY IN ROME AND LONDON

A kind correspondent calls _Mr. Punch's_ attention to the fact that 'Arry the ubiquitous crops up even in the classics as Arrius, in fact, in _Carmen_ lxxxiv. of Catullus. How proud 'Arry will be to hear of his classical prototype! Our correspondent "dropping into verse," exclaims:--

Yes! Your Cockney is eternal; Arrius speaks in 'Arry still; Vaunts 'is "hincome" by paternal "Hartful" tricks hup 'Olborn 'Ill.

How well he is justified may be seen by a glance at the text of Catullus:--

DE ARRIO.

"C_h_ommoda" dicebat, si quando commoda vellet Dicere, et "_h_indsidias" Arrius insidias: Et tum mirifice sperabat se esse locutum. Cum, quantum poterat, dixerat "_h_insidias." Credo, sic mater, sic Liber avunculus ejus. Sic maternus avus dixerit, atque avia.

Catullus, _Carmen_ lxxxiv.

Which--for the benefit of 'Arry himself, who is not perhaps familiar with the "Lingo Romano"--though he may know something of a "Romano" dear to certain young sportsmen, though not dearer to them than other caterers--may thus be _very_ freely adapted:--

'Arry to _H_oxford gives the aspirate still He cruelly denies to 'Igate 'Ill; Yet deems in diction he can ape the "swell," And "git the 'ang of it" exceeding well. Doubtless his sire, the 'atter, and his mother, The hupper 'ousemaid, so addressed each other; For spite of all that wrangling Board Schools teach, There seems heredity in Cockney speech.

* * * * *

COMMERCIAL INTELLIGENCE.--According to a trade circular issued by a Cockney company, Florence and Lucca, whence the finer description of oils have been heretofore imported, are threatened with a vigorous competition by the Iles of Greece.

* * * * *

THE RICHEST DISH IN THE WORLD.--The "weal" of fortune.

* * * * *

'ARRY'S MOTTO.--"Youth on the prowl and pleasure at the 'elm."

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

LINES BY A COCKNEY

_Addressed to A Young Lady, but dropped by some mistake into Mr. Punch's letter-box._

Sweet hangel, whom I met last heve Hat Mrs. Harthur's 'op, I 'ope that you will give me leave A question now to pop.

I mind me 'ow when in the 'all Your carriage was hannounced, You hasked me to hadjust your shawl, Hon which with 'aste I pounced.

Then heager to your Ma you ran, She anxious to be gone, I 'eard 'er call you Mary-Hann, Or helse 'twas Mari-hon.

Now, Mary-Hann's a name I 'ate Has much as Betsy-Jane, I could not bear to link my fate With such a 'orrid name;

But Mari-hon I like as well As hany name I know; Then, hangel, I emplore thee tell, Dost spell it with a Ho?

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

ECHO'S ANSWERS

_To a Cockney Inquirer who consults her concerning the inevitable Annual "Outing" and its probable issues._

_Inquirer._ What subject sets me worrying and doubting?

_Echo. "Outing._"

_Inquirer._ My wife suggests for family health's improving?--

_Echo. Roving._

_Inquirer._ What's the first requisite for taking pleasure?

_Echo. Leisure._

_Inquirer._ The second (for a slave to matrimony)?

_Echo. Money._

_Inquirer._ You say that woman of all founts of mischief--

_Echo. Is chief._

_Inquirer._ What is this close agreement of _my_ women?

_Echo. Omen._

_Inquirer._ I fear for me they'll prove a deal too clever?

_Echo. Ever._

_Inquirer._ What is the manner of my buxom Mary?

_Echo. Airy._

_Inquirer._ And what's her goal in every hint and notion?

_Echo. Ocean._

_Inquirer._ How recommends she Ramsgate, shrimpy, sandy?

_Echo. 'Andy._

_Inquirer._ Whereas _I_ hold it at this season torrid?--

_Echo. 'Orrid!_

_Inquirer._ And hint, with a faint view to scare or stop her?--

_Echo. 'Opper!_

_Inquirer._ (Meaning the _Pulex_.) Answers she politely?

_Echo. Lightly._

_Inquirer._ How then am I inclined to view the mater?

_Echo. 'Ate her._

_Inquirer._ What feel I when she hints at sea-side clothing?

_Echo. Loathing._

_Inquirer._ Mention of what makes all my family scoffers?

_Echo. Coffers._

_Inquirer._ Then if I storm, what word breaks sequent stillness?

_Echo. Illness!_

_Inquirer._ What feels a man when women 'gin to blubber?

_Echo. Lubber._

_Inquirer._ What is the show of patience that may follow?

_Echo. Hollow!_

_Inquirer._ What would the sex when it assumes that virtue?

_Echo. Hurt you._

_Inquirer._ What's the result of halting and misgiving?

_Echo. Giving._

_Inquirer._ What is man's share anent this yearly yearning?

_Echo. Earning._

_Inquirer._ What's the chief issue of this seaward flowing?

_Echo. Owing._

_Inquirer_. How long before I'm free of tradesmen's pages?

_Echo. Ages!_

* * * * *

THE MOORS.

Our Cockney correspondent says that the birds are very wild, and that the heath being extremely slippery, the attempt to run after them is apt to be attended with numerous falls, especially in patent-leather boots. He says the exercise is fatiguing in the extreme, and complains that there are no cabs to be had on the hills though there are plenty of flies.

* * * * *

DOUBLE COCKNEY CONUNDRUM FOR THE DERBY DAY.--"What eminent composer would in England have probably been 'in the ring'?"

"_'Aydn._"

"Why?"

"Because who ever 'eard of 'Aydn alone? Ain't it always a '_Aydn and abettin_'? Eh? Now then! Come up, can't yer!"

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE LAND OF THE 'ARRY'UNS.--'Am'stead 'eath.

* * * * *

When a vulgar husband drops his h's, a good wife drops her eyes.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

NOTES BY A COCKNEY NATURALIST

There are various kinds of larks to be observed by Cockney naturalists, which are more or less, and rather less than more, indigenous to London. There is first of all the cage lark (_Alauda Miserrima_) which is chiefly found on grass-plats measuring about two inches square, and may be heard singing plaintively in many a back slum. Then there is the mud lark (_Alauda Greenwichiensis_), which is principally seen towards nightfall on the shores of the river, when the whitebait is in season. This little lark is a migratory bird, and flits from place to place in quest of anything worth picking up that may happen to be thrown to it. Finally, there is the street lark (_Alauda Nocturna_), which is known to most policemen in the neighbourhood of the Haymarket, and the like nocturnal haunts.

As a gratifying proof of our progressing civilisation, there has been of recent years a very marked decrease in the number of white mice, and monkeys dressed as soldiers, exhibited by organ-grinders in the London streets. Trained dogs appear, however, decidedly more numerous, and performing canaries may be met with not infrequently in the squares of the West End. The naturalist should note, moreover, that the learned British pig (_Porcus Sapiens Britannicus_) which, within the memory of men who are still living, used commonly to infest the fairs near the metropolis, has recently well nigh completely disappeared and is believed by sundry naturalists to be utterly extinct.

The rum shrub (_Shrubbus Curiosus_) which, although deserving of close investigation has somehow escaped mention in the pages of Linnæus, is found in great profusion in the purlieus of Whitechapel, as well as other parts of London where dram-drinkers do congregate. It may be generally discovered in proximity to the Pot-tree (_Arbor Pewteriferens_), which may be readily recognised by its metallic fruit.

The common cat of the metropolis (_Felis Catterwaulans_) is remarkable, especially for the exceeding frequency and shrillness of its cries when it goes upon the tiles, or proceeds to other spots of feline popular resort. Sleep becomes impossible within earshot of its yellings, and the injury they cause to property as well as human temper is immense. It has, indeed, been roughly estimated that thirty thousand water-jugs are annually sacrificed, within a circuit of not more than six miles from St. Paul's, by being hurled from bedroom windows with the aim to stop these squalling feline "Voices of the night."

A certain proof that oysters are amphibious may be noted in the fact that they always build their grottoes in the courts and the back streets of the metropolis where, in the month of August, with extravagant profusion, their shells are yearly cast.

The scarlet-coated lobster (_Le Homard Militaire_, Cuvier) has been frequently discovered on the shores of the Serpentine, or basking by the margin of the water in St. James's Park. This crustacean, when treated well, will drink like a fish, excepting that, unlike a fish, he does not confine himself to water for his drink. His shell (jacket) is of a bright red colour, which is not produced, as in the lobster species generally, by the agency of the caloric in the act of being boiled. The scarlet-coated lobster leads, while in London, a very peaceful life, notwithstanding his presumed propensities for fighting.

If we may credit the statistics which, with no slight labour, have been recently collected, no fewer than five million and eleven blue-bottles are annually slaughtered in the butchers' shops of London, before depositing their ova in the primest joints of meat. The number of the smaller flies which, merely in the City, are every year destroyed for buzzing round the bald heads of irritable bank clerks, amounts, it has been calculated, to one million three hundred thousand and thirteen.

* * * * *

FROM TAPLOW.--_First 'Arry._ I'll tell you a good name for a riverside inn--_"The Av-a-launch"._

_Second 'Arry._ I'll tell you a better--"The 'Ave-a-lunch." Come along!

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

SONGS FOR THE NATION

"[Greek: Lays are a luxury songs essential.]"

_'Arrystophanes._

It is evident that the nation is yearning for singable songs in the 'Arry dialect. The late lamented Artemus Ward would probably have said, "Let her yearn"; but a stern sense of duty impels me to try and meet the need, created by the _Daily Chronicle_. I have a comforting impression that all that is necessary to insure correctness is to "chinge" as many "a"s as possible into "i"s. By this means I secure the "local colouring," which, by the way, has undergone a complete change since Dickens spelt Weller "with a wee, my lord." A catchword, à propos of nothing, is always useful, so I have duly provided it.

'ARRY THE OPTIMIST

I. Oh! you should see My gal and me (Mariar is 'er nime), When we go daown To Brighton taown To 'ave a gorjus time.

She wears sich feathers in 'er 'at, She's beautiful and guy, But it ain't all beer and skittles--flat And 'ere's the reason why: _Refrine--_ She 'urries me, she worries me, To ketch the bloomin' trine; She 'ustles me, she bustles me, She grumbles 'arf the time: It's "'Arry do," and "'Arry don't," Which "'Arry" will, or "'Arry" won't (It goes against the grine), But-- (_Triumphantly._) We 'as a 'appy 'ollidy, We gets there all the sime. --'Urry up, 'Arry.

II.

And when we reach The Brighton beach It's sure to pour with rine A pub is not A 'appy spot For us to set and drine Yet there we set and tike our beer And while awy the dy, Though we don't 'ave words, no bloomin' fear Mariar 'as 'er sy. _Refrine--_ 'Er langwidge is for sangwidges, She's sorry that she cime; The weather's wrong, 'er feather's wrong, I 'as to tike the blime. It's "'Arry" 'ere, and "'Arry" there, And "'Arry, you're a bloomin' bear," And "'Arry, it's a shime"-- (_Spoken._)--Which is 'ard on a feller! And then we 'as to ketch the bloomin' trine again, and she _do_ talk, but never mind-- (_Brightly._) We've 'ad a 'appy 'ollidy, We gits 'ome all the sime. --'Urry up, 'Arry!

* * * * *

COCKNEY SPORT EXTRAORDINARY.

Well-known sporting character, residing at Putney, being unable to reach the moors this season, and having lost his gun, has lately amused himself by bringing down several brace of grouse by means of the Brompton omnibus.

* * * * *

AT THE ZOO. (A FACT).--_'Arriet (looking at the Java sparrows)._ Wot's them? Sparrerkeets?

_'Arry._ Sparrerkeets be 'anged--them's live 'umming birds.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

'ARRY ON HIS 'OLIDAY

_Being an epistle from that notorious and ubiquitous person, luxuriating for the time in rural parts, to his chum Charlie, confined in town._

Wha' cheer, my dear Charlie? 'Ow are yer? I promised I'd drop yer a line. I'm out on the trot for a fortnit; and ain't it golumpshusly fine? Bin dooing the swell pretty proper, I beg to assure yer, old man. Jest go it tip-top while you're at it, and blow the expense, is _my_ plan.

Bin took for a nob, and no error this time; which my tailor's A 1. The cut of these bags, sir, beats Poole _out of_ fits. (Are yer fly to the pun?) And this gridiron pattern in treacle and mustard is something uneek, As the girls--but there, Charlie, _you_ know me, and so there's no call for to speak.