Chapter 3

Yea, I will smite th' falt'ring, quiv'ring strings, And magazines shall buy my murky stunts; Too long I've held my hand to honest things, Too long I've borne rejections and affronts; Now will I be profound and recondite, Yea, working all th' symbols and th' "props;" Now will I write of "morn" and "yesternight;" Now will I gush great gobs of soulful slops.

Yea, I will smite! Grant me but "swerveless wynd," And I will pipe a cadence rife with thrills; With "nearness" and "foreverness" I'll bind A "downflung sheaf" of outslants, pæans and trills; Pass me th' "quenchless gleam of Titian hair," And eke th' "oozing forest's woozy clumps;" Now will I go upon a metric tear And smite th' lyre with great resounding thumps.

THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT.

W. M. THACKERAY.

The noble King of Brentford Was old and very sick, He summon'd his physicians To wait upon him quick: They stepp'd into their coaches And brought their best physick.

They cramm'd their gracious master With potion and with pill; They drenched him and they bled him: They could not cure his ill. "Go fetch," says he, "my lawyer; I'd better make my will."

The monarch's Royal mandate The lawyer did obey; The thought of six-and-eightpence Did make his heart full gay. "What is't," says he, "your Majesty Would wish of me to-day?"

"The doctors have belabour'd me With potion and with pill: My hours of life are counted, O man of tape and quill! Sit down and mend a pen or two; I want to make my will.

"O'er all the land of Brentford I'm lord, and eke of Kew: I've three-per-cents and five-per-cents; My debts are but a few; And to inherit after me I have but children two.

"Prince Thomas is my eldest son; A sober prince is he, And from the day we breech'd him Till now--he's twenty-three-- He never caused disquiet To his poor mamma or me.

"At school they never flogg'd him; At college, though not fast, Yet his little-go and great-go He creditably pass'd, And made his year's allowance For eighteen months to last.

"He never owed a shilling, Went never drunk to bed, He has not two ideas Within his honest head-- In all respects he differs From my second son, Prince Ned.

"When Tom has half his income Laid by at the year's end, Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver That rightly he may spend, But sponges on a tradesman, Or borrows from a friend.

"While Tom his legal studies Most soberly pursues, Poor Ned must pass his mornings A-dawdling with the Muse: While Tom frequents his banker, Young Ned frequents the Jews.

"Ned drives about in buggies, Tom sometimes takes a 'bus; Ah, cruel fate, why made you My children differ thus? Why make of Tom a _dullard_, And Ned a _genius_?'

"You'll cut him with a shilling," Exclaimed the man of writs: "I'll leave my wealth," said Brentford, "Sir Lawyer, as befits, And portion both their fortunes Unto their several wits."

"Your Grace knows best," the lawyer said; "On your commands I wait." "Be silent, sir," says Brentford, "A plague upon your prate! Come take your pen and paper, And write as I dictate."

The will as Brentford spoke it Was writ and signed and closed; He bade the lawyer leave him, And turn'd him round and dozed; And next week in the churchyard The good old King reposed.

Tom, dressed in crape and hatband, Of mourners was the chief; In bitter self-upbraidings Poor Edward showed his grief: Tom hid his fat white countenance In his pocket-handkerchief.

Ned's eyes were full of weeping, He falter'd in his walk; Tom never shed a tear, But onwards he did stalk, As pompous, black, and solemn As any catafalque.

And when the bones of Brentford-- That gentle King and just-- With bell and book and candle Were duly laid in dust, "Now, gentlemen," says Thomas, "Let business be discussed.

"When late our sire beloved Was taken deadly ill, Sir Lawyer, you attended him (I mean to tax your bill); And, as you signed and wrote it, I prithee read the will"

The lawyer wiped his spectacles, And drew the parchment out; And all the Brentford family Sat eager round about: Poor Ned was somewhat anxious, But Tom had ne'er a doubt.

"My son, as I make ready To seek my last long home, Some cares I have for Neddy, But none for thee, my Tom: Sobriety and order You ne'er departed from.

"Ned hath a brilliant genius, And thou a plodding brain; On thee I think with pleasure, On him with doubt and pain." ("You see, good Ned," says Thomas, "What he thought about us twain.")

"Though small was your allowance, You saved a little store; And those who save a little Shall get a plenty more." As the lawyer read this compliment, Tom's eyes were running o'er.

"The tortoise and the hare, Tom, Set out at each his pace; The hare it was the fleeter, The tortoise won the race; And since the world's beginning This ever was the case.

"Ned's genius, blithe and singing, Steps gaily o'er the ground; As steadily you trudge it, He clears it with a bound; But dulness has stout legs, Tom, And wind that's wondrous sound.

"O'er fruit and flowers alike, Tom, You pass with plodding feet; You heed not one nor t'other, But onwards go your beat; While genius stops to loiter With all that he may meet;

"And ever as he wanders, Will have a pretext fine For sleeping in the morning, Or loitering to dine, Or dozing in the shade, Or basking in the shine.

"Your little steady eyes, Tom, Though not so bright as those That restless round about him His flashing genius throws, Are excellently suited To look before your nose.

"Thank Heaven, then, for the blinkers It placed before your eyes; The stupidest are strongest, The witty are not wise; Oh, bless your good stupidity! It is your dearest prize.

"And though my lands are wide, And plenty is my gold, Still better gifts from Nature, My Thomas, do you hold-- A brain that's thick and heavy, A heart that's dull and cold.

"Too dull to feel depression, Too hard to heed distress, Too cold to yield to passion Or silly tenderness. March on--your road is open To wealth, Tom, and success.

"Ned sinneth in extravagance, And you in greedy lust." ("I' faith," says Ned, "our father Is less polite than just.") "In you, son Tom, I've confidence, But Ned I cannot trust.

"Wherefore my lease and copyholds, My lands and tenements, My parks, my farms, and orchards, My houses and my rents, My Dutch stock and my Spanish stock, My five and three per cents,

"I leave to you, my Thomas"-- ("What, all?" poor Edward said, "Well, well, I should have spent them, And Tom's a prudent head ")-- "I leave to you, my Thomas,-- To you IN TRUST for Ned."

The wrath and consternation What poet e'er could trace That at this fatal passage Came o'er Prince Tom his face; The wonder of the company, And honest Ned's amaze?

"'Tis surely some mistake," Good-naturedly cries Ned; The lawyer answered gravely, "'Tis even as I said; 'Twas thus his gracious Majesty Ordain'd on his death-bed.

"See, here the will is witness'd And here's his autograph." "In truth, our father's writing," Says Edward with a laugh; "But thou shalt not be a loser, Tom; We'll share it half and half."

"Alas! my kind young gentleman, This sharing cannot be; 'Tis written in the testament That Brentford spoke to me, 'I do forbid Prince Ned to give Prince Tom a halfpenny.

"'He hath a store of money, But ne'er was known to lend it; He never helped his brother; The poor he ne'er befriended; He hath no need of property Who knows not how to spend it.

"'Poor Edward knows but how to spend, And thrifty Tom to hoard; Let Thomas be the steward then, And Edward be the lord; And as the honest labourer Is worthy his reward,

"'I pray Prince Ned, my second son, And my successor dear, To pay to his intendant Five hundred pounds a year; And to think of his old father, And live and make good cheer.'"

Such was old Brentford's honest testament. He did devise his moneys for the best, And lies in Brentford church in peaceful rest. Prince Edward lived, and money made and spent; But his good sire was wrong, it is confess'd, To say his son, young Thomas, never lent. He did. Young Thomas lent at interest, And nobly took his twenty-five per cent.

Long time the famous reign of Ned endured O'er Chiswick, Fulham, Brentford, Putney, Kew, But of extravagance he ne'er was cured. And when both died, as mortal men will do, 'Twas commonly reported that the steward Was very much the richer of the two.

UNIVERSALLY RESPECTED.

BY J. BRUNTON STEPHENS.

I.

Biggs was missing: Biggs had vanished; all the town was in a ferment; For if ever man was looked to for an edifying end, With due mortuary outfit, and a popular interment, It was Biggs, the universal guide, philosopher, and friend.

But the man had simply vanished; speculation wove no tissue That would hold a drop of water; each new theory fell flat. It was most unsatisfactory, and hanging on the issue Were a thousand wagers ranging from a pony to a hat.

Not a trace could search discover in the township or without it, And the river had been dragged from morn till night with no avail. His continuity had ceased, and that was all about it, And there wasn't ev'n a grease-spot left behind to tell the tale.

That so staid a man as Biggs was should be swallowed up in mystery Lent an increment to wonder--he who trod no doubtful paths, But stood square to his surroundings, with no cloud upon his history, As the much-respected lessee of the Corporation Baths.

His affairs were all in order; since the year the alligator With a startled river bather made attempt to coalesce, The resulting wave of decency had greater grown and greater, And the Corporation Baths had been a marvellous success.

Nor could trouble in the household solve the riddle of his clearance, For his bride was now in heaven, and the issue of the match Was a patient drudge whose virtues were as plain as her appearance-- Just the sort whereto no scandal could conceivably attach.

So the Whither and the Why alike mysterious were counted; And as Faith steps in to aid where baffled Reason must retire, There were those averred so good a man as Biggs might well have mounted Up to glory like Elijah in a chariot of fire!

For indeed he was a good man; when he sat beside the portal Of the Bath-house at his pigeon-hole, a saint within a frame, We used to think his face was as the face of an immortal, As he handed us our tickets, and took payment for the same.

And, Oh, the sweet advice with which he made of such occasion A duplicate detergent for our morals and our limbs-- For he taught us that decorum was the essence of salvation, And that cleanliness and godliness were merely synonyms;

But that open-air ablution in the river was a treason To the purer instincts, fit for dogs and aborigines, And that wrath at such misconduct was the providential reason For the jaws of alligators and the tails of stingarees.

But, alas, our friend was gone, our guide, philosopher, and tutor, And we doubled our potations, just to clear the inner view; But we only saw the darklier through the bottom of the pewter, And the mystery seemed likewise to be multiplied by two.

And the worst was that our failure to unriddle the enigma In the "rags" of rival towns was made a byword and a scoff, Till each soul in the community felt branded with the stigma Of the unexplained suspicion of poor Biggs's taking off.

So a dozen of us rose and swore this thing should be no longer: Though the means that Nature furnished had been tried without result, There were forces supersensual that higher were and stronger, And with consentaneous clamour we pronounced for the occult.

Then Joe Thomson slung a tenner, and Jack Robinson a tanner, And each according to his means respectively disbursed; And a letter in your humble servant's most seductive manner Was despatched to Sludge the Medium, recently of Darlinghurst.

II.

"I am Biggs," the spirit said ('twas through the medium's lips he said it; But the voice that spoke, the accent, too, were Biggs's very own, Be it, therefore, not set down to our unmerited discredit, That collectively we sickened as we recognised the tone).

"From a saurian interior, Christian friends, I now address you"-- (And "Oh heaven!" or its correlative, groaned shuddering we)-- "While there yet remains a scrap of my identity, for, bless you, This ungodly alligator's fast assimilating me.

"For although through nine abysmal days I've fought with his digestion, Being hostile to his processes and loth to pulpify, It is rapidly becoming a most complicated question How much of me is crocodile, how much of him is I.

"And, Oh, my friends, 'tis sorrow's crown of sorrow to remember That this sacrilegious reptile owed me nought but gratitude, For I bought him from a showman twenty years since come November, And I dropped him in the river for his own and others' good.

"It had grieved me that the spouses of our townsmen, and their daughters, Should be shocked by river bathers and their indecorous ways, So I cast my bread, that is, my alligator, on the waters, And I found it, in a credit balance, after many days.

"Years I waited, but at last there came the rumour long-expected, And the out-of-door ablutionists forsook their wicked paths, And the issues of my handiwork divinely were directed In a constant flow of custom to the Corporation Baths.

"'Twas a weakling when I bought it; 'twas so young that you could pet it; But with all its disadvantages I reckoned it would do; And it did: Oh, lay the moral well to heart and don't forget it-- Put decorum first, and all things shall be added unto you.

"Lies! all lies! I've done with virtue. Why should _I_ be interested In the cause of moral progress that I served so long in vain, When the fifteen hundred odd I've so judiciously invested Will but go to pay the debts of some young rip who marries Jane?

"But the reptile overcomes me; my identity is sinking; Let me hasten to the finish; let my words be few and fit. I was walking by the river in the starry silence, thinking Of what Providence had done for me, and I had done for it;

"I had reached the saurian's rumoured haunt, where oft in fatal folly I had dropped garotted dogs to keep his carnal craving up" (Said Joe Thomson, in a whisper, "That explains my Highland colley!" Said Bob Williams, _sotto voce_, "That explains my Dandy pup!").

"I had passed to moral questions, and found comfort in the notion That fools are none the worse for things not being what they seem, When, behold, a seeming log became instinct with life and motion, And with sudden curvature of tail upset me in the stream.

"Then my leg, as in a vice"--but here the revelation faltered, And the medium rose and shook himself, remarking with a smile That the requisite conditions were irrevocably altered, For the personality of Biggs was lost in crocodile.

Now, whether Sludge's story would succeed in holding water Is more, perhaps, than one has any business to suspect; But I know that on the strength of it I married Biggs's daughter, And I found a certain portion of the narrative correct.

THE AMENITIES OF SHOPPING.

BY LEOPOLD WAGNER.

If there is one thing I do dislike, it is to go into a draper's shop. To my mind, it is not a man's business at all; it is one essentially feminine. I have never been able to reconcile, myself to the troublesome formalities one has to go through in these marts of female finery; there seems to be no such thing as to pop inside for a trifling article, lay down your money for it, and get away again. No; the system of trade pursued at such establishments is undoubtedly to get you to sit down, with leisure to look about you, and coax you into buying things you don't want.

Years ago, when I was living in lonely lodgings, I had occasion one Saturday night to slip into the nearest draper's shop for some pins. "I only want a farthing's worth of pins," I observed, apologetically, to the bald-headed shopwalker who pounced down upon me. "Please to step this way." To my astonishment he marched me to the extreme end of the shop, thence through an opening in the side wall, past another long double row of dames and damsels of all sorts and sizes making purchases, and finally referred me to a young lady whose special function in life seemed to consist in selling pins to adventurous young gentlemen like myself. She was an extremely good looking young lady too, and I felt considerably embarrassed at the insignificance of my purchase. "And the next thing, please?" she asked, during the wrapping-up process. I informed her, as politely as I could, that I did not require anything more.

"Gloves, handkerchiefs, collars, shirts, neckties--?"

"No thank you," I returned, "I only came in for the pins." But I was not to be let off so easily.

Utterly ignoring the humble penny that I had laid down on the counter, she showed me samples of almost everything in the shop suitable for male wear. Blushing to the roots of my hair, I implored her to spare herself further trouble, as my wardrobe was already extensive. Then she showed me a sample silk umbrella. I was unwilling to rush away abruptly from the presence of such a charming young lady, but she provoked me to it; indeed, I was only prevented from carrying out my design by my failure to discern the hole in the wall through which I had been inveigled into that department. "If you would be so good as to give me my change," I stammered out, feeling heartily ashamed at the thought of wanting the change at all. "Certainly sir." Then she proceeded to make out the bill. "Oh, never mind about the bill," I said, "I'm rather in a hurry." Of this appeal she took no notice. "Sign, please," she said to the young lady at her elbow. "Pins, one farthing," she added to my utter confusion. The second young lady made a wild flourish over the bill with her pencil and turned away. My fair tormentor slowly wrapped my penny in the bill, screwed up the whole inside a large wooden ball, jerked a dangling cord at her elbow, then stood looking me straight in the face as the ball went rolling along a set of tramway lines over our heads to the other end of the shop. That was the most melancholy game at skittles I ever took part in. It seemed an age before the ball came back to us, whereupon the young lady took out the bill and my change--a halfpenny. "We haven't a farthing in the place," she said innocently, "What else will you take for it?" "Oh, it doesn't matter at all," I returned, anxious only to rush away from the spot--which I did. It was a good quarter-of-an-hour before I gained the street. During that interval, I strayed into the carpet department, upset an old lady, fell sprawling over a chair, rushed into the arms of the shopwalker, knocked down a huge stack of flannels, trod on some unfortunate young fellow's corn, making him howl with pain, and last, not least, ran foul of a perambulator laden with a baby and the usual Saturday night's marketing in the doorway.

I entered that shop full of hope and promise; I left it a melancholy man.

Though not quite so exciting as the foregoing, there is an intimate connection between that incident and the one I shall now dwell upon. Let me tell the tale as I told it to my wife. The other day I brought home a neat little Japanese basket--a mere knick-knack, costing only twopence. "Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed my wife. "Wherever did you get this?" "I bought it at a large shop in Regent Street," I answered, "but it cost me a great deal of trouble to get it." Pressed for particulars, I continued:

"I was amusing myself by looking at the shops, when I saw a lot of these little Japanese baskets in the corner of a large window, plainly marked twopence each. So I stepped inside to buy one. The door was promptly opened for me by a black boy, resplendent in gold-faced livery. He made me a profound salaam, as a gentleman of aristocratic bearing came forward to meet me. 'And what may I have the pleasure of showing you?' he inquired. 'Oh!' I returned, not without some misgivings, 'I only want one of those little Japanese baskets which you have in one corner of the window, marked, I believe, twopence each.' 'Certainly, sir. Will you be so kind as to step into this department?' he said.