Part 13

And O, if perchance there should be a sphere Where all is made right which so puzzles us here, Where the glare and the glitter and tinsel of Time Fade and die in the light of that region sublime, Where the soul, disenchanted of flesh and of sense, Unscreened by its trappings and shows and pretence, Must be clothed for the life and the service above, With purity, truth, faith, meekness, and love; O daughters of Earth! foolish virgins, beware! Lest in that upper realm you have nothing to wear!

WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.

THE SEA.

She was rich and of high degree; A poor and unknown artist he. "Paint me," she said, "a view of the sea."

So he painted the sea as it looked the day That Aphroditè arose from its spray; And it broke, as she gazed on its face the while, Into its countless-dimpled smile. "What a poky, stupid picture!" said she: "I don't believe he _can_ paint the sea!"

Then he painted a raging, tossing sea, Storming, with fierce and sudden shock, A towering, mighty fastness-rock;-- In its sides, above those leaping crests, The thronging sea-birds built their nests. "What a disagreeable daub!" said she: "Why, it isn't anything like the sea!"

Then he painted a stretch of hot brown sand, With a big hotel on either hand, And a handsome pavilion for the band;-- Not a sign of water to be seen, Except one faint little streak of green. "What a perfectly exquisite picture!" said she: "It's the very _image_ of the sea!"

EVA L. OGDEN.

THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE.

A LEGEND OF GOTHAM.

O, terribly proud was Miss MacBride, The very personification of pride, As she minced along in fashion's tide, Adown Broadway--on the proper side-- When the golden sun was setting; There was pride in the head she carried so high, Pride in her lip, and pride in her eye, And a world of pride in the very sigh That her stately bosom was fretting!

O, terribly proud was Miss MacBride, Proud of her beauty, and proud of her pride, And proud of fifty matters beside-- That wouldn't have borne dissection; Proud of her wit, and proud of her walk, Proud of her teeth, and proud of her talk, Proud of "knowing cheese from chalk," On a very slight inspection!

Proud abroad, and proud at home, Proud wherever she chanced to come-- When she was glad, and when she was glum; Proud as the head of a Saracen Over the door of a tippling-shop!-- Proud as a duchess, proud as a fop, "Proud as a boy with a brand-new top," Proud beyond comparison!

It seems a singular thing to say, But her very senses led her astray Respecting all humility; In sooth, her dull auricular drum Could find in _humble_ only a "hum," And heard no sound of "gentle" come, In talking about gentility.

What _lowly_ meant she didn't know, For she always avoided "everything low," With care the most punctilious; And, queerer still, the audible sound Of "super-silly" she never had found In the adjective supercilious!

The meaning of _meek_ she never knew, But imagined the phrase had something to do With "Moses," a peddling German Jew, Who, like all hawkers, the country through, Was "a person of no position;" And it seemed to her exceedingly plain, If the word was really known to pertain To a vulgar German, it wasn't germane To a lady of high condition!

Even her graces--not her grace-- For that was in the "vocative case"-- Chilled with the touch of her icy face, Sat very stiffly upon her! She never confessed a favor aloud, Like one of the simple, common crowd-- But coldly smiled, and faintly bowed, As who should say, "You do me proud, And do yourself an honor!"

And yet the pride of Miss MacBride, Although it had fifty hobbies to ride, Had really no foundation; But, like the fabrics that gossips devise-- Those single stories that often arise And grow till they reach a four-story size-- Was merely a fancy creation!

Her birth, indeed, was uncommonly high-- For Miss MacBride first opened her eye Through a skylight dim, on the light of the sky; But pride is a curious passion-- And in talking about her wealth and worth, She always forgot to mention her birth To people of rank and fashion!

Of all the notable things on earth, The queerest one is pride of birth Among our "fierce democracie"! A bridge across a hundred years, Without a prop to save it from sneers,-- Not even a couple of rotten _peers_,-- A thing for laughter, fleers, and jeers, Is American aristocracy!

English and Irish, French and Spanish, German, Italian, Dutch and Danish, Crossing their veins until they vanish In one conglomeration! So subtle a tangle of blood, indeed, No Heraldry Harvey will ever succeed In finding the circulation.

Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, Your family thread you can't ascend, Without good reason to apprehend You may find it waxed, at the farther end, By some plebeian vocation! Or, worse than that, your boasted line May end in a loop of _stronger_ twine, That plagued some worthy relation!

But Miss MacBride had something beside Her lofty birth to nourish her pride-- For rich was the old paternal MacBride, According to public rumor; And he lived "up town," in a splendid square, And kept his daughter on dainty fare, And gave her gems that were rich and rare, And the finest rings and things to wear, And feathers enough to plume her.

A thriving tailor begged her hand, But she gave "the fellow" to understand, By a violent manual action, She perfectly scorned the best of his clan, And reckoned the ninth of any man An exceedingly vulgar fraction!

Another, whose sign was a golden boot, Was mortified with a bootless suit, In a way that was quite appalling; For, though a regular _sutor_ by trade, He wasn't a suitor to suit the maid, Who cut him off with a saw--and bade "The cobbler keep to his calling!"

A rich tobacconist comes and sues, And, thinking the lady would scarce refuse A man of his wealth, and liberal views, Began, at once, with "If you _choose_-- And could you really love him--" But the lady spoiled his speech in a huff, With an answer rough and ready enough, To let him know she was up to snuff, And altogether above him!

A young attorney, of winning grace, Was scarce allowed to "open his face," Ere Miss MacBride had closed his case With true judicial celerity; For the lawyer was poor, and "seedy" to boot, And to say the lady discarded his suit, Is merely a double verity!

The last of those who came to court, Was a lively beau, of the dapper sort, "Without any visible means of support," A crime by no means flagrant In one who wears an elegant coat, But the very point on which they vote A ragged fellow "a vagrant!"

Now dapper Jim his courtship plied (I wish the fact could be denied) With an eye to the purse of the old MacBride, And really "nothing shorter!" For he said to himself, in his greedy lust, "Whenever he dies--as die he must-- And yields to Heaven his vital trust, He's very sure to 'come down with his dust,' In behalf of his only daughter."

And the very magnificent Miss MacBride, Half in love, and half in pride, Quite graciously relented; And, tossing her head, and turning her back, No token of proper pride to lack-- To be a bride, without the "Mac," With much disdain, consented!

Old John MacBride, one fatal day, Became the unresisting prey Of fortune's undertakers; And staking all on a single die, His foundered bark went high and dry Among the brokers and breakers!

But, alas, for the haughty Miss MacBride, 'T was such a shock to her precious pride! She couldn't recover, although she tried Her jaded spirits to rally; 'T was a dreadful change in human affairs, From a place "up town" to a nook "up stairs," From an avenue down to an alley!

'T was little condolence she had, God wot, From her "troops of friends," who hadn't forgot The airs she used to borrow! They had civil phrases enough, but yet 'T was plain to see that their "deepest regret" Was a different thing from sorrow!

And one of those chaps who make a pun, As if it were quite legitimate fun To be blazing away at every one With a regular, double-loaded gun-- Remarked that moral transgression Always brings retributive stings To candle-makers as well as kings; For "making light of _cereous_ things" Was a very _wick_-ed profession!

And vulgar people--the saucy churls-- Inquired about "the price of pearls," And mocked at her situation: "She wasn't ruined--they ventured to hope-- Because she was poor, she needn't mope; Few people were better off for _soap_, And that was a consolation!"

And to make her cup of woe run over, Her elegant, ardent plighted lover Was the very first to forsake her; "He quite regretted the step, 't was true-- The lady had pride enough 'for two,' But that alone would never do To quiet the butcher and baker!"

And now the unhappy Miss MacBride-- The merest ghost of her early pride-- Bewails her lonely position; Cramped in the very narrowest niche, Above the poor, and below the rich-- Was ever a worse condition!

MORAL.

Because you flourish in worldly affairs, Don't be haughty, and put on airs, With insolent pride of station! Don't be proud, and turn up your nose At poorer people in plainer clothes, But learn, for the sake of your mind's repose, That wealth 's a bubble that comes--and goes! And that all proud flesh, wherever it grows, Is subject to irritation!

JOHN GODFREY SAXE.

ON AN OLD MUFF.

Time has a magic wand! What is this meets my hand, Moth-eaten, mouldy, and Covered with fluff, Faded and stiff and scant? Can it be? no, it can't,-- Yes,--I declare 't is Aunt Prudence's Muff!

Years ago--twenty-three! Old Uncle Barnaby Gave it to Aunty P., Laughing and teasing,-- "Pru. of the breezy curls, Whisper these solemn churls, _What holds a pretty girl's Hand without squeezing?_"

Uncle was then a lad, Gay, but, I grieve to add, Gone to what's called "the bad,"-- Smoking,--and worse! Sleek sable then was this Muff, lined with _pinkiness_,-- Bloom to which beauty is Seldom averse.

I see in retrospect Aunt, in her best bedecked, Gliding, with mien erect, Gravely to meeting: Psalm-book, and kerchief new, Peeped from the Muff of Pru., Young men--and pious, too-- Giving her greeting.

Pure was the life she led Then: from her Muff, 't is said, Tracts she distributed;-- Scapegraces many, Seeing the grace they lacked, Followed her; one attacked Prudence, and got his tract, Oftener than any!

Love has a potent spell! Soon this bold ne'er-do-well, Aunt's sweet susceptible Heart undermining, Slipped, so the scandal runs, Notes in the pretty nun's Muff,--triple-cornered ones,-- Pink as its lining!

Worse, even, soon the jade Fled (to oblige her blade!) Whilst her friends thought that they 'd Locked her up tightly: After such shocking games, Aunt is of wedded dames Gayest,--and now her name's Mrs. Golightly.

In female conduct flaw Sadder I never saw, Still I've faith in the law Of compensation. Once uncle went astray,-- Smoked, joked, and swore away; Sworn by, he 's now, by a Large congregation!

Changed is the child of sin; Now he 's (he once was thin) Grave, with a double chin,-- Blest be his fat form! Changed is the garb he wore: Preacher was never more Prized than is uncle for Pulpit or platform.

If all's as best befits Mortals of slender wits, Then beg this Muff, and its Fair owner pardon; _All's for the best_,--indeed, Such is my simple creed; Still I must go and weed Hard in my garden.

FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON

HOW PADDY GOT "UNDER GOVERNMENT."

A place under Government Was all that Paddy wanted. He married soon a scolding wife, And thus his wish was granted.

ANONYMOUS.

II.

MISCELLANEOUS.

SAINT ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE FISHES.

Saint Anthony at church Was left in the lurch, So he went to the ditches And preached to the fishes; They wriggled their tails, In the sun glanced their scales.

The carps, with their spawn, Are all hither drawn; Have opened their jaws, Eager for each clause. No sermon beside Had the carps so edified.

Sharp-snouted pikes, Who keep fighting like tikes, Now swam up harmonious To hear Saint Antonius. No sermon beside Had the pikes so edified.

And that very odd fish, Who loves fast-days, the cod-fish,-- The stock-fish, I mean,-- At the sermon was seen. No sermon beside Had the cods so edified.

Good eels and sturgeon, Which aldermen gorge on, Went out of their way To hear preaching that day. No sermon beside Had the eels so edified.

Crabs and turtles also, Who always move slow, Made haste from the bottom, As if the Devil had got 'em. No sermon beside Had the crabs so edified.

Fish great and fish small, Lords, lackeys, and all, Each looked at the preacher Like a reasonable creature: At God's word, They Anthony heard.

The sermon now ended, Each turned and descended; The pikes went on stealing, The eels went on eeling: Much delighted were they, But preferred the old way.

The crabs are backsliders, The stock-fish thick-siders, The carps are sharp-set; All the sermon forget: Much delighted were they, But preferred the old way.

ANONYMOUS.

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.

FROM "PERCY'S RELIQUES."

An ancient story I'll tell you anon Of a notable prince that was called King John; And he ruled England with main and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintained little right.

And I'll tell you a story, a story so merry, Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury; How for his house-keeping and high renowne, They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men the king did heare say, The abbot kept in his house every day; And fifty golde chaynes without any doubt, In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

"How now, father abbot, I hear it of thee, Thou keepest a farre better house than mee; And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, I feare thou work'st treason against my crowne."

"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were knowne I never spend nothing, but what is my owne; And I trust your grace will doe me no deere, For spending of my owne true-gotten geere."

"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, And now for the same thou needest must dye; For except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

"And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead, With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

"Secondly, tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride the whole world about; And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what I do think."

"O these are hard questions for my shallow witt. Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet: But if you will give me but three weeks' space, Ile do my endeavor to answer your grace."

"Now three weeks' space to thee will I give, And that is the longest time thou hast to live; For if thou dost not answer my questions three, Thy lands and the livings are forfeit to mee."

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford; But never a doctor there was so wise, That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, And he met his shepheard a-going to fold: "How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home; What news do you bring us from good King John?"

"Sad news, sad news, shepheard, I must give, That I have but three days more to live; For if I do not answer him questions three, My head will be smitten from my bodie.

"The first is to tell him, there in that stead, With his crowne of golde so fair on his head, Among all his liege-men so noble of birth, To within one penny of what he is worth.

"The seconde, to tell him without any doubt, How soone he may ride this whole world about; And at the third question I must not shrinke, But tell him there truly what he does thinke."

"Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet, That a fool he may learne a wise man witt? Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel, And He ride to London to answere youre quarrel.

"Nay, frowne not, if it hath bin told unto me, I am like your lordship, as ever may be; And if you will but lend me your gowne, There is none shall know us at fair London towne."

"Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have. With sumptuous array most gallant and brave, With crozier, and mitre, and rochet, and cope, Fit to appear 'fore our fader the pope."

"Now welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say, "'T is well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day: For and if thou canst answer my questions three, Thy life and thy living both saved shall be.

"And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, With my crowne of golde so fair on my head, Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, Tell me to one penny what I am worthe."

"For thirty pence our Saviour was sold Among the false Jews, as I have bin told, And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, For I thinke thou art one penny worser than he."

The king he laughed, and swore by Saint Bittel, "I did not think I had been worth so littel! --Now secondly tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride this whole world about."

"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same Until the next morning he riseth againe; And then your grace need not make any doubt But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."

The king he laughed, and swore by Saint Jone, "I did not think it could be gone so soone! --Now from the third question thou must not shrinke, But tell me here truly what I do thinke."

"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry; You thinke I'm the Abbot of Canterbury; But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see, That am come to beg pardon for him and for me."

The king he laughed, and swore by the Masse, "Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!" "Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede, For alacke I can neither write ne reade."

"Four nobles a week then I will give thee, For this merry jest thou hast showne unto me; And tell the old abbot when thou comest home, Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John."

ANONYMOUS.

GLUGGITY GLUG.

FROM "THE MYRTLE AND THE VINE."

A jolly fat friar loved liquor good store, And he had drunk stoutly at supper; He mounted his horse in the night at the door, And sat with his face to the crupper: "Some rogue," quoth the friar, "quite dead to remorse, Some thief, whom a halter will throttle, Some scoundrel has cut off the head of my horse, While I was engaged at the bottle, Which went gluggity, gluggity--glug--glug--glug."

The tail of the steed pointed south on the dale, 'Twas the friar's road home, straight and level; But, when spurred, a horse follows his nose, not his tail, So he scampered due north, like a devil: "This new mode of docking," the friar then said, "I perceive doesn't make a horse trot ill; And 't is cheap,--for he never can eat off his head While I am engaged at the bottle, Which goes gluggity, gluggity--glug--glug--glug."

The steed made a stop,--in a pond he had got, He was rather for drinking than grazing; Quoth the friar, "'Tis strange headless horses should trot, But to drink with their tails is amazing!" Turning round to see whence this phenomenon rose, In the pond fell this son of a pottle; Quoth he, "The head's found, for I'm under his nose,-- I wish I were over a bottle, Which goes gluggity, gluggity--glug--glug--glug!"

GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER.

I AM A FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

FROM THE OPERA OF "ROBIN HOOD."

I am a friar of orders gray, And down in the valleys I take my way; I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip,-- Good store of venison fills my scrip; My long bead-roll I merrily chant; Where'er I walk no money I want; And why I'm so plump the reason I tell,-- Who leads a good life is sure to live well. What baron or squire, Or knight of the shire, Lives half so well as a holy friar?

After supper of heaven I dream, But that is a pullet and clouted cream; Myself, by denial, I mortify-- With a dainty bit of a warden-pie; I'm clothed in sackcloth for my sin,-- With old sack wine I'm lined within; A chirping cup is my matin song, And the vesper's bell is my bowl, ding dong. What baron or squire, Or knight of the shire, Lives half so well as a holy friar?

JOHN O'KEEFFE.

GOOD ALE.

I cannot eat but little meat,-- My stomach is not good; But, sure, I think that I can drink With him that wears a hood. Though I go bare, take ye no care; I nothing am a-cold,-- I stuff my skin so full within Of jolly good ale and old. _Back and side go bare, go bare; Both foot and hand go cold; But, belly, God send thee good ale enough, Whether it be new or old!_

I love no roast but a nut-brown toast, And a crab laid in the fire; A little bread shall do me stead,-- Much bread I not desire. No frost, nor snow, nor wind, I trow, Can hurt me if I wold,-- I am so wrapt, and thorowly lapt Of jolly good ale and old. _Back and side_, etc.

And Tyb, my wife, that as her life Loveth well good ale to seek, Full oft drinks she, till you may see The tears run down her cheek; Then doth she trowl to me the bowl, Even as a malt-worm should; And saith, "Sweetheart, I took my part Of this jolly good ale and old." _Back and side_, etc.

Now let them drink till they nod and wink, Even as good fellows should do; They shall not miss to have the bliss Good ale doth bring men to; And all poor souls that have scoured bowls, Or have them lustily trowled, God save the lives of them and their wives, Whether they be young or old! _Back and side go bare, go bare; Both foot and hand go cold; But, belly, God send thee good ale enough, Whether it be new or old!_

JOHN STILL.

THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS.

A brace of sinners, for no good, Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's shrine, Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood, And in a fair white wig looked wondrous fine. Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel, With something in their shoes much worse than gravel; In short, their toes so gentle to amuse, The priest had ordered peas into their shoes: A nostrum famous in old popish times For purifying souls that stunk of crimes: A sort of apostolic salt, Which popish parsons for its powers exalt, For keeping souls of sinners sweet, Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.

The knaves set off on the same day, Peas in their shoes, to go and pray; But very different was their speed, I wot: One of the sinners galloped on, Swift as a bullet from a gun; The other limped, as if he had been shot. One saw the Virgin soon, Peccavi cried, Had his soul whitewashed all so clever; Then home again he nimbly hied, Made fit with saints above to live forever.