The Bab Ballads, with Which Are Included Songs of a Savoyard

Published by Good Press, 2019

goodpress@okpublishing.info

EAN 4064066182977

Table of Contents

CAPTAIN REECE

THE DARNED MOUNSEER

THE RIVAL CURATES

THE ENGLISHMAN

ONLY A DANCING GIRL

THE DISAGREEABLE MAN

GENERAL JOHN

THE COMING BY-AND-BY

TO A LITTLE MAID

BY A POLICEMAN

THE HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIER

JOHN AND FREDDY

THE FAIRY QUEEN'S SONG

SIR GUY THE CRUSADER

IS LIFE A BOON

HAUNTED

THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL

THE BISHOP AND THE 'BUSMAN

THE HEAVY DRAGOON

THE TROUBADOUR

PROPER PRIDE

FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA OR, THE GENTLE PIEMAN

PART I

PART II

THE POLICEMAN'S LOT

LORENZO DE LARDY

THE BAFFLED GRUMBLER

DISILLUSIONED

BY AN EX-ENTHUSIAST

THE HOUSE OF PEERS

BABETTE'S LOVE

A MERRY MADRIGAL

TO MY BRIDE

(WHOEVER SHE MAY BE)

THE DUKE AND THE DUCHESS

THE FOLLY OF BROWN

By a General Agent

EHEU FUGACES—!

SIR MACKLIN

THEY'LL NONE OF 'EM BE MISSED

THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"

GIRL GRADUATES

THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO

BRAID THE RAVEN HAIR

THE PRECOCIOUS BABY

A VERY TRUE TALE

THE WORKING MONARCH

TO PHŒBE

THE APE AND THE LADY

BAINES CAREW, GENTLEMAN

ONLY ROSES

THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE

THE ROVER'S APOLOGY

A DISCONTENTED SUGAR BROKER

AN APPEAL

THE PANTOMIME "SUPER" TO HIS MASK

THE REWARD OF MERIT

THE GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN

THE MAGNET AND THE CHURN

KING BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO

THE FAMILY FOOL

THE PERIWINKLE GIRL

SANS SOUCI

THOMSON GREEN AND HARRIET HALE

A RECIPE

BOB POLTER

THE MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID

ELLEN M'JONES ABERDEEN

THE SUSCEPTIBLE CHANCELLOR

PETER THE WAG

WHEN A MERRY MAIDEN MARRIES

THE THREE KINGS OF CHICKERABOO

THE BRITISH TAR

GENTLE ALICE BROWN

A MAN WHO WOULD WOO A FAIR MAID

THE SORCERER'S SONG

THE BUMBOAT WOMAN'S STORY

THE FICKLE BREEZE

THE TWO OGRES

THE FIRST LORD'S SONG

LITTLE OLIVER

Ballad

MISTER WILLIAM

WOULD YOU KNOW?

PASHA BAILEY BEN

LIEUTENANT-COLONEL FLARE

SPECULATION

AH ME!

LOST MR. BLAKE

THE DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO

THE BABY'S VENGEANCE

THE ÆSTHETE

THE CAPTAIN AND THE MERMAIDS

SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I

ANNIE PROTHEROE

A LEGEND OF STRATFORD-LE-BOW

SORRY HER LOT

AN UNFORTUNATE LIKENESS

THE CONTEMPLATIVE SENTRY

GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.

THE PHILOSOPHIC PILL

THE KING OF CANOODLE-DUM

BLUE BLOOD

FIRST LOVE

THE JUDGE'S SONG

BRAVE ALUM BEY

WHEN I FIRST PUT THIS UNIFORM ON

SIR BARNABY BAMPTON BOO

SOLATIUM

THE MODEST COUPLE

A NIGHTMARE

THE MARTINET

DON'T FORGET!

THE SAILOR BOY TO HIS LASS

THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE

THE REVEREND SIMON MAGUS

HE AND SHE

DAMON v. PYTHIAS

THE MIGHTY MUST

MY DREAM

A MIRAGE

THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO AGAIN

THE GHOSTS' HIGH NOON

A WORM WILL TURN

THE HUMANE MIKADO

THE HAUGHTY ACTOR

THE DREAM

WILLOW WALY!

THE TWO MAJORS

LIFE IS LOVELY ALL THE YEAR

EMILY, JOHN, JAMES, AND I

A DERBY LEGEND

THE USHER'S CHARGE

THE PERILS OF INVISIBILITY

THE GREAT OAK TREE

OLD PAUL AND OLD TIM

KING GOODHEART

THE MYSTIC SELVAGEE

SLEEP ON!

THE CUNNING WOMAN

THE LOVE-SICK BOY

PHRENOLOGY

POETRY EVERYWHERE

THE FAIRY CURATE

HE LOVES!

THE WAY OF WOOING

TRUE DIFFIDENCE

HONGREE AND MAHRY

A RICHARDSONIAN MELODRAMA

THE TANGLED SKEIN

THE REVEREND MICAH SOWLS

MY LADY

ONE AGAINST THE WORLD

THE FORCE OF ARGUMENT

PUT A PENNY IN THE SLOT

GOOD LITTLE GIRLS

THE PHANTOM CURATE

A FABLE

LIFE

LIMITED LIABILITY

THE SENSATION CAPTAIN

ANGLICISED UTOPIA

AN ENGLISH GIRL

TEMPORA MUTANTUR

A MANAGER'S PERPLEXITIES

OUT OF SORTS

AT A PANTOMIME

BY A BILIOUS ONE

HOW IT'S DONE

A CLASSICAL REVIVAL

THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB

THE PRACTICAL JOKER

THE NATIONAL ANTHEM

JOE GOLIGHTLY

OR, THE FIRST LORD'S DAUGHTER

HER TERMS

THE INDEPENDENT BEE

TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE

BY A MISERABLE WRETCH

ETIQUETTE [12]

THE DISCONCERTED TENOR

BEN ALLAH ACHMET;

OR, THE FATAL TUM

THE PLAYED-OUT HUMORIST

---

THE BAB BALLADS

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CAPTAIN REECE

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Of all the ships upon the blue

No ship contained a better crew

Than that of worthy Captain Reece,

Commanding of The Mantelpiece.

He was adored by all his men,

For worthy Captain Reece, R.N.,

Did all that lay within him to

Promote the comfort of his crew.

If ever they were dull or sad,

Their captain danced to them like mad,

Or told, to make the time pass by.

Droll legends of his infancy.

A feather bed had every man,

Warm slippers and hot-water can,

Brown Windsor from the captain's store,

A valet, too, to every four.

Did they with thirst in summer burn?

Lo, seltzogenes at every turn,

And on all very sultry days

Cream ices handed round on trays.

Then currant wine and ginger pops

Stood handily on all the "tops";

And, also, with amusement rife,

A "Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life."

New volumes came across the sea

From Mister Mudie's libraree;

The Times and Saturday Review

Beguiled the leisure of the crew.

Kind-hearted Captain Reece, R.N.,

Was quite devoted to his men;

In point of fact, good Captain Reece

Beatified The Mantelpiece.

One summer eve, at half-past ten,

He said (addressing all his men):

"Come, tell me, please, what I can do

To please and gratify my crew?

"By any reasonable plan

I'll make you happy, if I can;

My own convenience count as nil;

It is my duty, and I will."

Then up and answered William Lee

(The kindly captain's coxswain he,

A nervous, shy, low-spoken man),

He cleared his throat and thus began:

"You have a daughter, Captain Reece,

Ten female cousins and a niece,

A ma, if what I'm told is true,

Six sisters, and an aunt or two.

"Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me,

More friendly-like we all should be

If you united of 'em to

Unmarried members of the crew.

"If you'd ameliorate our life,

Let each select from them a wife;

And as for nervous me, old pal,

Give me your own enchanting gal!"

Good Captain Reece, that worthy man,

Debated on his coxswain's plan:

"I quite agree," he said, "O Bill;

It is my duty, and I will.

"My daughter, that enchanting gurl,

Has just been promised to an earl,

And all my other familee,

To peers of various degree.

"But what are dukes and viscounts to

The happiness of all my crew?

The word I gave you I'll fulfil;

It is my duty, and I will.

"As you desire it shall befall,

I'll settle thousands on you all,

And I shall be, despite my hoard,

The only bachelor on board."

The boatswain of The Mantelpiece,

He blushed and spoke to Captain Reece.

"I beg your honour's leave," he said,

"If you would wish to go and wed,

"I have a widowed mother who

Would be the very thing for you—

She long has loved you from afar,

She washes for you, Captain R."

The captain saw the dame that day—

Addressed her in his playful way—

"And did it want a wedding ring?

It was a tempting ickle sing!

"Well, well, the chaplain I will seek,

We'll all be married this day week—

At yonder church upon the hill;

It is my duty, and I will!"

The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece,

And widowed ma of Captain Reece,

Attended there as they were bid;

It was their duty, and they did.

---

THE DARNED MOUNSEER

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I shipped, d'ye see, in a Revenue sloop,

And, off Cape Finisteere,

A merchantman we see,

A Frenchman, going free,

So we made for the bold Mounseer,

D'ye see?

We made for the bold Mounseer!

But she proved to be a Frigate—and she up with her ports,

And fires with a thirty-two!

It come uncommon near,

But we answered with a cheer,

Which paralysed the Parley-voo,

D'ye see?

Which paralysed the Parley-voo!

Then our Captain he up and he says, says he,

"That chap we need not fear—

We can take her, if we like,

She is sartin for to strike,

For she's only a darned Mounseer,

D'ye see?

She's only a darned Mounseer!

But to fight a French fal-lal—it's like hittin' of a gal—

It's a lubberly thing for to do;

For we, with all our faults,

Why, we're sturdy British salts,

While she's but a Parley-voo,

D'ye see?

A miserable Parley-voo!"

So we up with our helm, and we scuds before the breeze,

As we gives a compassionating cheer;

Froggee answers with a shout

As he sees us go about,

Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer,

D'ye see?

Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer!

And I'll wager in their joy they kissed each other's cheek

(Which is what them furriners do),

And they blessed their lucky stars

We were hardy British tars

Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo,

D'ye see?

Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo!

---

THE RIVAL CURATES

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List while the poet trolls

Of Mr. Clayton Hooper,

Who had a cure of souls

At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.

He lived on curds and whey,

And daily sang their praises,

And then he'd go and play

With buttercups and daisies.

Wild croquet Hooper banned,

And all the sports of Mammon,

He warred with cribbage, and

He exorcised backgammon.

His helmet was a glance

That spoke of holy gladness;

A saintly smile his lance,

His shield a tear of sadness.

His Vicar smiled to see

This armour on him buckled;

With pardonable glee

He blessed himself and chuckled:

"In mildness to abound

My curate's sole design is,

In all the country round

There's none so mild as mine is!"

And Hooper, disinclined

His trumpet to be blowing.

Yet didn't think you'd find

A milder curate going.

A friend arrived one day

At Spiffton-extra-Sooper,

And in this shameful way

He spoke to Mr. Hooper:

"You think your famous name

For mildness can't be shaken.

That none can blot your fame—

But, Hooper, you're mistaken!

"Your mind is not as blank

As that of Hopley Porter,

Who holds a curate's rank

At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

"He plays the airy flute,

And looks depressed and blighted,

Doves round about him 'toot,'

And lambkins dance delighted.

"He labours more than you

At worsted work, and frames it;

In old maids' albums, too,

Sticks seaweed—yes, and names it!"

The tempter said his say,

Which pierced him like a needle—

He summoned straight away

His sexton and his beadle.

These men were men who could

Hold liberal opinions:

On Sundays they were good—

On week-days they were minions.

"To Hopley Porter go,

Your fare I will afford you—

Deal him a deadly blow,

And blessings shall reward you.

"But stay—I do not like

Undue assassination,

And so, before you strike,

Make this communication:

"I'll give him this one chance—

If he'll more gaily bear him,

Play croquet, smoke, and dance,

I willingly will spare him."

They went, those minions true,

To Assesmilk-cum-Worter,

And told their errand to

The Reverend Hopley Porter.

"What?" said that reverend gent,

"Dance through my hours of leisure?

Smoke?—bathe myself with scent?—

Play croquet? Oh, with pleasure!

"Wear all my hair in curl?

Stand at my door, and wink—so—

At every passing girl?

My brothers, I should think so!

"For years I've longed for some

Excuse for this revulsion:

Now that excuse has come—

I do it on compulsion!!!"

He smoked and winked away—

This Reverend Hopley Porter—

The deuce there was to pay

At Assesmilk-cum-Worter.

And Hooper holds his ground,

In mildness daily growing—

They think him, all around,

The mildest curate going.

---

THE ENGLISHMAN

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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!

---

ONLY A DANCING GIRL

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Only a dancing girl,

With an unromantic style,

With borrowed colour and curl,

With fixed mechanical smile,

With many a hackneyed wile,

With ungrammatical lips,

And corns that mar her trips!

Hung from the "flies" in air,

She acts a palpable lie;

She's as little a fairy there

As unpoetical I!

I hear you asking, Why—

Why in the world I sing

This tawdry, tinselled thing?

No airy fairy she,

As she hangs in arsenic green,

From a highly impossible tree,

In a highly impossible scene

(Herself not over clean).

For fays don't suffer, I'm told,

From bunions, coughs, or cold.

And stately dames that bring

Their daughters there to see,

Pronounce the "dancing thing"

No better than she should be.

With her skirt at her shameful knee,

And her painted, tainted phiz:

Ah, matron, which of us is?

(And, in sooth, it oft occurs

That while these matrons sigh,

Their dresses are lower than hers,

And sometimes half as high;

And their hair is hair they buy.

And they use their glasses, too,

In a way she'd blush to do.)

But change her gold and green

For a coarse merino gown,

And see her upon the scene

Of her home, when coaxing down

Her drunken father's frown,

In his squalid cheerless den:

She's a fairy truly, then!

---

THE DISAGREEABLE MAN

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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 endeavour 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 says 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!

---

GENERAL JOHN

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The bravest names for fire and flames

And all that mortal durst,

Were General John and Private James,

Of the Sixty-seventy-first.

General John was a soldier tried,

A chief of warlike dons;

A haughty stride and a withering pride

Were Major-General John's.

A sneer would play on his martial phiz,

Superior birth to show;

"Pish!" was a favourite word of his,

And he often said "Ho! ho!"

Full-Private James described might be

As a man of a mournful mind;

No characteristic trait had he

Of any distinctive kind.

From the ranks, one day, cried Private James,

"Oh! Major-General John,

I've doubts of our respective names

My mournful mind upon.

"A glimmering thought occurs to me

(Its source I can't unearth),

But I've a kind of a notion we

Were cruelly changed at birth.

"I've a strange idea that each other's names

We've each of us here got on.

Such things have been," said Private James.

"They have!" sneered General John.

"My General John, I swear upon

My oath I think 'tis so——"

"Pish!" proudly sneered his General John

And he also said "Ho! ho!"

"My General John! my General John!

My General John!" quoth he,

"This aristocratical sneer upon

Your face I blush to see!

"No truly great or generous cove

Deserving of them names

Would sneer at a fixed idea that's drove

In the mind of a Private James!"

Said General John, "Upon your claims

No need your breath to waste;

If this is a joke, Full-Private James,

It's a joke of doubtful taste.

"But, being a man of doubtless worth,

If you feel certain quite

That we were probably changed at birth,

I'll venture to say you're right."

So General John as Private James

Fell in, parade upon;

And Private James, by change of names,

Was Major-General John.

---

THE COMING BY-AND-BY

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Sad is that woman's lot who, year by year,

Sees, one by one, her beauties disappear;

As Time, grown weary of her heart-drawn sighs,

Impatiently begins to "dim her eyes "!—

Herself compelled, in life's uncertain gloamings,

To wreathe her wrinkled brow with well-saved "combings"—

Reduced, with rouge, lipsalve, and pearly grey,

To "make up" for lost time, as best she may!

Silvered is the raven hair,

Spreading is the parting straight,

Mottled the complexion fair,

Halting is the youthful gait,

Hollow is the laughter free,

Spectacled the limpid eye,

Little will be left of me,

In the coming by-and-by!

Fading is the taper waist—

Shapeless grows the shapely limb,

And although securely laced,

Spreading is the figure trim!

Stouter than I used to be,

Still more corpulent grow I—

There will be too much of me

In the coming by-and-by!

---

TO A LITTLE MAID

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BY A POLICEMAN

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Come with me, little maid!

Nay, shrink not, thus afraid—

I'll harm thee not!

Fly not, my love, from me—

I have a home for thee—

A fairy grot,

Where mortal eye

Can rarely pry,

There shall thy dwelling be!

List to me, while I tell

The pleasures of that cell,

Oh, little maid!

What though its couch be rude—

Homely the only food

Within its shade?

No thought of care

Can enter there,

No vulgar swain intrude!

Come with me, little maid,

Come to the rocky shade

I love to sing;

Live with us, maiden rare—

Come, for we "want" thee there,

Thou elfin thing,

To work thy spell,

In some cool cell

In stately Pentonville!

---

THE HIGHLY RESPECTABLE GONDOLIER

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I stole the Prince, and I brought him here,

And left him, gaily prattling

With a highly respectable Gondolier,

Who promised the Royal babe to rear,

And teach him the trade of a timoneer

With his own beloved bratling.

Both of the babes were strong and stout,

And, considering all things, clever.

Of that there is no manner of doubt—

No probable, possible shadow of doubt—

No possible doubt whatever.

Time sped, and when at the end of a year

I sought that infant cherished,

That highly respectable Gondolier

Was lying a corpse on his humble bier—

I dropped a Grand Inquisitor's tear—

That Gondolier had perished!

A taste for drink, combined with gout,

Had doubled him up for ever.

Of that there is no manner of doubt—

No probable, possible shadow of doubt—

No possible doubt whatever.

But owing, I'm much disposed to fear,

To his terrible taste for tippling,

That highly respectable Gondolier

Could never declare with a mind sincere

Which of the two was his offspring dear,

And which the Royal stripling!

Which was which he could never make out,

Despite his best endeavour.

Of that there is no manner of doubt—

No probable, possible shadow of doubt—

No possible doubt whatever.

The children followed his old career—

(This statement can't be parried)

Of a highly respectable Gondolier:

Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)—

But which of the two is not quite clear—

Is the Royal Prince you married!

Search in and out and round about

And you'll discover never

A tale so free from every doubt—

All probable, possible shadow of doubt—

All possible doubt whatever!

---

JOHN AND FREDDY

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John courted lovely Mary Ann,

So likewise did his brother, Freddy.

Fred was a very soft young man,

While John, though quick, was most unsteady

Fred was a graceful kind of youth,

But John was very much the strongest.

"Oh, dance away," said she, "in truth,

I'll marry him who dances longest."

John tries the maiden's taste to strike

With gay, grotesque, outrageous dresses,

And dances comically, like

Clodoche and Co., at the Princess's.

But Freddy tries another style,

He knows some graceful steps and does 'em—

A breathing Poem—Woman's smile—

A man all poesy and buzzem.

Now Freddy's operatic pas—

Now Johnny's hornpipe seems entrapping:

Now Freddy's graceful entrechats—

Now Johnny's skilful "cellar-flapping."

For many hours—for many days—

For many weeks performed each brother,

For each was active in his ways,

And neither would give in to t'other.

After a month of this, they say

(The maid was getting bored and moody)

A wandering curate passed that way

And talked a lot of goody-goody.

"Oh my," said he, with solemn frown,

"I tremble for each dancing frater,

Like unregenerated clown

And harlequin at some the-ayter."

He showed that men, in dancing, do

Both impiously and absurdly,

And proved his proposition true,

With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly.

For months both John and Freddy danced,

The curate's protests little heeding;

For months the curate's words enhanced

The sinfulness of their proceeding

At length they bowed to Nature's rule—

Their steps grew feeble and unsteady,

Till Freddy fainted on a stool,

And Johnny on the top of Freddy.

"Decide!" quoth they, "let him be named,

Who henceforth as his wife may rank you."

"I've changed my views," the maiden said,

"I only marry curates, thank you!"

Says Freddy, "Here is goings on!

To bust myself with rage I'm ready."

"I'll be a curate!" whispers John—

"And I," exclaimed poetic Freddy.

But while they read for it, these chaps,

The curate booked the maiden bonny—

And when she's buried him, perhaps,

She'll marry Frederick or Johnny.

---

THE FAIRY QUEEN'S SONG

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Oh, foolish fay,

Think you because

Man's brave array

My bosom thaws

I'd disobey

Our fairy laws?

Because I fly

In realms above,

In tendency

To fall in love

Resemble I

The amorous dove?

Oh, amorous dove!

Type of Ovidius Naso!

This heart of mine

Is soft as thine,

Although I dare not say so!

On fire that glows

With heat intense

I turn the hose

Of Common Sense,

And out it goes

At small expense!

We must maintain

Our fairy law;

That is the main

On which to draw—

In that we gain

A Captain Shaw.

Oh, Captain Shaw!

Type of true love kept under!

Could thy Brigade

With cold cascade

Quench my great love, I wonder!

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SIR GUY THE CRUSADER

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Sir Guy was a doughty crusader,

A muscular knight,

Ever ready to fight,

A very determined invader,

And Dickey de Lion's delight.

Lenore was a Saracen maiden,

Brunette, statuesque,

The reverse of grotesque,

Her pa was a bagman from Aden,

Her mother she played in burlesque.

A coryphée, pretty and loyal,

In amber and red

The ballet she led;

Her mother performed at the Royal,

Lenore at the Saracen's Head.

Of face and of figure majestic,

She dazzled the cits—

Ecstaticised pits;—

Her troubles were only domestic,

But drove her half out of her wits.

Her father incessantly lashed her,

On water and bread

She was grudgingly fed;

Whenever her father he thrashed her

Her mother sat down on her head.

Guy saw her, and loved her, with reason,

For beauty so bright

Sent him mad with delight;

He purchased a stall for the season,

And sat in it every night.

His views were exceedingly proper,

He wanted to wed,

So he called at her shed

And saw her progenitor whop her—

Her mother sit down on her head.

"So pretty," said he, "and so trusting!

You brute of a dad,

You unprincipled cad,

Your conduct is really disgusting,

Come, come, now admit it's too bad!

"You're a turbaned old Turk, and malignant—

Your daughter Lenore

I intensely adore,

And I cannot help feeling indignant.

A fact that I hinted before;

"To see a fond father employing

A deuce of a knout

For to bang her about,

To a sensitive lover's annoying."

Said the bagman, "Crusader, get out."

Says Guy, "Shall a warrior laden

With a big spiky knob,

Sit in peace on his cob

While a beautiful Saracen maiden

Is whipped by a Saracen snob?

"To London I'll go from my charmer."

Which he did, with his loot

(Seven hats and a flute),

And was nabbed for his Sydenham armour

At Mr. Ben-Samuel's suit.

Sir Guy he was lodged in the Compter,

Her pa, in a rage,

Died (don't know his age),

His daughter, she married the prompter,

Grew bulky and quitted the stage.

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IS LIFE A BOON

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Is life a boon?

If so, it must befall

That Death, whene'er he call,

Must call too soon.

Though fourscore years he give,

Yet one would pray to live

Another moon!

What kind of plaint have I,

Who perish in July?

I might have had to die

Perchance in June!

Is life a thorn?

Then count it not a whit!

Man is well done with it:

Soon as he's born

He should all means essay

To put the plague away;

And I, war-worn,

Poor captured fugitive,

My life most gladly give—

I might have had to live

Another morn!

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HAUNTED

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Haunted? Ay, in a social way,

By a body of ghosts in a dread array:

But no conventional spectres they—

Appalling, grim, and tricky;

I quail at mine as I'd never quail

At a fine traditional spectre pale,

With a turnip head and a ghostly wail,

And a splash of blood on the dicky!

Mine are horrible social ghosts,

Speeches and women and guests and hosts,

Weddings and morning calls and toasts,

In every bad variety:

Ghosts that hover about the grave

Of all that's manly, free, and brave:

You'll find their names on the architrave

Of that charnel-house, Society.

Black Monday—black as its schoolroom ink—

With its dismal boys that snivel and think

Of nauseous messes to eat and drink,

And a frozen tank to wash in.

That was the first that brought me grief

And made me weep, till I sought relief

In an emblematical handkerchief,

To choke such baby bosh in.

First and worst in the grim array—

Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way,

Which I wouldn't revive for a single day

For all the wealth of Plutus—

Are the horrible ghosts that schooldays scared

If the classical ghost that Brutus dared

Was the ghost of his "Cæsar" unprepared,

I'm sure I pity Brutus.

I pass to critical seventeen:

The ghost of that terrible wedding scene,

When an elderly colonel stole my queen,

And woke my dream of heaven:

No school-girl decked in her nursery curls

Was my gushing innocent queen of pearls;

If she wasn't a girl of a thousand girls.

She was one of forty-seven!

I see the ghost of my first cigar—

Of the thence-arising family jar—

Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar),

When I called the judge "Your wushup"!

Of reckless days and reckless nights,

With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,

Unholy songs, and tipsy fights,

Which I strove in vain to hush up.

Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,

Ghosts of copy, "declined with thanks,"

Of novels returned in endless ranks,

And thousands more, I suffer.

The only line to fitly grace

My humble tomb, when I've run my race,

Is "Reader, this is the resting-place

Of an unsuccessful duffer."

I've fought them all, these ghosts of mine,

But the weapons I've used are sighs and brine,

And now that I'm nearly forty-nine,

Old age is my only bogy;

For my hair is thinning away at the crown,

And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;

And a general verdict sets me down

As an irreclaimable fogy.

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THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL

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