IWH'.iiARRISON
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 OF 
 
 LOS 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 CALIFORNIA 
 ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 LAZY LAYS 
 
 AND PROSE IMAGININGS. 
 
 WRITTEN, PRINTED, PUBLISHED, AND 
 REVIEWED BY 
 
 WILLIAM H. HAREISON 
 
 A.D. 1877 (POPULAR CHRONOLOGY;) 
 
 AM. 5877 (TORQUEMADA;) A.M. 50,800,077 (HUXLEY.) 
 
 38 Great Russell Street, London.
 
 \,
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 jynSCELLANEOUS POEMS AND PEOSE 
 
 WRITINGS— PAGE 
 
 THE LAY OF THE LAZY AUTHOR, - - 7 
 THE LAY OP THE NEWSPAPER EDITOR, - 11 
 THE SONG OF THE PAWNBROKER, - - 13 
 
 ^\t (Itastk, 15 
 
 THE LAY OP THE PAT MAN, - - 18 
 
 THE POETRY OF SCIENCE, - - - 20 
 
 HOW HADJI AL SHACABAC WAS PHOTO- 
 GRAPHED : 
 
 (A letter from Hadji Al Shacabac, a 
 gentleman who visited London on busi- 
 ness connected with a Tuikish Loan, to 
 All Mustapha Ben Buckram, Chief of 
 the College of Howling Dervishes at 
 Constantinople,) - - - - 25 
 
 THE LAY OF THE BROAD-BRIMMED HAT, 37 
 
 ST. bride's BAY, ... - 40 
 
 THE LAY OF THE MARKET-GARDENER, - 43 
 
 " FAST FALLS THE EVENTIDE," - - 47 
 
 OUR RAVEN, - - - - - 
 
 49 
 
 MATERIALISTIC RELIGION, - - - 55 
 
 705360
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 FAGE 
 
 THE LAY OP THE PHOTOGRAPHER, - 62 
 
 HOW TO DOUBLE THE UTILITY OF THE 
 
 PRINTING PRESS, . - - 68 
 
 THE SONG OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW, - 75 
 
 WIRBEL-BEWEGUNG, - - - - 82 
 
 "POOR OLD joe!" - - . - 92 
 
 THE HUMAN HIVE, - - - - 95 
 
 THE LAY OP THE MACE-BEARERS, - 98 
 
 A LOVE SONG, ----- 103 
 
 A VISION, ----- 105 
 
 UNDER THE LIMES, - - - - 109 
 
 THE ANGEL OF SILENCE, - - - 111 
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS— 
 
 (By Anthony Wobblejaws.) 
 
 NO. I. THE PUBLIC ANALYST, - - 118 
 NO. II. GENERAL GRANt'S RECEPTION 
 
 AT FOLKESTONE, - - - 124 
 
 NO. III. THE RIFLE CORPS, - - - 131 
 
 NO. IV. TONY's LAMENT, - - - 135 
 
 NO. V. THE JULY BUG, - - - 143 
 
 NO. VI. THE CONVERTED CARMAN, - 149
 
 Some of these Poems and Prose Essays have 
 been previously printed in daily newspapers, 
 and in serial publications, whilst the others 
 are now issued for the first time. " WirbeU 
 hewegung" was originally published in The 
 Engineer, and "How Hadji Al Shacabac was 
 Photographed" in Tlie British Journal of Pho- 
 tography. 
 
 This first edition of some of the Author's 
 Collected AVritings is now dedicated, without 
 permission, to the inhabitants of the United 
 Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, the 
 Islands in the British Seas, and the town of 
 Berwick-upon-Tweed; also to the rest of the 
 dwellers upon the Terrestrial Globe.
 
 THE LAY 
 
 OP 
 
 THE LAZY AUTHOR, 
 
 On the softest of banks in the silent wood, 
 
 All screened from the summer sky, 
 
 And the piercing rays of the noonday sun, 
 
 We'll lazily watch the streamlet run, 
 
 And the bright-eyed water-rats splashing in fun. 
 
 Free from all fears of a Cockney gun, 
 
 Or the grave of a London pie. 
 
 And we'll dreamily watch the squiixel aloft, 
 A-wagging his scrumptious tail, 
 
 Swinsring amain on the slender birch 
 
 Right up in the clouds. What a dangerous perch ! 
 
 If that twig should give a wind-driven lurch 
 
 He'll fall ; and his partner in vain will search 
 For his aeronautical trail.
 
 8 THE LAY OF THE LAZY AUTHOR. 
 
 And we'll hear the buzz of the humble bee, 
 
 As he plays his laziest tune; 
 Closing our eyes whilst his drowsy hum 
 Gently tickles the tympanum's drum, 
 And his poor little wings grow weary and numb, 
 Uplifting that body as big as a plum, 
 
 On the hottest day in June. 
 
 And I'll write some verses for young and old, 
 
 Mixed up with prose as well ; 
 And when readers ask on this hottest of days, 
 What I mean by idly presenting as " lays " 
 Interspersed non-poetical prize es-says — 
 I'll murmur deep down in my drowsy maze, 
 " It's really too warm to tell ; 
 
 " Decide the question to suit yourselves, 
 
 " And don't be misled by me ; 
 " Just keep your thoughts as free as the wind : 
 " When a theory's crude you invariably find 
 " Some good-natured friend so awfully kind, 
 "As to try in advance to bias your mind; 
 " / leave you perfectly free."
 
 THE LAY OP THE LAZY AUTHOR. 9 
 
 Yes, the mind shall wander in fancy free, 
 
 Like waves on the rippling stream; 
 Comedy, tragedy, science, and fun, 
 In my lays shall find a place each one. 
 Like citron and sweets on a twopenny bun. 
 And shall vanish again when their role is done 
 In my phantasmagorial dream. 
 
 Now, fare-thee-well, my listeners dear. 
 
 After this passing peep, 
 At the lazy one who sings this lay. 
 On a woodland bank on a summer's day, 
 WhOst a fairy's eyes, in their gentle way. 
 On her most devoted loved one play. 
 
 As he sinks in tranquil sleep.
 
 On the cover of tliis book is a fine Griffin or 
 "Gryphon," a time-honoured bird, who, in the 
 days of old, kept guard over treasure, and pro- 
 tected it from appropriation by his natural 
 enemies, the one-eyed Arimaspians of northern 
 regions. The particular Arimaspians tipon whom 
 oxxr Griffin is keeping watch, are those American 
 publishers who may gaze upon this book with 
 a single and undivided eye to their own personal 
 interests. What they have to expect should they 
 interfere with the Griffin and his txnxst, has thus 
 been told by Milton: — 
 
 As when a gryphon, through the wilderness, 
 With winged course ore hill or moarie dale, 
 
 Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stelth 
 Had from his wakeful custody purloind 
 
 The guarded gold. 
 
 Paradise Lost. Book II,
 
 THE LAY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE NEWSPAPEE EDITOR. 
 
 A REVIEW OF "THE LAZY LAYS." 
 
 In a column of books on our table piled, 
 
 We perceive The Lazy Lays, 
 And the work having been thus observed bj Us, 
 
 We feel it deserves great praise. 
 
 But Our space is so small in these stirring times. 
 
 For aught but weighty themes. 
 And the Universe needs so much care from Us, 
 
 That We shun all rhjming dreams. 
 
 Our greatly increased circulation just now, 
 Drives tremors through Church and State, 
 
 But advertisements brought up to ten p.m.. 
 Will not reach Our hands too late.
 
 12 THE LAY OP THE NEWSPAPER EDITOR. 
 
 We regret the jealousy, envy, and hate 
 Rival poets will show, and their fuss 
 
 At Our words for this book, but We say once more, 
 That The Lays have been seen by Us. 
 
 TJie Scilly Islands' " Trumpet Blast."
 
 THE SONG 
 
 OP 
 
 THE PAWNBROKER, 
 
 [When the Vale of Neath Railway was extended to 
 Swansea, the Mayor and Corporation of that town invited 
 the Directors of the Swansea and Neath Railway Com- 
 pany to a public breakfast, on the morning of the opening 
 of the new line. The following verses were written at 
 the time the public raised the question, whether the local 
 authorities were or were not justified in defraying the 
 expenses of the breakfast out of the rates.] 
 
 Oh, plesh my heart ! Oh, plesh my heart ! 
 
 Old Ikey's heart ish sad. 
 To see de vaste in monish made 
 
 It drivsh me almost mad. 
 
 Four hundred poundsh ! Four hundred poundsh ! 
 
 In public breakfast shpent ; 
 All losht ! — all down their gaping throatsh 
 
 De lovely monish went.
 
 14 THE SONG OF THE PAWNBROKER. 
 
 Four hundred poundsh ! Four hundred poundsh ! 
 
 Mine heart ish breaking — oh ! 
 'Twould buy a nish new Shynnygogue ; 
 
 A mountain of old clo'. 
 
 De leetle boys vat valks de street, 
 
 And pull my gaberdine, 
 Yould never vaste good monish so, 
 
 De shilds are moche too keen. 
 
 Let all de monish you don't want 
 
 Be to old Ikey shent, 
 And he will lend to Christian dosrsh 
 
 At shixty-shix per shent. 
 
 Lisht to an uncle's kind advish. 
 
 And hear my gentle callsh, 
 Or I will leave your vasteful town. 
 
 And so will my three ballsh. 
 
 Ikey Ben Solomons.
 
 %\xz dastle. 
 
 In the silence of eve when the shadows were falling, 
 And the rocks and the twilight grew pallid and 
 grey, 
 I gazed on a castle once famous in story, 
 
 And thought upon those who had long passed 
 away. 
 
 Round the ivy-clad turrets the sea-birds wei'e 
 
 screaming, 
 And the toiTents beneath in their murmuring 
 
 flow, 
 Sighed a sorrowful dirge, 'mid the gloom and the 
 
 darkness. 
 O'er the gi'aves of the mighty ones sleeping 
 
 below, 
 
 B
 
 16 THE CASTLE. 
 
 I gazed on tlie moat witli its cold icy water, 
 
 On the courtyard and terrace witli nettles o'er- 
 grown ; 
 Through each dark winding passage my footsteps 
 re-echoed, 
 And I silently mused as I wandered alone. 
 
 The rack and the dungeon, the chain and the 
 fetter, 
 Have long done the work of oppression and 
 wrong ; 
 But their dark reig-n of terror has vanished for 
 ever, 
 For the trvith has prevailed o'er the power of the 
 strong. 
 
 Oh, beautiful ruin, a moral thou teachest : 
 Thy dark desolation, thy dust and decay. 
 
 Are but emblems and types of tyrannical ages, 
 Which are fading full fast, and must soon pass 
 away.
 
 THE CASTLE. 17 
 
 I wish, not to see thee again in thy splendour, 
 Of pomp and magnificence — fleeting as sand — 
 
 O'er the race of humanity freedom is dawning, 
 And a happier time for mankind is at hand. 
 
 Of the nations of earth the foundations are shak- 
 ing, 
 For purposes, deeper than mortal can tell, 
 Are working and weaving with men and their 
 passions. 
 And ruling the universe wisely and well.
 
 THE LAY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FAT MAN. 
 
 [Written shortly after the piihlication of Mr. Banting's 
 essay instructing stout people how to reduce their 
 size.] 
 
 How many a happy thougli indolent hour, 
 
 Do we pass o'er the pages of Scott, 
 Till we seem to live in the clays of old, 
 
 And the present is all forgot. 
 For the air he peoples with life-like forms, 
 
 And teems with fire his page. 
 As he leads by the power of his master mind 
 
 Through the scenes of a bygone age.
 
 THE LAY OF THE FAT MAN. 19 
 
 But the pages of Banting are sweeter by fiir, 
 
 'Tis nice o'er his writings to dwell; 
 His smiles for the lean, and his tears for the fat, 
 
 Are kinder than mortal can tell ; 
 The lean ones of earth he envelops in oil, 
 
 And warms with an unctuous fleece. 
 Whilst the lubberly man, the two-legged globe, 
 
 Is quickly distilled of his grease. 
 
 Yet I hate the old man who could sit down and write 
 
 Such a volume on animal fat, 
 Who weighs himself every day in the scales. 
 
 Exclusive of coat, boots, and hat ; 
 So cover him o'er with oblivion's shroud, 
 
 Then shelve him as fast as you can, 
 And we'll all of us drop a large marrow-fat tear 
 
 O'er the grave of the greasy old man.
 
 THE 
 
 POETRY OF SCIENCE 
 
 SAY not Science lacketli charms 
 
 To woo tlie poet's pen, 
 To swell the pages of romance, 
 
 Or thrill the souls of men ; 
 Her's is a realm of fairy land, 
 
 A scene of endless change, 
 Where eye and ear are all confused 
 
 With wonders passing strange. 
 
 She binds the eternal elements. 
 She yokes them to the plough. 
 
 And iron steeds with hearts of fire 
 Speed at her bidding now ;
 
 THE POETRY OF SCIEJTCE. 21 
 
 Deep in the Ocean's solitude 
 She her bright name engi-aves, 
 
 Unscathed she treads its golden sands 
 And cleaves its surging waves.* 
 
 She joins the nations of the eartli 
 
 With mystic net-work bands, 
 Bindinsc lq common brotherhood 
 
 The dwellers in all lands ; 
 Whilst throu2;h these wondrous arteries 
 
 The lightning pulses thrill, 
 Bearing glad news of " Peace on Earth," 
 
 To all mankind, " Goodwill." 
 
 * "Bridges, unsupported by arches, can be made to 
 span the foaming current ; man shall descend to the bot- 
 tom of the ocean safely, breathing, and treading with firm 
 steps on the golden sands, never brightened by the hght 
 of day. Call but the secret powers of Sol and Luna into 
 action, and behold a single steersman sitting at the helm 
 guiding the vessel, which divides the waves with greater 
 rapidity than if she had been fiUed with a crew of marin- 
 ers toihng at the oars. And the loaded chariot, no longer 
 encumbered with panting steeds, darts on its course with 
 relentless force and activity. Let the simple elements do 
 their duty ; bind the eternal elements, and yoke them to 
 the same plough." — Friar Bacon's Prophecy.
 
 22 THE POETRY OF SCIENCE. 
 
 She bends their orbits, and the stars 
 
 Speed on their track of light, 
 Sparkling afar in heaven's dark hall. 
 
 Like glories in the night ; 
 The planets feel her lion grasp 
 
 As their bright paths they run, 
 And with relentless laws she guides 
 
 The Chariot of the Sun. 
 
 The trees relate their fairy tales, 
 
 The plants unfold their store 
 Of wisdom and design, and tell 
 
 Truths never dreamt before. 
 The lightning plays around her feet 
 
 And does her bidding well. 
 The very stones break forth in song. 
 
 List to the tales they tell : — 
 
 They tell how chaos ruled— how earth 
 Lay wrapped in death-like sleep. 
 
 How silence reigned in majesty, 
 And darkness veiled the deep.
 
 THE POETRY OP SCIENCE. 
 
 They tell liow life uprose on earth, 
 How forests clothed the land, 
 
 And step by step reveal the work 
 Of HIS Almighty hand. 
 
 Calmly in silence and in gloom, 
 
 In caverns of the earth, 
 They teach vain man the nothingness 
 
 Of his ephemeral birth ; 
 Show him dread scenes of former life 
 
 Long to destruction hurled, 
 And on earth's pillars bid him read 
 
 The history of a world. 
 
 Behold another votary still — 
 
 The light her aid has given — 
 Light, whose bright beams of purity 
 
 Rushed angel-winged from heaven. 
 Then fair Aurora lit the north. 
 
 And shook her streaming bars, 
 Then earth awoke, awoke to life — 
 
 Then sang the morning stars. 
 
 23
 
 24 THE POETRY OF SCIENCE. 
 
 Yet learn, Enchantress, thy domain 
 
 A limit still must know ; 
 Thus far, O Science, is thine own — 
 
 Farther thou canst not go. 
 In Councils of Eternity 
 
 HIS wondrous ways were planned — 
 Ways that elude thy piercing eye. 
 
 Defy thine iron hand. 
 
 Remotest ages yet untold ; 
 
 Shall own thy powerful sway. 
 Till man with all his noble works 
 
 Shall pass from earth for aye. 
 Eor ever teach him Nature's laws, 
 
 Unfold his Maker's will, 
 Guide him in paths of light and truth, 
 
 And lead him upwards still.
 
 HOW HADJI AL SHACABAC 
 WAS PHOTOGRAPHED. 
 
 The original of the following letter is written 
 in the choicest Arabic, of which I here present 
 my readers with a translation. The letter is 
 from Hadji Al Shacabac, a gentleman who 
 visited Loudon on business connected with a 
 Turkish Loan, to Ali Mustapha Ben Buckram, 
 chief of the College of Howling Dervishes, at 
 Constantinople : — 
 
 Sweet, O Ali ! are the moments thus snatched 
 from the huny of existence, when in the silence of 
 night I take up my quill to hold sweet communion 
 with the friend of my youth. No longer, alas ! 
 can we tread together the gardens of Istamboul, 
 listening to the sweet notes of the nightingale, 
 with its wings glistening in the silver rays of the
 
 26 HOW HADJI AL SHACABAC 
 
 silent moon, its melody changing with each zephyr 
 which gracefully undulates the leaves of the lofty 
 palampore. 
 
 Happy be thy days, Ali! — serene and peace- 
 ful the hours of thy existence ! Sweet, indeed, 
 is the memory of friendship, grateful the remem- 
 brance of afi'ection unto the soul of Al Shacabac, 
 who now, far away from the wise utterances of 
 thy learned lips, languishes like the love-sick bul- 
 bul when deprived of the company of the rose. 
 Allah is great; so now with sable fluid, and the 
 quill of a grey goose, I tell thee, O Ali, of my 
 fearful adventure with the wizards of the crystal 
 cages, in this vast city of the infidels. May the 
 graves of their fathers be eternally defiled ! 
 
 Here, O Ali, people take portraits, and, in fact, 
 pursue all occupations with the visible assistance 
 of the Evil One. They traverse rivers on the 
 backs of dragons, and float through air suspended 
 to eggs of fiends, whilst on land screaming demons 
 of fire, with red and green eyes of light, fly with 
 a thousand infidels at once through the bowels of
 
 WAS PHOTOGRAPHED. 27 
 
 the earth. The shrieks of these fire demons are 
 horrible, rivalling the cries of those livid angels 
 Monkir and Nakii-, who, says our Holy Prophet, 
 question every unbeliever dii'ectly he is laid in the 
 grave, and beat him on the temples with an iron 
 mace till he roars with anguish. Yes; in this 
 awful place, O Ali, they hatch birds, and I am 
 told babies, by steam; and the barbers in their 
 shops force the heads of their customers against 
 a revolving wheel to clear the mud out of their 
 brains. 
 
 Thou hast heard of the wicked Magi, or Wor- 
 shippers of Fire, whom our Holy Prophet kicked 
 out from his vast dominions as he would unclean 
 dogs. A remnant of these unbelieving curs 
 exists here, within the walls of this Unholy City, 
 and gains, it is said, immense sums by taking por- 
 traits by the aid of foul incantations. Allah 
 bismillah ! It is said the giaoui-s bottle sunbeams 
 for this unholy purpose, and that the powerful 
 and malignant Genii, Klo E,yne and Sil Ver, are 
 their chief abettors. The wizards, unlike those
 
 28 HOW HADJI AL SHACABAC 
 
 of yore who haunted the dark caverns of the 
 earth, live in glass cages upon the housetops. 
 
 I longed for my portrait to send to thee, O Ali, 
 and the fourteen wives who raourn because of 
 my absence in the land of the sti'anger ; yet my 
 infidel friend, Sammi Ben Jones, was long in over- 
 coming my scruples against visiting these wizards 
 in their crystal cages. However, by his advice I 
 walked along the street of Mi Lend, where many 
 wizards, for the sum of sixpence in infidel money, 
 exercise their unlioly incantations. 
 
 It was a fine morning. I walked along with 
 the dignity remarkable to my family, dressed in 
 my best pink breeches, yellow coat, and scarlet 
 turban, wondering whether I should have to pass 
 through many difficulties before one of the wizards 
 would allow me to enter his domicile. 
 
 My doubts were soon at rest. I was forcibly 
 seized, O Ali, by six of the filthy emissaries of 
 these magicians, who caught hold of my flowing 
 robes, thrust gleaming squares of crystal beneath 
 my very nose, each pulling me with all his force,
 
 WAS PHOTOGRAPHED. 29 
 
 and uttering curses in the barbarian tongue against 
 the others who sought to force me into their mas- 
 ters' abode. 
 
 " Allah kerim ! " I exclaimed in fainting accents, 
 "these dogs will murder me, and my bones will 
 whiten in the land of the stranger." 
 
 Suddenly a dragoman in blue came along the 
 path, uttering the cabalistic word " Moovon," 
 which I entered afterwards in my note-book. At 
 the sound of it the miserably-clad giaours each 
 slunk into the entrance of his employer's den, 
 and contented himself with verbal adjurations. 
 
 I entered one abode which seemed less repulsive 
 than the rest, and asked the imp at the door to 
 admit me to the seer, his master. 
 
 He shouted up the stairs, " Olio ! Eerz an- 
 othergui !" which I was afterwards told by Sammi 
 Ben Jones means, " Make ready, O master ! The 
 Wise and Noble Hadji comes !" 
 
 Having taken the fatal step into the dark arch- 
 way, I must confess, O Ali, my frame shook with 
 terror — my trembling knees refused their office.
 
 30 HOW HADJI AL SHACABAC 
 
 To propitiate the evil Genii I took my shoes from 
 off my feet at the entrance, and proceeded along 
 the passage to a flight of stairs, where I pros- 
 trated myself, bowing three times towards Mecca. 
 I found myself raised from behind with startling 
 rapidity and pain, caused by the toe of the giaour, 
 who, according to the infidel custom, lifted me to 
 my feet in this manner by the sole strength of 
 his accursed leg. The pain I feel to this day, 
 and I fear it will never leave me till I bathe 
 in the pond blessed by Our Holy Prophet, which 
 is supplied by two pipes from Al Cawthar, 
 one of the rivers of the Paradise of the True 
 Believers. 
 
 With faltering steps I trod the ricketty stairs, 
 and at last stood before the portal of the dread 
 abode, on the panels of Avhich were inscribed 
 fearful cabalistic signs of mystic import, and in 
 large red characters the words "John Smith," 
 which, I believe, formed the name of the vile son 
 of Jehanum himself. 
 
 The door opened. The figure of the dread
 
 WAS PHOTOGRAPHED. 31 
 
 wizard, with a fiendish grin across his thin face, 
 stood before my awe-struck gaze. 
 
 Directly he saw me he opened his eyes and 
 roared, "Omosis!" Then he sank into a seat, his 
 sides shaking with idiotic laughter. 
 
 In words of thunder he shouted to me in the 
 infidel tongue — " Aintew akure?" at which I was 
 ready to sink through the floor with fright. 
 
 He motioned me to a seat in a chair with no 
 bottom to it, and told me to gaze my hardest at 
 a small picture nailed to the wall. 
 
 O Ali ! how shall I describe that picture 1 In 
 our native land nothing but the eyes of our houris 
 are visible to the stranger, yet here the women 
 run about wild without any keepers, have even 
 their necks bare, and are supposed to possess 
 souls. But the one in this picture, O Ali, stood 
 in a barbarian theatre. She was dressed only in 
 gauze, and was spiuning round on one leg like 
 your tame monkey Korac when in the height of 
 his antics. 
 
 "Allah akbar!"said I, "What can equal the 
 
 c
 
 32 HOW HADJI AL SHACABAC 
 
 wickedness of these Cliristian dogs ! May their 
 fathers' graves be for ever defiled." 
 
 The wizard next fixed the back of my neck in 
 an iron instrument, so that I could not turn away 
 my gaze. 
 
 " Staffir Allah !" I cried in agony, " the anguish 
 of the bowstring cannot equal this. I choke ! I 
 expire ! Shades of my fathers ! The wretched 
 Shacabac will soon die with the throes of suflbca- 
 tion, and skate over the bridge Al Sirat into the 
 Paradise of the True Believers ! " 
 
 I thought my last hour was nigh, especially 
 when I saw the magician hide his head in a black 
 curtain, as though he wished not to witness my 
 
 agonies. 
 
 He then retired to his secret den, Ali, mut- 
 tering accursed incantations, and came out with 
 a small cabinet constructed of cedar, in which, no 
 doubt, a wondrous talisman was concealed. He 
 placed this in a kind of cannon covered with a 
 pall of funeral black, and then he pointed this 
 direful weapon at my head. My hair stood on
 
 WAS PHOTOGRAPHED. 33 
 
 end, my eyes dilated with terror, my parched 
 tongue clave to the roof of my mouth. He un- 
 covered the opening of the cannon. I sprang up 
 with a shriek of terror, the iron instrument of 
 torture still clinging to my neck, and with out- 
 stretched arms implored Allah to forgive me for 
 entering the unhallowed den of the wizard of the 
 crystal cage. In this attitude did the Evil Genii 
 take my portrait. 
 
 The magician again retired to his den, where 
 I heard the sound of running water • then he 
 returned with a plate of crystal, and show- 
 ing it to me made signs of approval, uttering, 
 in a commendatory tone, the words, " Tharz 
 astunner ! " 
 
 But, O Ali, the picture of thy friend was ugly 
 in the extreme. The aspect of abject fright was 
 upon my countenance ; stars were represented 
 bursting above my head, a long-tailed comet 
 streamed from my nose, whilst my body was 
 spotted all over, yea, even like unto that of the 
 monkey Korac. No doubt the mighty power of
 
 34 HOW HADJI AL SHACABAC 
 
 the sun had copied the evil planetary influences 
 which in that direful moment had threatened 
 me, but were at the time invisible to mortal 
 eye. 
 
 I carefully tied the crystal tablet in my turban, 
 handing sixpence to the wizard as I tui-ned to 
 leave. The red-haired monster jumped between 
 me and the door, and in the vilest language de- 
 manded " fibob," or five shillings. In vain I 
 expostulated and offered another sixpence, making 
 double his usual fee. "With dreadful curses the 
 infidel dog threw me on the floor, and pressing 
 a bottle of bitter liquid labelled "Fixing" to my 
 lips, said he would give me " Fissik" if I did not 
 "forkout fibob" — at least, so I understood him. 
 
 The fear of this horrid threat of Fissik, who 
 is doubtless some demon under his command, 
 made me pay the five shillings, after which I 
 descended the stairs saddened in spirit. The imp 
 at the door demanded a fee, upon which I called 
 him the son of a burnt father, and made him a 
 long speech in the Turkish tongue.
 
 WAS PHOTOGRAPHED. 35 
 
 O Ali ! Friend of my soul ! The night wanes 
 apace. Even as I write the sun tinges with 
 crimson and gold the light clouds of the East. 
 The winds of heaven blow gently through my 
 open window, and I think of the time when I 
 journeyed with thee on the road to Ispahan at the 
 same silent hour. I like not the turmoil and 
 noise of the busy city, and long for the time 
 when we shall once more tread together the 
 bowers of Al Kibar, and I shall again hear 
 from thy learned lips the true doctrines of Islam. 
 My mind is much disturbed by the invisible stars 
 and comets which lurk around me, so on my 
 return we will lay my crystal portrait before our 
 wisest astrologers to learn what these mystic 
 signs portend. 
 
 Fare thee well, O Ali ! Friend of my bosom ! 
 Peace be unto thee and thine house ! Mayest 
 thou live long in the land of our fathers ; and, 
 when thou art called to Paradise, mayest thou 
 receive the richest fruits of the tree Juba, which 
 produces pomegranates, grapes, and dates of a
 
 3G HOW AL SHACABAC WAS PHOTOGRAPHED. 
 
 taste unknown to mortals ! Fare tliee well, O 
 All ! and pray that tby friend may be protected 
 from evil planetary influences, as well as the 
 demon Fissik. 
 
 Al Shacabac.
 
 THE LAY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE BROAD-BRIMMED HAT/ 
 
 I LOVE it ! I love it ! my broad-brimmed hat, 
 With its surface so smooth, and its crown so flat ; 
 And often my memory \vandei\s away 
 To the thrice happy hours of my boyhood's young 
 
 day, 
 And I dream of the shop where I patiently sat, 
 "While grandmother purchased my broad-brimmed 
 
 hat. 
 
 * These verses have been set to music by Mrs. Weldoii 
 (of Tavistock House, Tavistock Square, London), ^vho 
 trained the celebrated "Gounod" Choir,
 
 38 THE LAY OF THE BROAD-BRIMMED HAT. 
 
 When tlie maids at a picnic get caught in the rain, 
 It's shelter they seek, nor seek it in vain ; 
 And they say, as the water pours off round the 
 
 brim, 
 " Good gracious ! how much we're indebted to 
 
 him — 
 To the funny old man wlio owns this large tile, 
 With his ' Yerily, yea ! ' and benevolent smile ; 
 With his sober-cut coat, and its lining of grey. 
 Oh! aint he a darling? — -aye, 'Verily, yea!'" 
 
 Through the streets of the town I impressively 
 
 walk, 
 Of attraction the centre, of gossips the talk. 
 And the little boys shout, " What a regular flat 
 Is that funny old man in the broad-brimmed hat!" 
 With my gingham umbrella their jackets I clout. 
 And ask if their mothers are sure they are out; 
 But the young rogues have always their answer 
 
 quite pat — 
 " Friend ! where didst thou purchase thy broad 
 
 beaver hatl"
 
 THE LAY OF THE BROAD-BRIMMED HAT. 39 
 
 When tlie sorrows of life set in like a flood, 
 And tlie nations are reeking with warfare and 
 
 blood, 
 Its influence steals o'er my senses like rain — 
 Assuaging my anguish, relieving my pain. 
 Earth's troubles depart, its dramas grow dim, 
 As I sink into slumber beneath the broad brim ; 
 And my dear little brother, as well as the cat, 
 Oft takes a night's rest in my broad-brimmed hat. 
 
 The rocks may be rent and the sea become diy, 
 And the moon disappear fi'om its place in the sky ; 
 The sun may grow dim — a mere dusky red ball — 
 The empires of earth may totter and fall ; 
 The idle may grin, and the wicked may frown, 
 The lowly despise, and the lofty look down. 
 And small boys be saucy, and rude, and all that. 
 Yet I'll love thee ! I'll love thee ! my broad- 
 brimmed hat !
 
 S T. BRIDE'S BAY 
 
 Lost in thought, oft I wander to scenes that are 
 fading — 
 To scenes where bright hope and high thoughts 
 . were entwined ; 
 And often in silence fond memory lingers 
 
 O'er moments with bright recollections en- 
 shrined : 
 
 When all joyous I gazed on the haven's bright 
 waters, 
 As sunset bedecked them with glories untold, 
 When the cave and the headland, the cloud and 
 the billow, ^ 
 
 Seemed robed in a mantle of ciimson and 
 gold—
 
 ST. bride's bay, 41 
 
 When on Druidstone sands in frolicsome gladness, 
 We chased the short hours in that gloriovis 
 light, 
 Till the glare from the far Bishop's Lighthouse 
 was streaming, 
 And the pale stars above told the mai-ch of the 
 night — • 
 
 When the moon shed her beams on the slumber- 
 ing waters. 
 Which in purity mirrored her image beneath ; 
 When faintly the lights in the far hamlets glim- 
 mered, 
 And the winds murmui'ed low o'er the brush- 
 wood and heath — 
 
 When the surge of the waves by the caverns re- 
 echoed. 
 Emitted a moan all weird-like and high. 
 As the incoming waters in ripples were breaking. 
 Or streamed o'er the rocks with a sorrowful 
 sigh.
 
 42 ST. bride's bay. 
 
 Ye are dear to me ever, ye wild scenes of beauty, 
 For life with its changes was happier then, 
 
 Far away from the clamour and care of the city, 
 The clanfj of the hammer and bustle of men.
 
 THE LAY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE MARKET GARDENER 
 
 A RYGHTE MOURNFULLE STORIE. 
 
 A SOBER man was William Jones, 
 Who ne'er was known to laugh ; 
 The undertaker tried in vain 
 
 To get him on his staff. 
 
 Long at the market-gardening trade 
 Had dismal William toiled, 
 
 And seen his fondest hopes decay, 
 His undertakings foiled.
 
 ,44 THE LAY OF THE MARKET GARDENER. 
 
 And now upon the tool-house steps, 
 Like a young Cushat dove, 
 
 He sat and sang the dismal tale 
 Of unrequited love. 
 
 " My mind in early youth was choked 
 With tares and poppies grim ; 
 'Twas disappointment sowed the seeds. 
 And misery raked them in. 
 
 "Tes, sorrows rose to kill my joys. 
 Like mushrooms in a night; 
 The sunflower of my life is gone, 
 My heart's-ease has the blight. 
 
 "I fondly loved sweet Susan Gibbs, 
 A solemn lass, and sad ; 
 She wept so much that people thought 
 Her melancholy mad. 
 
 "As soon as I discerned her worth, 
 In melancholy tones 
 I urged my love with sobs and sighs, 
 And she replied with groans.
 
 THE LAY OF THE MARKET GARDENER. 45 
 
 "While thus adown life's tearful scene 
 So swimmingly we sailed, 
 A tailor from a neighbouring town, 
 My mourning suit curtailed. 
 
 " Ah ! false and fair is Susan Gibbs, 
 She lately has began 
 To cut the tendrils of my heart — 
 She loves the tailor man." 
 
 Now at the Plough and Harrow's tap 
 
 Jones daily di-ank and pined, 
 So much her faithlessness did plough 
 
 And harrow up his mind. 
 
 Said he — " My love to you was like 
 
 The needle to the Pole, 
 Yet breaches come, and now you sew 
 
 Great stitches in my soul. 
 
 " Oh, cruel, cruel Susan Gibbs ! 
 
 With these sharp garden shears 
 I'll cut mv thread of life in two, 
 And cpiit this vale of tears."
 
 46 THE LAY OP THE MARKET GARDENER. 
 
 " Oh William, don't ! oh Billy, don't ! 
 
 I'll constant pi-ove and true." 
 " What care I for your ' Billy don't,' 
 
 Give me that billet doux." 
 
 With fearful looks he read the scrawl ; 
 
 Susan recoiled with dread ; 
 They both sheered off the cellar stairs, 
 
 And he sheared off his head. 
 
 ^ot|al. 
 Now faithless lovers, warning take 
 
 From William Jones's fate; 
 Like Susan you may live to mom-n, 
 
 But mourn, alas, too late. 
 
 Remember jealousy has eyes 
 
 As sharp as any fox, 
 And turned poor Jones's little trunk 
 
 Into a six-feet box.
 
 (( 
 
 FAST FALLS THE EVENTIDE." 
 
 "When tbe setting sun in splendour 
 Slowly sinks from mortal sight, 
 
 Crowns the earth with clouds of crimson, 
 Robes the sea in living light — 
 
 When the rainbow hues of sunset 
 Fading from the hills are seen, 
 
 And the night, with dusky mantle, 
 E-eigns our sable-shrouded queen, 
 
 Calming earth with all its passions — 
 Envy, hatred, fear, and love — 
 
 And the pale white stars are thi-obbing, 
 Throbbing in the heavens above — 
 
 /•♦
 
 48 "FAST FALLS THE EVENTIDE." 
 
 When earth's sister orb, ascending, 
 Tints with light each hillock green, 
 
 And the ferns, with dewdrops bending. 
 Glisten in the silvery sheen, 
 
 Then I feel how sin and sorrow 
 Stain the earth by mortals trod. 
 
 Far from man the trovibled spirit 
 Seeks its fellowship with God.
 
 OUR RAVEN. 
 
 He was a malicious bird, and in liim all the evil 
 propensities of his tribe appeared to be centred ; 
 he seemed to be continually meditating mischief, 
 and there was roguery in every look. He had 
 been in our possession some days befoi'e we chi-is- 
 tened him, there being a difficulty in finding a 
 name bad enough to suit his desei-ts ; but one 
 morning as we wei'e considering the subject, and 
 the advisability of calling him " Beelzebub," he 
 was observed to listen with marked attention, 
 with his head on one side, and a diabolical sparkle 
 in his eye ; at last, to the surprise of all present, 
 he pronounced, in a deep, hoarse voice, the name 
 " Roger." Where he learnt it was never satis- 
 factorily ascertained, but Roger became his name 
 from that hour to the day of his death.
 
 50 OUR RAVEN. 
 
 The maid-servants stood in bodily fear of him, 
 and he knew it full well. Like most of his tribe, 
 he was perfectly happy while trying the strength 
 of his iron bill upon their ankles. He would also 
 walk off with scraps of meat and mutton chops 
 from before their eyes with the utmost gravity, 
 knowing that they were afraid to molest him. On 
 occasions of this kind there would be loud cries 
 for '' Bill," young buttons, who alone could man- 
 age the formidable Roger. The bird would pay 
 little attention to their ci'ies, till he heard the 
 footsteps of Bill in the passage, when he would 
 suddenly lose all his magisterial dignity, and run 
 and drop the stolen dainty before the nose of the 
 sleeping and innocent cat, after which he would 
 jump on the table and shriek "Bill!" with the 
 loudest of them. 
 
 Even in the coldest weather he thoroughly 
 washed himself twice-a-day, till his beautifully 
 glossy feathers shone again. After each bath, he 
 usually mounted a sunny corner of the outhouse, 
 and had a long talk to himself; here and there
 
 OUR RAVEN. 51 
 
 the words "Roger," "Bill," and " Hulloa," could 
 be clearly distinguished, but the greater part of 
 his recitation was unmeaning gabble. 
 
 When hungry he would shout " Bill ! " at the 
 top of his voice, till the red-haired individual in 
 question made his appearance ; then in a deep, 
 solemn voice he would say " Roger," thereby inti- 
 mating that, upon whatever important avocation 
 his young friend might at that moment be engaged, 
 it was imperative that Roger's wants should have 
 immediate attention. 
 
 Every evening his eyes might be seen in the 
 darkness, glaring down from the top of the 
 kitchen cupboard, like those of an evil spirit, 
 as he sat meditating dark and evil deeds for the 
 morrow, like the raven of Barnaby Rudge. 
 
 Science was not neglected by him ; he was an 
 enthusiastic floriculturist. If a flower took his 
 fancy, he would pull it up by the roots, carry it to 
 another part of the garden, make a hole in the 
 mould with his beak, and replant it. This would 
 not have mattered much, but sometimes with the
 
 52 OUR RAVEN. 
 
 insane desire, perhaps, of forming a bouquet for 
 some lady raven of his acquaintance, he would 
 pluck the flowers, and not being able to bind the 
 stalks together, would strew them over the path- 
 way. Conchology also had its share of attention ; 
 for if a snail came in his way, he would divest it 
 of its shell in the twinkling of an eye, and its 
 unfortunate occupant would be gliding down 
 Roger's throat before he could rightly tell what 
 was the matter. 
 
 Through Roger I nearly lost the friendship of 
 a young doctor, whom I had known ever since his 
 christening. The doctor lived next door, and was 
 partial to grapes— in fact, he prided himself upon 
 his skill in growing them, and spent most of his 
 leisure time in attending to a large vine at the 
 back of the house. Early one fine morning Roger 
 amused himself by nipping ofi" the bunches one by 
 one, and watching them fall on the ground below. 
 The doctor saw the havoc that had been made, and 
 was heaping maledictions upon the head of the 
 depredator or depredators unknown, when a loud
 
 OUR RAVEN. 53 
 
 "Hulloa!" caused liiin to look up, and Hoger let 
 fall the last bunch on his nose. 
 
 For this freak he was given away to a gentle- 
 man living half a mile off; but a few days 
 afterwards he came tumbling in at the door in 
 an apparently tipsy state, exclaiming, " Hulloa! 
 Roger! hu-1-l-o-a !" 
 
 It was a dark, wintry night when a tremendous 
 crash and a cry of thieves, alarmed the whole 
 house, and going to the window which overlooked 
 the garden, I saw a large dai'k hole in the red-tiled 
 roof of one of the outbuildings, through which the 
 rascals doubtless expected to force an entry into 
 the house. Bill opened the garden door, and 
 cautiously climbed up to the hole in the outhouse 
 roof, when out popped Roger's head with a loud 
 " Hulloa ! " which so frightened the boy, he lost 
 his hold, and slid off the roof to the ground. 
 
 Roger was whipped for that night's work, yet 
 he amused himself next day by repeating the 
 experiment. It was wonderful how he was able 
 to move so heavy a body as a pantile, yet he did
 
 54 OUR RAVEN. 
 
 it, and as the outhouse stood a fair chance of 
 being unroofed by his pranks, he was sent away 
 a long distance into the country. 
 
 Like most mischievous people, he suffered for 
 his tricks in the end. A ploughman was late 
 one evening walking along the road near Roger's 
 abode, and the raven began hopping and flying 
 after him, shouting " Hulloa ! Bill!" Now, Bill 
 happened to be the name of the individual in 
 question, so he fled from the apparition in terror, 
 with the demoniacal bird speeding at his heels, 
 his dark pro2:)ortions much increased in size, 
 through the dim light of the dusk of the even- 
 ing. The man, who firmly believed that a fiend 
 was pursuing him, at last could run no longer, 
 so turned round and frantically beat poor Roger 
 to death with a thick stick. He then carried the 
 body back in triumph to the village, looking upon 
 his achievement as a praiseworthy act rather than 
 otherwise.
 
 MATERIALISTIC EELIGION. 
 
 Materialism is flourishing at the present day, 
 upsetting poi^ular ideas by antiquity established, 
 and reducing everything to mechanics and mathe- 
 matics. Besides, it is about to put itself to the 
 test of expei'iment. "Who has not heard of the 
 furnaces, the great anvil, and the steam-hammer, 
 about to be fitted up near Burlington House by 
 the chief philosophers of the day, to forge a new 
 religion by the proper manipulation of the right 
 chemical substances 1 Indeed, the only difficulty 
 is how to " hitch on " the mechanical religion 
 to human consciousness and aspii^ations ; but the 
 temporary absence of this trifling link need be 
 no bar to the authoritative promulgation of the 
 doctrine of "the pi*esent orj)hanage of man, and 
 his future nonentity," or to the condemnation of
 
 56 MATERIALISTIC RELIGION. 
 
 those opposed to it to the limbo of the imiutel- 
 lectual. 
 
 Let us see what the scientific world knows 
 about the "matter" which we are to fall down 
 and worship. Until philosophers define what 
 they mean by " matter," all arguments based upon 
 a word to which several meanings are attached, 
 are necessarily not clearly stated. 
 
 The prevalent idea among physicists is, that 
 matter consists of a vast number of almost infi- 
 nitely small atoms in a state of incessant vibration. 
 That these hypothetical atoms move is certain, 
 because material bodies change their volume 
 with every change of temperature. Make an 
 iron poker hot, and it is longer than it was when 
 cold. Hence, as the atoms in the extreme ends 
 of a hot poker are measurably farther from each 
 other than they were when it was cold, it is cer- 
 tain that they must have moved. It is supposed 
 that each little atom vibrates to and fro, and that 
 this vibration is what men call "heat." The 
 Greater the atomic vibration, the hotter is the
 
 MATERIALISTIC RELIGION. 57 
 
 substance, because the little atoms knock against 
 the ends of tbe nerves in the hand with greater 
 force, and the substance consequently feels warmer. 
 If the temperature be lowered, the atoms swing 
 over less space than before, consequently the poker 
 contracts. If a sufficiency of heat be applied to 
 the substance, the atoms swing so far apart that 
 the force of cohesion is partially overcome, and 
 the atoms roll over each other like so many 
 marbles in a moving box. In this condition the 
 substance is said to be " melted : " it is in the 
 liquid state. Increase the heat, and the little 
 atoms are so liberated that they fly to and fro, 
 knocking against the sides of the vessel contain- 
 ing them. This is known as the gaseous state 
 of matter. 
 
 The above hypothetical view of the nature of 
 material bodies explains a vast number of physical 
 facts, and is of great value in successful experi- 
 mental physical research. It is the view held by 
 most of the leading physical philosophers of the 
 day.
 
 58 MATEEIALISTIC RELIGION. 
 
 Those objectors who deny that solid substances 
 consist of particles in a state of incessant motion, 
 are at variance with the best men in the philo- 
 sophical world, and hold exceptional views about 
 ]3ractical experiments connected with the expan- 
 sion and contraction of solids. If, however, the 
 hyjjothesis be admitted, then it is clear that to 
 define what matter is, the materialist must define 
 the nature of the little vibrating atoms. 
 
 In fact, the whole question — "What is mat- 
 ter ?" rests upon the question — " What is an 
 elementary atom ?" 
 
 Nobody has ever seen one of them. They are 
 infinitely beyond the reach of the most powerful 
 microscope, since millions upon millions of them 
 are required to occupy the space of a single cubic 
 inch. There is the greatest difierence of opinion 
 in the philosophical world as to the ultimate con- 
 stitution of atoms, and hei'ein lies the justification 
 of my assertion, that the argument for materialism 
 is based upon a word having a vague, uncertain 
 meaning.
 
 MATERIALISTIC RELIGION. 69 
 
 Professor Tyndall tliinks tliat, possibly, atoms 
 are infinitely rigid little pai-ticles, something like 
 minute bullets. "Will he please explain, how they 
 build themselves up into living intelligent beings 1 
 If they do not so build themselves up, but flow 
 to difierent positions around something invisible, 
 what is that invisible sometliing, and does it live 
 when unclothed by matter 1 
 
 Professor Sir William Thomson once promul- 
 gated the speculation, that atoms possibly consist 
 of portions of an infinitely elastic fluid, thrown 
 into a state of vortex motion ; and Helmholtz has 
 mathematically demonstrated that such motion, 
 once set up, would continue to all eternity. By 
 an " infijiitely elastic fluid," is meant one destitute 
 of viscosity, or fluid-friction — a fluid very similar 
 in its nature to the interstellar ether.* If mate- 
 
 * A clever experiment, designed by Sir Wm. Thomson 
 and Professor Tait, to show the great permanency of fluid 
 vortex rings, even when a fluid not destitute of friction is 
 used, was once exhibited by the latter philosopher at Edin- 
 burgh University. A large square wooden box had one of 
 its ends taken off, and a piece of thick cloth was tied over 
 this end. In the opposite end of the box was a round hole,
 
 60 MATERIALISTIC RELIGION. 
 
 rialists believe solid substances to consist of vortex 
 rings, will they explain liow the said rings build 
 themselves up into intelligent beings 1 
 
 Not a few philosophers think that atoms con- 
 sist of forces emanating from points, and points 
 have neither length nor breadth. Is this the 
 materialistic opinion 1 If so, it assumes that 
 there is no such thing as common matter at all, 
 in the sense in which the word is ordinarily 
 used. 
 
 Professor Huxley is inclined to think, with 
 Bishop Berkeley, that our knowledge of the 
 
 the size of a cheese-plate. The necks of two retorts en- 
 tered one of the sides of the box ; the one retort was made 
 to discharge hydrochloric acid gas into the box, whilst the 
 other supplied ammoniacal gas. When these two gases 
 mixed, white fumes were formed ; consequently, the box 
 was continuously charged with dense white smoke. Every 
 time the cloth at one end of the box was struck by the 
 hand, a vortex ring of common air was forced out of the 
 round hole opposite ; the said ring of air was made visible to 
 the eye by the white smoke it held in susj)ension. These 
 white rings floated about in the room for some little time 
 before their viscosity caused them to break up. When- 
 ever two of these smoke-rings struck each other as they 
 floated about, they rebounded from each other as two india- 
 rubber belts would have done.
 
 MATERIALISTIC RELIGION. 61 
 
 external world depends on the nature of our sensa- 
 tions, and tlie way in which those sensations act 
 upon our consciousness. He says that if he were 
 compelled to choose between pure idealism and 
 piire materialism, he should select the former. 
 
 As it is a fact that the best philosophers of the 
 day do not know what matter is, and are divided 
 in opinion as to its nature, there is just cause 
 for complaint, that anybody should use the word 
 " matter " in the fundamental part of an ai'gument 
 against any religious ideas which exercise a bene- 
 ficial moi-al influence upon society. There are 
 people who think that there is no such thing as 
 common matter, and that the external world is 
 the result of mental conditions governed by law.
 
 THE LAY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 PHOTOGRAPHEK. 
 
 A SCIENTIFIC BALLAD. 
 
 [In the following poem the various manipulations 
 incidental to the preparation of what are known to 
 photographers as "dry plates," are allegorically de- 
 scribed. Dry plates are much used in the photographing 
 of landscapes.] 
 
 The American YouNG Pyroxyline has come out of tlie west, 
 
 Origin of 
 
 Pyroxyline. Where he lived with dark niggers, not very much 
 dressed. 
 All regardless of safety he plunged in the brine, 
 To keep watch and ward o'er the fair Iodine.
 
 THE LAY OF THE PHOTOGRAPHER. 63 
 
 Bright, bright was his armour and gleaming his The Meeting of 
 
 Pyroxyline and 
 face, Iodine. 
 
 As he seized his fair prize with a loving em- 
 brace. 
 
 "Oh, Roxy! Ha, dun now! You've broken my 
 fan! 
 
 I'll tell papa Tpidall, you naughty young man !" 
 
 The truth must come out, though it grieves me full iodine cuts off 
 
 the luminous 
 sore, rays, but allows 
 
 the ultra-red to 
 
 She for Tyndall, her parent, told fibs at the r^ss. 
 
 door; 
 To the ultra-red rays she said — " Come in and 
 
 roam ! " 
 But to those with bright colours said — " Pa's not 
 
 at home !" 
 
 This demoralised maid, thus trained in deceit, ^"'""^ ^^^^^"^ 
 
 into union 
 
 A rich store of silver resolved to escheat. "'^^ silver. 
 
 " I like not old Nitre," she sulkily said, 
 
 " But his silver galore — it is that I will wed." 
 
 E
 
 64 THE LAY OF THE PHOTOGRAPHER. 
 
 Iodide of Silver Poor Pyroxyliiie turned yellow with rage, 
 
 causes Pyroxy- 
 
 line to turn To See them vinitecl at that early stage.* 
 
 yellow. 
 
 His spirits departed, he grew pale and thin. 
 Till the dear little man became nothing but skin. 
 
 The Nitric Acid ^j^^j ^g^^j ol^j Nitre soon gave up the ghost, 
 
 is driven off, 
 
 and the Iodide (WThich was hunted by Crookes from pillar to 
 
 of Silver is 
 
 dried. pOSt.) 
 
 And Iodine's heart, by a power from on high, 
 Like Pharoah's of old, was made rigid and dry. 
 
 The PjTogaiiic Then a demon named Pyro invaded her home, 
 
 developer sepa- 
 rates some of And exclaimed — " As my slave from this day you 
 the Iodine from 
 
 the Silver. must roam." 
 
 "Oh! never!" she shouted, but ere she could wink. 
 He swept her away down oblivion's sink. 
 
 Astonishment of * Indeed, Mr. Cottrell thought he had got her all, — 
 Phiiosopheib. jj.^^ union with Nitre was quite a surprise ; 
 
 E'en the great Mr. Spottiswoode said it was not as good 
 A match as she might have made, had she been wise. 
 
 A theoretical A Woman's Pdghts preacher exclaimed, "The bold creature 
 
 explanation. j^ ^ perfectly shameless and brazen-faced jade ; 
 
 But you know for an F.R.S. no woman ever hes- 
 itates at the matrimonial grade ! "
 
 THE LAY OF THE PHOTOGRAPHER. 65 
 
 All her ill-gotten gains, which were stored in a The separated 
 
 Silver is of a 
 sack, black colour. 
 
 'N"eath the glance of the fiend turned ashy and 
 
 black. 
 " Aha ! " said the demon, with caper and grin — 
 " Dead sea fruit always falls as the wages of 
 
 sin."* 
 
 People shudder whenever they speak of the dead, Bromine now 
 
 supplants Iodine 
 And Bromine, her sister, now reigns in her stead, '» dry-plate 
 
 processes. 
 
 And in elegant mourning may often be seen. 
 With the nearest relations of Pyroxyline. 
 
 When a baby photographer lies at the breast, Photographers 
 
 now abhor 
 
 In innocence peacefully taking its rest, iodine. 
 
 If you whisper false Iodine's name in its ear, 
 It awakes with a shriek, and turns pallid with 
 fear. 
 
 Said one J. T. Indie, — "Crimes always enkindle Evii acts bring 
 
 A lingering train of deception and woe ; i mtlon^" '^'^ ' ' 
 
 Though you may try an' hide, be sure that Cyanide 
 Will ever complete the fell work of Py-ro !"
 
 66 
 
 THE LAY OF THE PHOTOGRAPHER. 
 
 The negative The darkness of night settled over the scene, 
 
 film when dried 
 
 becomes rigid. But sleepless and restless was Pyroxyline ; 
 His hopes foully crushed, his happiness fled, 
 They found him next morning all stiffened and dead. 
 
 Appearance 
 of the poor 
 relations of 
 Pyroxyline. 
 
 The deceased's poor relations appeared on the scene : 
 First came Stewart, with a glass, to see things 
 
 unseen ; 
 Then Clifford came reading, with serious face. 
 His essay on sixteen dimensions in space. 
 
 More poor 
 relations. 
 
 And Simpson and Taylor appeared hand in hand, 
 Leading spirits are they in photographie's band; 
 Under the greenwood they sat themselves down, 
 And drowned all their sorrows in ale from the 
 Crown. 
 
 News of the To Huxley, and Lockyer, and Eoscoe, and Stokes, 
 
 death produces 
 
 grief. Clerk Maxwell fired off some molecular jokes, 
 
 But the news of the death caused a change in 
 
 their air, 
 And they came to the funeral pale with despair.
 
 THE LAY OF THE PHOTOGRAPHER. 67 
 
 Next came Serjeant Cox with Colonel Lane ^'^^^^^ '' 
 
 Fox, 
 Also Vincent and White, with a ballotting 
 
 box; 
 Soon Thomson spun in on a fine vortex ring. 
 And Crookes bx'ought a requiem signed " Katie 
 
 King." 
 
 All hushed was their chatter; a feeling of dread The Funeral. 
 Crept o'er them upon the approach of the dead, 
 Borne by Odling and Caithness, and two or three 
 
 more, 
 Who placed the remains on the sepulchre's floor. 
 
 Then a requiem was sung, and a few tears were Requieseat in 
 
 pace. 
 shed. 
 
 And an epitaph placed at the feet of the dead. 
 
 May philosophers all keep his memory green. 
 
 And pray for the soul of poor Pyroxyline.
 
 HOW TO DOUBLE 
 
 THE UTILITY OF 
 
 THE PRINTING PRESS. 
 
 The question of the more rapid and cheap dis- 
 semination of knowledge is one of interest to all 
 who desire the promotion of the civilisation of 
 the race, and a great step in the right direction 
 may be made, by doing away with the enormous 
 waste of space and paper in newspapers and books, 
 caused by the unwise shape of the letters of the 
 present aljjhabet. The letters at present in use 
 were arbitrarily designed by the Phoenicians in 
 primitive times, and roughly rej^resented objects 
 common about farms. The letter A was originally
 
 UTILITY OF THE PRINTING PRESS. 69 
 
 a rough representation of the head of a cow as 
 shown in the first figure in the accompanying 
 cut; in process of time the cow's 
 head was turned round and made 
 to point to heaven, as shown in 
 the second figure, that position being afterwards 
 discovered to be the most convenient. Ever since 
 it was so placed, no further attempts have been 
 made to economise space, nor can there be until 
 the daily newspapers unite to gradually inti'odvxce 
 letters of better form. 
 
 Why should we, to this day, bo slaves to designs 
 which probably originated with a prehistoric farm 
 servant, who invented them to record his milk 
 scores on the crown of his hat 1 
 
 Why should the letter "W" be entitled to a 
 shape which takes vip so much more space than 
 the letter "I"? A straight stroke, with a projec- 
 tion on ono side only, will take up no more space 
 than the letter " I" with its projections on two 
 sides. In the following cut, and in the first group, 
 each of the six new letters has projections on one
 
 70 HOW TO DOUBLE THE 
 
 side only. By altering the shape of the projec- 
 tions, as shown in each letter of the next group, 
 other letters may be formed, and these again may 
 
 fHHJ m 
 
 B 
 
 a -> 
 
 fS), 
 
 ^ 
 
 f 
 
 be mtdtiplied by varying as before the position 
 of each projection j and further varieties may be 
 produced by the use of thin as well as thick 
 strokes, as shown in the last group. Thus it 
 is plain that some hundreds of letters may be 
 designed, each of which shall occupy no more 
 space than the letter '' I." To show the economy 
 which would result, here are two lines, the one 
 composed of "I's" and the other of "W's":— 
 
 IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII 1 1 
 
 wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww 
 
 There are 56 "I's" in the preceding lines, and 
 23 " Ws," or 2-J times as many of the foi-mer as 
 of the latter.* Considering then that no letter need 
 
 * Unless the informatiou had been given, the reader 
 Avould scarcely have recognised the letter " I " in the long
 
 UTILITY OF THE PRINTING PRESS. 71 
 
 occupy more space than "I" it is evident that an 
 enormous economy is possible, and that thousands 
 of tons of paper are wasted in this country every 
 year, to afford room for letters of irrational shape. 
 The daily newspapers alone can bring about a slow 
 I'eform in this matter, and the civilisation of the 
 world is considerably retarded until their managers 
 act upon the principles herein set forth, although 
 that action they must of necessity take sooner or 
 later. 
 
 How can the proposed improvement in the 
 shapes of letters be brought about in a practically 
 efficient way 1 If any small efforts were made by 
 one or two individuals, they would fail, and their 
 peculiar books would be laughed at by the un- 
 thinking multitude. But five or six London daily 
 newspaper proprietors, after satisfying themselves 
 
 row of them printed above the row of Ws. As another 
 example of the way in which the position of a letter may 
 affect its appearance, it may be mentioned that although 
 the upper and lower portions of the letter " S " are usually 
 supposed to be of the same shape and size, the lower half 
 is largest, as may be plainly seen when the letter is printed 
 bottom upwards, thus — "S-"
 
 72 HOW TO DOUBLE THE 
 
 of tlie utility of the idea, and the fact that its 
 fulfilment would enable them to get twice as many 
 advertisements as at present into one column, could 
 bring it about without much trouble. First, they 
 would have to explain to their readers the value 
 of the plan to society and to the progress of civilisa- 
 tion, and afterwards they would have to announce 
 that once every three months they would alter the 
 shape of one of the letters of the alphabet used in 
 their journals. They might begin with the fre- 
 quently used letter M, and alter it to a shape 
 which occupied no more space than the letter I. 
 For the first thi'ee or four days the readers would 
 feel worried by the change, but in a fortnight they 
 would no more dream of going back to the old M 
 than to the use of sedan chairs. Then the jour- 
 nals must wait for three months, for if the public 
 hate anything, it is personal improvement and 
 instruction ; so it would not do to move too fast. 
 At the end of three months they might pluck up 
 heart of grace and introduce another new letter. 
 Each change would enable them to gain, say half-a-
 
 UTILITY OF THE PRINTING PRESS. 73 
 
 column of space in a daily paper. I do not see how 
 any other persons than daily newspaper proprie- 
 tors could hope to su.ccessfully make the proposed 
 change ; but the said proprietors could do it with 
 the \itmost ease. Printers, compositors, and type- 
 founders ought to like the change, because the 
 demand for printing is now greatly limited by the 
 expense ; and, as every editor knows, shoals of 
 essays are at present, perhaps at no great disad- 
 vantage to the public, condemned to remain in 
 manuscript, because of the cost of printing. The 
 proposed slow altei'ations in the shapes of letters 
 would give a great impetus to the printing trade. 
 After the shape of letters has been improved, 
 the phonetic princijile will have to be adopted, and 
 long ages hence, when the public are educated up 
 to the point, a new and shoi'ter language will have 
 to be invented. Why should any word be more 
 than one or two syllables in length, thereby wast- 
 ing time and money in speaking, writing, and print- 
 ing 1 At present, men can speak faster than their 
 listeners can think, but as the race grows more
 
 74 THE PRINTING PRESS. 
 
 v' 
 
 nervous and more sensitive, the receptive powers 
 .of the mind will be quickened, so that the advan- 
 tage of the abolition of all arbitrary language in 
 making oral communications will be greater than 
 at this day.
 
 THE LAY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE MOTHEE-IN-LAW. 
 
 A POOR weeping woman your sympathy asks, 
 In her hour of aifiiction and giief, 
 
 When memoiy's pangs have set in like a flood, 
 And she looks round in vain for relief. 
 
 Three daughters I had, fair as roses in June, 
 But ingi*atitude reigns in them now; 
 
 For their poor troubled mother they care not a rap. 
 And I'll tell you the why and the how. 
 
 My eldest girl, Edith, had suitors by scores. 
 But I told her with feelings of pride, 
 
 How her Pa in the city was " Monarch of all 
 He surveyed" on the Lombard Street side.
 
 76 THE LAY OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW. 
 
 So lovers and schemers of every kind, 
 
 Good and bad, old and young, false and true, 
 
 Were quickly deputed to Coventry's shade, 
 And I think she showed wisdom — don't you 1 
 
 Oh, I fed her true pride as a mother should do, 
 
 Till she frequently iised to aver, 
 Come weal or come woe she'd have none but a 
 prince — 
 
 But no prince volunteered to have her. 
 
 Now she's old, and bad-tempered, and shrivelled, 
 and wan. 
 
 And asserts that I blighted her yovith — 
 Says I taught her to sacrifice nature to pride, 
 
 And to substitute scheming for truth. 
 
 She says I encouraged an indolent life — 
 A life useless to God and to man, — 
 
 That she wishes the grave had closed over her 
 head 
 Ere I steeped her in plotting and sham.
 
 THE LAY OF THE MOTHEU-IN-LAW, 77 
 
 Pretty language, I'm sure, for a mother to tear ! 
 
 I beg pardon, sir; what did you sayl 
 Then I am not a mother-in-law after all] 
 
 Not so fast with your guessing, I pray. 
 
 Now Ethel, her sistei', the gentlest of girls, 
 Fell in love with a man near Tor Bay, — 
 
 A lawyer whose conscience, forsooth, kept him 
 poor ! 
 So I soon got him out of the way. 
 
 With manners most cool and civility scant, 
 I froze all his approaches to me ; 
 
 And Ethel I lectured severely, and said 
 That her conduct was shocking to see. 
 
 So that little matter I nipped in the bud, 
 But it cost her full many a tear ; 
 
 And often the heart-broken look of the child 
 Distressed me with undefined fear.
 
 78 THE LAY OP THE MOTHER-IN-LAW. 
 
 Like the rest of my class I "went iii" foi- a 
 lord, 
 
 But found, most of them civil and cool, 
 Till I caught a roue by his friends cast away 
 
 As a ne'er-do-well scapegi'ace and fool. 
 
 Now to tell you the truth I did not like this 
 match ; 
 
 I was troubled with horrible dreams ; 
 But for theories based on religion and truth, 
 
 Should I give up my business schemes'? 
 
 No. I did it. The child was too young to resist, 
 
 And I rose in position and ])ride ; 
 She said, and said truly, I ought to know best. 
 
 And her tears I consolingly dried. 
 
 "VVe cleared off the mortgages, "did up" the park; 
 
 Oh, the envy of thousands were we ! 
 The lacqueys were humble, the gamekeepers meek. 
 
 And the parson most civil to me.
 
 .THE LAY OF THE MOTHER-IX-LAW. 79 
 
 Though splendour and luxury reigned at the 
 Hall, 
 Foul fiends ran riot in our hearts ; 
 A home -svithoiit love, formed to serve as a 
 show, 
 Could not shield us from conscience's darts. 
 
 The details, my friends, it is needless to tell, 
 
 You can see them on every side ; 
 I stand not alone in impaling young lives 
 
 On the spears of show, title, and pride. 
 
 'Tis a terrible thing the affections to crush — 
 
 To fetter with permanent gyves; 
 I would I had known the effects in a home, 
 
 Of my traific in human lives. 
 
 First came anger, then cruelty, hate, and neglect, 
 And I wished that my work were undone; 
 
 They now live apart — God asunder has put 
 Those whom I had conjoined into one. 
 
 P
 
 80 THE LAY OF THE MOTHEK-IN-LAW. 
 
 In buying and selling I feel quite at ease, 
 
 And must I sell chattels alone 1 
 May I not drive a bargain my daughter to "place'"? 
 
 Can't I do what I like with my own? 
 
 « 
 
 She never upbraids me — I would that she did — 
 Her pale face as hopeless as death, 
 
 Haunts me morning and night, and will trouble 
 me sore, 
 Till the hour I inspire my last breath. 
 
 As to Fanny, the youngest, I feel so distraught, 
 At the trovibles revealed to you now, 
 
 That if she eloped with the man of her choice, 
 I covdd almost feel happy, I vow. 
 
 Nay, pity me not ; you have caught me unnerv'd. 
 
 To drive bargains from youth was I trained. 
 And I knew not things sought by disciples of 
 greed, 
 
 Were ashes when grasped and obtained.
 
 THE LAY OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW. 81 
 
 For 'tis not in devices invented by man, 
 Wealth, title, and glittering show. 
 
 That the spirit can rest while sojourning here, 
 In mortality cradled below. 
 
 It seeks for a love that is dearer than life — 
 A pure flame from the realms of the blest; 
 
 For a heart which responds to the throbs of its 
 own, 
 And can hush its complainings to rest. 
 
 Like an eagle it rises from fetters of earth. 
 And breaking its links to the sod, 
 
 Seeks rest in a conscience devoid of reproach. 
 And a home at the throne of its God.
 
 WIEBEL-BEWEGUNG. 
 
 What is "Wirbel-bewegung'? Who knows any- 
 thing about Wirbel-bewegung? The secret has 
 just been extracted that the round world, and 
 they that dwell therein, the big whales and little 
 fishes, gorillas and anthroi^ologists, the sun, the 
 moon, the stars, nay, the foundation of the wide 
 universe itself, are all Wirbel-bewegung. The 
 readers of these pages, the writer, the paper, the 
 printing ink, and the printer's devil, are Wirbel- 
 bewegung root and branch. Historical person- 
 ages, Henry VIII., the Holy Maid of Kent, Mr. 
 Disraeli, the Cock-lane Ghost, Mr. Gladstone, 
 the Thirsty Woman of Tutbury, the Mayor of 
 Haverfordwest, the Great Mogul, Landseer's 
 Lions, and Baalam's Ass, are all nothing more 
 nor less than Wirbel-bewegung. Who made the
 
 WIRBEL-BEWEGUNG. 83 
 
 discovery'? Professor Sir W. Thomson, of the 
 Atlantic Cable, who once announced it to an 
 assemblage of learned philosophers, with Sir 
 David Brewster at their tead, at a crowded 
 meeting of the members of the Royal Society 
 of Edinburgh. The present republication of such 
 an announcement in England is of itself a mighty 
 task, but now that the first burst is over, and 
 the secret out, breathing time may be allowed, 
 and the details calmly considered in fresh para- 
 graphs. I am now as exhausted as Washing- 
 ton Irving's hero of old, who took a run of three 
 miles to jump over a hill, but having reached 
 the bottom of it, sat down to rest, and then 
 walked over at his leisure. 
 
 All the substances known to exist in the Eai-th, 
 the fixed stars, and in meteoric stones, are re- 
 ducible by the chemist into less than 'a hundred 
 simple elements, and many of these are rare. 
 Indeed it has been computed, with tolerable cer- 
 tainty, that more than forty-four per cent, of 
 the solid crust of the Earth is composed of
 
 84 WIRBEL-BEWEGUNG. 
 
 oxygen, twenty-two per cent, of silicon, nine 
 pei" cent, of aluminium, nine of iron, six of 
 calcium, two of magnesium, two of sodium, and 
 one of potassium, all other substances being 
 rarer still. The great bulk of tlie elementary 
 bodies are chemical rarities, some of them as 
 scarce as the metal lithium, which sells at six 
 shillings a grain, and burns with a magnificent 
 dame. They are called simple bodies, because 
 no power at present in the hands of man can 
 demonstrate them to be composed of two or 
 more substances. Nevertheless, till recently, 
 nothing was known of Wirbel-bewegung. A 
 lump of any solid simple substance is reasonably 
 assumed to be built up of a number of atoms of 
 that substance, but such ultimate particles have 
 never been seen, being infinitely beyond the ken 
 of the most powerful microscope, so on this point 
 there is fine scope for the exex'cise of the ima- 
 gination. Let a poker, made of the simple 
 substance iron, be made red hot in the fire, 
 and it will grow longer than it was when cold;
 
 WIRBEL-BEWEGUNG. 85 
 
 hence its constituent particles have the power 
 of motion. In fact, heat in a body can be 
 proved to be nothing but motion, and as absolute 
 absence of heat represents a degree of cold that 
 has never been attained on earth — the atoms of 
 all bodies are believed to be in a state of unxest. 
 What that motion is, or what the atoms are 
 like, nobody knows, so it has been assumed, by 
 many philosophers, that the particles are incom- 
 pressibly hard and infinitely rigid. " But," it 
 has been argued, "it is impossible to imagine 
 an atom so small that it cannot be cut in 
 two, therefore matter may be infinitely divisible." 
 In this case it would not be matter at all, in 
 the ordinary sense of the word. As it is there- 
 fore quite as impossible to prove as disprove the 
 existence of solid matter, the dilemma forms a 
 very pretty puzzle; and the leading votaries of 
 physical science at the present day are divided 
 into two classes, the materialists and imma- 
 terialists, and the ranks of the latter seem day 
 by day to be gaining ground.
 
 86 WIRBEL-BEWEGUNG. 
 
 Professor Thomson based his communication 
 upon the admirable discovery of Helmholtz of 
 the law of vortex motion in a jDerfect fluid, that 
 is to say, in a hypothetical fluid, destitute of 
 viscosity or fluid friction. Helmholtz has proved, 
 mathematically, an absolute unchangeability in 
 the motion of any portion of a perfect fluid ii| 
 which the peculiar motion he calls " WirbeL 
 bewegung" has once been created. Professor 
 Thomson, therefore, boldly threw down the 
 gauntlet at Edinburgh, by condemning " the 
 monstrous assumption of infinitely strong and 
 infinitely rigid pieces of matter," and suggested! 
 that Helmholtz's rings may be the true atoms. 
 Further, he managed in the presence of the 
 audience, to make some large smoke rings, of ' 
 the imperfectly elastic fluid, air, and to render 
 them visible to the audience.* These rings floated 
 about the room, and were frequently seen to 
 bound obliqxiely from one another, shaking vio- 
 
 * See footnote on page 59.
 
 WIRBEL-BEWEGUNG, 87 
 
 lently from the effects of the shock. They re- 
 bounded from each other, and trembled in much 
 the same way that two indiarubber belts would 
 have done under the same circumstances. Had 
 these rings been formed of a perfect fluid, they 
 would, as Helmholtz has demonstrated, have 
 kept up the "Wirbel-bewegung motion to all 
 eternity, and if two such vortex atoms were 
 interlinked, nothing could ever separate them, 
 for one line of vortex motion could never pass 
 through another line; thus such a double vortex 
 atom might much vary in shape, yet remain 
 essentially the same. 
 
 There are now, at least, four beautiful theories 
 as to the ultimate constitution of matter. The 
 first supposes atoms to be solid lumps; the second 
 imagines them to be forces emanating from points ; 
 the third classes them as Wirbel-bewegung; and 
 a fourth, propounded by Dr. T. L. Phipson in 
 the pages of the Parisian Cosmos, assumes that 
 atoms are elastic, thus accounting for the stretch- 
 ing of a poker when it is heated. But why or
 
 88 WIRBEL-BEWEGUNG. 
 
 how do the atoms stretcli? I am going to bring 
 out a fifth theory some day, when I have time 
 to find facts to suj)port it, and shall prove that 
 there are no such things as atoms at all. 
 
 So Wirbel-bewegung is vortex motion. In all 
 ages mysterious powers have been ascribed to 
 the circle. A serpent with its tail in its mouth 
 has long been recognised as the fittest emblem 
 of eternity. Dancing dervishes — devotees of 
 Wirbel-beweguug — for centuries have achieved a 
 meritorious amount of devotion by spinning round 
 upon one leg. The Lamas of Thibet pray by 
 machinery, theii' petitions being printed upon 
 small windmills, which rotate right merrily in 
 every passing breeze. Sometimes, it is true, the 
 wind chances to fail, but a band over the smoke- 
 jack in the chimney furnishes the necessary me- 
 chanical power to grind the prayers. The world 
 is circular, and travels round the sun in a circle; 
 the moon twists round the earth in a circle; 
 the sun dances round his axis in a circle, and 
 is supposed himself to travel in a cii'cle round
 
 WIRBEL-BEWEGUNG. 89 
 
 the star Alcyone, the centre of another circle; 
 so there are plenty of precedents for Professor 
 Thomson's idea that atoms whirl in circles, and 
 nobody questions that the heads of theorising 
 philosophers spin round in an endless Wirbel- 
 bewegung. Astrologers and other clever men 
 found out the vii'tues of Wirbel-bewegung long 
 ago, so made their bodies sj)in round when per- 
 forming their incantations. Dr. Aldrovando, first 
 physician to Prester John, Leech to the Grand 
 Lama, and Hakim in Ordinary to Mustapha 
 Muley Bey, is recorded by Ingoldsby to have 
 thus by unholy rites obtained power over the 
 spirits of the nether world. " On one side was 
 an article bearing a strong resemblance to a 
 coflfin; on the other, was a large oval mirror 
 in an ebony frame; and in the midst of the 
 floor was described, in red chalk, a double circle 
 about six feet in diameter; its inner verge 
 inscribed with svmdry hieroglyphics, agreeably 
 relieved at intervals with an alternation of skidls 
 and crossbones. In the very centre was deposited
 
 90 WIRBEL-BEWEGUNG. 
 
 one skull of sucli surprising size and thickness, 
 as would have filled the soul of a Spurzheim or 
 De Ville with astonishment. A large book, a 
 naked sword, an hour-glass, a chafing dish, and 
 a black cat, completed the list of moveables. 
 The Doctor seated himself in the centre of the 
 circle upon the large skull, elevating his legs 
 to an angle of forty-five degrees. In this position 
 he spun round with a velocity to be equalled 
 only by that of a teetotum, the red roses on his 
 insteps seeming to describe a circle of fire. The 
 best buckskins that ever mounted at Melton has 
 soon yielded to such rotatory friction — but he 
 sj)un on — the cat mewed, bats and obscene birds 
 fluttered overhead." Now, here is a clear case 
 of "Wirbel-bewegung, known to a scientific man 
 in the days of old. Nowadays, whenever a dis- 
 covery is made some good natured friend of the 
 promulgator always rises to say it is not new, 
 so here is a clear case against Professor Thomson. 
 Probably he made his discovery by going through 
 the ceremonial incantations laid down by the
 
 WIRBEL-BEWEGUNG. 91 
 
 illustrious Dr. Aldrovanclo, but that is one of 
 the grave secrets his tailor only can unravel. 
 The scientific world travels onwards at a rapid 
 rate, and who knows whether before long the 
 canny folks in Glasgow may not see their learned 
 townsman building himself a house of solid 
 matter, made by banging smoke-rings out of a 
 wooden box with a damp towel.
 
 (( 
 
 POOR OLD JOE!" 
 
 [The following lines refer to a somewhat aged Italian who, 
 some years ago, by the aid of two donkeys, carried coals 
 and goods about Haverfordwest, but made existence 
 hideous by his yells whilst performing his useful mission 
 in life. His donkeys were sleek and handsome ; he told 
 me that they were his only friends, and that they per- 
 fectly imderstood each other ; he illustrated this by asking 
 one donkey to sing, a request with which the animal 
 complied, raising, moreover, his tail, at the moment he 
 uplifted his voice. The other donkey had been taught 
 pantomimic tricks which he would perform at request. 
 Joe was a "character " in his way, and as much a public 
 institution in Haverfordwest as the town clock or the 
 Town Clerk. At the time the following lines were 
 written. Garibaldi and other patriots were engaged in the 
 freeing of Italy.] 
 
 Up, up the liilly street, 
 With wayworn, weary feet, 
 
 There they go; 
 Three of the long-eared race, 
 One with a human face — 
 
 Poor old Joe !
 
 " POOR OLD JOE ! " 93 
 
 Italia's sunny cKme 
 Hath lost tliee for a time : 
 
 Tale of woe ! 
 Whilst her fair freedom grows, 
 Thoii'rt here, a severed rose — 
 
 Poor old Joe ! 
 
 Thy voice hath lost its tone ; 
 Was it ever sweeter known 
 
 Years ago 1 
 Whate'er it was before, 
 'Tis like a creaking door — 
 
 Poor old Joe ! 
 
 Thou'rt upright, all men say, 
 And true, like poor dog Tray, 
 
 Don't you know 1 
 Who was faithful, true, and kind. 
 And his tail stuck out behind — 
 
 Poor old Joe !
 
 94 "POOR OLD JOE !" 
 
 Well liast thou done thy part, 
 With honest hand and heart ; 
 
 And though snow 
 Thy head may whiten fast, 
 We'll love thee to the last — 
 
 Poor old Joe !
 
 THE HUMAN HIVE. 
 
 From the mountain's brow 
 
 In tlie dark cold night, 
 I view the town 
 
 With its spots of light ; 
 And the furnace flames 
 
 In the vale below, 
 Roar up to heaven 
 
 "With their fiercest glow. 
 As men toil on 
 
 At the nod of wealth, 
 Selling their souls, 
 
 Their peace, their health. 
 The Dead Sea fruit, 
 
 Striving to clasp — 
 G
 
 96 THE HUMAN HIVE. 
 
 Fair to the sight, 
 Ashes to grasp. 
 
 Fitfully, mournfully, 
 
 On they go, 
 Sowing the whirlwind, 
 
 And reaping woe. 
 Recking nothing 
 
 But earthly lust. 
 Heaping up treasure 
 
 Of golden dust ; 
 Quitting with sorrow 
 
 Their mother earth. 
 Grasping the ashes 
 
 Beloved from birth. 
 Yet flowers bedeck 
 
 Each earthly sod. 
 And the stars of heaven 
 
 Proclaim a God. 
 
 When Mammon lifts 
 His claws of gold.
 
 THE HUMAN HIVE. 97 
 
 They sei've the god 
 
 With heart a-cold; 
 And sailing down 
 
 Eternity's flood, 
 Lay on his altar 
 
 Their lives and blood. 
 Sad is the tale 
 
 Of the human hive, 
 Where pain and anguish 
 
 Eternally strive, 
 For the things of time. 
 
 The dust of earth, 
 Forgetting alway 
 Their spirit birth. 
 
 Ere a few short years 
 
 Are gone and sped, 
 Master and man 
 
 Lie cold and dead.
 
 THE LAY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE MACE-BEARERS 
 
 Three Sergeants with maces so ricli and so rare, 
 
 At Plymoutli oft march in advance of the 
 
 Mayor; 
 
 When he stops in his walking the Sergeants stop 
 too, 
 
 When he smiles they all laugh, when he sighs 
 
 they Boo-hoo. 
 
 And some time ago a great British Ass- 
 ociation — for plastering science en masse 
 
 On the back of the nation at large — went to see 
 This superior Mayor with his Mace-bearers 
 three.
 
 THE LAY OF THE MACE-BEARERS. 99 
 
 And they marclied to the left, and they marched 
 to the right, 
 As we opened our ranks to their passage that 
 night; 
 Then they swept ia a curve round the musical 
 band, 
 And turned on one leg as they came to a stand. 
 
 And we felt that life's glories extend but a span, 
 For those maces were made in the days of 
 Queen Anne; 
 And gone are the Mayors who surveyed them of 
 old, 
 And forgotten their names, like a tale that is 
 told. 
 
 Their remains in the churchyard rest lowly and 
 lone. 
 And the ivy creeps over the mouldering stone, 
 Whose armorial bearings imperfectly tell 
 
 They were linked to the town they befriended 
 so well.
 
 100 THE LAY OF THE MACE-BEARERS. 
 
 Wiien the niglit-winds of heaven rustle under the 
 eaves, 
 And the moon casts her sheen on the whisper- 
 ing leaves, 
 By the side of the harbour you often may see 
 The ghosts of dead Mayors and their Mace- 
 bearers three. 
 
 So if you are nervous, or not very well, 
 
 After nine o'clock strikes never leave your hotel ; 
 
 And from ghosts you'll be safe, it is frequently said, 
 If a horse-shoe you nail to the foot of your bed. 
 
 You remember, dear reader, how chronicles tell 
 Of Admiral Drake, that great nautical swell? 
 
 In Plymouth he lived, and when not on the sea, 
 Ambled sailor-like after his Mace-bearers three. 
 
 Drake's two little eyes, like live cinders ablaze. 
 Were set in a forehead resembling red baize; 
 
 And his porcupine head in its snowy-white ruff, 
 A temper povirtrayed of perpetual huff.
 
 THE LAY OF THE MACE-BEARERS. 101 
 
 When the Spanish Armada came looming in 
 sight, 
 Drake was playing at bowls on the eve of the 
 fight; 
 Said he to his Captains — "Let's finish our game; 
 We can thrash those land-lubbers in shore just 
 the same." 
 
 And this fire-eating Mayor, with his lobster-like 
 face. 
 Oft kicked in the aii- both the Sergeant and 
 mace, 
 And delighted in hunting e?i route to the sea, 
 Those terrified varlets, his Mace-bearers three. 
 
 Town-sergeantSj'fcin those days, would fly like the 
 wind. 
 Crying — " Out of the way! Here's Sir Francis 
 behind!" 
 For Sir Francis loved better than hunting the 
 fox, 
 The chasing of Mace-bearers into the docks.
 
 102 THE LAY OP THE MACE-BEARERS. 
 
 But a Mace-bearer now is a man of repute, 
 
 Whose ideas on town government none may 
 refute; 
 His words so precise, and his motions so slow, 
 A monarch could not make him quicken — 
 Oh, no! 
 
 And all nice little boys who in Devonshire dwell, 
 Uplift theii" bright eyes as their grandmammas 
 tell 
 How, if they are good, they hereafter may be 
 Of Plymouth the Mayor, and have Mace-bearers 
 three.
 
 A LOVE SONG. 
 
 Away from the noise of cities, 
 Away from all man-made things, 
 
 Away from the haunts of fashion, 
 Away from courts and kings — 
 
 We'll wander where nature ruleth, 
 Where the glorious sunsets glow, 
 
 Where the flowers all diamond-laden 
 Unveil their breasts of snow — 
 
 Of snow, and violet, and purple — 
 Where the birds as free as air. 
 
 Shun not our hallowed footsteps, 
 Nor dream of death-wiles there.
 
 104 A LOVE SONG. 
 
 And there, in the old poke bonnet, 
 Whence the wild-flowers deftly swing, 
 
 Thine eyes so full of mischief 
 Shalt drink the eternal spring 
 
 Of a love that knows no meanness. 
 Of a love too deep for earth, 
 
 Of a love that has pierced the secret 
 Of thine unrivalled worth. 
 
 Which the world may dim for a season, 
 With its bright and glittering shroud — 
 
 Oh, hearts are a-cold and aching 
 Under the breasts of the proud. 
 
 But lightly the chains of fashion, 
 And feebly the ties of earth, 
 
 Fetter thy noble nature, 
 Child of the spirit birth. 
 
 There's a love that knows no fading; 
 
 And free from earth's wild unrest. 
 Its fibres of true afiection 
 
 Are rooted within thy breast.
 
 A VISION. 
 
 Tossing on a bed of fever 
 
 All disquieted I lie, 
 Visions and strange phantasies 
 
 Flit before my weary eye. 
 Elnarl^d oaks of shady forests 
 
 Throw their arching boughs o'erhead, 
 And the sunlight streams in patches, 
 
 Whilst the trees their shadows shed 
 O'er the dense and tangled brushwood, 
 
 O'er the bramble and the thyme, 
 And the distant bells are ringing 
 
 With a peaceful Sabbath chime. 
 Lazily the bees are humming 
 
 In the bx'illiant noontide sheen.
 
 106 A VISION. 
 
 And bright dragon-flies come circling 
 
 In their mailed coats of green. 
 Now a troubled darkness hurtles, 
 
 And the scene seems streaked with blood; 
 Now a noise of rushing waters, 
 
 Of a vast o'erwhelming flood. 
 A strange unhallowed wind is sighing, 
 
 And I wake to sense again. 
 Wake to hear my feeble moaning 
 
 Tossing on a bed of pain. 
 
 Hark ! those strains of heavenly music. 
 
 All unearthly in their tone, 
 Stealing o'er the ti'oubled senses, 
 
 Whispering thoughts of realms unknown. 
 See ! the darksome clouds are breaking, 
 
 Burst by streams of purest light. 
 And a scene of matchless glory 
 
 Opens to my dazzled sight. 
 Terraces of light ascending, 
 
 Columns, arches, spires, and domes —
 
 A VISION. 10/ 
 
 Where the pure from earth translated 
 
 Praise Him in their starry homes. 
 And my long lost sister Edith, 
 
 Beckons with her pale white hand, 
 She — the loved one — leads me onward, 
 
 Onward to the spirit-land. 
 Angels of immortal beauty 
 
 Cluster round in robes of light — 
 Now, ah me ! the scene is fading, 
 
 Fading from my longing sight, 
 And my outstretched hands appealing, 
 
 Plead for enti'ance there in vain; 
 And I wake to care and son-ow — 
 
 Wake to misery and pain. 
 
 And I press my throbbing temples 
 With a sense of awe and dread; 
 
 Have I in my fitful slumbers. 
 Passed the portals of the dead? 
 
 Trod the land of the immortal? 
 Pierced the secrets of the tomb?
 
 108 A VISION. 
 
 Scanned the realms of the hereafter, 
 
 Where the flowers eternal bloom'? 
 If that heaven be so resplendent 
 
 In the visions of the night, 
 The reality of glory 
 
 Is beyond all mortal sight. 
 And I long to burst my trammels — 
 
 Seek those regions of the blest, 
 " Where the wicked cease from troubling 
 
 And the weary are at rest."
 
 UNDER THE LIMES. 
 
 Sitting by the ruined terrace 
 
 In the calm of eventide, 
 Sadness flings her shadows o'er me, 
 
 Fancy wanders far and wide. 
 And I hear the winds of autumn 
 
 Whisiiering sadly through the limes, 
 Singing, singing, singing ever, 
 
 Of the joys of bygone times. 
 
 And my heart is dead within me, 
 
 Cold and frozen as a stone; 
 Seared by friendship false and lifeless — 
 
 Left to make its bitter moan.
 
 110 UNDER THE LIMES. 
 
 Young in years but not in sorrow, 
 Neither blanched by age nor crimes, 
 
 Clinging, clinging, clinging ever, 
 To the love of bygone times. 
 
 And the path where oft we wandered, 
 Breathed each living, earnest vow. 
 
 And the stars — the trees — the streamlet- 
 All, all rise before me now. 
 
 And that voice so well remembered, 
 E'en again in softness chimes, 
 
 Ringing, ringing, ringing ever. 
 In the tones of bygone times. 
 
 Deep, dark thoughts in sadness linger. 
 
 O'er me cast their gloomy breath — 
 Tell of one escape from sorrow. 
 
 Through the cypress shades of death; 
 And the spirit's longings wander, 
 
 While the night-wind shakes the limes, 
 Winging, winging, winging ever, 
 
 To the scenes of bygone times.
 
 THE ANGEL OF SILENCE. 
 
 With marble-like feet on the darksome clouds 
 
 Ascending from worlds of woe, 
 The Angel of Silence in majesty stood, 
 All patiently calm as the murmuring flood, 
 Of the passions of men and their deeds of Llood, 
 Re-echoed from depths below. 
 
 And sadly the murmurs of sorrow and pain, 
 
 Of the tide of human tears, 
 Kose heavenwards with prayers for a time of 
 
 peace. 
 For the day when the tumult of life should cease. 
 When the souls of men should obtain release. 
 In the march of the silent years. 
 H
 
 112 THE ANGEL OF SILENCE, 
 
 Impassively calm was her snow-white brow, 
 
 As she read the Decrees of Fate, 
 Whilst down from the blade of her cleaminor 
 
 sword, 
 The radiance of truth in its purity poured. 
 To those who could grasp the Word of the Lord, 
 In the regions of strife and hate. 
 
 That Messenger knew that no sign from heaven 
 
 Would to stem the tide avail ; 
 That the web must be woven in human life. 
 Of the outcome of sin, of the wages of strife, 
 Till the fruits of repentance with holiness rife. 
 Shine forth as the Holy Grail. 
 
 The conscience of man must be scarred and stung, 
 By the arrows of pain and sin. 
 
 By the furnace fires of affliction be tried. 
 
 Ere the soul casts away its dark mantle of 
 pride, 
 
 Not from the power of the voice outside. 
 
 But the might of the thought within.
 
 THE ANGEL OF SILENCE. 113 
 
 Hearts by that angel are softened and swayed, 
 
 In the noiseless hours of nieht ; 
 And in deeds by day is the work outwrought, 
 For the matchless power of the silent thought, 
 From realms on high by an Angel brought. 
 Floods the wide world with light.
 
 THE 
 
 WOBBLEJAW BALLADS, 
 
 The oral traditions of a people live long in the 
 public memory; they fix in the minds of both young 
 and old the deeds of heroism of their forefathers; 
 they set before young people standards which all 
 admii-e, and which some few of them, fired by the 
 spirit of emulation, attempt themselves to reach. 
 The verses of Congreve, Tennant, and other great 
 poets of the past, have died out of public memory, 
 but the legend beginning — 
 
 Please to remember the Fifth of November, 
 The gunpowder tree, and the plot- - 
 
 has been handed down orally from generation to 
 generation, and with ballad poetry of a more
 
 116 THE WOBBLE JAW BALLADS. 
 
 pretentious character, lives to this day in the hearts 
 of men. 
 
 Why should not the noble deeds of the public 
 men of our own day be similarly handed down to 
 posterity 1 Why should not their acts of heroism 
 be recorded in flowing verse — in stanzas easily 
 assimilated by the plastic mind of youth, and which 
 can readily be set to music, or su.ng harmoniously 
 as a Christmas carol 1 
 
 Folkestone, one of the most attractive seaside 
 resorts in the beautiful county of Kent, has its 
 maps and its gu.ide-books, but where do we find any 
 record of the virtues or of the painstaking labours 
 of those public men, who have done so much in 
 their day and generation to raise the town to its 
 present popularity 1 Shall bricks and mortar be 
 remembered in our chronicles, and men of public 
 worth be forgotten 1 This must not be. 
 
 Thoughts similar to these floated through the 
 minds of a humble but respectable family, residing 
 within the limits of the ancient town of Folkestone. 
 The eldest son, Mr. Anthony Wobblejaws, whose
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 117 
 
 name is well known througliout the distiict, re- 
 solved, in his homely way, to sing the praises of 
 the men of public worth whose acts he witnessed 
 with admiration from a distance, and ambitiously 
 hoped at some period, however distant, to be in 
 a position to imitate. His father and mother en- 
 couraged him in his efforts, and thus was launched 
 upon the world a series of ballads, which it is hoped 
 will send a thrill of admiration for the chief public 
 men of Folkestone through the dwellers in all lands 
 upon the face of the earth, and awaken in the 
 hearts of all readers the kindliest of feelinirs towards 
 the gentlemen whose deeds are recorded in the fol- 
 lowing pages.
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 
 No. I. 
 To the Edditor of the '■^Folkestone News.^^ 
 
 My Dear Sir, 
 
 My sun Tony have taken to riting poetry, and 
 please print his verses whicli I send, for he is the 
 clevverest boy in Kent ; his own father says so, 
 and I say so too. Mr. Peel, at the Grammer 
 Skule, says he have never seen a skoUer like him 
 before, and do not expect to agen. 
 
 He is seventeen years old and quite perfect, for 
 me and his father wont let him have any idees 
 but ourn, tlio its strange wot notions he picks up 
 for hisself, wich we have to weed out ; this gives 
 us a deel of trubble sometimes. He follers the 
 true religion, wich is the Calvanistic Methodist, 
 not of course the Pilgrim Wobblers [Warblers ?] 
 branch, wich is wicked and false. We are look- 
 ing for a wife for him, and have almost decided
 
 THE WOBBLE JAW BALLADS. 119 
 
 upon a young woman living in Clifton Gardins ; 
 when we have settled in our minds we will let 
 him know. But poor boy, he is young yet; we 
 kept him in petticuts till three years ago, for boys 
 is too fast nowadays, has wicked notions of their 
 own, and makes their parents look old before 
 their time, 
 
 Tony says he will rite all about the people in 
 our town, and will put in verse for printing in 
 your papper all the tails anyboddy nose about 
 everyboddy ; his verses will be full of fashin and 
 passhin, so them as nose any skandles about some- 
 boddy may send them to my son Tony, addressed 
 to the care of the Mare of Folkestone. 
 
 Yures truly, 
 
 Sarah Wobblejaws. 
 
 June 25, 1877.
 
 120 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 
 ON THE APPOINTMENT OF A PUBLIC ANALYST 
 BY THE CORPORATION OF FOLKESTONE.* 
 
 Oh, sound the loud timbrel and bang the big 
 drum, 
 
 Let the trumpet peal forth and the double bass 
 hum, 
 
 Let soldiers and sailors desist from their pranks 
 
 And march to the station with Alderman Banks — 
 
 Let men, women, and children in thousands be 
 there, 
 
 Shouting "Hip! Hip! Hurrah!" — let our wor- 
 shipful Mayor, 
 
 After sounding the gong at the West Cliff Hotel, 
 
 Head our march like a King, whilst the Crier, 
 with his bell. 
 
 And Captain Charles Cooke with his merry men 
 all. 
 
 And Major R. Sigham respond to this call. 
 
 * A few days before this ballad was written, the Folke- 
 stone Town Council appointed Mr. Sydney Harvey, of 
 Canterbury, as public analyst for Folkestone, he being 
 considered by far the best candidate for the post. An 
 amendment by Mr. Alderman Caister that the question 
 be deferred, was lost.
 
 THE PUBLIC ANALYST, 121 
 
 The great Sydney Harvey with honours to crown, 
 As that new public analyst enters the town. 
 
 He's a wonderful man ! I expect him with dread, 
 Por he always will have his sharp nose in our 
 
 bread ; 
 His fingers will dip in our puddings and pies, 
 Whilst our teas and our sugars will melt in his 
 
 eyes 
 Into sloe leaves, and brickdust, and fine yellow 
 
 sand, 
 Yea, our mustard will change into starch in his 
 
 hand. 
 When our rivers behold him with knowledge so 
 
 crammed. 
 They will ask to be filtered and pi'ay to be 
 
 dammed. 
 And repent having lived with the habits of hogs. 
 Too fond of foul drains, of "high" cats, and dead 
 
 dogs. 
 He's a wonderful man ! A most wonderful man ! 
 Deny it, astute Captain Harpe, if you can.
 
 122 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 
 "VVitli tartrate of potash and phosphate of lime, 
 He'll precipitate Care from the River of Time; 
 With carbonic anhydride and extract of soap 
 He will pacify Emperor, Sultan, the Pope, 
 And Mr. James Jones (who on water is " nuts," 
 For in his own house he receives it in butts, 
 And drinks it in quantities fresh from the wood, 
 So takes very good care it shall come to him good). 
 Then shout for S. Harvey ! Peal Eanswythe thy 
 
 bells ! 
 Let Envy and Hate shrink in fear to their hells. 
 Dragging Caister's amendment — that venomous 
 
 snake — 
 To hot regions below to feed on coke cake. 
 
 Shall I tell you, dear friends, how it cometh to 
 
 pass. 
 That on nitrate of chemiconomenjackass, 
 Sydney Harvey ascended the Temple of Fame. 
 And on its best monuments whittled his name? 
 Ah no ! For the story is thrilling and long, 
 And like Swinburne's verses is racy and strong.
 
 THE PUBLIC ANALYST. 123 
 
 Full of love and devotion, and slaugliter and 
 
 pelf— 
 (The fact is I know naught about it myself, 
 So will gently back out with politeness and grace, 
 On the plea of regard for your diamond-like space). 
 So " Long live the Queen ! " and " Three cheers for 
 
 the Mayor!" 
 When you see us together you'll own we're a 
 
 pair. 
 
 Anthony Wobblejaws.
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 No. II. 
 
 To the Edditor of the " Folkestone Neivs." 
 
 Dear Me. Edditor, 
 
 I have very important tilings to tell you abbout, 
 and dont know where to begin. To cut my tail 
 short, the day after you printed Tony's verses, a 
 member of the Copperashun nocked at our door ; 
 he had a red rose in his button-hole, a blue weskit, 
 and a new white hat, just like a prince. 
 
 " Fine mornin', Mrs. Wobblejaws," sez he. 
 
 *' The same to you, sir," sez I, " and thank you 
 kindly." 
 
 " Mr. Anthony's a clever young man," sez he ; 
 " but," sez he, wheedling-like, " don't you think 
 he's a leetle — jist a verry leetle — bit personal in 
 his verses'?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it," sez I, quite prompt.
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 125 
 
 " I won't presoona to contradict you," sez lie, 
 smilin' feebly, and rubbin' his hands, and lookin' 
 half fritened, " for a lady of your experience must 
 know best," sez he, quite nice ; " but ask him 
 pleese, to say less about me, and more about Pledge 
 and the other fellers," sez he. 
 
 " I'll consider about it, sir," sez I, quite grand. 
 
 Then he seezed little Betsy Perry, as was 
 playing on the steps, and kissed her agen and 
 agen. 
 
 "A finer, blesseder, prettier girl than this o' 
 yours, I never see," sed he, "she's so like her 
 mother, I should know her anywheres." 
 
 '* She aint mine," I replide, " she's the brat o' 
 Nancy Perry, wich I hates." 
 
 He turns red, and sets her down sharj) agen the 
 new painted green railins, and sez — 
 
 " Dear me, how shortsited I'm gettin', Mrs. 
 Wobblejaws," and off ran the child skreeming like 
 a green gridiron. 
 
 I send you some more of Tony's verses, all about 
 Giniral Grant leaving England. I wish you had
 
 126 THE WOBBLE J AW BALLADS, 
 
 seen me and the Town Clerk at liis welcum that 
 day. — Yures truly, 
 
 Sarah Wobblejaws. 
 
 THE DELIVERY OF AN ADDRESS TO GENERAL 
 GRANT BY THE CORPORATION OF FOLKE- 
 STONE, July 5th, 1877. 
 
 With flags and with banners all Folkestone looked 
 
 gay, 
 
 And boys cleared their windpipes and shouted 
 
 " Hooray ! " 
 "Whilst the station was filled with a glitterins: 
 
 throng, 
 To welcome the hero, the theme of my song. 
 
 Oh firm was the step of bold General Grant, 
 "With his hat, as the Yankees say, "full on the 
 
 slant ;" 
 " Yankee Doodle " he whistled while marching 
 
 along, 
 Did this greatest of heroes, so stout and so 
 
 strong.
 
 THE WELCOME TO GENERAL GRANT. 127 
 
 The Mayor in his robes looked most scrumptiously 
 
 fine, 
 And his Aldermen three were drawn up in a line — 
 Messrs. Hoad, Banks, and Caister, were all of 
 
 them there. 
 And the Town Sergeant also to wait on the Mayor. 
 
 All lively as grasshoppers fresh from the Lees, 
 They said to the General — " Sir, if you please. 
 Our Clerk will now read you a friendly address — " 
 " Si-lence ! " roared the Sergeant, on " Si " putting 
 stress. 
 
 " With very great pleasure," the General said, 
 " Will I hear that 'ere dockyraent properly read ; 
 But the steamer's a-waiting, so pray, sirs, be quick ;" 
 And he sat -down good-humouredly whittling a 
 stick. 
 
 Then the Mayor and the Aldermen opened the roll, 
 Lch th( 
 soul. 
 
 Which the Clerk read aloud with much feeling and
 
 128 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 
 Until tears began flowing from every eye, 
 And Ms pathos elicited many a sigh. 
 
 "We, the Worshipful the Mayor, 
 
 We, the Aldermen and Burgesses 
 Of most ancient Folkestone's to'wn, 
 
 Deeply and sincerely urgesses 
 Your striking individual merit, 
 
 Your imdisputed capabilities ; 
 So welcome you on this here pier, 
 
 Which at the bottom of the hill it is." 
 
 Here the Clerk paused for breath, and benignly 
 
 looked round, 
 Whilst from those within earshot there came not a 
 
 sound, 
 Then beginning again the Clei-k waved his hand, 
 And continued in accents impressive and grand — 
 
 " Our two all-fired important nations, 
 
 Please give us aid in well cementing ; 
 But just remember. Mister Grant, 
 
 This land of freedom never went in 
 For living mermaids made by Barnum, 
 
 Wooden nutmegs, brandy cocktails, 
 Woolly horses, and those marvels 
 
 Which of Yankees form the stock tales." 
 
 Here a chuckle and giggle from Alderman Banks 
 Made the Mayor look severe at a man on his flanks,
 
 THE WELCOME TO GENERAL GRANT. 129 
 
 Till lie saw the real culprit was one of his clan, 
 When he smiled, though he wished him at far 
 Teheran. 
 
 ' ' We hope your eon will grow in wisdom, 
 Will imitate his worthy father, 
 Will whip creation with his cuteness, 
 And outshine you, sir — don't we rather ! 
 Given under our Corporate Seal, 
 
 (With wax from Riley's) in the Tomti Hall, 
 Sifjned : — A. Wobblejaws, J. Sherwood, 
 And W, Harrison, to crown all. " 
 
 Then said General Grant with the sweetest of 
 
 smiles — 
 " I have travelled, my friends, some few thousands 
 
 of miles. 
 But never expected a welcome like this ; 
 I feel, 'pon my soul, in the regions of bliss. 
 
 "When nations like ours are conjoined hand in 
 
 hand, 
 Our strength so united no power can withstand ; 
 We can trample out wars, bid disturbances cease. 
 And establish afar the pure empire of peace.
 
 130 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 
 " Your municipal government seemeth to me 
 
 A very strong branch in your liberty's tree, 
 
 So, Hvirrab ! ye brave Britons, who ne'er will be 
 
 slaves ! 
 And who live on roast beef from your birth to 
 
 your graves. 
 
 " And now Mr. Mayor, I must bid you farewell, 
 With gratitude greater than mortal can tell ; 
 And to you Mr. Hoad, also you Mr. Banks, 
 Mr. Caister likewise, do I tender my thanks." 
 
 Then cheers from the people, and tunes from the 
 
 band, 
 Reached the steamship "Victoria" far from the 
 
 land ; 
 And Sir Edward Watkin atop of the pier. 
 Cried " Ochone! he is leaving us! Bless me! oh 
 
 dear ! " 
 
 Anthony Wobblejaws.
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 No. III. 
 
 To the Eddiior of the ^'Folkestone News."'' 
 
 Mr. Edditor, 
 
 Did you know that jeenyus cums down from 
 father to sunl 
 
 Tony sez that other things cum down in the 
 same way, and that our minds stamp their marks 
 upon our boddies, and the minds and boddies 
 of them that cum after us. He sez, sum yung 
 peeple have diseeses and deformitys, cos of the 
 lies their parrents told in trade and elseware. 
 
 Here's wot Tony's father rit and printed sum 
 years ago. 
 
 Truly yiures, 
 
 Sarah Wobblkjaw.
 
 132 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 
 THE RIFLE CORPS. 
 Mr. Edditor — Sib, — Our iiavinsible rifles, 
 Who fialit like cock bantams, and stick not at 
 
 trifles, 
 Came over tliis way, sir, a few days ago, 
 A marcliin' like fiddlers, sii', all of a row. 
 Then the noise that they made, it was awful! 
 
 dear ! 
 All the farmer fokes rownd was a dyin' with fear. 
 Of the frite which they caused, the akkount which 
 
 I send. 
 Was written in Lundun, dear sir, by a frend, 
 I have no more to say, and no longer will trubble 
 
 And am yures very truly, 
 
 Theophilus W. 
 
 " Whoi, Joe, my lad, who be these men, 
 All dressed so 'nation grand*? 
 For zartin 'tis as voine a sight 
 As any in the land.
 
 THE RIFLE CORPS. 133 
 
 I've locked my Zairey up, d'ye see, 
 
 Else ai'ter 'em she'd run. 
 For when she sees red coats she's ofi", 
 
 Just loike a loaded gun." 
 
 " Whoi lawks," said Joe, "and doan't 'ee know ? 
 
 They're Veather-beds from town, 
 With their Capten marchin' at their head — 
 
 Him with the whiskers brown. 
 They're going to the park to vight. 
 
 And kill each other there. 
 Though now they look so viiendly too — 
 
 'Tis true, I do declare ! 
 And those who're left will zack the place, 
 
 And carry off our woives, 
 And take away our virniture. 
 
 And maybe end our loives!" 
 
 " Well, Joe lad, this be zorry news, 
 We must defend our homes. 
 And try and give them roiful chaps 
 A toaste of broaken boans ;
 
 134 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 
 Zo we will drop in at tte "Bull," 
 And lest our pluck should vail, 
 
 We'll keep it up with many a sup 
 Of brother Joiles's ya-ale." * 
 
 * These three verses were written by a friend of the 
 author of "The Lazy Lays."
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 No. lY. 
 
 To the Edditor of the ^'Folkestone News." 
 
 Mr. Edditor, 
 
 The plot is a thikkening. Mr. James Jones 
 have brought me, and the ballads, and Tony, 
 publikly under the notis of the Mare and copper- 
 ashun in conclave, at their last meetin, and every 
 face was pale at the gravity of the okkashun, and 
 to-day I see our Town Crier a sittin on h is door 
 step, and pollishin up of his bell with a bit of 
 lether and a old gluv. 
 
 " O," ses he, *' Mrs. Wobblejaws, marm, you've 
 caught me." 
 
 "Which?" ses I, as grand as the Empress of 
 Inja, for aint I Tony's mother 1 
 
 "Well," he replide, "Jones have introdoosed 
 you and yure most exlent sun — tell him I sed 
 ' exlent' — to our Counsle and Copperashun, which 
 meena warm work for all publik servents, for all
 
 136 THE WOBBLE JAW BALLADS. 
 
 them as feel tlie cares of pomj) and state," ses he, 
 sighin; ''so I've bought a noo umbrella and a noo 
 pare of shoes, and now I'm a pollishin up of my 
 bell with brickdust from Spinks's," ses he. 
 
 "Wornt Jones wild?" ses I, larfin, "but he's 
 a good man, is Jones; he's one as is respektid by 
 me, and the Town Clerk, and Tony, and all 
 Folkestone.'' 
 
 " I shood think he is," sed the Crier. " Why," 
 sed he, starin thru a cloud as was in the sky, and 
 with a solem fur-away look as if he cood see the 
 end of evverything, " I've knowd Jones, on and 
 off, man and boy, sixty-seven years cum next 
 Mikklemuss, and there aint nobody, ne'er a one 
 on em, as can say that agen him," ses he, a snap- 
 pin of his fingers, and stretching out one leg, 
 and aksdently upsettin a little boy with milk cans. 
 
 "Verry tru, verry tru," ses I, pikkin up the 
 little boy wrong end vippermost in the excitement 
 of my feelings. "Adoo / Or 7-evawr!" sed the 
 Town Crier, and we parted. 
 
 "Wats to be dun with my sun Tony 1 He have
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 137 
 
 fallen in luv with. Rose Tomkinson, as is the art- 
 fullest creetur in Folkestone. 0, she's deep, she 
 is. She gits people to like her, by newer sayin 
 nothing aggenst noboddy ; she newer jines in our 
 little talks abbout our nabers, or helps to put 
 down them as oght to be put down. Tony's sister 
 trys to pick quarrels with her, and I'm skarsely 
 sivYle to her when Tony's out of the room. Ugh ! 
 The apricot ! 
 
 " Tony," ses I, " yure a disgrasing of us ; me 
 and yure father intended you for Sophy WilkinS; 
 as would make us the best peeple in our chappie, 
 and would drive the "Whiffens so ravin jellus that 
 they would newer sit easy agen at prares in their 
 pue on Sundays, and wood newer forgive us to 
 their dyin day." 
 
 "Tony," ses his sister, burstin out cryin, "you'll 
 be the ruin of us all, and I shant get engaged as 
 lady's made to the rectoi'ess thru the influens of 
 Sophy Wilkins." 
 
 Heer Tony's little bruther, who didnt understan 
 wot was said, begun to cry too.
 
 138 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS, 
 
 "Tony," sed Miss Spriggs, his aunt, "I think 
 all luv makkin is wikked and sinfle, and yure 
 parents is too good to you in lettin you think 
 even of Sophy Wilkins. Ware do you expect to 
 go to when you diel" 
 
 " Tony," ses his father, " I'm greeved, deeply 
 greeved. Yure a proddigle sun, sir ; yure a flying 
 in the face of provvidence, and bringin of the 
 gray hares of yure parents in sorrer to the 
 grave. " 
 
 "Stop there," I sed, "I havvent got eny gray 
 hares." 
 
 " Considerin," ses he — not heedin — "considerin 
 the influens of deacon Erasmus Wilkins in our 
 chappie, considerin the aid he mite hev been to 
 me in bisniss, I look upon you as a proflBigit, 
 and hope you'll read all about Annienias and 
 Saffira before you go to bed to-nite, and that yure 
 heart will be sofened. I would have you think," 
 ses he, wavin his hand ellerquent, " I would have 
 you think of the futur of them disobedyent chil- 
 di-en as is predestined to perdishun. Befor we
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 139 
 
 go to bed to-nite we will all sing the improving 
 hym:— 
 
 'Mid seas of never-ending flames, 
 
 "UTiere vengeance dire in thunder rolls, 
 
 And darts to inflict immortal pains, 
 Poison the blood of damned souls." 
 
 Heer I cried with joy, and thot I was in he wen. 
 Our minnister newer spuk better than did Tony's 
 father that nite. 
 
 " I have newer had so much trubble," ses he, 
 " since the day them three twins come ; the other 
 
 two of em never disgrased me, but yoxt, Tony " 
 
 here he benied his eyes in his liankerchef. 
 
 Then Tony got up, verry red, and sed, " I dont 
 want to be misrespectful, father, but I bleeve 
 yure all carin more abbout yurselves than about 
 me, an I think more peeple is mari'ied by their 
 family s than of there own akkord." 
 
 " Well, and what would bekum of the Divoi'se 
 Court, and your Unkel John's bisness as a lawyer, 
 if it wasn't sol'' ses I. 
 
 " Anyhow," replide Tony, " I dont like this 
 byin and sellin of human creeturs, and I think
 
 140 THE WOBBLE JAW BALLADS. 
 
 its despritly wikked for awl father and you say, 
 and I hope Miss "Wilkins will be at the bottom 
 of the well in Seagate Street, before Harvey an- 
 nelieses it again." And he went out. 
 
 Heer's trubble ! Heer's trubble ! 
 
 And now, Mr. Edditor, there's a look in his eye 
 as I dont like, and my mind misgives me that he 
 wont give in. He has all his mothers determi- 
 nasliun, but in him its obstinisy, for he wont 
 give in when he's rong, and I never give in, be- 
 cause I'm always rite, and thats the differens 
 between us. I'm sorry he have not dun enny 
 verses for you this week about the luvly skanddles 
 that hev bin brought to him, but next week let 
 them as thinks their piivate affares isnt known 
 to noboddy look out. 
 
 Yures in trubble, 
 
 Sarah Wobblejaws.
 
 toxy's lament. 141 
 
 TONY'S LAMENT. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 My mother has sent you nothing from me 
 this week. There have been troubles in our 
 house too sacred for the public ear, so I cannot 
 let you know the subject or any of the parti- 
 culai's. Perhaps, however, the few lines which 
 follow may be acceptable : — 
 
 As the Earth with its maddened cargo 
 On the path of the ages rolls, 
 And cries of sorrow and anguish 
 Pour sadly from human souls, 
 One wonders why it was created, 
 'Neath the shade of a mystical ban, 
 Why the Councils of God and the angels 
 Should result in the making of man. 
 But vain are the throbbings of sorrow. 
 And vain is the weakness of tears, 
 "When man should be up and be doing 
 Dismayed not by shadowy fears.
 
 142 THE WOBBLE J AW BALLADS. 
 
 So as soon as this fit has passed over, 
 And joy has abolished "the blues," 
 Your Tony, as faithful as ever. 
 Will send some more lines to the News. 
 
 Anthoxy "Wobblejaws.
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 No. Y. 
 
 To the Edditor of the " Folkestone Ifews." 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Tony sez he is miserable at home ; he goes about 
 on the hills, stickin' beetles, flise, and sichlike, 
 with pins. He takes them to Mr. Fitzgerald 
 at the Museum ; he is a grate frend of Tony's, 
 and always speeks well of him. 
 
 Tony is keeping July Bugs shut up in a glass 
 hive for to studdy them. Tony's father likes 
 this experriment ; he sez that, now there in a 
 hive, p'raps they will lem to make hunny, and 
 be more proffitible than bees, because there bigger, 
 and we shall all make our fortunes. 
 
 I send you his last verses. 
 
 Truly yures, 
 
 Sarah Wobblejaws. 
 
 K
 
 144 THE WOBBLE J AW BALLADS. 
 
 THE JULY BUG. 
 
 On yester eve I trod the hills 
 
 Above the Dover Road, 
 While sunset tinted hill and sea, 
 
 And fast the tide outflowed. 
 
 But darkness hurtled in the air, 
 
 A cloud approached amain ; 
 It was not fog, it was not smoke, 
 
 And much too low for rain. 
 
 And nearer, nearer still it came. 
 
 Brown as my railway rug; 
 " Can, can it be 1" I wildly said — 
 
 " Yes ! 'Tis the July Bug." 
 
 As big as beetles were the things. 
 
 They gave a nasty hum, 
 They whirled in myriads round my head, 
 
 "Yet still," said I, <' they come."
 
 THK JULY BUG. 145 
 
 They crawled adown my graceful neck, 
 
 They twisted in my hair, 
 Ran up my sleeve, crawled down my boots. 
 
 But found no solace there. 
 
 One crashed against my Grecian nose. 
 
 And fell with sullen roar; 
 Another fat one on my lips 
 
 "Would fain my mouth explore. 
 
 A July Bug in evening flight, 
 
 Nor reason shows nor rule ; 
 He knocks his head 'gainst every post 
 
 In short he is a fool; 
 
 So I disKke the July Bug, 
 
 Just as the women state 
 They do not mind an ugly man, 
 
 But a bom fool they hate. 
 
 Last night in dreams I saw a Bug 
 
 With mailed head-gear crowned, 
 I'm sure he measured eight feet long, 
 
 And nearly seven feet round.
 
 146 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 
 And in tte doorway lie reclined 
 
 Of Mr. Goodliffe's shop ; 
 He jumped and shouted from behind, 
 
 And pushed him with a mop. 
 
 The Crier stood by his right ear, 
 
 Making a hideous din ; 
 His biggest bell he jerked with force. 
 
 And drove the music in. 
 
 Whilst Mr. Wilshere and two men 
 Pulled at his third left leg; 
 
 He troubled not— that stolid Bug— 
 " It's all in vain," he said. 
 
 Some handcuffs Mr. Wilshere then 
 Produced amid much chaff; 
 
 Even the blockhead of a Bug 
 Could not forbear a laugh. 
 
 Plat irons lent by Mr Poole 
 Were next thrown at the Bug, 
 
 And somewhat marred his calm repose; 
 They made him shake and shrug.
 
 THE JULY BUG. 147 
 
 Said Mr. Poole — " I -witnessed how 
 
 He twisted, as he fell, 
 The chimney-pot askew upon 
 
 The Rendezvous Hotel."* 
 
 "Oh! That explains it!" Hogben said, 
 
 " I heard a curious creak, 
 And thought rheumatic Moggs's knees 
 
 "Were extra bad this week." 
 
 They from the Harbour Station fetched 
 
 An old horse full of game, 
 "Who "makes up" trains when left alone, 
 
 And " Jemmy" is his name. 
 
 A rope was tied around the necks 
 
 Of Jemmy and the Bug, 
 And crowds in High Street watched them jiass. 
 
 With many a pull and tug. 
 
 * An examination of the chimney-pot will prove to 
 anybody the truth of my vision. — A. W.
 
 148 THE WOBBLE J AW BALLADS. 
 
 Near Griffith's shop they strained the rope 
 
 And nearly broke their necks, 
 Because the Bug would stop to read 
 
 The bill about blank cheques. 
 
 At last within a slight machine, 
 
 For bathing on the beach, 
 The Bug was caged by Jemmy's aid, 
 
 So go not, I beseech 
 
 You, into that machine to-day, 
 
 But listen at the door. 
 And if the Bug is in it still. 
 
 You'll hear his gentle snore. 
 
 Hark ! Do you hear the Boulogne boat? 
 
 Or is it yonder tug ? 
 Is it a talking telephone ] 
 
 No. 'Tis the July Bug. 
 
 Long live the Queen ! Long live the Mayor ! 
 
 Long live Spearpoint also, 
 And when another Bug is trapped 
 
 Be sure I'll let you know. 
 
 Anthony Wobblejaws.
 
 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 No. YI. 
 
 To the Edditor of the "Folkestone News" 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Tony is bringing his ballads to a close for 
 the present. Everyboddy wants to know what 
 he will rite about when he takes up his pen 
 again. He has plenty of subjiks in hand, as 
 follers: — How a milingtery ossifer fired at a 
 targit, and hit a heel-pie man in Sandgate, 
 How Aldeiman Caister seed a ghost. What the 
 stashun master sed to his men, and what the 
 men sed to the stashun master. Miss E.osylinder 
 Smith and the curate. The luvs of the Mares 
 of Folkestone, which Tony ses is an anshent 
 and ossLfide subjik. Alderman Banks on the 
 pollushun of rivers. How a sharp blade and a 
 speer point, was found in the mail bags con-
 
 150 THE WOBBLE JAW BALLADS. 
 
 triiy to regulations. We want more skandles, 
 and let them as nose them, rite all abbout them 
 to the Mare, for Tony, but good bye to all 
 frends for a time. 
 
 Truly yures, 
 
 Sarah Wobblejaws. 
 
 THE CONVERTED CARMAN. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 At the Wesleyan Home Mission meeting last 
 week, under the presidency of Mr. Fagg, the 
 Rev. W. D. Walters made a statement, which 
 I took down at the time, that a workman in 
 Mr. Spurgeon's flock was suddenly moved to 
 speak to a carman in the street about his soul; 
 the man swore at him, but finally was induced 
 to CO to the Tabernacle, which he afterwards said 
 he would never enter again. The next time the 
 carman saw Mr. Spurgeon's follower in the
 
 THE CONVERTED CARMAN. 151 
 
 street he took to his heels, but was pursued, 
 caught, induced to go to the Tabernacle again, 
 and was, with his wife, converted, and is now 
 a useful member of the church. I have filled 
 in the details of this story from imagination, 
 thus : — 
 
 In one of Folkestone's chapels, 
 
 On the fifth day of July, 
 Eighteen-hundred-and-seventy-seven, 
 
 With mouth agape sat I. 
 
 And Mister Walters told his tale. 
 
 Whilst deacons all-a-row, 
 In nicely studied attitudes. 
 
 Smiled on their flock below. 
 
 The preacher's hair was curly black. 
 
 His face was rosy red. 
 And rosier, ruddier still it grew, 
 
 As thus he sung or said: —
 
 152 , THE WOBBLE JAW BALLADS. 
 
 "In the bright sun on London Bridge 
 A pale-faced workman stood, 
 Who groaned, and upwards rolled his eyes, 
 He was so very good. 
 
 "And that same bilious carpenter 
 A carman rude espied. 
 Who cracked his whip and cried, 'Ya-hip!' 
 So after him he hied. 
 
 " His shiny cap had one great peak 
 Just half-way down his back. 
 And for an apron this pure child 
 Of nature wore a sack. 
 
 "His trowsers, made of corduroy, 
 Were tied below the knee, 
 As is the custom of his class, 
 Most beautiful to see. 
 
 " His blouse of canvas fluttered free. 
 He bore his heavy whip 
 Beneath his arm, did this rude man — 
 The man who yelled 'Ya-'hip!'
 
 THE CONVERTED CARMAN, 153 
 
 " Now, had that man read Coleridge 
 He would have cried, d'ye see, 
 ' I prithee, ancient carpenter. 
 
 Now wherefore stopp'st thou meV 
 
 "But, 'You get out!' was all he said, 
 And snapped amaia his whip. 
 Then set his legs a-swing again, 
 And once more cried, 'Ya-hip!' 
 
 *"0h, go not thus!' said Spurgeon's child, 
 ' But listen unto me. 
 Here is a ticket, blue and red, 
 For our next weekly tea.' 
 
 " ' Your tea be blowed,' said that rough man. 
 With look of strange surprise, 
 And added sundry bad remarks 
 About his limbs and eyes. 
 
 " * I will not let thee say me nay,' 
 The carpenter replied; 
 Then both his eyes that carman rubbed. 
 And opened very wide.
 
 154 THE WOBBLEJAW BALLADS. 
 
 "For had the stranger piinclied his head, 
 Or sworn an oath or two, 
 The carman woukl have been at home. 
 Nor puzzled what to do. 
 
 "So lest his brains should be fatigued 
 In solving this hard knot, 
 He took the ticket, went to tea, 
 And found it strong and hot. 
 
 " And deaconesses spoke him fair. 
 And so did Spurgeon too; 
 They were so very nice all round. 
 He felt in quite a stew. 
 
 "That night he passed in fitful dreams, 
 Brought on by hymns and tea; 
 His simple brains were so upset. 
 All in a whirl was he. 
 
 "When next he saw the carpenter 
 Close by his waggon's wheels. 
 That sturdy carman dropjied his whip, 
 . And took unto his heels.
 
 THE CONVERTED CARMAN. 155 
 
 " But the good carpenter gave cliase, 
 Joined by a crowd of boys, 
 And once more into thraldom led 
 The man in corduroys. 
 
 "He brought him back to Spurgeon's flock, 
 And with him came his wife; 
 And that bluff man reformed his ways, 
 And led a better life. 
 
 "In the great Tabernacle's hall 
 They oft stand side by side — 
 The carpenter and carman both — 
 To Spurgeon's joy and pride. 
 
 "And oft he tells his listening flock 
 How censures leave a smart. 
 But kind words go like arrows home 
 To every human heart." 
 
 The moral Walters drew from this. 
 All in a nutshell lies — 
 " You can reclaim your brother vuin, 
 jSo go arid do likewise."
 
 156 THE WOBBLE JAW BALLADS. 
 
 Some tea-tickets I straightway bought, 
 And though Spearpoint * may rail, 
 
 To-night I'll stop and clean convert 
 The man who drives the mail. 
 
 Anthony Wobblejaws. 
 
 * The Folkestone Postmaster. 
 
 THE END.
 
 THE UBKAKI' 
 A . ■" 1X)S ANGELF-"
 
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