^ 53 The Exchanged Identity
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 >■ * t-r 
 

 
 THE 
 
 EXCHANGED IDENTITY
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTT1SVVOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET
 
 THE 
 
 EXCHANGED IDENTITY 
 
 h\ 
 
 W. A. CHANDLER 
 
 Al'THOR OF 
 NOT TO HE BROKEN' ' THRICE ' 'THE RUM RHYMES ' ETC. 
 
 LONDON 
 ]■:. W. ALLEN, ii AVE MARIA LANE, E.G. 
 
 187S 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Peril i 
 
 Melody 10 
 
 Parting 30 
 
 The Promise 34 
 
 Fame ' 45 
 
 Assumption 50 
 
 Meeting 60 
 
 Wedding 63 
 
 Honeymoon 70 
 
 Resumption 73 
 
 Content 76 
 
 Pauline, the Art Student 82 
 
 :.;.::,-,.:=
 
 THE 
 
 EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 PERIL. 
 
 A sunny day, the may in bloom, 
 A lady riding with her groom — 
 Florinda Vane, the glass of fashion, 
 And fraught with limpid depths of passion. 
 But how describe that lovely face, 
 That artless look, that matchless grace, 
 That form so pure, it seemed to be 
 Some sculptured Greek Divinity ! 
 
 And he— dark, proud, plain, fair Jack Wade, 
 Who rode behind the peerless maid —
 
 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 In youth had lost his only mother, 
 
 And had against his will a brother, 
 
 The youthful Duke of fair Friddinner, 
 
 In wanton ways a hardened sinner, 
 
 Who scoffed at priests, and spurned the Bible, 
 
 And revelled in the meanest libel ; 
 
 Looked like a foreign cook, or page, or 
 
 Loblolliboy, but ranked as major 
 
 In some one's suite ; ne'er fought a battle, 
 
 But wallowed much in tittle tattle. 
 
 In France he fraternised with ' blouses,' 
 
 And liked to go to great men's houses, 
 
 To balls or routs, he ne'er refused them, 
 
 And then next day in print abused them ; 
 
 In self-conceit completely seethed, 
 
 The silliest chit that ever breathed ; 
 
 For Lady Vane her Pa had fated him, 
 
 And proud Jack Wade with fervour hated him. 
 
 The groom rides on with Lady Vane, 
 And ponders o'er the pricking pain
 
 PERIL. 
 
 From which his heart is never free — 
 The poignant pangs of jealousy. 
 He sniffs the sweet syringa bloom, 
 And veils his heart, this proud, dark groom. 
 Oh ! who can picture what he felt 
 Beneath that tawny leathern belt ! 
 At length ! he thinks, whate'er betide 
 I'll speak — he canters by her side. 
 Oh ! what ecstatic joy to taste 
 Those lips, or press that tap'ring waist, 
 Gaze on her eyes, her ebon hair, 
 Her fragile form's perfection rare ! 
 Florinda speaks : ' What ails thee, Jack ? 
 ' Still does the pony bite his rack ? 
 ' Or does the grey, to oats a stranger, 
 ' Make woody meals from off his manger ? 
 ' Or does the cook's loud voice appal 
 ' The inmates of the servants' hall ? ' 
 The zephyrs, murm'ring through the trees, 
 Waft in his face the cooling breeze, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 His hackney crops the scented broom, 
 And thus he speaks, that darksome groom : 
 ' Nay, Madam, nay — hast thou not guessed 
 ' The throbbing heart with grief oppressed 
 ' Beats wildly in its storm-tossed breast ; 
 ' The laden soul, borne down by care, 
 ' But craves to be — oh ! anywhere 
 ' Out of the world, out of its hurts, 
 ' Out of this welt, its woe and schmerz ! ' 
 
 ' Poor Jack ! I sadly fear you've been a learner 
 
 ' With those conceited votaries of Werner ; 
 
 ' Or, likelier still, some half-developed school 
 
 ' Of doubts unfathomed. Jack, you're not a fool ; 
 
 ' Discard all sentimental weak aesthetics, 
 
 ' And take to downright hard, robust athletics : 
 
 ' Begin at once, 'twill make your muscles tense — 
 
 ' Row, row, Jack, run, box, jump, leap, swim, and 
 
 fence ; 
 ' Ask not, " What am I ? " — that's a stale old question, 
 ' But go, fond boy, and fight 'gainst indigestion.
 
 PERIL. 5 
 
 • Eat piles of goo I, sound, honest English beef ' 
 
 Just then there fell a sere and yellow leaf; 
 
 A passing shade obscured the blazing sun, 
 
 As though its weary work were nearly done. 
 
 Jack thought to say her slightest wish should bind 
 
 him, 
 But turned half round, and saw the Duke behind him. 
 Riding a roaring, rapid, rat-tailed roan, 
 Which leanly looked as lean as if his own. 
 Poor Jack ! his spirits fell, his hopes were dashed ; 
 The Duke's small, piggish eyes like lightning flashed : 
 ' Go, menial, go, the Lady Vane is tired ; 
 ' We'll homewards wend our way; you're not required.' 
 The groom fell back, and tried his rage to smother, 
 Scarce could he gulp the words, ' Behold your brother ! ' 
 But no, he thought, why, why these lips unloose ? 
 There's naught to gain, save taunts or foul abuse ; 
 He quells his rage, his manly eyelids tremble. 
 1 Not now,' he murmurs ; ' now, I must dissemble.' 
 Refrains from useless threats or words bombastic, 
 But seeks the school, acquires all arts gymnastic —
 
 6 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 The village school, where boys the black board write 
 
 on — 
 And leaves, in half-an-hour, a perfect Crichton. 
 The words of Lady Vane had sunk so deep ! 
 The school was handy, and the lessons cheap. 
 
 The air grew wintry in the afternoon, 
 It often does in May and e'en in June 
 In this queer climate, gloomy and uncertain, 
 Where fogs impervious as a leno curtain — 
 On huts and palaces impartial rest — 
 Are, like a curtain, deadly to digest. 
 
 ' My boots ! my boots ! ' the breathless Baron cries — 
 
 ' Go, greet the gallant guests, and bid them rise, 
 
 ' Shake off the lethargy of early dinner, 
 
 ' And skate, till graceful motion makes them thinner. 
 
 ' Let dames and girls their trimmest toilets make, 
 
 ' For see, it bears upon the longer lake.' 
 
 'Twas said he sunk some costly cunning chemical 
 
 Beneath the streamlet's bed, to heat inimical,
 
 PERIL. 7 
 
 Like glycerine and ether, which, 'tis said, 
 
 Will freeze the very hair from off the head ; 
 
 And though for ponds to bear in May is strange, 
 
 Our fickle climate's constant but to change. 
 
 The guests assemble, and in half a trice 
 
 Disport themselves along the treacherous ice ; 
 
 They blithely bound in solemn Scottish reels, 
 
 While some who've learnt, on rinks prefer the 
 
 wheels. 
 Jack Wade had heard, and like a bird had flown 
 At sound of ice, and pirouettes alone ; 
 No wooden skates for him — he joys to feel 
 The biting grip of blades of flashing steel. 
 He hears the wind above him in the trees, 
 And, savage, takes to cutting triple threes ; 
 Curses the undiscriminating fates, 
 And proud performs exhilarating eights ; 
 Wishes the hated Duke he could inveigle 
 To box or fence, then cuts a large ' spread eagle.' 
 The dastard Duke skates feebly near the brink, 
 For fear the summer ice should crack or sink.
 
 8 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 But where is Lady Vane, the Baron's daughter ? — 
 
 In manly hearts creating frightful slaughter. 
 
 To skate with her, poor Jack would give his soul. 
 
 He notes her graceful undulating ' roll,' 
 
 He sees her stop to drink a warming potion, 
 
 And then resume her poetry of motion. 
 
 Oft on the roller rinks she'd madly runk, 
 
 Till on some suitor's arm she'd feebly sunk ; 
 
 Cross roll, threes, eights, to her are all the same — 
 
 And then to see her coyly cut her name ! 
 
 Still round and round the graceful skater flew, 
 
 When lo ! a shriek ! ' She's down, she's through, she's 
 
 through ! ' 
 Where, where's the Duke ? flies he to pull her out ? 
 He sagely looks and, safe, selects to shout ; 
 But Jack had seen, and like an arrow shoots 
 To see but what ? — her dainty skates and boots, 
 Which heaved their heads and like twin lilies grew, 
 Just at the spot where Lady Vane went through. 
 Thanks to the brawny henchman's muscles tense, 
 The guests are quickly freed from all suspense —
 
 PERIL. 9 
 
 He drags her out and bears her in his arms, 
 
 Ne'er had she seemed for him to own such charms. 
 
 ' Saved ! saved ! ' he cried, ' 'tis deepest where she sank;' 
 
 Her fainting form he places on the bank, 
 
 A noble group around the couple stands, 
 
 While Jack proceeds to chafe her snow-white hands. 
 
 At length she breathes and opes her pure blue eyes, 
 
 Gazing around, next upward to the skies, 
 
 Then at the noble party's serried ranks, 
 
 And last of all sees Jack, and murmurs, ' Thanks.' 
 
 Oh ! but the bliss of that one little word, 
 
 To lover's ears could aught so sweet be heard ? 
 
 And then the Baron comes, they backward stand : 
 
 He gravely shakes the brave preserver's hand — 
 
 Shakes till the elbow rattles in its socket — 
 
 Then gives him sixpence from his lordly pocket. 
 
 The soaking maid, recovered from her souse, 
 
 They bear upon a litter towards the house : 
 
 She thinks of Jack — her heart's too full to mention 
 
 him — 
 And people say ' The Baron ought to pension him ! '
 
 io THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 MELODY. 
 
 At Buncombe Grange there's revelling that night : 
 
 The grand old chambers shimmer in the light, 
 
 And when Florinda down the centre sails, 
 
 They quaff her health from sparkling wine in pails. 
 
 Her mantling bloom disperses all their fears, 
 
 The rafters ring with bursts of deafening cheers. 
 
 The Baron glows with pride, and gravely drinks ; 
 
 But as he sips his wine he doubtless thinks — 
 
 While pressing all to drink his choicest ' Roederer ' — 
 
 Of his own child, how near he'd proved the murderer. 
 
 Next day the Duke, like some inflated bag, 
 
 Describes the banquet in the local ' rag ; ' 
 
 Omits to mention how he drank amain, 
 
 But loads with scorn the Baron's ' cheap champagne.' 
 
 The night wears on, the luscious liquor speaks, 
 
 And plays with all their talk the maddest freaks.
 
 MELODY. ii 
 
 Musicians enter playing flutes and tabors, 
 
 And ladies e'en speak kindly of their neighbours. 
 
 The youthful Duke, who talked and drank so 
 
 quick 
 He nearly choked, remarks in accents thick, 
 ' I should have saved the Lady Vane, than whom 
 ' No fairer breathes, but for that meddling groom, 
 ' Who, just as I was ready, came between us ; 
 ' I think you gentlemen must all have seen us.' 
 And though as truth scarce any one receives it, 
 He tells the tale till he himself believes it. 
 
 So, while the lordly guests excited bawl, 
 
 There's merry-making in the servants' hall : 
 
 They drink, they dance, they shake each beam and 
 
 rafter 
 With peals of inextinguishable laughter. 
 The maids at fascination try their power 
 On proud Jack Wade, the hero of the hour ; 
 But he, though kindly, affable, urbane 
 To young and old, thinks but of Lady Vane.
 
 12 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 In fancy sees his Ducal brother ' spooning ' her, 
 And then next day in local prints lampooning 
 
 her. 
 He stamps with rage to think a thing so base 
 Should even gaze upon her lovely face. 
 At length the menial crew, by dancing tired, 
 By other muses feel themselves inspired : 
 The cook and butler dance a Highland fling, 
 And then the cook observes, ' Won't some one 
 
 sing ? ' 
 The buttoned page, who's just upset the chessmen, 
 Remarks, ' A volunteer's worth twenty pressmen • 
 ' And as my lovely voice ain't over-strong, 
 ' I'll sing a mournful, sentimental song. 
 ' It might alarm the swells, were I to hollow ; 
 ' But mind, you men and girls, you all must follow.' 
 And while the cook for supper lays the things, 
 The pallid page with puling pathos sings. 
 
 A blackbird on a hawthorn tree 
 Sat fluttering with impatient glee 
 And piped a loving lay ;
 
 MELODY. 13 
 
 Her mate I saw perched just above, 
 Who warbled low his answering love, 
 Then swiftly flew away. 
 
 Then I think of her whose looks to me 
 Are gleams of dreamlike ecstasy, 
 And I moan aloud, oh ! hapless fate, 
 I've known my heart too late ! too late ! 
 
 I watched ; another lover came, 
 
 Who seemed to plead an earlier claim — 
 
 I mourned his loveless fate ; 
 His wooing failed, abroad he sailed, 
 And gave a cry which plaintive wailed 
 
 Ah, woe to be too late ! 
 
 Then I think of her whose looks to me 
 Are gleams of dreamlike ecstasy, 
 And I moan aloud, oh ! hapless fate, 
 I've known my heart too late ! too late ! 
 
 The maids applaud, and some have wiped an eye, 
 1 La joie fait pair] and joy invites a cry. 
 And then the cook : ' Oh tell us, Smithson, pray, 
 'Why did the husband blackbird fly away?
 
 i 4 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 ' Why should the silly bird so soon have flown 
 
 ' And left his loving wife to sing alone ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! cook, I fear you've no poetic germs,' 
 
 Replied the page ; ' he went in search of worms, 
 
 ' Who'd risen early — worms devoid of sense, 
 
 ' Who victims fall to misplaced confidence, 
 
 ' And by their stupid hurry nothing gain. 
 
 ' Now then, next song, I call on Mary Jane.' 
 
 And she, who'd snared the page 'mongst other sins, 
 
 With sheepish shyness skrinkingly begins. 
 
 I sat beside the river, 
 
 I watched its even flow, 
 I heard the aspens quiver ; 
 I thought he'll never know 
 
 That I gave my love unbidden, 
 Then kept it hidden, hidden ! — 
 It must be so. 
 
 The dancing wavelets glisten 
 
 Like diamonds on the tide ; 
 I turn my head to listen, 
 
 Ah ! he was by my side.
 
 MELODY. 
 
 Then I loved him not unbidden, 
 Nor kept my longing hidden ! — 
 His promised bride. 
 
 And while the lads the lover's name are guessing, 
 The stalwart footman needs a little pressing — 
 He once had been a merry married man — 
 And in a mellow baritone began. 
 
 To toil all day for one I love, how sweet ! 
 
 To know her heart alone for me doth beat ! 
 
 To see her looking longing' at the gate, 
 
 With tearful eyes, when something keeps me late ! 
 
 A mother's cares increase for me her charms, 
 
 Our baby girl she dances in her arms, 
 
 And holds it fondly forth that I may trace 
 
 Its tiny features in its mother's face. 
 
 Then why should I from such a haven roam ? 
 No joys I trow exceed the joys of home, 
 However poor, by woman's love retined, 
 And brightened by a calm, contented mind. 
 
 How sweet with her to watch the fading light, 
 Till hills and vales are hidden from our sight,
 
 1 6 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 Lulled by the mournful cooing of the dove, 
 Exultant in our trusting hopeful love ! 
 What bliss to say I ne'er regret my choice ; 
 And when I hear the music of her voice, 
 Her simplest song to me celestial seems, 
 Or like sweet melody one hears in dreams. 
 
 Then why should I from such a haven roam ? 
 No joys I trow exceed the joys of home, 
 However poor, by woman's love refined, 
 And brightened by a calm, contented mind. 
 
 With faces rapt, they sit around the board, 
 The song has struck a sympathetic chord ; 
 The maidens think, Oh ! what a happy life 
 To be that fading footman's second wife ! 
 Until the stable boy, who smokes, and chews, 
 And promulgates absurdly levelling views 
 In snug bar parlours, and in such like haunts, 
 Stands on a chair and uninvited chaunts, 
 
 Though I'm a humble stable boy, 
 I am not bound with feudal fetters ;
 
 MELODY. i 7 
 
 I don't the Baron's guests annoy, 
 But still I'm equal to my betters. 
 
 ' His pot-house triumphs with conceit have puffed him,' 
 Said stern Jack Wade as, mentor-like, he cuffed him. 
 The men and maids with keen enjoyment roar 
 To hear him cry, ' I'll never sing no more.' 
 The huntsman then, on being somewhat pressed, 
 Replies with modest looks, ' I'll do my best ' — 
 A well-knit man, who loves his coursers fleet, 
 And known at meetings as a bold athlete. 
 
 Oh ! joy the double course to run, 
 
 In fair Olympia's leafy shade, 
 The olive wreath so hardly won 
 To offer at thy feet, oh ! maid. 
 
 My earth-bound feet would seem to fly, 
 Oh ! beauteous maid, if thou wert nigh. 
 
 I love to hurl the weighty spear, 
 
 To wrestle, throw the disc, or leap ; 
 To think that thou, my love, art near, 
 
 That I thy joyous praise may reap. 
 C
 
 1 8 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 To me thy charms can never fade, 
 My own, my beauteous Elian maid ! 
 
 I hold it naught to win the prize 
 Unless thy ruby lips so sweet 
 Shall say, with those enchanting eyes, 
 ' For thee alone my heart doth beat.' 
 To me thy charms can never fade, 
 My own, my beauteous Elian maid ! 
 
 ' Ah ! Bill's what I should call a regler sound un,' 
 
 Observes the page ; ' in fact, a good all round un ; 
 
 ' I never saw a fellow run more straight, 
 
 ' And won the high jump prize, at five foot eight.' 
 
 The huntsman drops his eyes and smiles, for he 
 
 Was known and valued for his modesty. 
 
 The cook, who once was called ' the village fairy,' 
 
 And says she doats upon ' the military,' 
 
 Is pressed to sing, and blushes like the rose 
 
 As from her lips in dulcet accents flows 
 
 A song which all had often heard before, 
 
 And much admired — 'twas called ' The griefs of war.'
 
 MELODY. 19 
 
 With straining eyes, when the fight is done, 
 She scans the ranks her love to find ; 
 
 Oh why, when now that the victory's won, 
 Does the leader lag so far behind ? 
 
 How proudly he rode at the regiment's head ! — 
 
 He is not dead, oh ! no, not dead ! 
 
 Ah ! woe to search the blackened plain, 
 Where steel has reft, and fire has burned, 
 
 And there, mid heaps on heaps of slain, 
 To find her love with face upturned. 
 
 How proudly he rode at the regiment's head !- 
 
 He is not dead, oh ! no, not dead ! 
 
 A long farewell to earthly bliss ! 
 
 She stoops to raise her hero's head, 
 To print one long, last, burning kiss, 
 
 And finds — oh joy ! — he is not dead ! 
 How proudly he rode at the regiment's head ! — 
 He lives, my love ! he is not dead ! 
 
 Sweetly away the touching echoes fade, 
 Then each calls lustily, ' Jack Wade I Jack Wade ! ' 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 They wave their hands, that gay excited throng, 
 And loudly silence claim for ' Jack Wade's song.' 
 The grieving groom, by heat and wine oppressed, 
 With sombre sorrow heaves his ample chest ; 
 His throbbing heart to one sweet memory clings, 
 But still in mellow, manly tones he sings — 
 Quick to obey that gaping group's behest — 
 A song he thus entitles, ' Which is best ? ' 
 
 Yes, love is sweet 
 
 When you chance to meet 
 
 A village maid by the purling brook 
 Who turns to go 
 Like a startled doe, 
 
 But soon relents and melts at your look. 
 Or is it more sweet 
 To sue at the feet 
 
 Of a proud, bright maid like a star or the sun ? 
 Whose fancy feeds 
 On doughty deeds 
 
 Which her lover must do if her love's to be won. 
 Oh ! love like this 
 Indeed is bliss !
 
 MELODY. 21 
 
 It ne'er fades out when once 'tis given ; 
 Though bought with pain, 
 'Twill wear, not wane, 
 
 And seems like a bright foretaste of heaven ! 
 
 Scarce has he vocalised the last refrain, 
 
 When all his mates applaud with might and main ; 
 
 Each maiden thinks, if I his bride would be 
 
 'Twere well at once to show more modesty, 
 
 My voice redundant to a whisper hush, 
 
 And keep in readiness a rosy blush. 
 
 But Jack, whom thoughts of one alone unnerve, 
 
 At once resumes his usual proud reserve, 
 
 Indifferent to the compliments let fall, 
 
 And looks or is unmindful of them all. 
 
 The butler waits till all have ceased their cheers, 
 
 And then in husky tones he volunteers 
 
 A lengthy song, but all the rest unlike, 
 
 That podgy singer calls ' The Masons' strike.' 
 
 Of all the girls by poets sung, 
 Or all the pictures ever hung,
 
 22 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 Of all the most delightful faces, 
 
 There's few can show with Marian Mace's. 
 
 Though bred bsneath the beauteous Dials, 
 
 There's not a girl around for miles, 
 
 When clad in satins, silks, and furs, 
 
 Can show a lovelier face than hers. 
 
 Plasterer Jack was a strongly-built man, 
 
 Who worked for a builder named Sandy M'Cann 
 
 When carefully washed and denuded of plaster 
 
 The man was exactly the ' spit ' of his master. 
 
 By Cupid's connivance the beautiful Marian 
 
 Fell deeply in love with the rough proletarian. 
 
 Now Plasterer Jack, it is right to observe, 
 
 Was always a fellow of wonderful nerve ; 
 
 One winterly day in a masterful way 
 
 He coolly demanded an increase of pay ; 
 
 But Sandy was callous to being abused, 
 
 And said very little, yet firmly refused. 
 
 Then Conny, and Jerry, and Paddy, and Mike, 
 
 With a great deal of bluster resolved on a strike, 
 
 To show their hard, miserly master their power, 
 
 And get an advance of a penny per hour ; 
 
 And soon to these rather exorbitant terms 
 
 Acceded the workmen of neighbouring firms.
 
 MELODY. 23 
 
 Then Union chiefs on spoil grown fat, 
 Squeezed from the proletariat, 
 At first dispense, by way of treat, 
 A good supply of drink and meat ; 
 But soon, alas ! they failed to feast, 
 And all supplies completely ceased. 
 Then came a time of deprivation 
 Which filled the air with execration 
 Against the agitating crew, 
 Who wives and children basely slew. 
 No Scot or Pict or Turk or Aryan, 
 No Russ or Serb or fierce Bulgarian, 
 E'er felt such pangs as lovely Marian 
 And Jack the sturdy proletarian. 
 They dined off bran and kidney beans, 
 And boiled the tins which held sardines 
 To make a hard metallic soup 
 For sickly babes attacked with croup. 
 Now few I think will feel surprise 
 That Marian Mace's lovely eyes, 
 Without the least design or plan, 
 Should touch the heart of grim M'Cann. 
 The plasterer calls one day and sees 
 His flinty master on his knees,
 
 24 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 With upturned eyes and bated voice 
 
 Breathe lawless love in accents choice. 
 
 Then Plasterer Jack in anger rose, 
 
 And punched his great employer's nose 
 
 Until he'd spent his fury's fund 
 
 And Sandy lay completely stunned. 
 
 Then Plasterer Jack with fearful oaths, 
 
 Proceeds to don his master's clothes, 
 
 And Sandy M'Cann is endued in a crack 
 
 In the whitewashy garments of Plasterer Jack. 
 
 Then Jack denudes his face of plaster, 
 
 And coolly personates his master ; 
 
 And no one was wiser except a few fleas, 
 
 For Jack and his master were like as two peas. 
 
 Then Con, and Tim, and Mike, grown thinner, 
 
 Conclude the strike and eat a dinner. 
 
 You'll ask did Jack, when clothed with power, 
 
 Concede the extra penny an hour ? 
 
 I answer no. I'm bound to confess 
 
 He made them work for a halfpenny less. 
 
 Listened that darksome groom with bated breath, 
 His eyelids blanch, his cheeks grow pale as death,
 
 MELODY. 25 
 
 His bosom heaves, his dinted nostrils swell, 
 
 He meditates, perhaps, a parallel. 
 
 Unmoved he sits, his lustrous eyes dilate, 
 
 He murmurs low, ' It is, it must be, fate ! 
 
 ' Could I but personate the Duke ! 'twould be 
 
 ' A retribution just. Oh, ecstasy ! 
 
 ' Revenge is sweet, revenge though out of date, 
 
 ' To gain my love, to safely wreak my hate ! 
 
 'To quench that wretched cur, oh, how I burn ! 
 
 ' To see him at my feet, and thus to spurn ! 
 
 ' But no, my raging passion makes me tremble ; 
 
 ' They must not guess, no, no ! I must dissemble.' 
 
 The song they all applaud ; the butler staid 
 
 With fervour calls on Jane the parlour-maid. 
 
 But see who enters now ! a lady fair, 
 
 With walk majestic, and with golden hair ; 
 
 She comes o'er all their glee to draw the curtain, 
 
 Her name is Hester, and her age uncertain. 
 
 Had they but dared, each servant would have hissed 
 
 her ; 
 But no, 'twere death to mock the Baron's sister !
 
 26 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 She's dressy, likes in silk attire to flaunt, 
 About the Baron's build, but still more gaunt, 
 And some have reckoned her a trifle older ; 
 She talks to servants proudly o'er her shoulder, 
 To show they're made of second-rate materials, 
 As cheaply taught in certain snobbish serials ; 
 An art by servants found most will-compelling, 
 Which some folks said she'd learnt instead of spelling. 
 There's slight surprise that no one's found to mate 
 
 her, 
 And all the poor she visits simply hate her ! 
 Scowling around, she stops their noise and gush 
 With one prolonged but modulated ' Hush ! ' 
 Computes the food, the empty flasks of ' Bass,' 
 And then in haste extinguishes the gas. 
 Obedient all, each servant takes a light, 
 And they in soundest slumbers pass the night. 
 But yet, not all ; that dark, mysterious groom 
 Wakens the echoes of his lonely room, 
 Pacing its length, with many a deep-drawn sigh, 
 Sweet slumbers from his eyelids fleeting fly,
 
 MELODY. 27 
 
 Mournful he groans in self-communion talking, 
 
 And finds it difficult to sleep while walking. 
 
 At length Aurora gilds the Eastern skies, 
 
 Wakeful he mutters, ' Time, 'tis time to rise ' — 
 
 Unfitting word for one who'd spurned his bed — 
 
 And 'neath the court-yard pump he holds his head. 
 
 That inartistic pump, as one might see, 
 
 Was full of individuality. 
 
 Twas clearly more than seemed to eyes or ears, 
 
 And much resembled divers gifted peers, 
 
 With wooden faces and chameleon coats, 
 
 Who seemed to some, uncertain in their votes. 
 
 In copious streams the limpid water flows, 
 
 With ruddy health the pensive lover glows, 
 
 Watches the rising sun illume the garden, 
 
 And dries on diapers from Baden-Baden. 
 
 At length with appetite each lord awakes, 
 
 And calls for hissing chops or thick rumpsteaks — 
 
 Too ghastly meal ! with dread suggestions rife 
 
 Of creatures suffering by the butcher's knife. 
 
 The dames refrain, or sentimental sigh, 
 
 Toying with veal and ham, or pigeon pie,
 
 28 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 Thinking, as both their mysteries reveal, 
 That calves, pigs, pigeons, surely cannot feel ! 
 But Lady Vane these bestial banquets hates, 
 She takes but coffee, and ambrosial cates. 
 That alabaster skin, those cheeks of peach, 
 She owes to neither town nor village leech, 
 Too wise to misapply their mole-like ken 
 To rudest rudiments of regimen. 
 Those lips ! those locks, confined but by a snood. 
 She owes to exercise, and fitting food. 
 No slaughtered creatures furnish forth her meals, 
 Hers is a heart which for the lowest feels ; 
 The dancing sparkle of those eyes divine 
 She beauteous reaps from cereals, milk, and wine. 
 Too lovely maid ! in whom all charms combine, 
 In marriage promised to that Ducal swine ! 
 Half gorged he sits, imbibing tea and ' fizz,' 
 With bloated cheeks, like the foul thing he is ! 
 When flowery Hymen holds his beaming torch, 
 And lets such maidens at its lightnings scorch, 
 Watching the nuptials with approving nod, 
 He merits then no more the name of ' God ! '
 
 MELODY. 29 
 
 Oh ! that such marriages can be allowed ! 
 
 Kind Heaven should snatch the virgin in a cloud, 
 
 Transfigured plant her in the eternal sky, 
 
 Till sun, and moon, and stars, and ail things die.
 
 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 Next morn each man and maid is seen to grieve — 
 'Tis whispered sad and low, ' Jack Wade must leave.' 
 This is the dictum of the Lady Hester — 
 Those serving men and maids, oh ! how they blessed 
 
 her ! 
 When first they came, with woe their hearts had bowed 
 At those dread words, ' No followers allowed ! ' 
 Though she herself for thirteen years at least 
 Had tried to captivate a certain priest, 
 An aged swain, who in this vale of tears 
 Had held a curacy for eighteen years. 
 But proud Jack Wade disdains to cry and pule ; 
 With bag not larger than a reticule, 
 Castor in hand, with head erect he stood, 
 Greeting his mates, so beautiful, so good !
 
 PARTING. 31 
 
 Prostrate they kneel within that castle keep, 
 
 With grief and rage o'ercome they wildly weep, 
 
 E'en that grave groom two trickling tears lets fall, 
 
 Extends his trembling hands, and blesses all. 
 
 Then thus the Baron : 'Jack, it must be so ; 
 
 ' Miss Hester says it, so you're bound to go. 
 
 ' It pains me really very much you know, 
 
 ' I hate to see these scalding eyedrops flow ; 
 
 ' To me your loss will be a bitter blow, 
 
 ' Of grDoms I've had a swarm, but all so slow ! 
 
 ' Your style is so remote from all that's low, 
 
 '/wish your absence ! no, indeed Jack, no ! 
 
 ' I'd have you stay for countless years ; and though 
 
 ' You saved my daughter, and possess a charm 
 
 ' Of manner seldom seen, I see no harm 
 
 ' In letting you for ever here remain — 
 
 ' In fact, you know an awkward groom's my bane — 
 
 1 Your moral tone I'm sure is free from flaw ; 
 
 ' But Hester speaks, and speech with her is law. 
 
 ' Farewell ! much loved Jack Wade, I must be brief.' 
 
 But here the Baron gives the reins to grief ;
 
 32 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 Two silken handkerchiefs his tears assuage — 
 
 Who shall a Baron's grief pretend to gauge? — 
 
 And adds a florin to his monthly wage. 
 
 The servants cheer, when all with wonder see 
 
 Their Lord's unwonted liberality. 
 
 Standing in front of all that menial band, 
 
 He gravely shakes that horse attendant's hand, 
 
 Then murmurs low, ' I've nothing more to say.' 
 
 And up the hill the henchman wends his way. 
 
 Slowly and sadly, as he walks along, 
 
 He hears the echoes of the servants' song, 
 
 When shall we meet, oh ! who can tell ? 
 
 In summer calm, in winter wind ; 
 Whene'er thou hear'st the word Farewell, 
 
 Oh ! think of those thou leav'st behind ! 
 
 Think of those who, sad and lonely, 
 Scarce can bitter tears restrain ; 
 
 Think of those who love thee only, 
 Only wish thee back again. 
 
 Or if no more on earth we meet, 
 
 Oh ! then would life be dark and drear ;
 
 PARTING. 33 
 
 But, if thy heart should cease to beat, 
 We know thy love would hover near. 
 
 Think of those who, sad and lonely, 
 Scarce can bitter tears restrain ; 
 
 Think of those who love thee only, 
 Only wish thee back again. 
 
 His tearlets fall, and overcome with grief, 
 Sobbing, he waves his cotton handkerchief. 
 When shall they meet again ? oh ! who can tell ? 
 He thinks, while listening to the mournful swell. 
 Oh ! not perchance till I am old and hoar ; 
 It may be never p'rhaps, ah ! nevermore.
 
 34 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 J HE PROMISE. 
 
 Weary and worn, he dries his aching eyes, 
 And stops his ears, and sternly townward hies ; 
 Mournful he mounts the hill, romantic groom ! 
 Sniffing the sweetness of syringa bloom. 
 But where is she, the beauteous Lady Vane ? 
 At length he meets her in a shady lane, 
 Reining her steed whose coat of glimm'ring sheen 
 Enhanced her figure draped in silk moreen. 
 He deftly dams his lachrymalian founts, 
 And Lady Vane with easy grace dismounts. 
 Smiling she asks, ' Why, Jack ! what's this I see ? 
 ; Pacing this verdant lane so mournfully, 
 ' That tearful face, that lordly carpet bag — 
 ' Nonsense ! but wait a bit, just hold my nag.' 
 The groom obeys, and she, with graceful care, 
 Confines with pins that wondrous wealth of hair ;
 
 THE PROMISE. 35 
 
 The wafting winds that golden cloud caress 
 In wanton dalliance with each silken tress ; 
 Standing beneath that tall acacia tree, 
 She looked like Venus rising from the sea. 
 The handsome groom his admiration feeds, 
 Looking more handsome in a suit of tweeds ; 
 His short blue frock, his cords, his leathern belt — 
 That belt so near his heart had often dwelt 
 And yet so far removed from all he'd felt — 
 With all surroundings which he longs to sever, 
 Are left at Buncombe Grange, laid by for ever ! 
 Too much the gleams from that too beauteous face 
 Affect his heart ; he gazes into space, 
 Regrets the wealth of love he might enjoy 
 Could he change places with yon Ducal boy, 
 Laments his parents cheated and deceived. 
 The maid observes, ' Why, Jack, I'm deeply grieved : 
 ' You saved my life, I'm therefore free to say 
 ' It's quite too bad to send you thus away.' 
 Curbing the groans that in his bosom sleep, 
 He heaves a sigh so audible, so deep, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 Extorted by such pains as lovers rack, 
 
 That four contiguous counties give it back ; 
 
 Affrighted Nature shakes, the flocks and herds 
 
 With frenzy run around, and e'en the birds, 
 
 Soaring and carolling in upper air, 
 
 Their song suspend, and sympathising stare ; 
 
 The grass and trees in dread commotion stir, 
 
 The Lady Vane looks scared, it frightens even 
 
 her. 
 ' 'Tis better thus than watching day by day 
 ' To see my freshest, fondest hopes decay ; 
 ' Hourly must you have seen my passion loom, 
 ' Love for a mistress by a humble groom ! 
 ' But oh ! to see a man his daughter sell 
 ' For rank and station, who would not rebel ? 
 ' Tell me you love not that insensate fool, 
 ' Say you're but acting as a party tool, 
 ' Say anything that faintest hope affords, 
 ' Say you're but toying with the Ducal hoards 
 ' To aid the Baron in the House of Lords ; 
 ' Say, in a word, you don't my love deride,
 
 THE PROMISE. 37 
 
 ' Lest in my rage I turn a fratricide ! ' 
 
 Started the Lady Vane — ' A what ! ' she cried, 
 
 ' Surely the one whom lovers call " another " — 
 
 ' No, no, it cannot be, he's not your brother ? ' 
 
 ' Lady, believe me ; this to none but you 
 
 ' Would I disclose, but what you say is true.' 
 
 ' Great Heaven ! but how, but why, but when, but 
 
 where 
 ' Occurred the planning of this plot unfair? ' 
 ' Let not my narrative your Grace derange ; 
 ' Tis nothing but the usual tale of change 
 ' Of infants in the crib who passive lay, 
 ' In fact we're told it happens every day — 
 ' At least in fiction, which they say, forsooth, 
 1 Is very often not so strange as truth. 
 ' My own kidnapping I shall ne'er forget : 
 ' One day as lying in my berceaunet 
 ' Toying with marbles or some childish game, 
 ' I do remember, an Egyptian came, 
 ' Wrapped me in flannel with the greatest care, 
 ' And quickly bore me off, I know not where.'
 
 3 8 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 ' How grand ! Ah ! now I do begin to see 
 
 ' You have a wondrous power of memory ; 
 
 ' 'Tis clear these things were done in your despitai, 
 
 ' But still you merely lost the lands and title.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Ma'am, if that were all I should not rail, 
 
 ' The wonder is I live to tell the tale. 
 
 i While I with startling speed was sped through space, 
 
 ' Another infant came to take my place ; 
 
 ' While I was nurtured in a lowly bower, 
 
 ' That infant leapt with wondrous speed to power ; 
 
 ' E'en now his impetus is scarcely spent, 
 
 ' Although he holds the reins of government ; 
 
 ' From out St. Stephen's porch his mandates roll. 
 
   And shake this solid earth from pole to pole.' — 
 
 ' Oh ! to exist in such a blaze of fame, 
 
 ' Were I a man ! how grand ! his name ? his name ? ' — 
 
 ' Nay, Madam, silence I entreat you, hush ! 
 
 ' That dark mysterious man has power to crush ; 
 
 ' Aye, if I spoke, and if he only heard, 
 
 ; He'd crush us both by utt'ring just one word ; 
 
 ' Were I to speak, each breeze would bear the sound, 
 
 ' And in his pay do myrmidons abound.'
 
 THE PROMISE. 39 
 
 ' Nay, silly boy, for me discard your fear, 
 
 ' Whisper that dreaded name within mine ear.' 
 
 How could that youth forbear to taste the bliss 
 
 Of that fond attitude, so like a kiss ? 
 
 Close to her shell-like ear he glued his lips, 
 
 Wished that dread name long as the list of ships, 
 
 By Grecians manned, m Homer's deathless song, 
 
 Wished that the hated name might last as long 
 
 As some long-winded tale like Chevy Chase, 
 
 To keep him near that soul-absorbing face ; 
 
 Reluctant from her ear his lips to sever, 
 
 He fondly wished that name would last for ever. 
 
 At length the beauteous maid with smiles exclaims, 
 
 ' I really think you've rather stretched his names ; 
 
 ' Although with great attention I have listened, 
 
 ' I've never heard that he has been re-christened, 
 
 ' In fact I'm sure he's always been the same ; 
 
 1 That man who's won a European fame 
 
 ' Has, without doubt, one only Christian name.' 
 
 ' Loveliest of all thy sex, oh ! pray forgive ; 
 
 ' If thou could'st only guess my joy to live,
 
 4 o THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 ' What heavenly bliss I find it thus to be 
 
 ' To that fair face in close proximity, 
 
 ' When from that cold reserve thou'lt but unbend, 
 
 ' Thou would'st not grudge a moment thus to spend.' 
 
 A rosy blush the maiden's cheek o'erspread, 
 
 Then looking down she thus discreetly said : 
 
 ' A misalliance makes a dreadful stir, 
 
 ' Or else your humble self I might prefer. 
 
 ' I need not tell you, what you doubtless know, 
 
 ' My purse and hand were promised long ago ; 
 
 ' Friddinner's Duke has laid the usual siege, 
 
 ' My Pa has promised, and — tioblesse oblige ; 
 
 ' In high society the normal way 
 
 ' Of selling hapless maids — but stay ! but stay ! 
 
 ' That dark mysterious man who rules the realm, 
 
 ' And holds with regal attitude the helm, 
 
 ' Like some proud mariner who joys to feel 
 
 'The jarring spokes of that bright brass-bound 
 
 wheel, 
 ' Observant travellers may always note 
 ' Fixed on the deck of every Chelsea boat,
 
 THE PROMISE. 41 
 
 ' And read these words bedecked with black and 
 
 gold, 
 ' " The wheel-compelling man his tongue must hold" — 
 ' If, as I say, by some stupendous " fluke " 
 ' That darksome minister could dub you Duke, 
 ' Or Marquis, Viscount, e'en a landless Count, 
 ' You might to highest eminences mount, 
 ' Heights which to think of make the eye grow dim, 
 ' You might perchance e'en lord it over him ; 
 ' To compass this would be — ha, ha ! what fun, 
 ' Why then, why then — well, something might be done.' 
 ' Lady, I would not go within a mile 
 ' Of that dark man, too much I fear his guile ; 
 • Nay, I'll not put myself within his power ; 
 ' He might behead me in that ancient Tower 
 ' Beside the Thames, that stream so foul with mud, 
 ' And nip my young affections in the bud. 
 ' But oh ! bright maid, I now feel strength to cope 
 ' With all the world, thy words have bid me hope, 
 ' To dry my tears, no more to droop and fret, 
 ' If once my deeds compel the great Debrett
 
 42 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 ' To write my name within his lustrous page, 
 ' Then I may take it that you'll disengage 
 ' Your plighted troth from that young Ducal swine, 
 ' And be, Florinda, ah ! for ever mine.' 
 Her faithful horse was heard a sigh to heave, 
 And then he plucked his mistress by the sleeve 
 With firm solicitude, as if to say, 
 ' Fair mistress, it is time to come away.' 
 Florinda, blushing like the damask rose, 
 With fond affection pats her horse's nose, 
 Then bending o'er his head with air half coy 
 Murmurs in soothing tones, ' All right, old boy.' 
 Just then a sunbeam o'er the horizon broke, 
 And, patting still her horse, she, smiling, spoke : 
 ' For just twelve months, then, I agree to wait ; 
 ' In all the daily prints I'll watch your fate, 
 ' Court news, the law, police reports and all ; 
 ' Let not your soul from paths of virtue fall, 
 ' To fame's high pinnacle attune your mind, 
 ' And don't for drunkenness get caged or fined; 
 ' To these sad lengths you're not inclined to go, 
 ' But London's such a dreadful place, you know.
 
 THE PROMISE. 43 
 
 ' If at the end of one revolving year 
 
 ' Remorseless fate declines to interfere, 
 
 ' Of course you'll take it as a just rebuke, 
 
 ' And I, of course, shall wed me to the Duke.' 
 
 ; Thanks, beauteous maid ! ' the handsome henchman 
 
 cried, 
 ' These fair conditions I with joy abide ; 
 ' Thy cheering words have ample power to teach 
 'Thy humble slave to storm the deadly breach 
 ' Of London life, in search of wealth or place, 
 ' Rememb'ring but that bright, bewitching face ! ' 
 ' Adieu ! ' she said ; then daintily she put 
 Within his horny hand her fairy foot ; 
 With just a bashful touch their faces meet, 
 And Lady Vane has sprung into her seat. 
 The gentle breeze her auburn tresses fanned, 
 She gives her steed his head, and waves her hand 
 With maiden glee, leaving Jack Wade to stand 
 And watch her form, his one bright gleam of light, 
 Vanish by inches from his longing sight. 
 ' She's gone, but no ; ' yet once again he sees 
 Her perfect figure loom between the trees ;
 
 44 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 With straining eyes he looks again, until 
 She's miles away, in fancy eyes her still, 
 Gazes enraptured into boundless space, 
 Seeing, still seeing, that enchanting face ; 
 Then by the light of eve's declining ray 
 That lovely vision cheers his weary way.
 
 45 
 
 FAME. 
 
 A London playhouse, everything looks bright, 
 
 Sensation drama, and a blaze of light ; 
 
 A brilliant cast will sombre scenes enact — 
 
 Besides, the coming player is to act ; 
 
 Trim Broughams, Clarences, and Hansoms bowl 
 
 Swiftly along to see the title role 
 
 Performed by one whose dark, mysterious name 
 
 Burst on the public in a blaze of fame. 
 
 But first a farce, the stage's frailest freak ! — 
 
 Devoid of wit and fatuously weak ! 
 
 By scarce a spark of latent humour lit — 
 
 Casts equal gloom on gallery and pit, 
 
 The cheery pit, so tolerant of folly, 
 
 It sobers them, e'en makes them melancholy. 
 
 Not thus it fared in Robson's palmy days, 
 
 A farce could then uproarious laughter raise ;
 
 46 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 But stars disdain to act in piece the first, 
 So subtle managers choose out the worst, 
 The feeblest farce which figures on the list, 
 Too idiotic even to be hissed ! 
 
 Slowly aloft that pond'rous curtain draws — 
 He comes to meet with rapturous applause ; 
 Round and still round the acclamation goes, 
 That close-packed house gesticulating rose, 
 ' Rose at him ' twice ; he tries to speak in vain, 
 Tries to be heard — but no, they rise again ; 
 At length they tire with shouting's strain intense, 
 And, sinking slowly, let the play commence. 
 The actor low obeisance having made, 
 We surely recognise our friend Jack Wade ! 
 How did he rise ? it booteth not to tell 
 In dreary detail ; muses might as well 
 Describe the rocket's rush, its guiding stick, 
 Or melting meteors which move so quick — 
 Through all the roomy realms of starless space — 
 That human vision fails their flight to trace.
 
 FAME. 47 
 
 As ' super ' first, each manager could see 
 
 That Jack was useful in ' utility ; ' 
 
 The critic band discern him from afar, 
 
 And soon he takes the envied rank of 'star.' 
 
 The play itself, oh ! shades of Keans and Kem- 
 
 bles, 
 Resembles Parke, but nothing else resembles — 
 Beloved Parke ! who brightened boyhood's da}s 
 By printing penny sheets for pasteboard plays, 
 Enlivener thou of many a youthful dullard ! 
 Thy price, ' a penny plain and twopence coloured.' 
 That audience dull, through ignorance or lenience, 
 Endures a play born but of stage convenience, 
 From some sensation tale which mirth inspires — 
 You see the showman and you hear the wires — 
 Each dragging act with due depression teems, 
 And scenes suggesting dire dyspepsia's dreams. 
 Alas ! sad sign of middle-class fatuity, 
 Which merely cares for scenic ingenuity, 
 The playwright's wooden puppet's daft connivance, 
 Like some inane mechanical contrivance ;
 
 48 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 A host of half-paid supers feebly fighting, 
 Chromatic chords for episodes exciting ; 
 Lost lovers in a tide-o'ertaken cave, 
 Authentic water, and a fisher brave 
 A boat propelling just in time to save 
 That puling pair, who rush and rant and rave 
 To muzzy music wafted o'er the wave. 
 Comes there a choral crew of straying strangers ? 
 Not so, it means the pair will dodge their dangers ; 
 The orchestra immured in dungeons deep, 
 Plays these short bursts 'twixt bouts of drink and sleep. 
 One's ancient friend, the band-boxed hat or bonnet- 
 Observe the ' low comedian ' sit upon it — 
 The anxious audience wait the coming crush, 
 And loose their laughter with spasmodic gush. 
 In solo scenes of grief the most intense, 
 They're treated with consummate confidence ; 
 Her tale with heaves the heroine interjects, 
 Tells them whate'er she knows, or e'en suspects, 
 And when she bids for greater griefs prepare, 
 Undoes her own — or some one else's — hair ;
 
 FAME. 49 
 
 But still throughout each player seems to say, 
 
 ' What pulpy parts has this protracted play.' 
 
 Jack's love of art the hackneyed action loathes — 
 
 The base assumption of a rival's clothes, 
 
 Wherein — with total disregard for facts — 
 
 He has to fume and fret for three long acts, 
 
 With new sensation leaps by light of lime, 
 
 As like to nature as a pantomime. 
 
 To make the entertainment more grotesque, 
 
 The play is followed by a new burlesque, — 
 
 A medley which the stoutest heart appals, 
 
 The scum of operas and music halls ; 
 
 The words and ladies both but slightly dressed — 
 
 And fraught with utter lack of interest ; 
 
 A piece wherein with truth it might be said, 
 
 Two nimble heels may save one brainless head ; 
 
 A style of art which suits the vulgar taste, 
 
 So poor, so low, so utterly debased ! 
 
 The rude reviewers of a country fair, 
 
 And cultured critics, shirk it in despair. 
 
 E
 
 50 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. 
 
 The play is o'er, and Jack, unrobing late, 
 
 Miscalls his wretched role ' remorseless fate ! ' 
 
 He murmurs low, ' Oh ! clearly this must be 
 
 ' To shadow forth some dread fatality.' 
 
 His faithful dresser indistinctly hears 
 
 Those dreamy words, and scarce conceals his fears, 
 
 That Jack his part is acting o'er again, 
 
 And sickening for ' sensation on the brain ' — 
 
 A maudlin malady which doctors say 
 
 Their boasted boluses will not allay — 
 
 Produced, as London managers confess, 
 
 By gnawing nystagmutic nervousness, 
 
 In those who live amid excitement's blaze, 
 
 Stabbing and poisoning in sensation plays. 
 
 But Jack is thinking of the man he hates. 
 
 Intent to know if phonocamptic fates
 
 ASSUMPTION. 51 
 
 Presage a triumph over him he loathes, 
 
 By translocation of the Ducal clothes. 
 
 ' These able auguries assert their sway ; 
 
 ' The butler's droning song, this stupid play ; 
 
 ' Omen on omen treads, events advance : 
 
 ' 'Tis mine to watch, and wait some happy chance.' 
 
 He dresses slowly, clasps his aching head, 
 
 And leaves the theatre, but not for bed. 
 
 Weary he wanders through the slimy streets, 
 
 To see the sheets, but oh ! not linen sheets ; 
 
 Before his fevered brain its rest can seek, 
 
 He needs must write and read his own critique ; 
 
 Before his day's laborious work can cease, 
 
 He'll cut himself to pieces in that piece ! 
 
 His deft performance spitefully abuse 
 
 In careful essays and in fierce reviews. 
 
 Those doors, so loose from swinging over much 
 By day and night, fly open at his touch — 
 The office of ' a daily ' stands revealed, 
 Giving intelligence, by flood and field, 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 That daily paper has a sale immense, 
 
 And blatant boasts unrivall'd influence. 
 
 Foul smells of beer and ink the place pervade, 
 
 And lord of all is — who ? our friend Jack Wade ! 
 
 Swiftly he writes, his pen grown deft by use, 
 
 A notice brimming o'er with dire abuse 
 
 Of that poor play, his own much studied part, 
 
 All in the interests and pursuit of art. 
 
 The other prints their vulgar voices raise, 
 
 With all the laboured pomp of measured praise — 
 
 Actor and play their gratulations share, 
 
 Although there's scarce a touch of nature there. 
 
 The critic who a book with fury flays, 
 
 Is apt to be more merciful to plays ; 
 
 Post prandial sights are certain to amuse, 
 
 And make us all reluctant to abuse. 
 
 The book reviewer, taxed beyond his strength 
 
 By piles of prosy print of painful length, 
 
 Neglects at last on horrors new to sup, 
 
 And uncut novels ruthlessly cuts up, 
 
 Or only speaks in complimenting terms
 
 ASSUMPTION. 53 
 
 Of those produced by long-established firms. 
 
 Though puling poets prose, and prose be sung, 
 
 Jack's critic staff were raw and rash and young. 
 
 An author's worth 'tis easy to decide 
 
 By placing all his critics side by side. 
 
 While some pronounce him excellent — oh ! sad — 
 
 Others declare he's everything that's bad ; 
 
 His work of all the trash they've read the worst, 
 
 A heap of rubbish and a thing accurst ; 
 
 More placid men, to prove it will endeavour 
 
 A thing of beauty and of joy for ever. 
 
 Tis hard to wield a just, impartial pen, 
 
 When one tired taster does the work of ten ; 
 
 And though his staff are sharp and analytic, 
 
 Jack vows he'll be his own dramatic critic. 
 
 Brooding he sits within his private bower, 
 
 Sad, sole, uncheered at zenith of his power. 
 
 'Tis nearly flown, that dark eventful year, 
 
 But fitful fate declines to interfere ; 
 
 On fame's proud pinnacle he keeps his mount, 
 
 But still he's not a Duke or e'en a Count.
 
 54 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 Sadly he ponders o'er that matchless maid, 
 And owns that he is plain, too plain Jack Wade. 
 With rapture raving of that form so fair, 
 He rushes out with sobs, and gasps for air. 
 Swiftly he strides, and slowly breathes his fill 
 Along the boundless plains of Primrose Hill. 
 There, while his brow is damp with falling dews, 
 He sadly contemplates the smokeless flues 
 Of countless homes waiting Aurora's peep, 
 Wrapped in the close embrace of soothing sleep. 
 Brushing with careless feet the herbage wet, 
 Sudden that journalistic actor met 
 A man : his rage he's powerless to smother, 
 Instant he recognised his Ducal brother, 
 With random steps pacing that pasture bare. 
 Requiring what ? he also seeks the air. 
 Like two young bulls, their fiery passions burn ; 
 Fiercely the Duke exclaims, ' Turn, minion, turn ! 
 Jack's high strung ears that name insulting heard : 
 He quickly turns, he seeks no second word. 
 No need to bite the thumb to whet their rage —
 
 ASSUMPTION. 55 
 
 Eager they strip, more eager to engage. 
 There, in the gloom of that uncertain light, 
 With nature's weapons they prepare to fight. 
 Facing they stand, their eyes with fury glow, 
 Firmly they guard, and blow succeeds to blow ; 
 When lo ! above, high in the murky air, 
 Two golden-crested eagles fighting there : 
 Screeching they fought, as each o'er other flew, 
 Joying to leave their prisons in ' the Zoo.' 
 Taking, like Irishmen, a deep delight 
 In the vicissitudes of party fight, 
 Each with his claws the other's feathers mauls, 
 When lo ! a cry— the finer eagle falls. 
 The men fight on, they rain their blows like hail, 
 At length the Ducal strength is seen to fail ; 
 Full on his feeble front a blow descends — 
 Crashing he falls, and thus the battle ends. 
 Just as Aurora gilds the coming day, 
 The vanquished Duke without sensation lay. 
 His brother, breathless, sees the hand of fate ; 
 Aside he asks, ' Why do I hesitate ?
 
 56 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 1 The moment favours, there are none to see ; 
 ' I will redress the wrongs of infancy.' 
 Reflects, what woe 'twould be his love to lose, 
 And in his brother's clothes his form indues. 
 The Duke, unconscious, gives a feeble moan, 
 While Jack with speed enrobes him in his own. 
 ' His cards ! ' he murmurs — takes the Ducal case, 
 And puts his own morocco in its place — 
 Then ruthless rushes into boundless space. 
 In stormy splendour rose that morning's sun, 
 With tepid tears, as though for evils done 
 Throughout the world, and overcome with grief. 
 Weeping had failed to use his handkerchief. 
 Those balmy drops the changeling Duke revive : 
 He drawls with vigour, ' Yaas, I am alive ; 
 ' My temples burn ! my aching brow I'll cool 
 ' By water dashed from yon pellucid pool.' 
 Kindly Apollo's rays his members warm, 
 The surface shows his own reflected form ; 
 Deep in its radiant depths between the weeds, 
 He sees his body clothed in homely tweeds.
 
 ASSUMPTION. 57 
 
 They fit him well, though slightly daubed with mire : 
 
 But where can be his own correct attire ? 
 
 Sadly he contemplates his damaged face, 
 
 And then he finds that plain morocco case. 
 
 He draws a card, the words his eyes appal ; 
 
 He looks again, and then he sees it all ! 
 
 He gazes down, then upwards at the sun, 
 
 And says in tearful tones, ' Tis clear, I'm done ! ' 
 
 Shouts when he's stooped, and one small daisy 
 
 plucked, 
 ' I have a daily paper to conduct. 
 ' I must not e'en on Lethe's water sail — 
 1 Should that great organ stop the world would fail ; 
 ' Although 'tis often tossed on seas of doubt, 
 ' I would not see my species blotted out. 
 ' At writing leaders, though I'm no adepts 
 'This draft by destiny I must accept.' 
 Gazing around he hears the thrushes sing, 
 And then he flys to where those swing-doors swing. 
 In serried rows the clerks and clerklings stand, 
 And make a low obeisance, hat in hand ;
 
 58 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 His great beneficence they fondly bless — 
 Like dogs, they know him mainly by his dress. 
 His ' leaders ' scarcely have the ' daily ' ring ; 
 But still it varies much, this sort of thing — 
 Some light and sparkling, others oid and dry ; 
 And folks for ' leaders ' don't a ' daily ' buy, 
 Preferring prints which now and then abuse 
 The things they hate, and give the latest news 
 Of ' midnight betting,' scandal — cases strange — 
 And hints for gambling on the Stock Exchange. 
 All this the Duke finds ready to his hand, 
 Assorted by his editorial band ; 
 His fluent pen with choice stock phrases flows 
 With scarce a thought, and but one other knows 
 That aught in that most Median print has changed, 
 So little is its sparkling style deranged. 
 Still flaunts this legend on its flag unfurled — 
 ' The largest circulation in the world.' 
 But what exceeds that changeling's wildest dream, 
 Is peers' and publicans' profound esteem 
 For him, who thought 'twould ever be his fate
 
 ASSUMPTION. 59 
 
 To meet with nothing but contempt and hate. 
 
 And though when Duke he'd been esteemed as crack'd, 
 
 He's sense enough to know he cannot act ; 
 
 Besides, with ' leader ' work he's sadly flooded, 
 
 And knows his brother's part is ' understudied ; ' 
 
 Although on barely nodding terms with art, 
 
 He writes, declining that sensation part 
 
 For weeks he travels in that paper's grooves, 
 
 And slow but sure his character improves ; 
 
 From being one of nature's poorest works, 
 
 He mounts, till one can see with ease there lurks, 
 
 'Neath all the foppery that his acts enrol, 
 
 A second-class nobility of soul.
 
 6o THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 MEETING. 
 
 A balmy summer eve ! and who is she 
 Loit'ring beneath that tall acacia tree — 
 Alone, dismounted in that leafy lane ? 
 Who but the bright Florinda — Lady Vane. 
 Musing she whips the grass, or sniffs the gorse, 
 And loosely holds her too sagacious horse, 
 Who thoughtful cropped the young resilient shoots, 
 Or looked with wonder at his leather boots. 
 No chance of nails by foolish farrier put 
 To prick the tender frog and lame the foot, 
 But leather casings made with careful taste, 
 And up the front with leather laces laced ; 
 The iron shoe to this fixed on with nails : 
 Behold a perfect boot which never fails, 
 Except when cruel loads inflict a strain,
 
 MEETING. 6 1 
 
 And then, of course, all boots and shoes are vain. 
 These voiceless creatures make a mute appeal 
 To ears too dull, to sense too gross, to feel 
 The dint of pity. for a life curtailed, 
 By clumsy shoes, to sentient muscle nailed ; 
 So Lady Vane resolved her horse to free 
 From chances of a prick's mute agony. 
 But see ! in haste a horseman comes in sight : 
 He cleaves the waving grass with fateful flight, 
 Beneath the spreading tree he draws the rein 
 Beside his longed-for mistress, Lady Vane ! 
 Her horse looked up in act to crop a shoot 
 Of blooming gorse, but Lady Vane stood mute. 
 Why stands she thus? why that cold look retain ? 
 She sees, or thinks she sees, her Ducal swain. 
 Fondly he gazes on that lovely face, 
 And longs to fold it in a close embrace. 
 Reflects, ' She may inflict a sharp rebuke 
 ' On one who merely dresses like a Duke ; 
 ' Although I simply reassert my right, 
 ' Suppose she fails to see it in that light ? '
 
 62 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 Sadly his fiery love he loth restrains, 
 
 And all the Ducal fulsome fopp'ry feigns : 
 
 ' Raise those bright eyes ; I've come to claim via belle.' 
 
 Coldly the maid replies, ' Oh ! very well ; 
 
 4 You surely know your way to Buncombe Grange ; 
 
 ' My Pa will doubtless everything arrange. 
 
 ' I now would sniff the breeze, the hay new mown, 
 
 ' And be with nature and myself alone ! ' 
 
 Slowly he turns with melancholy gladness, 
 
 Balked in his warmth, but still not feeling sadness, 
 
 Racked in his inmost heart with pleasant pains, 
 
 To think his rival she so much disdains.
 
 63 
 
 WEDDING. 
 
 The day is bright, the servants dance with glee, 
 
 And all at Buncombe Grange is revelry ! 
 
 The grounds festooned with flags ; the blooming may 
 
 Breathes forth its sweetest on that wedding day. 
 
 Resplendent tents restrain the summer sun 
 
 By one man fixed — the far-famed Edgington. 
 
 E'en England's climate fails in snow or rain 
 
 To greet so sweet a maid as Lady Vane. 
 
 Excited cheers the woodland echoes wake, 
 
 For boats are racing on the longer lake ; 
 
 While staid domestics hand the wines and cates, 
 
 The gentry race in fours, and pairs, and eights ; 
 
 Steered by a blooming boy, each cutter shoots 
 
 Before the guests who loll in flannel suits. 
 
 The damsels' dresses, dazzling as the snow, 
 
 In fleecy folds of filmy flannel flow ;
 
 64 1HE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 Maturer dames on sons, or husbands lean, 
 
 In ditto robes, of eau de nil, or green : 
 
 No silken bloom nor satin gloss is seen, 
 
 And nature stamps the bride as ' beauty's queen.' 
 
 The valiant victors dress, and proud walk up 
 
 To beauty's throne, and each receives a cup. 
 
 Each youth and maid some golden pleasure culls ; 
 
 But see ! they strip to row ' the challenge sculls.' 
 
 For two successive years this envied grade 
 
 Blessed that strong boat-compelling hero Wade. 
 
 Where is he now, on that auspicious day ? 
 
 Will he appear to row ? ah ! who shall say ? 
 
 Three scullers start ; swiftly away they dash, 
 
 They strain each nerve, their sculls like lightning flash ; 
 
 Each boat its flight with utmost vigour wings, 
 
 Each crowded bank with mad excitement rings. 
 
 A mile they've gone ; the judge's chair they near, 
 
 Then rends the air a stent'ropHonic cheer. 
 
 Faster they dip the sculls, and faster fly — 
 
 Along; that lake — as level as a die : 
 
 'Tis won ! a cry from that excited host,
 
 WEDDING. 65 
 
 ' Tis won by just three feet upon the post ! ' 
 
 ' No finer sight beneath a summer's sun ! ' 
 
 ' Aw ! quite too good ; so glad the bridegroom's won.' 
 
 Proudly he lands, gasping and out of breath ; 
 And then the Lady Vane grows pale as death, — 
 Before her eyes she holds her flannel gloves, 
 To shade her sight, beholding him she loves ; 
 Excited sees 'tis not the man she loathes, 
 When unencumbered by his Ducal clothes. 
 Enrapt he robes, and runs to take his prize 
 From those fair hands, and meets those lovely eyes ; 
 Those half-hid glances, pictured in his dreams, 
 Revive his hard-wrought system with their beams. 
 
 And now, the races o'er, the graceful group 
 Across the chilly church in couples troup, 
 Forming beside the richly sculptured pannels 
 A pleasing contrast in their suits of flannels. 
 Brown shoes with coloured laces grace their feet, 
 And two green streaks proclaim the sliding seat. 
 
 F
 
 66 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 The mumbling parson mouths the questions terse, 
 ' Wilt take this maid for better and for worse ? 
 ' Wilt swear thy plighted love thou wilt not sever ? ' 
 And echo grimly answers back, ' never, never ! ' 
 The words are uttered — oh ! what heavenly bliss 
 To give that beauteous bride her first wife's kiss ! 
 
 Again the guests their rambling ranks arrange, 
 And blithely bustle back to Buncombe Grange. 
 The paths are edged, where'er the eye can reach, 
 With double rows of double flowering peach, 
 Losing their lengthy lines in yonder hills, 
 Whose base is carpeted with daffodils ; 
 Each southern wall is hung with luscious pears 
 And tinted nectarines — the trim parterres, 
 With all the gardener's tasteful art outset, 
 Team with nemophila, and mignonette ; 
 Alyssum sweet, which lures the laden bee ; 
 Rodanthe, Mimulus, Spenogyne, 
 Pyrethrum Aureum with glory fledged, 
 Pentstemon white, with blue Lobelia edged.
 
 WEDDING. 67 
 
 The red Schizanthus has a charm for some, 
 
 While others pluck the gay Nasturtium ; 
 
 Each glowing bed some special bloom unfolds, 
 
 From proud Portulaca to Marigolds. 
 
 Observe that lady tick each hardy annual, 
 
 Assisted by a shilling garden manual ; 
 
 The names of all she, provident, intends 
 
 To use in : posting up ' her dearest friends 
 
 In all the scraps of gossip's widest range, 
 
 But specially the fete at Buncombe Grange ; 
 
 To all those friends she'll charmingly engage 
 
 That flannel weddings will be all the rage, 
 
 In place of ' pink,' or flannel, p'rhaps she'll guess, 
 
 High life will go to church in running dress, 
 
 Wherein the airy style will well combine 
 
 With easy elegance, for days canine ; 
 
 And those botanic names will much enhance 
 
 The thrilling terrors of her new romance. 
 
 That languid author prone un yonder lea 
 Takes listless notes of striking scenery 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 In lengthy lists, to be discreetly pressed 
 To stand in novels tame for interest ; 
 Descriptive scenery, and bits of ' sport,' 
 May serve their uses when the ' copy's ' short ; 
 They just evolve the ghost of faint attention, 
 And hide the author's weakness of invention ; 
 Too wearisome to merit approbation, 
 But less relaxing than refined ' sensation.' 
 
 The poet perched upon those heath-clad hills 
 Will roar of crocuses and daffodils ; 
 To mild aesthetic guests who'll 'hem and hush, 
 He'll spout and sputter forth with gruesome gush. 
 
 The morning's toil a grateful thirst creates, 
 And in the hall a splendid banquet waits : 
 Epergnes and glass with dazzling radiance shine, 
 Nor unforgotten flows the sparkling wine. 
 That stately hall with babbling voices rung, 
 For foaming juices lubricate the tongue ; 
 Those heavy sires and dames grow bright and gay 
 On vintages of Rheims or Epernay ;
 
 WEDDING. 69 
 
 All, all, the table's utmost pleasures cull, 
 And then with striking aptitude grow dull ; 
 Each blooming maid her longing keeps unknown 
 To have a wealthy husband all her own. 
 Mid showers of rice, and satin slippers light, 
 They start the couple for the Isle of Wight ; 
 With waving amis the servants sing a rune, 
 In apt allusion to the honeymoon.
 
 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 THE HONEYMOON. 
 
 Oh ! blissful boy who brings a blushing bride 
 To breathe the briny breeze at racy Ryde, 
 To trace the track while melting moonbeams shine 
 Down the deep gully hole of Black Gang Chine ! 
 By that bless'd bride on silver'd slopes to sit. 
 With arms entwined — oh ! bliss most exquisite ! 
 
 Mellifluous moons at Spas, or Isles of Wight, 
 Too soon must terminate like all things bright ; 
 'Tis ever fairest flowers that soonest fade. 
 Such morbid thoughts had struck the weary Wade, 
 When cares domestic would his thoughts derange, 
 While serving savagely at Buncombe Grange ; 
 And e'en when now, by some small trouble rack'd, 
 Quiver his lordly brows, and then contract, 
 Those brows on which his strength of arm has set,
 
 HONEYMOON. 71 
 
 Not without pain, a Ducal coronet ; 
 Oft when the sun has sunk, and robins roost, 
 He's cursed that crown to which his brows, unus'd, 
 Have but succumbed for fair Florinda's sake, 
 For sadly still it makes his temples ache ; 
 Not that the weighty gawd he always wore 
 When brooding by his bride along the shore. 
 To save it from the brine-beladen air, 
 He buys a double straw for week-day wear ; 
 But peers who on the highest rungs would perch 
 Should wear, he thinks, their coronets at Church ; 
 Disport it, too, with silk and satin sheen, 
 When dwelling near their dear devoted Queen. 
 The doughty Duke detests these pastimes tame ; 
 He fancies e'en the little boys make game, 
 With ribald laughter, when they chance to meet 
 His stately form pervading all the street, 
 Bearing his Ducal head and crown so high, 
 And make allusions to ' another guy.' 
 Without these elements of sad unrest, 
 That Isle might be an Island of the blest.
 
 72 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 The honeymoon is o'er ; the happy pair 
 
 Procure a mansion in a London square — 
 
 A crowded part that tided folks affect 
 
 With solemn looks and murm'ring ' so correct.' 
 
 ' Correct locality,' their friends all say ; 
 
 ' Correct in build,' ' correct in every way ; ' 
 
 ' Correct in size, correct of cour.se in taste ; 
 
 ' A handsome house, although with stucco faced.'
 
 73 
 
 RESUMPTION. 
 
 Though blessed with all this friendliness of fate, 
 
 The grand Friddinner's Duke is met with hate ; 
 
 Whate'er his Lordship does, where'er he goes, 
 
 Correctest people elevate the nose. 
 
 Oh ! that he could such misery have dreamt ; 
 
 That folks should feel an ill-concealed contempt 
 
 For him, who all his life had little reck'd 
 
 Of meeting aught but kindness and respect. 
 
 If this, he thinks, my wretched lot must be, 
 
 Produced by lordly vice and treachery, 
 
 Perish the fantasy of Ducal rank ! 
 
 Sooner would I, as porter in a bank 
 
 Or merchant's office, fly on clerks' behests ; 
 
 Ay, even dust, destroy the spiders' nests — 
 
 Which drooping darken and deface the room —
 
 74 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 Unwilling wield a wondrous width of broom ; 
 Sooner would I return to be a groom, 
 Respected, loved by all at Buncombe Grange ; 
 Rather would I at once effect a change 
 With him who sadly occupies my seat, 
 Behind those slow swing doors in that Fleet Street, 
 Which plenteous teems with editorial bowers, 
 And where I've spent such happy happy hours ! 
 Wildly he wipes that damp enfevered brow — 
 No Ducal coronet bedecks it now ; 
 That glitt'ring gewgaw, girt with golden lace, 
 Reposed within its crested crimson case. 
 With joy he bids the gawd a last farewell, 
 And rings with trembling hands a silver bell. 
 Instant there came a footman, lace bedeck'd, 
 His ebon hair with copious powder fleck'd. 
 That lathy lad his furrowed forehead smote, 
 With air respectful, and received a note. 
 Erect he quits the room with walk discreet, 
 And takes a hansom for the Street of Fleet : 
 In less than half an hour the brothers meet !
 
 RESUMPTION. 75 
 
 As each his present occupation loathes, 
 
 Tis soon arranged— they simply change their clothes. 
 
 Each by this act his growing longing feeds — 
 
 Jack in his easy well-remembered tweeds ; 
 
 The brother, in his ringleted peruke, 
 
 Once more assumes his character of Duke. 
 
 Both, both are glad themselves again to seem, 
 
 And part with feelings of profound esteem — 
 
 The Duke to fondly fritter life away, 
 
 And Jack his higher instincts to obey — 
 
 To blame the Russian and defend the Turk, 
 
 Proud to resume his literary work.
 
 76 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 CONTENT. 
 
 And how does this affect the Lady Vane ? 
 
 Would she prefer a Duchess to remain ? 
 
 Not she ! she nourishes a wish intense 
 
 To wield her husband's paper's influence ; 
 
 To try her best some reason to enforce 
 
 In fixing pattens to the helpless horse, 
 
 Who oft is lame with one prick'd. foot or more, 
 
 And not unfrequently with all the four ; 
 
 To stop the act — so barbarously rude — 
 
 Of killing sentient animals for food. 
 
 She hates to see those horrid ghastly feasts 
 
 Produced by slaughtered fishes, birds, and beasts ; 
 
 Would check that callous vivisecting band 
 
 Who round a tortured victim coolly stand, 
 
 Regardless of its supplicating moan, 
 
 Untouched by every suffering but their own.
 
 CONTENT. 77 
 
 The humble frog, the noble horse, they'll maim, 
 
 In hopes of hanging to the skirts of fame ; 
 
 Pretend to benefit the world by stealth, 
 
 But simply vivisect for place, and wealth. 
 
 That man may slightly gain thereby, admit ; 
 
 Shall he inflict a pain so exquisite ? 
 
 Admit the art some blessings has infused, 
 
 It still stands forth a horror unexcused. 
 
 How long shall living creatures scream and bleed 
 
 These sordid students merely to mislead ? 
 
 Though well 'tis known, and often has been said, 
 
 ' 'Tis all-sufficing to dissect the dead,' 
 
 This simple axiom they refuse to see, 
 
 And refuge seek in mist and mystery ; 
 
 Cut the poor creature till it groans no more, 
 
 And prove but something which they knew before. 
 
 But rumour says the band has now elected 
 
 Some vivisector to be vivisected ; 
 
 And asks with satirizing spleen — quid rides ? — 
 
 The shortest way to show their bona fides.
 
 78 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 And Jack, contented with his busy life, 
 Consults on every point his beauteous wife, 
 On summer evenings strolling o'er the lea 
 Blessed in the gift of mutual sympathy. 
 When winter cold invites to tend the fire, 
 She draws her facile fingers o'er the lyre, 
 To some melodious master's stirring strain, 
 So exquisite, it almost seems like pain 
 To Jack, who hank'ring hangs on every note 
 With joyful chokings thronging in his throat. 
 
 Plots he within his editorial bower 
 
 To hurl that dark mysterious man from power, 
 
 Who proudly holds his country's flag unfurl'd, 
 
 And breathes a calm defiance to the world, 
 
 Defying stedfast all the storms of fate, 
 
 And fearing not the mightiest nations' hate, — 
 
 Haughty, yet humble as the lowliest liege 
 
 Insistent on his fatherland's prestige ? 
 
 No, that great editor is justly proud 
 
 Of England's head, and speaks his praise aloud.
 
 CONTENT. 79 
 
 He scorns his infant suff' rings to reveal ; 
 
 Too much he values this great country's weal. 
 
 Could he, if trusted with that mighty helm, 
 
 Rule the rude rudder which restrains the realm ? 
 
 Could he by flying in the face of fate 
 
 Learn in an hour or two to rule the state ? 
 
 Serene he sees 'tis not his proper bent 
 
 To meddle with the reins of government. 
 
 The very thought his fond Florinda mocks : 
 
 'Why, Jack! the steeds would pull you off the 
 
 box; 
 ' Leave the dark depths of governmental storms, 
 1 And move your mighty mind to work reforms ; 
 ' St. Stephen's school for great and little men 
 ' For ever shun, but rule them with the pen.' 
 Such weighty words from beauty's lips proceed, 
 And Jack with fond caress bestows the meed — 
 A sounding kiss — then strokes her blushing cheeks, 
 And in her ear these words of wisdom speaks : 
 ' That mirksome minister I'll keep in power, 
 ' Accord my aid when lying legates lower ;
 
 80 THE EXCHANGED IDENTITY. 
 
 ' When foreign foes in fiercest fury stand, 
 
 ' My bold bilinguous Billingsgatine band 
 
 ' Shall settle those who would his fame decry, 
 
 ' And slash the sland'ring sluggards hip and thigh. 
 
 ' Perish the priggish prints that puling ply 
 
 ' Their pens, enjoining England's enemy 
 
 ' To ruthless ravage, ransack, rapine, rant, 
 
 ' By careless colloquies, or " Christian " cant, 
 
 ' By " monster meetings " moved by mincing men, 
 
 ' Less apt to argue than to " pack" and pen. 
 
 ' For such a man who speaks the country's sense, 
 
 ' I'll willing wield my wondrous influence ; 
 
 ' His seat sublime would bootless be to me, 
 
 ' Beside I quite approve his policy, 
 
 ' In every clime endorse it near and far : 
 
 ' We'll therefore leave positions as they are. 
 
 ' No, no ! I'll organise a fearless force ; 
 
 ' Trace every trickling trout stream's sandy source ; 
 
 ' Import each bank's alluvial treasures rich. 
 
 ' And first will I perform on that Fleet ditch, 
 
 ' Which 'neath my rooms, as every clerkling knows,
 
 CONTENT. 8r 
 
 ' 111 fetid floods of foul effluvia flows. 
 
 ' Then will I send to Afric's burning shores 
 
 1 A lion-hunting all the blatant bores, 
 
 ' Who wear me out — in number nine or ten — 
 
 ' And sigh to shine as slashing slaughtermen. 
 
 ' I'll lure them on by tales of game to bag ; 
 
 ' But bar bombardments, or the British flag, 
 
 ' Should they with some great negro clan " collide," 
 
 ' The brunt of aimless acts they must abide ; 
 
 ; Discreet discard a tart triumphant tone, 
 
 ' And fight with fists and flagstaffs of their own. 
 
 ' By peaceful deeds I'll reap resounding fame, 
 
 ' Confer on coming continents my name. 
 
 ' When folks enquire, " Can England make a trade 
 
 ' " On some swift stream ? " Wade wafts the echo, 
 
 " Wade ! " 
 ' And may my lagging laurels, apt to fade, 
 ' By this and future worlds be justly weighed ! '
 
 82 
 
 PA ULINE, 
 
 THE ART STUDENT. 
 
 Of all the men in Bradford Town 
 Who thrive on cloth and shoddy, 
 
 You could not find a greedier clown 
 Than Thomas Wedgwood Thoddy. 
 
 A man for very love of gold 
 Who'd sell his soul and body, 
 
 At thirty-two he looked quite old, 
 From thinking nought but shoddy. 
 
 Of course by piles on piles of wealth 
 
 Tom Thoddy was rewarded ; 
 What mattered then the rich man's health 
 
 When everyone applauded?
 
 PAULINE. 
 
 They ate his food, and heard him prose 
 
 With faces sympathetic ; 
 But still they say, where'er he goes, 
 
 ' He's not at all aesthetic' 
 
 A man like this of course you'll wot 
 
 AVas destitute of humour, 
 But still he certainly was not 
 
 Insensible to rumour. 
 
 And when aside he heard it said, 
 ' Poor Thoddy wants refining,' 
 
 The words kept singing in his head, 
 And set him sadly pining. 
 
 Upon his couch he'd toss and cry, 
 With looks and tones pathetic, 
 
 ' Oh ! fate, I only wish that I 
 ' Were slightly more aesthetic. 
 
 ' All other plans it seems are vain ; 
 ' I'll go to London City ; 
 
 G 2 
 
 83
 
 84 PA ULINE. 
 
 ' If there my wish I cannot gain, 
 ' I think it is a pity ! ' 
 
 In London town he walked and dreamed, 
 
 By deepest longings riven ; 
 At length he met a maid who seemed 
 
 An angel sent from heaven. 
 
 '6* 
 
 ' At length,' he cried, ' be still my heart,' 
 And sang a loud Te Deum; 
 
 1 My love attends the school of art 
 ' At Kensington Museum ! 
 
 *&' 
 
 ' And there all day she reads, and draws 
 
 ' Art studies by the cartful.' 
 To him the maid seemed free from flaws, 
 
 But oh ! she was so artful ! 
 
 He feels a glimpse of heaven revealed 
 Whene'er her bright eye twinkles ; 
 
 He little knew that art concealed 
 Her sallowness and wrinkles.
 
 PA ULIXE. 85 
 
 I say ' her eye ' — she had but one 
 
 Which spoke her feelings latent ; 
 The other never beamed with fun, 
 
 Because 'twas glass, and patent. 
 
 Her glow was paint, her hair was jute, 
 
 Complexion rather muddy ; 
 But still poor Thoddy pressed his suit 
 
 On this too fine art study ! 
 
 The wedding guests, who came to stare 
 
 And quiz with eye judicial, 
 Remarked at once, ' her face and hair 
 
 ' Are very artificial.' 
 
 But Thoddy cares no jot, I trow, 
 
 For friends unsympathetic. 
 ' Oh ! joy,' he cries, ' that I am now 
 
 ' So beautif 'ly aesthetic ! ' 
 
 At length he finds, though ' dear Pauline ' 
 Does drawings by the cartful,
 
 86 PAULINE. 
 
 She must not be by daylight seen, 
 And is a trifle artful. 
 
 ' I've played the fool,' he sometimes thinks, 
 ' My mind I can't divest of it ; ' 
 
 But still he never swears or drinks, 
 And really makes the best of it. 
 
 He gladly pays for works of art, 
 And plays the husband dutiful ; 
 
 He says with hand upon his heart, 
 ' Oh ! art makes all things beautiful ! ' 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQL'ARE 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET
 
 AT ALL LIBRARIES. 
 
 OLAF EJEGOD. 
 
 By GERARD BENDALL, 
 Author of ' Estelle ' and other Poems. 
 
 SPECTATOR. 
 
 * Mr. Bendall has quite uncommon gifts of the poetical kind. 
 He has fancy, pathos, and much power of melodious versification.' 
 
 ACADEMY. 
 'A very welcome presence. . . . We think our readers will 
 agree with us that in such pieces as "The White Rose," of which 
 we quote some stanzas, a very true and tender poetic chord is struck.' 
 
 ATHENAEUM. 
 
 ' His numbers flow easily, and are warmed by genuine passion. 
 . . . The story, if such it can be called, is pleasantly related, the 
 language attaining at times poetical elevation. . . . The following 
 poems are in keeping with the first. . . .' 
 
 EXAMINER. 
 
 ' The writer takes a subject which might be considered in some 
 degree hazarde, but deals with it most gracefully and delicately. 
 . . . Mr. Bendall has scarce written a line of which he need be 
 ashamed, and has written many of which he may be proud.' 
 
 NONCONFORMIST. 
 
 ' He has fine taste, tender passion, and true feeling for rhythm. 
 . . . What we like best are some of the shorter pieces, which are 
 full of a charming grace, and occasionally a certain Heine-like 
 suggestiveness.' 
 
 ECHO. 
 ' His longer poem, "Estelle," has many truly poetical passages. 
 . . . Mr. Bendall is at his best in some of his shorter pieces, 
 two of which, at any rate, " Thy Name " and "Lost," are graceful, 
 spirited, and most melodious.' 
 
 S. B. BARRETT, 25 Paternoster Square, E.C.
 
 At MUDIE'S, SMITH'S, and all Libraries. 
 
 THRICE: 
 
 A NOVEL IN TWO VOLUMES, BY 
 
 W. A. CHANDLER, 
 
 Author of 1 The Rum Rhymes] l Not to be Broken] &>c. 
 
 'Mr. Chandler is one of the few novelists who has successfully evflded or 
 resisted the snare, and his story has in consequence escaped with the life in it. 
 The book impresses us by its vitality, its energy, and concentration of purpose. 
 The spirit of the novel is strong, and its matter solid above the average. It is 
 refreshing, in these epicurean and luxury-loving times, to light on a new writer 
 of fiction whose work is wholly untainted by that diseased taste unhappily 
 prevalent with the greater number of our minor novelists. 
 
 ' There occurs in the midst of the narrative dealing with the poor young 
 parson's early perplexities and troubles, a scene so droll and life-like that, were 
 it not too long for reproduction here, it would be worth transcribing, not less for 
 the instruction than for the amusement of readers who may be unacquainted 
 with the subtleties of ecclesiastical prosecutions.' — Spectator. 
 
 ' The best character in the book, however, is a Conservative peer rejoicing 
 in the odd title of Earl Trampleasurc ; the final scene, in which he kills a burglar, 
 purely from the feeling that it is expected of him, is decidedly a success. Mr. 
 Chandler's pictures of the interior of an Anglican monastery are also very 
 good.' — Academy. 
 
 '"Thrice" has, at all events, the merit of being somewhat different from the 
 ordinary run of novels.' — Athen^um. 
 
 'The interest of the story increases as the plot is unfolded. The plot, of the 
 nature of which we have scarcely given a hint, is rather ingenious. It is well 
 worked out, and its unravelling secures a sensation of some surprise.' 
 
 Literary World. 
 
 'An amusing novel.' — Fun. 
 
 ' Just fails being one of the most humorous books we have ever re ad. On the 
 whole, the characters are well drawn, the book i? readable, and the interest — to 
 any one with a mind of his own — kept up throughout.' — Land and Water. 
 
 ' Mr. Chandler gives us, indeed, two very attractive portraits of Helen 
 and Lady Katherine. The so-called monastery and its goings-on are amusingly 
 described.' — Morning Post. 
 
 ' The redeeming feature of the work is the power with which the author 
 describes his two heroines, both of whom are lovable, as drawn by the author's 
 pen.' — Echo. 
 
 ' It ventures upon new ground. The idea that is contained in the first volume 
 is by no means destitute of merit.' — Lloyd's. 
 
 ' Some amount of skill is shown by the way in which the author introduces 
 his reflections on matters of every-day life.' — City Press. 
 
 'The book is written with strength. The comic descriptions are the best. 
 The manner in which ecclesiastical cases are got up, and the people taking part 
 in them, are cleverly derided.' — Sunday Times. 
 
 ' There is a certain air of smartness about this story which will probab 
 gain for it the approval of a large class of readers. Is, at any rate, readable.' 
 
 Pictorial World 
 
 London : E. W. ALLEN, 1 1 Ave Maria Lane, E. C.
 
 THE RUM RHYMES 
 
 BY 
 
 The Author of' Thrice] ' Not to be Broken] &c. 
 Sixteen Illustrations by E. Cocking. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE PROPHETIC PIEMAN, A LEGEND 
 
 OF JAPAN. 
 COMPLAINTS AND CONSOLATIONS. 
 LADY LUCY AND THE WEEPING EARL. 
 AN UNSOCIAL EXPERIMENT. 
 A ROMANCE. 
 THE INJURED HUSBAND. 
 CHRISTMAS DISAPPOINTMENTS. 
 THE PERILS OF MATRIMONY. 
 SEEKING AFTER LOST ISRAEL. 
 MISANTHROPIC MUSINGS. 
 THE YOUNG BEAR ; A LEGEND OF 
 
 CAPEL COURT. 
 JEHORAM PRIME. 
 ANN JONES. 
 THE HAPPY ISLE. 
 FITFUL SLUMBER. 
 THE STEPMOTHER ; A LEGEND OF 
 
 NORSELAND. 
 THE QUINTET PARTY. 
 THE DUEL. 
 THE MONIED MAIDEN ; A LAY OF 
 
 ANCIENT ROME. 
 THE MONEY GRUBBER. 
 PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. 
 CONFUSED REMINISCENCES. 
 THE HOUSE OWNER TO HER FRIEND. 
 THE EASTERN EXPLORER. 
 THE MUSIC HATER. 
 PUTNEY BILL. 
 LINES BY THE COOK. 
 
 THERMOPYLA 
 
 OH I WHAT A BORE. 
 
 NOW AND THEN. 
 
 A LITTLE LOWER THAN THE ANGELS. 
 
 THE FAIR LADY ALICE AND CLEMENZA 
 
 THE DARK ORGAN MAN. 
 THE WEAKER VESSEL. 
 
 AMBITION ; OR THE WOULD-BE BISHOP. 
 MAN; BY A VEGETARIAN. 
 BALACLAVA BANQUETS ; BY A VEGE- 
 TARIAN. 
 THE CONVERTED PUGILIST ; BY A 
 
 VEGETARIAN. 
 PRAISES OF WHISKEY ; ODE BY Q. 
 
 HORATIUS MACIVER. 
 THE LITTLE BOYS AND THE BIG 
 
 POLICEMAN. 
 THOUGHTS ON FLESH EATING ; BY A 
 
 VEGETARIAN. 
 RECRIMINATIONS ; HYMAN MOSES AND 
 
 NATHAN COHEN. 
 PRAISES OF LOUTH ; ODE BY Q. 
 
 HORATIUS MACIVER. 
 RAMBLING RUMINATIONS. 
 THE BOLD BARRISTER'S FAREWELL 
 
 SONG. 
 
 man's future ; by a pessimist, 
 the youth and his stomach, 
 the praises of the iron horse; 
 ode by q. horatius maciver. 
 
 At RAILWAY BOOKSTALLS, is. 
 
 London: C. R. BROWN, 40 Sun Street, E.C.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
 10m-ll, '50(2555)470
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 365 567 
 
 3QUND 8Y 
 
 spottiswoode&c 
 ~^ London 
 
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