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 The PriRcess de liusignan
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 SCRAPS 
 
 THE PRINCESS DE LUSIGNAN 
 
 LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL 
 
 Limited 
 
 1887
 
 LONDON : 
 
 I'lllNTKK IIY J. S. VIUHK AND CO., I.IMITKI), 
 
 CITV UDAI).
 
 
 VORWORT. 
 
 [HE authoress of the following scraps has 
 been induced to put them in a book form, 
 not with the pretension of presenting 
 them to the public as a volume, but in order to 
 be able to recall at pleasure the circumstances 
 and emotions under which they were written. 
 
 September, 1887. 
 
 943419
 
 SCRAPS. 
 
 A FAEEWELL. 
 
 AM off to the West, to the land , 
 
 Of fogs and of freedom and pleasure ; 
 
 'Ere I start, from the spot where I stand, 
 I chant my adieus in soft measure. 
 
 J 
 
 Farewell the kiosk, where our talented Bey 
 
 Dispenses cold water and wit ; 
 Farewell to the groups in the garden, as they 
 
 Contentedly gossiping sit. 
 
 What a chatter and clatter they make, 
 
 These tongues, male and female, in wagging ! 
 
 Whether matter or manner we take, 
 
 We must say, " Now don't they want gagging 'r " 
 
 B
 
 SCRAPS. 
 
 Each tongue is a spit or a grill, 
 
 Where some neighbour is roasted or fried ; 
 And the nerves of the strongest will thrill 
 
 At the thought that he there may be tried. 
 
 Farewell to the consuls, their fictions and broils, 
 Farewell to their wives fat and lean ; 
 
 Farewell the intrigues that Cunning employs. 
 But oh ! we quickly find out what they mean. 
 
 Farewell to the fortress, Venetian stronghold, 
 "Well-placed for protecting the town ; 
 
 If stones could but speak, what tales might be told ! 
 But where, where find a pen to write down ? 
 
 Farewell the mosquitoes, the earthquakes, and all 
 That have tortured me during my stay ; 
 
 But some fond recollections I too may recall, 
 A^Ticn abiding in lands far away. 
 
 Farewell to the sunshine, farewell to each star 
 I have gazed on so oft on night's azure breast, 
 
 That warmth and that beauty I'll miss when afar ; 
 I am off, I am off to the land of the "West. 
 
 Mktelix, May, 1883.
 
 '' EEMEMBEE." 
 
 Translated from the French of Alfred de Musset: "Rappelle-toi." 
 
 EMEMBER, when Aurora's timid fingers 
 
 _R| Unlock for Sol his palace bright, 
 
 Mil . 
 
 <5v9^ Remember, when 'neath her silver veil still linsrers. 
 
 Soft gliding down the pensive night ; 
 
 When joy's most rapturous thrills delight thee, 
 
 When evening shades to poet dreams invite thee, 
 
 List that voice from bough and tree 
 
 That murmurs still to thee, 
 
 Remember ! 
 
 Remember, when cruel fate shall sever 
 
 Me from thee, when sorrow, exile, years. 
 Shall have withered up for ever 
 
 This out- worn heart, and hushed its fears ; 
 
 Think of my hopeless love, think of my last fare- 
 well to thee. 
 Nor time nor absence works a change in one that 
 loves like me ; 
 
 B 2
 
 4 SCRAPS. 
 
 Whilst in this heart life's pulses beat, 
 To thee 'twill still repeat, 
 Remember ! 
 
 Remember, when within the cold earth sleeping, 
 
 This broken heart at length shall rest ; 
 Remember, when above my low grave peeping, 
 ( )ne modest flower shall lift its crest. 
 
 On earth we meet no more, but from the spheres 
 
 above 
 My soul shall hover o'er thee with a sister's love. 
 List in the night so lonely, 
 A voice that whispers only, 
 Remember !
 
 EAPPELLE-TOI. 
 YEEGISSMEIN NICHT. 
 
 Par Alfred de Mvsset. 
 
 APPELLE-TOI, quand I'aurore craintive 
 
 Oiivre au soleil son palais enchante, 
 
 cSivs^ Pappelle-toi, lorsque la nuit pensive, 
 
 Passe en revant sous son voile argente ; 
 A I'appel du plaisir lorsque ton sein palpite, 
 Aux doux songes au soir lorsque I'ombre t'invite, 
 Ecoute au fond des bois, 
 Murmurer une voix, 
 
 Pappelle-toi ! 
 
 Rappelle-toi, lorsque les destinees, 
 
 M'auront de toi pour jamais separe, 
 Quand le chagrin, I'exil, et les annees, 
 
 Auront fletri ce coeur desespere ; 
 Songe a mon triste amour, songe a I'adieu supreme, 
 L 'absence ni le temps ne sont rien quand on aime ;
 
 SCRAPS. 
 
 Tant que mon cccur battra, 
 Toujours il tc dira, 
 
 Rappcllc-toi ! 
 
 Rappelle-toi, quand sous la froide terre, . 
 Mon cocur brise pour toujours dormira ; 
 Eappelle-toi, quand uno fleur solitaire 
 
 Sur mon tombcau doucement s'ouvrira. 
 Tu ne me verras plus, mais mon ame immortelle 
 Eeviendra pres de toi comme une sccur fidele. 
 Ecoute dans la nuit, 
 Une voix qui gomit, 
 
 Rappelle-toi !
 
 MY OLD GOOSE QUILL. 
 
 ^S/fY old goose quill, my old goose quill, 
 Once more I grasp you kindly. 
 You'll pardon me, I know you will, 
 Although I left you blindly. 
 
 I do confess that I have stray'd 
 
 With pens of polished steel. 
 With golden nibs I too have play'd ; 
 
 For this remorse I feel. 
 
 But I have never truly lov'd 
 
 That cold metallic shine ; 
 Hard to the touch, and still unmov'd. 
 
 Although they looked so fine. 
 
 My old goose quill, my old goose quill, 
 
 I love your pliant feather. 
 And hope that you and I will still 
 
 Jog on some years together.
 
 8 SCRAPS. 
 
 "We have some debts, you know, to pa}', 
 
 On honest thoughts intent ; 
 When you and I shall say our say. 
 
 Will pay with cent, per cent. 
 
 And we must now improve the time, 
 
 My trusty, old Pegasus, 
 In flowing rhyme we yet may climb, 
 
 The summit of Parnassus. 
 
 And if along our pathway strewn, 
 Some crawling things we find, 
 
 "With one brave bound we'll clear the ground. 
 And kick them far behind. 
 
 My old goose quill, my old goose quill, 
 
 I love your pliant feather, 
 And hope that you and I will still 
 
 Jog on some years together.
 
 TO 
 
 iH, who shall say by wliat strange fate, 
 We first Lave met, we now must part, 
 ^ Nor tongue nor pen can e'er narrate 
 The mysteries of tlie human heart. 
 Thou from the great Caucasian range, 
 
 And I from Britain's foggy land, 
 Here meet, and thought with thought exchange 
 
 Upon this fair Bosphoric strand. 
 And now we part, perchance we ne'er 
 
 Shall meet again, but still in thought 
 We shall retrace those scenes, and there, 
 By memor3^'s power again be brought. 
 One parting prayer for thee I say — 
 May'st thou be ever true and just. 
 Walking in honour's stainless way. 
 And faithful to thy sovereign's trust.
 
 TO A EOSEBUD. 
 
 I WILL not pluck thee, budding rose, 
 Thou lovely garden gem, 
 Y Before thy tender leaves unclose, 
 Nor tear thee from thy stem. 
 
 Each morn I visit with delight, 
 
 Thy leafy home so lovely. 
 To watch how 'neath the solar light 
 Thy charms are opening slowly. 
 
 All care and culture I can give, 
 
 I promise freely to bestow, 
 Content to see thee blooming live. 
 
 Expanding in thy roseate glow. 
 
 And should some hand, more bold than mine, 
 
 Thy full-grown beauties take. 
 To place thee on some glitt'ring shrine, 
 
 I'll bless it for thy sake.
 
 TO A ROSEBUD. il 
 
 Perchance within a vase of gold, 
 
 Thou yet may'st proudly shine ; 
 I'd only say when that is told, 
 
 " Thy happiness is mine." 
 
 For I could only offer thee 
 
 An humble cottage sill. 
 To bless thy presence none but me, 
 
 And call thee lovely still. 
 
 Then I'll not pluck thee, budding rose, 
 I'll daily watch thy charms unfold ; 
 
 No jealous thought my bosom knows, 
 In thinking of that vase of gold.
 
 TO A LILY. 
 
 LOVELY lily, most stately queen ! 
 How grandly you rise above your compeers, 
 ^ How lovely thy robes of white and green, 
 How charming thy toilette to all appears. 
 
 Not the richest, wisest, greatest king that ever 
 Wore Judah's royal crown upon his brow ; 
 
 No, Solomon in all his glory, was never 
 Clothed so grandly fair as thou ! 
 
 Emblem of the Virgin throng, 
 
 Whose place in heaven, so high is ; 
 
 Who 'midst angelic choirs cntone a song, 
 To which no other nigh is. 
 
 i) lovely lily, most stately queen ! 
 
 To-morrow's sun may see thee fade, 
 Thy calix white, thy leaflets green, 
 
 May wither trampled in the shade.
 
 TO A LILY. I'i 
 
 Things the fairest fade the first, 
 
 'Tis the doom of earthly things ; 
 See the morn in glory burst, 
 
 Night, unfailing, darkness brings. 
 
 Lovely lily ! fare thee well — 
 
 Thy beauty soon will fade away, 
 Where bloom is fled, and friends are dead, 
 
 Oh ! who would care on earth to stay ? 
 
 The lesson taught by decay is sad, 
 
 Enough to prevent the heart being glad ; 
 
 But hope is left for the faded flower. 
 
 Though it has bloomed but one short hour. 
 
 For spring-time again will visit the earth, 
 
 And give to the flower a second birth ; 
 
 And day may be swallowed up in night, 
 
 But morn will come with rosy light, 
 
 And man may be stricken by death, but he'll rise 
 
 To a brighter home beyond the skies.
 
 WOMAN'S BATTLE. 
 
 The following verses were written in reply to some composed in a 
 diflferent spiiit, and which were published in a local journal. 
 
 S last night I lay awake 
 
 And counsel with myself did take, 
 
 I thought, how strange that man should be 
 
 Of woman still the enemy. 
 
 Although in accents loud and high, 
 
 And tones that echo to the skj^. 
 
 He still proclaims himself the friend 
 
 Of the whole sex : 'tis well : attend. 
 
 And in each single case we'll find 
 
 The true conditions of his mind, 
 
 And how his theory so grand 
 
 The test of truth cannot withstand. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 If man in woman meets a fool 
 Pretty and fond, she'll be his tool. 
 She listens to his flatt'ring words. 
 Sweet as the song of summer birds ;
 
 woman's battle. 15 
 
 Believes his vows, responds his sighs. 
 
 And sees her heaven within his eyes. 
 
 Her heart is his ; his triumph's won, 
 
 The gloss of novelty is gone. 
 
 A fairer face, a longer purse 
 
 Attract my lord. But hear still worse : 
 
 The maid who all his vows believed. 
 
 Who once his plighted troth received, 
 
 Is struck with pallid sorrow now. 
 
 The hand of death is on her brow : 
 
 A serpent to her Eden crept. 
 
 And life of all its joys bereft ; 
 
 The gem is from the casket stol'n, 
 
 The rose has lost its sweet perfume, 
 
 The fairy veil of life is torn ; 
 
 The maiden's days are wrapt in gloom, 
 
 She slowly sinks into the tomb. 
 
 And he who quench'd that young life's ray, 
 
 Will 'midst his midnight revels say, 
 
 " Pity it was, but so 'tis best, 
 
 Poor simple soul ; she's now at rest." 
 
 But if woman, cold and bright. 
 Like the stars of summer night,
 
 1 SCRAPS. 
 
 Though smiling like the sea at rest, 
 Still holds the secret of her breast, 
 Or if, perchance with arrowy wit, 
 Flings back the shaft that fain would hit, 
 My lord with lofty anger glows. 
 And swift his indignation shows. 
 At once in gall he dips his pen, 
 And she's "devilish woman " then. 
 Not formed by Heaven ; satanic aid 
 Was needed when the work was made ; 
 A devil's brain, with angel face, 
 A heart of stone, with queen -like grace, 
 A hybrid mixt of heaven and hell, 
 "With charms that lure, and Aviles most fell. 
 Such is the skeich that now is made. 
 Each touch but gives a darker shade. 
 Such blame is praise ; of whom 'tis said, 
 In smiling scorn may toss her head. 
 ***** 
 Woman ! Woman ! hold thine own. 
 Beauty's bloom is quickly flown. 
 Hold thine o^vn with brain and hand. 
 And make thy foe to understand 
 That man was born to be thy slave ; 
 Or be he fool, or be he knave.
 
 woman's battle. 17 
 
 Or be lie of the highest mould 
 
 Of heart and brain, on thee depends 
 
 If well or ill the story ends. 
 
 But he whose soul is highest strung, 
 
 O'er whom the muses' gifts are flung. 
 
 He'll wear thy chains with greatest pleasure, 
 
 He'll sing thy praise in sweetest measure, 
 
 He'll worship humbly at thy feet. 
 
 When fools would laugh, and knaves would cheat. 
 
 When such thou' It meet, esteem him well. 
 
 If he a tale of love should tell, 
 
 And should thy heart responsive beat, 
 
 His suit with honest frankness meet ; 
 
 But always keep this rule in view, 
 
 To thine own self be ever true.
 
 TO ]\[Y GODSON. 
 
 KTIIAT shall I wish for thee, my son, 
 1^^ Whose race of life has just begun ? 
 'Y . AVhat gifts shall I implore for thee, 
 "What pray thy future life may be ? 
 But whence this anxious, throbbing love, 
 Why heart and brain and senses move, 
 As T thy features fondly scan. 
 Gazing on thee, thou infant man ? 
 In thy regard, how can I claim, 
 
 child ! a mother's sacred name ? 
 
 Within our veins no kindred blood 
 Co-mingling flows in purple flood, 
 No scroll of long ancestral line 
 Our parents' names in one combine ; 
 What bonds then bind me unto thee — 
 "What ties exist 'twixt thee and me ? 
 
 1 claim thee by a right divine. 
 
 The Church, my child, has made thee mine ;
 
 TO MY GODSON. 19 
 
 For He who sent thee on the earth, 
 Grives in the Font a second birth. 
 Then bending near thy cradle-bed, 
 I breathe my prayers above thy head, 
 As mothers pray for sons belov'd 
 When nature's deepest founts are mov'd. 
 
 I ask not gifts of startling sound, 
 To make thy name afar renown'd, 
 To show to wondering nations' eyes 
 The warrior's crown, the warrior's prize. 
 Not even that gift of highest art, 
 The power to touch the human heart, 
 In verses rung from gold-strung lyre. 
 And breathing forth Pindaric fire. 
 
 Less showy gifts for thee I pray. 
 To guide thee on life's troublous way. 
 If I thy fviture life could plan, 
 I'd say. Be thou an honest man ; 
 In friendship firm, in love sincere. 
 The truth out-speaking without fear : 
 In manner gentle, strong in will, 
 In honour's pathway walking still ; 
 
 c2
 
 20 SCRAPS. 
 
 The poor man's friend, the oppressor's foe, 
 By conscience guided, must thou go. 
 Be thus, my son, and thou wilt be, 
 All that I ere could wish for thee. 
 Thy father's crown, thy mother's joy. 
 God's blessing rest upon my boy.
 
 TO MES. W 
 
 CCEPT a flower of those soft climes 
 
 Where I have late been staying, 
 And where my fondest thoughts oft-times 
 To home and friends were straying- 
 
 Amongst these friends in highest place, 
 For worth and noblest gifts thou art : 
 
 The wit so keen, the woman's grace, 
 The firm resolve, the kindly heart. 
 
 To roam with many a gifted mind 
 Through fairest scenes has been my lot ; 
 
 But midst the pleasures thus combined, 
 My dearest friend I ne'er forgot. 
 
 I ne'er forgot in those far lands, 
 Those lands of sunshine and of flowers — 
 
 Nor time nor distance frays the bands 
 Of friendship like to ours. 
 
 Again we'll meet, and each will say, 
 But not in spoken words. 
 
 But silent thoughts, as well we may — 
 " Your heart with mine accords."
 
 TO MY NEPHEW. 
 
 ' WTO W eighteen years have glided by, 
 f^ Since first thou sawest the light ; 
 Thy youthful parents' pride, and I 
 Shared in their deep delight. 
 
 ej 
 
 •& 
 
 And time sped on, and still thou wert 
 A household's darling boy ; 
 
 Thy naughtiest tricks I must confess 
 Gave thy dear mother joy. 
 
 liut I, with sterner pride perchance. 
 Thy future life oft scanned. 
 
 And still survey'd with anxious glance 
 What hopeful fancy planned. 
 
 My brother's son ! his eldest born ! 
 
 Destin'd my father's name to send, 
 In lengthened line from son to son, 
 
 And fame with honour blend.
 
 TO MY NEPHEW. 23 
 
 These bonds of blood, and kindred's claims, 
 
 By nature's force accept I must ; 
 But holier far, in thee I see, 
 
 Sad gift ! a dpng mother's trust. 
 
 Cut off in. life's fair spring-time, she 
 
 Left four fair babes behind. 
 And hoped these helpless ones in me, 
 
 A mother's care would find. 
 
 On thy fair brow, my nephew dear, 
 
 A kiss of love I press ; 
 Thy mother's spirit hov'ring near 
 
 Will smile on that caress. 
 
 On this commemorative day, 
 
 I fain would give some counsel sweet ; 
 But better still it is to pray 
 
 That thou may'st ever do what's meet. 
 
 On manhood's threshold now thou art — 
 May He who reads the heart "udthin, 
 
 And gives to each his earned part, 
 Preserve thee from all kinds of sin.
 
 3n riDcnioriain. 
 
 LITTLE KATIE. 
 
 'EVER more, my bonny Katie, 
 
 Shalt thou be fondled on my knee ; 
 'i Never more, my bonny Katie, 
 
 Thy roguish smiling shall I see. 
 
 And thine eyes so wondrous light, 
 Shining like the stars at even, 
 
 Are clos'd for aye in death's dark night, 
 Clos'd on earth to ope in heaven. 
 
 Too much feeling, too much brain, 
 Our loving bonny Katie had ; 
 
 Had the child less gifted been, 
 
 Our hearts to-day would be less sad.
 
 LITTLE KATIE. 2o 
 
 In three short years her course was run, 
 
 Meteor-like, she came and went ; 
 To love, be loved, her race was done. 
 
 The fire within her heart was spent. 
 
 And the sword wears out the scabbard, 
 And Katie's soul from earth hath flown ; 
 
 Mid angel choirs in realm above, 
 
 She'll meet with natures like her own. 
 
 Who can soothe the woe- struck father, 
 
 Now his darlinw child is o^one ! 
 Words are vain ; we see he'd rather 
 Mourn in silence, and alone. 
 
 May He who gave, and now withdraws 
 
 His gift in Wisdom, all Divine, 
 Teach wounded hearts to read His laws. 
 
 And to His Will, their will resign.
 
 SONIS^ET. 
 
 LOVELY maid ! above all others, kiud and good 
 
 Igf and dear, 
 
 ^ To win tliee is my highest vrish, to lose my darkest 
 fear. 
 With thee, content in humblest cot I'd live ; 
 To call thee mine, say, say — what must I give ? 
 Where must I follow, to what distant lands — 
 To Arctic snows, or Afric's burning sands ? 
 Or, must I cKmb of Alps the highest steep. 
 Or, in some good ship plough the trackless deep 'f 
 Thee to possess, I'd roam the earth all round, 
 Nor falter tiU the long'd-for prize I found. 
 Were all earth's treasures mine, apart from thee, 
 Nor joy nor peace could in my dwelling be. 
 Thee, thee I love above all earthly wealth. 
 Thou ever- lovely, bright-ey'd, rose-cheek'd Ileal th !
 
 TO KATHLEEN. 
 
 ^ WEET little Kathleen, smiling and sleeping, 
 S Cradled to rest on thy fond mother's arm ; 
 cy" Father beside, at his dear daughter peeping, 
 Eeady to fence her from sorrow and harm. 
 
 Sweet little Kathleen, thy tiny pink feet 
 
 Soon must begin earth's rough pathways to tread; 
 
 Let thy step thqn be steady and nimble and fleet, 
 Onward, my darling, thou hast nothing to dread.
 
 TO MES. - 
 
 URIED in the hedgerow grecu, 
 I a violet sweet have seen ; 
 i^ Unperceived by vulgar-eye, 
 It raised its leaflets to the sky ; 
 AVhen giving forth a perfume sweet, 
 With joy did I the flow'ret greet. 
 Amid the early shades of night 
 I've caught the glowworm's pleasing light ; 
 When nested was each forest bird, 
 The nightingale's sweet voice I've heard. 
 That modest flower, that pleasing light. 
 That song that cheered the darksome niffht, 
 Fulfil the poet's fondest dream — 
 'Tis thus thy friendship I esteem.
 
 THE NEW YEAE, 1887. 
 
 TjITHE weary Old Year has just been rung out, 
 (^9 And the New Year we welcome with joyous shout. 
 6fe Is it right, is it just, when old friends retire, 
 That new ones should plant themselves around our fire ? 
 
 The Old Year is a friend we shall ne'er see again, 
 But its mem'ries for ever are writ on our brain. 
 'Twas a pathway bestrewn with sorrow and joy. 
 Pleasure we have had, but mixed with alloy, 
 And sorrow, when sorrow has darkened our brow. 
 We have look' d beyond Time, and smil'd bravely as now. 
 
 The young may welcome the New Year — not the old ; 
 The new promises much, but when the story is told. 
 At the end of twelve months, and the New Year is old. 
 They'll find the three hundred odd days they have 
 
 numbered 
 As blank a record will give, as though the whole time 
 
 they had slumbered !
 
 30 SCRAPS. 
 
 And compare notes of what's past and to come — 
 If they're joll}-, they'll laugli; if not, they'll look glum. 
 The lesson the New Year will teach to the young, 
 AVill repeat the same tune that their fathers have sung. 
 
 Each year is a thread, many-coloured 'tis true. 
 The tints not all bright, the knots not a few, 
 Which runs through our lives, and weaves us into 
 The great loom-piece the Fates are for ever arranging, 
 Where, though the figures are many, the tints are un- 
 changing. 
 And sorrow and sickness and partings and sadness 
 Are woven for each — no one life is all gladness. 
 
 The baby that screaming steps into this life. 
 
 Proclaims that it enters a world of strife ; 
 
 And this New Year that's welcomed with frolic and 
 
 mirth 
 [May be bringing disastrous grief to the earth. 
 What saw the Old Year ? if his tale he would tell. 
 He saw some strange sights and remembers them well. 
 
 He saw Beauty in tears, counting crow's feet with 
 
 frowns, 
 xVnd monarchs in undress fleeing after their crowns.
 
 THE NEW TEAR, 1887. 31 
 
 He heard orators shrieking and ranting and prating, 
 
 And no one regarding the " facts " they were stating ; 
 
 And law-makers swearing, they sought only the good 
 
 Of the nations, and would die if they could 
 
 To abolish atrocities, rectify wrongs. 
 
 And give to each nation what to it justly belongs ; 
 
 And Progress is talked of, but never is made, 
 
 And nothing is done, though very much is said, 
 
 And the world goes round, but never goes on — 
 
 What the father has seen, that sees the son. 
 
 The Old Year has escaped from a world of trouble. 
 
 And the New Year comes in to launch a fresh bubble.
 
 AIN" ANCIEXT TALE. 
 
 This trifle refers to an incident which occurred in one d( the islands 
 in the ^gean Archipelago, and which, touching some points of 
 ecclesiastical discipline, provoked a sharp theological discussinn 
 hetween the Catholic and Greek priests. 
 
 BOUT one huudred years ago, 
 A Roman Consul died. And lo : 
 
 ^ His heirs, one daughter and one son. 
 Said : " Now this thing must be well done." 
 They wished to make a great display 
 Upon the coming funeral day. 
 The son was consul too, and guess ! 
 The daughter was a consuless. 
 And madam said with a haughty frown, 
 " Wc shall astonish this petty town. 
 
 For bells shall ring. 
 
 And priests shall sing, 
 And incense shall float on the air ; 
 
 And never was seen, 
 
 For never has been, 
 A procession so grand and fair."
 
 AN ANCIENT TALE. 33 
 
 After a pause, out spoke the son : 
 " Of Roman priests we have but one, 
 A humble friar in a brown serge gown : 
 Not much of display he thinks I ween, 
 Passed in the cloister his days have been ; 
 And sister mine, we're not lov'd in the town. 
 How can we make a great display ? 
 I must confess, I don't see the way." 
 But the consuless toss'd her head in pride, 
 And look'd straight in his face as she replied : 
 " 111 have the Greek bishop here to preside. 
 With mitre and crosier, bedeck'd 
 
 In robes of gold and silver sheen. 
 And all who see will long reflect 
 
 On that glittering train I ween." 
 " But if the bishop should come, the friar 
 
 Cannot stay, as by his order bound ; 
 And if good Father Francis should retire, 
 
 Who'll lay our sire in the ground ? " 
 " Fool," said madam, with a bitter smile, 
 
 " Just shut up your silly tongue, 
 I'll cozen them both. 'TwiU seem the while 
 That bishop and priest are one." 
 
 So 'twas arranged, and both were content, 
 With their filial grief much pride was blent. 
 
 D
 
 'i\ SCRAPS. 
 
 And the funeral day at length came round, 
 The consul's bones should be laid in the ground. 
 Father Francis appeared with cowled head, 
 l*rcpar'd to say the last prayers o'er the dead. 
 The Greek bishop soon arrived. The priest was no 
 
 fool, 
 And would not be made by madam a tool. 
 He read her devices, cunning but slim, 
 She sought to trick both the bishop and him. 
 " I go," he said, "if the bishop must stay, 
 And back to my chapel I wend my way." 
 But the bishop, a Icarn'd man and wise, 
 Said, " No. The thing is plain to all your eyes. 
 It is I indeed who ought to retire, 
 The place belongs to the Roman friar : 
 'Twas he that bless'd the dying bed. 
 By him the parting pray'rs were said. 
 Indeed, indeed, I must justly retire, 
 The place belongs to the Roman friar." 
 " No," said the daughter, " No " said the son, 
 " By you alone must the rites be done. 
 A begging friar in poor serge go\\'n. 
 
 And cord round the waist ; no, he never can. 
 And never shall, in cowl all brown 
 
 Pray o'er the grave of a consular man."
 
 AN ANCIENT TALE. 35 
 
 So the friar retired, as lie bow'd his head, 
 " tempora, mores ! " was all he said. 
 
 But madam's anger grew still apace. 
 Black and red were the hues of her face : 
 " I'll write to the Pope," said the consuless. 
 " Write," said the brother, " you cannot do less. 
 If I could write I'd do the same, 
 But writing you know is not my game. 
 I can steal a sheep on the mountain side, 
 Or pilfer a lamb in my evening ride. 
 My consular hand to brigands I give, 
 And bring them into my house to live ; 
 I can deal a man a treacherous blow 
 Whilst making of courteous words a show. 
 These are my gifts. You know the rest ; 
 Write my sister, you know what's best. 
 " Tell holy father," here he winked his eye, 
 " He has no more faithful son than I. 
 I'm at early mass, and at evensong. 
 And I tell mv beads as I stroll alono- : 
 Through dusty road, or crowded street, 
 I take no heed of faces I meet. 
 I can guard his lambs, I can guard his sheep — 
 Steal none on the &\j" said little Bo Peep. 
 
 D 2
 
 ne SCRAPS. 
 
 " And if he lias olives to gather in, 
 To prig a few lianes is no great sin. 
 But send the letter, and to the same, 
 Affix, my sister, your Lydian name." 
 
 The funeral convoy wan now arranged. 
 But the aspect of things was somewhat changed ; 
 The friar was gone, but the bishop was there. 
 And all was orthodox, flashing and fair. 
 
 And bells were ringing, 
 
 And priests were singing, 
 And incense was floating upon the air: 
 
 A black pall was streaming. 
 
 And brass nails were gleaming. 
 And a ffoodlv escutcheon was borne there. 
 Vices were there in very great force. 
 Vice consuls, you know I mean, of course. 
 And notables were there with fez on head ; 
 Six soldiers at least walked after the dead. 
 And the consul's heirs, but I can't tell you how. 
 Had got up a crowd, as they got up a row. 
 
 Now through the streets the procession wound, 
 And out of the town to a higher ground. 
 On to St. Penteilemon's chapel bound.
 
 AN ANCIENT TALE. 3T 
 
 And there the orthodox rites •were said, 
 The bishop pray'd o'er the coffin'd dead, 
 And the Roman consul, calm and meek. 
 Went down to his lowly grave a Greek. 
 
 Some figures of fun have appeared in this mess, 
 But the drollest of all is the consuless, 
 I pray her shadow may never be less. 
 This is an old tale as the text will show. 
 It happened one hundred years ago.
 
 A COXSTANTIXOrLE JOUEIS'ALIST. 
 
 no rises with the early morn, 
 } Before is heard the hunter's horn, 
 " And laughs the hardest frost to scorn ? 
 
 Poor Ellis ! 
 
 "Who on the hottest dav in June, 
 From rise of sun to burning noon, 
 Still works, and on by light of moon ? 
 
 Poor Ellis ! 
 
 "S^Tio walks his chamber all the night. 
 Filling the servants with affright, 
 Nor lies down till the da^^^l of light ? 
 
 Poor Ellis ! 
 
 Who from Pera to Stamboul hops, 
 Nor of Galata heeds the shops. 
 Till in Perchembe-Bazaar he stops ? 
 
 Poor EUis.
 
 A CONSTANTINOPLE JOURNALIST. 39 
 
 And there beset by printers' " devils " — 
 The worst of journalistic evils — 
 Exacting more than Roman sybils, 
 
 Poor Ellis ! 
 
 Cries of " copy," "copy," still he hears. 
 
 In voices wild as mountaineers ; 
 
 His brain will turn he sometimes fears, 
 
 Poor Ellis ! 
 
 " Leader too short ! " — "Put in leads," 
 And flings the ink-stand at their heads : 
 A darker hue o'er all it spreads. 
 
 Poor Ellis ! 
 
 Who when the day's hard toil is o'er. 
 He feels that he need work no more, 
 And calmly seeks his homestead door ? 
 
 Poor Ellis ! 
 
 And there, in accents soft and mild, 
 Salutes his wife, salutes each child, 
 As if on him all nature smiled, 
 
 Poor Ellis !
 
 40 SCILVPS. 
 
 At supper, if he spills the wine, 
 Although the cloth is superfine, — 
 He only says: " The luck is mine." 
 
 Poor Ellis ! 
 
 AVho fights his battle bold and well, 
 And who the truth will always tell, 
 And who his pen will never sell ? 
 
 Poor Ellis ! 
 
 One parting wish we now will give — 
 The rhyme we hope you will forgive — 
 "We only say : " Long may he live," 
 
 Poor Ellis !
 
 EEPLY TO A LETTEE, AND POSTED 
 UNDEEGEOUND. 
 
 A gentleman witli ■whom I had some business transactions, at a time 
 when the Company-fever raged in London, missed me from the City, 
 and wrote an impatient letter, asking if I had transferred my residence 
 to the Lower Regions. He received the following reply : — 
 
 Eight Bank of the Styx, 
 
 1, Proserpine Terrace. 
 
 ^/TY dear Mr. Minos, you know that the train is 
 
 Provokingly slow 
 
 In these regions below — 
 
 Quite a kind of dumb show, 
 
 Sometimes a " no go." 
 "What I now say applies to "up trains" in particular, 
 Which, as you know, run on lines almost perpendicular. 
 I don't know how they contrive it, but this I must say, 
 The " down trains" meet neither stoppage nor stay ! 
 The descensus averni as facile now is 
 As to a Frenchman to make a nice bow is. 
 'Twas always the same, classic readings remind us. 
 And modern teachings on this point can't blind us.
 
 42 SCRAPS. 
 
 You can come down at a rate no "express" can keep 
 
 pace with, 
 I mean upon earth, and find yourself face to face 
 
 with 
 That crusty old Charon, who a fortune hai made, 
 No wonder he's doing such a flourishing trade ; 
 An obole's not much you will say, but remember he's 
 A monopolist here, and has been for centuries; 
 Ileap obole on obole, at last they will rise, 
 Like Ossa piled on Pelion, up to the skies. 
 Only think what millions have crossed in his wherry ! 
 He was always ill-tempered, but now he is very — 
 People say 'tis an on (lit — for the truth I can't vouch, 
 But they do say old Charon has ventured too much 
 Upon shares " up above," I shan't mention where. 
 If I told you the Cos., I am sure you would stare. 
 But people do say, of the heavy amount, 
 Thus invested, he's got but a " Flemish Account; " 
 And moreover, 'tis said, that to make up his losses, 
 Double fares he demands from each one that crosses. 
 Double fares ! only think ! 'tis really provoking, 
 Double fares ! in that crazy old boat — 'tis no joking. 
 And the ghosts all look quite blue, and "stump-up" as 
 
 slow 
 As shareholders in Overend, Gurney & Co.
 
 EEPLY TO A LETTER. 43 
 
 When the "liquidator," official, you know, 
 Makes " a call," to wliich the response is a " no " — 
 Of a negative character I ought to say. 
 Which means, if they can, they never will pay. 
 
 But I have strayed from my theme : I meant to explain 
 That the post up to earth goes by a very slow train : 
 
 'Tis a dreadfid abuse. 
 
 And remonstrance no use — 
 These spirits refractory hark not to reason, 
 They are growing more turbulent every season. 
 But there's no competition. That's the secret, the key 
 To all these mal-practices. Who can say nay ? 
 To expostulate's no use. I have tried it in vain, 
 'Tis better be late, I am told, than blow up the train ; 
 Too high pressure steam involves hideous slaughter, 
 These spirits don't like to mix with hot water ; 
 They have no " affinities," much less consanguinities. 
 With aqueous, saccharine or other " inities." 
 
 I wish that some one, public-spirited, bold. 
 Would start a new Kne, and submerge this Old : 
 Subscribers wovdd quickly be found, I've no doubt, 
 To take shares in a properly-planned new route.
 
 44 SCRAPS. 
 
 (The rhyme's not a good oue, but pass to the next, 
 
 For writing in rhyme one is often perplexed.) 
 
 The facilities here are prodigious — stupendous : 
 
 The profits per share would be really tremendous ! 
 
 For capital, Overend, Gurney & Co. would supply it 
 
 Perhaps. Or, would you like to try it ? 
 
 The speculation's a good one ! 'tis coining, 'tis fame ! 
 
 For Directors, secure a few seniors of name. 
 
 You need not stick to admirals, captains and such stuff. 
 
 Here we have marquises, dukes, ay, kings more than 
 
 enough ; 
 The outlay is nil. Here " moral support " alone 
 Is required — not wood, iron, or stone ; 
 As for fuel, protested bills, unpaid debentures 
 Will make ample flame for your spirited ventures. 
 
 The only drawback is that you must be 
 Divested of matter, and wholly free 
 From the mortal coil of flesh, bone and brain, 
 If you wish to start this " underground " train. 
 From what I have said, you can now understand 
 Why my letters to you " so late " come to hand. 
 I am forced to stop, as it grows rather dark, 
 I can only subscribe myself, yours, 
 
 Annie Spark.
 
 BIETHDAY ODE FOE HIS MAJESTY 
 LE SULTAN ABDUL HAMID. 
 
 p ET the trumpets loud resound, 
 2i Let ev'ry heart in joy abound, 
 CST 'Tis Abdul Hamid's birthday morn ; 
 We bless the day when he was born. 
 With loud acclaim 
 We hail his name. 
 And with joy-swoln hearts we say, 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Our Caliph rules o'er wide-spread lands, 
 European seas and Asian mountains, 
 Arabian plains and Af ric sands. 
 
 In million hearts rise joy's light fountains ; 
 All bless with loud acclaim 
 Their Caliph's name ; 
 And from their hearts they say, 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah !
 
 46 SCRAPS. 
 
 "NVc bless, in tones of deep dcli^lit, 
 The day when first he saw the light, 
 The sun for us that day shone bright, 
 May his sceptre rule in might, 
 
 Upholding ever what is right. 
 
 May it ne'er be grasped in rage, 
 
 May it ever soft assuage 
 
 The woes of suffering man. 
 
 Each day dearer to his people growing. 
 
 Because each day fresh gifts bestowing, 
 
 Through a life-long happy span, 
 
 Till his name shall ring through space, 
 
 The watchword for a mighty race. 
 
 Bless'd by million hearts bound all in one, 
 
 From the rise till set of sun. 
 
 Let the trumj)ets loud resound, 
 Let ev'ry heart in joy abound, 
 'Tis Abdul Ilamid's birthday morn ; 
 We bless the day when he was born, 
 And from joyful hearts we say, 
 Ilm-rah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 In the chamber of council his words are all wise, 
 AVhen doubts and misgivings in others arise
 
 BIRTHDAY ODE. 47 
 
 He strengthens tlie feeble, and holds on his way ; 
 
 His foes may be savage, his friends may betray, 
 
 Unswerving in justice his footsteps still stay ; 
 
 A subject rebellious may rise in his path, 
 
 He treats him with patience, not with anger and 
 
 wrath ; 
 To bless our good Sultan we never can cease. 
 His triumphs are bloodless, his glory is peace. 
 Let the trumpets loud resound. 
 Let ev'ry heart in joy abound, 
 'Tis Abdul Hamid's birthday morn, 
 We bless the day when he was born. 
 With loud acclaim. 
 We hail his name. 
 And from joyfiil hearts we say. 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Some say blood must be shed. 
 
 And men must lie dead ; 
 Yes, that kingly ambition may reign. 
 
 But our Sultan's our father, 
 
 And he would much rather 
 His children should live, and long bless his name. 
 In their hearts and their homes he would see them 
 contented,
 
 48 scmrs. 
 
 The bonds of love and of pence more closely 
 
 cemented 
 He fain would make bloodshed and slaughter to 
 
 cease ; 
 His triumphs are bloodless, his glory is peace. 
 
 Let the trumpets loud resound, 
 
 Let ev'ry heart in joy abound, 
 
 Let the banners float around, 
 
 And warrior footsteps shake the ground ; 
 
 Whilst with loud acclaim 
 
 We bless our Sultan's name, 
 
 And from our hearts rejoicing say, 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah !
 
 TO ANNIE. 
 
 E.OM out a golden frame, Annie, 
 Thou smilest down on me ; 
 
 And all thy lovely features 
 I there depicted see. 
 
 But still this changeless smiling 
 
 Is not so dear to me ; 
 Each trace o' changfu' feeling 
 
 I'd better luv to see. 
 
 The painter's skill, though mighty. 
 
 Is like a fi'ozen stream ; 
 But thou, my winsome Annie, 
 
 Art changfu' as a dream. 
 
 And when I close my eyes, Annie, 
 
 I see thee as thou art ; 
 The tender tears o' bye-gone years 
 
 Aye deck thy portrait in my heart. 
 
 E
 
 WORDS FOE MUSIC. 
 
 I WISH I could hasten the pace of the hours, 
 For something is coming that does not draw near ; 
 •r Through the long winter we wait for the flowers, 
 But that something, that something has not come 
 here. 
 
 The spring-time is passed, and summer has flown, 
 But that something, that something I still must expect ; 
 
 The boughs of the autumn are leafless and lone. 
 
 But that something, that something, it has not come 
 yet. 
 
 'Tis the unformed dreams of the heart that decoy 
 That something alluring we always expect ; 
 
 A voice that mid sorrow still whispers of joy, 
 
 That something, that something, it has not come yet.
 
 WOEDS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 jRETTY Minnie, flirting Minnie, 
 
 "WTiat a game you've played witli me ! 
 
 But your silly, trusting ninny — 
 That I never more will be. 
 
 All the neighbours laugb and flout me, 
 
 Wberesoe'r my face they see. 
 All the gossips prate about me, 
 
 "What a horrid state for me ! 
 
 All my joys are changed to grieving, 
 How false they were I now can see. 
 
 You deceiving, I believing. 
 
 What a game you've played with me ! 
 
 But my chains are burst for ever, 
 I'm steel'd against each syren wile ; 
 
 Ev'ry former link I sever — 
 
 Nor looks nor words can more beguile. 
 E 2
 
 52 SCRAPS. 
 
 Still, I oft recall your smiling, 
 
 Vainly to forget I try ; 
 Though I know 'twas mere beguiling, 
 
 But how happy then was I ! 
 
 Love each gift of life enhancing, 
 
 Though mix'd full oft with jealous pain ; 
 
 Still the joy was so entrancing — 
 I'd like to be deceived again.
 
 WOEDS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 OUND the mountain brow is rushina-, 
 A storm that wildly blows ; 
 c!!*^ In the vale below is blushing, 
 Unmov'd, a budding rose. 
 
 On the ocean's wind-lash'd billows, 
 Howling, rush and rave, 
 
 a 
 
 By the shelter'd lake the willows 
 Gently kiss the wave. 
 
 In the castle, fair and high, 
 Bitter tears are nightly shed ; 
 
 In the humble cot hard by. 
 
 Peaceful rests the peasant's head. 
 
 Envy not the highly placed. 
 Though thy state may lowly be. 
 
 Many a brow with jewels graced, 
 "Would exchange its lot with thee.
 
 WEITTEN m A FEIEND'S ALBUM. 
 
 F on tliis frontal page 
 Thy life could imaged be, 
 
 And for thy future age 
 
 Some spell be waked by me : 
 
 What should I there indite, 
 To charm or bless ? 
 
 One word alone I'd write — 
 
 'Tis " Happiness."
 
 WEITTEN IN THE CABIN ALBUM ON 
 BOAED THE "APOLLO." 
 
 A FTER a voyage most pleasant and bright, 
 P eerless the daylight, and starry the night. 
 O n through the Horn, known as of Gold, 
 L ovely the prospect as oft has been told. 
 L anded at Stamboul, of joy to partake ; 
 O ft with " Apollo " the trip would I make.
 
 TO MY DOCTOE, E— . D— . 
 
 Tit HE Grecian sage, before he quaffed 
 cjy> Of hemlock's juice the bitter draught, 
 
 Said he to Esculapius owed 
 
 A votive cock, I know not if it crowed, 
 
 liut this I know, and still will freely tell, 
 
 My Esculajsius is 11. Dobell.
 
 WEITTEN OT^ MY PHOTOGEAPH. 
 
 I 
 
 'M not to be bought, 
 , I'm not to be sold, 
 The lesson I've taught 
 Need not be re-told. 
 Cajoled I'll not be, 
 
 Nor flattered by any ; 
 I laugh when I see 
 
 A fool — and how many 
 Are fluttering about ; no more shall I tell — 
 Sans ceremonie — I bid you farewell.
 
 TO PEINCE BISMARCK ON HIS BIRTH- 
 DAY, ARRIL 1st, 1887. 
 
 E grand Bismarck fut ne le premier d'avril, 
 Beuir sa naisance, serait travail inutile. 
 Soixante-dix annees sont passees depuis ce jour 
 heureux : 
 II est entre au mondc bicn fourni de poisson du raois ; 
 II n'en a jamais mange — qui dira combien de fois : 
 II en donna a ses ennemis — enfant trop genereux, 
 11 n'en a voulu rien garde ; Ic tout etait a eaux.
 
 LA PATIENCE. 
 
 f\ UE vous dirai-je pour la patience ? 
 
 EUe est en essence la perseverance, 
 Qui sait attendre a la meilleure chance. 
 Vive la Patience ! 
 
 Encore dirai-je un mot poui- la patience, 
 EUe est d'une volonte forte, la consequence 
 EUe apporte au cceur fidele une recompense. 
 Vive la Patience ! 
 
 Celui qui cherclie de ses maux la deliverance, 
 Qui desire eviter une longue penitence, 
 Celui doit exercer la patience. 
 Vive la Patience !
 
 UNE PENSEE SUE UNE PENSEE. 
 
 fOTTS m'avez envoy^ une pensee, bicn 
 J olio ; mais die est enigraatique. 
 Certainement une pensee qui ne dit rieu 
 Doit etre une pensee politique. 
 C'est peut-etre une pensee poetique, 
 Faite expres pour nous eblouir, 
 Mais elle ne fait que s'evanouir, 
 Sans pouvoir nous rieu dire.
 
 TO A. H. 
 
 KOMME raimant attire le fer, 
 Et le soleil les eaux de la mer, 
 ^+^ La sj^mpathie nous attire par une lien divin ; 
 C'est en vertu d'une force naturelle, 
 Base d'une amitie eternelle, 
 Laquelle sur la terre, je prevois n'aura jamais fin. 
 
 Conune la rosee qui tombe sur les fleurs, 
 
 Est Famitie nee dans nos cceurs, 
 Pour embellir la vie, la fortifier, et nous rendre mieux. 
 
 Comme les doux rayons lunaires, 
 
 Empruntes aux feux solaires, 
 Notre amitie est un reflet du bonbeur des cieux.
 
 SOUHAIT POUR UN JEUNE AMI. 
 
 !^OUIl mon petit ami 
 * Qu'il vive sans souci, 
 Sage et savant ici-bas ; 
 
 C'est mon desir tres sincere, 
 Qu'il imite pere et mere 
 
 Et ne m'oublie pas.
 
 SANS SOUCI. 
 
 [c\N fait des vceux ; on les oublie, 
 On veut echapper aux soucis. 
 Les souvenirs sont tristes, il faut les chasser. 
 L'oubli, c'est votre remede pour faire passer 
 Le temps agreablement, 
 C'est le grand soulagement ; 
 Aujourd'liui on s'amuse, demain on oublie : 
 C'est le secret de vivre sans souci.
 
 SUE UN CAMELIA. 
 
 EAU Camelia, je te salue ! 
 Quelle jolie fleur ! 
 Mais un defaut chez toi, on a vu 
 
 Tu n'as pas d'odeur. 
 Comme una jolie feimne qui plait aux yeux, 
 Et n'a pas de coeur.
 
 DES VEES ECRITS SUR MA 
 PHOTOGEAPHIE. 
 
 "E ne suis qu'une ombre, 
 Xf Attristee et sombre, 
 
 Sortant d'un passe rempli de souvenirs 
 
 Envisageant rinconnu avenir. 
 
 J'ai un bien joli mot a vous dire ; 
 Uu mot que souvent on oublie, 
 Prenez garde, prenez garde, mon araie.
 
 A MONSIEUE. 
 
 
 IpTOMME I'orabrc qui flotte duns Ic soir 
 Que le matin on ne peut plus revoir 
 Est notre vie passagere ; 
 Elle fait tout esperer, beaucoup de bien 
 Elle proraet tout, elle nc nous donne rien 
 Qu'un souvenir amere. 
 
 LONDON : rRISTED BY J. 8. VIBTVE AM> ro., LIMlTKIl, rnv ROAH.
 
 date stamped below. 
 
 MINGTON RAND INC. 20 213 (533)
 
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