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 A FAIR APPARITION 
 
 OR 
 
 ^ £iiq\xi toith tlu S^Xnsts 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER SKETCHES IN RHYME & PROSE 
 
 BY CHARLES DYALL 
 
 LIVERPOOL 
 GILBERT G. WALMSLEY, 50 LORD STREET 
 
 1877
 
 
 W!^^£^[fi^^^ -^^Ai^ 
 
 44^^^^<^^UKl\:i 
 
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 Df6P 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The modern application of the text, " Oh that mine 
 adversary would write a book," seems to threaten 
 dark and mysterious woes to any unfortunate 
 scribbler who may have the temerity to print his 
 effusions, and launch them on the wave of public 
 notice. In publishing this volume, I am not much 
 dismayed by the dread of the awful consequences 
 which seem to be foreshadowed in the quotation 
 above alluded to, because it is published to please 
 my friends, from whom I may expect much tolerance, 
 although the too candid friend is often more hurtful 
 to one's self-esteem than the most cynical reviewer. 
 In the event of my rhymes and sketches being con- 
 sidered worthy of public attention, should I find any 
 " adversaries " in the shape of frank friends or cruel 
 critics, I am induced to hope that (as my flights 
 
 824198
 
 vi PREFACE. 
 
 have not been very lofty or ambitious) they will do 
 their scalpini:^ as gently as the most ardent opponent 
 of vivisection could desire. 
 
 To those whose names form the long- list of sub- 
 scribers to this volume, I beg to express my warmest 
 acknowledgments, and the hope that if they do not 
 think very highly of my performance, they will re- 
 gard it as the effort of one who has had the desire, 
 
 if not the abilitv, to please. 
 
 C. D.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A Fair Apparition ; or, A Night with the Muses 
 
 Incompatibility ; or, A Page of Current History 
 
 The Nabob and the Nephew ; or, FroHc and Fortune . 
 
 His Better Half ....... 
 
 Lays of Coventry — 
 
 I. " Sent to Coventry "..... 
 
 II. A Visit to Coventry Fair ..... 
 
 III. The Story of Lady Godiva .... 
 
 The Monastery, and the Monks of St. Benedict 
 
 Mrs. Tomkins on Servant Gals . . 
 
 " What Shall I Do With It ? " written in a Lady's Album 
 
 An Address delivered at the Temperance Festival held in Saint 
 Mary's Hall, Coventry, 22d March 1859 
 
 Angela Smith . . . 
 
 Bold Street on a Summer's Day ..... 
 
 Address delivered at the Conversazione of the Proprietors of 
 the Lyceum, November 9, 1866 .... 
 
 Address delivered at the Conversazione of the Proprietors of 
 the Lyceum, December II, 1867 .... 
 
 Address delivered at the Conversazione of the Proprietors of 
 the Lyceum, Wednesday, December 2, 1868 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 21 
 38 
 
 49 
 
 59 
 62 
 66 
 
 73 
 79 
 
 84 
 
 86 
 
 91 
 
 94 
 
 98 
 102 
 107
 
 vm 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Prologue delivered on the Occasion of a Lecture by Mr. Charles 
 Sharp, on "the Humorous Side of London Life," at the 
 Liverpool Institute, Mount Street, on Behalf of the Orphan 
 Children of a literarj' gentleman deceased, December 6, 1872 
 
 Address delivered at the Opening of the Children's Bazaar, held 
 by the Pupils of Mr. and Mrs. Molyncux's Academy, Great 
 George Street, Liverpool, in aid of the Children's Infirmary, 
 May 12, 1868 ...... 
 
 Address delivered by Mrs. Clifford Cooper on the Opening of 
 the Theatre Royal, Oxford, 1875 
 
 Tom Shuttle's Will 
 
 Nature ..... 
 
 The World .... 
 
 " Earth, Sea, and Sky " . 
 
 1 12 
 
 "5 
 119 
 
 1 2'* 
 124 
 125 
 
 127
 
 A FAIR APPARITION ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE MUSES. 
 
 I SAT one night 
 
 By the cheerful light 
 Of a winter's fire, that still shone bright, 
 
 Though the hour had sped 
 
 After which, it is said, 
 Respectable folks should be thinking of bed. 
 
 Our trusty dog " Rover " 
 
 Had long given over 
 His bark, which our maid calls a "regular rumpus," 
 
 And was snug in his tub 
 
 Digesting his grub, 
 Coiled up for a nap, in a very small compass. 
 Our worthy Jemima, sedate and demure, , 
 Had made all the inlets and outlets secure. 
 
 She always takes pains 
 
 With locks, bars, and chains, 
 To fasten us in like a party of smugglers. 
 
 Who dread a surprise 
 , From the men of Excise, 
 Because, as she says, she's afraid of " them bugglars." 
 
 B
 
 A FAIR APPARITION; OR, 
 
 My much better half, who'd been trying her sight 
 With that capital novel, " The Woman in White," 
 As she felt rather low. 
 At the story of woe, 
 And the rascally tricks of that villain " Fosco," 
 (I remember she cried 
 Over poor Lady Glyde) 
 She said she'd repair to the regions above, 
 And sleep off her grief with our pledges of love. 
 Her retreat left me solus, my penholder nibbling, 
 A habit of mine, when intent upon scribbling, 
 And though 'twas high time to be in my first 
 
 snooze, 
 I settled to writing, and courting the Muse. 
 I know 'tis imprudent, 
 In author, or student. 
 That very good copy-book text to despise. 
 Which gives us a clue 
 As to what we should do, 
 If we wish to be " healthy and wealthy and wise." 
 So I will not dispute 
 Or attempt to refute 
 This old-fashioned maxim, nor will I deride it. 
 As I know you'd retort, 
 I was quite " out of court " 
 If obliged to confess that I never had tried it. 
 Nor yet am I sure 
 That Mr. Tom Moore 
 Is correct when he says if we'd add to our years,
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE MUSES. 
 
 " The best of all ways 
 
 To lengthen our days 
 Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dears." 
 
 My mother, I know, 
 
 Would very soon show 
 Mr, Moore that his logic excited her laughter, 
 
 And would stoutly maintain, 
 
 If sound sleep you obtain, 
 One hour before twelve is worth two hours after. 
 
 But nevertheless, 
 
 I am bound to confess 
 I have paid little heed to her excellent warning, 
 
 For the somnolent god 
 
 Seldom causes a nod 
 Till I've heard the clock strike the small hours of 
 the morning. 
 
 The cushion was soft in my easy chair, 
 My "cream-laid note" was white and fair, 
 My head was cool, for I'd had my hair 
 Shampooed that day, and cut with care 
 (Alas ! I've now but little to spare), 
 I then look'd up to the gaslight, where 
 I watched a moth that fluttered there. 
 Till, dazzled with the brilliant glare, 
 My look became a vacant stare. 
 But not a thought could I ensnare. 
 I placed my head in thoughtful pose, 
 But vain were all my mental throes,
 
 A FAIR APrARITJON: OR. 
 
 For not a line, in rhyme or prose, 
 Before my clouded vision rose. 
 As a cockney would say, 
 In his classical way. 
 
 It struck me as one of the " rummiest goes." 
 At length I thought I had a clue 
 To something rather good and new ; 
 I seized my pen, 
 And swiftly then 
 Scribbled away for a line or two. 
 But when I came to look it through, 
 I found it was stuff, not a word would do. 
 I then invoked the "tuneful Nine" 
 To wake those latent powers of mine ; 
 I dipped again 
 In the ink, and then 
 I thought I was going on swimmingly, when 
 I wrote two lines in my neatest hand 
 In classic style, sublime and grand — 
 " Immortal Muse, azvake the lyre, 
 And Jill me with poetic fire!' 
 But then my thought. 
 Becoming as nought, 
 Like " Sam Wcller's " love letter, " pulled up short," 
 There I stuck. 
 Like a cart in a ruck, 
 I couldn't get on, I was doomed to ill-luck. 
 Twas plain that my muse, some other way strolling. 
 Didn't notice my " eye with a fine frenzy rolling."
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE MUSES. 5 
 
 It has well been observed by an eminent writer. 
 Though he puts it in terms more refined and politer, 
 When thought is not free, and the current keeps stopping, 
 You can't move an obstinate donkey with "whopping."* 
 
 It now being late. 
 
 And I found my dull pate 
 Either couldn't or wouldn't respond to my tapping, 
 And all my invoking was treated as joking, 
 I thought it was wiser to see about napping. 
 
 'Twas of no use to swear, 
 
 Or to kick at a chair. 
 
 Or indulge in a tear 
 
 At my whiskers or hair, 
 As stupid folks do, as no doubt you're aware, 
 In a transport of rage or a fit of despair. 
 My proceedings were more philosophic by far, 
 As my pipe was put out, I lit up a cigar. 
 And as I was not very lively or frisky, 
 I went to the sideboard and got out the whisky ; 
 But though my ideas were involved in a muddle, 
 You mustn't suppose I was bent on a " fuddle," 
 Or, because my mind's eye couldn't pierce without trouble 
 
 The thick mental fog, 
 
 I recourse had to grog, 
 To make my corporeal vision see double. 
 
 To calm agitation. 
 
 Or soothe irritation, 
 
 * Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for vour dull ass will not mend liis 
 pace with beating. — Shakspcare.
 
 6 .-/ FAIR APPARITION: OR, 
 
 That is, if you're not of the teetotal 'suasion, 
 There's no better comfort for mind or for body 
 Than a rather stiff tumbler of good whisky "toddy ;" 
 
 But if you're a muff 
 
 And can't take just enough 
 To make your eyes twinkle with laughter and merriment, 
 
 Without wanting more, 
 
 And crying, Encore 
 To each glass as you drain it, don't try the experiment. 
 
 The witching hour of twelve was striking 
 As again I sought my chair, 
 My whisky punch was to my liking, 
 And I smoked with placid air. 
 Soon my busy brain was planning 
 Never-to-be-written themes, 
 Or with retrospective scanning. 
 Called to mind forgotten dreams. 
 Thoughts of boyhood's years came floating 
 Upward, through the stream of time, 
 Schooldays, running, fighting, boating, 
 And the hopes of manhood's prime.. 
 Rosy-tinted dreams disclosing 
 Bright rewards, and brighter fame. 
 Ere stern truth, the cheat exposing. 
 Altered quite " life's chequered game." 
 Calmly o'er my senses stealing. 
 As I sat and warmed my toes. 
 Came the somnorific feeling. 
 Warning me to seek repose.
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE MUSES. 
 
 But hark ! what was that ? a noise at the window, 
 Jemima was right, "them bugglars," by jingo, 
 
 Or was it old " Rover " 
 
 Who turned himself over, 
 And stretching his legs perhaps rattled his chain. 
 
 And getting no orders 
 
 For seizing marauders 
 Has settled himself to his snoozing again ? 
 
 Yet I almost could swear 
 
 There was somebody there. 
 For though I was just dropping off in a nap 
 I certainly heard at the window a tap. 
 
 Hark ! I heard it again, 
 
 And now it was plain 
 That whoever it was, or whate'er their intention. 
 
 To murder, or pillage. 
 
 Or fire the village, 
 The tapping was meant to attract my attention. 
 So I got up to find what had caused my alarm, 
 
 And was startled to hear, 
 
 A voice rich and clear, 
 That held me transfixed with its magical charm. 
 ' It put me in mind, 
 
 As it rose on the wind, 
 Of the soul-thrilling notes of the great Jenny Lind ; 
 And sometimes it swelled like the rich mellow tone I 
 Have heard with such rapture from Madame Alboni. 
 
 But those I have named, 
 
 And others as famed.
 
 8 A FAIR APPARITION; OR, 
 
 As Patti, or Nillson, or Garcia, or Titicns, 
 
 Or the whole brilliant range of our vocal musicians, 
 
 They couldn't excel 
 
 The melodious swell 
 Of the voice that now held me entranced with its spell. 
 Which, after a prelude that didn't last long, 
 Surprised me still more with the following song : — 
 
 Mortal, cease your fruitless toil, 
 Waste not there your midnight oil, 
 Leave your home, and come with me, 
 
 Come with me, 
 
 And you shall see 
 The Muses hold their jubilee. 
 
 Ask you w^hcrefore I delayed, 
 When you vainly sought my aid ? 
 Be not angry, don't upbraid. 
 
 Come away, 
 
 And I will say 
 How it was I truant played. 
 
 Soaring through the realms of night, 
 Safely hid from mortal sight, 
 I will bear you in my car. 
 
 Swiftly on 
 
 To Helicon, 
 Where my sister Muses are. 
 
 The gentle moon with silv'ry ray, 
 Beams to light us on our wa}',
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE MUSES. 
 
 Ere the dawn of coming day. 
 
 Let's away ; 
 
 Don't say nay, 
 Or keep me longer waiting, pray. 
 
 In excited surprise 
 
 I could scarcely surmise 
 What was meant by this message to visit the skies ; 
 There was no time for parley or useless debate, 
 And to let any young lady visitor wait 
 
 At that time of night, 
 
 Was a proceeding quite 
 In direct opposition to what I thought right ; 
 So stealthily creeping along like a mouse. 
 For fear of disturbing the folks in the house, 
 
 I let myself out, 
 
 And looking about. 
 The moonlight disclosed to my wondering gaze 
 A fiiTure that filled me with silent amaze. 
 
 'to' 
 
 A girlish form of beauty rare, 
 Unsupported in the air. 
 Stood before my raptured sight, 
 'Midst a haze of silver light. 
 
 Her tresses, parted from her brow, 
 Fell upon a neck of snow. 
 Wavy locks of shining gold, 
 Bright and dazzling to behold
 
 lo A FAIR APPARITION; OR, 
 
 A gauzy robe of azure blue, 
 
 Decked with gems of lustrous hue, 
 
 Girded round her slender waist, 
 
 And draped her form with faultless taste. 
 
 Eyes ne'er beheld such matchless grace, 
 So fair a form, so sweet a face, 
 That smiled beneath a crown of flowers. 
 Like brilliant sunshine after showers. 
 
 With roguish laughter in her eyes, 
 
 At my ill-concealed surprise. 
 
 Her winning voice the silence broke, 
 
 And charmed my ear as thus she spoke : — 
 
 I fear I have caused you annoyance to-night 
 By taking " French leave," when you wanted to write, 
 My absence I know you'll excuse, when I say. 
 This has been with the Muses a great holiday. 
 
 I only just heard that you needed my aid, 
 
 By a telegram handed to me by my maid ; 
 
 I regret that you had not a theme for your pen. 
 
 But Muses, like mortals, must play, now and then. 
 
 You must know that Minerva to-night gives 2. fete, 
 
 In honour of what we've been doing of late, 
 
 And also that play may our vigour renew. 
 
 For a great deal of work that we yet have to do. 
 
 When old Winter comes in, with his frost and his fog. 
 
 And bright faces crowd round the blazing Yule log,
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE AIUSES. ii 
 
 When authors must write and the Muses inspire, 
 A batch of new tales for the Christmas fire. 
 And now as I know you've an hour to spare, 
 I've come, Sir, to take you a trip through the air, 
 To the Helicon Mount, where the Muses to-night 
 Will revel and sing to their heart's delight. 
 In my patent electrical car we will ride, 
 So I pray you step in, take a seat by my side. 
 And gaily we'll soar by the light of the moon. 
 More swiftly than aeronauts in a balloon. 
 
 Before I had time to consider or say 
 
 That my wife might object to my flying away, 
 
 Or to urge that, to any one up in the street, 
 
 My conduct at least might appear indiscreet. 
 
 To see me eloping, conjugal vows scorning, 
 
 With such a fair damsel at one in the morning, — 
 
 I say that before I could make a demur. 
 
 Or could state what my wife from my flight might infer, 
 
 I found myself gaily careering along 
 
 With the Muse who had lured me away with her song. 
 
 At the playhouse I've seen on a pantomime night, 
 The sweet fairy queen, in a halo of light. 
 Descending to rescue the hero, from those 
 Whose base machinations had caused all his woes, 
 And bear him in safety away to the skies. 
 Or, at all events, safely as far as the flies. 
 Which I'm told, in a scenic illusion like this. 
 Is the technical term for the regions of bliss.
 
 12 A FAIR APPARITION, OR 
 
 In my journey through space I could hardly repress, 
 The thought that 'twas I who had been in distress ; 
 That my Muse was the fay, turning up just in time. 
 My bacon to save, in some grand pantomime. 
 I shouldn't have been the least morsel surprised 
 Had this notion of mine been at once realised, 
 By there and then finding some magical dell. 
 Where fairies were working some wonderful spell, 
 And being transformed with a twirl and a spin, 
 To that mythical fellow, a stage harlequin. 
 While that crazy old personage known as the clown. 
 Who never goes far without tumbling down ; 
 And whose knavish tricks 'tis my mission to mar. 
 Turns heels over head, and exclaims " Here we are !" 
 
 But soon I was roused from such vague speculation 
 
 To take a survey of my strange situation. 
 
 As on we still sped, 'mid a silence profound, 
 
 Environed by grandeur, above and around. 
 
 The star-spangled sky, of ethereal blue, 
 
 Clouds bright and fantastic, of silvery hue. 
 
 The moon shining out from the great arch of night. 
 
 And lighting the way for our Heavenward flight. 
 
 The Excelsior motto I own I admire, 
 
 But still, I can't say I had any desire 
 
 Much longer to soar with my musical friend, i 
 
 And thought it was time we began to descend ; 
 
 So I glanced at the lady, as much as to say,
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE MUSES. 13 
 
 How long at this altitude are we to stay ? " 
 And if her arch look was not meant to deceive, 
 I fancied she wickedly laughed in her sleeve, 
 As she said, " Do not fear that I mean to play tricks. 
 By cruelly leaving you here in a fix ; 
 Though you wouldn't be the first bard I have known, -■ 
 Who had got in the clouds, and then couldn't get 
 down. 
 
 " But hark, we're already approaching the earth. 
 On Helicon's Mount I can hear sounds of mirth. 
 Of shepherds, and nymphs, who disport in the groves. 
 And talk of the gods, and the tales of their loves. 
 And see, now, a thousand lights sparkle and twinkle, 
 The sheep-bells give out a melodious tinkle. 
 The revels I know are already begun, 
 And we must make haste to take part in the fun." 
 Instanter we stood on Boeotia's fair mountain. 
 Close by the side of the Hippocrene fountain, 
 ■ Made, as they say, by a thirsty old horse. 
 Who stamped and created this fine watercourse. 
 " Then," said my Muse, with her countenance risible, 
 " I think while you stay you had best be invisible. 
 As fuller details of the fete you will glean. 
 By joining the throng while your form is unseen. 
 The Boeotian revels are very exclusive. 
 And some might consider your visit intrusive. 
 So here is a cloud that will keep you incog. 
 And hide you from view like an English fog.,
 
 14 A FA IK APPARITION ; OR, 
 
 And now I must leave you to find your own way ; 
 
 My sisters, no doubt, are surprised at my stay ; 
 
 And when you're fatigued and would homeward repair. 
 
 You need say but the word, and you'll find yourself there." 
 
 With a graceful adieu she was off in a crack, 
 
 And then, I must say, I half wished myself back, 
 
 And stood to consider what course I should steer, 
 
 When sounds of the revelry, now coming near. 
 
 Enticed me, ne'er heeding the wrong or the right of it, 
 
 To see the immortal ones making a night of it. 
 
 Roaming then from Hippocrene, 
 Soon I came to pastures green, 
 Saw the lambs, with tinkling bells, 
 Frisking in the flow'ry dells ; 
 Saw the happy nymphs, so fair. 
 Sporting on the sweet parterre ; 
 Drank the perfume of the flowers 
 In the shade of sylvan bowers ; 
 Watched the play of shepherd swains, 
 On the undulating plains ; 
 Heard the twanging of the lute, 
 Dulcet notes of pipe and flute, 
 Tuned in lively strains to greet 
 Nimble steps of dancing feet ; 
 Warbling song-birds in the trees 
 Vocal made the balmy breeze. 
 While the fountain's glittering spray 
 Sparkled in the moonlit ray.
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE MUSES. 
 
 Gushing streams and bright cascades, 
 Dancing through the verdant glades, 
 Buoyant bore the swelling sail, 
 Wafted by the gentle gale. 
 Fabled gods and valiant men, 
 Heroes of the sword and pen, 
 Grouped in marble pure and white. 
 Faced me in the soft moonlight. 
 'Neath an ancient shady tree 
 Apollo vies with Mercury ; 
 Rival compeers, who aspire 
 To possess the magic lyre. 
 Here a sculptured Orpheus smiled, 
 Hemmed around by creatures wild, 
 Calming all their savage throats, 
 By the sweetness of his notes. 
 Now I stand in mute surprise, 
 Near wise Hesiod's sacred prize, 
 Record of his art divine. 
 Tribute to the tuneful Nine. 
 Marching on, with pipe and tabor. 
 Bringing in the spoils of labour, 
 Now there comes a joyous train, 
 Bearing fruits and golden grain. 
 Next approach a cherub band. 
 Tripping lightly hand in hand, 
 Each with chaplets meant to grace 
 Those victorious in the chase. 
 Sounds celestial float along,
 
 1 6 A FAIR APPARITION; OR, 
 
 As I roam the proves among, 
 Ravishing my willing cars 
 With the music of the spheres. 
 In the bosom of a wood, 
 Wise Minerva's temple stood, 
 Filled with all that sense delights, 
 Brilliant with a thousand lights. 
 Scenes of beauty, songs of gladness, 
 Mere unite to banish sadness ; 
 Pleasure reigns without alloy. 
 All is pure ecstatic joy. 
 
 But a veil I must draw, 
 
 Upon much that I saw 
 At the fete which passed ofif with such brilliant 
 eclat. 
 
 I don't want to weary 
 
 My reader, for fear he 
 Should say, in the words of the famous Dundreary, 
 My figures and tropes, and my similes grand, 
 Are things that no fellow could well understand. 
 
 I have already told 
 
 How I sauntered and strolled, 
 Tn the classical ground of the Muses' stronghold. 
 
 Which region, I'm able 
 
 To state, is no fable, 
 And if your belief in this fact is unstable ; 
 Or }-ou think that my story an impudent farce is. 
 See Barthelemy's travels of }'oung Anacharsis,
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE MUSES. 17 
 
 Or further proof needing 
 
 Just rub up your reading, 
 Some day when engaged in that useful proceeding — 
 Arranging your books in their case of mahogany, 
 And turn to page one of old Hesiod's " Theogony." 
 
 Read there his account 
 
 Of the Helicon Mount, 
 Where the Muses join hands round the violet fount ; 
 
 Where nightly they skip, 
 
 And their pretty forms dip, 
 Then come out quite fresh for an aerial trip, 
 111 a car made of clouds, to assist in his trade 
 Each dull-pated fellow who calls for their aid. 
 
 And it's quite a rriistake 
 
 To suppose that they make 
 No account of the interests we have at stake ; 
 For during my stay in their beautiful clime, 
 In the course of the revel they sent for Old Time, 
 (To make with his stories a pleasant half-hour pass). 
 Who presently came, with his sc}the and his hour-glass. 
 And having been duly installed in a seat. 
 And pressed with much kindness to drink and to eat, 
 Ambrosia and nectar being then placed before him, 
 The ladies pressed round to entreat and implore him, 
 
 That he, " like a dear," 
 
 Would recount how the year 
 Had been passed in the mortals' sublunary sphere. 
 And when with the Muses he'd chatted and laughed, 
 And a pretty stiff goblet of nectar had quaffed, 
 
 C
 
 S .'/ I'AIR APPARITION: OR, 
 
 After smacking his lips at the luscious potation 
 He put down his glass, and began his oration : 
 
 "Ye lovely daughters of immortal Jo\'e, 
 I fear the story I shall tell will prove, 
 Akin to those I've told in former years, 
 A tale to fill your pretty eyes with tears. 
 Engrossed as you are in graceful arts, 
 You little know how mortals play their parts ; 
 How even those who form the world of fashion 
 Are not exempt from pride, deceit, and passion. 
 Despite }'our toil, in making men refined. 
 The arts are scorned by mortals base of mind. 
 Who grovel in some low debasing pleasure, 
 lenorincr difts that Gods and heroes treasure. 
 The love of wealth dispels each generous thought. 
 The best and wisest teaching comes to naught ; 
 Men hug their foolish idols to the breast, 
 And sink degraded, when they might be blest ; 
 Might rules where Right should mortal actions sway 
 And brazen Vice, unchecked, pursues its way, 
 While Virtue walks, with weak and trembling feet, 
 And fools and knaves usurp the judgment seat; 
 And oft, on many a green and fertile shore, 
 Internal strife invokes 'grim-visaged war,' 
 And mighty hosts, contending, thirst for blood. 
 That erst were joined in bonds of brotherhood. 
 But through the darkness of pervading gloom, 
 The clash of hostile arms and cannon's boom, 
 Some gleams of hope still shine, with fitful ray,
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE MUSES. 19 
 
 Struggling to chase the murky clouds away. 
 Good men still strive to elevate their race, 
 Exalting virtue in her rightful place ; 
 Still hoping for the hour when wrong shall cease, 
 And all be harmony, and joy, and peace." 
 
 Minerva's stern face, I observed on perusal, 
 
 At this sad recital looked sterner than usual ; 
 
 The ladies shed many a glistening tear. 
 
 While some sobbed, How shocking! and others, Oh dear! 
 
 Old Time, who perceived he was needed no longer, 
 
 Drank another stiff glass, rather sweeter and stronger. 
 
 And then took his flight, 
 
 And when out of sight, 
 Minerva called out to the ministring sprite, 
 " What ho, within there, more nectar, more light I 
 
 Come, ladies, don't cry. 
 
 Old Time we'll defy 
 Let us dance and be merry, and never say die ; 
 To give way to weeping were folly indeed," 
 Come, music, strike up, let the revel proceed." 
 
 Reassured in this strain. 
 
 To a lively refrain 
 The nymphs were soon merrily dancing again ; 
 Terpsichore, Goddess of motion and grace, 
 Directing the revels with laughter-lit face. 
 No fairies or elves that we see on the stage 
 Ever formed such a beautiful group, I'll engage. 
 All poets combined in one eloquent pen 
 Could but faintly describe the unique mise en scene
 
 , A FAIR APPARITION. 
 
 That ravished my si^jht 
 
 On that wonderful night, 
 And held me entranced in a dream of delig^ht, 
 Till at last, with my senses and brain in a whirl, 
 I tried to join hands with a charming young girl, 
 But found with dismay I could not stir a peg, 
 With the grip of a vice I was held by the leg. 
 
 Human nature is weak, 
 
 And I gave a loud shriek, 
 Or a great yell of pain, more correctly to speak, 
 
 And then with my shout, 
 
 Came a stir and a rout. 
 The moon had gone in, and the lights had gone out, 
 And I was left helplessly groping about 
 In a gloom like to that which is always displayed. 
 In the last scene but one of the Harlequinade. 
 
 And now see me groaning. 
 
 My sad fate bemoaning, 
 In anguish and terror my rashness atoning. 
 Unfortunate wretch that I am, then I cried. 
 Oh, would I were safe by my own fireside. 
 The spell was now broken, and rubbing my eyes, 
 To my great satisfaction and no less surprise, 
 I soon found relief from my pain and despair ; — 
 I had never been out of my cosy arm-chair. 
 With a cold clammy moisture my forehead was damp. 
 The pain in my leg had been caused by the cramp. 
 So, with these adventures still filling my head, 
 I turned all the gas off, and crept up to bed."
 
 INCOMPATIBILITY; 
 
 OR, 
 
 A PAGE OF CURRENT HISTORY. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON yE. 
 
 Sir Thomas Oldways, a gentleman of the old school. 
 Miss Sophronia, his sister, a lady of advanced opinions. 
 Theophilus Jones, a page, with a soul above buttons. 
 Betsey Blank, an uninformed "young person." 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 Breakfast Room in the mansion of Sir Thomas Oldways. Folding doors 
 at back, through which is seen part of the garden. Handsome furniture ; at 
 right a table with books, writing-desk, etc ; on left a piano ; flowers in vases 
 in various parts of the room. 
 
 Betsey Blank discovered completing arrangements of the room. 
 
 Betsey. There now, I wonder if they will be pleased 
 with me this morning. Miss Fronia and Thoflus are 
 always telling me to show good taste ; I always thought 
 taste was something to eat, but Thoflus says it means 
 " orderly arrangement," and they find fault if the coffee- 
 pot and sugar-basin are too close together. Heigh ho! how
 
 22 • I.\COMPAriJULITY; OR, 
 
 I should like to be clever like Thoflus, and how beautiful 
 he does talk ; and I am so stupid I don't understand half 
 he says. lie gets up in the niornini^ to learn inathcw- 
 matics, and when I asked him what that was for, he said 
 he wanted to know the " difference of a calcularius" I 
 wonder what that is. How the dear little birds are singing 
 this morning ; tJicy can't read, but they seem very merry, 
 so I'll sing a little song too. 
 
 Song. 
 
 I'm a stupid little fool, 
 
 I never went to school, 
 
 And no one ever thought of teaching me 
 
 I never can make out 
 
 What books are all about, 
 
 I cannot even say my ABC. 
 
 I cannot write my name, 
 
 (I don't know who's to blame). 
 
 If a pothook or a stroke I try to make, 
 
 I drop an inky tear 
 
 On the page so white and clear 
 
 From the horrid pen which makes my fingers ache. 
 
 At figures I'm as bad. 
 
 It is really very sad, 
 
 But to count upon my fingers I've begun ; 
 
 I have learned to know my age, 
 
 And to reckon up my wage, 
 
 And I'm trying to look after Number One.
 
 A PAGE OF CURRENT HISTORY. 23 
 
 But I can rub and scrub, 
 
 And at the washing tub 
 
 I can do as well as Susan, Jane, or Ann ; 
 
 At work I know quite well 
 
 I can always take a spell ; 
 
 So I'll make myself as happy as I can. 
 
 \Enter TheophiliLS carrying book under arm, and basket of 
 
 JIoivers.'\ 
 
 Theo. Ah ! my precious Betsey, singing so early, 
 and your work nearly completed ! why, you must have 
 been up with the lark. 
 
 Betsey. Lor', Mr. Thoflus, how you do talk ! I wasn't 
 up to no lark, I was only singing to myself. 
 
 Theo. And you sing like a nightingale. When I hear 
 your mellifluous warbling, it fills my soul with ecstasy. 
 What a rival you would have been to Alboni or Grisi ! 
 
 Betsey. I am sure, sir, I'm not all boney, and as to 
 being greasy, this dress was clean on this morning. 
 
 Theo. Ah, Betsey ! your unsophisticated nature renders 
 you unconscious that your simple costume adorns the fair 
 proportions of a Venus, and adds new charms to a face 
 radiant with the beaming brightness of Aurora. 
 
 Betsey (putting apron to her eyes). T thought just 
 now you praised my voice ; I know I sing rather loud, 
 but I didn't think you would call me a roarer. 
 
 Theo. Ah, Betsey ! and do I see thee thus " like Niobe, 
 all tears !" You know how devotedly I love you ; let us
 
 24 INCOMPATIBILITY; 0A\ 
 
 be united and fly far from this scene of degrading 
 drudi^cry. What say's my love ? 
 
 Betsey {looking up). Ha\c you cleaned the master's 
 boots ? 
 
 Theo. O cruel Betsey ! why will you remind me of 
 the galling chain that clogs my life, und checks the soar- 
 ing of my ambitious soul. 
 
 Cook {calling off). Thoflus ! Where is that young 
 wagabone, I wonder ? 
 
 Betsey. There's the cook a-calling. She told me this 
 morning if you didn't get the knives cleaned in time for 
 lunch, she'd wring your precious neck. 
 
 Thco. O cruel fate ! If my simple words are of no 
 avail, I will invoke the muses' aid. 
 
 Dnet. — Theophilus and Betsey. 
 
 Theo. O lovely Betsey, fly with me, 
 And we'll no longer slaveys be. 
 
 Betsey. Oh, no ! Oh, no ! I'd rather stay 
 
 To work and get four meals a day. 
 
 Together. 
 
 Theo. Let's haste away. 
 Betsey. I'd rather sta)'. 
 
 Theo. To roam where verdant fields are gay. 
 Betsey. To work and have four meals a day. 
 
 Theo. We'll seek some sweet sequestered vale, 
 And whisper love's bewitching tale.
 
 A PAGE OF CURRENT HISTORY. 25 
 
 Betsey. I fear some inward twitching here 
 
 Would call for bread, and beef, and beer. 
 
 TogeiJier. Let's haste away, etc. 
 
 TJico. Our home shall be some blissful bower, 
 Enshrined with every fragrant flower. 
 
 Betsey. Where I should live in constant dread 
 The baker would not bring the bread. 
 
 Together. Let's haste away, etc. 
 
 TJieo. We'll roam and watch the playful lambs 
 All frisking with their pretty dams. 
 
 Betsey. Ld rather have my Sunday out, 
 
 My reg'lar meals and pint of stout. 
 
 Together. Let's haste away, etc. 
 
 Theo. Our cot should be a bower of bliss. 
 Can you refuse such joy as this } 
 
 Betsey. To stay with master be content, 
 
 He feeds us well, and pays the rent. 
 
 Together. Let's haste away, etc. 
 
 Cook {calling off). Now, Betse}', are you coming to 
 do any work to-day .'' 
 
 Betsey. Coming, coming, mum. \^Riins off left.
 
 26 iNCOMrATlDILirV; OR, 
 
 Tlico. And I must to my weary work again, 
 To herd witli vulgar menials 
 My soul's desire lacking ; 
 To brush the dust from dirty boots, 
 And polish them with blacking. \Exit. 
 
 {Enter Miss 'Sophronia and Sir T/ionias^ 
 
 Sir T. My dear Sophronia, your ideas are in advance 
 of the times ; they may do very well fifty years hence. 
 
 Sop/i. And you, my dear brother, are very much 
 behind the times. We live in an age of progress and 
 invention. How would you like now to travel in a stuffy 
 stage-coach holding four inside, or be buried in a heap 
 of luggage as an outside passenger, with the probability 
 of getting your dear old neck broken at a sharp turn in 
 the road .-* 
 
 Sir T. Infinitely better than being toppled over an 
 embankment by the finest express train that ever was 
 invented. We are living altogether at too rapid a pace ; 
 what with mail steamers, express trains, and electric tele- 
 graphs, there is not actually time to live. Give me the 
 good old times when things were not done in such a con- 
 founded hurry. 
 
 Soph. My dear brother, these are the good old times ; 
 the world is older than it ever was. We are now enjoy- 
 ing the fruit of the labours of these nice old poets, philo- 
 sophers, and inventors, who were good enough to work, 
 centuries ago, for the benefit of an ungrateful posterity, 
 of which I'm afraid, brother, you are a shocking example.
 
 A PAGE OF CURRENT HISTORY. 27 
 
 Sir T. Why, that just proves my case. In the old 
 times men had leisure to achieve something. Where will 
 you now find a Newton, a Herschell, a Shakspeare, a 
 Milton, or a Scott ? This is an age of mediocrity. 
 
 Soph. But we have some great poets and philosophers 
 even now. 
 
 Sir T. Yes, poets who write verses that neither they 
 nor any one else can understand ; and philosophers who 
 tell us we are a conglomeration of molecules, and that 
 our original progenitors wore tails. 
 
 Sop/i. In this age of enlightenment education is more 
 diffused. I am confident that we have amongst us many 
 " mute inglorious Miltons," and " Cromwells guiltless of 
 their country's blood." 
 
 Sir T. That's the very evil I complain of. Now that 
 these new-fangled school-boards are starting up all over 
 the country. Jack will be as good as his master. What 
 can one say to a servant who caps one's Latin quotation, 
 or who has Hume and all the other historians at his 
 finger's ends } Why, it was only the other day I heard 
 that boy Theophilus lecturing my cook, who has been in 
 the family more than thirty years, for not aspirating her 
 h's. 
 
 Soph. Theophilus was a favourite pupil at our district 
 board school, and I have engaged him in order that his 
 refined and educated mind may tone down, in some 
 measure, the coarse rudeness of the other servants, and I 
 have the fullest confidence in the result. 
 
 Sir T. And I have taken Betsey Blank into my ser-
 
 28 . IXCOMPATIBILITY ; OR, 
 
 vice. She seems to have slipped through the meshes of 
 the School Board net, for she can neither read nor write, 
 and I'll warrant she'll prove a most faithful and devoted 
 servant — one who knows her place, and who has no ambi- 
 tion beyond the sphere of duty and obedience ; while 
 your learned page will be too clever to work, and will be 
 tortured with the pangs of ungratified ambition. 
 
 SopJi. We are now in a state of transition. When 
 education becomes universal we shall have achieved the 
 perfection of civilisation ; we are now in a half-barbarous 
 condition. If the Kinder Garten system had been in 
 operation a hundred years ago, we might now have 
 arrived at the millennium. 
 
 Sir T. The Kinder Garten ! why, what new-fangled 
 idea is that .' 
 
 Sopk. Oh, a most wonderful system of teaching 
 introduced from Germany. Education in concentrated 
 essence. Thcophilus is quite familiar with it. I'll call 
 him in [rings bell], and you shall see a sample of the 
 system. 
 
 [Enter Thco?[ Theophilus, bring in your prize box of 
 Kinder Garten gifts ; I want to show Sir Thomas what 
 a delightful system it is ; and you may bring Betsey 
 Blank in to hear the lesson; it may help to enlighten the 
 poor child. \Exit Thco. 
 
 Yes, my dear brother, the world is as yet in its in- 
 fancy. The time will come when steam and electricity 
 will be regarded as the rude and clumsy expedients of 
 an unenlightened age.
 
 A PAGE OF CURRENT HISTORY. 29 
 
 \Enter Betsey, and Theo. zvith box, who hands it to Miss 5.] 
 Soph. Now, Betsey, you stand here, child, and hold 
 this box ; and you, Theophilus, sit down and play one of 
 the little Kinder Garten tunes, while I give Sir Thomas a 
 lesson. 
 
 Note. — The box must contain a ball, a cube, a cone, and a white 
 rod, all of good size ; Miss S. taking them out as required during the 
 song. All characters to join in the chorus. 
 
 Song — Miss Sophronia. 
 "THE KINDER GARTEN SCHOOL." 
 
 1. Now, pupils, be particular. 
 This rod is perpendicular; 
 
 Which teaches you an upright course 
 
 In life should be your rule. 
 
 Thus science and morality, 
 
 Imparted in duality, 
 
 Make model men and women 
 
 At the Kinder Garten school. 
 Chorus {all characters). 
 
 Thus Science and Morality, 
 Imparted in duality. 
 Make model men and women 
 At the Kinder Garten school, 
 
 2. And now this little rod of mine 
 I place in horizontal line, 
 
 By which you may the lesson learn 
 " 'Tis wise to live by rule."
 
 3° jyCOMPATlJlJLlTY: 0A\ 
 
 For if you take to crooked \va\-.s, 
 
 Wlio knows liow you may cud \our days ? 
 
 So don't forget this precept 
 
 Of the Kinder Garten scliool. 
 
 Chorus. — Thus science, etc. 
 
 3. Now this is what is called a cone ; 
 You see how well it stands alone, 
 'Tis sometimes used improperly 
 To indicate a fool. 
 
 But from it we this lesson take — 
 A firm foundation always make ; 
 Which is a leading maxim in 
 The Kinder Garten school. 
 
 Chorus. — Thus science, etc. 
 
 4. And now a cube I show to you ; 
 Its angles, sides, and edges true, 
 Which teaches us equality 
 
 By scientific rule. 
 If life be rough, and ills betide, 
 We'll look upon the other side. 
 And square our lives like pupils of 
 The Kinder Garten School. 
 
 Chorus. — Thus Science, etc. 
 
 5. Another object we have here, 
 
 'Tis what is called a ball or sphere ; 
 You see them at your uncle's shop 
 In triplets as a rule.
 
 A PAGE OF CURRENT HISTORY. 31 
 
 But useful lessons still are rife : 
 Be wise in every walk of life. 
 As o'er the globe you travel from 
 The Kinder Garten School. 
 
 Chorus. — Thus science, etc. 
 
 \_Exit Betsey zvitJi box. 
 
 Soph. Well, Sir Thomas, what do you think of our 
 concentrated essence of education ? 
 
 Sir T. Well, I daresay it's all very clever ; a sort of 
 Liebig's extract of intellectual meat will no doubt be 
 necessary, or life will not be long enough to digest all 
 the learned pabulum which is being forced down people's 
 throats. 
 
 Soph. I am afraid you are incorrigible. You are 
 becoming quite a cynic. Well, I must leave you now, 
 for I am going into the garden to pursue my delightful 
 studies in botany. 
 
 Sir T. Well, my learned sister, au revoir. I shall join 
 you presently to ascertain the properties of a certain weed 
 grown in India, and most likely, like many of the new- 
 fangled theories of the time, it will end in smoke. 
 
 Now, Theophilus, you run to the post-office and see 
 if there are any letters for me this morning. 
 
 \Exit Theophilus. 
 
 Letters indeed ! Letters are the plague of my life, and 
 yet people are always talking of the blessing of the penny 
 post ; for my part, I think it an unmitigated nuisance. 
 When a letter cost a shilling it was worth reading, and
 
 IXCOMPA JUSJl. U \ ; UK; 
 
 o 
 
 your correspondent had something interesting to commu- 
 nicate, but now people write on the most trumpery occa- 
 sions, and one is not only expected to read the rubbish, 
 but to send immediate replies. 
 
 {Enter Thco.'] No letters this morning, Sir Thomas. 
 
 Sir T. I am delighted to hear it ; now I shall have a 
 quiet morning in the garden, and for one day feel that I 
 have time to li\e. 
 
 T/ico. I am sorry, sir, to trouble )-ou, knowing your 
 aversion to epistolary communications ; but I must beg 
 your perusal of this from your humble servant. {Presents 
 letter. 
 
 Sir T. What on earth do you want to be making 
 "epistolary communications" to me for } Have you lost the 
 use of your tongue, sir } you know I hate letters. 
 
 TJieo. I think you will find, sir, that this communica- 
 cation requires to be in legal form. 
 
 Sir T. Well, let me see it. {Takes letter^ I hope 
 your scribbling propensities won't get you into trouble. 
 Beware of black and white, my boy ; what a man says 
 may be forgotten and forgiven, but a man's handwriting 
 often appears in judgment against him. {Reads letter. 
 
 " Sir — I regret to inform you that a necessity has 
 arisen for the severance of the relations in which we have 
 stood to each other for some time past. It is not that 
 you have failed to treat me with the consideration due to 
 my position, but, there exists considerable incompatibility 
 of temperament between myself and the other officers of 
 your household. In fact, our antecedents, ideas, and
 
 A PAGE OF CURRENT HISTORY. ^t, 
 
 tastes are so dissimilar that further association has become 
 mutually impossible ; I must request, therefore, that you 
 will be good enough to make such arrangements as you 
 may deem fit, in order that my engagement may be ter- 
 minated as soon as possible. — I have the honour to be. 
 Sir, your obedient servant, Theophilus Jones. 
 
 Sir T. [aside]. Incompatibility of temperament ! I 
 wonder he doesn't assure me of his distinguished considera- 
 tion. Well, sir, so you want to leave my service .'' 
 
 T/ico. Such, sir, is my desire. 
 
 Sir T. And pray, sir, if I may not be considered as 
 prying into your affairs, what do you mean by incompati- 
 bility of temperament ? Have you been quarrelling Avith 
 the other servants .'' - 
 
 T/ieo. Pardon me, Sir Thomas ; as you are aware, a 
 gentleman never quarrels with his inferiors ; there is, how- 
 ever, a degree of self-respect which renders association with 
 vulgar and uneducated persons unendurable. 
 
 Sir T. But what have you to complain of ? These 
 vulgar and uneducated persons you allude to have been in 
 my service for many years, and I have found them most 
 industrious and trustworthy. 
 
 T/ieo. Long familiarity reconciles us to many incon- 
 gruities. Sir Thomas. Old association may have enabled 
 you to tolerate them ; but the refined atmosphere of the 
 School Board school, in which I have been educated, makes 
 intimate association with such persons intolerable. 
 
 Sir T. [aside]. Confound the fellow ! This comes of edu- 
 
 D
 
 34 INCOMPATJBILITY; OR, 
 
 eating the masses ; instead of kicking him for an imper- 
 tinent puppy, I find myself hokling a discussion with him, 
 and shall very likely be worsted in the encounter. 
 
 Well, but you have not told me your grounds of com- 
 plaint ; what do they do to you ? 
 
 Tlico, I am unwilling to trouble you with details, but 
 as you desire it, I will merely mention a few which occur 
 to me at this moment. I am frequently called a " kid " or 
 a " monkey." Now, as I disagree with Darwin's theory, 
 I naturally object to the term " monkey." Then at other 
 times I am called " Buttons," a coarse and insulting allusion 
 to the costume which the conventionality of society con- 
 siders necessary for persons in my position. Then, sir, 
 practical joking is not unfrequently indulged in ; the 
 uneducated have no other idea of wit. Consider, sir, how 
 annoying it must be, when I am about retiring to rest, to 
 find that the housemaid has folded the sheets into what is 
 termed an "apple pie" bed, or to be aroused from one's 
 sleep in the morning by what the cook calls a bit of " cold 
 
 pifT 
 
 
 Sir T. What on earth is " cold pig V 
 
 Tlieo. It is simply, sir, a flannel, dipped in cold water, 
 and placed suddenly on the face, so that the water trickles 
 down the neck in a most uncomfortable manner. 
 
 Sir T. Decidedly unpleasant. But is this all you have 
 to complain of .'' 
 
 Thco. By no means, Sir Tliomas ; I find that the 
 language made use of by the servants generally is cal- 
 culated to vitiate one's taste, and corrupt tlie purity of the
 
 A PAGE OF CURRENT HISTORY. 35 
 
 English tongue, which / have been taught to speak and 
 write with propriety. Indeed, sir, you would hardly 
 recognise some of their words as English. Beer they call 
 "swipes" or "swankey;" bread is "tommy" or "chuck;" 
 potatoes are "murphies" or "spuds;" pudding is "duff;" 
 and what would you think, Sir Thomas .? — yesterday I asked 
 the cook what w-e were to have for dinner, and she told me 
 a "mountain-pecker." 
 
 Sir T. A what > 
 
 TJieo. A mountain-pecker, Sir Thomas. 
 
 Sir T. Why, what on earth is that } 
 
 TJico. You may well ask, Sir ; why, I afterwards dis- 
 covered it to be what polite people would know as a sheep's 
 head. 
 
 Sir T. Dear me, you astonish me. I can scarcely won- 
 der at your dissatisfaction. 
 
 TJico. And then. Sir Thomas, the way in which the 
 Queen's English is murdered is dreadful and distressing. 
 Imagine the cook calling for "hinguns," "taters," and 
 " wegetables ;" and the other day she called to the footman 
 while we were at dinner, " Enery, hopen the door about a 
 hinch, and let us 'ave a little more hair." 
 
 Sir T. Certainly to your refined taste and sensitive 
 ear this must have been most distressing ; her mode of 
 aspirating must have been exasperating. But why don't 
 you try to cultivate their minds .? to bring them up to 
 your standard } 
 
 TJico. I have tried, Sir Thomas, but the result was not 
 encouraging. I asked the footman to read the works of 
 Mill, Carlyle, Browning, and Tennyson.
 
 36 INCOMPATIBILITY; OK, 
 
 Sir T. Well, he's a sharp fellow ; I suppose you made 
 some impression upon him. 
 
 T//(V. On the contrar}', sir, he told me he only cared for 
 the "mills" in JhI/'s Life, and as to Carlyle, Browning, and 
 Tennyson, he would wait till they were translated into 
 English, 
 
 Sir T. Ah, ah, ah ! he meant that for a piece of wit. 
 Well, how about the housemaids and the cook .'' 
 
 TJico. The housemaids read nothing but the breaches of 
 promise, and the cook cares only for the harrowing details 
 of what she calls a good murder. 
 
 Enter Miss SOPIIRONIA and Betsey, wJio is crying. 
 
 Miss S. Goodness, child, don't make such a noise ; what 
 is the matter, brother } here is Betsey crying her eyes out, 
 and says Theophilus has given us notice. Is this true } 
 
 Sir T. Quite true. Just as I predicted : there is the fruit 
 of your boasted scheme for universal education. Theo- 
 philus finds his position with my worthy and trusty domes- 
 tics intolerable, and is going into the world to starve by 
 his brains, instead of earning a comfortable living with his 
 hands. But what is the matter with you, girl ; what are you 
 crying for.^ 
 
 Betsey. Oh, if you please, sir, I want to leave too. 
 Thoflus wants to make me as clever as himself. 
 
 Miss S. Ah, ah, ah ! You see how it is, brother ; the 
 little god Cupid has been at work. 
 
 Sir T. I thought, sir, you could not endure the associa- 
 tion of uneducated persons.
 
 A PAGE OF CURRENT HISTORY. 37 
 
 Theo. Betsey, Sir Thomas, is the exception that proves 
 the rule. 
 
 Sir T. Well, well, I see I must come to the rescue 
 here, or you will be making a couple of fools of yourselves. 
 I like you both, and I have an old-fashioned weakness for 
 keeping my people about me a long time ; so I'll tell you 
 what I'll do, Theophilus, — you shall be my amanuensis, read 
 those confounded letters, and write the answers ; in short, 
 be my secretary. Will that suit you ? 
 
 Tkeo. Oh, Sir Thomas ! you are too good. My devotion 
 shall show my gratitude. I long to distinguish myself, to 
 hand my name down to an admiring posterity, that on the 
 scroll of fame they may read that /, Theophilus Jones, had 
 a soul above buttons.
 
 THE NABOB AND THE NEPHEW; 
 
 OR, 
 
 FROLIC AND FORTUNE. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON-'E. 
 
 Colonel Currie, of H.M.I.S., just returned from Iiulin. 
 Harry Hopeful, his nephew. Afterwards, 
 Mrs. Coddle, the family nurse ; and 
 Dr. CoLCiiicr.M, the family physician. 
 Sally, a confidential ser\'ant. 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 Dining-room in IVTrs. Hopeful's house. 
 
 Enter Col. Currie. 
 
 Col. C. Well, here I am again once more in old Eng- 
 land, after twenty years' absence in India in the service of 
 my country, and having amassed wealth, and ruined my 
 liver, I shall probably die off in a few years, and leave 
 some spendthrift to make ducks and drakes of my hard- 
 earned fortune.
 
 THE NABOB AND THE NEPHEW. 39 
 
 Enter Sally. 
 
 Sally. Good morning, sir ; I hope you slept well. I am 
 sorry my lady is not at home ; your unexpected arrival 
 last night put us all in a flutter. 
 
 Col. C. Never mind, my pretty one ; after my long 
 journey I slept as soundly as a drunken sentry, I ought 
 to have telegraphed my arrival to my sister, but I thought 
 to give her a pleasant surprise. When do you say your 
 mistress will return } 
 
 Sally. Not for three days at least, sir. 
 
 Col. C Very good. I think you said your young 
 master, my nephew, was at home ; what sort of a young 
 gentleman is he .'' 
 
 Sally. Oh ! he's very handsome, sir. 
 
 Col C. Ah ! I see, just like your sex, your first thought 
 is for a handsome exterior. Is he anything like me, eh .'' 
 
 Sally. Not much, sir. I think he would be like you 
 if— 
 
 Col. C. If what ? 
 
 Sallv. If you had a better complexion, sir. 
 
 Col C. That I should live to hear any one say I had a 
 bad complexion ! Well, never mind his personal appear- 
 ance ; I shall be able to judge of that when I see him. 
 what kind of disposition has he, eh ? 
 
 Sally. Oh ! he's a very nice young gentleman, so kind 
 and generous. 
 
 Col. C How do you know he is generous .? 
 
 Sally. Because he always makes me a present on my 
 birthday.
 
 40 THE NABOB AND THE NEPHEW . 
 
 Col. C. liirthtlay ! Oh you still have birthdays in Enj^- 
 land, ch ? I lhuu|^ht those old-fashioned customs had 
 died out ; everything else seems changed. Well, I suppose 
 I must keep up the family reputation, so here is something 
 for your next birthday \_givcs moficj'] ; and now, while I go 
 to write a letter to my sister, you go and inform my 
 nephew of my arrival. Don't tell him that I have made any 
 inquiries concerning him ; I want to see and judge for my- 
 self, and if I find him a boy after my own heart, full of 
 pluck and spirit, with a dish of fun and frolic in his nature, 
 and a kindly disposition withal, he shall inherit my fortune, 
 
 Sally. Oh I am sure you will like him, sir. 
 
 Col. C. Well, we shall see. Now mind, when I see him, 
 I shall pretend to have the gout, and I shall then see 
 whether he is kind and considerate to an afflicted and 
 infirm old uncle. [^Exit. 
 
 Sally. Oh dear ! oh dear ! whatever shall I do ! how 
 unlucky that my lady's not at home. I have to do my 
 best to entertain the Colonel, and to see that Master Harry 
 does not get himself into disgrace. If the Colonel finds out 
 what a mischievous boy he is he will not leave him his 
 fortune ; and if Master Harry finds out that any trick is 
 being played on him, he will be worse than ever. Was 
 ever poor girl placed in such a dilemma .■' 
 
 E?iter Harry {slyly, slapping Sally ofi the back). 
 
 Harry. Hallo, " Sally-come-up," how are you to-morrow ? 
 Sally. O Master Harry, how you did startle me.
 
 OR, FROLIC AND FORTUNE. 41 
 
 Hany. Is breakfast almost ready ? I feel an inward 
 monitor calling out for eggs, toast, and coffee. 
 
 Sally. Hush, Master Harry, you must not be so bois- 
 terous. I have news for you : your uncle from India 
 arrived last night quite unexpectedly. 
 
 Harry. What, old Curry Powder } 
 
 Sally. No ; your uncle, Colonel Currie. You'll now 
 have to be on your best behaviour, and be careful to treat 
 him with proper respect. 
 
 Harry. Has he brought any elephants with him .'' 
 
 Sally. No ; but he brought a lot of trunks. 
 
 Harry. Well, the idea of any uncle coming from India 
 and not bringing an elephant with him ! — I feel quite disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 Sally. And I'm as much put out as if he had 
 brought an elephant with him. I do so wish your mamma 
 was at home ; I don't know what I shall order for his 
 dinner. 
 
 Harry. Oh, he'll be all right ; you must get five pounds 
 of cayenne pepper, six dozen jars of Captain White's 
 Oriental pickle, plenty of Nabob sauce, and he'll be as 
 happy as a prince. 
 
 Sally. Well, we shall have to do the best we can, but, 
 above all, you must be very careful of your behaviour. 
 Your uncle is very rich, and if he is pleased wdth you, most 
 likely will leave you all his money, so do be careful, and 
 don't play any of your tricks on him, for I really tremble 
 when I think of the many pranks you have played. 
 
 Ha7'ry. All right, " Sally in our alley," I'll be as serious
 
 42 THE NABOB AND THE NEPHEW; 
 
 as old Snuffle, my tutor, though I have a grudge against 
 him already for not bringing me an elephant. If he had 
 brought me a little tiger it would have been something ; I 
 think I must play him a trick out of revenge. 
 
 Sally. Oh, now don't, Master Harry. 
 
 Harry. Oh, but I must. 
 
 Sally. Oh dear, what shall I do } he'll be getting into 
 some mischief as sure as fate. I think I had better tell 
 him about his uncle's pretended gout. If you can keep a 
 secret, Master Harry, I will tell you one. Your uncle is 
 very anxious to know your disposition and to try your 
 affection. He will be here presently, walking as though he 
 had the gout, so you will have to humour him and be very 
 kind and attentive, or he may leave all his money to some- 
 body else. 
 
 Harry. Oh ! old Curry Pov.-der is up to larks ? Well, I 
 promise to be very attentive ; 111 nurse him and doctor 
 him too. We'll see who gets the best of it — the Nabob or 
 the Nephew. 
 
 Sally. Well, I must go now and see to the breakfast. 
 What a flurry I am in, to be sure ; whatever will be the end 
 of it, goodness only knows. {^Exit. 
 
 Enter Col. CURRTE. 
 
 Col. C. Well, young hopeful, I suppose you are my 
 nephew ; do you know who I am } 
 
 Harry. Yes, sir; you are my uncle, Colonel Q\.\xx'\(i\asidc\ 
 alias old Curry Powder.
 
 OR, FROLIC AND FORTUNE. 43 
 
 Col. C. You see I am lame this morning ; I have a sharp 
 twinge of the gout. Oh, it puts me in torture. 
 
 Harry. I am sure it must be very painful. 
 
 Col. C. Oh ! I am in agony. 
 
 Harry [aside]. (Oh, the old hypocrite !) I am sorry 
 mamma is not at home ; but I'll do my best to get you 
 well. I'll be both doctor and nurse to you. [Aside] Won't 
 I give him physic. 
 
 Col C. That's a good kind boy ; your sympathy does 
 you credit. 
 
 Harry. Take this chair, sir, and put your foot on this 
 one, and v/e'll soon make you better. I'll fetch our old 
 nurse, Mrs. Coddle, and she'll tie it up for you. 
 
 Col. C. Ay, I want a little nursing ; my toe is quite red 
 and inflamed. 
 
 Harry. I say, uncle, do you ever have the gout in your 
 nose .-• 
 
 Col. C. In my nose } no, boy. Why } 
 
 Harry. Because that seems to show similar symptoms. 
 
 Col. C. Ah, ah, ah. Oh, you young dog, but the gout 
 is no joke, I can tell you. 
 
 Harry. Not in your case, I'm sure, uncle ; but you do 
 seem to suffer so that I'll run for Mrs. Coddle at once. 
 
 [Exit?\^ 
 
 Col. C. Egad, there's a merry twinkle about that boy's 
 eye that tells me he is not half so demure as he appears to 
 be. Well, I shall be all the better pleased if it turns out 
 that he is a lad of spirit. Ah ! I can remember well, I am 
 afraid to think how many years ago, what a very imp of
 
 44 THE NABOB AND THE NEPHEW; 
 
 mischief I was myself — how I used to turn the house 
 "topsy-turvy," how I worried the cats and the poultry, 
 sometimes being brought home half drowned, throivgh 
 getting out of my depth when learning to swim, at other 
 times getting a bruised nose or a black eye, the fruits of a 
 too impetuous rashness in vindicating my honour with boys 
 twice my own size. Ah ! I have a vivid recollection of the 
 thrashing I had for taking my father's best horse out of the 
 stable, and bringing him home dead lame after a two-hours' 
 scamper across country. But if a boy's heart is right he's 
 none the worse for being a bit of a Turk. If all our boys 
 were milk-sops, our armies and our navies would never have 
 achieved half the brilliant victories which make them now 
 their country's pride and boast. But, egad, I had forgotten 
 I have the gout ; here's the old woman. 
 
 Enter Harry {disguised as Mrs. Coddle, zuho is very deaf). 
 
 Col. C. Well, old lady, good morning ; have you come to 
 cure my gout } 
 
 Mrs. C. Eh ? 
 
 Col C Can you cure the gout } 
 
 Mrs. C Oh no, I never go out. 
 
 Col. C. You must have been in the family a long time ; 
 are you very old } 
 
 Mrs. C. No thankee, I'm not cold. 
 
 Col. C Well, for your age, you seem very frisky. 
 
 LIrs. C. No, I never drink whisky. 
 
 Col C Well, if you are to tie up my foot, why don't 
 you begin }
 
 OR, FROLIC AND FORTUNE. 45 
 
 Mrs. C. Yes, I don't mind having a little drop of gin ; 
 haven't you got any ? I always keep a little drop in my 
 pocket. {Takes out bottle from pocket?) I take it for the 
 screwmatics ; have a drop, sir, capital thing for the gout. 
 Do you feel very bad } 
 
 Col. C. Very. 
 
 Mrs. C. Well, you don't look it ; young Master Harry 
 told me you were dreadful ill. 
 
 Col. C. Indeed ! 
 
 Mrs. C. Ah ! a good kind boy that nephew of yours, 
 very fond of me, gives me the best of everything he has. 
 You ought to be very proud of such a nephew. Well, if 
 this foot is to be tied up, I had better do it. \Ties up foot'\ 
 
 Col. C. This dissimulation of mine is becoming rather 
 a bore. I suppose I shall have the old family doctor 
 here presently ; I shall hardly be able to impose on him. 
 
 Enter Sally {with Daily Paper, and stands astonished at 
 
 seeing Mrs. C.) 
 
 Sally. I have brought you the paper, sir ; I thought 
 you would like to see it while breakfast is getting ready. 
 
 Col C. Thank you ; you see I am getting cured of the 
 gout. Mrs. Coddle seems a capital nurse. 
 
 Sally. Mrs. Who, sir t 
 
 CoL C. Mrs. Coddle. 
 
 Sally [confused]. Oh yes, sir, been in the family many 
 years, sir. {Aside] Never heard of her before in my life. 
 Oh what a flurry I do feel ; some trick of Master' Harry's, 
 I'm sure.
 
 46 THE NABOB AND THE NEPHEW ; 
 
 Mrs. C. There now, I think you'll do till the doctor 
 comes ; that's his knock, I must go and let him in. [Exit. 
 
 Col. C. Well, my nephew seems a very kind-hearted 
 boy ; seeing that I was ill, he has been most kind and 
 attentive. 
 
 Sally. Yes, sir, he's very good, but 
 
 Col. C. But what, girl — not quite such a saint as lie 
 looks, eh ? 
 
 Sally. Well, boys will be boys, sir, and at times he is 
 fond of a little mischief. 
 
 Col. C Well, he's none the worse for that ; I like a boy 
 to have a little spirit. Well, let me see, what did you say 
 your name was ^ 
 
 Sally. Sarah, sir, but Master Harry will call me Sally. 
 
 Col. C. Ah ! shows he has a poetical turn ; he re- 
 members the old song [Col. Currie 5ings\ " Of all the 
 girls that are so smart, there's none so smart as Sally." 
 
 Sally. Oh, sir, you flatter me. [Aside] What a nice 
 old gentleman he is. [Exit. 
 
 Col. C. Not by any means a bad-looking girl, and if 
 I had been forty years younger I might have been tempted 
 to add [sings\ " For she's the darling of my heart, and 
 she lives in our alley." 
 
 Enter Harry {disguised as Dr. Colehicinn). 
 
 Dr. C. Good morning, Colonel ! your nephew told me 
 you were very ill ; as you were singing, I suppose the 
 thought of the doctor scared the gout away. 
 
 Col. C. The gout, doctor, is, I think, an infliction
 
 OR, FROLIC AND FORTUNE. 47 
 
 imposed by Providence to try one's patience and philo- 
 sophy, and I have always made it a rule to be cheerful 
 under misfortune. 
 
 Dr. C. And you seem to succeed. Will you let me 
 feel your pulse.-* [Takes out watchi] Ah, I see how it is — 
 a glass too much of that choice old port ; eh, Colonel } 
 
 Col. C. No, doctor, it is constitutional ; it has been the 
 distinguished honour of the Curries to have the gout in 
 the family for generations. 
 
 Dr. C. Ah, the gout is an aristocratic complaint; low 
 people have rheumatism. 
 
 Col. C. May I ask you to have a glass of wine } 
 
 Dr. C. Not any, thank you. 
 
 Col. C. Oh, but I must insist ; it shall never be said 
 that the Curries were wanting in hospitality. {Rings. 
 
 Enter Sarah. 
 
 Col. C. Sarah, bring some sherry. The doctor will 
 take a glass of wine and drink to our better acquaintance. 
 
 Sarah. The doctor ! what a funny old man ! Oh 
 dear ! oh, dear ! I shall go crazy. [Exit, looking at the 
 doctor and holding np her Jiands. 
 
 Dr. C. Now, Colonel, I'll tell you what you must do : 
 you must have a dozen leeches on your toe ; have your 
 head shaved to keep down the inflammation, a blister 
 behind each ear, and then I think you'll be all right. 
 
 Col. C. Not if I know it. Well, doctor, I will be 
 candid with you. I have no gout ; it was merely a little 
 artifice of mine to try the disposition of my nephew.
 
 48 THE NABOB AND THE NEJ'J/Kli: 
 
 Jh: C. Your nephew ! well, I have known liini ever 
 since he was born, and if you have played any trick upon 
 him I'll warrant he'll prove a match for you ; and since 
 you have no gout, I am no doctor. 
 
 Col. C. No doctor! Who the deuce arc you then ? 
 
 Enter Sarah {i.uith zviuc). 
 
 Dr. C. [taking off coat, wig, and whiskers]. Why, none 
 other than }'our ever obedient and affectionate nephew. 
 
 Col. C. O you young rascal ! 
 
 Sally [rushing forivard\ Oh, don't be angry ! sir, it's 
 only one of his little tricks. 
 
 Col. C. Little tricks ! why I never met with such an 
 impudent monkey in my life. That I should be roasted for 
 the best part of my life in India, and come home to be 
 roasted by my nephew! 
 
 Sally. Oh ! pray forgive him, sir, he doesn't mean any 
 harm. 
 
 Col. C. Forgive him ! egad, I'm delighted with him ; 
 come to my arms, you young dog. I'^gad, you are just 
 the boy I was myself, at your age. You shall be my heir, 
 and I shall die with the comfortable assurance of leaving 
 my wealth to one who will sustain the reputation of his 
 family. 
 
 Curtain.
 
 HIS BETTER HALF. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Mr. Adolphus Crowfoot, a retired poulterer. 
 Mrs. Penelope Crowfoot, his better half. 
 
 SCENE. 
 Breakfast-rooin in Crowfoot House. 
 
 Enter Mr. and Mrs. CROWFOOT. 
 
 Mrs. C. My dear Adolphus, I really wonder that you 
 trouble me with such petty details ; you know that m}^ 
 mind is constantly at work devising schemes for the re- 
 construction of our whole social fabric, and yet }-ou worry 
 mt, about the absence of a paltry shirt-button. 
 
 J/r. C. With all due respect for the social fabric, my 
 dear, I am bound to say that a shirt without buttons is a 
 delusion and a snare, and is calculated to rile the temper 
 of a saint. Whenever I find a button gone, it always sticks 
 in my gizzard. 
 
 Mrs. C. Gizzard, Adolphus ! why will you not en- 
 deavour to be more refined in }-our expressions .'' If }-our 
 
 E
 
 50 HIS BETTER HALE. 
 
 experience in business has made you familiar with tlic 
 anatomy of the feathered tribe, that is no reason for 
 always using technical terms. Now that you have retired 
 from trade, )-ou must try to adapt yourself to the language 
 of polite society. 
 
 Mr. C. I alwa)s likes to call things by their proper 
 names, and to speak well of the bridge as carries me safe 
 over. \\'h\-, the gizzard is part of the giblet.s, and many 
 a bright pound have I made by selling 'em out at a 
 shilling a lot. 
 
 Mrs. C. But, my dear, society demands that you 
 should forget these things ; now that you are rich, there is 
 no need to remind people that you once sold geese and 
 turkeys. Why, only the other evening at dinner, when 
 you were helping Mrs. Dashington to some chicken, I 
 was inexpressibly shocked to hear }-ou telling her of the 
 beauties you used to retail at four shillings the couple, 
 and loud enough, too, for all the table to hear. 
 
 Mr. C. Well, I must say something to make myself 
 agreeable, and why shouldn't I talk on a subject that I 
 understand .'' It's all very well talking about poetry and 
 literatoor for people as understand it (though my opinion 
 is one half of 'em doesn't know what thc}''re driving at) ; 
 but when I tells 'cm of the quantity of game and poultry 
 as I've had in my shop, I can knock 'em all into a cocketl 
 hat. 
 
 Mrs. C. Now that }'ou arc my husband, Adolphus, 
 your ideas must be elevated to fit )'ou for the position wc 
 seek to occupy in society. Vulgar associations must be
 
 HIS BETTER BALE. 
 
 51 
 
 ignored, and you must adapt yourself to a more refined 
 atmosphere. 
 
 Mr. C. The refined atmosphere, as you call it, is all 
 very well, I daresay, when you gets used to it ; but I 
 wish the people we meet wouldn't be quite so stiff and 
 starchy like. Why, sometimes when I make a sensible 
 remark, some of 'em seems quite taken aback, as if they 
 didn't understand English ; why, they remind me of a lot 
 of tailor's dummies, models for the exhibition of wearing 
 apparel. 
 
 Airs. C. No doubt there may be some truth in what 
 you say. But you must be a quiet observer, and be 
 silent for a time. Many a man has gained a reputation 
 for wisdom simply by keeping his mouth shut. You 
 were dreadfully fidgetty at the concert last night, and I 
 was horrified to hear you say to that enthusiastic musi- 
 cian, Mr. Piccoli, that " you wished they'd cut it short." 
 
 Air. C. And I'll be bound a good many more wished 
 so too, only they was too fashionable to say so. What 
 they calls classical music may be all very clever, but 
 all that running up to the top, and rattlin' down again, 
 and the twiddlin,' and quaverin' gives me the fidgets 
 awful. Why, if they played something as people under- 
 stood, they'd be delighted, instead of which they seemed 
 to me as though they were all dooced glad to get away, 
 for I saw a lot rushing ofiT in the middle of the last 
 sonarta, as you call it, as if they thought it was a lucky 
 escape. 
 
 Airs. C. My dear, you must not expect to understand
 
 52 HIS BETTER HALF. 
 
 everything you see and hear in polite society. Many 
 persons see the moon shine ; but very few understand 
 why it shines. 
 
 J[fr. C. Ah ! it strikes me there's a pretty good lot of 
 moonshine in the world. If people would only be real 
 and natural, what a precious lot of trouble they would 
 save themselves to be sure. 
 
 lift's. C. Real and natural people are at times very 
 awkward and inconvenient. Even you, Adolphus, 
 although I know you mean well, }'et, really, at times 
 your bluntness and honesty make me blush for you. 
 
 J\fr. C. Well ! things is come to a pretty pass when a 
 man can't be honest and say what he thinks without being 
 considered a nuisance. But I know I am a bit rough at 
 times, and I often wonder how it was that you ever con- 
 sented to become my better half — you, with your fine 
 acquaintances and your knowing all about books and the 
 fine arts, and such like. 
 
 ]\Irs. C. Adolphus, I will be candid with you. I 
 married, you in the finst place, because I knew you to be 
 a good, kind, honest old goose. 
 
 J\Tr. C. Now then, no allusions to the shop, you know. 
 
 Mrs. C. That's only a figure of speech. Secondly, you 
 arc a roucrh diamond, and I thoufrht it would amuse me 
 to polish }ou ; and, finally, }'ou have force of character and 
 wealth, which some day may, with judicious management, 
 lead us both to the pinnacle of the social fabric. You 
 know I am ambitious, and have views which I wish to see 
 advocated. Women are not yet admitted to Parliament,
 
 HIS BETTER HALF. 53 
 
 but men are, and, Adolphus, yon must be a member of 
 Parliament. 
 
 Mr. C. A what ? Ah, ah, ah ! oh ! this is too much. 
 
 Afrs. C. You may laugh, Adolphus, but I am serious. 
 
 Mr. C. What, old Crowfoot the poulterer a member of 
 Parliament .'' that would astonish the Browns, and no 
 mistake. 
 
 Mrs. C. There are not a few in that august assembly 
 whose presence there is a cause of wonder, and to none 
 more than to themselves. 
 
 Mr. C. Well, my dear, it's all very well saying I am 
 to be a member of Parliament, but how am I to get 
 there ? 
 
 Mrs. C. Nothing more simple. There are three things 
 necessary : Time, Management, and Money ; the two first 
 are essential, the latter indispensable. 
 
 Mr. C. Well, but how is the thing to be worked } 
 what is the Modus Operandum ? you see I am quoting 
 Latin already. 
 
 Mrs. C. To begin with, you must go into the town- 
 council, you must be nominated for the next vacancy. 
 
 Mr. C. Well, but suppose I am not elected. 
 
 Mrs. C. All the better for our purpose. If you are 
 rejected twice, you will be made an alderman as a reward 
 for the anxiety you have manifested for the public good, 
 and for your disinterested efforts to serve }^our fellow- 
 townsmen. 
 
 Mr. C. Well, but we are a long way from the House 
 of Parliament yet.
 
 54 JUS JiE'J'J'KK JIAI.I'. 
 
 Mrs. C. Not so far as you may imagine. The time 
 will come when it will be necessai)' to elect a mayor, and 
 then, who so fit as Mr. Alderman Crowfoot, a man, who, 
 by his own exertions, has raised himself to a position of 
 influence and affluence ; a gentleman whose sound judg- 
 ment and thorough knowledge of local affairs have 
 made him eminently fit to discharge the important and 
 onerous duties of a chief magistrate ; a gentleman long 
 and honourably connected with the commerce of the town, 
 whose urbanity, intelligence, and integrity, no less than 
 his high social position and wealth, point him out as in 
 every way qualified to fulfil the important functions of the 
 office to which it is proposed to elect him, and to uphold 
 the honour, dignity, and influence of this great and intelli- 
 gent community ? 
 
 Mr. C. Bravo, bravo ! why, I already fancy myself in 
 the town-hall, surrounded by all the big wigs, presiding 
 at the first grand banquet, with the big gold chain round 
 my neck, and proposing the health of her most gracious 
 Majesty the Queen, the Prince and Princess of Wales, and 
 all the members of the Royal Family. It really does 
 seem pretty easy ; but you haven't got me into Parlia- 
 ment yet. 
 
 Mrs. C. As I said before, it requires time and manage- 
 ment. After your arduous duties as mayor, it will be 
 necessary that you should seek rest and change of scene. 
 You will pay a visit for a few months to some snug and 
 pleasant country town. You will take a large house, or 
 have a suite of rooms at the best hotel. You will visit
 
 HIS BETl^ER HALF. 55 
 
 and entertain the best people ; you will interest yourself 
 in the local charities ; show yourself a friend of education ; 
 become a member and patron of the local institutions ; 
 flatter the working-men ; give coals and blankets to the 
 old women, and kiss the babies. And in due course I 
 shall have the proud satisfaction of reading in the Times 
 that " The election of a Member of Parliament for the 
 important borough of Muddleton took place yesterday, 
 resulting in the triumphant return of Mr. Alderman Crow- 
 foot, who, during a brief residence in the town, had won 
 the good opinion of all classes of the inhabitants by his 
 consistent support of all the local institutions, and by 
 the display of unostentatious liberality and genial 
 hospitality. 
 
 Mr. C. It seems to me, my dear, it's about time they 
 passed a bill for Women's Rights. If women was sent to 
 Parliament you'd make the primest prime minister the 
 Queen ever had. But suppose I do get into Parliament, 
 what shall I do about the speechifying } You are always 
 pulling me up about my grammar. 
 
 Mrs. C. Speaking is not of so much importance as 
 many suppose. You can be a silent member, and gain a 
 reputation as a good worker on committees, or you can 
 be a member with a speciality. 
 
 Mr. C. What's that } I've heard of speciality sherry ; 
 but I never heard of a speciality member of Parliament. 
 
 Mrs. C. A member with a speciality is often a great 
 success, and gains the ear and respect of the House, be- 
 cause he only speaks on questions he understands. You,
 
 56 jrrs nFT7'RR JI.M.F. 
 
 for instance, know all about cheese. You would find 
 many sympathetic hearers on that subject ; w hat more 
 easy than to introduce a Bill to extend the production of 
 that useful and edible bird ? The choose is a dainty with 
 the working classes, a dish which they are now only able 
 to enjoy once a year. Imagine the impression }ou mic^ht 
 make in the House and in the country in introducing the 
 measure. Sir, you would say, honourable members may 
 smile at, and receive with ironical cheers, the motion I 
 have now the honour to introduce ; gentlemen accustomed 
 to eat the dainty turkey, or the more delicate pheasant or 
 chicken, may indulge in ' facetious expressions at the 
 mention of the humble, but relishing goose ; but, sir, I am 
 not to be made game of, if I may indulge in a common, 
 but forcible phrase, " I am too old a bird for that." I 
 say, sir, that while we have in this great country large 
 tracts of waste land, while we have innumerable ponds and 
 lakes, while we have a bird which affords such a dainty 
 and relishing meal to the toiling millions to whom it is 
 now an almost unattainable luxury, — I say, sir, we should 
 be wanting in our duty to the people at large, if we failed 
 to do all in our power to bring about the happy time, 
 when, in the house of every working-man, not only at 
 Christmas, but on every Sunday, or oftener, we might 
 perceive the savoury and appetising odour of a roast 
 goose stuffed with sage and onions. 
 
 il/r. C. Ah ! that would be the way to talk to 'em. 
 If it's anything in the poultry line, I could do it like a 
 bird. It may be a lucky thing I was brought up to the
 
 HIS BETTER HALF. 57 
 
 business after all. But I say, you'll be making me a 
 knight or a duke next. 
 
 Mrs. C. For those who make use of their opportunities, 
 wealth can do much ; but when it is used conjointly with 
 tact and perseverance there is scarcely a limit to the pos- 
 sibilities. 
 
 Mr. C. But what would you do now, supposing I 
 really wanted a handle to my name } I say, my dear, it 
 wouldn't look bad in the Court Circular — Sir Adolphus 
 Crowfoot, — would it now ^ But of course that is a cut 
 above us; I think if we stop at the M.P. business we shall 
 do pretty well, but I really should like to hear you called 
 Lady Crowfoot. 
 
 J\lrs. C. And w^hy not .-' by simply extending the 
 principle I have sketched, such a thing is by no means 
 impossible. 
 
 Mr. C. Ah ! but how .? 
 
 Mrs. C. You must purchase a piece of land in the 
 suburbs, and lay it out as a park, and present it to the 
 people. The surest way to benefit yourself is to be a 
 benefactor to others. When your park is finished there 
 must be an opening cerernony. All the people are 01 
 fete on the occasion ; the elite of the town are assembled ; 
 bells ring; bands play; people cheer; and just when 
 the enthusiasm is at its highest, a certain august person- 
 age is seen on the dais, holding a sword over another 
 certain person, who hears the magic words, " Rise, Sir 
 Adolphus." 
 
 Mr. C. Well, many wonderful things have happened
 
 58 JUS BETTER J/ALE. 
 
 in the world, and will again, but if ever I should get 
 among the big wigs, I shall try to do my duty like an 
 honest man ; and if I should be short of ideas, and want 
 to get up a speech to astonish the Browns, I know I shall 
 only have to apply to my Better Half, 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 n <^^'' 
 
 t--- _ .J^-^ 
 
 ''v"^^,'-^-'-^ 
 
 
 h " C
 
 LAYS OF COVENTRY. 
 
 "SENT TO COVENTRY." 
 
 Have you ever been sent, 
 
 Of your sins to repent, 
 On a journey to Coventry, there to relent. 
 
 And gain for your name 
 
 Absolution from blame, 
 And to take, from henceforth, better care of your fame ? 
 
 Of course you have heard 
 
 This old-fashioned byeword 
 Applied pretty often to those who have err'd. 
 For when a man does what good manners don't warrant, he 
 Gets into disgrace, and we send him to Coventry. 
 
 It may cause some surprise 
 As to what could give rise 
 To the ban or disgrace which this sentence implies. 
 You might think a long time, and yet never surmise 
 Where the gist or the sense of this old saying lies ;
 
 Oo LAiS OF COVENTRY. 
 
 Ikit, after a lengthy research for its origin, 
 Where authors must look, when for facts they are foraging, 
 I think I may state, 
 Tliough I can't give the date, 
 That it happened, as I am about to relate : — 
 A detachment of soldiers, all fine jolly fellows, 
 Who had gained ill repute for their sad peccadilloes, 
 And all kinds of mischief, for which they'd no w^arrarity, 
 Were once, with their officers, stationed at Coventry. 
 
 Having nothing to fill 
 
 Up their time but their drill, 
 A work that may almost be counted as ;///, 
 And finding this dull kind of life quite provoking, 
 They made up their minds for some practical joking ; 
 
 So out they would sally, 
 
 Without sJiilly-sJially, 
 In search of diversion, through street, lane, and alley, 
 Determined to scare what the French call enmii, 
 By what they jocosely termed " having a spree." 
 
 They would bully the men in a swaggering tone. 
 And of course they could not let the lasses alone ; 
 And the simple old ladies they thought were just fit 
 To be used as a butt for the shafts of their wit. 
 They delighted in tanning the hide of a tanner, 
 If anything gave them offence in his manner; 
 And seemed to consider their caps had a feather in, 
 When "welting" the cobbler, they gave him a "leatherin."
 
 SENT TO COVENTRY. 6r 
 
 Or thinking the dyer looked rather too blue, 
 They would soon dye his cloth of a different hue ; 
 And then, if the baker looked crusty, poor soul. 
 In the nearest black ditch they would give him a roll. 
 They played up such pranks, in this quiet locality. 
 That what they called fun seemed to others rascality ; 
 And their wickedness gained for them such notoriety. 
 As soon shut them out from all decent society. 
 
 The young women pouted, 
 
 The old ladies flouted. 
 Wherever they went they were hooted and scouted 
 
 By brewers and bakers 
 
 And candlestick-makers, 
 And the tradesmen who sold what some people call "taters," 
 
 Till there wasn't a place 
 
 Where they dared to show face. 
 And they soon had to fly from the town in disgrace. 
 
 The story I've told, was so often repeated 
 
 By those M'ho had seen how these rascals were treated, 
 
 That each generation 
 
 Preserved the narration. 
 And now, when we wish to inflict castigation, ■ 
 Or show our displeasure and just indignation 
 To those whose ill conduct too long we've endured, 
 We " send them to Coventry," there to get cured.
 
 62 L/IVS OF COVENTRY. 
 
 II. 
 A VISIT TO COVENTRY FAIR. 
 
 Having thus cleared away 
 
 By liis little survey, 
 Of events that occurred in an earlier day, 
 
 Any doubts that might stray 
 
 Or be called into play 
 As to what this trite saying intends to convey, 
 I now, with your leave, will proceed with my lay ; 
 
 And here I may say 
 
 I intend you to pay 
 (That is, if your leisure admits the delay) 
 A visit to Coventry, while it is gay 
 With its annual fair, which, in festive array, 
 Makes many hearts glad at this great holiday. 
 
 'Tis a bright afternoon 
 
 In the sweet month of June, 
 When the echoes resound with the dicky-biriV s tune ; 
 The laughing wild flowers gay colours assume ; 
 The zephyrs are laden with fragrant perfume ; 
 Her ladyship, Nature, though sometimes capricious, 
 Resolves that the day shall be truly auspicious ; 
 And, in order that all may her beauty admire, 
 She decks her fair form in her gayest attire. 
 The roads are alive with holiday folk, 
 All flocking from Bin ley, from Sow, and from Stoke : " 
 
 * Villages in tlie vicinity of Coventry.
 
 A VISIT TO COVENTRY FAIR. 6:^ 
 
 The wenches and lads, 
 
 With their mothers and dads, 
 Are tripping along through the fields and the pads, 
 All laughing, and talking, and cracking their jokes ; 
 Some riding on horses, and some upon Mokes, 
 (As donkeys are called by '' Bill Styles " and " Jack 
 
 Nokes "), 
 Who think it much better to drive than to coax, 
 As they hasten their speed with unmerciful pokes. 
 For they know there are marvellous sights to be seen 
 At Coventry Fair upon " Greyfriar's Green." 
 
 The swings and the shows, 
 
 The stalls all in rows, 
 
 Where they sell the fine toys 
 
 For good girls and boys, 
 
 The dolls, hoops, and carts. 
 
 The sweetmeats and tarts. 
 
 And the nuts made of spice. 
 
 Which they say are "so nice." 
 
 And then, O my stars ! 
 
 All the handsome bazaars. 
 
 What splendid arrays 
 
 Of tea-boards and trays ; 
 
 In all my born days 
 
 I ne'er saw such displays 
 Of baskets, and teaspoons, and teapots, and caddies, 
 All of which, the young lady to sell you so glad is. 
 
 And then, farther on, 
 
 There is funny "cheap John,"
 
 64 ZAVS OF COVENTRY. 
 
 With his patter and clatter, 
 
 His jocular chatter, 
 And the folk crowding round him to see what's the matter. 
 
 Then the large caravan 
 
 With the famed " little man," 
 
 And the one with the drum 
 
 Invites us to come 
 And see the performance of little "Tom Thumb," 
 Who will sing you a song, and dance you a jig, 
 After which you will see master " Toby the pig," 
 "A hmiivial not to be ck^lcd b}' Juiny — 
 The zvole to be seen for the charge of vun penny." 
 
 And now in the crowd, let us come to a stand, 
 To hear the performance of Wombwell's fine band. 
 
 Now they've done, let us go 
 
 And see the next show. 
 
 Good gracious, look there ! 
 
 A man in the air ; 
 He has doubled himself in a ball, I declare. 
 Oh ! look at the fairies in pink and in white ; 
 The man dressed in spangles, is known as a "sprite ;" 
 And he in the pinafore, he's the buffoon ; 
 And the one next to him is the old pantaloon. 
 
 Then look at the smugglers, 
 
 The sailors and jugglers, 
 And the tragedy queen in her black velvet gown. 
 Just looking as if she could kill with a frown,
 
 A VISIT TO COVENTRY FAIR. 65 
 
 As she walks the parade with her dagger and crown, 
 Arm-in-arm with the comical merry old clown, 
 
 Who makes his harangue 
 
 'Mid the noise and the clang 
 Of the gongs and the pistols, and guns going " bang," 
 And the cymbals and drums, and the loud shrieking tones 
 Of trumpets, and cornets, bassoons, and trombones. 
 "Walk in, walk in, just about to commence, 
 The best show in the fair, and the charge is sixpence." 
 The drama, terrific, exciting, and shocking. 
 Is known as the " Knight of the Red Worsted Stocking," 
 And murder is done, and poison is swallowed. 
 And the knight comes home from the wars, being followed 
 By a beautiful page, who, at last it turns out, 
 Is the lady there's been so much bother about. 
 And, after a time, they all stand in a row. 
 And form on the stage an imposing tableau. 
 And the curtain comes down, and the actors retire 
 'Midst a gorgeous display of red and blue fire. 
 The performance concludes with a novel, sublime, 
 Quizzical, comical, pantomime. 
 Entitled " The Gnome of the Golden Mine ; 
 Or, the Fairy Queen of the Mystic Vine." 
 " Step up, step up, be in time, be in time. 
 
 All hearts are light, 
 
 All eyes are bright. 
 And nothing but happiness meets the sight, 
 The beautiful girls, the dear charming creatures, 
 With radiant smiles on their beautiful features. 
 Are darting bright rays from their eyes, as they meet yours. 
 
 F
 
 66 ZAVS OF COVENTRY. 
 
 III. 
 THE STORY OF LADY GODIVA. 
 
 \\JI\' (Jo St. Michael's bells ring out, 
 While merry children gaily shout, 
 And pleasure beams on all without ? 
 Why do the flags and banners fly. 
 While o'er the city far and nigh, 
 Rejoicing tokens meet the eye ? 
 
 Whither arc going the crowds we meet 
 On every road, in every street. 
 All hastening on with nimble feet? 
 
 Be it known unto all that, to banish depression, 
 
 And keep up their spirits, each trade and profession 
 
 Is going to witness the noble procession 
 
 Of Lady Godiva, who gained the concession. 
 
 And saved the good people from wrong and oppression. 
 
 Oh ! how delightful to stand on " The Cross," 
 
 To see the fine lady ride on a white horse, 
 
 No " rings on her fingers or bells on her toes," 
 
 As the rhyme in the juvenile story-book goes, 
 
 But, what's more surprising, with very few clothes — 
 
 An act, by the way, some prudish folks say 
 
 To their notions of modesty gives quite a shock. 
 
 To see her thus riding with such a short frock. 
 
 And they give to each other a shake of the head ; 
 
 And though nothing to injure her fair name is said.
 
 THE STORY OF LADY GODIVA. 67 
 
 Yet one standing by to infer might be led 
 That the lady in question had not been well bred ; 
 And many, no doubt, very soundly would rate her 
 For showing in public the beauties of natiir. 
 
 But again, there are some, 
 
 To see the sight come. 
 So far from condemning this part of the show 
 That cry out, Encore ! or else Bravissimo ! 
 
 No doubt my young readers would all like to hear 
 Why they keep up this pageantry, year after year. 
 It appears that Leofric, a powerful Earl, 
 A greedy, rapacious, tyrannical churl. 
 About anno doniini ten-forty-three, 
 Was lord and possessor of all Coventry, 
 
 And to keep up his state, 
 
 He laid rate after rate, 
 
 And tax upon tax. 
 
 On the poor people's backs. 
 
 Till, quite in despair 
 
 They were heard to declare, 
 That the Earl, though a " gent," never acted as such, 
 Which appears to have vexed his mightiness much. 
 So " to feed his revenge " with cruel malignity. 
 He taxed them tenfold for this slight on his dignity. 
 
 The people were now in a worse fix than ever. 
 So, choosing a few who were thought to be clever 
 At making a speech, they sent a petition
 
 68 LAVS OF COVENTRY. 
 
 With all due submission, 
 Expressing contrition, 
 And begging the Earl for the tax's remission. 
 Now the Earl, when he heard 
 Their petition preferred. 
 And found that the people to pay him demurred, 
 Says he, " Pooh, pooh ; nonsense ; the thing is absurd." 
 From which observation it might be inferred 
 His better emotions were not to be stirred ; 
 And 'twas his intention to stick to his word : 
 And, if right I've been told, he distinctly averred 
 That he wouldn't relax 
 A tithe of the tax, 
 Although it should break all the citizens' backs ; 
 And, said he, " With the trade you have got in the city. 
 If you can't pay this trifle, I think it's a pity ; 
 And I finally say, once for all, my fine jokers. 
 If you don't do it quickly, I'll put in the brokers. 
 And seize all your tables, chairs, shovels, and pokers." 
 Now, after he had 
 Some further confab 
 With the person who most had the "gift of the gab," 
 They saw, as he stood with his back to the fire. 
 The Earl was beginning to kindle with ire ; 
 So they thought, as they certainly didn't desire 
 To ruffle his temper, they'd better retire. 
 They knew he was given to raving and storming, 
 So, taking his menacing look as a warning, 
 They put on their hats, and all bade him good morning.
 
 THE STORY OF LADY GODIVA. 69 
 
 Now the Countess Godiva, the wife of the Earl, 
 
 Was as much like an angel as he like a churl ; 
 
 She was lovely, sweet-tempered; her heart, most humane. 
 
 Was never appealed to by any in vain. 
 
 And people who came 
 
 Her assistance to claim. 
 Were received in a manner so kind and urbane. 
 Without the least arrogance, pride, or disdain, 
 That each one who knew her could never refrain 
 From speaking her praises again and again, 
 'Tis said that she often would leave the domain, 
 And go in the night, through the wind or the rain, 
 To succour the wretched in sickness and pain. 
 In short, she was famous all over the county, full 
 Twenty miles round, as the good Lady Bountiful. 
 
 Well, the lady, on learning the heavy taxation 
 
 Imposed, to the people's dismay and vexation. 
 
 And knowing the citizens couldn't afford 
 
 To pay the enormous demands of her lord, 
 
 Determined on using her utmost endeavour 
 
 As soon as the Earl and herself were together, 
 
 To induce him, with all her persuasion and art. 
 
 To take off the whole of the tax, or a part ; 
 
 So the next day, at breakfast, she made her appeal 
 
 To the Earl, who was carving some nice ham and veal, 
 
 And she said, " My dear lord, don't you think that the 
 
 levy 
 You've made on the people is rather too heavy ?
 
 70 ZAVS OF COVENTRY. 
 
 You know it is seldom — nay, don't look severe — 
 
 In matters of this kind that I interfere : 
 
 Yet I'm told by our tradesmen, some twenty or more, 
 
 They already can scarce ' keep the wolf from the door,' 
 
 A fact that I cannot but deeply deplore ; 
 
 And the town, they declare, is in such a condition 
 
 It cannot endure any fresh imposition." 
 
 " That's all very fine," said the Earl, with a sneer ; 
 
 " But you mustn't believe all the tales that you hear. 
 
 Those rascally fellows would make it appear 
 
 That they don't earn a shilling a week through the year ; 
 
 They'd like to get off if they could, I don't doubt it ; 
 
 It's no use you talking, you know nought about it — 
 
 I must have the money, and can't do without it." 
 
 And he said, with a frown, 
 
 " When you ride through the town 
 
 Divested of petticoat, bodice, or gown, 
 
 Or anything else that will constitute raiment, 
 
 I'll take off the tax, and release them from payment." 
 
 Now the Lady Godiva, as you may be sure. 
 
 When she heard the proposal her husband made to her, — 
 
 A proposal, I think, nay, I'm sure, is the oddest I 
 
 Ever heard made to a lady of modesty — 
 
 With feelings of anger and shame was imbued, 
 
 At a speech which she thought so improper and rude. 
 
 But finding persuasion and coaxing to fail, 
 
 That all her entreaties did nothing avail, 
 
 And having resolved, as most ladies do. 
 
 To have her own way in the object in view,
 
 THE STORY OF LADY GODIVA. 71 
 
 She said, " If he wouldn't give ear to her wish, 
 There would soon be a very fine kettle offish ; 
 
 And sooner than they 
 
 These taxes shall pay," 
 Said the Lady Godiva, " I'll DO as you say." 
 So she ordered her charger, a beautiful grey, 
 To be ready by twelve, at the latest, next day ; 
 And having resolved on the city's redemption. 
 She ordered the people, without an exemption. 
 To stay within doors, and not to look out 
 Of their windows, as she was a-riding about : 
 And if she should find any one so unkind 
 
 As to peep or to look 
 
 Through crevice or nook 
 Or any concealment they sheltered behind, 
 She hoped on the instant they might be struck blind. 
 Her resolve was proclaimed by the old city crier. 
 And the people enjoined from the streets to retire ; 
 And at twelve the next day, to her time quite exact, 
 The Lady rode out, to perform the good act 
 That should make her tyrannical husband retract 
 The impost which he had thought fit to enact. 
 
 Each one from the street 
 
 Had beat a retreat ; 
 And as she rode on, not a soul did she meet. 
 
 But I'm sorry to add. 
 
 That a rascally bad 
 And impudent fellow, who seemingly had
 
 72 ZAVS OF COVENTRY. 
 
 A very ill name, 
 Very much to his shame, 
 Must open his window and peep at the dame. 
 But that very same night, 
 And it well served him right, 
 'Tis said that he suffered the loss of his sight. 
 Old Peeping Tom's effigy still may be seen 
 At the end of the turning to " Greyfriar's Green." 
 And now, there is little remains to be told, 
 Except that the Lady, so good and so bold, 
 With firmness of purpose, not easily shaken, 
 Completed the task she had thus undertaken. 
 And so from the tax was the city released. 
 The people no more of their money were fleeced, 
 And the fame of the Lady Godiva increased. 
 And thus to this day, in order to show 
 How much to her favour and goodness they owe, 
 And also that despots and tyrants may know 
 Their deep-rooted hatred of wrong and oppression. 
 They keep up the Lady Godiva procession.
 
 THE MONASTERY, 
 
 AND 
 
 THE MONKS OF ST. BENEDICT. 
 
 Those who study the annals of England will see 
 That forty years after the tenth centurie, 
 There was built in, or near unto, fair Coventry, 
 By the great Earl of Mercia, a monastery. 
 
 And the work that will show 
 
 If this was so or no, 
 Is the record of William of Malmesbury ; 
 For this ancient historian seems to have been 
 A man of shrewd parts, and uncommonly keen 
 To note the events, with the wars and the crimes. 
 That mark the advance of these troublesome times. 
 We also are told by the same old recorder, 
 That twenty-three monks of the Benedict order. 
 With an abbot, who acted as master or lord, 
 Were herein provided with bed and with board ; 
 And to keep them supported with wine, bread, and beef, 
 One half of the town, with each " chiefrie " and " fief," 
 With twenty-three " lordships," to them were made over 
 To add to their comfort, and keep them in clover.
 
 74 THE MONASTERY, AND 
 
 And when Edward the pious, surnamed the Confessor, 
 Was placed on the throne, and became the possessor 
 Of all these estates, he said, as of yore, 
 These gifts should accrue to the church evermore. 
 
 Now these Benedict monks were not so absurd 
 
 As some other orders of whom we have heard : 
 
 They didn't believe in abstaining from food, 
 
 Or scourging the flesh for their spiritual good ; 
 
 They only used whips when riding their hacks, 
 
 But never laid on to their own pious backs ; 
 
 They would rather lay siege to a capon or pheasant 
 
 Than indulge in a regime so very unpleasant. 
 
 In making a journey they never would choose, 
 
 To start on their tour without sandals or shoes, 
 
 Though prone, like most mortals, to err now and then, 
 
 On the whole they behaved like sensible men. 
 
 If scruples they had about mSnastic rigour. 
 
 They strove to preserve their corporeal vigour. 
 
 But ill-natured citizens made this a handle, 
 
 For dealing in slander, detraction, and scandal, 
 
 And said, very much to their shame, as we read, 
 
 Number one was a prominent part of their creed, 
 
 And they added also, which my mind as I'm writing shocks, 
 
 That our monks used to live like a party of fighting cocks ; 
 
 That at night, after vespers, all decency scorning, 
 
 They would sit bibbing wine till the break of the morning, 
 
 Singing songs most profane by the bright blazing logs, 
 
 Like roystering, rollicking, gay "jolly dogs."
 
 THE MONKS OF ST. BENEDICT. 75 
 
 'Tis sad to reflect 
 
 How the most circumspect 
 May raise up suspicions they little expect ; 
 And though conscientious in every action, 
 Be basely belied by a slanderous faction. 
 If a monk rather stout was seen blowing or puffing, 
 'Twas straightway put down to his gorging and stuffing, 
 And if, from dyspepsia, derangement arose, 
 Which made itself seen by a bloom on the nose, 
 
 You'd hardly suppose 
 
 This was said to disclose 
 A passion for tippling " under the rose." 
 In short these good men, by the class I refer to, 
 Were said to be terribly wanting in virtue. 
 And though they were cautious in playing their cards. 
 Instead of Black Friars were by some called blackguards. 
 
 But what did our monks of Benedict say. 
 To being traduced in this slanderous way .'' 
 Did they bluster, or storm, or fly in a passion 1 
 Not at all, for man's failings they'd too much com- 
 passion ; 
 
 Their system of logic. 
 
 Was too philosophic, 
 For them to show wrath in so wicked a fashion. 
 With feelings of pity and charity large, 
 They listened to all that was laid to their charge, 
 And 'stead of it causing them trouble or bother, 
 It went in at one car and out at the other ;
 
 76 THE MONASTER )\ AND 
 
 For how could tlicy find 
 
 Fit tranquil of mind, 
 For chemical studies, or laws of astronomy, 
 
 If attention they paid 
 
 To all that was said 
 Of things which concerned their domestic economy ? 
 Human nature to them was spread out like a book, 
 And from its broad pages this lesson they took : — 
 That wherever goodness and virtue are known, 
 There envy and malice have always been shown. 
 The greatest of men have been subjects of slander. 
 From fiddling Nero to Pope Alexander. 
 
 With their minds in this train, 
 
 It was useless and vain, 
 For dealers in canai'ds, or mischievous rumour, 
 
 By gossiping prattle. 
 
 Or base tittle-tattle. 
 To think of disturbing their usual good humour ; 
 
 A smile of benignity 
 
 Tempered with dignity. 
 Still marked their mien as they walked in the town, 
 
 And a scowl or a frown. 
 
 From the cowl of a gown. 
 Was never displayed by these monks of renown. 
 
 In the hour of trial or sore tribulation 
 
 Good men can always find some consolation ; 
 
 Had this been the wish of our friends the Black Friars, 
 
 Had they felt the emotions which slander inspires,
 
 THE MONKS OF ST. BENEDICT 77 
 
 The deep-eating canker 
 
 Of hatred or rancour, 
 A solace they had, one for which we all hanker, 
 A goodly round sum in the hands of the banker. 
 They were not what are commonly called "men of straw," 
 But from this you must not a wrong inference draw, 
 Or imagine, because they were prudent and saving, 
 They ever were grasping at riches, or craving, 
 Like some we have known, to amass a great sum. 
 In the hope, that at last they might die worth a "plum." 
 They only prized wealth for the blessings it brings 
 To those who are skilled in the use of such things. 
 
 Meanwhile, by the aid of Leofric, who nourished 
 A love for the order, the priory flourished. 
 And Lady Godiva, as usual, the means 
 Of largely promoting benevolent schemes, 
 She also bestowed on it treasures so ample. 
 And so many followed her charming example. 
 And people, so vied in their acts of munificence, 
 The building, at last, was a blaze of magnificence. 
 And Florence of Worcester relates in his annals 
 How gorgeous and rich were the walls and the panels 
 With silver and gold, while between the pilasters 
 Were portraits of saints by the very first masters. 
 
 'Tis food for regret 
 
 That science had yet 
 Not made men aware of the art of photography.
 
 78 
 
 THE MONASTERY. 
 
 For with this behoof 
 What a positive proof 
 Might have been handed down of this church's ichnography. 
 
 But time, all relentless, his shadow has cast 
 
 On the splendours, and glories, and deeds of the past, 
 
 And palace, and cottage, and peasant, and sage 
 
 (Though briefly enduring in history's page). 
 
 In dust, by the torrent and whirlwind are tossed. 
 
 Till their traces, and e'en their dim records, are lost.
 
 MRS. TOMKINS ON SERVANT GALS. 
 
 I'm not at all inquisitive, 
 
 But I should like to know 
 The state of things we're coming to, 
 
 In this here wale below. 
 The more I sees of this here world, 
 
 The more I must confess, 
 It seems to me we're getting 
 
 In a pretty sort of mess ; 
 Especially them servant gals. 
 
 They puzzles me outright. 
 And sometimes when I thinks of 'em, 
 
 I lays awake at night. 
 Why, lor* bless me, when I was young, 
 
 You knew a servant gal, 
 But now you hardly knows 'em 
 
 From a lady in Pall Mall. 
 And as to one to Avash and scrub. 
 
 As knows what she's about. 
 They seems to me to want a place, 
 
 Where all the work's put out. 
 One morning, at my cousin's house, 
 
 I stopped to make a call,
 
 8o MJiS. TOMKINS ON SERVANT GALS. 
 
 And first I heard a strumming, 
 
 And then I heard a squall ; 
 And when they lets me in, I says. 
 
 Win-, bless me, cousin Hannah, 
 Whoever is that squalling. 
 
 And a thumpin' the pianna ? 
 I almost busts a laughing 
 
 When I repeats the tale. 
 She says, " It's only Mary Jane, 
 
 A practising the scale." 
 The bare idea of such a thing. 
 
 It puts me in a rage. 
 But cousin Hannah says "this is 
 
 The cultivated age." 
 From what I hears from friends of mine, 
 
 I think it's pretty clear, 
 Things are improving backwards. 
 
 And gets worse from year to year. 
 A servant gal, when I was young, 
 
 Could cook, and bake, and brew. 
 But now they hardly knows the way 
 
 To make a Hirish stew. 
 They flaunts about, and dresses out, 
 
 And gives themselves such airs. 
 They'll soon be wanting of a hoist 
 
 To carry 'cm upstairs. 
 At one time with ten pounds a year. 
 
 They thought theirselves well off, 
 But if you offers twenty now 
 They makes you quite a scoff
 
 MRS. TOMFKJNS ON SERVANT GALS. 81 
 
 Of course I doesn't mean to say- 
 As one and all is bad, 
 But servant gals of any sort, 
 
 Is hardly to be had. 
 A friend of mine as hadwertised, 
 
 For three weeks in rotation, 
 And never had a hanser back, 
 
 Or single application ; 
 My husband can't tell how it is, 
 
 And he thinks hisself clever, 
 The popilation tables show 
 
 There's more gals born than ever. 
 But I think the explanation 
 
 Isn't wery far to find, 
 And servants would be plentiful 
 
 If ladies had a mind. 
 It's got to be the fashion now, 
 
 For high, and low as well, 
 To think as work's degradiu', 
 
 And to try and cut a swell. 
 And there ain't no more young women now. 
 
 No matter what their trade is. 
 They one and all expects to be 
 
 Considered as young ladies. 
 I've often heard my mother say, 
 
 And I believe it's true, 
 That even gentlefolks's gals. 
 
 Had always work to do. 
 Some made the beds, and ironed shirts. 
 
 And others did the stitchin' ; 
 G
 
 82 MRS. TOMPKINS ON SERVANT GALS. 
 
 And every wife, as was a wife, 
 
 Attended to her kitchen. 
 I'm told as it was wonderful, 
 
 How they could sew and knit, 
 And it didn't spile their beauty, 
 
 Or their manners, not a bit. 
 And now I says to ladies all, 
 
 As gets into a fix, 
 With servant gals a-showin' airs. 
 
 And playin' up their tricks ; 
 Instead of feel in' delicate, 
 
 As many is inclined to 
 (It's wonderful what can be done. 
 
 If people as a mind to), 
 You try your hands at makin' beds. 
 
 Or any household duty ; 
 And then you'll have good appetites, 
 
 And strength as well as beauty. 
 And then if gals gives himperdence 
 
 To Missises, and flout 'em, 
 They'll sec, as ladies as can work. 
 
 Can do as well without 'em. 
 If ladies thought as much of work 
 
 As ridin' in a carriage, 
 They wouldn't find it quite so hard 
 
 To make a proper marriage. 
 If white and red on ladies' cheeks. 
 
 By work was made to mingle. 
 They'd never have to pine or fret 
 
 Because of being single ;
 
 AIRS. TOMPKINS ON SERVANT GALS. S 
 
 For nice young men as now goes out, 
 
 A-seekin' selfish pleasure, 
 Would go down on their bended knees, 
 
 To win a household treasure. 
 So my advice to ladies is. 
 
 Both single and parental, 
 To try and be as useful 
 
 As you now is ornamental. 
 
 J
 
 "WHAT SHALL I DO WLl 1 1 rr?" 
 
 WRITTExX IN A LADY'S ALI5UM. 
 
 Mv dear Mrs. S., I'm afraid, 
 When you glance at the title I've hit on, 
 You'll think that my muse is arrayed 
 In the plumes of the late Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 But if it should kindle your ire 
 
 That my rhyme has a plagian view with it, 
 
 If by chance you should be near the fire, 
 
 'Twill suggest to you what you should do with it. 
 
 But now that my task is begun, 
 
 I hardly know how to get through with it : 
 
 I am caught in the web I have spun, 
 
 And the question is, What shall I do with it ? 
 
 I must try to proceed with my theme, 
 And I hope for indulgence from you with it, 
 For if longer I parley, 'twill seem 
 That I really don't know what to do with it.
 
 WHAT SHALL L DO WLTH LT? 85 
 
 For success, we all struggle through life, 
 
 And Providence blesses but few with it, 
 
 And prosperity oft in the strife 
 
 Falls to those who knows least what to do with it. 
 
 Our existence brings many a charm, 
 
 Yet often comes sorrow and woe with it, 
 
 And they will be safest from harm 
 
 Who have light to know best what to do with it. 
 
 Our airy-built castle will fall. 
 
 And bright visions fade from our view with it ; 
 
 But then we should think after all, 
 
 If it stood, should we know what to do with it } 
 
 Whatever our aim, while we live. 
 Let us try to be honest and true with it ; 
 And may He who the talent doth give 
 Make us also to know what to do with it.
 
 AN ADDRESS 
 
 Delivered at the Temperance Festival held in 
 
 Saint Mary's Hall, Coventry, 
 
 22D March 1859, 
 
 Being the day of Coventry Races. 
 
 This fair assembly in this grand old Hall, 
 
 Must to our minds some pleasing scenes recall. 
 
 And thoughts of happy days, and joys now past. 
 
 Will o'er the memory pleasing shadows cast. 
 
 Historians of the future may record. 
 
 That in St. Mary's Hall the festive board 
 
 Has oft been spread, while many a guest partakes 
 
 " The cup that cheers, but not inebriates." 
 
 And many too, assembled here to-night, 
 
 Will think how oft they came with that delight, 
 
 Terpsichore's admirers only know 
 
 To trip it on " the light fantastic toe." 
 
 Here, too, our thoughts have oft been borne along, 
 
 And wrapt in ecstasy by bursts of song, 
 
 We've felt from earth our fancy soaring higher ; 
 
 Enchanted by the music of Apollo's lyre.
 
 TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 87 
 
 Once more within these ancient walls we meet 
 
 The pleasant faces of our friends to greet. 
 
 And, as in social chat the time we spend, 
 
 And grasp the hand of brother or of friend, 
 
 In simple pleasures we our hours employ, 
 
 And need no false excitement to enjoy. 
 
 But, while amusements our attention claim, 
 
 Our meeting has a nobler, higher aim. 
 
 We meet to-night the story to relate 
 
 Of that dark spot upon our social state. 
 
 That one great ill, to others giving birth, 
 
 That spreads distress and sin throughout the earth ; 
 
 That plague spot on our land, the source from whence 
 
 So many evils spring — Intemperance. 
 
 Oh ! what a glorious era that will be, 
 
 When this dear land of England shall be free 
 
 From that dark stain that now her sons disgrace, 
 
 And all the attributes of manhood doth debase. 
 
 When men in health shall live life's longest span, 
 
 And shun the ill that makes man less than man. 
 
 A concourse of people assembled to-day 
 To witness a race near at hand, 
 And horses, and jockeys in sporting array 
 Are parading before the Grand Stand. 
 
 The Horses are prancing. 
 
 And crowds are advancing. 
 All eager to witness the race ; 
 
 And on they come rushing, 
 
 And crushing, and pushing
 
 88 TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 
 
 Each other, to get the best place. 
 
 And voices the hoarsest, 
 
 And jokes of the coarsest 
 Arc heard in that terrible din — 
 
 And men, wisdom lacking. 
 
 Are eagerly backing 
 The horse that is meant not to win. 
 
 And every device 
 
 Is displayed to entice 
 The unwary to gamble and play, 
 
 And many will know 
 
 Privation and woe, 
 From their loss on the racecourse to-day. 
 And there, in the midst of this clamour and rout, 
 
 This reckless and riotous revel. 
 The demon, strong drink, is lurking about. 
 And urges his victims to join in the shout. 
 And incites them to every evil. 
 
 And folly and wine 
 
 In the hubbub combine. 
 To aid the foul fiend in his work, 
 
 And he chuckles and laughs 
 
 While each devotee quaffs 
 Of the cup where the poison doth lurk. 
 
 Let us turn from this scene of confusion and noise 
 
 And see if our Temperance Meeting 
 Will not bring us pleasure, with fewer alloys 
 Than arc found in those wild bacchanalian joys, 
 Where folly and crime are competing.
 
 TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 89 
 
 Our eyes are all bright, 
 
 Our vision is clear, 
 We can look any man in the face without fear, 
 
 Our hands do not tremble, 
 We've no aching heads. 
 We slumber in peaceful repose in our beds, 
 We rise in the morning all cheerful and gay, 
 And go with a will to the work of the day. 
 We rush into no mad excitement to find, 
 In the tavern, or ale-house, relief for the mind ; 
 And happier far is the moderate man 
 Who passes through life on the Temperance plan. 
 Than he whose desires induce him to crave. 
 For the cup that brings death and a premature grave. 
 The blessings and joys that sobriety brings, 
 We know from experience well, 
 
 We have felt that from Temperance happiness springs, 
 And fits us for better and nobler things 
 In the beautiful world where we dwell. 
 Oh ! if there are any now present, who still 
 Are unable strong drink to forego, 
 I say to you, earnestly, use your strong will, 
 And vow from this moment to banish the ill 
 That is fraught with such sorrow and woe. 
 Oh ! stand not irresolute, come to our aid, 
 We have need of a powerful band, 
 Let your names on the scroll with our own be arrayed, 
 The work of our mission must not be delayed, 
 For the enemy now is at hand.
 
 90 
 
 TEMPERANCE ADDRESS. 
 
 And let us all make a resolve from this niL;ht 
 
 To work with our utmost endeavour, 
 
 And aid the good cause with our strength and our 
 
 might, 
 That all may be happy and dwell in the light 
 Of the truth that cndurcth for ever.
 
 
 
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 ANGELA SMITH. 
 
 Miss Angela Smith was exceedingly smart, 
 For in life she had one ruling passion ; 
 
 And the dearest delight of her vain little heart 
 Was to dress in the height of the fashion. 
 
 Her mind was absorbed in new dresses and gloves, 
 
 In a mantle of sealskin or ermine, 
 Or the latest vagary in bonnets, which proves 
 
 That she hadn't much leisure for learning. 
 
 Miss Smith was a milliner, skilled in her trade 
 And as she sat hemming and stitching, 
 
 Her eyes had that kind of expression which said, 
 " You must see that I look quite bewitching. 
 
 Whene'er through the day she'd a moment to spare 
 From her puffing and plaiting and quilling, 
 
 This vain little maid to her glass would repair, 
 To make her appearance more killing.
 
 J ANGELA SMITH. 
 
 I am sorry to say she was almost ashamed 
 Of her parents, two good honest souls, 
 
 And omitted to mention, whene'er they were named, 
 That they dealt in soap, candles, and coals, 
 
 IMiss Angela Smith had of lovers no lack ; 
 
 Indeed it was quite the reverse, 
 For at least half-a-dozen, with love on the rack ; 
 
 Would have had her for better or worse. 
 
 But this vain little milliner turned up her nose 
 At the plain honest fellows who sought her ; 
 
 And fondly expected, as you may suppose, 
 
 That some rich handsome merchant would court her. 
 
 But rich handsome fellows in search of a wife 
 
 Think marriage imprudent and rash. 
 Unless at the time when they settle in life 
 
 They obtain with the lady some cash. 
 
 So year after year did this vain little maid 
 
 Continue to dress in the fashion. 
 But no dashing beau, in fine garments arrayed, 
 
 Came for\vard declaring his passion. 
 
 She saw with dismay that her once pretty face, 
 And the charms with which Nature endowed her, 
 
 Grew faded and wan, so their bloom to replace. 
 She took to cosmetics and powder.
 
 ANGELA SMITH. 93 
 
 Too late she found out that her worship of self, 
 
 Had of chances of marriage bereft her, 
 The young fellows saw she was laid on the shelf, 
 
 And there they disdainfully left her. 
 
 So, pretty young ladies, a word of advice : 
 
 If you wish to excite admiration. 
 Ne'er let the vain goddess of fashion entice. 
 
 You to dress in advance of your station. 
 
 If lovers propose who are honest and true, 
 
 Think twice e'er their suits you are scorning ; 
 
 Remember the fop will think little of you. 
 And most of his vain self adorning 
 
 *fi>' 
 
 The husbands worth having but seldom are led 
 To propose by a smart dress or bonnet, 
 
 And think more of the sense that is inside the head 
 Than they do of the fine feathers on it.
 
 BOLD STREET ON A SUMMER'S DAY. 
 
 'TiS very pleasant on a summer's day, 
 
 'Midst Bold Street shops to while an hour away. 
 
 To mingle with the crowd, and as we turn 
 
 From right to left, some useful lesson learn. 
 
 A panorama this fine street displays 
 
 Of teeming life, in ever-varying phase ; 
 
 Who could be sad in such a street as this, 
 
 Which shadows forth the height of human bliss ? 
 
 The costly needs of wealth and high condition — 
 
 The bright rewards of gratified ambition — 
 
 All that the markets of the world supply 
 
 For man's, luxurious wants, here meets the eye. 
 
 Here art and skill on every hand entice, 
 
 And fashion's slaves behold their paradise. 
 
 How bright all seems — how gaily dressed the throng — 
 
 How grandly roll the carriages along ! 
 
 Whose blazon'd panels tell of high estate. 
 
 Or something which their owners think as great. 
 
 The portly coachman gravely shares his seat 
 
 With " Jeames," the footman, sprightly, trim, and neat ; 
 
 While horses, men, and equipage display 
 
 The seeming joys of fortune's flowery way.
 
 BOLD STREET ON A SUMMERS DA Y. 95 
 
 The sunburnt captain fresh from off the main, 
 
 To Bold Street comes to spend his well-earned gain ; 
 
 And, grateful for the joy of home caresses, 
 
 Buys for his wife and daughters new silk dresses. 
 
 Now, dressed superbly, see the languid swell 
 
 With eye-glass, staring at each passing belle ; 
 
 Convinced beyond a doubt that each and all 
 
 Admire his figure and his graceful crawl. 
 
 The gay young spark who talks of loves and doves, 
 
 To Jugla's hastens for a box of gloves. 
 
 To win a smile from one of Eve's fair daughters, 
 
 Whose dainty digits measure six-three-quarters. 
 
 And now a troop of lovely girls we see, 
 
 Who scan with longing the Maison Doree, 
 
 Or seek the latest mode, which rivalry eclipses, 
 
 Amongst the costly wares at Woollright's or at Cripps's. 
 
 Thus beauty, wealth, and fashion all unite, 
 
 Our eyes with pleasing visions to delight ; 
 
 And decked in vestments rare, with graceful mien, 
 
 The ladies lend enchantment to the scene. 
 
 And now in little groups they pause to chat. 
 
 While passing beaux politely raise the hat ; 
 
 And many a swain his path of life may trace 
 
 Back to the radiance of some beaming face. 
 
 Whose brilliant eyes directed Cupid's dart. 
 
 And there, in busy Bold Street, stole his heart. 
 
 Here, like a relic of a bygone age, 
 
 The old Lyceum will our thoughts engage, 
 
 Where prosperous tradesmen sit in cosy chairs 
 
 To read the news, or learn the price of shares.
 
 96 BOLD STREET ON A SUMMER'S DA Y. 
 
 Here, good John Ferris, whom we all deplore, 
 
 Dispensed to youth and sage his learned store ; 
 
 And knew by heart tiie numbers, shelves, and nooks, 
 
 With authors' names of fifty thousand books. 
 
 Oh ! would some fairy stipulate that I 
 
 Should have whatever Bold Street could supply. 
 
 As tribute to my multifarious merits. 
 
 As Mrs. Gamp would say, " 'twould cheer my sperrits." 
 
 Seaton and Boggs should decorate my hall. 
 
 And Urquhart furnish it for fete or ball. 
 
 Its rooms and offices should be replete 
 
 With tasteful ironware from Mr. Peet. 
 
 Dreaper and Son, or Mr. N. Van Gruisen, 
 
 Should send a grand piano, such a nice un ! 
 
 For fine examples of ceramic art 
 
 I'd choose from Litherland's surprising mart ; 
 
 And oft, to make selection, I would tarry 
 
 Where art is fostered, " a la Ville de Paris!' 
 
 My house should rival the abode of kings ; 
 
 Hargreaves should furnish me with diamond rings ; 
 
 And when I wished to spread my board in state, 
 
 I'd go to Dismore for my silver plate. 
 
 My face to future ages should go down 
 
 In cartes-de-visite by Vandyke and Brown ; 
 
 Of hams and jams and toothsome things I like, 
 
 I'd get a large supply from Mr. Dyke. 
 
 And when to eat I wanted something good 
 
 I'd go to lunch or dine with Mr. Wood ; 
 
 Nicoll my stylish garments should prepare. 
 
 And Powell every day should dress my hair.
 
 BOLD STREET ON A SUMMERS DA V. 
 
 97 
 
 And should my brain with toil be overwrought, 
 Or if my heart were sad with pensive thought ; 
 Should friends prove false, or fortune seem unkind, 
 Or aught occur to vex my troubled mind ; 
 To kill the blues, and chase my cares away, 
 I'd walk in Bold Street on a summer's day. 
 
 H
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 Delivered at the Conversazione of the Proprie- 
 tors OF THE Lyceum, November 9, 1866. 
 
 One night after ten, when the readers were gone, 
 
 And I, like the rose, was "left blooming alone," 
 
 Ere starting for home, where my supper was waiting, 
 
 I stood for a while in this room rooj/i'ma.t'mg ; 
 
 And heard, strange to say, from the walls and the ceiling 
 
 A moan of complaint, a deep sorrow revealing, 
 
 In tones that betrayed, in their utterance thick. 
 
 The pent-up emotions of mortar and brick. 
 
 Walls are said to have ears, 
 
 And calming my fears 
 (As I freely confess that my nerves were unstrung), 
 I speedily found that these walls had a tongue ; 
 And at first, when I heard their deep moan of complaint, 
 I thought they were asking a fresh coat of paint. 
 But no, 'twas not that ; and though strange it may seem, 
 These eloquent walls had a different theme. 
 And they said unto me, "We have done duty here 
 Through summer and winter for many a year,
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 99 
 
 And great are the changes these walls have surveyed 
 Since the foundation stone of the building was laid ; 
 Old Liverpool worthies who raised the ' Old Town/ 
 In the days that are gone, to commercial renown, 
 We have seen one by one pass away in rotation, 
 And their places filled up by a new generation. 
 
 And day after day, 
 
 Men are still growing grey, 
 And here, as of old, they sit reading away 
 At the Standard, the Herald, the Times, or the ' Tiscr^ 
 Or wishing on local events to grow wiser, 
 Our Liverpool Dailies and Weeklies perusing 
 For incidents wonderful, strange, or amusing ; 
 Some for statistics of commerce and trade. 
 To learn the neat trick by which fortunes are made 
 By investments in cotton, in shares, or provisions ; 
 Enjoying the fun of Election Commissions, 
 Disclosing the price of a Lancaster Voter, 
 A ^ NottingJiam Lamb,' or 'a fat YarinoiitJi Bloater:' 
 Or Porcupines pages exposing a job. 
 And giving hard knocks to the Cad and the Snob ; 
 Or the Liverpool Journal iox talk upon "Change,' 
 And when sudden panics the markets derange ; 
 The Money Review, where their object to learn is 
 The fate of their Barneds and Overend Gnrneys ; 
 Or to see in the telegrams, daily exhibited. 
 The ' bnst-iip' of some great Bubble Company {Limited). 
 And this has so long been the daily routine 
 That we heartily long for a change of the scene.
 
 loo ADDRESS. 
 
 And wc think it too bad that a fine room, as this is, 
 
 Should never be graced by the ' Lancashire Witches. 
 
 Whene'er we by chance a young lady espy, 
 
 She looks up admiringly, heaving a sigh, 
 
 And exclaims, while delight soon revisits her glance, 
 
 ' Oh my ! zuhat a beautiful room for a daiicc!" 
 
 Now who but a man with a heart made of steel 
 
 Could resist, or make light of, this earnest appeal ? 
 
 For myself, I confess, I could only endorse 
 
 What had thus been advanced, and acknowledge its 
 
 force ; 
 Especially, too, when The Ladies were named 
 My susceptible nature could hardly be blamed, 
 If yielding, at once, to that powerful plea, 
 I soon sought the aid of the powers that be, 
 That the hint thus conveyed 
 Might shortly be made. 
 What I think they in French call iinfait accompli. 
 The Committee, of course, like business men, 
 Very speedily settled the how and the when ; 
 And despising "Red Tape" or circumlocution, 
 Resolved that the Members of this Institution 
 Should enjoy, now and then, with their wives and their 
 
 daughters, 
 A few happy hours in these very snug quarters ; 
 And after some meetings to plan and consult, 
 All arrangements were made, and you see the result. 
 If any there be who can see impropriety 
 In spending an evening in pleasant society.
 
 ADDRESS. loi 
 
 In relieving the tedium of business and duty, 
 
 Surrounded by objects of taste and of beauty, 
 
 To those with ideas and taste thus perverted, 
 
 I would say (if from error they can be converted), 
 
 Come, look on the faces around us to-night. 
 
 And say if this scene does not gladden the sight ! 
 
 And now let us hope that we long may remember, 
 
 With great satisfaction, this ninth of November : 
 
 A day of rejoicing to all loyal hearts ; 
 
 The day that gave birth to our Prince, who imparts, 
 
 Wherever his graces and virtues are known, 
 
 A feeling of love and respect for the throne ; 
 
 And on this natal day of the " Rose of the State," 
 
 Liverpool chooses her Chief Magistrate. 
 
 May justice and dignity mark his career, 
 
 Dispensing to strangers the best of good cheer ; 
 
 May he hold the scales even when dealing with sinners. 
 
 But never be scaly when giving good dinners ; 
 
 May the time be auspicious for each and for all, 
 
 That when we this festive occasion recall, 
 
 For the Prince, for the Mayor, and ourselves we can say, 
 
 May we see many happy returns of the day.
 
 ^^ 
 
 ■ Mt -^yr 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^i^^^r^j 
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 Delivered at the Conversazione of the Proprie- 
 tors OF THE Lyceum, December ii, 1867. 
 
 I THINK you will own that on festive occasions 
 
 'Tis not wise to indulge in long-winded orations, 
 
 And as all the young ladies, I see by their glances, 
 
 Have a longing regard for the programme of dances, 
 
 My address shall be brief; and, not to lose time 
 
 By being too prosy, I'll put it in rhyme. 
 
 A twelvemonth ago, when we met in this room, 
 
 We hardly expected the trouble and gloom 
 
 That has filled us since then with the blues and the fidgets, 
 
 The disturbance of prices 
 
 And financial crises. 
 That pay us such strange periodical visits. 
 When we see every day fresh disasters are brewing, 
 When a i'?^j^/ highway proves a highroad to ruin, 
 
 When Directors play pranks 
 
 With the cash in the banks, 
 
 When dividends dwindle. 
 
 And companies swindle,
 
 ADDRESS. 103 
 
 When the oldest inhabitant scarcely recalls 
 
 Such smashing, and crashing, and making of calls ; 
 
 We may say that the year '^J has made 
 
 All sixes and sevens of commerce and trade. 
 
 Our mills have been sadly deficient of grist, 
 
 Since mighty King Cotton went on the sick list ; 
 
 Nearly all our investments have proved misadventures. 
 
 From the luckless Great Eastern to Railway debentures, 
 
 And, to add to our cares, 
 
 The Bulls and the Bears 
 (The bane of financial and trading affairs) 
 Have endeavoured, like sordid unprincipled pests, 
 With ill-gotten plunder to feather their nests. 
 Altogether, our faith in Commercial Morality 
 Has received a rude shock ; for fraud, and rascality, 
 Which sooner or later are always detected, 
 Have been found to exist where they least were suspected. 
 Then turning from commerce to matters political, 
 We find the condition of things somewhat critical. 
 Those arch traitors, Stephens, and Kelly, and Deasy, 
 Though scarce worth a thought, have still made us uneasy, 
 Lest their tricks of escape, and apparent immunity 
 From Lock, Bar, and Bolt, should cause a revolt 
 Of their misguided dupes in the Irish community. 
 But, ladies, don't be at all frightened, I beg. 
 Remember we've still our renowned Major Greig, 
 Who will prove, if the Fenians should make too free, 
 How well he deserves to be made a C. B., 
 In the Commons our ]\Iembers have done a good business.
 
 104 ADDRESS. 
 
 But they've all more or less been afTected with Dizzy-ncss, 
 
 And although we have many political lights, — 
 
 Our Gladstones and Lowes, Disraelis, and Brights, — 
 
 Reform, after all, must be very dull work. 
 
 When Lord Derby calls it " a leap in the dark." 
 
 In affairs continental, our ally o'er the way, 
 
 Notwithstanding his phrase of U Empire ccst la paix, 
 
 Has filled us with vague apprehension and fear 
 
 Lest his cry of Peace, peace ! prove imc ruse dc la guerre. 
 
 Then again, we've another black business before us, 
 
 To thrash the fanatical imp Theodorus ; 
 
 Whose dark deeds of blood appear wanton and aimless, 
 
 Who, subtle and sinister. 
 
 Has for Prime Minister 
 Another black gentleman, who shall be nameless. 
 But spite of the dangers of mountain and plain, 
 Of hunger and drought, or torrents of rain ; 
 In spite of the thunder of Theodore's missiles, 
 Or possible blunders of Horse Guard officials, 
 Napier and our soldiers we'll safely rely on. 
 To teach due respect for the old British Lion. 
 In the midst of these storms an encouraging gleam 
 Bids us hope things are not quite so bad as they seem ; 
 It must cheer us to see in this festive array, 
 That pleasure and happiness still hold their sway, 
 Lighting up this old room with the radiant smiles 
 Of our bright household fairies, whose presence beguiles 
 All thought of life's worry, and turmoil, and care. 
 Of which, somehow or other, each one has his share.
 
 ADDRESS. 105 
 
 Though the year has to many brought trouble and pain, 
 We will hope that its teachings have not been in vain ; 
 And though we have passed through a season of gloom, 
 When I see the bright faces to-night in this room, 
 The sweet voice of Hope seems to whisper that fate 
 Has good things in store for the year '6%. 
 When the clouds gather thick, and the tempest is near. 
 Our spirits droop low, with foreboding and fear. 
 And we see not the sun in his higher sphere shining. 
 Nor think the dark cloud has a silvery lining. 
 •Let us hope that investors, when money is cheap, 
 Will be warned by experience to look ere they leap. 
 May honest fair dealing be once more in vogue, 
 And exposure soon visit the cheat and the rogue. 
 May the masses, enfranchised, be foremost to own 
 Their love for their country, the Queen, and the throne. 
 And dispel any clouds of mistrust that may lower. 
 By their sensible use of political power. 
 May the old town of Liverpool flourish once more, 
 And her argosies crowd every sea, as of yore ; 
 May the march of improvement its presence soon show 
 In our new Sefton Park, with its gay Rotten Row. 
 May the Dock Board and Council no wordy war wage. 
 But unite to provide us a grand Landing Stage. 
 May the Council fill wisely the old Civic Chair, 
 As they did when they chose Mr. Whitley for Mayor ; 
 Though his Worship may not have long service to boast, 
 E'en opponents must own him the man for the post ; 
 For his talents will prove that the Council most fitly
 
 io6 
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 Elected a Pict-HH when votini; for Whitle}-. 
 
 And now let us hope that each young belle and beau 
 
 Will enjoy the delights of the fantastic toe ; 
 
 But amid the gay whirl have a care of Love's darts, 
 
 And don't lose your brooches, your rings, or your hearts. 
 
 May this festive Reunion give pleasure to all ; 
 
 And when we remember our Soiree and Ball, 
 
 May this night be regarded by every one here 
 
 As one that foreshadowed a Happy New Year.
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 Delivered at the Conversazione of the Proprie- 
 tors OF the Lyceum, Wednesday, December 2, 1868. 
 
 When a bashful young man has a few words to say. 
 
 The presence of ladies in dazzling array 
 
 Is likely to put him in sad trepidation — 
 
 Cloud his brilliant ideas in complete obfuscation — 
 
 Make his courage ooze out at the soles of his boots, 
 
 And the hair of his head feel on fire at the roots, 
 
 Set his heart in a flutter, his speech in a stammer, 
 
 Upsetting his logic, his nerves, and his grammar. 
 
 To prevent a mishap in my speech of to-night. 
 
 Or a sudden collapse from a fit of stage-fright, 
 
 When the tongue becomes dumb, and all effort refuses, 
 
 As usual, I've called in the aid of the Muses ; 
 
 For alas, and alack, — I haven't the knack 
 
 Of our President's method, where eloquence lingers, 
 
 And flows through the mazes — of eloquent phrases, 
 
 From the tip of his tongue, or the tips of his fingers. 
 
 So to give me free play — in what I may say 
 
 On popular topics which most interest you, 
 
 My muse shall rehearse — in jingling verse. 
 
 Some events that have happened since last I addressed you.
 
 io8 ADDRESS. 
 
 As incidents rise on our thoughts retrospective, 
 
 We see near at hand or in distant perspective, 
 
 The good and the bad, and the light and the shade 
 
 In strongly marked contrast before us displayed. 
 
 I told you last year that our gallant Napier 
 
 Would accomplish his mission on Magdala's height ; 
 
 And England has shown she can still hold her own 
 
 When roused to go forth in defence of the right. 
 
 While the sons of Australia fealty evince 
 
 Vty feting and feasting our bold Sailor Prince, 
 
 A dastardly ruffian with merciless ball ' 
 
 Made war upon one who is dear to us all ; 
 
 And while we rejoice that a rib saved his life, 
 
 I think he should speedily get a good wife ; 
 
 For this incident proves that to shield you from harm, 
 
 A rib at your side often acts like a charm. 
 
 Our well-beloved Sovereign, fatigued with the cares 
 
 Which attend a great nation's important affairs, 
 
 Discarded all state, and, as Duchess of Kent, 
 
 For rest and enjoyment to Switzerland went ; 
 
 And as the pure air of the valley and peak 
 
 Brought repose to her mind, and the rose to her cheek. 
 
 Her heart felt assured that, where'er she might roam. 
 
 Her people would joyously welcome her home. 
 
 The stormy reverse of this picture we gain, 
 
 As we look o'er the sea to the fair land of Spain, 
 
 Where grim Revolution — with stern retribution, 
 
 A Queen from her kingdom expels with disgrace. 
 
 And the image of Liberty rears in her place.
 
 ADDRESS. 109 
 
 A glorious summer has smiled on our land,' 
 
 Our fields have been clothed by a bounteous Hand 
 
 In vestments of gold ; and the young and the old 
 
 Have courted the sunshine by meadow and lea, 
 
 On heath-covered mountain or down by the sea. 
 
 Nor dreamed, as they drank of the health-giving gale, 
 
 That danger or death could their pleasures assail, — 
 
 Behold the swift Train ! how it dashes along. 
 
 How bright are the hopes of that pleasure-bound throng, 
 
 What joy will be theirs when the journey is o'er, 
 
 How gaily they'll roam over mountain and moor. 
 
 No dread of disaster awakens their fears, 
 
 That train has gone safely for twenty long years * — 
 
 But see, even now as they merrily fly 
 
 By the verdant hill-side, 'neath the bright summer sky. 
 
 The demon mischance impedes their advance 
 
 With hideous tokens of death in his glance ; 
 
 And crashing, and roaring, with fury outpouring 
 
 Engulphs them in flame, to the heavens up-soaring ; 
 
 And the young, and the fair, and the strong, and the brave 
 
 In a moment are lost in a fiery grave. 
 
 This harrowing picture soon fades from the sight, 
 
 And the chieftains of politics, armed for the fight. 
 
 Appear on the scene with their weapons of strife, 
 
 All eager for conquest and war to the knife : 
 
 Bold Gladstone the banner of party unfurling, 
 
 Disraeli the keen shafts of sarcasm hurling, 
 
 * The Abergele accident to the Irish mail train is here alluded to.
 
 iio ADDRESS. 
 
 While hosts of recruits, with new powers invested, 
 
 Press on, as each stronghold is hotly contested. 
 
 lUit now we have passed through our General Klection, 
 
 And men of both parties have time for reflection ; 
 
 We can meet our opponents in happier mood, 
 
 And in harmony work for the general good. 
 
 While the turmoil and strife of this contest was raging. 
 
 Two Statesmen of mark were in converse engaging, 
 
 And cffcic diplomatic manoeuvres eschewing. 
 
 Dispersed the dark storm-cloud where mischief was 
 
 brewing, 
 Which threatened the dearly-prized friendship to sever, 
 Of those who we hope may be brothers for ever. 
 May we always have men such as Johnson and Stanley,* 
 Who were candid, sincere, patriotic, and manly, 
 With minds comprehending the good and the great, 
 While honestly steering the bark of the State. 
 In Liverpool, corporate matters look hazy, 
 And local expenses drive ratepayers crazy. 
 Our schemes of improvement are knocked on the head, 
 Or, in a wet blanket, put up stairs to bed, 
 In our palace in Dale Street, where all may descry, 
 The iron four-poster perched up in the sky. 
 On the whole, the municipal prospect is dark. 
 And there's been such a fog over new Sefton Park, 
 That the trees and the shrubs I am told look forlorn. 
 And nothing blows there but a man with a horn. 
 
 • Alluding to the conference between tlie President of America and the 
 present Lord Derby, then Lord Stanley.
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 II I 
 
 When we think of the terrible state in which trade is, 
 
 We must own that great credit is due to the ladies ; 
 
 If money is scarce and the income-tax presses, 
 
 Have they not curtailed the dimensions of dresses ? 
 
 Then as to their bonnets, they wear them so small, 
 
 That they cost, I am told, next to nothing at all ; 
 
 Talk of clever financing, no man would have thought of it, 
 
 But they understand both the long and the short of it. 
 
 Yet a paradox still are the ladies, I fear, 
 
 For if ever so saving we still hold them dear. 
 
 And here let me say with how much of delight 
 
 We see their bright faces around us to-night ; 
 
 If the Lancashire witches our efforts approve, 
 
 We are amply repaid for our labours of love. 
 
 But bright eyes are saying as plain as they can, 
 
 When shall we get rid of this wearisome man ? 
 
 And the gallants at sight of the fiddles and flutes. 
 
 As they stand in their pumps, or their thin patent boots, 
 
 'Tis plain to be seen are all nervously twitching 
 
 To join the gay dance with their partners bewitching. 
 
 To detain you much longer I know 'twould be folly; you 
 
 Must be impatient to greet Mr. MOLYNEUX ; 
 
 So now, ere you trip it to Streather's sweet strain. 
 
 Let us hope that next year we may all meet again. 
 
 When the cup of delight once again shall run o'er, — 
 
 And, till that happy meeting, I'll say an revoir.
 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 DELIVERED ON THE OCCASION OF A LECTURE BY MR, CHARLES 
 SHARP, ON THE HUMOROUS SIDE OF LONDON LIFE, AT THE 
 LIVERPOOL INSTITUTE, MOUNT STREET, ON BEHALF OF THE 
 ORPHAN CHILDREN OF A LITERARY GENTLEMAN DECEASED, 
 DECEMBER 6, I 87 2. 
 
 " From grave to gay, from lively to severe," 
 " The story of our lives, from year to year," 
 Is but the tale of Fortune's smile or frown. 
 The victor's chaplet or the martyr's crown. 
 Life's dawn may break with sunshine clear and bright, 
 But cloud, and storm, and tempest come ere night. 
 To-day our hopes are borne on eagle's wings — 
 To-morrow Fate its barbed arrow flings. 
 Now on the glad and dancing waves we sail. 
 Wafted to fortune by a prosperous gale ; 
 Anon, wild breakers dash, with furious foam, 
 And our poor barque is wrecked in sight of home. 
 In life's stern battle many a valiant knight, 
 Waging unequal war for truth and right. 
 Striking at error, armed with virtue's shield, 
 With all but honour lost, is forced to yield.
 
 PROLOGUE. 113 
 
 We speak to-night of one who nobly fought ; 
 To honour one who only honour sought ; 
 Whose soul, too large for its frail home of clay, 
 Too soon, alas ! sought hence the brighter day. 
 He lived and worked, with high unselfish aim. 
 His only wealth a pure unsullied name ; 
 He struggled, toiled, endured, and 'midst the strife 
 Enlarged our thoughts, and gave new joys to life. 
 His brilliant wit the pearls of science strung, 
 To charm the old, and captivate the young ; 
 He probed the secrets of material force, 
 And traced an atom through creation's course — 
 Unveiled the charms of nature's smiling face — 
 Described the comet in his " flight through space " — 
 Followed the sunbeam in its daily work — 
 Showed where the wonders of the ocean lurk — 
 Soared to the Heavens, where countless planets shine — 
 Explored the wealth of the mysterious mine — 
 With reverent steps the paths of learning trod, 
 " Looking, through nature, up to nature's God." 
 Ere he had time to win an earthly prize, 
 Unerring wisdom called him to the skies. 
 In vain is now the sympathetic tear. 
 He has his mansion in a higher sphere. 
 He leaves his "footprints on the sands of time," 
 His life may help to " make our lives sublime." 
 
 Amidst the busy throng that crowds the mart, 
 A cheerful mien oft hides an aching heart. 
 
 1
 
 II [ PROLOG ui:. 
 
 The gay costumes that make so brave a show, 
 Are oft " the trappiiiL^s antl the suits of woe." 
 'Tis said the w(.)rlcl is selfish, heartless, cold, 
 Ungenerous, mean, absorbed with greed of gold ; 
 But you to-night reprove the cynic's sneer, 
 A generous impulse promjits your presence here. 
 Mankind, engrossed with cares and worldly strife, 
 Scarce heeds the passing of a single life, 
 But tender orphans miss a father's care. 
 The home delights, 'twas his delight to share ; 
 The cheer)' voice, the smile, the fond caress, 
 Are theirs no more, for they are fatherless. 
 For these to-night we ask )'our generous aid, 
 That in the time to come it may be said : 
 " A brave man died, of great and lofty mind, 
 One nobly gifted, tender, true, and kind. 
 His country saw, admired, and owned his worth. 
 And loving, claimed his dearest ties to earth. 
 Cared for his children, dried their bitter tears, 
 Guarded, with watchful eye, their tender years. 
 Made bright their path, where all was gloom before, 
 For love of him whose worthy name they l)ore." 
 Thus gifted workers with the fertile brain, 
 Whose patient labours are the public gain, 
 Who, self-denying, silent vigils keep, 
 And weave the subtle thought while others sleep, 
 Will know, however hard and sad their fate, 
 Though friends, success, and honours come too late, 
 That modest worth will win the world's regard, 
 And truth and virtue still have their reward. 
 
 i
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 DELIVERED AT THE OPENING OF THE CHILDREN'S BAZAAR, HELD 
 BY THE PUPILS OF MR. AND ]\IRS. MOLYNEUX's ACADEMY, 
 GREAT GEORGE STREET, LIVERPOOL, IN AID OF THE CHILDREN'S 
 INFIRMARY, MAY 12, 1868. 
 
 We learn from One who spoke with wisdom's voice, 
 
 That Heaven itself in children doth rejoice, 
 
 And man, with all his pride of wit and sense, 
 
 Must imitate their guileless innocence, 
 
 Ere he can hope to find true lasting peace 
 
 In life immortal, when this world shall cease. 
 
 And as on earth we seek to walk aright. 
 
 These pure spring flowers are ever in our sight. 
 
 Teaching to all who live their lives in vain 
 
 What they have lost, how much they have to gain. 
 
 Existence here would yield us barren joys, 
 
 But for the presence of our girls and boys. 
 
 How lovingly we greet the joyous sounds. 
 
 When children's laughter through the house resounds : 
 
 How quickly we discern each budding grace, 
 
 How tenderly regard each cherub face — 
 
 The dimpled cheeks, where beauty builds her cell, 
 
 The roguish eyes, where laughter loves to dwell,
 
 ii6 ADDRESS. 
 
 The cherry h'ps, whereon the mother's kiss 
 Imprints the seal of pure maternal bliss. 
 The merchant prince who toils with busy brain, 
 The sailor brave who ploughs the mighty main, 
 The traveller seeking shores before unknown, 
 The peasant, and the queen upon the throne, 
 Incentives find, in children whom they prize, 
 For patient toil or daring enterprise. 
 The roughest natures own their gentle sway. 
 In saddest hours they chase our griefs away ; 
 They fill our homes with life, and love, and light. 
 And make the golden dreams of hope more bright. 
 But, oh ! how changed the happiness of home 
 Should dread contagion to our darlings come. 
 When pain and sickness pale the roseate hue 
 Of glowing health, and all the long nights through 
 We wait and watch, and heave the bitter sigh. 
 For fear our precious flowers should fade and die. 
 Oh ! then we feel that could we but restore 
 Our suffering innocents to health once more. 
 Our lands, our gold, our all, we'd freely give 
 To see our drooping flowerets thriv6 and live. 
 We plead to-day for those v/hose path of life 
 Is strewn with thorns ; who often, in the strife 
 Which man with man is waging day by day. 
 Suffered defeat, and, worsted in the fray. 
 Retire, despairing to a lot obscure. 
 Enduring .sorrows known but to the poor ! 
 They, like ourselves, to little children yearn.
 
 ADDRESS. 117 
 
 Their hearts, as ours, with strong affections burn ; 
 They feel the poignant dart of sorrow's sting, 
 Without the hcaUng balm that wealth can bring. 
 Though some may urge that those of low estate, 
 By lives improvident, deserve their fate ; 
 Their suffering little ones no tongue can blame, 
 No heart refuse the sympathy they claim. 
 Who can the story of their sorrows tell 
 In those poor homes where poverty must dwell } 
 No bright surroundings cheer their hours of pain, 
 The flowers of summer bloom for them in vain ; 
 No downy pillow soothes the aching head, 
 No tender nurses smoothe the tiny bed ; 
 No dainty food, or produce of the vine. 
 Their longings gratify, howe'er they pine ; 
 No skilled physician takes them in his care, 
 But only wretchedness and pain are there. 
 He who in wisdom chastens those He loves,, 
 Provides the balm which pain and care removes : 
 And to this end inspires the heart of man 
 With generous thoughts, to aid his wondrous plan. 
 For suffering children of the poor we plead — 
 Your charity, your sympathy they need. 
 Those who the joys of happy children share. 
 In thankfulness of heart will something spare ; 
 All who the pangs of bitterness have known, 
 Will judge the needs of sorrow by their own. 
 The smallest mite will help to raise a smile 
 On some wan face — some weary hour beguile —
 
 ii8 
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 Give case to pain — to weakness strength impart, 
 And comfort bring to some poor mother's heart 
 May this bright scene in which we stand to-day, 
 On many a home of gloom reflect its ray, 
 Turn tears to smiles, despair to hope and joy, 
 Healing the wounds which health and life destroy. 
 A noble cause an earnest effort claims ; 
 ]\Iay good results await on generous aims. 
 Be ours the task to aid this work of love, 
 In humble hope of blessings from above.
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 Delivered by Mrs. Clifford Cooper on the 
 Opening of the Theatre-Royal, Oxford, 1875. 
 
 When, after absence, friends meet once again, 
 To link anew the sympathetic chain. 
 Some words of greeting to the lips will rise 
 Expressive of the heart's sweet ecstasies. 
 To dear old Oxford we again return. 
 Whose pleasant memories oft made us yearn 
 To meet once more, in this familiar place, 
 The clieerful welcome of each smiling face. 
 
 't> 
 
 Taking example by the London stage. 
 Where lady managers are all the rage, 
 My " dearer self," the " partner of my life," 
 Will leave the stage direction to his wife, 
 And so I come to ask your kind support 
 While he's away on business of " The Court." 
 
 I have been told that learned sages say, 
 " When woman wills she's sure to have her way,'^
 
 I20 ADDRESS. 
 
 So I'm resolved, now that I hold the reins, 
 
 In winning hearts and hands to spare no pains. 
 
 Backed by a corps of favourites, old and new, 
 
 To hold up nature's mirror to your view, 
 
 We, lords and ladies of the Sock and Buskin, 
 
 Will work like votaries of Mr. Ruskin, 
 
 And though denied the joys of digging trenches. 
 
 We'll do our very best to fill the benches. 
 
 To give our plans a wished-for consummation 
 
 Our house has had a thorough renovation, 
 
 A new " Act drop " the former one replaces, 
 
 Our friends, "the scenes of old," will show new faces. 
 
 Thanks to the enterprise of Mr. Hatch, 
 
 Our rustic cottage has a bran new thatch, 
 
 Our trees and forests glow with brighter tinges, 
 
 Our garden gate now swings upon new hinges, 
 
 Our foaming cataracts receive new fury. 
 
 From the artistic brush of Mr. Drury. 
 
 While these improvements our attention share, 
 
 Our pieces will receive our greatest care, 
 
 Our artistes all some claims to fame inherit. 
 
 Each being chosen for some special merit ; 
 
 Nor blame a mother's pride if she refers 
 
 To her two sons, who here have won their spurs ; 
 
 With riper knowledge of their art they seek 
 
 Again }-our kind indulgence to bespeak. 
 
 And that good name in Oxford to preserve, 
 
 Which we so long have studied to deserve.
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 121 
 
 As in the past, our constant aim will be 
 
 To give our mental feast variety, 
 
 To meet the tastes of all will be our wish, 
 
 Setting before you many a " dainty dish." 
 
 In this we know success will crown our toiling, 
 
 If you will only " keep the pot a boiling." 
 
 For favours past accept our grateful thanks. 
 
 And come again with friends to swell your ranks. 
 
 If we your kind approval but secure. 
 
 Our cause is won and our success is sure.
 
 TOM SHUTTLE'S WILL. 
 
 Tom Shuttle, in Lancashire, rented a mill, 
 By which he made plenty of " siller ; " 
 
 And "down with the dust" was his motto, but still 
 He was not known to fame as a miller. 
 
 Nor yet was he given to milling like those 
 Who settle disputes with a thrashing, 
 
 Or to milling base coin like the honest man's foes, 
 Who, like prize-fighters, prosper by smashing. 
 
 Tom's wife had a tongue, and to scold or to warn 
 His ears she was constantly dinning ; 
 
 With none would she cotton in spinning a yarn. 
 Though Tom lived by cotton-yarn spinning. 
 
 Mrs. Shuttle to Tom never brought peace of mind, 
 Though brought up a "minder and piccer;" 
 
 But his thread of life breaking and stopping his wind, 
 Tom's " mortal coil " found a releaser. 
 
 When making his Will to his lawyer he said, 
 " For my wife, Mary Jane, make provision ; 
 
 Let one hundred pounds to her credit be paid 
 Every year of her widowed condition."
 
 TOM SHUTTLES WILL. 
 
 12 
 
 " And if she should marry again, I suppose," 
 Said the lawyer, " there'll be a reversion." 
 
 " In that case," said Tom, " not a coin must she lose, 
 So make out a clause in this version : — 
 
 " That her income be doubled on wedding again, 
 'Twould be cruel injustice to halve it, 
 For he that's united to my Mary Jane, 
 Poor fellow ! I know he'll desarve it."
 
 NATURE. 
 
 O WORLD of beauty ! wondrous work of God ! 
 Whose hill and vale, pure stfeams, and verdant sod 
 Reveal to man, in myriad forms of grace, 
 The loving Hand that built his dwelling-place : 
 With humble steps we seek thy sacred shrine, 
 Where sweet delights forecast the life divine. 
 With gladdened eyes we roam the grassy lea. 
 Where lowly flow'ret, or majestic tree, 
 Uplifts the soul with awe and silent praise 
 Of the Omnipotent's mysterious ways. 
 Ambitious man seeks all in vain to know 
 The secret power that makes the grass to grow. 
 That paints the lily or perfumes the rose, 
 And fashions all that Nature's bounty shows. 
 Enough for us we live and breathe and move. 
 That we have hearts to reverence and love. 
 That Nature's laws obeyed will banish sin. 
 Breathe joy without and purity within. 
 May He who showers His countless blessings here 
 Prepare our souls for His celestial sphere.
 
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 THE WORLD. 
 
 I TRY to love my neighbour as myself, 
 But often find the task is very hard ; 
 Rage rankles in me when I see that pelf 
 Is the sure passport to the world's regard. 
 
 It saddens me to see, on every side, 
 The demon Mammon vv^orshipped as a god ; 
 While servile creatures swell and glow with pride, 
 If they but gain the wealthy patron's nod. 
 
 I look around on those I know in life. 
 And sigh to think how very, very few, 
 In all this crowded world of toil and strife, 
 Live in my memory constant, just, and true. 
 
 We know that One, with wisdom from above, 
 " Good will " to us and all men did declare ; 
 Yet though I fain would give a brother's love, 
 But few will my fraternal feeling share. 
 
 No lack of friends, so called, should I deplore, 
 Could I with costly viands spread my board ; 
 Toadies would fawn and flatter by the score. 
 And sing my praises with most sweet accord.
 
 126 
 
 THE WORLD. 
 
 And though perchance some crime had soiled my 
 
 name, 
 Which I, if poor and mean, could ne'er atone, 
 A hoard of riches would absolve the blame, 
 And the false world would all my sins condone. 
 
 Oh ! would that we could scorn the gilded show 
 By which our better natures are made blind, 
 Blunting the sense till we no longer know 
 The worthy from the worthless of mankind.
 
 ''EARTH, SEA, AND SKY.""- 
 
 O BEAUTIFUL Earth, with its mountain and vale, 
 
 Where grandeur and beauty unite, 
 Its sweet-scented flowers perfuming the gale, 
 
 My senses to fill with delight. 
 With rapture I gaze on thy splendour, 
 
 New joys to each day giving birth. 
 What tribute of praise can I render 
 
 Thou beautiful, beautiful Earth ! 
 
 II. 
 
 O wonderful Sea, whose mysterious waves, 
 
 Sublime in their beauty roll on, 
 Or lash into foam in the fanciful caves 
 
 Of regions far off and unknown. 
 In storm with the Heavens contendincr 
 
 Now flowing with ripples of glee, 
 Thy terrors with joys ever blending, 
 
 O beautiful, beautiful Sea ! 
 
 * Set to music by Mr. J. E. Webster, under the title of " Enduring Joys," 
 published by Pillow and Company, Liverpool.
 
 128 
 
 EARTH, SEA, AND SKY. 
 
 HI. 
 
 O beautiful Sk)', where the stars ever shine. 
 
 Illuming the dark arch of night, 
 Where, tinging the moon with its lustre divine, 
 
 The sun glows with life-giving light ; 
 Where Heaven's artillery thunders, 
 
 Where calmly the soft zephyrs sigh. 
 My soul is enthralled with thy wonders, 
 
 O beautiful, beautiful Sky !
 
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