We fall like the drops of April show'rs, And now for bread to importune; And one, a more kicks than ha'pence" chap, * Yet, laugh if we will at those baby days, Puck on Pegasus (Chatto and Windus), London. A NICE YOUNG MAN FOR A SMALL PARTY. YOUNG BEN he was a nice young man, He fell in love with Polly-Tics, And was an M.P. made. He was a Radical one day, Now Ben had tried for many a place His answer was, 66 Young Englander, For me you're not the boy.' Oh, ROBERT PEEL! Oh, ROBERT PEEL ! I've met with Whig rebuffs before, Then rising up in Parliament, He made a fierce to do With PEEL, who merely winked his eye; And then he tried the game again, His party turn'd away from him, Young England died when in its birth: In forty-five it fell; The papers told the public, but None for it toll'd the bell. Punch, June 1845. (This parody was accompanied by a portrait of Mr. Benjamin Disraeli). A FEW WORDS ON POETS IN GENERAL, BY THE GHOST OF T- H—D. I. By different names were Poets call'd In different climes and times; The Welsh and Irish call'd him Bard, Who was confined to rhymes. I entered, and an opiate influence stole, Seemed rapt almost to reeling. II. Those women, ah, those women! They were white, Blue, green, and grey,-all hues, save those of nature, Bony of frame, and dim and dull of sight, And parlous tall of stature. Ars longa est,--aye, very long indeed, And long as Art were all these High-Art ladies, If poor Persephone to the Dark King Many their guises, but no various grace Or changeful charm relieved their sombre sameness; Of form contorted, and cadaverous face, And limp lopsided lameness Venus was there; at least, they called her so: No marvel she looked passe, peevish, pale, Laus Veneris: they sang; the music rose Listened the Cytherean. This Aphrodite? Then methought I heard Loud laughter of the Queen of Love, full scornful Of this dull simulacrum, strained, absurd, Green-sick, and mutely mournful. A solid Psyche and a Podgy Pan, A pulpy Cupid crying on a column, A skew-limbed Luna, a Peona wan, A Man and Mischief solemn ; A moonlight-coloured maiden-she was hight With vesture quaintly tightened; These and such other phantasms seemed to fill For over all there hung a glamour.queer, But no, this limbo is not that fair land, Beloved of soaring fancies, hearts ecstatic ; 'Tis the Fools' Paradise of a small band, Queer, crude, absurd, erratic. I turned, and murmured, as I passed away, "Such limbos of mimetic immaturity Have no abiding hold e'en on to-day, of fame no calm security," For over all there hung a glamour queer, A sense of something odd the spirit daunted, And said, like a witch-whisper in the ear, "This place is haunted!" Punch, May 18, 1878. Bret Harte. The humorous writings of this author are as widely read, and as keenly appreciated, in England as in the United States, and when the prose portion of this collection is reached his Sensation Novels Condensed will be fully considered. In these he has admirably hit off the peculiarities of style of such varied writers as Miss Braddon, Victor Hugo, Charles Lever, Lord Lytton, Alexander Dumas, F. Cooper. Captain Marryat, Charles Dickens, Charlotte Brontë, and Wilkie Collins; whilst in Lothaw he produced a clever little parody of Lord Beaconsfield's Lothair. Bret Harte has ably described both the comic and the pathetic sides of the wild life of the Californian miners, with which he is thoroughly familiar; and his best known poems deal with phases of life in that part of the world, where the Chinese element enters largely into the population. For convenience of comparison, the original "Heathen Chinee "is given below, followed by the parodies : : PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES. Table Mountain, 1870. WHICH I wish to remark And my language is plain That for ways that are dark, And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar, Which the same I would rise to explain. Ah Sin was his name; And I will not deny In regard to the same What that name might imply; But his smile it was pensive and childlike, It was August the third, And quite soft was the skies; Which it might be inferred That Ah Sin was likewise; Yet he played it that day upon William Which we had a small game And Ah Sin took a hand. It was Euchre. The same He did not understand; But he smiled as he sat by the table, With a smile that was childlike and bland. Yet the cards they were stocked In a way that I grieve, And my feelings were shocked At the state of Nye's sleeve: Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers, And the same with intent to deceive. But the hands that were played By that heathen Chinee, And the points that he made, Were quite frightful to seeTill at last he put down a right bower, Which the same Nye had dealt unto me. Then I looked up at Nye, And he gazed upon me; And he rose with a sigh, And said, "Can this be? We are ruined by Chinese cheap labour "- In the scene that ensued I did not take a hand; But the floor it was strewed Like the leaves on the strand With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding, In his sleeves, which were long, Yet I state but the facts; And we found on his nails, which were taper, What is frequent in tapers-that's wax. Which is why I remark, And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark, And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar Which the same I am free to maintain. THE HEATHEN PASS-EE. BRET HARTE. Being the Story of a Pass Examination. WHICH I wish to remark, The Heathen Pass-ee is peculiar, And the same I would rise to explain. I would also premise That the term of Pass-ee Most fitly applies, As you probably see, To one whose vocation is passing The "ordinary B. A. degree. Tom Crib was his name, In regard to the same What that name might imply, But his face it was trustful and childlike, And he had the most innocent eye. Upon April the First The Little-Go fell, And that was the worst Of the gentleman's sell, For he fooled the Examining Body In a way I'm reluctant to tell. The candidates came And Tom Crib soon appeared; It was Euclid, the same Was "the subject he feared;" But he smiled as he sat by the table With a smile that was wary and weird. Yet he did what he could, And the papers he showed Were remarkably good, And his countenance glowed With pride when I met him soon after As he walked down the Trumpington Road. We did not find him out, Which I bitterly grieve, For I've not the least doubt That he'd placed up his sleeve Mr. Todhunter's excellent Euclid, The same with intent to deceive. But I shall not forget How the next day at two A stiff Paper was set By Examiner U On Euripides' tragedy, Baccha, A Subject Tom "partially knew." But the knowledge displayed By that heathen Pass-ee, And the answers he made For he rapidly floored the whole paper Then I looked up at U And he gazed upon me, I observed, "This won't do." He replied, "Goodness me! We are fooled by this artful young person." The scene that ensued Was disgraceful to view, For the floor it was strewed With a tolerable few Just here let me say To the ladies below, Who in polka display Their fantastic light tow, That their husbands, upstairs, also "poker" Yes, ladies, you well may cry "Owe!" If the husbands but knew How their wives flirt below, They would sing to them-"Glou !" For they'd stick to them so That the popinjays all would look elsewhere, Nor want for a trip of the toe. In the waltz I embraced A fair maid with soft eyes; O the size of her waist Made me waste many sighs: And I likened her cheeks to red roses, And whispered, "Sweet love never dyes." Then together we strayed In the light of the moon, Where I kissed that sweet maid; She pretended to swoon, But her faint was a feint, so I kissed her Again, for I relished the boon, Back again on the floor, With my sweetheart I danced, While the people there wore Merry smiles, as they glanced At my partner, so stayed-in her manner, And at me, so completely entranced. When my love turned around I was shocked at the sight; Where the roses were found, One had met with a blight; While a cheek was still blooming and rosy, The other was fearfully white. From my good-looking lass, Filled with fright, I straight flew To a bad looking-glass, Where I gazed: then I knew That my nose, which was formerly turn-up, Was radish-bright crimson in hue. Which is why I remark, That a pleasure in vain Is a kiss in the dark When it leaveth a stain ; And a maiden who runs when you kiss her, Is fast-which I'll ever maintain. Which is why I remark And my language is plain— That for ways that are dark, And for tricks far from vain. The Germany Jew was peculiar,But he won't soon be at it again. Jon Duan. THAT GERMANY JEW. WHICH I wish to remark And my language is plainThat for ways that are dark, And tricks far from vain, The Germany Jew is peculiar, Which the same I'm about to explain. Eim Gott was his name; And I shall not deny In regard to the same, He was wonderful "fly," Merry Folks. But his watch-chain was vulgar and massive, It's two years come the time, Since the mine first came out; Which in language sublime It was puffed all about : But if there's a mine called Miss Emma And Eim Gott had a hand In promoting! The same He did well understand; But he sat at Miss Emma's board-table, With a smile that was child-like and bland. Yet the shares they were "bulled," In a way that I grieve, And the public was fooled, Which Eim Gott, I believe, Sold 22,000 Miss Emmas, And the same with intent to deceive. And the tricks that were played By that Germany Jew, And the pounds that he made Are quite well known to you. But the way that he flooded Miss Emma Is a "watering" of shares that is new. Which it woke up MacD And his words were but few, For he said, "Can this be?" And he whistled a "Whew!" "We are ruined by German-Jew Swindlers !”— And he went for that Germany Jew. In the trial that ensued I did not take a hand; But the Court was quite filled With the fi-nancing band, And Eim Gott was "had" with hard labour, ST. DENYS OF FRANCE (A.D. 272). N.B.-The following lay was composed in humble imitation of the popular bard of Transatlantica. WHICH I mean to observe And my statement is true- And for deeds that out-do, And none will deny That Denys the same Does mean and imply; And he fell in the hands of the pagans, 'Twas century third, As the history states, That Denys incurr'd This saddest of fates; With one Eleutherius, deacon. And Rusticus, priest, for his mates. Yet the woes that were laid On those Christians three, And the pluck they display'd Were quite frightful to see, And at first you would scarcely believe it, But the same is asserted by ME. 'Twas one of their foes' Diabolical whims, To the flames to expose The martyr's bare limbs. But Denys, for one, didn't mind it, He lay and sang psalms-likewise hymns. And then he was placed In a den of wild beasts With a preference of taste For martyrs and priests; But Denys, by crossing, so tamed them, They turned from such cannibal feasts. Next Denys was cast In a furnace of fire; All thinking at last He'd have to expire; But the flame sank so low in a minute, And when he'd been hung On the cross for a spell, With his friends in a cell, We are ruin'd by Christian endeavour;" |