CAPTAIN FALCON OF THE Guards.

I.

CAPTAIN FALCON of the Guards,

How nice you thought to do me brown ; You thought that I'd accept a bill

For discount, when you went to town. At me you smiled, but unbeguiled

I saw the snare, and I retired : The black-leg of a hundred "hells," Your friendship's not to be desired. II.

Captain Falcon of the Guards,

I know you thought to get my name;
Your cunning was no match for mine,
Too wide-awake to play your game.
Nor would I write for your delight
A name the Jews ne'er saw before-
My simple name across a bill

Is worth a hundred pounds or more.

Captain Falcon of the Guards,

You put strange memories in my head;
Not thrice the bill had been renewed

When I beheld young Pigeon fled.
Your crack turn-outs, your drinking bouts,
A fine acquaintance you may be ;
But there was that across the bill,
That he had hardly cared to see.
V.

Captain Falcon of the Guards,

When first he met the gov'nor's view, He had the passions of his kind—

He spake some certain truths of you.
Indeed, I heard one bitter word

About a certain game at cards,
Which, should it e'er get noised abroad,

Would cook your goose at the Horse Guards.

VI.

Captain Falcon of the Guards,

There stands a bailiff in your hall;
Tradesmen are knocking at your door :
Pigeon no longer pays for all.
You held your course without remorse,
To make him trust his run of luck,
And, last, you fairly stripped him clean,
And sought some other bird to pluck.
VII.

Trust me, Falcon of the Guards,
That bill to pay he never meant ;
The grand old Judge who tried the cause
Smiled at your claim for money lent.

Howe'er it be, it seems to me

These promised pounds are not bank-notes;

Gold sovereigns are more than words,

And copper pence than paper groats.

VIII.

I know you, Falcon of the Guards;

You're linked with many a scoundrel crew, Whose nights are spent in playing deepWould that your play was honest too! Be rogue, you must; spurned with mistrust, Cash is no longer raised with ease; Your credit, has it sunk so low,

You needs must play such pranks as these? IX.

Captain Falcon of the Guards,

İf tin be needful at your hand, Are there no money lenders left, Nor any Jews within the land? Oh! take the bill-discounters in, Or try the legal shark to do; Pray write a promissory-noteAnd let the foolish Pigeons go.

But trust me, ruthless Russian Czar!
Though heaven above be brightly blue,
'Tis writ upon your palace walls-
Dark is the doom prepared for you!
Howe'er it be, it seems to me

The truly great are truly good;
God watches o'er those minarets

When Christian faith sheds Turkish blood.

I know you, haughty Russian Czar!

You sigh to leave your frozen towers ;
Short-sighted are your bloated eyes,

Which strain to feast on Moslem bowers.

You move by stealth through boundless wealth;
Your very nobles are o'erawed;

You do so little good at home,

You needs must play such pranks abroad.

Oh, Russian Czar! oh, Russian Czar !
If power be heavy on your hands,
Are there no wretches in your realm,
Nor any slaves upon your lands?
Oh teach your monjeiks how to read,
Emancipate your serfs; but no-
First pray to have a human heart,
And let the turban'd Moslem go.

Diogenes, April, 1854. (This parody contained nine verses in all.)

LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE;

OR, RUSTIC ADMIRATION.

LADY Clara Vere de Vere,

The country sun has made you brown,
And now they tell me that you start
To-morrow afternoon for town;
Ah! how I sighed when I descried
Your lovely form beside the stream
The other day when on my way

I passed with Farmer Jackson's team! Lady Clara Vere de Vere

I wish that you would change your name For such a humble one as mine:

But no-you'd think it quite a shame ;
So I must be content to take

My choice of humbler maiden's charms-
Must marry someone who can bake,
And has a sturdy pair of arms.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Some "Lord Dundreary" you must find
Our rustic bread and cheese and beer
Would hardly suit your taste refined.
If I should write you of my love,

And wait outside for a reply,

The lion on your old stone gates,

Would talk of verdure in his eye.

declined to pay the charges of his laundress, a lady rejoicing in the euphonious name of Gubbins, who resided at Haseley, in [Warwickshire. The subject is somewhat wanting in dignity for poetical treatment. The following is the first of six verses :

"Reverend Mr. Mucklestone,

Of me you shall not win renown;

You thought to have your surplice washed
For nothing, but it won't go down.
At me you smiled, but unbeguiled,
Each time your surplice had a 'rense,'

I charged, and felt quite justified,
The modest sum of eighteenpence."

A MAY DREAM OF THE FEMALE EXAMINATION.

IF you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear,
For to-morrow in the senate-house at nine I must appear:
To-morrow for all womankind will be a glorious day,
And I'm to be top o' the list, mother, top o' the list, they say.

There's many a blue, blue stocking, but none so blue as I ;
There's not a girl amongst them all with me can hope to vie :
There's none so sharp as little Alice, not by a long, long way,
And I'm to be top o' the list, mother, top o' the list, they say,

I lie awake all night, mother, but in the morn I sleep,
And dream of Virgil, Euclid, Dons, all jumbled in a heap,
And the letters in the Euclid dance about like lambs at play :
O, I'm to be top o' the list, mother, top o' the list, they say.
As I came by King's Chapel, whom do you think I saw,
But Andrew Jones de Mandeville Fitzherbert Aspenshaw !
He thought of that hard problem I gave him yesterday;
For I'm to be top o' the list, mother, top o' the list, they say.
He thought me such a bore, mother, for he couldn't get it
right,

To see him puzzle o'er it was such a funny sight;
But not on such a dolt as that I'd throw myself away
For I'm to be top o' the list, mother, top o' the list, they say.

They say he is fond-hearted, but that can never be :
He can't get through his "Littlego," then what is he to me?
There's many a Senior wrangler who'll woo me in the May,
For I'm to be top o' the list, mother, top o' the list, they say.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the gate,
And, till they give the questions out, at the window she
must wait;

And when she's got them, back to you, mother, she'll haste away,

And I'm to be top o' the list, mother, top o' the list, they say.

In the papers country parsons have been writing lots of trash:

They say this scheme for us, mother, is sure to come to smash;

And aged Dons all shake their heads, and say it will not pay; But I'm to be top o' the list, mother, top o' the list, they say. If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear, I'd something more to say, mother, but my head is not quite clear;

For I always have a headache when I put my books away; But I'm to be top o' the list, mother, top o' the list they say.

"I thought to have gone down before, but still up here I am, And still there's hanging o'er me that horrible Exam. They said I should be top, mother; but then I'd such bad luck,

Though I went in for honours-I only got a pluck !"

X. Y. B., CHRIST'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. College Rhymes, 1855.

MRS. HENRY FAWCETT ON THE UNIVERSITY
EDUCATION OF WOMEN, APRIL, 1884.

"That large numbers of women--numbers that every year are rapidly increasing-demand a University training is not a matter of controversy; it is a simple fact This training is already offered to them by University College, London, and by Cambridge University. The hall-mark of the degree is offered to them by the University of London, and a certificate of having passed the Tripos Examinations (almost as valuable as a degree) is offered to them by the University of Cambridge. The last Census shows that there were in Great Britain and Ireland more than 120,000 women teachers. To many of these a University degree or certificate is of the highest professional importance. This is a question to many women, not of sentiment, but of bread. Those whose generosity has provided scholarships, exhibitions, and a loan fund for women at Cambridge could prove how invaluable to many a woman a University training is. Equipped with her University certificate she can at once obtain a situation, and command a much more adequate remuneration for her services. Cambridge has had twelve years' experience of the presence of women students resident in Newnham and Girton Colleges. They number now in the two Colleges about 150. Nearly all the professors' lectures are open to them; they attend some of the lectures given in College rooms. When the experiment was first started at Cambridge there is little doubt that the bulk of the residents thought the presence of women students objectionable and alarming. But the fears at first entertained were at Cambridge so entirely removed by experience that when, in 1881, the question had to be decided by the Senate of opening the Tripos examinations to the students of Girton and Newnham, only thirty members of the Senate were found to oppose it, while those who supported it were so numerous that it was impossible to record all the votes within the time and under the conditions prescribed. It was estimated that about 500 members of the Senate came up to Cambridge to vote in favour of the proposal. More than 300 actually voted.

The two Parodies, from which the following extracts are taken, appeared in The Porcupine, a Liverpool comic paper.

They refer to the Cart Horse procession held in Liverpool on May-day, and describe, with tolerable accuracy, the scenes of rough revelry and noisy merriment which this carnival gives rise to. These compositions are merely quoted as curiosities, possessing, as they do, every attribute which should be studiously avoided in a parody. They are slangy and vulgar, more especially in the omitted verses, without being. either humorous or grotesque; they debase the memory of a really beautiful poem by the mere trick of repetition of a catch-phrase and

some slight imitation of its metre. The subject chosen is low and commonplace, which might, perhaps, have been excused, had the description of its unpleasant details been enlivened by one spark of wit, or genuine originality. To the lovers of an original poem such Parodies must be offensive; whilst to those who delight in a really clever burlesque, such things as these can afford no gratification, and only tend to bring true Parody into disrepute.

THE DRAY QUEEN.

A Car-men on the May-day Carnival, after the
Poet Lorry-ate.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear!

To-morrow 'll be the liveliest time of all the glad New Year; Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day,

For I'm to be Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the Dray.

There'll be many a black, black eye, they say, and many a lively shine

With Margaret and Mary, and Kate and Caroline;

But none can lick this little Alice, in all the court, they say; So I'm to be Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the Dray.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake If you do not call loud and give me, too, a jolly good shake; As I must buy some bonnet-flowers and sky-blue ribbons gay, For I'm to be Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the Dray,

As I came up our alley, whom think ye I should see? But Robin leaning on Chisenhale Bridge, as screwed as he could be ;

He had been cleaning his harness, mother, and drinking all the day;

But I'm to be Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the Dray.

You know my Robin drives a dray, a heavy brewer's cart;
To-morrow with his handsome team of horses he will start
A-roaming up and down the streets, loafing about all day,
And I'm to be Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'm to be Queen
o' the Dray.

To-morrow I'll get out of pawn my bran-new winsey frock,
For Robin he is sure to wear a reg'lar snow-white smock;
His dray is cleaned and painted up, and now looks very gay,
And I must be clean on the Dray, mother, I must be clean
on the Dray.

The horses' tails all nicely combed, with ribbons will be decked,

Upon the shining harness not a smirch you can detect,
The very brutes they seem to feel it is the first of May,
And I'm to be Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'm to be Queen
o' the Dray.

Upon the barrels I'll sit perched, the barrels all so full
Of smashing stuff they sell for beer, and give you the long
pull.

My Robin rarely touches beer-for 'Rum's my drink,' he'll

(A Sequel to last May-day's Carol, by Our Own Poet
Lorry-ate, Author of " I'm A-float," &c.)

IF you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear,
For I would see the sun rise upon the carters' cheer;
It is the last of the turn-outs that I may ever see,
For Robin he lays me low with a kick-and thinks no more
of me.

Last May we had a reg'lar spree, we had such a jolly day, And Robin, who drove a brewer's cart, he made me Queen o' the Dray;

And we danced and sung and got mad drunk on Walker's sixpenny hops,

Till the Charleys come at the row we made, and every one of us cops.

And lugs us off to chokee, mother, and keeps us there all night,

As drunken and disorderlies-both women and men were tight

And Raffles, the beak, next morning, was in a terrible way— Ten shillin' we had to pay, mother, ten shillin' and costs to pay.

And in default of payment,—our cash we had spent in ale,That Raffles he gave us all a week within sweet Walton gaol, Where soon we learnt to pick oakum (the skin's off my fingers still),

And Robin did “Sich a gettin' upstairs " upon the revolving mill.

The end of it was, he axed me, as I'd been Queen of his Dray,

If I would marry a scavenger as never did work by day, And though his wages was but low--a matter o' twenty-five bob

Before the month o' May was out we settled the blessed job.

At first my Robin was very kind and gentle, so to speak, He never got drunk and kicked me-not more than twice a week,

And of his weekly wages, no matter what else he did,

He never would spend on pay-nights more than eighteen bob or a quid.

And after that-it's a month ago-my Robin got much

worse,

'Twould make your hair just stand on end to hear him swear and curse,

He never gets drunk as he used to do—that's once or twice in a week

He's never properly sober, on me all his rage he'll wreak. When he comes home of a morning, it's rarely he goes to bed,

He takes to drinking about all day, and hammerin' me instead,

And well I know my husband's hand, it's weight I often feel, I wouldn't be lyin' so low, mother, if not for my husband's heel.

The brewers' carts and the scavengers' to-morrow will be gay,

The horses all with ribands decked will walk in grand array, The Corporation carters and their wives will have a spread, And get their annual dinner 'neath the great Haymarket shed.

#

Good-night, dear mother, call me before the day is born;
I'd like to see the carters a-marching in the morn;
The pubs. are closing early, very early, mother dear,
So, if you've got any coppers left, just go for a quart of beer!

THE MAY QUEEN.

(New Version, adapted to existing Climatic Conditions).

[CONSIDERING apology superfluous, Mr. Punch offers none, as the Poet Laureate will doubtless approve the modification of his beautiful lines, rendered needful by recent meteorological conditions.]

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow 'll be the tryingest time of all the Spring, this

year

Of all the Spring, this year, mother, the dreariest, dreadfullest day;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

There'll be many a red, red nose, no doubt, but none so red as mine;

For the wind is still in the East, mother, and makes one peak and pine:

And we're going to have six weeks of it, or so the prophets

say

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, I am sure I shall never wake,

So you'd better call me loud, mother, and perhaps you'll have to shake :

I shall want some coffee hot and strong, before I'm called away,

To shiver as Queen o' the May, mother, to shiver as Queen o' the May.

As I was coming home to-night, whom think you I should

see

But DOCTOR SQUILLS! And he saw that my nose was as red as red could be ;

And he said the weather was cruel sharp, that I'd better stay away,

But I'm chosen Queen o' the May, mother, so I must be Queen o' the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch is white with sleety showers,

And, though they call it the month of May, the hawthorn has no flowers;

And the ice in patches may yet be found in swamps and hollows gray,

Ain't it nice for the Queen o' the May, mother, so nice for the Queen o' the May?

The East wind blows and blows, mother, on my nose I follow suit,

For my influenza's so very bad, and I've got a cough to boot; Perhaps it will rain and sleet, mother, the whole of the livelong day,

Yet, I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother; I must be Queen o' the May.

I've not the slightest doubt, mother, I shall come home very ill,

And then there'll be bed for a week or more, and a long, long, doctor's bill;

And with prices up and wages down however will father pay?

But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother-oh bother the Queen o' the May!

So please wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,

That I may look out some winter wraps, fit for the spring this year.

To-morrow of this bitter "snap," I'm sure 'twill be the bitterest day,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May."

Punch, May 12, 1877.

Truth had a long parody describing the visit in 1877 of Dom Pedro, Emperor of Brazil, whose early rising, and insatiable appetite for sight. seeing were the topics of conversation. Two verses are sufficient to indicate the style :THE SIGHT-SEEING EMPeror.

IF you're waking, call me early, " Boots," not later, please, than four,

And if you're passing earlier, pray rat-tat at my door;

But stay I have so much to do, that p'rhaps 'twill better be, Not to depend on you at all, but call myself at three.

The judge means hanging, so they say, and when the sentence's pass'd,

There's sure to be an awful scene, more curious than the last;

P'raps the men will have hysterics-that would be fun to see And Alice Rhodes may have a fit. Oh! how jolly it will be !

So you must wake and call me early, Simmons, call me early, Simmons, mind!

Or I'll give you a month's warning if you are at all behind! For to-morrow'll be, of all the trial, the awfullest jolliest day,

For I think all four will be hanged, Simmons; all four will be hanged, they say !

Truth, October 4, 1877.

THE WELSHER'S LAMENT.

(On the Suppression of Suburban Race Meetings).

May, 1879.

IF yer passin', knock me up, Bill; knock me up, old cock, d'yer yere ;

For to-morrer's Kingsbury meetin', is the last there'll be, I fear ;

Of all suburbin races, the werry last they say,

For that Anderson in Parlyment, 'as contrived to get 'is way.

It's ter❜ble rough on us, Bill; on us, an' all our pals,
As 'asn't got no tickets for that bloomin' Tattersall's;
For 'ow without these meetin's our livin's were to get,
Is a rayther ticklish problim, as I 'avent worked out yet.

THE MODERN MAY QUEEN.

(The Result of the First Fortnight).

DON'T wake and call me early, pray don't call me, mother dear,

To-morrow may be the coldest day of all this cold New Year;

Of all this wintry year, mother, the wildest stormiest day, And we have had fires in May, mother, we have had fires in May.

I sleep so sound at night, mother, that I don't want to wake,

With the horrid thermometer standing at what seems a sad mistake;

But none so wise as those who read the weather forecasts, they say;

Shall we have more fires in May, mother? must we have more fires in May?

A storm is coming across, mother, the New York Herald has said,

And, if you please, I'd rather lie as long as I like in bed; So bother the knots and garlands, mother, and all the foolish play,

If we're to have fires in May, mother, why-we must have fires in May.

Punch, May 28, 1881.