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THE SQUATTER'S 'BACCY FAMINE.
IN blackest gloom he cursed his lot;
His oldest pipe was scraped out clean;
He only said, "My life is dreary,
He said, "I am aweary, aweary ;
The chimney-piece he searched in vain,
His cheek was blanched with weary pain,
He idled with his baccy knife;
He had no care for daily bread :
A single stick of Negro-head
He only said, "My life is dreary.
Books had no power to mend his grief; The magazines could tempt no more; "Cut gold-leaf" was the only leaf
That he had cared to ponder o'er.
From chair to sofa sad he swings,
And then from sofa back to chair;
And still he said, "My life is dreary.
His meals go by, he knows not how;
His life is but a weary drag;
IIe cannot choose but curse and swear,
And still he said, " My life is dreary.
He said, "I am aweary, aweary ;
To him one end of old cheroot
For Our Superior Honey -Dew."
Would buy all fruits of Paradise ;
Sudden he said, "No more be dreary!
The dray has come !" he said.
He said, "I'll smoke till I am weary,-
Miscellaneous Poems, by J. Brunton. Stephens. (Macmillan and Co., London), 1880.
This book contains several other amusing parodies of the poems of Swinburne, E. A. Poe, and Coleridge, which will be quoted in future parts of the collection. They all relate to Colonial life, and are now difficult to meet with, as all the unsold copies of the book have been returned to the author, who resides in Australia.
THE VOICE AND THE PIQUE.
THE Voice and the Pique!
It was once a beautiful Voice
But the Voice-or the girl-ab, which?
As she thought-and the voice grew a squeak. Hast thou no voice, O Pique?
Thou hast, uncommonly shrill : And I know that a Maiden meek May grow to a wife with a will. Ah, misery comes, and miscarriage, To all who wear fleshly fetters; She's made a Capital marriage
I mourn in Capital Letters.
Punch, October 17, 1874.
THE PLAINT OF THE PLUMBER AND BUILDER. (In the case of Dee v. Dalgairns, the plaintiff, a plumber by trade, sued the defendant Dalgairns, a Civil Engineer, for the sum of thirty pounds for the erection of a lavatory. The defendant made a counter claim of one hundred and twenty pounds, on the ground that the work being improperly done, sewer gas escaped into the house, and caused the illness of six members of the household, and the death of his son. He, therefore, claimed the doctor's bill and other expenses. The Judge struck out the plaintiff's claim, and gave judgment for the de!endant).
'My doors are sure to warp in time, My slates let in the water; Take equal parts of dust and slime, And there you have my mortar.' "I build my wall with many a trick, So shrewd as to astound one; With here and there a rotten brick,
And here and there a sound one."
Yet, still my eloquence shall flow
England, September 27, 1884.
(Apropos of Mr. Gladstone's visit to Scotland).
A LONG WAY AFTER LORD TENNYSON'S "BROOK."
I'VE spouted o'er the land o' Burns,
From town to town I've hurried down,
I've chattered over stony ways.
I've chattered through the heather,
I've doused and soused the Rads with praise,
To keep myself together.
I chatter, chatter, my words flow
As fast as any river;
Tho' some men's language may be slow,
I can talk on for ever.
I wind about, and in and out,
But though I wheedle, brag, and shout,
Though Tories ain't forget-me-nots,
The Franchise is my party cry,
And till they both are settled-why,
I roll away like "thunder live,"
And out again I curve, and so
Pursue my destination;
For men may come and men may go,
And stop at any station.
I echo down the mountain pass,
I pass fine ruins over,
As light as harebell in the grass,
Or leveret in the clover.
Like Orpheus the trees I charm,
I draw them all along, and thread
As men must have their daily bread,
Another imitation (and a very long one) of the same original, appeared in Punch, October 11, 1884, and a parody entitled The Mill was in Fudy, April 26, 1884.
SONG SUPPOSED TO BE SUNG BY MR. BURNE-JONES. "Come into my studio Maud,
If you've chalk'd your face, my own;
I am here at the easel alone;
And the pot-pourri's odour is wafted abroad,
"For I've shut the bright morning out,
And I've thrown my brick-dust velvet about,
"I said to the corpse: There is to be one
Or we shan't be able to keep out the sun;
"I said to our surgeon: 'You often go
But I bet that a painted face I'll show
Of a love-sick model of mine,
That will beat them all for hopeless woe
And cadaverous design!
"And our surgeon said, 'No doubt you will,
In your rust-red robe and you're soot-black pearls ;
Shine out, corpse candles, above her curls,
"Oh, come! for I've managed to mix
A charnel-house-ish hue;
Oh, come! that your lord may fix
This cholera-morbus blue !
The patchouli whispers:
She's near, she's near!'
And her musk-drops say: 'Tis true!'
And the creak of her slippers, I hear, I hear,
"She is coming, my bilious sweet;
I can see her tawny head;
Her footsteps are far from fleet,
She's tied back till she scarce can tread ;
But yet shall her face yours meet,
When the months of the winter have fled, On the walls of the Grosvenor hung complete In dissecting-room blue and red!"
Truth, December 26, 1878.
COME INTO "THE GARDEN," MAUD!
COME into "the Garden," MAUD!
Come into "the Garden," MAUD!
I am here by the "Hummums " alone;
No garbage stenches are wafted abroad,
And the slime from the pavement's gone.
For a breeze of morning blows,
Yet my hand is not compelled
To hold up my handkerchief close to my nose,
When the shops in the market of old would unclose,
And the cry of the porters swelled.
All night have the suburbs heard
The wheels of the waggons grind ;
All night has the driver, with seldom a word,
His horses nodded behind;
And your waggoner is as early a bird
As in Babylon one may find.
I say to myself, "No, there is not one
To block up the street and stay
Till the hum of the City hath well begun."
"Now half to the Southern suburbs are gone,
Low on the wood, and loud on the stone
I say, this is better now, goodness knows,
And that I need not go softly and hold my nose,
No scent of rank refuse goes into my blood
As I stand in the central hall ;
And long in" the Garden" I've strolled and stood, Without feeling qualmish at all.
And I say. This is really exceeding good,
An improvement that's far from small.
The paths, roads, and gutters are almost sweet,
That used to impede one, and foul one's feet,
'Tis a pleasantish place for two lovers to meet-
So, sweetest, most sensitive-nostril'd of girls,
Foul dust blows no more in malodorous whirls,
No cabbage-leaves rot in the sun,
Damp-reek from choked gutter won't straighten your curls, So come 'twill be really good fun!
Punch, December 16, 1882.
Punch has long been calling attention to the disgraceful condition of Covent Garden Market, but hitherto without the slightest success. The Duke of Bedford appears to totally ignore the fact that property has its duties, as well as its privileges; and it seems probable that even the simplest remedies and improvements on his estate will be neglected, until public attention is drawn to the foul market and its adjacent slums, by the outbreak of some epidemic.
There was another parody of "Come into the Garden, Maud," in Punch, May 23, 1868.
ANGLING IN THE RYE.
(A wicked parody on Tennyson's "Old and New Year.") I STOOD by a river in the wet,
Where trout and grayling often met,
But aught that is worth the trolling?
E. H. RICHES, L.L.D. College Rhymes, 1868 (T. and G. Shrimpton), Oxford.
The following scientific jeu d'esprit is wafted to us all the way from San Francisco. Professor O. C. Marsh, of Yale College, is a champion of Darwinism. He has, however, few followers in America, where Agassiz, Dawson, and other men of science, hold more orthodox views.
(Addressed to Professor O. C. Marsh, by a Non-uniformitarian.)
BREAK, break, break
At thy cold, grey stones, O. C.!
And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the five-toed horse!
That his bones are at rest in the clay :
Break, break, break
At thy fossils, and stones, O. C. !
TEARS, IDLE TEARS.
(The Right Hon. Spencer Walpole, Home Secretary, shed tears when he heard that the Hyde Park Railings had been pulled down by the people to whom he had denied access to the Park).
TEARS, idle tears-a sweet sensation scene--
Punch, August 25, 1866.
In one of the early Christmas numbers of Fun there appeared a parody entitled "The Dream of Unfair Women." It concluded thus:
"A MAID, blue-stockinged, broke the silence drear,
"She spooned, and cheated, and had ancles thick.
The trick of Tennyson's blank verse, as displayed in some of his early and lighter poems, was admirably imitated by Bayard Taylor in the "Diversions of the Echo Club," (now published by Messrs. Chatto and Windus). The parody is entitled "Eustace Green; or, the Medicine Bottle."
In the second volume of "Echoes from the Clubs" several instances are given of plagiarisms committed by Tennyson; whilst in "The Figaro" of October 27, 1875, whole passages from his tragedy of Queen Mary are shown to have been borrowed.
Long extracts from the second scene, of the second act, are printed side by side with similar passages taken from the twenty-eighth chapter of Ainsworth's old novel, "The Tower of London," showing conclusively that Tennyson had either appropriated from Ainsworth without acknowledgment, or that both authors had gone to the same source for inspiration. Again, the beauties of "The Idylls of the King" are generally insisted on without any mention being made of the fact that in all the main incidents the poems simply retell the old "History of King Arthur, and of the Knights of the Round Table," as compiled by Sir Thomas Malory more than four centuries ago. Indeed, some of the most pathetic passages of the old original have been utterly marred; their simple charm and quaint pathos being lost in the over elaboration of detail affected by the Laureate. beauty of his blank verse is admitted, and the Idylls have been frequently parodied. Unfortunately, most of the parodies are too long to quote in full in this Part.
AN IDYLL OF PHATTE And Leene.
Who likes not fat-for such maids never do-
O, wife! this news is good; for since, perforce,
Falls as my cherished portion. Lo! 'tis good!"
In John Sprat's household waste was quite unknown;
The Figaro, February 12, 1873.
THE PASSING OF M'ARTHUR.
So through the morn the noise of bustle roll'd
Shall never more, in any future year,
Delight my soul with welcoming to feasts,
And taking chairs, as in the year just gone;
For my Chief Magistracy perisheth.
But now delay not! to the window run,
Watch what thou see'st, and lightly bring me word."
Then did the bold Sir Soulsby answer make:
That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art;
When every morning brought some famous scheme,
Such time hath not been since I first became,
A sort of fixture in the Mansion House.
Slowly M'Arthur answer'd from the coach:
The St. James's Gazette, November 9, 1881.
(An Idyll of the Queen).
GARNET the Brave, GARNET the Fortunate,
By thunderous bellowing of brave BEAUCHAMP's guns.
It were the Commons' Table, and his foe,
Late odious in his ears. Whereon arose
From doubting Tories, dubious Liberals,
But GARNET, glad
Of the thrasonic Corsican looked down,
Twigging the coming Pocket-Cæsar.