With the sound of a slight "Ahem!" It frightened the female portion Like the storm which succeeds a calm, It told them of pain and sorrow, All aimed at our Curate's life. It linked all perplex'd diseases They trembled with rage if a sceptic They have wrapped him in mustard plasters, They have fondled, caressed, and nursed him With sympathy divine. It may be that other Curates Will preach in that church to them, Will there be every time, Good Heavens ! THE CORRECT CHORD. SEATED for years at the organ, Might be got to work with ease : A. H. S. By ear, with my notes in my pocket, I struck such a chord that the organ It flooded the daily papers, Like the name of a comic song, And I felt several inches taller As I quietly bowled along. I think that it nettled NORTHCOTE, Polite as he can be in strife, Though it seemed a sensible echo From the din of my public life. But it brought down chaff by the cartload, For till CHURCHILL'S in with his Party, For the cord has a swell that's fine; Has a touch that answers mine. And whether I stick to the Commons,- Or go to the Peers,-no matter, I shall still hear "that Grand Old Man!" Punch. March 10, 1883. THE LOST DRINK. SEATED one day at a café, I was thirsty and hot as the sphinx, I knew not what I was saying, Its colour was crimson foncé It trickled down my gullet It linked vin rouge and choice liqueur And guggled away down my gullet I have sought-but I seek it vainly- Which was mixed by that garçon du café It may be that some chance garçon It may be that some day in Paris But then I never could find that café, Is that supernal boisson Like a gift of the gods to men! Judy. October 27, 1886. IN THE GLOAMING. A PARODY OF LADY ARTHUR HILL'S SONG. IN the gloaming, oh, my Proctor, Loudly come and softly go; In the gloaming, oh, my Proctor, Left you prostrate, and was free. Worst for you, but best for me! University College, Oxford. A. HASKETT SMITH. THE WAILINGS OF A DISAPPOINTED NOVICE. IN the gloaming, oh! my darling! Don't I curse the thoughts of thee! Oh! my heart is sad with longing, In the gloaming, oh! my darling! When thy light burns dim and low, Sets my ruby all aglow! When with pain my limbs are aching, In the gloaming, oh! my darling! Take thee to a near relation, 66 Pop thee up the spout " for gain! Thus I'll rid me of thy torments, Instrument of make insane! I have learned by sad experience, Icycles, 1880. MORE GLOAMINGLY. IN the gloaming, O my darling, Now our credit's very low, And the tax-collectors calling, Often come and unpaid go; "AB INITIO." Now the landlord's asking quaintly As you did-once-long ago? * I dreamed I was the Amateur Champion. + Oh! Lor. AN OXFORD SHOOTING EXPEDITION IN the shooting, oh, my comrade, In the shooting, oh, my comrade, A HASKETT SMITH, Oxford. "IN THE GLOAMING." (Dedicated to the Ladies of the Studio, South Kensington.) IN the gloaming, O my darlings, When our hearts are sinking low, When our mouths are wide with yawning, And our backs are aching so; When the thought of painting longer Fills us with an untold woe; While the shadows deeper grow! In the gloaming, O my darlings, Till our hearts are crushed with longing (It is only green in mem❜ry, And at times-'twixt you and me A malignant grocer sends us An inferior bohea.) In the gloaming, O my darlings, When our hearts are sinking low, HELEN MARION BURNSIDE. Th Girls' Own Paper. February 23, 1884. THE OLD ARM CHAIR. I LOVE it, I love it! and who shall dare I've bedew'd it with tears, I've embalm'd it with sighs, * ELIZA COOK MY OLD ARM CHAIR. I LOATHE it, I loathe it! and who shall dare I loved with a love of the noblest kind ; Sensitive, delicate, most refined. But she spurned my love and betrayed her vow, I cannot forget, though I might forgive; I owned a creditor-(frightful man!) He banged my knocker or twanged my bell. Incubi, demons, nightmares, owls, Vampires, goblins, ghosts, and ghouls, My life is a torture, a perfect curse My home is a dungeon, or something worse. I shall never be happy or freed from care Until I get rid of that old arın-chair. From A Town Garland, by HENRY S. Leigh. (Chatto & Windus, London, 1878.) I LOVE it, I love it; will WORMS, now, dare Of cosy make, of convenient size. 'Twill be bound to my heart by a thousand links, I have sat in the Commons this many a day, Oh, the hours I have lounged, and—with trouble-smiled And hard as a prisoner's timber bed. By Jove, how I wish I could wheel you there But HARCOURT'S waiting, and I must go ; I should very much like to talk on for a week. SCENE.-The House of Commons, The Ex-SPEAKER is discovered gazing sadly at the seat he has lately vacated. At length, satisfying himself that he is alone, he relieves his soul in song as follows; "I LOVED it, I loved it; and who would dare I looked on it then as a precious prize, And my heart with joy and with pride was big And a sacred thing was that Grand Old Chair! "And all at first happened well for me, Whilst night after night t'was my happy fate To sit―aye, and doze, in that Grand Old Chair! "But as years rolled on, and the sessions sped, 'Tis past! 'tis past! but I gaze on it now Till the day has peeped through the window pane; 'Twas there I was badgered; 'twas there I heard My solemn rulings declared absurd— But I loved it! I loved it! and cannot tear My soul from that once-prized Grand Old Chair." As the above is being softly sung, the SPEAKER ELECT, attracted by the sound, returns to the House, and remains an unobserved listener till the conclusion of the song, when, remarking MR. PEEL'S presence, the EX-SPEAKER thus addresses him : "Ah, 'tis well, my new successor, Truth. February 28, 1884. THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. ["A German Professor has discovered that all the wood work about our houses has power to absorb noxious juices' while still growing in its native forest, and that when a tree becomes part of the domestic furniture, and is cut up into chairs and tables and bookshelves, it immediately begins to pour its noxious juices' out into the air of the room.' Daily Paper.] I DREAD it, I dread it! and who shall dare That 'twere better the chair and I should part. In childhood's hour I lingered near As she worked at her knitting the morning through, The doctor watched her many a day, I was guileless then, but I gaze on it now Say it is folly, and deem me weak, For my " creepy" spine and my blanching cheek; But I dread it, I dread it! and mean to bear To the broker's shop that old arm-chair. Funny Folks. May 29, 1886. THE DENTIST'S CHAIR. I HATE it, I hate it, and who shall dare To chide me for hating that dentist's chair? I hated it first in my early youth, When I groaned in its depths with an aching tooth. And many and keen are the pangs through my soul, And the terror I feel is beyond control; I could gnash my teeth in my wild despair, As I gaze on that terrible, terrible chair. It has held me many and many a day, When I fain would have been in the fields at play And I hated the dentist when first I sat In the chair, and he said, “Take off your hat." Years roll on and are quickly fled, And my teeth became shattered within my head: SONG OF NOVEMBER. THAT gridiron by the mantel-piece, Old month of Civic feasts and sights, Fills my sad heart with home delights. November-I remember well The day when I to market hied, I bought them, and the savoury fish I had it then-the sprats were spoiled! Punch's Almanac, 1846. 8 THE HYDE PARK CORNER CLOCK. GASMAN, light that clock, The time I cannot see; It can't be more than twelve, And yet it looks like three! Its hands are all confused, Its numbers none can trace: Say, is that humble clock Ashamed to show its face! It can't be very late : True, I've been out to sup: But, ho! what says the clock? Come, Gasman, light it up. Say, can the mist be caused By fumes of generous wine? Is it three-quarters past eleven, Is it half after twelve, Or six, or eight, or two? That dismal rushlight kept inside I'm quite afraid to knock, Beneath its shades I heard, The woodnotes sweet and wild, My Mother kissed me there, (In the Chamberlain's Office, when I took up my Freedom.) My Father pressed my hand, (With a sovereign in it, the fust I ever had :) (Of course, that's all my eye,) I've crossed the foaming wave; Punch. February 11, 1882. "SPENCER, SPARE THAT TREE ! ["IT is beyond all measure the finest tree in London, and being of a kind that defies London smoke, it actually seems It is sad to think that we have to enjoy and thrive upon it. Vandals paid by the public to do such irreparable, wanton mischief."-Mr. Nasmyth on the cutting down of the old South Kensington plan tree. SPENCER, spare that tree! I know not whose the hand The old familiar plane That decks this end of town : Why, those are scarcely sane Its end with many a joke; But if you must have yours,- Ere Brompton saw its close,— The dear old boilers rose ! So, if you've work in view, But not this tree of mine! Funch. July 23, 1881;' |